Down the rabbit hole

auld

The last NZ post will be simmering until later this week.

But I HAVE to post something today (New Year’s Eve) because it’s the 6th anniversary of (drum roll please…) my very first blog post.

Tada!!

Quite honestly, I didn’t think I had one years worth of words in me let alone six!

Also, AGMA just went over 5000 followers this month.  That’s kinda of a big milestone too (for me.)  Although, I’m not really sure where most of them are since there are only about 40 or 50 AWESOME folks who actually read and comment on AGMA posts.

And because you are reading this, YOU, my friends, ARE freakin’ AWESOME!

Because it’s New Years Eve (in the US that is), there will be many (probably very poorly sung) renditions of Auld Lang Syne in the closing hours of 2019.  People who’ve had too many adult beverages will be hanging all over partners, dates, family and/or friends, crying, with snotty noses, and really screwing up the words to this traditional Scottish ballad.

So what exactly does “auld lang syne” mean?  Inquiring minds…

According to the source of all wisdom and knowledge, Wikipedia, “the poem’s Scots title may be translated into standard English as ‘old long since’ or, more idiomatically, ‘long long ago’,’days gone by’, or ‘old times’. Consequently, ‘For auld lang syne’, as it appears in the first line of the chorus, might be loosely translated as ‘for the sake of old times’.”

A couple of nights ago, AGMA fell down the “days gone by” “for the sake of old times” rabbit hole.

I decided to clean out my plastic bin full of old Christmas cards.

Yes, I had a bin full of old Christmas cards.  Doesn’t everybody?

Being certain I had just cleaned the bin out a few years ago, I dove in, pulling out any Christmas letters and photographs or photo cards.  I’m saving those.

It would take time to explain…

What became very clear to me was that AGMA had NOT cleaned out the bin a few years ago.  Unless you consider finding cards from back to 2006 “a few years ago”.

I’m fairly certain that some of the years in between got thrown out in a previous purge.  There wasn’t 13 years worth of cards in the bin.  Maybe only 9 or 10.

Yeah – there were a sh*tload of cards.

But when I started sorting through the cards, I felt the stings of my crusty AGMA heart being pulled.

There were cards/letters/pictures from:

  • people I had totally forgotten about (that made AGMA sad.)
  • people no longer with us like Al, hubs very first manager way back in the 70’s, my Uncle Harry,  and my old high school bestie, Ann (that made me really sad)
  • people who were once happily married, but are no longer (married and/or happy)
  • people who don’t speak to me now because we have opposing political views like my cousin Bob, my brother, and many of my former suburban “mom” friends from Ohio (only makes me semi-sad)
  • people who were incredibly important to me (and I to them) for a season, but that season has long passed, and we no longer exchange holiday greetings
  • people who were the picture of health, but have since been ravaged by illness and, in some cases, dementia
  • people who sent pictures of their children’s graduation from high school who are now sending pictures of their grandchildren
  • people who were one Christmas card people for various reasons

Total rabbit hole.  I was up in the attic for several hours.

I even found a copy of the letter we sent out in Christmas cards in 1990!  I read over it and thought, “Damn…that was a fast 29 years!”

“Time flies, and then you die” is a quote I heard years ago and have never really gotten out of my head.

Short and not so sweet, it gets to the heart of the matter…  We only go around once; there are no redos.

So, AGMA wants all you freakin’ awesome folks to make everyday of 2020 count – especially if you are NOT aging gracefully like me!

Jump off a building (attached to some sort of a safety device of course); do a zip line; travel someplace that makes you uncomfortable (but maybe not to an active volcano); eat strange food (like a whitebait fritter for Thanksgiving); love on your loved ones so they KNOW, without a doubt that you love them; get your second tattoo (or your first); listen to music that is not genre you normally listen to; get rid of stuff that has been in boxes for years; make friends with somebody who looks different than you; do goat yoga once; make time to meditate (on whatever you want) each day; make phone calls or write letters/emails/tweets to your elected officials to tell them what they are doing right OR wrong; give money (if you can afford it) to organizations who support causes you believe in (NOT a tRump charity please!!); get a new hairstyle/cut/color(s); go to a museum in the town you live in that you’ve never been to before…

Well – you get the idea!

AGMA’s just happy I’ve stuck with this little blog for six years! It’s brought me more joy than I could have ever imagined.  And ya’ll have given me, thought your comments and posts, the gift of YOU, which is most precious indeed!

