So yesterday morning I woke up to the cats fighting and my brother yelling at me that it was Christmas, and it was time to get up. I'd stayed up until four in the morning, so I was pretty groggy, but I gamely stumbled down the stairs, expecting to see my whole family downstairs already. Nope. My brother just woke me up half an hour before anyone else was awake.
When everyone else eventually got downstairs, we unwrapped our stacks of stuff. I got a whole ton of knee socks, the plaid ones of which immediately made me think of schoolgirl roleplay (so cute!), as well as a spindle for making my own yarn and a whole slew of little gizmos that I never knew I needed but are bound to be a big part of my life. Oh, and the quintessential chocolate orange.
My brother put on his Christmas CD of Metal Ballads, and we ate our breakfast sausage rolls to the sounds of Kiss singing about eternal love--no Bing Crosby in this house. After a while we went to my uncle's house, where we ate dinner and watched my cousins hit each other with their body pillows from the Costco. This raises an interesting question: why did these kids want body pillows? Is this some trend that I'm not aware of? After dinner, I lounged around on the couch reading Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs while my dad napped. Limited "family time"? Check. Relaxing? Check. I don't know why anyone would do Christmas any other way.
Although the highlight of the evening definitely came after we got home. My dad and brother and I were all downstairs in the living room when we heard a thud from upstairs. I'm used to thuds because my downstairs neighbor has a drinking problem and falls down a lot, but my dad was immediately alert.
There was a long silence, and then: "Honeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
He was up on his feet before the call even stopped. He hopped over the coffee table and ran up the stairs, leaving behind a small Road-Runner style dust cloud.
My mom had fallen off a stool while doing leg stretches. When my dad took her to the emergency room this morning, it turned out that she'd broken her foot.
Baby Jesus? We're sorry we didn't celebrate your birthday to your liking. But this is just a little vindictive.
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