Something kris kringle crazy happened to me this Christmas. I was completely satisfied. Get. over. myself. I’m serious.
For the first time, 3 year-old Dylan was understanding and buying this whole big, overweight guy in a red suit is breaking into our apartment and bringing you gifts thing. Solid. Christmas eve, she dictated a letter to Santa. It read, “Thank you for the gifts. I would like a kitchen in a box. Watch out for the mouse traps.” We left St. Nicky skim milk and low fat animal crackers. If the guy has a heart attack, it won’t be on our backs.
Turns out wrapping gifts in newspaper (although totally eco-friendly) looks completely ghetto. Plus it leaves nasty newsprint all over everyone’s hands. Nothing jingle or jolly about it. Must find cool recycled wrapping paper option for next year’s festivities.
Plus, Santa somehow forgot to put the kitchen set together the night before. God, no one is full service anymore. So tired, draggin’ Rick had to pick up the Santa slack on xmas morning. Still, Dylan was in holiday heaven opening all her gifts and (when no one was looking) Summer’s presents too. And Summer was blissfully climbing on the half-assembled kitchen set and smittenly gazing at her pop. Could everyone really be this happy? Where’s the morning meltdown?
Then we drove to Connecticut to visit my family. Not a smidge of traffic. Not even a slight slow down from 65 mph to 60 mph because some guy is pulled over, taking a whiz on the side of the highway. Nothing. Speaking of urine (such a gee-ross word), I had to pee twice on the 2 hour drive. 3 year-old Dylan, only once. That gal has better bladder control than her mother. Or maybe, she didn’t drink a grande skim mocha just as we got onto the West Side Highway.
I just ADORE Starbucks for being open on the holiday. Oh, don’t feel sorry for the baristas. I wished them a very chipper, cheery Merry Christmas. Come on, I’m sure they make time and a half. Don’t they?!
On the drive, we also learned that age old baby proverb to be true, “If your 1 year-old is too quiet in the back, she is probably eating a chocolate flavored lip smacker.” And the lesser known addendum, “She will be very angry when you attempt to take the lip smacker away and substitute it with a different food source.” But Summer, in the spirit of the holiday, quickly got over it. Because apparently, as my brother-in-law Erik like to say, that’s how she rolls.
The remainder of the day just kept going like that. Presents. Laughter. Cocktails. Yummy eats. Chocolate mint brownies. More good times with funny, fabulous family. I was practically nauseous from all the happiness. These aren’t the holidays I remember. I guess the tinsel times they are a changin’. I think I’ll roll with it.
mama bird notes
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