Christmas ... the good, the bad and the ugly (or cute, depending on what you think of squirrels)
So. Christmas. Christ. Mas.
Let's dispense with the bad, shall we?
I don't know about you but I'm thinking the people who know a thing or two about a thing or two also know better than to get involved in any heated debates on a day that roughly translates (in my imagination, anyway) to "More Christ."
I'm adding the following conversation topics to the list of things I won't discuss on Christmas ever again:
How I really feel about the new house.
Credit (how it works in general).
Debit cards (how they work).
Which is better, credit or debit?
Misspellings on personalized items. ... (Just say thank you).
Does bubblegum really kill birds? Google's not decisive and T-shirt humor might DEPEND upon it.
Now, on to the good.
Did you notice the photos up there?
Annabel MADE those for ME.
She sewed the pillow herself, and she painted the three scenes on the candleholder: Snowman, gingerbread house and Christmas tree; not to mention glued on the ribbon embellishment at the top.
She even got her own gift on the evening of Christmas as she was watching one of her favorite gifts, "The Little Mermaid."
"Mama! I have a wiggly tooth!"
I fished around inside her mouth, and lo and behold, her lower right chopper in the front is indeed wiggly.
It's hard to believe I will soon have to tell the Toothfairy our address so she can Google/Mapquest us when the time comes to collect her prize. Where does the time go?
And finally ... The ugly/cute.
My mother-in-law said on Christmas morning that she had the sensation of a small critter crawling around on her in the night. We tossed about the idea that it might have been one of the neighborhood cats, as they have been known to seek shelter from the cold in our humble abode from time to time. But we eventually came to accept that the most likely senario was that she had dreamt it.
Didn't dream it.
It was a squirrel ... a baby one. Running around the sunporch next to where she'd been sleeping.
Jed cornered the rodent in the linen closet and eventually coaxed it into a Madam Alexander babydoll box with the window-front. (I'd have a picture of him, but my stupid camera tricked me into thinking I had a data card inserted).
The kids were able watch the tiny little beast freak out at his sudden confinement, and exclaim with glee . ... "oh ... so cute ..." before Jed took him outside (with a handful of Cheerios) and let him go into the trees.
So if Cheerios kills squirrels, please keep it to yourself. I promise won't discuss it next year, anyway.