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Spring is here and the option to be grumpy and pessimistic doesn’t seem like so much fun anymore.  In fact, it’s so uninteresting when you consider how much fun it is to be sunny, wake up before your alarm, and make plans to do cool things, not plans to avoid all things via a nap.  Although a nap is a great way to celebrate a good day.

Spring is so much fun that I really believe it needs its own sort of advent or ‘ushering-in’ season.  I suppose the Catholics have Lent, where they get to give up chocolate until the Easter Bunny arrives.  Do some of them do it because they secretly want to look good in a bathing suit by late April?  It’s interesting how the Ecclesiastical calendar ties in so nicely with Spring Break.  Though I did overhear some of the parochial school moms chatting away at our local Starbucks.  It was mentioned that a friend of theirs gave up shopping at Gymboree for Lent.  I think for this demographic, that is, in fact, true suffering.  And I have a very devout Catholic friend who gave up sarcasm.  And she’s a high school teacher.  So I suppose it’s safe to say that there is some adequate suffering going on in the Church.

What interfering indulgence would I give up in order to allow me to better reflect on my faith?  Blogging?  Napping?  Baths?  I will remain spiritually undecided for the time-being.

Here is a list of ideas which you might consider to help you celebrate the lengthening and widening of our days.  Thank you, Vernal Equinox!  Sounds like someone I used to work with.  He was very good at math, but a little nutty.

• Go to bed early, so you can wake up early.  With your old pal, the sun.

• Cut some blossoms off a tree in your yard or someone else’s and bring it inside.  They will make an ordinary vase look like a work of art.  They will make a work of art look like an ever-loving masterpiece.

• Go for a hike on a grassy hill.  (If you live in the snow, enjoy the fact that you paid much less per square foot of your home than those who live near hills that are grassy in March.)

• Have a picnic.  By that I mean dump your lunch in a bag and take off.  Don’t get too high maintenance about it and plan a multi-course meal with Martha’s sesame encrusted chicken or a ham sandwich on Pugliese bread that you wrap in twine and parchment and leave under a brick for three hours for it to flatten.  Just because it’s a picnic does not mean you have to have a flat sandwich.  The kids will be thrilled with pb & j and, remember, you can always throw in some cheese and crackers and wine for yourself.  Wine upgrades everything, except maybe Pop Rocks and Airhead Xtreme Rolls, and to make wine, all you do is put it in the bag.

• Encounter a rainbow.  Either see one, after the rain (I’ve already seen three since March began)  or draw one.  Or make one out of construction paper or get one of Mrs. Grossman’s stickers.  Nothing says 1981 like a rainbow sticker (and who doesn’t love 1981?), and it ties in so nicely with leprechauns and gold.  And daffodils.

• Go to McDonald’s and get a Shamrock Shake.  They are green and mint flavored and won’t be around after March.  YUM.

• Celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.  Throw up a couple of shamrocks or a runner on your table or a green anything.  And don’t tell me you’re not Irish. Who cares?  I don’t know why we’re all Irish in March, but these folks (the Irish) are warm and friendly, civil wars notwithstanding, and they are famous for joy, potatoes and beer.  The question is not, “Why do I have to be Irish for a day?”  The question is, “Why would I not want to be Irish for a day?”  Name me a controversial Irish character in a story or movie.   And how sinister can a little man at the end of a rainbow be?

• Make corned beef and cabbage.  Recipe coming.  After the three-year-old’s birthday party preparations.

• Stay away from Passive Aggressive Megalomaniacal Control Freaks.  If you can’t stay away, then talk to your friends about him/her while eating Pepperidge Farms Goldfish and Cadbury Mini Eggs.  If no one else sees the PAMCF the same way you do, and you have no one with whom to commiserate, draw unflattering pictures of him/her.  Naked, if necessary.

• Take a bath.  Each and every celebration of your existence should involve one of these.  Except maybe an office party.

Note:  No sponsorship dollars were harmed or transferred during the making of this post.  All advertisement in this post was integral to the theme, and provided courtesy of Saving Private Mommy.  You can call me a sucker, if you’d like.  I’d rather you just vote for me on Babble so that I can make the Top 50.