Thank you from the bottom of my sometimes crusty, but always loving (shhhh – don’t tell anybody, it could ruin my reputation) heart!

Here’s to days gone by and all the days yet ahead in 2020!

Happy New Year!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

V

big-apple

American Boomers, do you remember the old television show That Was The Week That Was? A 1960‘s precursor to the Saturday Night Live news segment, the show would take the news from the previous week and put a satirical, humorous spin on it. And back in the 60’s, there was a lot going on.

Like now.

But aside from the insanity, drama, joy and tragedy of our crazy world that has dominated the headlines in the past week, each one of us has our own personal story of the week’s insanity, drama, joy and tragedy.

At least that’s true for AGMA.

And for me, it’s been mostly joy. Immense joy.

I HAVE A GRANDDAUGHTER!!

My strong, future President of a granddaughter, V, made her appearance 8 days early on October 30th – much to the delight of her mother who was pretty much over feeling like a whale… Weighing in at a decent 7 lbs 7 ozs, she is a carbon copy of her 22 month old brother when he was a newborn. This bodes well for her because he’s a cutie patootie.

But then AGAM’s hardly unbiased in these things.

And for all you Cubs fans – a World Series observation…

My little V was born last Sunday in Chicago to a household 10 blocks away from Wrigley Field. On that very day, the Cubs got a desperately needed win over the Indians to stay alive in the Series. On Tuesday, the Cubs won again to even the Series. And of course, we all know what happened on Wednesday…

Cubs win, Cubs win, Cubs win!

Coincidence that the Cubs did nothing but win after V was born? AGMA doesn’t think so…

You can thank me later Cubs fans.

I get to meet V on Monday.  I can’t wait to make her acquaintance! And see her big brother again who charms the socks off of me.

In the meantime, AGMA has just a little task to accomplish between now and Monday.

I’m at 12,000 feet right now as I write this, winging my way to the city that never sleeps. The Big Apple. The jewel of the Empire State.  Home of Jerry Seinfeld.

New York City.

It’s been 17 years since I’ve been to New York City, and that was a quick 24 hour in and out to take my son, V’s daddy, on a college visit. The last time I spent more than a day in NYC was in 1976.

I’m betting things have changed since then.

But AGMA’s going to do it up right this time and visit all 5 Burroughs. The hard way.

God willin’ and the crick don’t rise, 49,999 of my closest friends and I will be running in the New York City Marathon on Sunday.

Pray for me…

Because I’m slow and in the last corral to take off, and we set our clocks back on Saturday night, if I finish, it will be 5:30 PMish and dark. The first wave of runners will have already finished, showered and had a meal even before I even start running.

WTF?

But that’s okay. I think it’s going to be one huge party, and AGMA’s always loved a party! And because I’m slow, I just get to enjoy it longer.

And on Monday morning, I’ll hobble onto a plane to meet the first of the next generation of strong women in my family, my sweet V.

And when history is made the next day, Tuesday, November 8, 2016, and a woman is elected President of the already great United States of America, you’ll ask, “Coincidence?”

I don’t think so…

I pledge allegiance to the Conch Republic

conch-republic

My husband and I just spent a long weekend in Margaritaville.  Yippee.  He was a Key West virgin – this was his first visit.  This was my third visit, but I don’t think the first two really counts.

I was 16 and traveling with my parents on my first visit back in the late 60’s.  Do I have to explain any more?  A visit to any place even remotely fun is automatically negated when you travel with your parental units.  Especially mine.  Especially in the late 60’s.

My dad & step-mother were 41 years older than me.  So it was worse than traveling with your parents.  It was like traveling with your grandparents.  And grandparents were way different in the 1960’s than they are now.

Lots of grandparents are cool now.  I’m a grandma and I’m cool.  It’s a Baby Boomer thing…  We’re terrified of getting old so we act cool.  Goldie Hawn is 69 and the grandmother of five.  Her grandkids call her Glamma.  I bet she’s loads of fun to travel with!

Not so grandparents in the 1960’s.  Or grandparent-aged people.  Or maybe it was just my parents.

