IT'S THE MOST. WONDERFUL TIME. OF THE YEAR.
It's been over a week, so you get a new picture. I love blogger so much more than diaryland because it's easy to post pictures! Also, I have Picasa now, which I am starting to adore. Seemed kinda sketchy at first, with its claims of organizing all my pictures and such, but I can honestly say it's making life easier (as far as my photos go). Plus, free never hurts, and it has a link directly to Blogger.
As I've mentioned before, people are getting cat beds for Christmas. One of my aunts, however, is catless, so I'm making socks for her. Hooray for Simply Stripes from KnitPicks! I might also get around to finishing the Branching Out scarf (even though we're not Best Pals) and throwing that in for her, too.
You know, I love giving stuff to people as much as I love getting stuff from people, but this whole Christmas-as-a-deadline business is cramping my style. Every year, I have to spend a portion of what would otherwise be perfectly good gift money on renewing the tags on my cars. This year, I'll have to get a new driver's license, too. Merry Christmas, everyone, I'm still street-legal!
The very essence of generosity is the spirit of giving and unselfishness. I guess some people prefer to have that December 25 deadline for handing over the mandatory giftage, but I propose that the rest of us be allowed to exercise our giving muscles on our own schedules. Would that be so bad? I'm not trying to get out of anything here; I just want to give things to people all year long instead of hoarding presents (and forgetting where they're hoarded) (MOM) for months until it's time to give them. Sort of a "live for today" perspective, you know? And maybe it would make Christmas more about hanging with the family and less about wading through mountains of trash and yelling at your relatives over insanely noisy stocking stuffers that someone just had to get for all the cousins that are under 10 yrs old.
Oh wait, that was me. :)
I suspect my dream of revising the Christmas schedule stems from having a week-before-Christmas December birthday. My family's always been really good about making sure I don't feel left out or shuffled into Christmas, but there were definitely occasions where people at school or work just overlooked the birthday deal because it would be too much celebrating.
And there was that time we got together for Christmas with Dad's side of the family, and after the meal someone brought out a cake, and my heart soared until I read the words, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JESUS!"
That's just...I mean, even at age 11 or 12 or whatever I was, and as petulant as I was...well, how do you compete with Jesus? I still feel guilty for those five seconds of bitterness. I mean, when they brought out the cake, I was so sure it was for me, like I was so special that I got an extra recognition. At that time, other people's birthdays were celebrated separate from standard holidays (although my dad and his two sisters have July birthdays, so they all got lumped together - but they were lumped specifically into a birthday gathering). Then I saw what was written on the cake and was immediately humbled. "Oh yeah, Him," I thought, "the guy that's not even here to blow out his candles."
To be fair, the holidays were crazy until my aunts and grandma moved out West. Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas were spent getting up early, going to Mass, driving out to see one Grandma for a few hours, then driving back to within a block of where we live to hang with the other Grandma for the rest of the night. Between staving off food comas to induce more food comas, and fighting with me because I never wanted to get dressed up or stand up straight or brush my hair on holidays (FYI, Mom, I don't even own people brushes now), it's a wonder my parents didn't just leave us in a kennel or something.
Speaking of Ma, she brought over some turkey-day fixins on Friday. In a blatantly American move, she ignored the fact that we went to a restaurant for Thanksgiving meal and cooked a whole nother turkey for the specific purpose of having leftovers. A brilliant plan, but I can't help thinking that I should have donated some of it to the Free Store.
Anyway, while she was here, she got to see Mister's trick. Whenever I throw a ball for him (he likes to play fetch), I build up the suspense (and get his attention) by counting to three first. Since I do this every time, he has started to use his tiny voice to tell me when he wants to play by beeping three times. If I hold up a ball, he'll say, "Meh? Meh? Meh?"
At first, Mom thought it was the ball that was squeaking, but it's Mister! When he wants to play fetch, he'll beep three times. My sister's seen it too.
Mister's cuteness will pwn you.
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