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Image from 34thst.com

I’m not a fan of clichés since I like to think outside of the box, and I usually bend over backwards to avoid them, but at the end of the day, sometimes clichés get the job done.  Especially if that cliché is a chocolate-covered strawberry on Valentine’s Day.  Now that’s a hackneyed idea that should be embraced, or rather, bitten into, since hugging a strawberry is a waste of time.  To make a long story short, I’ll explain my choice in hopes that you, too, will drink the Koolaid.

Chocolate strawberries are tasty, elegant, and, let’s face it, full of fiber.  They are a lighter option than the brownie sundae, unless you eat twelve of them, like I did at my husband’s work Christmas party.  They do give you that gourmet experience with a very low-fuss preparation process.  I’m going out on a limb here, but I’ll assume that most folks don’t go gangbusters over the idea of crafting those fussy, but tasty, little petit fours.  While you deserve the indulgence, time is money, and who wants the pressure to always be firing on all cylinders when it comes to cooking for a holiday?  I hope you don’t mind that I went over your head and authorized you to make a clichéd, easy, yet gourmet dessert.  I hope you’ll consider finding a spot for these on the table since you already have a lot on your plate whilst your irons are in the fire and your candles are burning at both ends.  Watch out for the tablecloth!

• Melt chocolate chips in a saucepan over medium heat.  Remove from stove when melted.

• Dip in strawberries.  Let cool.  Refrigerate.  And go ahead and count these eggs before they hatch.

• Eat.

So make this very tasty and easy cliché, and save your midnight oil for some other occasion, like hiding your wealth from the IRS at 9 PM on April 14^th, a time when you really need to knock it out of the park.

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• Small is the new big.  Get a small Christmas tree, those little ones available in nurseries and even drugstores.  Prop it up on a table, throw grandma’s nativity scene beside it (or a few stuffed snowmen from the bottom of your child’s toy chest, if you are looking for a secular vibe), and make it a festive, but little, focal point of the room.  Little children will be sold on this, especially if they watch Charlie Brown.  Mine are always asking for the little tree.  A small tree is not only cheaper, but is easier to decorate since you need fewer ornaments.  This is especially important if you fall victim to the decorating trends imposed on you by magazine editors, who clearly convey that the blue balls of yesteryear are out, and that silver bells are the new now.  You can swap them out without going broke, and your husband will appreciate the change in metaphor.  (Confession:  We bought a big tree this year.)

• Make paper chains and snowflakes.  I’m not kidding.  What better way is there to remember the joy of first grade?  Use red and green construction paper or other colors to complement your décor.  This will keep the kids busy for hours, and is an inexpensive and festive alternative to garland.  Snowflakes can be made from ordinary white paper, and can be taped to the windows or hung on strings from the ceiling.  You don’t need to bury your home in paper crafts.  Place them in prominent areas (around a doorway, mirror, window, buffet) and they will make an impact.  Use recycled paper if you want to impress your progressive friends.

• Employ the Scrooge Rule.  Agree with friends and relatives in advance to not exchange gifts or to have a gift exchange.  Call it the Scrooge Rule so they think it’s a trendy recession move.  If you are uncomfortable with that name, call it the Bob Cratchit Rule.  He was nice, but broke.

• Play the Green card. Justify to yourself and anyone else that the overloading of closets with underused Christmas toys and gifts is ecologically unsound.  Give edible gifts, and know that they can be happily excreted.  Above all, convince society that Christmas, as we know it, is not green.

• Have a potluck.  If you must have Christmas party, promise to get everyone drunk, and ask them to kindly bring an appetizer to share.  If you can’t bear the idea of a potluck, have a party with appetizers only and avoid lunch and dinner hours.  Call it an open house, and greet them with some well-priced bubbly and snacks from, say, Trader Joe’s.  (They are not a sponsor.  I wish they were.)

• Know that you will fail your children.  No matter how much you give them, they will inevitably want more.  Remember Veruca Salt?  Make peace with this.  You will tell them how lucky they are, how they have so much more than most people across the globe, and then their eyes will glaze over as they wait for you to finish so they can ask you for the $50 Baby Alive that eats and takes gelatin dumps.  Don’t get this, especially if you have a cat that is already urinating on every blanket in your home.

