Phew!

What a relief!  Christmas is over for yet another year, even though I am still addressing cards as if it wasn't.  The deadline has been met once again, and I'm ready for a vacation.  How 'bout you?  I think hospitals, mental hospitals that is, should have a special wing called the "Christmas Trauma Center," a place to nurse injured feelings, heal disappointments because it wasn't like the Norman Rockwell painting envisioned, and relieve guilt over the inevitable family strife.  The CTC should also have a mammoth bouncy house with boxing equipment where people can work off their pent-up emotions and leave them behind.  No one should be allowed to wear red or green, especially not together.  And, of course, the griping that takes place in the CTC stays in the CTC.

I usually enjoy the build-up to Christmas more than the actual day itself, but this year was so different.  It was such a kick to watch Sam quiver with excitement when he saw that Santa really did bring him Annie & Clarabelle, the Tommy trains he had asked Santa for on every visit.  (And there were many.  For the scoop, see earlier entry for the "Santa Crawl.")   For once I could not have cared less what I got.  I got the best gift ever -- watching the sheer joy on his face as he discovered each toy and then  danced with excitement while we hacked through walls of plastic to free the coveted toy inside.  He got so immersed in playing with each one that he would forget that there were still tons left to open.  At two he's still too young to be greedy -- yet!  Well, maybe that is not so true.  Today he kept demanding to "open presents," despite the fact that he was tripping over his mound of new ones.  We have a budding capitalist in the making, folks!

Well, off to finish up on the Christmas cards so I can then get started on a round of thank you notes.

LibbY