Yet another Christmas season has passed, and what a lot of fun it was. M and I made cookie boxes together, and M made truffles by herself for the first time. I made lemon fudge, oatmeal cream sandwich cookies, chocolate chip snowballs, triple chocolate peanut butter cookies, caramel buckeye candy and cherry sugar cookies; all went well and people seemed to enjoy them. We put up lights outside, half of which never did light up, but the ones that did were pretty. Neighbors stopped by with treats night after night and we enjoyed socializing with everyone. My parents came up to visit and we had a wonderful time cooking and spending time together, just like always. On Christmas Eve, we had a wonderful dinner together (crab Alfredo casserole, yum!) and more visits from neighbors. M eagerly made truffles for Santa, and when we went to bed, I saw that excitement in her eyes I remember from when I was little. As far as M was concerned, everything was perfect.
M was so excited to find her stocking in the morning, but even more excited to find a microscope from her grandparents. She went taring outside on her bare feet with her vial and tweezers, hollering “It’s time to do science!” She also got a nightgown and slippers she’s been wearing for days now, and a pair of dolls that, as Little Girl Tradition dictates, she promptly stripped naked and took to the park. She ate candy, played with her sister and sat and admired the Christmas tree. I let M choose a present for Baby A; M chose a glowworm, and A has loved it ever since. I had a wonderful time with my parents, especially laughing in the kitchen with my mom as we cooked. I remember cooking on every holiday with her, laughing even things went horribly wrong.
The only major flaw in the holiday was that after Christmas dinner, we all (except M and A) got a horrid case of what Dave Barry calls Martian Death Flu. The kind where, at about five a.m., I was finally able to drink water again, and poured a glass of ice water down my face, arm and bed, and thought, Well, that was cold and just laid there, unable to summon the energy to pick it up. Now, two days later, it hurts to laugh; I swear I sprained my spine.
But I’m sitting here watching my husband attempt to put grip tape on his skateboard, while A crawls on top of it and tries to help him press it down, and it makes me laugh. It hurts, but it’s wonderful, because we have so much to laugh about and so much to be thankful for. Someday, we’ll look back at it and say, Hey, remember that Christmas when the tree fell over when we put the star on, and everyone got sick after dinner? Remember how M made truffles and A started walking three days before and the girls snuggled together in front of the fireplace? Remember how M yelled “Best day EVER!” Remember how great that was?