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Thanksgiving was delightful.  I spent time with family, I ate plenty of turkey, and my pies were magnificent.  A few highlights:

1.  Lighting matches with our teeth.  Lauren picked up this charming trick this summer as a camp counselor in Minnesota.  Naturally, she made her trick performing debut while our food settled.

2.  Obligatory family photos.  I have no witty commentary for this one, but I sure do like that shirt (see photo at right).   

3.  Food hangover.  Please notice my beautiful pies, sitting on the counter in the background, which Lauren was too full to enjoy.  I say, that's what you get for eating a MOUNTAIN of mashed potatoes.  It's a marathon, not a sprint.

4.  Deer Hunting.  This may shock you, but I opted out of stage four of our celebration.  Blake joined his family for the traditional Thanksgiving hunt, and I joined the sofa for the traditional Thanksgiving Grey's Anatomy.  I got a call mid-nap from Blake.  He had shot a deer.  A three-legged deer.  That's my man - slaughtering innocent, handicapped animals for the holidays.  His little sister managed to shoot an intact deer the next morning.  I've been ridiculing him mercilessly ever since.  (Picture omitted, because it freaks me out, but click here if you are so inclined.)   

5.  Grey's Anatomy.  Oh, how I love thee.  This show is quite the hit among the law school kids.  I often wonder why there isn't a law school counterpart to Grey's.  We certainly have all of the high school relationship dramarama.  But then, I try to picture myself getting hooked on a one hour drama that involves copious amounts of sitting in the library with a laptop.  I try to picture caring about the potential law school protagonist, tossing back endless coffees and strategizing to gain the competitive edge.  In my experience, the majority of law students are like Cristina, only with even less personality.  And I'll take blood and guts any day over books and . . . books.   

I hope everyone else had an equally event-filled holiday.

In honor of the rapidly approaching holiday, I've decided to give you a little window into my pre-Thanksgiving routine.  Madpony proudly presents:

LIVE BLOGGING: PUMPKIN PIE EDITION

Two weeks ago:  Grandma calls.  She tells me that I am in charge of the pumpkin pies for this year's family Thanksgiving dinner.  She assumes full mastery of pie making, since I've made them before.  I wonder if Grandma remembers that this was ten years ago, in her kitchen, with her full and complete involvement.  I think I stirred a bowl.  I'm immediately nervous, but I accept the challenge.

6:30 AM:  The alarm clock goes off.  I remember that school is canceled today.  Back to sleep.  No thoughts, dreams, and/or nightmares of pie.

9:00 AM:  I finally give up on sleeping.  Time for pre-baking preparation.  I visualize the pie.

Of course, my pie will not involve any adorable little maple leaf embellishments made from pie crust.  Let's be realistic here.

Exhausted from visualization, I break for lunch.

11:30 AM:  I call Grandma to verify the recipe, which I found buried in my mother's cookbook.  She quickly informs me that I have the wrong recipe.  Naturally.  A slight panic is setting in.  After we get the ingredients straightened out, I head for the grocery store.

12:00 PM:  Grocery store on the day before Thanksgiving:  THE WORST IDEA EVER.   I was nearly attacked after scoring the last two pre-made pie crusts.  After that harrowing experience, I have definitely earned a break.

12:28 PM:  Although I can hear it ringing, my phone has mysteriously vanished.  I finally locate it, on top of the evaporated milk in the refrigerator.  Clearly, this pie thing is causing serious psychological trauma.

1:26 PM:  Ingredients are nicely laid out on the kitchen counter. Pie pans are clean.  Fired up the Kitchenaid mixer.  I am definitely planning on getting started, but right now I am headed to my hair appointment.  Hey, my pies might be ugly, but at least I will look good tomorrow.

4:34 PM:  A few hours, one messy kitchen, and one lovely haircut later, and the pies are in the oven.  At one point, I became overwhelmed by the pungent smell of ginger and called Grandma for moral support.  She assured me there would be spice cake, in case I failed horribly.  Thanks for the pep talk, Grandma.  I put Marie Callender's phone number in my cell, just in case.   

