This will be a weird post for me because, well, it just has to be. I’M weird right now. There’s a mess of emotions circling each other in my gut and I’m not really sure what my head thinks of any of them.
It’s the Bean, my little Bean, my precious, special, beautiful Bean that’s got me all tied up in knots.
Every thing that kid does makes me smile, even when he’s being a little shit (which luckily, isn’t very often), and even when I’M being a little shit (which happens much more frequently). It’s such a joy to watch him on his path and to be a part of it all. He’s got Personality Plus, my kid, and it’s a wonderful thing to watch.
He’s recently become even more generous with his hugs and kisses, and I can’t put into words the feeling I get when this perfect little man walks right to me, arms outstretched, or grabs me by the ears and pulls my face to his wide open mouth to plant a slobbery smack on me.
Maybe a better writer could explain it, maybe there ARE actually words for it somewhere, but if there are they elude me completely.
Last night he was just out of his bath, running around the house naked, playing with his dinosaur toys and grocery cart – and as he hobbled down the hallway it suddenly hit me that he no longer has the body of a baby. His torso is long, his face has thinned out a little, his hands and feet have lost some of their chubbiness and look more and more like his dad’s. The child we once lovingly called “Patches” now has a full head of long, thick curls.
His mind works less like that of a baby, too. His play is more deliberate. He’s more reflective. He even gave me his first complete sentence a couple of weeks ago – on the playground, just freed from his stroller shackles, “I don’t know” was his answer when I asked him just where he thought he was going.
My heart stopped then, as it’s stopped a thousand times over the past 20 months.
Of course there are still elements of baby — diapers, babble, chewed crayons – but they’re fewer and farther between now, and every day he seems to shed another layer.
My head is spinning.
I don’t come around to change easily. It takes me a LONG time to settle into a routine and even longer to truly embrace something new. Always has. Sometimes my reluctance works to my advantage (see: Marriage). Often it holds me back. Either way, my fear of change has never, well… changed.
But parenthood doesn’t give you TIME to come around to something new. You’re thrown in to deeper, darker, more scary waters every day, without warning, without any time to prepare yourself for the stronger current or the dangers that might be lurking beneath.
The first few weeks after the Bean was born were AWFUL for me. I was completely overwhelmed by this monumental change to my life, the Bean was just this unknown, needy blob that I was suddenly a slave to, I was whacked out with hormones and lack of sleep and even a touch of post-partum. Then the colic. Oh, the colic. For about a week, I wanted my old life back more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.
But around six weeks, everything changed. Suddenly we had smiles, we had laughs, we had a HAPPY BABY. He loved people, he loved LIFE, and you could tell. And we were in love with him.
It’s just gotten better and better since that day.
Still, I have these moments. Moments like the one I’m in now, where I see it all slipping away. It’s so fleeting, all of it, and I just want time to stop and LET ME CATCH UP, DAMMIT.
He was born and in the blink of an eye he had his first tooth.
And in another blink he was eating solid food.
Blink: First word.
Blink: First steps.
Blink: “I don’t know.”
It’s an adventure, this parenthood thing, and I know that’s the best way to look at it. Every day brings the unknown and as one layer peels off, another one is revealed.
But sometimes I just want those old layers back! I want my BABY back!
(Well, okay. Maybe not that colic layer so much.)
I miss my baby, the one with the perfectly round head, the one who loved nothing more than chewing on his feet.
And at the same time, I can’t WAIT to see what the next day will bring. What will be his Next Big Thing?
He makes me cry tears of both joy and sadness. He makes me yearn for the past while looking ahead with excited anticipation. He scares me and makes me feel safe.
He breaks my heart and warms it, tears me apart and holds me together, all at the same time.
I know I’ll always feel this way. I’ll always hear stories of other parents, like John Travolta just this weekend, who’ve lost children and I’ll feel devastated on their behalf, and both grateful and terrified on my own. I’ll always cry when I find old clothes or toys that my little Bean outgrew long ago. I’ll always wish I could stretch this moment or that moment out to hold onto, forever.
