Later this week, Michael and I will have our five-year anniversary, and a week after that, Eliot will turn four. (Yeah, go ahead and do the fucking math, Smugley. We were in love, that socially acceptable form of insanity.)
So what that means is that after several years of catastrophic missteps, this year we have officially BENT CHRISTMAS OVER AND DECLARED IT OUR BITCH.
The day after Thanksgiving? CHRISTMAS TREE ACQUIRED. Ellie and Nola were insistent about helping with decorating it, so after Mike and I got all the lights on we set ’em loose, and can I just say this? Despite my own efforts, the 2- and 3-year-old decorated the SHIT outta the bottom third of that damn tree. Top of the tree? Coupla ornaments here and there. One quadrant on the lower right? Fucking DECORATED. I needed to pop a Xanax just to calm down enough to redistribute that shit, but I needn’t have bothered — within a week, THEY’D redistributed my redistribution: ornaments plucked off then clustered together, ornaments taken down and ferreted away under pillows at bedtime, ornaments hidden and ornaments smashed (good GOD the amount of Christmas ball-busting that’s taken place around here). . . I’ll just say it: That tree is JACKED. And for the record, I have officially ceased to give a shit, because dammit, those broken candy canes, empty hooks and droopy tangle of lights (indignities, all) don’t make it any less fine (that’s the Xanax talking).
Next, Santa pics: again, a couple years of practice meant Mike and I nailed this one, too, which is to say we went downtown to Nordstrom on a THURSDAY. (I even called in advance to make sure Santa didn’t take a lunch break, and learned that when you call Nordstrom, an ACTUAL HUMAN BEING answers the phone, and when you tell her your question is concerning Santa Claus, she TAKES YOU SERIOUSLY.) The line moved fast on a Thursday afternoon, and I was excited because we were getting Santa just after his shift change: relaxed, refreshed, Santa at his ho-ho-hokiest!
Or not. Seemed like Mrs. Kringle made our Claus spend the night out on the sleigh, he was such a grumpy Grinch. When he finally got around to asking Eliot and Nola what they wanted for Christmas, and they both excitedly answered, “Reindeer!!” (“Rudolph” had aired the night before), Santa tried to downsell ’em with, “Don’t you want some toys instead? Maybe a ball? Or some jacks?”
First off, they DID want toys: stuffed, toy REINDEER. Second, when did we step off the sidewalk and into 1930s Nordstrom? I mean, come on Santa, my 3-year-old can upload her own apps to my iPhone, but you wanna give her fucking JACKS instead? What else, maybe a nice hoop with a stick? Or maybe Santa can bring us some fresh tins for Kick the Can!
Cards: completed and shipped early! Presents: ordered online and already wrapped! For the first time, we’ve actually pulled Christmas off ahead of schedule — an everyday feat for normal people, but Mike and I never accomplish ANYTHING ahead of schedule, or even ON schedule.
“Look at us!” I told Mike. “We’re like those responsible people who say they’re gonna get shit done AND THEN DO.”
“At this rate, we’re gonna have New Years wrapped up by Christmas and Valentines Day celebrated by the New Year!” he said.
Happy Holidays, y’all.