In 15 minutes, we’re going to eat dinner at Gramma’s. She lives right in town. We could walk there if it wasn’t 13 degrees out.
I finished wrapping. Just barely. We do different paper for Santa presents. That’s not how the Donahers rolled, but we still totally bought it. Yeah, I was slightly naive.
My mother ruined Santa Claus for me when I was seven or eight. Right before or after that Christmas she told me it was all a fairytale. She thought I already knew.
I did not.
I was devastated. “Well, what about the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy? They’re still real, right?”
“Oh, yeah, sure, they’re real.”
I believed her. Like I said, naive.
I guess she did the same thing to my Aunt Cece when they were kids.
Other than that, though, my early childhood was pretty good, as far as I can remember. I was never exactly “normal,” in the eyes of my classmates, though. I believe what they saw was my social anxiety.
I’m so overjoyed that neither of my kids seem to have that problem.
Anyway, we’re having turkey, stuffing, squash, all the good stuff. Maple pumpkin pie. The Taylors are great cooks.
The Leah Taylors are not.
We’re running late. I said we have the built-in excuse of kids. Desmond didn’t like that, he thought I was being insulting. So I explained to him, it’s not an insult, it just is what it is. He was okay with that.
Sometimes “It is what it is” is a magical sentence.
Have to go now. Talk later.