And somehow, even when I’m so sad to see the time pass I can’t see through the tears, I’ll keep loving every damn minute of it.
THIS is being a mom.
Weird, huh?
Told you.
Tags: motherhood, The Best Bean in the History of the Entire Universe, weirdness
Because the last New Year’s celebration I actually enjoyed was the switchover from 1993 to 1994.
Janet Reno was named Attorney General that year. Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven won like every Grammy that existed. Picket Fences won the Emmy for Best Drama Series.
PICKET FUCKING FENCES, people.
The Big Bean and I were were super young and ridiculously in love and we looked good and had cash to burn, so pretty much every day of our lives was like a fucking trip to Disneyland – New Years or not. He was in town for a visit, about four months before he finally bought the cow and moved here, and we spent the evening on a pub crawl the likes of which had never been seen before. Dancing, drinking, singing, sitting on pianos, drinking, laughing, shouting, drinking, singing again, making friends, wearing silly hats, making other people wear silly hats, drinking, falling down, trying not to pee, laughing some more… and of course the 3:30 AM stop at Whataburger on the way home for some fries to soak up a little of the remaining alcohol. All followed by devastating hangovers the next day.
It was great.
It was the last time.
Over the years we’ve been to other New Year’s parties, of course — but none of them have ever held the charm or allure of that one big night.
Maybe it was just so great that we gave up on another one ever living up to it.
Or maybe we just got fucking OLD.
We definitely had a baby, which pretty much ruins New Year’s for anyone, I think — at least for a while. Fireworks and babies are a shitty, shitty combination. The day my child was born, New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July officially became the Most Annoying Holidays of the Year.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m GLAD to say Good Riddance to 2008, a year that in many ways sucked fuckballs and will definitely NOT be missed by me. And who doesn’t love the idea of a fresh start? I could definitely use a fresh start right about now.
But I’m afraid the days of champagne and party hats are long gone for us. In fact, as I type this, I’m in bed wearing my sweatshirt and flannel pajama bottoms, the ones with the holes, cursing the neighbors every time I hear a firecracker from the street, HOW DARE THEY CELEBRATE WHILE MY BABY’S SLEEPING?!, desperately hoping that the noise doesn’t wake the Bean and terrified that it will and I’ll have to somehow get this kid back to sleep at 12:15 AM with huge colored explosions going off in the sky above our house.
However, at the same time I am absolutely certain that a Roman Candle could blast into the house and set us all on fire and it STILL wouldn’t be enough to wake up the Big Bean.
I had a whole list of reasons why New Year’s Eve sucks, from the hangovers to the drunk drivers to the dumb asses who get sloppy and fall into plants (long story) and Ryan Seacrest, that FUCKING RYAN SEACREST, who is the DEVIL and trying to destroy us all with his product-drenched hair and Smeagol-like grin and lame jokes and ass kissing.
(And if you don’t believe me just cruise on over to Sarcastic Mom’s blog and check out my guest post. Sure, it’s a little insane but I still think it lays out my case against the Devil-slash-Ryan Seacrest quite nicely.)
But I think that video pretty much sums it up for me. New Year’s Eve can suck it. I’m tired and joining the Big Bean in happy slumber, assuming the nutjobs down the street keep the f’crackers to a minimum and the Little Bean stays dormant.
See you in 2009, suckers.
- I LOVE Facebook because I can reconnect with old friends I lost touch with a long time ago and have really, really missed.
I HATE Facebook because old friends can now reconnect with me even though I totally lost touch with them on purpose.
- I LOVE Facebook because some of the people I once knew don’t look anywhere near as Fabulously-Wonderfully-Incredibly-Happy as me, which unleashes my not-so-inner self-centered bitch and leaves me feeling smug and superior.
I HATE Facebook because some of the people I once knew now look much more Fabulously-Wonderfully-Incredibly-Happy than me, which unleashes my not-so-inner Samantha Baker and leaves me feeling like I’ll never measure up.
