Merry Christmas! Love, She Eats.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

I hope you’re all having a very joyful Christmas morning filled with family, friends, laughter, love, presents, stockings, or whatever makes your hearts happy.

While I initially considered doing a Christmas post on my favorite Christmas songs (not really apropos here) or favorite Christmas recipes (far more pertinent, but played out), I eventually decided that those were entirely boring.  Instead, I figured I’d let you all have a laugh at my expense as I share some pictures from Christmases past:

Christmas 1982

Christmas 1982

This was my mother’s third and final attempt at getting me onto this strange man’s lap. You can tell that I’d been crying for about sixteen hours straight by this point by how puffy and unfocused my eyes are.

I also like the fact that the harvest gold velour chair gives the entire tableau a creepy, “come see Santa in his living room, little girl” vibe. You have to give the man points for the awesome handlebar mustache, though.

Christmas 1983

Christmas 1983

A year later, I was much happier to sit on Santa’s lap. I attribute this entirely to the fact that there’s an actual holiday backdrop, as opposed to what looked like some dude’s seafoam green basement the year before.

The placement of Santa’s hands in this photo is entirely discomforting, however. I hope that he was just admiring my corduroy jumper.

Christmas 1984

Christmas 1984

By 1984 (or possibly 1985, I really have no idea), we were back to the creepy, sullen Santa model. For my part, I’m oblivious to the gaze of death that Santa is giving the photographer, one that reads “This had better be the last goddamned child today; I can’t feel my legs and my beard smells like formula and Elmer’s glue.”

Also, believe it or not, this was not taken inside of Space Mountain. True story.

Christmas 1986

Christmas 1986

1986 was a happier year, with a happier Santa and a happier background. You’ll note that I’m in my private school uniform, complete with blinding white tights and bow that looks like a small bat died on my head.

1987 would not find me in the same uniform, as I was taken out of private school and thrust into the wilds of the public school system for reasons too legion to elaborate upon here.

Here’s looking at you, kids, and wishing you all the best this Christmas.  From the bottom of my hear, thank you all for reading, commenting, emailing, and just generally being awesome readers.  I couldn’t ask for more this Christmas than y’all.


Santa Cake!

I came into work this morning to find that my awesome Day Job boss had left this on my desk as a Christmas present:


Not the actual Santa cake, mind you, but the adorable cake pan from Williams-Sonoma that one would theoretically use to create the Santa cake pictured above.  To wit:


She had also thoughtfully packaged it together with this scrumptious-sounding cake mix:


Although I prefer baking from scratch — sans mixes — the addition of eggnog (extract? flavoring? tiny eggnog molecules? I have no idea how Williams-Sonoma is defining this) to a poundcake is irresistable.  It should make for a nice, festive dessert on Christmas Eve alongside our leg of lamb and whatever else my mother is whipping up for dinner.

Now, as to the actual decorating of said Santa cake, I fear that with my subpar decorating skills it will turn out less like the lovely cake pictured above and more like this:


Thank God we don’t have little kids coming to Christmas dinner this year.

Christmas Cookies


At the Day Job, we’ve adopted a needy family for Christmas and everyone was assigned different presents to bring for either the mother, the father or one of the four children.  Needless to say, we went a bit overboard and bought way more than they asked for on their Christmas list.  Some of us are venting our as-yet-unnecessary maternal hormones on the kids, while others are honing their doting grandparent skills.  And others are merely feeling the Christmas spirit, I suppose.  As for me, I bought a bright pink-and-purple bike with streamers for the seven-year-old girl (not pictured).


I baked sugar cookies last night to take over to the family today.  And then I realized when I came in this morning that the gift delivery wasn’t until next Friday and therefore the cookies have become moot.  Richard will kill me, as he was playing his typical vulture act out in the kitchen all last night, hoping for a cookie to be thrown his way (I almost said “tossed” his way…heh…tossing cookies…*ahem*…anyway) as I was heavily guarding them from his predatory advances.  I’ll save a few for him, but the rest are going to the department potluck this afternoon.

And how’s Christmas looking around your office?  Assuming you have one, that is…

The Almond Gods

God bless the vendor who sent a Christmas package of roasted almonds to the office this morning.  I am in Almond Heaven and the Almond Gods are smiling beatifically upon me today.


The best part of Christmas isn’t the lights or the decorations or the cheer in the air or even spending time with loved ones; it’s the holiday gift baskets from vendors.