• Avoid commercials. Watch PBS.  It’s civilized, intellectual, and commercial-free.  Nothing makes my kids want more than a Saturday morning Nickelodeon marathon.  Imagine the team of well-dressed people with masters’ degrees that are on the production end of these commercials, machinating over jingles and set designs that will teach your children to want.

• Fleece your family and friends.  Go to the fabric store and check out the bolts of fleece.  The colors and designs range from whimsical to sporty to, yes, tasteful.  Cut strips and make some scarves.  Fleece is warm, and the splash of color will dress up any outfit.  And you can let them have Spongebob!   Or John Deere.  Or plaid.  Since the edges don’t fray, no sewing is necessary.

• Double dip with clothing.  Kids always need clothing.  Give them that as presents.  This is an easier sell with girls than boys, but everyone, even little ones, feel fabulous with a new, comfortable outfit.

• Resist the PotteryBarnization of your family.  That is, resist the urge to dress everyone in matching formal Christmas outfits.  Why does the birth of Jesus compel dads to dress like their daughters?  And you don’t need formalwear if on Christmas you ride 2 hours in the car to Lodi to have $6.99 a plate Super Buffet with your aunt Cathy.  And don’t talk to me about the family photo.  Years from now, you won’t even remember the adorable Rudolph outfit with matching North Pole accessories for which you shelled out $80.  (Hi, Gymboree.)  Buy clothes they can wear in February, too.  Rudolph is for rich people.  Let them have him.

• Fight Christmas card oppression.  Everyone is sick of these.  The overproduced family photo is becoming the yawner of the season.  People are now jonesing for the pretty artwork with sparkling glitter.  When did our families become more beautiful than Currier & Ives?  You can always pop in a photo.  If the photo was taken at home with your camera and reproduced at Costco, you will be all right, and your friends, if they are true, will call you again.

• Make a joyful noise.  Are my ideas too obvious?  Watch some Christmas classics as a family.  Read some stories.  Make a gingerbread house together.  Play Bing Crosby.  Decorate the tree while sipping hot chocolate.  Make Christmas about more than just stuff; your kids will remember this.  Stuff has to be organized; your kids will not do this.

Fight the power, good people.  Leave the plastic in your wallet or, better, your garbage can, and may all your Christmases be in the black.

Please let me know if you have a triumph in frugality to share. Post a comment.  Please.

Thanksgiving Day comes, by statute, once a year; to the honest man it comes as frequently as the heart of gratitude will allow.

-Edward Sandford Martin

This year I have been struck by what seems to me to be an increase in the number of expressions of Thanksgiving.  Perhaps this is because I am a high-using member of Facebook, and am a follower of quite a few blogs where very public proclamations of gratitude are made.  At the risk of blaspheming my soul, my family, President Obama, and Hallmark, I’ve noticed that my emotions are not entirely in synch with American societal expectations of this week in November, in the year 2009.  If you haven’t already slammed your cursor on the back button, and stricken “return” or “enter”, which sent you back into your Amazon.com Christmas buying frenzy, then I salute you for wishing to explore the abomination that is my mind.

To put it simply, I’ve noticed that this week I’m lacking the overwhelming sense of emotion, that I’m the luckiest person in the world with wonderful kids, a gorgeous husband, and the greatest shade of mustard on the textured walls of my cozy tract home.  You know the kind I mean.  The type of emotion that floods your very being.  The type of emotion where your heart leaps, you could drop a few joyful tears, and you want to literally jump up and down.  While I do harbor a fairly constant appreciation of my life and the incredible people in it, I was feeling a little guilty at the focus of my passion this week:  yams, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, Simon and Garfunkel turkey rub, cat urine, and clutter control.  Yes, my heart was most centered on these tasks, and I found the greatest sense of gratitude in the Zen-feel of my clean kitchen, the beautiful pattern on my guest bedding, and the pride in knowing I bake my pie dough from scratch.  Was this the undoing of Martha Stewart?  Did she lock her husband and children in a dark, damp closet while she found true meaning in the ingredients of her mixing bowl?  Perhaps mashing pumpkin pulp herself, rather than using the canned variety, was a way to channel her evil, inhuman, and persnickety spirit?  What is next?  Trading stocks, insider tips, and losing the holiday prison door decorating contest?

