dinner with Rob's parents and grandparents

• picking up my husband's pants from the tailor
• asking for meat at the deli counter
• depositing checks at the bank
• buying bagels for a morning work meeting
• getting my rings cleaned at a jewelry store
• buying certain items at the grocery store: toilet paper, deodorant, cough syrup, a ham
• picking up a prescription

"We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures."

At Curves, members were asked to write on a sheet of paper what we are thankful for, and then they were posted on the walls for everyone to read. Interestingly, the vast majority listed the same three things in the same order: God, my family, this country. A few were different, and one in particular stood out to me and was by far my favorite. It was written by a teenage girl, a fact made obvious by the i's dotted with big circles and the content. It read: my awesome friends, my adorable boyfriend, Andy Warhol, Trent Reznor, mac & cheese.

In that same spirit, I continue my tradition of listing the little things for which I'm thankful. (Lists from 2005 and 2006.)

• vibrant autumn colors
• belly kisses
• the house dip at my favorite sandwich shop
• veterinarians
• the big window in my office
• our swanky upscale grocery store
• that all my close friends have found partners
• snow days
• cities - New York and Chicago in particular
• polka dots
• working out with my mom
• that moment of relief upon waking from a dream in which I was either lost, back in college, or pregnant
• bacon
• talking on the phone with my brother
• the mountains
• getting 40 mpg
• the shade of red that I get my highlights in
• snuggling after hitting snooze
• kitty purrs
• the last 2:45 of LoveStoned (the "I Think She Knows" interlude)
• that feeling of exhilaration after a good run
• my dad's crinkle-eyed laugh
• The New York Times online
• my grandparents' farmhouse filled with family
• mac & cheese

Well shit. My breasts have gotten smaller. This was so not part of the plan.

I've been wanting a Wii for awhile now. Don't ask me why - I just do. Rob has been only lukewarm to the idea. You'd think he'd be the one all bent on getting one, since usually guys, and especially geeks, are more into this sort of thing. But no, actually, I'm the 7th grade boy in our relationship.

But whether or not to buy one hasn't even been an issue because I couldn't freaking find any. None of the stores had them, here or out of town, and online they were selling for way over retail. Moreover, no one could tell me when they'd be getting more, so I had to call around all the time and ask. "Have you gotten more in? What about now? Or now? Anything yet? Are you sure? Okay, what about now?"

Finally, when I made the round of calls yesterday the guy at Walmart said they had just gotten a shipment in that morning. And I was like, "Really? You have them in stock right now? At this very moment? Are you sure?" When he said they were selling fast, I was all, "But do you still have some? Check again. What about now?" And then I emailed Rob at work: "WALMART HAS WIIs!!!! Can I get one, pretty please?!" (I could have just called him, but I really wanted to send that email. You know, because it rhymes.)

And that is how it came to be that I bought a Wii.

I called my brother right away, because he has also been advocating for this purchase. "Dude, guess what I got!"

"I don't know.... Wait, a Wii?!"

"Yes! It is IN MY TRUNK, brotha!"

"Awesome. I cannot wait to bash your face in!"

We're very close, as you can tell.

Almost as much fun as the Wii itself (but not quite) is inserting wii into every word I can think of. Like the remotes that come with the Wii are widely known as wiimotes, right? For some reason I feel the need to carry this farther, much farther, into the realm perhaps of Too Far. So last evening as we were plugging everything in and putting it all together, I filled out the warrantwii and asked Rob for the batterwiis. And this was even before the gimlets, which I call gimmes (and so then, naturally, gimwiis). After the drinks, Maylee became Maywii and Simon (whom we often call Simone) became Wiimone. Rob found this compulsion of mine utterly annoying, and I cannot imagine why.

(Anybody got good game recommendations?)

I'm buying my grandmother rum for Christmas.

No really, I am. Rob thought I was joking when I wrote it on our Christmas shopping list, but I'm not. She has been making fruitcakes, and recently when I went to visit her she explained that one of her sons-in-law had informed her that while her fruitcake is very good, it doesn't taste quite like the fruitcake his mom used to make. So now my grandmother is on a mission to figure out what her fruitcake is missing. And her conclusion is rum. Apparently she knows this is an ingredient some women use, and although she's never baked with it before, she suspects it's the secret.

Throughout this conversation with me, my grandmother says the word rum with wide eyes and a hush in her voice. Not because it may be The Secret Ingredient, but because it is Alcohol. My grandmother, a preacher's wife, has never consumed alcohol. Actually, pretty much no one on either side of my family has. They are all very conservative and drinking alcohol just isn't acceptable. In fact, we didn't serve alcohol at our wedding so as not to offend the delicate sensibilities of the bride's side. My mom has never had a drop to drink, ever. My dad hasn't either, except for some medicinal moonshine (I know, right?) someone gave him years ago for his health, a foul-smelling concoction that sat in our fridge that Dad would struggle to sip each night before bed until the third day when he abandoned the plan with noticeable relief. It was nearly a year into my marriage before I admitted to my parents that Rob and I "occasionally" drink wine. Until then I would frantically hide the wine rack whenever they pulled into the drive. They took the news fairly well, I thought, although I still move the beer to the back of the fridge, behind tall liters of soda, whenever they come over. Wine is one thing (I mean, Jesus drank it), but I'm not sure they could ever come to terms with their daughter drinking beer. And then there was the unfortunate event a few weeks ago when my mom, looking for plastic bowls, opened the door to our liquor cabinet. She stared for a moment, stammered "That's quite a variety," and then quickly shut the door, shaking and clearly traumatized. Well fuck.

But back to my grandmother. She has decided to put rum in her fruitcake, and seems slightly titillated by the idea. She asks me if I think people would mind, and I assure her that, first of all, the alcohol will bake off and, secondly, no one needs to know. Then she becomes concerned about actually obtaining the rum. "I don't even know where to get it," she tells me. "And even if I did, I wouldn't want to be seen with it!" I suggest she send my grandfather to fetch it, which elicits a giggle from her. We both look to him, and he smiles, amused, but his eyes clearly convey that there's NO WAY IN HELL.

Of course, I am no stranger to the liquor store (although they don't know that) and I would love nothing more than to see my grandmother unwrap a bottle of rum at our Christmas get-together. With everyone watching. Because she is just mischievous enough to love that joke. She'll pull the rum from the wrapping paper, and a confused look will cross her face, and then she'll realize what it is and exclaim "KELLY!" in a mock (or perhaps real) rebuke. And then she'll laugh and laugh as everyone else absorbs the fact that I have bought our 84 year-old grandmother rum for Christmas. It is going to be fucking awesome.

She also needs a fruitcake recipe that includes rum, so if anyone has a good one, please share! I did an online search, and one of the first ones I found was this one. Click on that and read it through. Replace the rum with cooking wine and that is SO how I cook.