It’s probably bad to wake up Christmas Eve morning and have the first words that pop into my head be curse words, but the vague sore throat I felt coming on last night has settled right in and though I’m about to go finish making coffee in the French press, I am not sure I will be able to drink it because things are that bad.
Part of the cursing (the first of the f-words that started the string, in fact) was because I woke up at 6 on a day that was wide open for sleeping in till sometime totally crazy. Like, maybe even 7:15. Now that I’m up, though, it’s alright. I’m on the couch with no lights on in the house except for the tree. I promised the kids I’d put colored lights up in the living room this year, but I didn’t. They wanted them on the outside of the house as well, which I really should have done since we live in a duplex and our neighbor put lights up on his half of the house just to make me look like an asshole.
There is an impressive wind kicking up out there every few minutes. It’s still too dark to see much out the window, but the sky is just lighter than nighttime enough for me to see the silhouettes of the giant pine trees in the back yard rocking back and forth. Maybe this will be the day that the dead palm tree (also quite tall) will fall on the house. Then, maybe the kids and I could go live in a hotel (with room service and maids!) until they fix things up a little. The property manager knows about the tree. Last time I talked to him I brought it up and he SIGHED and said he knew and I asked him if it might maybe fall on the house and he was sorta not inspired to take any action.
Coffee update: coffee is a go! I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat much today, but so long as I can have my coffee in the morning and some booze at bedtime, Christmas will be merry!
And, speaking of — this is going to be my first Christmas without my kids. Not totally without them, but I won’t be with them on Christmas morning. There is a part of me that keeps telling me (it’s crowded in there) that if I were a good mother, I’d be moping about this. Maybe even inconsolable. But the reality is that I am totally looking forward to the plan, which is for all children to be out of my house by 5 p.m., wrapping and cleaning up and artful display of gifts to be completed by 8 or 9 (unless that bike is a bitch to put together), and then tacos and booze and coke with SG at his clean and warm house. Also, he has never seen Elf, so I am making him watch it with me. Christmas morning = coffee, bacon, and gluten free donuts with my man, which will make me happier than, well, than a kid on Christmas. Then I will get back home in time to greet my babies in the early afternoon, and hope that they are not too strung out on sugar and CPGs (consumer packaged goods) to appreciate the gifts and celebration here.
It’s easy to hate Christmas. Or, at the very least dread it. It’s one of those things that you work so hard and so long at, and stress so much over, that the actual day rarely lives up to the pressure built up beneath it. And with kids who are overstimulated the chances of a smiling and tear-free holiday are slim. But I have made myself a deal, and that deal is that I will ignore any Christmas freakouts and pretend that all is calm (and bright). Maybe it will throw the small fry for enough of a loop to snap them out of it, should they have a downward spiral. Or maybe things will go off without a hitch. Whatever. I will have fun either way, even if I am sick. Even if Sophie tries to strangle me because Santa didn’t bring her a cell phone, and he brought her brother one, that motherfucker.