After a three hours’ nap, DH and I landed not on Gilligan’s Island, but smack in the land of “get up at the crack of dawn and open presents!!!” I was really wanting to still be in the Land of Nod, let me tell you. I mean, I only wrapped the damn things a few hours before – let the tape at least lose its “rolled around the dispenser” look!
What can I say, Christmas and I never really got our mojo in synch this year. I was done with all my Christmas shopping for my kids by December 7th. And yet, I found myself awake at 2:18 am this morning, still cutting the paper too short to completely disguise the gifts. I really think wrapping paper should come with idiot lines on BOTH sides of the paper. You know, line up the candy canes or something. Make Rudolph’s noses line up in a neat little dot-to-dot pattern of straight cutting lines. My rolls of wrapping paper look like they’ve been manhandled by the preschoolers. And don’t even get me started on making curling ribbon behave. My masses of ribbons look a bit bedraggled and more straight than lovely – kindof puts me in mind of a Barbie doll’s hair after a few years of lovin’. You know, hints at potential beauty, but demonstrates way too much of the strong-arm approach. (Was I really the only child who cut her Barbie’s hair and broke her arms off? I mean, how the hell did you get her in those ridiculous outfits? And don’t even get me started on the shoes. Sheesh. Oh, and in case you are wondering, you cannot curl Barbie’s hair on a curling iron.)
And then, there is that rule around our house that all of Santa’s presents are wrapped in a different paper than the other presents. In theory, I agree with this. I mean, it stands to reason that the elves would not break into my house with the old man and wrap the presents. It would be fine with me if they did, especially if they did some dishes or vacuumed while they were over, but it so far has yet to happen. The one thing that does happen each and every year is I ask my husband if the gifts in the stocking really have to be wrapped? And the answer is always the same. “Yep.” Crap, I’ve got to talk him into “rock, paper, scissors” for all Christmas wrapping next year.
So, we’re up until the crazy hour of 2:35 am getting the pile of loot ready. It took precisely 40 minutes for them to reduce it all to the “day-after” rubble of the holiday.
I am almost relieved it’s over. I know, I need to whisper such heresies in a home full of Christmas true believers. Oh, I believe all right. It’s just that this year didn’t really work so well for me. Case in point, I got out the Christmas Advent calendar we have, but neglected to put the candy treats in it until December 20th. Kindof loses its purpose then, eh? And I got the garland, wreaths, and all the other doo-dads of Christmas fun out of the attic, but just didn’t get them put up. You know, like what’s the point after a certain date – say the 23rd? Just take ’em back up there until next year.
None of this is my fault though. Nope. It all falls squarely on my husband. We disgorged the attic of Christmas and he set about hanging the lights and such things outside. Part way through the fun, he realized that the LED lights on the bushes don’t match the LED lights on the eaves or the picket fence. HOLY LIGHTED TRAGEDY BATMAN, WHAT SHALL WE DO?!?!? So, he took them down.
Then the reindeer’s motors fizzled out on them so we had this zombie trio of metal reindeer in the front lawn looking like they must surely be suffering from spongiform encephalopathy. (Hey, how many times can you throw that into a conversation today?) So, he unplugged them and they’ve become the foundation for a lovely ice sculpture.
After shoveling a few times, the new candy cane lights are under a bank of snow in the front flower bed.
It’s pretty much a sure bet that we will not be making the Better Homes and Garden list this year. After all those disappointments, I just couldn’t get my Holiday Cheer to do much – like the “Ho! Ho! Ho!” was completely sucked of out my Jolly.
After feeling a bit sorry for myself over my basic festive failings, I just had my son come sprinting into the bathroom retching. It seems the new game Santa bestowed upon him makes him “car sick.”
Oh for pete’s sake people. I’m just about ready to start muttering “Bah Humbug.” If things don’t improve, I’m going to have to whip out the squirt cheese and the crackers, ’cause nothing says “Merry Christmas!” like a bottle of processed cheese and some Ritz!
The only consolation is that in another 340 days, I can give it another shot.
Perhaps I should run over to Costco and lay in a supply of squirt cheese and start plying myself in September or so. That should do the trick.
Merry Christmas to one and all. May you have all that you wish for and the people who matter to share in it with you. And may you get all the squirt cheese you can handle this year!