It’s the Day After Christmas and I can’t find my bra. Never mind that I reorganized my closet recently. I remember where I was when I took it off, yet it lies nowhere in the vicinity.
While contemplating the mystery of the Incarnation, I invite you to contemplate the mystery of missing clothing.To this I’ll add the 48 unmatched socks sitting in a bag by the dryer.
So there’s a theme for this holiday letter:Braless and Otherwise Uncontained
Christmas Day led from amazement to amazement.
Marc and I, having gotten to bed around 2:30 (after the late-late service) and on 4 hours or less of sleep, blearily attempted to watch and note what the children unwrapped at my parents' house.
Cousin Emeline has a sore tooth and did a lot of wailing, poor baby.Cousin Olivia is always simply herself, jumping on a trampoline in the middle of the family space to a new video called Baby Signing Time, turning on lights, turning off lights. Dad rambled on at length about the True History of the Night Before Christmas story (first, please, we lived in Chelsea where the founder of GTS wrote the damn thing and have already been force-fed every factoid about it; and second, please, we are really trying to pay attention to our children).
In other words, he was also being himself, monologuing from the LaZBoy throne.
Amy and Esteban tried to help Emeline open and enjoy her gifts. Through all this chaos, we attempted to pay attention to what our kids were doing.Thankfully, Isaac and Eve gifted Dad with a special edition publication about the Beatles and he was then quiet for a good long time. (Note to self.)
Maybe this is why there are so many movies about Christmas in both the comedy and in the existential anxst genres.
Christmas Dinner was moved up to accommodate our exhausted group, very kindly and much appreciated, though there was a small crowd because this ended up not jiving with Amy’s family schedule.It was delicious, and thankfully Dad was there to hold court with a generous monologue about the Mullet Smashers (mullet smashers, oh no, please!), who are either motorcyclists wearing mullets, or motorcyclists who run over fish.
So much for a nice conversation with the kids.
I quietly chugged two large juice cups of sparkling wine.I only found out later that Marc was also about to go out of his gourd.
Mom really wants to manage the chaos with cleaning spray, but alas, no cleaning spray allowed in the house of migraineurs.
She offered to be a peacemaker and eat lunch in the kitchen, to which I lightly objected, as a "peacemaker" assumes a conflict. But hah, who am I kidding?
By now, Bill is there, so there is a double monologue awaiting.Maybe it will be in the basement, this time.
There was a gorgeous cake made by Amy’s friend the pastry chef. Gorgeous!
The kids were happy. This is worth a whole lot.It was fun to chat with Clara and Lillian on facetime.
We didn’t get to do the musical poppers because there weren’t enough people in one place at one time.Maybe today or tomorrow – something to look forward to.
At home, I can’t claim things are a whole lot less chaotic.
We have six pets, after all (whose idea was that? Oh yeah…)
The kids are handling their new xbox games reasonably well.
Someone, or several Someones, has/have eaten a lot of toffee.
Leon a.k.a. "Nappy" keeps gnawing on the Christmas tree.I’m almost too tired to worry about it (only almost, which means that every few minutes I haul my tired self up and chase her away, or cuddle her, or something.)
I think I should end with something prosaic about the meaning of Christmas and the specialness of family. And in truth, I deeply value the family time. It says a lot about family that all of us can pretty much be ourselves, behavioral idiosyncracies, personal choices, and all. And that when push comes to shove, we are more inclined to be tolerant than to tear into one another.
Perhaps this is what family is really about. I doubt it will ever be about all of us being perfect.
(Would I like no more monologues? YES. Would I like us all to eat a meal together? Yes I would. But maybe if I got that I’d have to give up writing snarky holiday letters.)
Merry Christmas, one and all.