(Jason writes in BLUE)
3am So when I wrote earlier about "just 2 more sleeps", I was being optimistic. Stupidly, doggedly, optimistic. No such sleeps, but lookey, Christmas came anyway. It's a little sad to be up all alone at 3am in the wee hours of Christmas day; I suspect that even Santa is back home and safely in bed at this point.
The house looks beautiful. Superficially, it actually looks clean and orderly (if you keep the door to the spare room shut tightly). The garlands are hung a little crookedly (that's what I get for delegating them to Jason and his staple gun) but let me tell you this: I bought some beautiful tumeric plates that offset my new chili red ones, plus a new table runner and bold gold napkins that are to die for...seriously, my table settings will make you cream. It almost seems sacrilegious to eat on this table!
So I am up, alone, and contemplating getting a head start on my meatballs which will have to slow cook for 8 hours. Jason is in bed having wet dreams after I assured him that Sugar Plum Fairy was just some big-titted girl's stripper name. I just want to shake him awake and pile his mountain of gifts on top of him. We are so bad at keeping secrets from each other that keeping presents a surprise is a real challenge. Already he's given me a few: a fleece hoodie, The Penelopiad, and the collector's edition DVD of A Christmas Story (seriously folks, if you haven't seen it, do - it's a holiday classic).
4:31am The tedious part of meatballs is done. Now when I get up (for real this time), I'll just have to make the sauce and then throw them in the crockpot. Oddly, even the smell of two meats frying away in heaven did not rouse Jason from his sleep.
5:55am Okay, pie's done. Looks delish. I put it in the bar fridge where hopefully it won't get poked at. I had to use the mix master 4 separate times, and Jason still sleeps. What a kid. We'll both be glad to have such a good jump on all the food prep later, but I guarantee Jason will say something to the effect of : But I didn't get to lick the beaters!
8:58am After tossing, turning, and reading another 50 pages of The Cunning Man, I decided sleep was not for me, so I woke Jason up at 7:30 and we had Christmas right there and then. I poured strong mimosas, and he opened his stocking impatiently, eager to get to "the real presents." By 8, he was drunk, sugar-high, and half-buried beneath a mound of wrapping paper and bows. Now that, my friend, is Christmas.
I fought off the challenges of both champagne on no sleep, and one-handed unwrapping (someone has to yield the camcorder, right?) to reveal my bounty - among which, I found the Chuckies that I asked for one million times!
Wholly Crap! It's Christmas. The one day a year where no one calls me a "gourmand" because I had thirds and fourths of dessert. Also, the presents rocked! There was everything I asked for and stuff I didn't even know I wanted. From an iPod to Booze to Simpsons DVD Seasons to PS2 games, it was awsome. There wasn't a package of socks or tighty whities anywhere. Thanks Jamie!!
Mother-in-law called to say she fought off tears opening her gift. After I basked in the warm glow of giving a good gift, I realized: she's coming for 5 damn days. Shit.
Meanwhile, Jason really got into the Christmas spirit by playing one of his new video games, where I witnessed some carjacking, cop killing, prostitution, and bmxing all rolled into one. Lucky me.
She's just jealous it's not a two player game.
10:05am Tired. Very tired. Going to bed for nap. Jason insists on staying up so he can "play with his toys."
Figured out the iPod and downloaded crappy music. Well, crappy according to someone I know.
1:45pm Up, but still tired. However, el turkey beckons. Must give him intimate bath in all the right places. Oh my!
Now I'm jealous.
4:52pm Chez my grandparents, we always had Christmas dinner at about 4:30pm. They're seniors, you see. Once we had to hold dinner until almost 4:45 and my grandfather nearly fainted from hunger and anticipation. Today we'll eat on our terms, when our bellies are ready for it. And as for 4:30pm, well, that was a great time for sex.
7:33pm Realized that Jason neglected to remove the turkey's neck.
8:06pm All told it took about 7 hours of hard labour to cook the meal, and about 20 minutes to consume it, 15 minutes of queasiness over not having made even the slightest dent in the mounds of food, and 4 hours to groan about having over-eaten before I started eating again. I parched myself in the kitchen, so I gulped down wine a little too enthusiastically. I dirtied my new hoodie. Wished my Nanny a merry Christmas. Indulged Jason. Had to remove my pants because the fridge just didn't have enough room for all the leftovers. Had to admit a certain satisfaction since the meal turned out perfectly, all seventy kabillion courses of it, and not even any lumps in the gravy, thankyouverymuch.
10:23pm Drunk. Still full, probably because I'm trying to give the leftover curds a good home. Decided mountain of dishes will still be there tomorrow. Dessert has not been attempted (well, at least not by me). Watched Jason play with some of his new toys. Must go to bed soon - so much hard work, so little sleep. Between the drunkenness, the bellyful, and the exhaustion, my body has become dead weight. Earlier, I worried that I might have to live out the rest of my natural life sucked between the sofa cushions.
6:13am Ah, welcome boxing day, day of boxes, day of dishes and leftovers and hopefully rest. I dropped into bed just after 11, fell almost immediately asleep (which I have not done since I was 7), and slept like the dead for 2 solid hours before overheating (winos sweat a lot in their sleep, but the sweat is sweet like wine). Left the bed and have not been back since.
I think it's safe to say that Christmas was a success. Coming from a large and boisterous family, I am unused to such quiet celebrations, but I must say that I rather enjoyed it. We made our own schedule, we unbuttoned our pants without fear of recrimination, and best of all, we left the mess until later. It was a cozy day and predict I will be tempted in the future to keep all Christmases to a party of 2. But towards the end of the night, with food for 20 more piled high in the fridge, at least half a dozen loads of dirty dishes piled in and around the sink, wads of discarded wrapping paper still crinkling underfoot, and delicious sweet potato still undigested in our stomachs, we couldn't help but turn to each other and ask, So, what are we doing for New Year's?