No matter, I say.  I can’t really speak to the state of Martha’s soul, but for myself, I think there are signs of hope.  For one, I do feel the flood of emotion about the important ones and things in my life.  Unfortunately, it sometimes comes at inconvenient times.  How about an ordinary Monday afternoon in February, after my husband says just the right thing?  Or at 8:30 PM on a school night, when my child tells me a joke that sends me into hysterics?  Or on a mountainside, or in a grocery store or, perhaps, on my couch in the living room with a hot a cappuccino in hand?  And other places more private?  Above all, I feel true gratitude, when I least expect it.

Just because it’s Thanksgiving, and the relatives are here (the group of whom were nothing but delightful this year, by the way), the wine is pouring, the piano is being played, and the house is warmed by a pretty glow of candles, doesn’t mean I feel gratitude.  I may be having fun, but I’m not necessarily ready to get down of my knees to thank the Maker.  I just hope that my tardiness or earliness as it was or may be, doesn’t upset the universe.  My heart seems to beat on its own schedule, and I hope someone can forgive me for this.  Perhaps I’m the one that is to do it.

Nonetheless, holidays and the appropriate emotions have been scheduled.  Your birthday needs to be the best day of the year, and Christmas should be about gratitude and generosity, regardless of the fact that it is really about your Visa bill, which is kind of entertaining, actually.  You can’t have a bad Valentine’s Day, and God FORBID your Labor Day is mediocre.  All this planned joy is really quite inconvenient for our unpredictable souls.  And yet, I do believe it is beneficial, as ritual is important, however pushed, pulled or urged on it may be.  It has the power to usher in good thoughts, goodwill, and ultimately, good actions.  Perhaps the last two often occur in reverse order.  So, I’m thinking that for these rituals, I am thankful.  It only gets awkward, when Hallmark gets to involved, and we send aggressively iambic, obviously rhymed, saccharine-sweet metered sentiments to our loved ones that don’t always match exactly what we mean.

As one who likes to take action, regroup, and “create” my problems away, I have penned some very specific greetings for the unbearably honest card-giver.  Let me know if you like any, and I will create some pictures to go with them.

• It’s your 5^th Birthday! You are…(open card)…Ours.  Note:  The word “special” has been removed.

• To my Darling on Valentine’s Day: I wish you didn’t watch so much television.  Then I would be more inclined to put out.  I love you much of the time.

• Happy Thanksgiving! I’m freaking exhausted and totally resentful about my sub-prime mortgage woes.  My mom and dad think I’m lame, and my sister-in-law thinks she’s better than everyone else, which is annoying and even more untrue.  Hope the food tastes good, and I hate cousin Patricia’s Jell-o salad. If Uncle Bill brings cheap wine again, I’m going to send him home.  I hope my brother Jim shows up.  He makes me laugh, and never insults me like you do.

• Happy Mother’s Day to My Best Friend. You are an okay mom.  I guess.  I can’t believe you actually feed your kids McDonald’s.  They are going to be overweight like you are.  That’s okay, though, ‘cause I like being better looking than you.

• Merry Christmas To My Wife.  It’s our 3^rd Christmas together.  I really love being married to you, but I would be really happy if you actually did follow through on your exercise routine and lost some weight.  Also, the laundry has been a big problem.  I know you’re busy with the kids all day, but we can’t afford laundry service, and, well, I’m not sure I should have to do it after a 13-hour workday.  I would love your help.  What’s wrong with you, actually?  Bill’s wife is still totally hot, and they don’t have piles of clean laundry on their dirty sofa, which isn’t dirty.  Like ours is.  I do love you still, somewhat, but let’s step it up just a bit, okay?

Oh, I almost forgot.  To all of you:  I hope you had the happiest of Thanksgivings, filled with the warmth and comfort of family, friends, and skillfully flavored, dead, abused birds.