And I've survived another Christmas. Every year at around the 23rd I wonder if I will make it without me bursting every single vein in my head, and somehow, someway, I always manage to. I've come to realize that I enjoy Christmas itself very much, I just don't enjoy the two months before Christmas so well.
But we've had three very nice days, full of family and fun and laughter and entertainment. And food. Man, was there food....I am very much in danger of having what Thing 2 calls a "food seizure", where one is entirely disabled because of eating too much. My mother-in-law considers fewer than four pies to be mean, and if your legs can still hold you after dinner, then you just weren't trying.
I love Christmas Eve, because it has the double-barrelled delight of the air of anticipation and festivity, coupled with the undeniable thrill of being on vacation. It is always very busy at the salon for the weeks leading up to Christmas, and after work on the 24th the staff usually goes out for a few drinks...I enjoy that feeling of being let off the hook more than I can describe. Also, there's nothing more I can do to prepare for Christmas at that point, I just have to let it happen. There's certain liberty in not being able to do any more.
Christmas morning is still a delight, even if Santa is a thing of the past. The girls are still thrilled to open presents, and Toby is unendingly entertained with the plethora of boxes to be explored.
We have Christmas day with my family and Boxing Day with the Mister's. (I tried to introduce the tradition of actual boxing on Boxing Day, and the Mister's nephews were all for it, but somehow, it never took off. ) It used to be that Christmas with two daughters meant a tsunami of tiny pink plastic things that engulfed the house, but that has gotten better as they've gotten older. Now they get clothes and candy, and in much smaller quantities than the Polly Pockets or Barbies of the past.
And now I'm home, and it's all over, and I'm ready to have my life get back to normal.