day after Christmas ramblings

I hope your Christmas was a special one.  Our's certainly was (all three Christmases.)  Last night before bed, my oldest said it was her favorite Christmas ever and the crazy middle one gave a toast over pizza at dinner (I made Christmas lunch, the kids at pizza for dinner) she said "cheers to Christmas and the birf of Jesus!" She can't say words that end in TH.  It was a nice moment. 

When I was a little girl Christmas was all about family and for me, it still is.  Every year on Christmas Eve we would go to my Mammaw Lewis' little house for dinner with my mom's side of the family and it was always a lot of fun.  My great-grandmother made these sweet carrots I loved and she had always had a little tree that sat on top of a table.  My great aunts and uncles and cousins were there and we had lots of presents to open.  Every year we knew it was time to go home when the weatherman on the local news said Santa had been spotted in the area.  I loved Christmas Eve, it was a special night and it didn't have anything to do with the Santa.  My great-grandmother, Katie Lewis, passed away the Christmas after the hubs and I were married.  We had long stopped the Christmas Eve tradition after she moved in with my grandparents as she got older, but it gave me the same feeling to have spent one last Christmas with her. 

On the right is a familiar sight — Christmas morning.  Change a few things in the picture and it could be present day, but it's my sister, Otto the dachshund, and I in 1981.  That was the year Santa brought my Barbie Townhouse and I knew he had to be real.  Of course, the next year I found out the cruel, hard truth and I'm sure that's what set me on the path to cynicalville you see today.  Did anyone else equate the authenticity of Santa Claus with the quality of presents you received?  I don't know about everyone else, but when I got the Barbie Townhouse with a working elevator it pretty much blew my mind.  I have to admit, the whole elevator-thing ruined the real estate experience for me as an adult.  We lived in a 3 story townhouse in Canada, but there was no elevator.  The hubs' aunt has a townhouse in Metairie with an elevator.  It's a real-life Barbie Townhouse, only it's not pink and the elevator isn't run by pulling a string.  If I lived there, I'd paint the whole thing pink and hang out in the hot tub all the time.  Then if I got bored, I'd take my pink Corvette out with Ken, Midge, and Skipper — well, not Skipper, I never liked that whiny beyotch. 

If you were a kid in the 80's like me, you remember the goofy toys we had.  Check out the little squirrels I'm holding in the photo.  Those babies were a little rodent family called the Woodsies that came with a little fabric log that was their house and little squirrel furniture.  How weird is that?  I don't know what my sister is trying to keep my disinterested dog out of — she always had the weirdest taste in toys.  Does anyone remember the Monchichies?  If not, maybe this will refresh your memory.

Y'all, that's some freakiness going on right there.  What crack smoking toy exec came up with those?  My sister loved those damn Monchichi monkey puppet dolls.  Over the years in my world the word monchichi has somehow morphed into a term of endearment for children — I don't know how or why, but call kids monchichies — not just mine, all children.  Munchkins and monchichies.

At some point in adolescence I became less interested in my own gifts and focused on giving.  Trust me, it was not some highly spiritual epiphany that came to me; although it was around the same time I became a Christian, so maybe it wasn't a coincidence after all.  Anypresent, I didn't care too much about what I received, it was all about finding the perfect gift for friends and family and wrapping it in Martha Stewart fashion.  I went to extremes.  I went to such extremes in gift-giving that the band Extreme was all "damn, we better change our name, this chick's making us look bad."  Friends will know what I'm talking about.  If you asked me for a book, you'd better believe I was going to try to find the first edition.  I was nuts.  With the invention of eBay, I'm sure I'm worse now, although I try to not go overboard anymore. 

I still refuse to use those plasticky stick-on bows and just any paper.  I'm a gift wrap snob and I'm not afraid to admit it. It's real ribbon (I've also been known to use ric rac, pompons, and felt) and heavy paper, no drugstore stuff, mainly Hallmark.  Last week I realized I had left the tissue paper and enclosure at home when I got to the pack and ship place to mail a few gifts and I had to take a moment, count to 10 and tell myself it wasn't a big deal.  I'm pretty sure when the magi showed up with their gifts for Jesus they didn't have polka dot tissue paper and monogrammed gift enclosures.  But then again, when you're giving gold, who cares how it's wrapped?  Although I'm more of a silver person. 

EDIT: Because I'm a giver, this is for Jenn because she said I have the innate ability to transport her to "back in the day," which is of course, my goal in life.  Yes, it's the Popples commercial.  Popples are the bastardized stuffed animal ball-thing that haunts Jenn's dreams!