Well, Christmas finally vomited itself up. After a month and a half of pain, nausea, and delirium, The Big Day arrived and splattered its bad self from here to eternity.
On Christmas morning I went home on my lunch break around 8:00 and found my tuckered little monsters still asleep which made me incredibly grateful I got to at least be with them during that window of opportunity when reality and fantasy collide. No sooner had Brandon and Amanda ooh'd and ahhh'd at the miracle of Santa, than they were being rushed to get dressed so we could get back to the airport. Pretty crappy way to start The Big Day (pretty crappy way to spend it too), and they didn't complain once the whole time.
Damn I have awesome kids.
As soon as our day ended at work, we rushed home to begin what the rest of humanity completed hours before - the obliteration of that scanty barrier of paper that may as well have held the secrets of the CIA. With many thanks, hugs, and Merry Christmases, it all ended in a flash and I laid down for a quick nap before leaving for Dad's house for some of his wife's most awesome grub.
It wasn't until a couple days ago that the living room recovered from the trauma The Big Day bestowed upon her, as there was still wrapping paper and boxes littered everywhere. I finally found the time and energy to clean up the carnage - it was like a giant rated G frat party. Instead of booze and sex it was toys and paper.
So. Much. Paper.
With the tree dismantled, the floor vacuumed, the decorations stowed, and the house back to normal, I feel as if I've decontaminated the place after a long bout of the shits.
Regardless of how stressful the holidays are for me, the true test of their success is the happiness of the kids, and it looks like Mama did a-ok.