Christmas Eve

-


I am trying to type this blog without err.  I have a cat on my lap (Trouble), curled up and sleeping.  How he snoozes while I wobble my arms to type on this laptop which adorns my knee caps is beyond me.  But he looks content.  My one and only girl kitty, Littlefoot snoozes beside me.  Her hind paws graze my thigh.  I am completely uncomfortable, but I feel loved.

Lloyd is picking up some last minute foods in preparation for tomorrows Christmas dinner.  Downstairs the boom box is playing all the Christmas jams you can expect from 99.1 KGGI.  Those hip hop Christmas tunes.  The presents are all wrapped.  The tree is twinkling, and as I look outside I see the lights from our home inter-mingled with the neighbors.  It's lovely.  If I wasn't so uncomfortable, I might feel at complete peace, like these 2 sleeping cats.

In a few hours my niece will be here.  We will be making tamales.  My first time ever.  Yup- it seems a daunting task.  But how fun.  How fun to have my kitchen that can get messy and no one will care.  This kitchen I pay for each month as the mortgage bill comes.  I will scowl as I look at my mortgage, but I will smile as I roll out the corn husks.  I will giggle with glee as I steam my first tamale.  I will crinkle my eyes as I stare at them and ponder their taste.  I am happy, and this makes that monthly mortgage payment oh-so-worth it.  This is my house.  My mess.  My tamales.  First ever.

The tables are laid out and.  I have my seating chart arranged.  Always the seating chart.  Age groups, interests, personalities.  This is how my chart is organized.  I like writing out the chart.  It is my type A personality.  Side note.  I am so flippin' uncomfortable right now. 

The tables need their dressings.  They need the tablecloths, the cutlery, the napkins I made from previous curtains.  They need the napkin rings that I fashioned last year from shower curtain rings.  What can I say- I am a resourceful gal. 

I have my lines remembered.  The very strict rules I have come up with about the kids opening their gifts,  None of that madness that ensued last year.   Wrapping.Paper.Everywhere. A child crying in the corner because he couldn't find his gift.  If there were war battle fought on Christmas day, that day would have resembeled the aftermath of last year's Christmas.  Oh No, children.  Not this year.  Aunt Cam & her type A personality have it all mapped out.  I have lived, and I have learned.  Trust this.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"Dear Bobby"

-
Image
"Dear Bobby, I love you. I always look forward to when my husband leaves for work, and you sneak into bed with me. Sometimes, you will wake me up, but usually, you just lie there next to me waiting for my eyes to open." Bobby. You are a cat. But you are the cat of all cats. Unliked some others whose names I will not mention.... you like being a cat. You are my original Obi Kenobi... But you don't like your name and insist I call you "Bobby" or "Bob". You are my predator. You can catch anything- including a rabbit almost twice your size. I remember the time you brought a baby possum into our home. I had just awakened and sleepily headed to use the bathroom when, peering from inside the toilet, was a little possum begging to be released. You cheeky bastard, Bobby. That poor possum. I scolded you and you just turned the other whisker, as if to say "look lady... I am a cat, that's how I do...." The other cats beg for forgiveness when ...
Read More

The Good Dancer: A Dating Story

-
Image
I once dated a really good dancer. That wasn't his only strength. In truth, he was one of thee absolute best dudes I ever made out with.  He was super funny, smart and we clicked right away. But what struck me as odd was that, for the first time before and since, his good dancing skills didn't turn me off.  (For some reason, a man with too much swagger on the floor has always confused and frightened me a little.)  Oh, and I also don't like when they are so involved in their dancing that they forget you are on the floor with them.  Oh, and when they A. crowd you or B. use you as a prop.  Oh, and when they sing along to songs by female artists.  If you know all the lyrics to "I'm a Slave for You", that's both impressive and embarrassing. (I really did have strange deal-breakers with men...) So here was the first guy who I enjoyed dancing with that was actually a really good dancer.  He didn't crowd.  He didn't sweat profusely.  H...
Read More

Degree

-
Image
It was on Friday night. We laughed a lot, perhaps made delirious by the sweet smell of men that were familiar-yet-elusive and desirable. It could have been the wine,  it could have been the great company of old friends and conversations and shared opinions with other women. I disagreed with Ariel more than once, though... "Too sweet" or.... "smells like a jelly bean...." The ones I couldn't put down were the ones that smelled like a man's deodorant, hidden among 75+ samples that scattered in baskets around the coffee table. There we sat around a table full of scents as we sampled the fragrances from a friend's Scentsy collection, eager to fill out our order forms for the smells that would soon promise to envelop our homes. I opted for the "Iced Pine" option, which always reminds me of the home I have not yet lived in and lingered around the fragrances that smelled of citrus and orange peels.  The idea of the smell of "Orange...
Read More