What I Love: Christmas in Review

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My body hurts.
 
It feels like I went clubbing.
 
I guess I kind of did.
 
It was Christmas at our house- which always has an unexpected twist each year.  And this year, among several twists and dramatic moments (including ruffled feathers in the adult gift exchange) the most enlightening part of the evening is when Chris, aged 42, pulled everyone into the kitchen for a "robot dance competition".  Despite the pride I put into my 20 seconds in the circle, it was my nephew, Nathaniel, who won the prize.  We were pretty silly last night. 
 
(There was a lot of Mark Ronson's latest played throughout the evening.)
 
I got all the things I needed and could want from Christmas day. I welled up reading Ariel's Christmas card and opening her 'main' gift to me- a jumpsuit I had randomly  pointed out several months ago as we were window shopping.
 
And she remembered and obviously splurged on it and everything else she showered me with.
 
She is so clever and thoughtful. 
 
And to boot my booty looks good in it.  She said so, and she don't play when it comes to compliments pertaining to the booty.  I even had to do a walk off and spin in it to get final confirmation.
 
And I loved every time Ariel reached into her Christmas stocking- I housed all her best gifts in there.   It was sweet seeing her get excited at each turn.
 
Sayler got far, far, far too many toys.  I am a little overwhelmed by them all...
 
Her favorite seems to be the Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head Ariel bought her... "look, it's just like from d' Toy Story!"
 
Christmas is never perfect.
 
It is messy and someone ends up crying and sad and a child gets hurt and wants the toy his or her cousin or sibling got.
 
Christmas is generally anti-climatic.
 
The expensive gift you thought would brighten a child's eyes ends up on the floor while the yo-yo that you spent .99 cents on becomes the hit of the evening.
 
Christmas is sometimes stressful.
 
The reality of what you want in your life and don't have is always apparent on Christmas Day.  The people you wish were there, the places you wish you were, the ones you would like to see open a gift you chose just for them.
 
Christmas is usually loud.
 
Well... at our house anyway.  Lots of Dorados.  It's 20 people talking at once and sometimes standing up to make their voices even louder.  Sometimes a nice family day turns into a few sour grapes.  I somehow manage to come out unscathed- I'm not so good at getting loud or emotional. 
 
Christmas is always memorable.
 
Despite anything that can and will go wrong, from over-yeasted bread that rises too soon, balloons uncontrollably, and seems to be lacking enough sugar to the hurt feelings and a lost gift, I love Christmas.
 
I love that it isn't about me or what I get.  (Though, that's easy to say when I get such lovely things, I suppose).
 
I love that it is about the children.
 
I appreciate that it is about a shared day off work and being anywhere but at home.
 
I admire the way family gets dressed up to be around the people they need to impress the least.
 
I revel in the way we overthink making moments perfect: like spreading flour all over the patio and "Santa's footprints" to create 'snow' and an explanation for how Santa made it into our home since we don't have a chimney...
 
Even though my daughter hasn't yet wondered about that.
 
(I guess it is about me, after all...)
 
I delight in the dizzying effects of Christmas wrap all. over. my. floor.
 
I bemuse (though silently pull my hair out) when I see boxes haphazardly strewn all over and the contents littered over the floor, knowing full well the pieces to that game will never be seen again...
 
I exercise my right to clean up as the party is underway. There's always a kitchen towel in my hand and I am generally scanning the perimeters for empty soda cans and beer bottles...
 
I take liberties being the hostess and home owner and can be a bit bossy where yelling up the stairs is concerned.  I am always wondering what the boys are up to and how they manage to make so much noise. 
 
(Boys perplex me almost as much as men.)
 
It is the day after Christmas.

 
It is the day after the first Christmas with Chris' bride who was lovely and well-poised despite the trial-by-fire our family bestows upon new family members.
 
It is the day after the first Christmas that my sister and I sat for a long while well after everyone else had left.  We talked openly about life after separation, entering the dating pool, being a single parent.
 
It is the day after the first Christmas that Sayler could get excited over what lie under the tree more than the baubles adorning it.
 
Each Christmas is a first Christmas.
 
And that's what I love.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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