- I LOVE Facebook because it’s fun to post silly little updates that I crack myself up with, like “V-Neck + Man equals PLEASE DON’T” and “I still love you Morrissey, you whiny bastard.”
I HATE Facebook because sometimes I post ridiculously lame updates that make me sound like a complete tool, like “Just farted. You know it’s bad when the dog gives you a dirty look as he leaves the room” and then later I realize my high school boyfriend can see that.
- I LOVE Facebook because I can pick and choose the most adorable pictures of myself and my family (mostly my family) to post for everyone else to admire and envy.
I HATE Facebook because other people can post horrible, awful pictures without my consent or approval, leaving all of THEIR friends to think that I look like a creepy, chinless goose-man.
- I LOVE Facebook because sometimes I find awesome people like Ken.
I HATE Facebook because sometimes I find scary people like Ken.
- I LOVE Facebook because I can use it as a tool to promote my blog and other causes I support, using lots of very cool applications.
I HATE Facebook because I have yet to figure out how to actually use any of those applications.
(Side note: People, please stop with the “L’il Green Patch.” I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT IS.)
- I LOVE Facebook because everyone is doing it.
I HATE Facebook because everyone is doing it.
- I LOVE Facebook because it’s not weird and porny like MySpace has become.
I HATE Facebook because I’m pretty sure one day it will be.
Tags: chinless goose men, facebook, Samantha Baker
So Christmas morning at my house was lovely, with beautiful scenes like this:
and this:
and this:
But unfortunately, I’d let laziness get the best of me (again) and hadn’t trimmed my bangs in weeks, so all I saw was this:
and this:
and this:
Finally my disgust level and vanity overwhelmed my very strong sense of lazy assed-ness and I trimmed the forest of bangs on my forehead back to just a sparse garden, but when I looked in the mirror to admire my handiwork I found this:
I’ve apparently let myself and my personal grooming habits go so completely unchecked that I’ve allowed myself to become a cheap impersonation of Bert from Sesame Street but without the emotionally abusive Ernie hanging from my arm. I didn’t even realize it was happening, I was so immersed in present shopping and shipping and cookie baking and other things on my Do It Now, Bitch! list and, of course, holiday cheer.
So there I was on Christmas Day, stuck with this fully visible unibrow that wouldn’t be visible at all if I hadn’t decided to go all proactive and trim my bangs (Note to self: Ix-Nay on the Oactive-Pray), and I was powerless to do anything about it because (a) all the waxing places were closed on Christmas Day because they hate me for not being a fan of Jesus (obviously) and (2) I am physically incapable of performing an act on myself that I know will cause pain of any kind so plucking is out of the question.
(Unless it’s popping a pimple because I DO have priorities.)
(Although I much prefer to pop OTHER people’s pimples rather than my own.)
(And if you don’t believe me you can just ask the Big Bean, who’s spent years frantically trying to escape me while I chase him around the house like a madwoman screaming, “But it’s READY, honey! It’ll just take a second! I promise I’ll be gentle! I’m trying to HELP YOU! DON’T BE SUCH A PUSSY!!”)
So the point is I ran around all day Christmas Day with a very unattractive unibrow and then again all day yesterday because of that whole lazy assed-ness thing and now today I really don’t think I have any choice but to get my brows waxed and remove this ridiculous chinchilla from my face.
So I’ll see you guys later.
P.S. I started to write this post and then got sidetracked mid-title and closed my computer down, and when I came back later the draft had been saved as “My Christ” and I was all, WTF? Did I write a post about Christ that I forgot about? And ever since I’ve been trying to figure out if that’s just a weird coincidence or if I was on drugs without knowing it or if maybe there really is a God and he’s trying to send me a sign to tell me that I should be a better person or pray or something like that, but if it IS a sign, ”My Christ” is really lame and seriously, I would hope that God of all people would be smart enough to realize that the cryptic thing won’t work with me. I’m way too lazy and apathetic to spend any time or energy trying to decode some kind of weird message unless it’s one of those Cryptograms in the Dell Crossword Puzzle books because those are fun.
