The Christmas cheer edition.

So this past weekend was that time in the fifi household during which we run around like banshees transforming the house into a holiday wonderland. You may have wondered where I was all weekend – I was decorating. The Madre LOVES both decorating and holidays and so we don’t just put up a tree, throw some fake pine boughs around the place (fake because the Bro is horribly horribly allergic to real pine so after a couple of years of torturing the poor kid, the parentals invested in a fake tree and fake garlands because they finally figured out what he was allergic to decided their love of the Bro outweighed their love of that wonderful Christmas-y pine scent), put up some lights outside and call it a day.

Oh no. In the fifi household, artwork comes down, pictures get hidden away, and the normal decorative accents all get stowed away for a month. We put up eight trees in total (Most get stored with all their decorations on, fyi) and artfully places countless Father Christmases around the house (the Madre rarely sees a Father Christmas that she doesn’t love, particularly if he’s decked out in maroon robes). We take our holiday decorating VERY seriously in the fifi household.

I’m working on two other posts right now, but with all the aforementioned decorating and then getting back to New York and work I haven’t had time yet to finish. Instead, let me present to you the fifi house, in all of its holiday glory:

main tree

stockings (with a couple of Father Christmases)

kitchen tree

kitchen window

reindeer!

entry tree

living room

nutcrackers

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The parentals and I spent the weekend down at OSU with the Bro for Parents’ Weekend. As I have no life, I got to tag along (stadium tour! Woot!). Before we left, the Madre made up a huge batch of chili and brownies and other goodies for the boys. I decided at that point to be a good big sister and go pick up some beer to add to the mix. The Madre was not a fan of this plan.

the Madre: Why would you get them beer? They probably already have beer. They probably don’t want more beer.

fifi: Have you met college boys? They never have enough beer.

the Madre: Call your brother and make sure he even wants beer.

fifi: You are kidding, no?

the Madre:

fifi: You are nuts.

5 minutes later…

the Madre: Well? What did he say?

fifi: That you are nuts. And he wants the beer. SHOCKING.

Subtitle:

“Moving A Queen Box Spring Up a Teeny-Tiny Extremely Narrow Set of Stairs That a Full Box Spring (the Bro’s) Just Barely Fit Up”

Subtitle 2:

“I Wanted A Hot Dog, Not A Hamburger”

Document1Mattress moving step twoMattress moving step three

The background you need here is that it was Zack’s (the Bro’s friend and the now former owner of the queen box spring) dad’s idea to break the box spring in the first place (and my dad went right along for the ride). The moms suggested things like, say, going to the Lowe’s 5 minutes away and buying a saw, but Zack’s dad saw no reason they couldn’t just snap it over the edge of the porch.

The hot dog vs. hamburger comment stemmed from the fact that Zack thought they were going to break the bed lengthwise. Instead, his dad broke it widthwise. Zack repeated this comment multiple times in varying tones of shock and disbelief. (The picture in the middle above is actually an attempt to break it lengthwise, after Zack’s dad and my dad had already broken it widthwise). What you can kind of see in the background of that picture is my dad, Zack’s dad, Zack’s mom, and my mom sitting on one edge of the box spring while Zack and my brother attempted to snap it again. The whole thing was, of course, awesome and hilarious and the highlight of moving day for me.

Which, just in case it was not clear, to update you all, I spent Wednesday in Columbus helping the parents and the Bro move into his house at Ohio State. Monday & Tuesday were spent getting ready for the move (note: Target furniture is kind of impossible and overly difficult to put together and, therefore, kind of sucks), which is why I have not yet written about the weekend. I’m going to IKEA tomorrow to get furniture for my as-yet-unselected apartment, but will try and update again sometime tomorrow night. We shall see. I may come home so enamored with my Hemnes that I will feel the urge to put it together immediately. To know Hemnes is to love Hemnes.

Subtitled, “Optical Illusions”

Scene: The Madre and I are in the sunroom looking at the backyard.

The Madre: Look at all those branches in the flower bed. One of the squirrels must have slipped.

fifi: Well, if you didn’t feed them so much, they wouldn’t be so fat. [We have EXTREMELY large squirrels. The cats are terrified of them]

Branch

The Madre: Honey! [to the fifi Dad] Come see what the squirrels did to this poor tree.

The fifi Dad: Hmmmm. Honey. That’s not a tree. That’s a BRANCH.

The Madre: Ooohhh. Now that you mention it, I didn’t have a tree there in the middle of my hostas.

Branch2

Background: I got a call this evening from my friend Jill in which she was basically like “Dude. Your brother is dead. Go on facebook ASAP” (Jill is friends with the Bro on facebook). I do, because if nothing else, I enjoy a little sibling schadenfreude from time to time and discover that the Bro has posted pictures of him and his friends playing beer pong (or beirut as we called it in college) when he has specifically been forbidden to have people in the house/parties (my parents know the Bro will drink and allow it under controlled circumstances, but are pretty much on the your-friends-can’t-drink-here-until-everyone-is-21 train). That’s not the best part though. The parentals will be very angry about this (trust issues and such), but not like they will be about the next part. They were playing beer pong directly (i.e. with no towels/tablecloth/etc) on the parentals’ formal dining room table which sits on very lovely, pretty new-ish hardwood floors.*

Background, pt. 2: The Madre is on facebook. Supposedly for work, but anyone who knows mothers anywhere knows that she does a fair amount of checking up on the Bro. And me, most likely.

So, SCENE:

fifi: You need to pull down those pictures from facebook before Mom sees them and kills you.

The Bro: Which pictures? (The fact that he has to ask this should tell you something about what he posts on facebook. A highlight from before this was when he posted pictures of him and his friends on their way back from Canada where they had purchased fake ids, titled “Us on the way back from Canada with our fake ids.” Kid’s a genius, clearly).

fifi: The ones of you all playing flip cup on the dining room table. (Okay, I know. I knew it was beirut, but “flip cup” came out. I am clearly old/burnt out from the practice MBE this morning).

The Bro: (said with the dripping disdain that only an extremely annoying younger sibling can manage) It was beer pong. DUH.

fifi: AND…I abandon you to your fate.

*I have checked and the Bro/girls he conned into helping clean up did a decent job of cleaning up. No stains, but some definite sticky areas that I would have dealt with, except for the new “abandoning to fate” policy.

Last night, I received an invitation to the boyfriend’s sister’s wedding shower. Tragically, it is the Saturday before the Bar and thus I will not be able to attend. Tear.

As I was pecking out a message to accompany the coffee grinder I purchased from her registry to send as a shower gift, the Madre stuck her head in the room and so I ran the message by her:

fifi: “Congratulations…”

the Madre: You know, really, proper etiquette is to only wish the groom “congratulations.” You wish a bride “best wishes.” Saying “congratulations” to the bride is kind of like saying “congratulations on finally catching a man.”

fifi: Hmmm….

pause

fifi: Well then, “Congratulations…”