5:45 PM:  Blake returns home to find me sitting on the kitchen floor, peering through the oven window.  With his support, I take the pies out of the oven.  Success!

And now, for the close-up:

No idea what they will taste like, but they sure are pretty.

I hope you all have a happy Thanksgiving! 

The law school around finals time is not a place you would want to visit. 

At this very second, we are approximately two weeks and two days away from anyone being subjected to end of the semester hell.  All the same, you can already feel the winds shifting from semi-paranoia to full on panic attack.   

And hey, I'm not one to criticize.   Blake often reminds me of my first year finals, when I sat on the floor of our living room so focused on my studying that I only have vague memories of his presence during those weeks.  Like when a plate of lasagna would magically appear, along with a few encouraging words about the well-known scientific connection between eating and survival.  Or his few misguided attempts to confiscate and wash my Lucky Sweatpants that nearly ended in violence. 

So yeah, I get the crazy thing.  I mean, I *got* the crazy thing.  This year, I'm getting the complacent thing.  And it's coming, oh, just about a year too early.  A year before I have a job offer, financial security, a reason for living, etc.

This year, while my friends make flashcards and outlines, I have taken it upon myself to watch every single episode of Sex and the City.  I started with Season One, and I finished with Carrie and Big in Paris.  I watched the deleted scenes and the alternate endings.  Then I started all over again, this time with the audio commentaries!

After that, I developed my highly complex daytime TV schedule.  My day began with All My Children, followed by an hour of lunch.  Then I resumed with Passions, Days of our Lives, Dr. Phil, Oprah, and a lengthy nap.  About half of the time, I would manage to make dinner and the bed before Blake got home from work.  Then, I would take the evenings off.  Because, you know, the evenings are for relaxing.

I did this for about two weeks straight.  And then came my life changing event: MTV True Life: I'm Moving to Vegas.  Two of the people featured on the show were in their young twenties, living together in a gorgeous home owned by their parents.  They didn't have jobs, or any specific plans to obtain jobs.  They went out every night, slept until early evening, and went out again.  Within weeks, the house was filthy.  The endless napping continued.  The girl began to question her existence.  The guy openly shared his plan to live off his parents' credit cards indefinitely.  The girl moved home.  It was disgusting.

I began watching this show buried under a blanket and a pillow.  Ten minutes in, I was sitting upright, covers tossed aside.  Because these slovenly MTV twenty-somethings were reminding me a lot of someone else, what with all the napping, general uselessness, and uncertain futures.   These people were MY people.   

After the show, I shut off the TV, hid the Sex and the City box set, and began my Criminal Procedure outline. 

I never thought I would say this, but thank you, MTV, for inspiring me to be a better student.

New role model: the other girl featured on the show who moved to Vegas, got an apartment, and found a job.  Sure, it was as a Hooters waitress, but girl - you got it together. 

One of the less fun things about being half of a whole is adopting other people's family traditions. 

Blake's family participates in the yearly picture Christmas card.  Not the family photo inserted into the thoughtful and tasteful card, but the pre-printed picture with generic "Happy Holidays from Us" greeting.  Perhaps justifiable when you've got adorable kids to decorate your card.  Less so when you're mid-twenties and childless with uncooperative pets.   

There were signs of this ritual from the beginning.  I noticed on my first trek into his parents home sometime mid-summer that the entire refrigerator was covered with picture cards depicting each individual branch of the family tree.  Then came the signs that my participation would be mandatory.  Our first Christmas together, Blake's mom presented me with a book of Blake's picture Christmas cards, from birth until present day, with lots of extra pages for years of cards to come.

I  folded to the pressure.  Last weekend, Blake's mom came through town with camera in tow for our picture card session.  Below are the favorite two.  All three of you who are still reading, (Mom, I'm talkin' to you!) let me know which you prefer.  In the meantime, I will be deciding between the traditional Christmas greeting, or perhaps something to add a little splash of diversity to the in-law's fridge. 