P.P.S. Just so you don’t think I’m COMPLETELY without a soul, I spent a good part of the day yesterday making my annual Day After Christmas charity donations, which I do every year because it is awesome and also makes me feel morally superior to others. This year’s happy recipients were the Ronald McDonald House, Humane Society, Austin’s Community Partnership for the Homeless, our local NPR station and the Kristen Brooks Hope Center, which is behind the National Suicide Prevention Line (1-800-SUICIDE). They all do incredibly important work and I would STRONGLY encourage you to donate yourself.
P.P.P.S. There is NOTHING like feeling morally superior to other people, especially the ones you don’t like.
P.P.P.P.S. When I wrote “morally superior” up there I accidentally typed “orally superior” which made me giggle at first but now has me feeling all angsty and insecure about my own oral status.
P.P.P.P.P.S. I’m pretty sure I’ve gone too far with this one.
Wishing you and your family
Peace
Prosperity
Love
and, most importantly…
LAUGHTER
this holiday season and throughout the year to come. 
All our best…
(and the rest of the Bean household)
Tags: happy festivus, happy hanukkah, happy holidays, happy kwanzaa, merry christmas, stinky Christmases
I’m not really sure what there is to say about this except that it is AWESOME and I’m now making plans to return every Christmas present I’ve already bought so I can replace it with this, because who wouldn’t want to look this fabulous AND stay cozy AND save money on their heating bill, ALL AT THE SAME TIME?
The Snuggie is SO MUCH BETTER than just a boring old sweatshirt. Or Ku Klux Klan robe.
The bonus here is that I saw this ad when I was sick and couldn’t sleep and there is absolutely nothing better than finding this on your TV at 3:00 in the morning when you’re trying not to think about the fact that you’re exhausted and feel like shit. I became completely mesmerized by the awesomeness of the Snuggie and forgot all about my Haemophilus Influenza and accompanying insomnia.
And then when I DID finally fall asleep I had wonderful dreams of me and the Big Bean giving each other high fives over the head of the little Bean at some random sporting event, all of us cozy in our matching KKK robes Snuggies.
And the next morning I woke up feeling warm and refreshed and fulfilled.
Coincidence? I think not.
P.S. There is no question in my mind that my mother will see the Snuggie as a practical option and not understand at all why this is funny.
20 random thoughts for you today. In place of a real post because, well, I’ve got nuthin’ but Haemophilus Influenza this week.
Enjoy.
Random Thought #1: The Bean has been terribly sick all week with a bacterial infection called Haemophilus Influenza which, when said aloud in a doctor’s office with the doctor facing AWAY from you, sounds suspiciously related to either hermaphrodites or the flu, or possibly some combination of the two. (Turns out, it’s not actually related to either.)
Random Thought #2: I was extremely relieved to find out that the Bean is NOT a hermaphrodite.
Random Thought #3: The word “hermaphrodite” makes me giggle.
Random Thought #4: My apologies to any hermaphrodites who might have read Random Thought #3. I’m not laughing AT you, I’m laughing WITH you.
Random Thought #5: If you or someone you love is diagnosed with Haemophilus Influenza, DO NOT GOOGLE IT.
Random Thought #6: According to our pediatrician, Haemophilus Influenza is “easily” treated with some antibiotics and some really fun eyedrops.
Random Thought #7: Our pediatrician’s apparently never had to wrestle eyedrops into the eyes of a sick, squirmy, and very determined toddler with freakishly strong legs and a surprisingly mean karate kick.
Random Thought #8: Also according to our pediatrician, Haemophilus Influenza IS contagious, but “luckily” only if you rub the eyes of an infected person and then rub your own eyes.
Random Thought #9: The Bean has been crying a lot, so I’ve been wiping his eyes. Because I’m his mom.
He’s also been NOT sleeping, which means I’ve been NOT sleeping. Because I’m his mom.
