Ain’t it Fun

I hope everyone had a great Christmas. I can say with total truth that ours was wonderful, even if it did involve the horrible realization that my 10 year-old nephew no longer believes in Santa, as evidenced by his 2 a.m. bedtime Christmas Eve. He kept us all awake and miserable, desperate to put out the gifts so we could finally, for the love of God, go to bed already, after we realized he was going to bed, faking it, then hiding behind the bathroom door, awake and suspicious. At 11:30, we slipped him some Benadryl out of desperation, and at midnight, he was weeping the sad tears of the overtired, and by 1 a.m., we were all weeping with the pathetic tears of misery and terror that Santa wouldn’t ever be able to come because he’d never sleep again, which meant that we would never sleep, and Christmas would be spent face down in a pile of pancakes.

At 1:30 a.m., I was sent to the top of the stairs for a Christmas vigil of sorts, and finally, at 2:15, he relented and agreed to go to sleep, but not before peeking down the stairs to see the mysteriously full stockings, despite the fact that my parents were still toddling around the kitchen. Toddling grandparents, of course, meant that Santa didn’t come, because everyone knows he doesn’t come when people are wandering the house, and the full stockings were the final confirmation of what he already knew, but didn’t want to admit.

Le sigh. The heartbreak of shattered Santa dreams. I actually have no recollection of ever believing in Santa, since I figured out the whole ruse by the time I was 6. My parents somehow believe that it was the by-product of my parents’ divorce – that somehow, that first Christmas, someone – though no one will say who – forgot to follow through on an important tactic to maintain the illusion.

At any rate, Christmas was lovely and full of delight, and things like new pajamas, stuffed clams and good times. I hope yours were as lovely. And, sadly, it’s all been a little on the downhill side since I realized that by the time most of you read this, I will be entering my 32nd year by way of turning 31, which is no good, no good AT ALL. I plan to spend the day lying about on large cushions and demanding that people bring me Indian food.

And finally, Christmas: A SuperBrief and Pointless Photo Essay, well not really an essay, as it only includes two photos and everyone is asleep.

Sleep. Sleep is good on a holiday.

The true sign of a successful Christmas. Or maybe it was the 2 a.m. bedtime?

*Guns ‘n Roses

18 comments December 26th, 2006