It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas . . . Crap

The season between Thanksgiving and Christmas has never been a particular favorite of mine. Everyone seems to be extremely busy, rushing around to get the perfect present or the it toy of the year. Trust me, I’ve been there multiple times with the Girls. One year, Dave and I were hell bent on getting them Furbies and enlisted Bridget to buy them. On our ride back from Temple a week ago, they shared with me that they never really like the damn things and that they smelled weird. Basically, they didn’t like them but were too afraid to say so. I wonder how many other presents they didn’t really like and feigned enthusiasm for us. As the Girls have gotten older, they supply us with a list, usually with links and sizes and specifications on what to cut if it is too much. Nine times out of ten, nothing gets cut since their gifts tend to be something like a new nose ring or underwear from Victoria’s Secret. Sometimes, though, I get a little nostalgic for the days of toys and things that made noise.

She's protecting my knitting; from whom . . . no clue

This Christmas, things are still a little sedate on the present front, but it’s also taken a turn for the mellow with the decorations, too. Weather presented an issue for the lights, so we didn’t put them up. I’ve been really busy with our local education association, so we didn’t have a tree. We have one up now . . . but the return of Olive has changed the way we decorate it. She’s only tried to eat the lights, branches, and ornaments fifty bajillion times. Keeping a can of compressed air next to the tree has been the gift that keeps on giving in our house. It seems to be the only thing she’s mildly afraid of.

If only that damn cat believed in Santa Claus or was deterred by that f-in Elf on a Shelf book, I might have a chance of making it through the season with the tree intact.

- Jill

PS - We did start a new tradition of sorts last night, but the photos will have to wait until tomorrow . . . and so will the story.