Random Thought #10: Know what I do when I’ve been NOT sleeping and feel very tired as a result? Rub my eyes.
Random Thought #11: Guess who now has Haemophilus Influenza?
Random Thought #12: Yeah.
Random Thought #13: I have never watched so many episodes of Sesame Street in my life as I have in the past four days. And that’s saying something.
Random Thought #14: Big Bird really needs to stop harshing everyone else’s gig. Let the damn seal play his glockenspiel, asswipe! He’s not hurting anyone! And where’s it written that three friends can’t sing a song about the number two? Use your imagination and stop the passive-aggressive whining. There’s only room for one passive-aggressive whiner in my house, and I’ve cornered that market.
Random Thought #15: Snuffalupagus is a textbook enabler.
Random Thought #16: I have absolutely no idea how to spell Snuffalupagus.
Random Thought #17: It has just occurred to me that I’m WAY too emotionally invested in the lives of fictional Sesame Street characters. I’d like to blame it on the Haemophilus Influenza, but in my heart I know it’s really more than that. Ever since Miss Piggy won my undying admiration with her heroic brand of feminism and fierce determination, a small part of me has lived in the world of the Muppets.
Random Thought #18: The Bean has now discovered some new PBS show called Lomax, the Melody Hound. Have you seen this shit? It follows an over-the-top-southern-accented lady in a train car that’s decked out with many cartoonishly high-tech gadgets but decorated like something out of Mama’s Family. Apparently High-Pitched-Fake-Country-Accent-Redneck-Lady is trapped on the train and cannot leave, so she regularly sends her dog Lomax and some cat out with a helmet cam at various stops to sing old-timey folk songs with people dressed up as turkeys and bears.
It may be the most bizarre thing ever put on television. Definitely the most annoying.
Random Thought #19: The Bean squeals when Lomax comes on and enthusiastically claps and dances along with every song, developing both his appreciation for folk songs and already too-strong thigh muscles.
THE BEAN. LOVES. LOMAX.
Random Thought #20: The Bean is obviously trying to kill me. Send help.
Tags: big bird, haemophilus influenza, lomax the melody hound, passive-aggressiveness, sick beans
Without music, life would be a mistake.
– Nietchze
It’s early winter, 1989. I’m 17, just about six months shy of graduation. I sit in a car with my boyfriend, my first love, the first one I ever thought was The One. He’ll later become The One who stole my heart (and my virginity) only to dump me just weeks before prom… The One who first taught me what it was like to love but NOT be loved back… the first One to really, truly break my heart into a million tiny pieces.
But not tonight. Tonight, he’s just… The One.
We’re at the local mall. When my 6-9 shift at The Limited ended, he was waiting for me at the exit and walked me to his Ford Probe, pointedly NOT holding my hand. We didn’t have a date, no plans for anything fun or fancy, just wordlessly drove to the end of the parking lot on top of a huge hill overlooking the city and… parked.
I’m overwhelmed by my feelings for him. He’s so unlike me - quiet, cool, together - while I’m really kind of a mess.
I’ve dated other boys before, but I’ve never wanted one more than he wanted me. (At least, not since the junior high days of Trapper Keeper folders covered in hearts and the bubbly initials of cute boys… but I’m a high school woman now and those boys no longer count).
Since I started dating, I’ve been the chased, not the chaser. Now, not so much.
It’s a new and very unwelcome feeling. I’m crumbling under the pressure. I want SO CRAZY AWFUL for him to like me as much as I like him; I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more. But we both know he doesn’t, and if we’re being honest (which we’re not), we both know he never will.
It doesn’t make me walk away, though - It just makes me try harder. And want it more.
I actively choose not to think about any of that tonight. No, tonight I just want to kiss him, and have him kiss me, and feel his arms around me while I make believe this is a forever thing. So that’s exactly what I do. Tonight.
I see the cassette tape in the console and ask him to play it. It’s a mix tape I made specifically for him, filled with songs that mean something to me, the only way this teenaged child of the 80s knows how to express her feelings of devotion and hope. He’s had it for weeks, but never plays it unless I ask.
