Holidays = Holy Days?

Right now I am watching a man named Captain FeatherSword dancing around in a lacey shirt singing “Ring-a-ding-a-ding! Ring-a-ding-a-dong!”

Some sort of nerd-girl Christmas porn? No. It is, however, the soundtrack to our Christmas vacation. We are watching “Santa’s Rockin’ Special” for the 3,463rd time. All so B won’t wake up her big sisters in the next room.

Someone should get some sleep. Sharing a room/bed/oxygen with B at night has not gone completely smoothly. Sure, it’s cute when she pokes the soles of my feet, giggles and then quickly pretends to sleep… At 10:00 it’s freaking adorable, at 11:00 it is mildly amusing, around midnight it begins to lose its charm. By 4:00 a.m. it is the most annoying torture known to man. I’m considering petitioning the Hague to add a special addendum to the Geneva convention to that affect.

Daddy to the rescue! Of course he managed to get her to sleep in only 15 minutes. Plus, he’s hardly ticklish at all. Totally unfair.

Since he also let me sleep in, even though he is still working all day long from the hotel room while we do fun holiday things, he is pretty much my hero! I shall call him Captain and he can ring-a-ding-a-dong anytime he wants.

Everyone has a role to play in the family holiday, like our own bizarre pageant played out year after year. This year’s cast also includes:

L as the oldest child and cousin. She is the babysitter, helper and all around gal Friday.

C bringing some teenage-like angst to every situation. Catching a smile on camera is the Holy Grail of holiday photographs.

My 90-year-old Grandma who naps most of the day, then apologizes profusely for being such a burden to us all. Mostly I’m jealous of her ability to doze off with impunity.

My Mom who dotes on all the grandchildren and expects others to do the same. She is deeply offended when waiters and store clerks do not respond appropriately to her questions. “Isn’t this the most adorable child you have ever seen?”

My Dad who provides the ice cream. Anywhere, anytime is a good time for ice cream. Also, the first real food for 2 of my 3 children thanks to Grandpa.

My Aunt who remembers all the old stories. Out loud. Especially the ones you may want to forget.

My baby sister, a younger, cooler version of myself (although equally dorky about all things sci-fi), who had the nerve to grow up. Now she is a mom. I only forgive her for making me feel so old because my nephew is the snuggliest, smiliest baby in the world.

My brother-in-law who brings some Latino flair and energy to our staid, polite Canadian family. Plus, he provided the aforementioned nephew for me to enjoy. He can stay.

My nephew who spends his time eating, sleeping, eating, pooping, eating and posing for pictures. I may be even more envious of him than Grandma.

As for me, when everyone asks “what’s the plan?” their heads all turn to look at me. So, I guess that makes me The Boss. As it should be…

So it’s not exactly perfect. Our car just broke down and we are now arranging to have it towed, first to the Canadian border and then home. Glen is dealing with some work drama and taking a lot of important calls in the bathroom while we frantically shush the kids. Grandma is having some health problems “down below” – I’m not sure what that means, but I’m sure she’ll tell me in excruciating detail.

This may seem like an excellent time for a meltdown (and I have considered it), but it’s actually the perfect setup for Christmas. Cause it doesn’t need to be a Silent Night to be a Holy one. That’s the beauty of the story. All is not calm and all is not bright, but that’s exactly where Jesus shows up. In the middle of the crazy: God With Us.

So here’s me, hoping to sleep in heavenly peace tonight!

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About So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I'm a bookworm, nature lover, kick-boxer, candy fiend, sci fi geek, home body, progressive Christian and part-time student. I love my crazy life and the messy, fun, stubborn, silly, brilliant people who populate it. View all posts by So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

12 responses to “Holidays = Holy Days?

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