First of all, we drove from Pittsburgh down to Key West.  All the way…  Just my parents and I with the car radio on grandparent-type music.  And as if that wasn’t bad enough, my dad wore mid-calf high socks with his sandals.  Everyday.   Bedtime was 10 PM and we ALL had to go to bed.  Then we ALL got back up at dawn.  And after breakfast every morning, we’d go back to the motel room and just sit for 30 minutes doing nothing so my dad could spend his daily time in the “library”.   To a 16 year old, it was sheer misery.

I know that Key West was very different back in the late 60’s but the trauma of the trip has pretty well erased my memory.  But  I do remember a very quaint town, small 1 1/2 lane roads and walking in the sand beside the road.  No sidewalks.  I’m sure there were fun things to do there back then, but that would have been way too self-indulgent for us.  Our house was where fun came to die so why should it be any different on vacation?

Yeah, I’m pretty sure that the first visit doesn’t count.

My second visit was for about five hours six years ago.  I was on a cruise with a friend and Key West was one of the stops.  It was fun and we did as much as we could do in five hours.  Then we sailed away.  So the second visit really didn’t count either.

Which brings us up to this past weekend…  We had a great time watching the sunsets, visiting the Hemingway House & lighthouse, eating seafood & key lime pie, and indulging in some adult beverages.  Probably more adult beverages than we should have.

And surprise, surprise – we found out that Key West seceded from the U.S.  For ten minutes.  In 1982.  The Conch Republic.   Too long to explain but you can read about the bravery of the Key West “troops” here.  Crazy, fun stuff.  I like that spirit.

Fast forward to 2015.  Yeah – we had fun in Key West, but it wasn’t the most amazing time ever.  Not even close.  I think things have changed a lot since Jimmy Buffet lived there.  Since Key West seceded.  Accommodations were incredibly expensive with little value for the $$.  At least where we stayed.  There was concrete everywhere.  And bikes and scooters and little electric cars with bad drivers.  Drinks were cheap if you did happy hour, but everything else was pricey.  Very pricey.

Maybe we waited a bit too late in our lives to go.  Getting so drunk every night that you puke has kind of lost much of it’s wonder & charm for us.  We liked watching the sunset in the state park where it was quiet, sandy and green rather than on all concrete Mallory Square.  ADHD sunset there with crowds of tourists, loud musicians competing with each other, and tired street performers all vying for tips.

Maybe we’ve become “where fun comes to die” people.  Nah – we’re too cool for that…

But I’m glad I finally got to really visit Key West.  I’m sure it was amazing in the 70’s and 80’s.  It’s just become a victim of it’s own success as happens so often with charming, quirky places.  They’ve lost much of their authenticity.  But you could see tiny glimpses of what Key West used to be like, and that was at once wonderful and sad.

Long live the spirit of the Conch Republic wherever you are!

The paradox of the neck waddle

fat-personal-trainer

AGMA’s been quiet lately.  No posts.  No reading of any of her favorite bloggers.  No comments made or answered.  I hate that.

But all my time and energy for the past few weeks has been focused on something that I needed to get out of the way.  Like seriously get out of the way.

Last September, I signed up for personal trainer certification program.  Somewhat ironic and absurd since I’ve never had any interactions with a personal trainer in my life.  And it has been years and years since I’ve been to a gym.  You can kind of tell by looking at me.  Okay, you can definitely tell…

“Why then?” you might well ask.  There is a method to AGMA’s madness.  This time at least.

As a therapeutic massage therapist/bodyworker – the legit kind – I need to be able to give my clients corrective exercises that will stretch the over-active (tight) muscles and strengthen the under-active (weak) ones.  Legally.

Ah – there’s the rub… (no pun intended)

Massage-world trivia you didn’t know and couldn’t care less about – assigning corrective exercises to clients is out of a massage therapist’s “scope of practice”.  At least in the US.  No can do.  Nah baby nah.  AGMA could get into some seriously hot water if she gives out an exercise and her client get’s hurt doing it.  And complains to the Georgia Board of Massage Therapy.  And sues AGMA.  Boiling water.

Giving corrective exercises is definitely in the scope of practice for a CPT (certified personal trainer.)  The light begins to dawn…

AGMA likes to follow the rules.  Most of the time.  And she likes to help her clients as much as she can.  Hence the CPT journey by the woman who looks least likely to simply go to a personal trainer, let alone be one.  Life is strange.