Without a word he slides it into the player, and the song starts. It’s the same song that was playing the last time I left his car, and I know he must have popped the tape out as soon as he dropped me at my door. I pretend not to notice and push my hurt feelings back to the recesses of my heart. I can worry about those another time. But not tonight.
Tonight I just want to enjoy the feeling of the song and make believe that he feels it, too.
It’s cold outside, an unusually blustery night for Austin, Texas, in December. But it’s warm in the car, and the windows have fogged up a bit. It’s not that Happy Days Inspiration Point kind of fog — our chemistry isn’t heating up the interior — it’s just fog. As the windshield wipers swish in front of me to clear the view, I wish it was more than just the weather.
The blinking lights of Austin are laid out before us. It’s such a beautiful city at night and we appreciate the skyline together, hands finally locked. He points out one building in particular - a skyscraper with rows of neon blue lines outlining its pyramid-like top edges - and tells me it’s his favorite. He tells me that every time he sees it lit up like that, he thinks of me.
I swoon.
I know this’ll end badly. I know this all means so much more to me than it does to him. I know I’ll come out of it at least a little scarred and broken.
I even know that there’s something better out there, waiting for me. SOMEHOW I know that SOMEDAY I’ll find SOMEONE, long after this boy is gone, long after I’ve recovered from the damage he’s caused.
But still I swoon when he tells me the blue building reminds him of me. He thinks of me! I think to myself. That’s something!
Was it true? Probably not.
Does it matter? No.
I moved on a long time ago. I found my SOMEHOW SOMEDAY SOMEONE and never looked back. And honestly, when I do think about it now, I know I was never really in LOVE with him - it was just infatuation fueled by teenaged angst and insecurity. I never knew true love until I met the man who would become my husband and the father of my child. And even then, it took a while.
I wouldn’t trade the life I found for anything in this world. Ever.
But that building is still there, still lights up in neon blue every night. And every time I see it, I think of him.
Tags: broken hearts, depeche mode, musical flashbacks, puppy love
So every year I get all excited about Christmas, usually starting sometime around the first of October when it occurs to me that the annual H-T-C trifecta is approaching. And every year the anticipation builds as I enjoy Halloween… then Thanksgiving… and then… sometime around mid-December, I realize that Christmas actually, honestly, totally, really, really… SUCKS.
The holiday excitement is instinctual and totally residual, left over from my childhood Santa’s-on-his-way-Charlie-Brown-special-will-be-on-and-95%-of-the-presents-under-the-tree-are-for-me days. Back then Christmas was fucking AWESOME, because someone else did all the work. My mom was the lucky one doing all the shopping, wrapping the presents, wrestling the tree into the stand, baking the cookies and the fudge, and all the rest.* All I had to do was put a dollar in the Salvation Army bucket every now and then, write a list, and lick the bowl. I don’t think I even gave her a real present until I was in my 20s. (God I was SUCH an asshole. I’m sorry, Mom.)
Now I’M the mom and also the one doing all the shit work. The Big Bean could care less about the holidays so I can’t count on him for any help, and I can’t even really complain about that because, well, we both know I’d be lying on the couch like a slug at this very moment, if that option was available to me. But it’s NOT available because I DO care about Christmas, although right now I’m really asking myself Why? and also, No really, WHY?
The Bean’s only 1 1/2 and cares about Christmas almost as much as his father does. He wasn’t even willing to pose for pictures with Santa, which makes me feel the sting of 1,000 tiny ornament hooks poking at my heart because it was SUCH a gorgeous scene, in this tiny homestead from the early 1800s with a lit fireplace in the background and Santa in one of those authentic-y, old-timey costumes (not just any old cheap red suit — this was no stupid loser MALL Santa, banish the thought), and it could have been the BEST SANTA PICTURE EVER but now it’s just a big, fat missed opportunity.
I have never seen the Bean NOT like ANYONE. Ever. His first time just HAD to be Santa?
