February is the month of Drinking Only Water & Taking a Picture Everyday.  I forgot about Drinking Only Water today, so I’ll go one extra day in March.  You can read about Sarah’s Month of Resolutions Idea here.

So, here’s picture 1.  I took this picture because we are trying to Baby Wise the Holls.  Don’t judge.  We feel like it’s the best way to get her to go to sleep on her own.  Anyway, it may be hard on a Mom’s heart to watch the monitor move to the red (that means she’s REALLY angry with us for leaving her), at least I have the peace of mind that she won’t be 16 and still wanting someone to rock her to sleep.

YES.  THANK YOU, SIR.

Anyway, 2009 = great.  I give it an…A-.  Which, if you’re a solid B/B- student (moi), you’ll find that to be quite satisfactory indeed.

But alas, on to 2010.  Which sounds so futuristic, right? I feel like a Jetson already.  Where’s my jet pack?

Today, I want to share a Christmas story with you.  It’s a bad Christmas story.  No Santa, no quiet meditations on Luke 2 by a crackling fire.  This is the story of how it took us 32 hours to drive from Amarillo to Birmingham.

Now, it normally take about 14 hours (give or take, depending on whether you’re driving with a certified lunatic [my father] who will not allow passengers to use the restroom, or an infant) to make this drive.  We made it in about 15 on the way there.  And friends, 15 hours in the car is no small potatoes.  It’s very large potatoes.  It’s a large helping of potato salad.  But, dear Lord, if we only knew what waited for us on the other end of our trip.

Christmas Eve, 7pm: We finished loading up the Kia Rondo (that’s right, we rented) with the truly absurd amount of things we accumulated on our trip and said a teary farewell to my family.  Well, I did anyway.  We started driving down Hwy 287.  We usually through Oklahoma, but Oklahoma was closed.  The whole state.  Because of the Great Snowpocalypse of 2009.  So, we thought we’d be clever and go around it.

Don’t get clever with Mother Nature.  She’s not interested in your cleverness.

Christmas Eve, 10:30pm: Childress, TX.  We stop to use el bano and I suggest we “just top off the tank.”  This move solidifies my awesomeness for years to come.

Christmas Eve, 11pm: Traffic stops.

Let me pause here and mention that it is icy.  And it snowed the day before.  But there is no reason for alarm.

Christmas Day, 12:01am: We decide to scour Twitter to see if we can find like-minded individuals who might be further along in traffic that can give us a heads-up about what MUST be a wreck or something.  Here is what we find:

“@TxDOT we have been onHWY287 4 over 8hrs.  PLs send help,food,water ASAP.”

“Stuck on HWY 287 outside WFalls. We’re never getting out of here.”

“Can any1 see what’s going on with HWY 287?”

Despair.  Despair.  Despair.

We tweet with some people that are further up in traffic.  They have apparently been sitting in the EXACT same position for going on 8 hours already.  WHAT?  At this point, we raise our fists to the heavens and curse Doppler Dave for COMPLETELY NEGLECTING to inform ANYONE that HWY 287 is apparently closed for business.

Christmas Day, 2am: Not much has changed, except our spirits aren’t great.  We silently consider eating one another.

Christmas Day, 4am: We keep cranking the car, warming it up and then shutting her down again to conserve gas.

Christmas Day, 6am: We have to pee.  We are in the part of Texas where it’s flat.  If you pee, everyone around you is gonna get a show.

Christmas Day, 8am: We move!  Oh Sweet LORD!  We are movi-ok.  That’s it.  That’s all we moved.

Christmas Day, 10am: The infant we are traveling with (did you forget about the 4 month old newborn in the

backseat?) decides she’s angry.  And she’s had enough.  I envy her ability to throw a tantrum.  And to wear a diaper and pee at will.

Christmas Day, 2pm: We are moving.  We move.  Oh, I’m so happy.  We still have to pee.  So much.  Aaaaaand we stop.  About the length of a football field.  I now have the understanding that I will certainly die on this road that God forgot.

Christmas Day, 3pm: Ben gives in and trespasses on someone’s property to pee.  He returns as Moses would.

Christmas Day, 4pm: The family in front of us finds a dead mouse in the snow.  They play with it.  We contemplate eating them.

Christmas Day, 5pm: Great day in the morning.  We finally move.  There are so many cars abandoned on the road.  So many jack-knifed semis.  All Ben can say is: “It’s like the apocalypse.”   We learn around now that we were a part of a 50 mile long string of traffic.  We also learn that many people went crazy and took golf clubs to their side mirrors.  Again, I envy these people who operate with complete emotional abandon.

Christmas Day, 5:30pm: We reach a rest stop.  So has the rest of the world.  It’s a one bathroom.  The girl in front of me fights down her gag reflex.  I sacrifice dignity, hygiene, and self-respect and use what could loosely be referred to as a “restroom.”  There is freedom in an empty bladder.  I vow never to drink water or any liquid ever again.

Christmas Day, 6pm: We stop at some chicken place to eat.  We’re so hungry, yet dazed.  Are we still in Texas?  It’s been almost 24 hours and we’re not even out of Texas.  We eat chicken.  Holland gets pouty.

