Boxes Wrapped and Boxes Checked

And Also To You

Caroline had a trying morning. Somewhere in the late dark o'thirties I heard her feet hit the floor and then duhk-duhk-duhk-duhk, as fast as a fast cat, she went to get her rock, her constant companion, her EddyBear... only to discover that he wasn't in his room. We had put him to bed on an inflatable mattress in our room - surrounded by old towels and giant bowls - and he was still out cold. Or out hot, ackshuwee, as his fever lingered for awhile this morning. Still upstairs, she paced. She groaned. She finally came down to find the only other person in our family who gets up when it is still sorta dark out and she and Steve planned breakfast. Then I got out of bed to powder my nose and in my absence she snuck into our room and and absconded with Edward; though, much good it did her as he promptly fell back asleep on the couch.


She wrote him off as a total loss and decided to get Patrick. I went with her to document what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object on Christmas morning.




I'll tell you. First the unstoppable force says, in a voice that could glaze doughnuts, "Patrick, it's Christmas morning!" Then, when the object - immoveable - says nothing she raises her voice and says, "Patrick! Christmas! Presents!" After the i.m. mutters something about going away she raises her voice to a shriek and yells, "Patrick! I have HAD IT! GET UP YOU IDIOT! OR ELSE!" she finally looks at her mother who has opened her mouth to tell her how we speak to people and returns to the powdered sugar tone to say, "Merry Christmas. I love you. Now. Get. UP."

Patrick got up. Edward got Advil. We all got presents. I know I should shun the crass materialism of this, the last age of very late Rome but I don't. I love presents. I got a new desk chair (thank you, Katherine, for pointing out my previous crappy metal folding chair in the comments, thus calling public attention to my plight and prompting Steve [forevertime reader, never commenter] to buy me a chair with wheels and arm support.)


Isn't he lovely? I've named him Black Beauty. Steve also got me a McLaren-Mercedes pullover from England that reeks of transmission fluid, which I am sure was stripped directly off the body of Lewis Hamilton as he left the team after Brazil.

The twins got dress up stuff and books and puzzles and dollhouses




I got some t-shirts for Patrick


(Patrick. Laughing. On Christmas Day. I got him a tshirt from that he won't be allowed to wear to school but which he found amusing:

"Some people are like Slinkies/ they're not really good for anything but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down the stairs."

He also spoke to his grandparents during the day and when asked, I dunno, something, he said, "Well, Mom asked for a ferret. That went as well as could be expected."

It's true. I didn't get a ferret. But I got a desk chair. And that was good enough.

Oh no, wait, it wasn't.


We bought that piece of furniture shaped like the state of Minnesota. In green.

I think this should be the new, universal, end-of-December greeting: "To you I wish happiness of Patrick receiving an end table."