So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu

Here I sit snuggled in my Christmas pajamas and the blanket my mom made us for Christmas. Ralph stands noble in his blue-lit suit. My living room is ensconced in nativity scenes and nutcrackers and stocking hung by the chimney with care. Red and green and white lights wrap around the room. Christmas carols play from my computer. It is my last stand, my last effort. Because the truth is, it’s over. Family has all gone home. Christmas movies have been watched.
Post-Christmas partum. It’s the most depressing time of the year.
And I have absolutely no reason to be depressed. My husband and family and friends completely spoiled me this year from a misfit toy ornament to Pirate games to books to a popcorn maker (you have to understand how much of a popcorn fanatic I am) to another season of M*A*S*H on DVD to a brand new car. Yup, a brand new car complete with the new car smell.
My husband and I looked at cars this past summer. My car is getting up there in years, but it still runs. We just couldn’t afford a new car. Then my husband saw that someone in our church needed a new car. Five kids in one apartment. One car. The husband takes that one car to Oklahoma every week for his job. I would say they need a car. So my husband fast-forwarded some of our plans. Donated my car and bought me a new one. It was my grandmother’s car. Grandma, you’re legacy of generosity lives on. You’re still helping those in need.
Christmas morning we wake up bluebird early and trek to Chris’ mom’s house in our Christmas pajamas. Chris tells me to open my present from him last. Very last. It’s wrapped in three different papers, a washcloth, a leftover picture after his mom’s scrapbooking, tied with a bowtie made from the wrapping paper roll. That’s my husband for you. I tear open all this wrapping. A GPS system. (I get lost all the time.) At least the box for a GPS system. Where is it? I ask. Already in your car, he answers. Let’s go play with it. The crew runs out the door while I fumble with my shoes. Wait! I cry. It’s mine! I get to play with it first! I run out the door. Right in front of the house is a black Sonata with a red ribbon. Just like the movies. My mouth gapes like a baby bird waiting for his worm (and, might I add, like my niece, Cadie, whenever she’s in a 2 mile radius of food). I cry.
I’ve never had a brand new car.
And there inside is my GPS system.
I’m completely spoiled.
Oh, and my GPS system talks. You can set it to speak with a British accent. Love it.
It makes me sad that some people, when you ask about their holidays, they just say, “I got through it.” I don’t want to let go. And there were hard things about this Christmas, one of which being the fact that because it was the turn Chris’ side of the family, I missed out on my family’s Christmas traditions, even though my side was able to come up here for Christmas.
I love Christmas. And I love my life. I hate saying goodbye.