Dear friends and family (yes, that includes you, high school friend who I haven’t seen or spoken to since 1986…remember me?),
So, here we are again. Christmas time. Why does it seem like I just vacuumed up the last pine needle from last year? Because I did. Literally. Just in time for those little bastards to make another mess all over my wood floors, mocking me from their safe little crevice haven. Just so you know, I’m coming back as a pine needle in my next life. Those guys have the shelf life of a Twinkie. And who doesn’t want to live as long as a Twinkie? Wait…let me rethink that.
I am sitting here, sipping my irish cream, making up every excuse in the book to not start decorating. I mean, I love the look and feel of my halls all decked out, but I just don’t want to do it. Besides, sipping irish cream is so much more fun.
But let’s face it, after I bust my back from lugging up the 500 pounds of Christmas shit from the basement, most of it leftover from my mother’s leftovers but have to put up because otherwise The Kid will throw a fit and say something stupid like, “but it’s a tradition,” I’m damn exhausted.
Why the hell can’t someone invent a magic elf to come and perform some holiday decorating magic? You know like that little Elf on the Shelf guy but not as creepy. Or annoying.
C’est la vie or feliz navidad or whatever.
Anyway, I know you are all dying to know what our little family has been up to in the last 12 months. You can take a breath now, because I’m going to tell you.
The Kid is great, awesome, smart, healthy, lovely, sweet as pie. She’s perfect in every way. Oh, who am I kidding? She’s 16 years old. Did you hear me? Sixteen. Sure, she’s smart, healthy (thank you God) and she is lovely looking. She has good genes after all. And she can be sweet as pie. You know, when she needs something or has the stomach bug or she knows she’s in trouble. Otherwise, the only pie she’s as sweet as is a pecan number left out in the sun for 14 days.
I will say she has the gift of negotiation otherwise known as “taking advantage of her parents.” Kudos to her. Damn. If I could have gotten away with that when I was her age, I would have the gift too. Oh, how times have changed.
She got her license a couple of months back. Sure, it makes my life easier. I love sending her down to the corner for bread or milk or something I forgot at Shop Rite because that’s what I do. Forget stuff. But the level of stress that comes with having a child out driving a 2 ton machine? It’s high. You think that time when you lost your kid for 40 seconds in the mall and you were pretty sure she was stolen and already halfway to Mexico was bad? This has got nothing on that.
God bless all mothers of teens. Why can’t we eat our young like they do in the wild? Because we’d get arrested. Stupid laws.
My Dear Husband is great. He is working hard. Keeping a roof over our heads so I don’t have to. He doesn’t have his motorcycle anymore because he had a little mishap. He is fine, thank goodness. His bike, not so much. I’m sad. Mainly because it doesn’t spend its winter in the living room as usual. Now I have to find something to put in that space. First world problems, what can I say. The man looks as damn good as he did in the last holiday letter I sent out. Can’t fatten him up, no matter how hard I try. It’s okay though, because I’ve done it for him. Fatten myself up, I mean.
As for me…I love keeping my sweet house and making sure order is maintained. Just call me Carol Brady. Oh wait, that bitch had a house maid who cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, grocery shopping and everything in between. Yes, I am a Carol wannabe. Because I actually hate all of the above mentioned bull crap. Instead, I live vicariously through her while watching old episodes of The Bunch on Nick At Nite. I have been known to salivate at the screen. And not because Mike is hot. Even though he’s dead now. Poor guy. Also, I guess it turns out he was probably more into Greg than Carol. I never knew.
We went to Hawaii over the summer. Jealous, are you? Well, don’t be. Because that’s a lie. But we did go to a luau-themed party. It was so much fun. I got to drink something alcoholic out of a plastic coconut. Probably the closest I’ll ever get to the real thing so I’ll take it. Hawaii? Maybe next year.
Well no. There won’t be a Hawaiian trip next year either because our kid is going to college the year after that and we will not be able to afford to drive to the outlet center let alone take a trip to paradise. So, we had to make a decision…exotic trip or educated kid. Unfortunately, the Kid wins, once again. Mainly because we don’t really want her mooching off of us for all of eternity. I know, it’s selfish of us.
That just about sums it up. We are happy, healthy and alive. What else could I hope for? Well, a live-in maid and a million bucks would be nice. But since there really is no such thing as a Magic Genie, I’ll have to settle for my Clorox Wipes and our water jug filled to the brim with coins. Hey wait. Think there’s a Hawaiian trip in there?
Oh, and my family. Of course. Even though they were not harmed, or involved in the creation of this letter in any way.