Because I’m in the spirit of the season a little early.
1) When my son’s Boy Scout pack goes Christmas caroling at the retirement center, I let my shy, sweet husband off the hook and take the kid myself. Merry Christmas!
2) This annual holiday trek across the neighborhood with a pack of
wild animals scouts reminds me that my son is actually normal. They all behave like war-mongering chimpanzees. I cut the kid some slack for at least two weeks. Merry Christmas!
3) When the scout master asked for a volunteer to play the piano at the retirement center and my kid, with wild and enthusiastic gestures, indicated I would be perfect for the job, I didn’t kill him. Merry Christmas. For the record, I have taken as many piano lessons as I have flaming-sword-swallowing classes.
4) For the fourth day in a row, Facebook’s top recommendation for me has been an article on someone’s dead or dying baby, but it chooses which of my friends’ Christmas posts is appropriate for me to read and hides the rest. Despite this regular trouncing of my holiday cheer, I have not gone to Mark Zuckerberg’s house and pooped in his swimming pool. Yet. Merry Christmas. Or Happy Hanukkah.
5) While in line at the grocery store, Squish announced in a loud, Lifetime-Network-Christmas-Special voice “Mommy, I do not want you to hit me anymore.” And I did not stick him in the Salvation Army bucket and leave. Merry Christmas, kid.
*** For the record: Those of you who have expressed concern for Squish need not fear. I apparently had accidentally hit him in the head with my purse, and it displeased him. No Squishes have been harmed or will ever be harmed in the making of this blog, though I may follow through with my threat to sell him to the circus.
6) When my daughter came home wearing enough makeup to audition for The Rocky Horror Picture Show, I really listened to her explanation that she and her classmates were working on their makeup for their Theater Arts performance. Merry Christmas. And then I locked Rapunzel in her tower and threw away the key. I’m not perfect.
There’s less under the tree this year. I’ve already done my best giving, you see.