Right in-between the “oh, shoot! We’re out of coffee” and the “did you pay the electric bill yet?” we’re trying to do Christmas. You see, every fall I do this thing where I think good and hard about December. I envision it a little something like this:
Snow! (problem #1: We live in California)
A cozy fireplace (problem #2: we don’t have a fireplace)
Baked goods (problem #3: death to gluten! And dairy! And refined sugar!)
Caroling! (problem #4: who has time for that?)
But we try, we really do. We squeeze Christmas into those rare open pockets on our calendar until our December starts looking a little more like this:
Trips to Target where we vow to never return until Christmas is good and over. Because the LINES, and the PEOPLE, and, well, AMAZON!
“I’ll be Home for Christmas” blaring over the sound of the A/C whooshing through the car.
Nights spent on the couch fighting sleepy eyes to get through the entirety of The Santa Clause. Because, darn it! I’m not missing my only chance to watch that movie this year.
And then we have a little of this:
And then I do this thing every year where I am completely flabbergasted by the price of a good Christmas tree. David usually wins with his “c’mon, let’s celebrate Christmas!” But this year? This year, I won with my “we don’t have a lot of space for a tree.” So, I set it — a firm limit of $60.
But then we brought it home, and it started looking a little too small and inappropriately modest.
And it’s there that he remains. . . a whole week later. No lights, no ornaments, no tinsel because, well, let’s refer back to problem #4. . . who has time for that?
Merry Christmas, you filthy animals! From our family to yours.
David, Brittany, 1 fat pig of a dog, and Ralphie.