The Day After Christmas, 3am: We arrive home.  We stumble inside.  The baby is completely dazed.  She has no idea what’s become of her life.  We share her sentiment.

It’s a funny story now.  All told, it took us about 32 hours to make it all the way home.  And we really did not get the worst of it, as friends of ours traveled the same road the next day and flipped their car three times.  Awful.

The great part about this is that we can look back at Holland’s First Christmas and know with great certainty that she can’t possibly ever have a worse Christmas than her first.  There’s nowhere to go but up.

Knock on wood.

Just kidding!  With a final count of 11 votes for Baby A & 7 votes for Baby B, I have emerged victorious.  That’s right.  Baby A is me and Baby B is Ben.  I win.

As promised, I went to here and allowed them to choose a number for me.  I had 15 comments, and they selected the number three: My good friend, the Sass.

That’s right.  The Sass.  Sassy Mac.  The Sass-a-nator.  Ole ChiliDawg.  Reesey-Piecey.  The last two I made up.  But whatever.  I wish her nickname was Ole ChiliDawg.  Sarah Mac was born in Jackson, Mississippi to famous song-and-dance duo Bob-n-Kay.  Bob-n-Kay were legendary for the dancing tricks they performed while singing old gospel hymns.  Most extraordinary was the “Plate Trick,” where Bob would take a long, thin stick, balance a spinning plate on top, balance Kay on TOP of the spinning plate, all while singing “Go Tell It on the Mountain” in perfect unison.

Bob-n-Kay hung up their performing hats when little Sarah arrived.  There was talk of adding the wee one to the “Plate Trick,” but ultimately, it was decided that Sarah needed a grounded upbringing, sans being a celebrity baby in world of Gospel song and dance duos.

Sarah was a bright child, always interested in the world around her and curious.  This led to her acceptance and subsequent graduation from MIT at the tender age of 8.  It seemed that despite Bob-n-Kay’s best efforts, Sarah would not live the life of an unknown; she was destined for greater things.

As much as little Sarah excelled in Planetary Sciences (her post doctoral work for MIT included the study of Exo-Solar Planets and Brown Dwarfs), she felt drawn to the field that ultimately brought her parents together.  Eager to add her name to the long and storied roster of plate spinners, she knew the only place that was worthy of such a plate-spinning pedigree as hers was the Chinese National Plate Spinning Troupe.  Torn between her love of country and her deep, heartfelt desire to perform, she hid in a wooden crate being sent to Shenyung, China and relocated to pursue her dreams.  Little Sarah lived in China for four years, learning the mystical art of Chinese Plate Spinning.  You can view a video of Sarah in traditional Chinese costume, spinning plates to the delight of millions here.

After spending some time as an undercover spy for the Intergalactic League of Galaxies, Sarah Mac moved back home to Mississippi.  Yearning for the simple life after years of high-risk shenanagins and balancing plates for audiences, she bought a trailer/hot dog stand, selling hot dogs to the crowds of people who flocked to Mississippi to see the birthplace of Rogue from X-Men.

During that time, Sarah wrote the following works of literature:
Pride & Prejudice, under the pen name Jane Austen
Don Quixote, under the pen name Miguel Cervantes
The Da Vinci Code, under the pen name Dan Brown
Everyone Poops, under the pen name Taro Gomi
The First Two Twilight books, under the pen name Stephanie Meyer

Sarah Mac now serves on the President’s Council for Methane-Produced Oxide & Obesity-Powered Energy Resources (MPOOPER), is a member of Mensa (along with Sharon Stone), and is currently said to be heading the development of a much-anticipated movie project with Ron Howard and Brian Grazer;  Arrested Development: The Movie.

You should check out Sarah’s blog that she keeps with none other than the Berge, That’s What She Said.  There you can learn ever more about the great enigma that is Sassy Mac.

Some people (I won’t say who) might think (are fixated on the fact) that Holls looks more like Ben (they are obviously wrong).  And some people might know that she looks like me.  And I can’t help it that they are right.

I have no idea why I get incredibly offended when people say she looks like Ben.  Clearly, she is half of him, so it stands to reason that she might look at least a little bit like him.  But it irks me.  There is no current research being done on my craziness.

But anyway, deciphering who a baby looks more like is not mere guesswork.  Through the miracle of technology, you can see our own baby pictures and decide for yourself.  And I’m provided you with just that opportunity.  Lucky you.

So, here’s the deal.  Below are two pictures (Picture A and Picture B).  One picture is of Ben, and one is of me; I won’t tell you which (although you will obviously choose me).  Your job is to choose which picture looks more like Holls (Picture C).  Leave a comment with your now highly formed opinion and we’ll see who wins.  I’ll even randomly choose a comment-or and write a post about how awesome they are.  I swear.  Even if they vote against me (which they will obviously not do, since it flies in the face of logic and common sense).

So…what do you think?

This is Picture A. ↑

This is Picture B.  ↑

And here is Picture C.  ↑

And here’s another pic of Holls, closer to the time the other pics were taken (Picture D), just to be sure.  ↑

Ok.  Vote away.