I had six months to complete the book/online course and take the exam.  My drop dead date was March 11th.  After that date, I would have to pony up an additional $600 for another go at it.  $600 is almost a round trip ticket to Dublin.  Thank God I have my priorities straight.

I took the test on March 10th.  Of course. No need to rush these things.

While I did all of the reading and online videos spread out over the past six months, the last few weeks have been spent exclusively cramming for my test.  Well…and doing the other very basic “stuff” that one needs to do to simply survive each day.  Work, eat, sleep, Skype with my grandson, watch The Big Bang Theory…

When I first started really seriously studying, I almost gave up.  It seemed neurologically impossible for me to store that much information in an already over-stuffed, under-active, aging brain.  For one brief instant, contrary to her nature, AGMA wanted to quit.

But $600 is a big motivator.

So I crammed.  And I did the online flash cards and the practice tests.  I condensed key information on study sheets.  And would pull out the study sheets at stop lights to review.  Did I mention I can get a bit manic?  You may have guessed that by now.

It worked.  I passed.  Yippee.

I can now proudly put CPT behind my name along with LMT, MBA.  Oh – and BS too. The BS is probably the only one that truly captures AGMA’s essence.

So here I am.  A paradox.  A 60 something woman with a thick mid-section, cellulite infested thighs, flabby, jiggly upper arms, and a substantial neck waddle who is now a personal trainer.

Truth is indeed stranger than fiction.

But I’m inspired.  The day after I passed my test, I resolved to lose 25 lbs.  And I threw down the gauntlet in a very public way.  I put it out there on Facebook for the world to see.  Or at least the 20 or so people who actually follow my FB posts.

Today is the third day of tracking calories.  Ugh.  I’m using MyFitnessPal.com and their Android app.  It allows you to  scan the barcodes of food with your phone camera and capture all the nutritional information.  It makes tracking what you eat easy peasy.

Damn.

Scanning the barcodes is fun ’cause I’m pretty easily amused.  But actually seeing how many calories, how much sugar and how much fat are in the foods that I have been eating isn’t so much fun.

It explains a lot.

I’m sure a new, svelte AGMA is right around the corner.  Or down the block.  Or maybe in the next town over.  We’ll see…

I’m just glad the I passed the test, get hang with my blogging buds once again and can afford go back to Dublin!  At the end of the month.

How many calories are in a Guinness again?

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

My last __________ (fill in the blank)

memory-foam-mattress-for-babys-crib11

We got new bedroom furniture last month.  Our first set dates back to 1976.  Yeah – I’d say we got our money’s worth out of that furniture…

Actually, the only piece from that original set we still own is a nightstand.  The rest abandoned us over the years.

Everything else in our bedroom before last month was rather a la carte.  An antique oak chest of drawers and dresser that we used in our children’s nursery in the early 80’s.  A two year old fabric headboard from Tuesday Morning.  A chair from our early 90‘s living room set.  A computer desk from the pre-laptop era.

Martha Stewart would be horrified.

I got a wild hair after Christmas and decided I didn’t want the “college student” motif anymore.  The only thing we were missing was the cinder block and unfinished board bookshelves.  My husband, who doesn’t even notice that we have bedroom furniture, miraculously agreed.  What a guy…

Now I know that there are BIG problems in this world, the least of them being whether or not I have a matching bedroom set.  And I kind of feel guilty about that.  I hate spending money on such highly personal indulgences.  But I did order it from Costco sight unseen.

That’s got to balance out the karma somehow.

Of course, the spending didn’t stop at the furniture.  We had to buy all new bedding to go with our fancy new, matching furniture.  Naturally.

And my husband insisted on new pillows.  He drools when he sleeps.  A lot.  Gross.  I put his nasty old pillow in the trash this morning.

The last thing to check off the list of wild, unbridled, post-holiday spending – a new mattress.  Of course.

Have you been mattress shopping lately?

Once upon a time, your only mattress choices were between how many coils you wanted and the firmness.  Oh yeah, and there were waterbeds too.   But….seriously?  I never thought I had a robust enough sex life for a waterbed.  Plus I was always afraid I’d flood the house.  And electrocute myself.

Today, there are hundreds of mattress choices.  Cool foam, warm foam, firm gel, mushy gel, cold air, hot air, water pockets, traditional coil, bamboo “green” non-toxic, and countless hybrids of all of the above.

Another Chinese plot to bring down the US?

