Tuesday, January 9, 2007

Dear Santa: Next year I want...

DECEMBER 25, 2006

It’s Christmas, and the following is all true. I am very blessed. My family is together. We have a happy home. We have a roof over our heads and food on the table. But when carolers statewide sang their wishes for a white Christmas we didn’t exactly predict the degree to which that wish would be granted. TWO FEET OF SNOW granted. Airport closed granted. Stores out of milk and eggs because trucks can’t reach them granted. Cory made it home safely without getting stuck that first day and yet another wish…granted.

The kids slept in until after 7:00 today, presents were opened by 7:30, and a hot breakfast of scrambled eggs, streusel coffee cake and apple juice was consumed a little after 8:00. The kids have built snow caves and sledding trails in our very own front yard. They have hardly had a disagreement the entire livelong day and we watched the sky turn pink, purple and silver while the sun went down during an evening sledding venture at the park. I’ve had a peppermint bubble bath, Cory made dinner and is doing the dishes this very minute, and the kids are snuggled in bed.

The following is also true. I am ready to explode. I’ve been in my house for over a week and while I’ve got nothing on Anne Frank I have a hearty case of cabin fever and I’m feeling about one hunch away from the fetal position. Desperate to get out of the house earlier I decided to go for a walk. So I bundled up and went out my front door, stepped off the first step and slipped on the ice only to fall backward to hit my back and elbow on the step and have the wind knocked out of me. When my breath finally came back I started to yell for Cory but he couldn’t hear me, so I started to cry…rather heavily. A month’s worth of “I hate Christmas and what is all the fuss about and I don’t think Jesus would be impressed” sentiment came blubbering out of a poorly dressed bundle of Scrooge.

My disinterest in all the crazy things we do for Christmas has been brewing over the past few years. There’s stuff EVERYWHERE. It seems like there is constant mess. There is a clothing cemetery at each entry to my house filled with wet gloves, pants, boots, hats, and socks. The only remaining perk for me is better mail, and I haven’t even had THAT for a WEEK because the mail trucks can’t make it through my neighborhood. I want to yell, “Hey Virginia! GUESS WHAT? There's NO SANTA CLAUS you stupid girl!”

Looks like along with the true spirit of Christmas I’ve gone and lost my mind. Guess I know what to ask for next year.

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