No one else is up, yet. Just me and the cats.
Merry Christmas, boys and girls!
We done good this year, if I do say so myself. Lots of nice presents for the kids. Probably too much.
A and N are staffing the WH this week, so the kids and I don’t need to work (they’ve hired two more very young men). So I guess I won’t need to go in, after all. Which is good, I think. I kind of need a break. Just from all that physical labor.
I think it is very kind of them to do that for us. I feel like I should do something for them. Like have pizzas delivered there or something. Maybe I could coordinate that with Eddie.
I feel increasing gratitude toward people that help me. Often I just get this overwhelming sense of wanting to give back, even in little ways. I don’t know if motherhood has brought it out in me, or age, or life in general.
I think for a long time, I was afraid to give, because of rejection. Early life experiences taught me my gifts would not be well-received. So I just didn’t. It’s a hard way to live, that kind of emotional paralysis.
But later in life I’m learning (still learning) that I have value, and that I mean something to other people, and they appreciate me as I appreciate them. So my impulse is to do something back.
I had a whole series of blocks here about that woman I do things for. I removed them, because this post is to be about Christmas, and joy, and everything that is right with the world.
I am compelled to mention one thing not right, though: WordPress is still malfunctioning. Blocks (paragraphs) overlapping. Last night’s post had the word “and” randomly added to the end of it, making it appear as though I had more to say, when in fact, I was finished saying things.
So pretty soon, Desmond will be up. Then eventually Aislyn (she talks in her sleep like Mama, unfortunately, so she sleeps in later). Then Derek. Then Christmas can start.
Like most families, we do stockings first. It’s just the kids and the cats.
Then I think we eat breakfast. Then we all get dressed.
Then, the kids divvy up the gifts into four piles and we take turns opening.
This is not how the Donahers did Christmas. We may have started with stockings, but that is where the similarities ended. As soon as we were all up, we dove into those presents, man, everybody at the same time, bedhead, sleepy eyes, pajamas and all. Our pictures show us still waking up while opening. Derek and Mom, you would be horrified.
Christmas for Barbarians.
It’s funny, because my dad is super organized, too. You’d think the Donahers would’ve had Organized Christmas. Nope. Probably because he came from a family of what…seven? No, eight! Ma Mere, Grampy, Dad, Billy, Kevin, Jimmy, Laurie, and Joe: eight. Their Christmases must’ve been pretty wild.
Ready? Say it with me: Yeah, must’ve been.
Nah, but I love my dad’s childhood stories of growing up in Nahant. They are so funny. And there’s sometimes even new ones I’ve never heard.
Like I guess there was this older neighborhood kid, Joe LeGault, who, when Dad and his friends were little kids, would tell them to do things, they’d get spoken to by the cops, and they’d say: “Joe LeGault told us to do it.” And, as you might imagine, the cops were quite familiar with Joe LeGault.
And Dad would tell us how the kids fought over the bananas, so my grandmother had to write their names on the bananas. My poor grandmother. She must’ve been out of her mind with six kids!
Wait for it…Yeah, must’ve been.