During the holiday season, I painstakingly assembled, hand-signed and sent out 47 Christmas cards. We have received 23. Clearly, this activity falls under the whole general "love everyone/Christmas spirit/'tis better to give than to receive" banner. I admit to feeling very "bah, humbug" about the whole endeavor, particularly because I Grinchishly set up a system this year to track this, and it only confirmed my suspicions that the Blah Blah family is getting the raw end of the deal.
In fact, I am very "bah, humbug" about my entire Christmas experience this year, except where it really counts: our Christmas morning with Viva was practically Norman Rockwell-esque. Never mind that we stayed up until 12:30 assembling all her toys, wrapping gifts, and stuffing her stocking, and that she woke up at 6:30. We had Christmas music going, great coffee a-brewing, and a little munchkin who was wide-eyed and awestruck about the entire affair. She was thrilled with everything, and we were thrilled with her. It was all very huggy and smoochy and make-me-almost-cryable, to such an extent that it almost made me rethink my boycott of Santa Claus.
Almost.
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