We seriously considered a newfangled foam/gel mattress.  But I had nightmares of sinking down into the foam until it swallowed me up and you couldn’t even see my imprint.  I think there was a Twilight Zone with a plot like that.  With people with pig faces.  Scary.

At the mattress store, my husband told the salesman that this would probably be our “last “ mattress.

Whoa now buddy!  What the heck….  What’s all this ”last” mattress talk??   As in “last” mattress in the house we’re currently living in (meaning we’ll be moving?)  Or “last” traditional mattress we buy?  No, I’m pretty sure he meant “last” as in last before we die.

D-I-E.   What the hell?

Speak for yourself.

The mattress we just retired was 13 years old.  I’m 61 years old.  Our new mattress (NOT foam/gel) has a 10 year warranty.  That puts me at 71.  Yeah – I think I’m probably good for at least one more mattress after this one.

Maybe my husband is trying to tell me something.

But it got me thinking…  I’m pretty sure this will be our last set of bedroom furniture. And our washer and dryer are about 20 years old.  When we replace them, I’m certain they will be our last as well.  It’s strange – it just seems like yesterday we were buying our “first”.

Time flies when you’re having fun.

Maybe this will be our “last” mattress.  Nothing medically would indicate that, but you just never know.  None of us do, even you younger sprites.  Happy thought indeed…

Personally, I’m still looking forward to all the “firsts” that are still out there.  First trip to India, first zipline in a rainforest, first sub-six hour marathon, first hug from my grandson, first appearance on Ellen, first movie deal from AGMA…

Okay – maybe a few of them are a stretch.

But it’s what AGMA’s all about; big dreams no matter how many candles are on your birthday cake.

I just want mine to be dark chocolate with buttercream icing!

Real time observations on eCoupling

eharmonyruler

I’m back in my favorite coffee shop.

The craziness of the past couple of months (grandkid’s birth, Rome, crazy mother-in-law trip, grandkid visit, 1st marathon) has limited the time I’ve been able enjoy the convivial atmosphere of Prancing Oats.  I’ve changed the name to protect the innocent. Makes it sounds more like a petulant health food store than a coffee shop.

Normally, I come here to write AGMA stuff.  It’s a routine.  I get my mocha and scone, sit at a window high top table and let it fly… Or dribble out.

Today I came to study.  My Certified Personal Trainer exam is coming up in – yikes – two weeks.  I am sooo not ready.  I’m convinced that my brain is running out of room.

Everybody here is usually as quiet as a mouse.  With tilted, forward heads and excessively rounded shoulders, they’re normally all silently tapping away at their lap tops.  Sorry about that…I have postural dysfunction on the brain.  Anyway, it’s generally a good place to come if you need to concentrate.

Not today.

Today, I’m pretty sure I have a eHarmony couple sitting next to me.  They’ve done nothing but talk for the last 40 minutes.  Non-stop.  It’s a 3 person table.  I feel like their chaperone.  We’ll call them Dick and Jane.  No Sally.

It got really hard for me to focus on the eight reasons for flexibility training and what the the lengthened muscles are in Pronation Distortion Syndrome.  Non-stop talking.  So now I’m blogging.  I feel compelled to share my observations about modern day coupling as I see it happening in front of me.

Sadly, I don’t think they’re going to make it.  Dick seems to be much more interested in Jane than she is in him.  It sounds like a job interview.  He’s asking questions and she’s dutifully answering them.  While Dick’s volunteered a lot of information, I don’t think Jane’s asked him a single question.  So sad.

We have gone over Jane’s education (two bachelors degrees), what she likes to drink at a coffee shop (coffee in the AM, tea in the PM), what she does now (a nurse), where she’s lived (I think I got 5 minutes of good study in – I don’t remember), where she’s traveled (mostly domestic, but a trip to France in high school), what TV shows she likes (guilty pleasures like The Bachelor), what movies she likes (Fried Green Tomatoes is her favorite, but she likes inspirational sports movies like Rudy), what shows she’s seen (not much lately but she saw Wicked in LA), what her politics are (progressive), what she does in her free time (a runner – yeah!) and what her music tastes are (loves country music on Pandora. Doesn’t use Spotify.) They both agreed they love the singer/songwriters who play at Eddies Attic.

That’s nice.