Ok, so I'm not the most patient person.   Sometimes this works in my favor.  Mostly, it makes me a little crazy. 

The husband and I recently decided to engage in a little home improvement project. Our house was a rental property for years before we moved in, and the carpet was heavily stained and smelled vaguely of cat pee.  Overwhelmed by  stench, we pulled up the carpet and hired someone to refinish the wood floors underneath.  We also decided it was probably the perfect time to paint the living room and the hallway.  Oh, and to rehang the closet doors.  And change all of the outlet covers and rehang the art.      

You would think that all of this sprucing up would please me to no end, but mostly all I did was fixate on What Else needed to be done.  There's that impatient thing - once I have started a task, like the living room,  it must be finished before I can move onto anything else.  Finished, and QUICKLY.

Which leads me to last Friday afternoon.  I was sitting on the couch in my pretty (almost finished) living room, books open, trying to concentrate on my homework.  Instead, I spent most of the afternoon staring at the blank living room wall, willing the shelves and paintings to perfectly arrange and hang themselves.  Blake had promised me that morning he would use his Man Tools to decorate my wall after work.  Nevertheless, I closed the books and set off to find some tools for hanging.

I settled on the few things I could gather around the house: a putty knife, a few nails, and a pair of pliers.  (The hammer, tragically, was in the garage with the dark and cold and spiders.)  I selected a nail and "hammered" it into the wall with the putty knife.  I hit a baseboard with about two inches of nail hanging out of the wall.  I pulled on the nail.  Stuck.  I tugged with the pliers.  Stuck.  I used the pliers, both hands, and all of my strength.  The nail and the pliers came flying back.  Into my forehead.               

I spent a couple of minutes kneeling on the (charming refinished) wood floor, head in hands, contemplating my next step.  "Wow," I thought, "I bet that will bruise!"  And just about then, I felt the blood gushing from the gaping hole in my face.   

Responsible young adult that I am, my first call was to the insurance company, to find out what they would pay for.  I went to the student health center, Kleenex pressed to head, for some liquid stitches. 

So for the past week, I have had a charming physical manifestation of my impatience  stamped across my forehead.  Just in time for the holidays! 

And yes, I did hang those damn pictures when I got home.   

Halloween was a complete, total success.  Mostly.

Friday we attended the yearly Halloween law school party, evidence at right.  I was an Indian and the husband was my cowboy.  What we lack in originality we made up for in authenticity - although he's the actual Indian, I had several off-the-reservation accessories.  He found some leather chaps in the closet leftover from his sixth grade stint with rope tricks.  (Yes, in the land of Will Rogers, this is a valid pastime.)

Tuesday night trick-or-treat was way better than expected.  I was a little last minute on the decorations, but I managed to create my spooky and realistic spider web in the tree by our door before dusk.  The husband, showing rare signs of holiday interest, dashed off to Blockbuster for some scary movies to set the mood.

We were not disappointed.  Clearly, the children of Norman are reading my blog, because they all came to our front door in a steady stream starting at 6:30.  By 7:45, we were growing concerned about our dwindling supply.  Blake rushed to the grocery store down the street, we replenished the candy bowl, and the doorbell promptly stopped ringing.  If someone doesn't tear this sack of Kit Kats out of my hand before finals hit, I will be homebound by Christmas.  On the plus side, that means more blogging!  On the down side, way less interesting adventures that do not involve chocolate and/or daytime TV.

I hope everyone had a lovely Halloween.  Just so you know, I've already changed out my jack-o-lantern hand towel for the brown one with the turkey, my witch and cat candlesticks for the autumn themed ones with the acorns, and there might just be a little metal turkey standing by my front door. 

And the spider web has mysteriously disappeared from my tree.  Blake swears it wasn't him, and I only very reluctantly remove decorations when forced.  I thought it might be an unruly passerby, but not a single string remains.  It's a mystery.

Spooky!