Christmas Eve

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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.

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