Quite honestly, I wanted to jump into their conversation. Wouldn’t they have just loved that?  When Jane started railing about Georgia not approving the Medicare provision of Obamacare, I wanted to tell her I totally agree with her.  When she said she’d run three marathons, I wanted to tell her about mine.  When Dick asked her about the snowman in Frozen, I wanted to say he was comic relief.  And I wanted to agree with them about Eddies Attic.

Dick’s gone now and Jane’s back to studying.  I think she’s going for her Masters in Nursing.  They hugged before he left and talked about getting together “sometime”.  No plans were made.  Yeah – been there, done that.  Doomed…

I find myself wishing the best for each one.  They both seemed like really nice, intelligent, socially-conscious Millennials.  Actually, they seemed to have pretty much in common.

But…

From personal experience of many, many moons ago, I know that you have to feel that special spark.  It’s an energy thing.  Mr. eHarmony can match people online based on interests and whatever other criteria he uses, but there is no substitute for good old fashioned heart thumping and breathless face to face attraction.  I’m a bit flush thinking about it.  Oh my…

Good luck Dick and Jane!  I hope you both find that special person.  Just be careful who you sit beside when you meet or you might find your liaison out on the blogosphere for the world to see.

Oops – too late!

My Life Is Perfect

BoastingXmas

Yesterday, I finished “the” Christmas letter.

You know – it’s the letter that gets stuffed in selected Christmas cards to let your far away friends and family know how amazingly wonderful your life was the past year.  And how brilliant and successful your children continue to be as fully grown adults.

These letters are like the TV show Survivor.  They involve playing the game.  You wait to write your letter until you’ve received several others to see how much you have to “one-up” them.  But if you wait too long, your card and letter arrives after Christmas and you just look like a pathetic loser.  Timing is everything.  It’s eat or be eaten.

I don’t send a Christmas letter in every card.  Because of social media, most of my friends already know that my life is spectacular and my children are wildly, hopelessly successful.  The letters are so that everybody else who ISN’T digitally plugged-in can know that as well.  And just how drab and sad their lives are in comparison.

I’m just spreading the cheer…

Some people are on the cusp.  It’s the  “should I or shouldn’t I” dilemma with some folks who intentionally keep a low profile on social media.  They’re stalkers.  They don’t have the gonads to actually post anything, but they want to read all about you. Chicken sh*t stalkers.

My new motto is, “When in doubt, send it out!”  If I’m not absolutely sure they know about how much more fantabulous my life and kids are than theirs, the letter get’s stuffed.  Something to bring a little ray of sunshine into their dreary, mundane existence

Okay – the above is a bit tongue-in-cheek.  Maybe a lot.  But not the chicken sh*t stalker part…    I was actually channeling some of the people who send us Christmas letters.  You know – the eye-rolling kind of letters that make you wonder why neither they nor their kid(s) have been selected as Time’s Person of the Year yet because they’ve done everything but discover the cure for cancer.  No question that will happen in 2015 – or so they tell us.

Perfect family, perfect job, perfect life.  Yeah, right.  And I have some prime land in Florida to sell that you would love.  Cheap.

Are there Chanukah letters in Chanukah cards?  What about Ramadan?  Do Muslims send out Ramadan cards and if they do, do they include stuff like “my kid got a work promotion and is now a Vice President” news tidbits in a note?

I hope not.

It’s actually kind of sad.  It was one thing to write about your kid making the varsity soccer team when he was in high school.  It’s entirely a different thing to be doing the same type of thing when your “kid” is 35.  I always think that something important is missing from their lives to make them continue to live vicariously through their children and have to annually announce their perceived accomplishments.

But figuring out what that is, is out of my scope of practice.  All I can do is write my letter.  It usually includes tiny blurbs about my adult kids.  They’re doing great for which I am very thankful, but I have no desire to toot that horn ad nauseam at this point in my life.  It’s mostly about my husband and I, and how we are navigating this early winter season of our life.  More introspective than in the past. Less ego.

Tell the truth, shame the devil AGMA…  Yeah – okay, I did put in that I took three great trips this year and that I’m going to be a grandma in the next week.

THE NEXT WEEK!

Oops- again, did I say that out loud?

So I can’t wait to write my Christmas letter next year to tell everybody how little babyAGMA is so advanced for his age, and is talking and walking and potty trained and is already being recruited to play football by a major D1 college team.

And how everybody else’s grandkid is just a big loser.

I just love the holidays!