I've mostly been too busy to notice that Christmas is coming. As per usual, I managed to get my holiday cards out in good time, but it's all down hill from there.
I blame the move, mostly. I couldn't put up the decorations on the 1st (following tradition) since it didn't make sense to put it all up for a few days, tear it down, pack it up, move it across the hall only to unpack it, put it up for a few more days, and then tear it back down and pack it away until next year. So I elected to only put it up in the second apartment...only...once I got here, I just kind of plunked down boxes willy nilly and then plunked down myself in complete and utter exhaustion.
The decorations are still not up.
I did some holiday baking, when I was able to uncover both the ingredients and the oven (oddly, the oven was the harder one to find). Also, I managed to get my Christmas shopping done well ahead of schedule, with gifts wrapped and in an ugly pile (NOT UNDER A TREE) for Jason, and the rest shipped off to family many kilometers away.
So I wondered to myself what I could do to put myself in the holiday mood. When I was a kid in school, we would colour pictures of the baby Jesus, and glue macaroni to green construction paper and call it an ornament (my mother still hangs these mouldy offerings in her tree faithfully each year), and learn songs that irritatingly still occupy mucho space in my head today (au petit trot s'en va le cheval avec ses grelots....). My mother would attempt to pile her 4 daughters on Santa's 1 little lap for the classic family photo and then she'd tell us how Santa really doesn't like milk and cookies nearly so much as he likes Doritos and daiquiris (coincidentally my mother's favourites also).
But, it's safe to say that none of these things were doing it for me this year. So I did what any sane person would do: I bought a colouring book, a box of 96 crayons, and I rented Tis The Season to Be Smurfy. It was just like I remembered it. Smurftastic.
Last night (or rather, earlier this evening, as it is 4:41 am and this little girl has still not seen her bed, except for a brief romp which was completely sleep-unrelated) Jason took me to the Lindsay Lights, a smurftacular display of lights and music which is actually just the work of 2 dudes with some time on their hands and their parents' sprawling yard at their disposal. For some reason, we actually drove half an hour outside of the city to see that, which meant that we then had to use the all-night grocery store to get everything but the turkey (the butterball has been defrosting all week), and then we had to go on a fevered search for booze because apparently we're both unwilling to face the holidays sober.
So now we are set to encounter the great unknown: Christmas for 2. Oh, we'll have food enough for 12, and liquor enough for 20, but there'll just be me and Jason. What, oh what shall we do?
If we don't hit the mimosas too hard, we may attempt to blog the day (otherwise we'll never know how we spent it). But there's also a high probability that Jason will incur yet another severe beating thanks to his knack for getting me "practical" gifts, although after last year's lashing, you'd think he'd understand that hair products are not smurfaroonie for Christmas.
Whatever December 25th means to you (and even if it means nothing at all), I wish you love and peace and pie.
And remember: syphilis is not a Christmas gift.
Be good; Santa's watching.
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