Okay, granted, Santa WAS a little creepy, and spent WAY too much time pestering the little girl ahead of us in line about how she was going to help her mother out with a new little brother on the way… was she going to change diapers? help keep the house neat? bring mom blankies when she needed them? do everything her mommy told her to? and ohmygod would you please shut the fuck UP, Santa? My kid’s been sitting here for fifteen minutes just waiting to freak out and cry as soon as he’s within five feet of you, and the anticipation! It’s too much!
Anyway the point is, when we finally got up there my kid basically gave Santa the finger with his crocodile tears and quivering bottom lip, which means no Christmas Santa picture and OHMYGOD what if I FAIL at the Christmas card thing this year? I have the most beautiful child in the world and the Christmas cards MUST reflect that. Otherwise, we might as well just cancel Christmas!
- And okay, yeah, I realize I’m probably overreacting but really, Big Bean, do you think it’s a good idea to point out that I’ve set “unrealistic expectations” when I’m in tears because my-kid-hates-Santa and I-do-not-have-Christmas-cards and everybody-else-but-me-has-theirs-already-and-they-are-awesome-and-I-will-never-measure-up? Has that whole “Using Logic In a Very Condescending Way When the Wife is Panicking” strategy EVER worked out well for you? Really? Come on. Use your head, fella. Go play with that GPS you conned me out of and let me obsess in peace, please.
Then there’s the whole issue of Tree or No Tree. I really can’t imagine Christmas without a tree, but right now my little Bean is VERY INTO exactly two things: climbing and shiny things. Take one look at a Christmas tree and do the math.
So now I’m leaning toward no tree,** which I can’t believe I actually just typed,*** and that presents a whole new set of issues about decorations and gifts and…
Dear Sweet Baby Jesus, can it just be December 26 already?
Wait… what’s that song?
Huh.
Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad, after all.
I mean really, I DO have the Best Bean in the Entire Universe, who can recognize a shitty Santa even when I can’t.
And I have a husband who lets me post pictures of him on the Internet with a dog’s ass in his face. That’s pretty fucking cool. (Lightbulb! Could this be the solution to my Christmas card dilemma?)
And I DO still love that Charlie Brown Special.
Not to mention, despite a very tough year financially, we’re finally coming out of the worst of it and we’ll have presents under the tree for everyone (if I can ever get my shit together and actually buy some).
Flip side, that family my company “adopted” for Christmas doesn’t have anything under their tree this year. And there’s probably no tree at all for the soldier I’ve “adopted.” I doubt there are many noble firs found in Iraq this time of year. (Side note: Can we please call it something other than “adopting”? SO condescending! These people just need a little help, not a new mommy and daddy.)
So what’s MY glitch? Where do I get off complaining about Christmas trees and card pictures and a creepy Santa?
Maybe I should just get over myself. Maybe I should focus on paying a little Christmas joy forward to some people who could really use it.
Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s what I should do.
So, okay. I’m off to fill up a care package, and feeling better already. ****
Happy Holidays, folks.
*Mom did all of this Christmas junk as a single mom with a full-time job. I have to turn down the car stereo when I’m looking for an address because I can’t handle so much brain activity at once. My mom is fucking awesome.
** UPDATE: I DID opt for the tree and put it up yesterday. I will NOT let the Bean’s fascination with climbing and all things shiny kill Christmas. It may not have any ornaments, but it’s up, dammit. THE BEAN WILL NOT BEAT ME.
*** UPDATE TO THE UPDATE: The Bean beat me. Tree down.
****I had a bunch of stuff in here about blog haters, those anonymous losers who complain because, well, I’m not really sure why, I guess they just have nothing better to do. But in the end I took it down because it really doesn’t matter. I happen to like my blog and I think I’m funny even if no one else does. I can’t for the life of me understand why people keep reading if they don’t like it, but whatever. There’s really not much I can do except tell them to EAT ME and move on. So, there you have it.
Tags: christmas sucks, haters also suck
