I was writing what I thought to be a veeeeeeeeery witty post about how the food store moved all of the alcohol-related products to the convenience aisle at the front of the store and tying this in to what sort of heinous Thanksgiving experiences lurk in the deepest corners of America for infertile men and women. And then we had the tantrum.

We're not an eight-days-of-gifts sort of family. In fact, we're not really a Chanukkah gift family at all. While others give the twins gifts on Chanukkah, we give our family gifts a few months later during the holiday of Purim. Instead, we focus our family traditions for the holiday around food and art projects.

We are the family you don't want to invite for Thanksgiving. I am a kosher vegetarian. The ChickieNob wants to dip everything in cranberry sauce and dribble it across your table. The Wolvog not only doesn't eat certain foods but he will not sit at the same table with those consuming salad, noodles, or cereal. Which leaves good old Josh. Perhaps you want to extend your invitation solely to him.

The President-Elect probably hadn't left Grant Park before the first slang terms started popping up in the Urban Dictionary. Even the Huffington Post grasped onto a concept that came into play that night--the baby boom predicted for August 2009--Obama Babies.

We should talk about this now because the Christmas decorations were in CVS even before the Halloween candy went to half price and Thanksgiving menus were being sketched out this week while electoral votes were being counted. Welcome to the lead up to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years--or a little time period I like to call the Infertility Minefield Trifecta.