I greet you

I greet you with:

1) Merry Christmas!

2) Happy Holidays!

0r

3) a moan of commiseration.

Whichever you prefer. If I knew how to set up a poll, I would.

I've been rushing about like a mad woman since I last posted. Well, actually, I rushed about like a mad woman until about midnight on Christmas Eve at which point I threw in the towel, went to bed and  woke up sick. Some people might think it's terribly bad luck for the mother of a toddler to wake up sick on Christmas Day and those people, kindly and sympathetic though they may be, would be terribly, terribly wrong. I got to loll on the sofa running the video camera while Luke opened his presents and David wrestled the turkey into submission in the kitchen in my stead. After he'd finished that, poor David had to put together the hundreds of toys  that had arrived in a thousand separate pieces all the while maintaining a cheerful holiday countenance as he did so. After that, of course, he had to test each and every one of those toys under Luke's close supervision. And then there were the dozens of vegetables to be prepared and the wretched gravy and the setting of the festive table and the scooping up of  great swathes of wrapping paper and the breaking down of boxes and the cleaning up of the cat vomit. (Our cat Theo has a Christmas ribbon addiction. It's a bit like having an alcoholic in the family only instead of having to whip wine bottles out of sight, you've got to hide all the ribbons and bows. Of course, like the alcoholic uncle who inevitably finds some liquor somewhere, Theo always finds a ribbon. And immediately ingests it. He can generally be counted on to throw up at some point during the proceedings.) And I haven't even mentioned the dishing out and the clearing up and the washing of dishes and so on and so on and so on.

This is the second Christmas I've been ill and I just might make a tradition of it. Although last Christmas I think I took it a bit too far -- I had stuff streaming out both ends last year and couldn't figure out which way to turn in the bathroom in order to catch it all. The saintly David dealt with that, too. I was so busy trying to get my aim straight that I missed a lot of the fun. This year I managed not to go so overboard. I simply started hacking up bits of lung. It was much tidier -- all you need really is a sofa and a box of kleenex -- and yet it did the trick.

Here is a photo of Luke and his grandfather in church on Christmas Eve:

This was only the second time Luke had been to a church service. (The first was a memorial for his grandmother on All Saints Day when he was about seven months old. At that service, my precious infant managed to fart so loudly during a moment of silence that the ten-year-old red-head  in front of us whipped around in astonishment and stared with wide, shocked eyes at David and I. He was  clearly trying to figure out which of the two of us was the culprit.)  Grandpa is a church-goer who often mentions that he has just gone to church or that he is about to go to church. He also frequently relates tales of amusing church happenings. Luke must have imagined that church (he calls it "chooch") was a very exciting place. I took that photo as soon as we sat down. A few moments later he started winding his arms around my neck in a gentle strangle-hold and whispering, "Don't like it. Go home now."  Although he did seem to enjoy the hand bell choir. After they finished their song, he clapped and turned to David to ask, "What's on next?" Unfortunately,  the next performance was a lengthy sermon about Christmas in this time of fear and terrorism. Luke and I withdrew to the Sunday School room to search in vain for toys until just before the point where they sang "Silent Night" by candlelight. So, all in all, I don't think it was a bad experience for him. I'm sure there's still a good chance that one day, when he grows up, Luke will decide to become a Pentecostal minister just to spite us.

There's more to tell, and I promise I will, but right now I've got to pause to hack up a bit more lung. I wish you peace and joy or a nice, mildly incapacitating virus (after all, we've still got New Year's Eve ahead of us) whichever you prefer. If I knew how to set up a poll, I would.

Comments

[Brian]

Ah, Christmas. I'd like to add one more option to the greetings you've listed above: 4) All of the above. It's odd that any one day can be the source of so much happiness and stress, tender family moments and little frustrations and dissappointments. I should try getting sick; it might make it run more smoothly!

Your little Luke and my 3 year old, James, have a lot in common: they both are puzzled by church. The one and only time my son has been, he couldn't wait to go. Like Luke, though, minutes after arriving he was whispering in hushed, slightly scared tones that he had had his fill. Oh well. Happy Holidays!

[Sean Carman]

This was wonderful, Steph. Happy holidays!