As I was saying, Christmas, dude. Wow. I’m nodding thoughtfully at my laptop, while gazing nonchalantly at the mess I made in the kitchen. Now I’m punching my palm with my fist. I don’t know why. Now I’m biting my fingernail. What am I doing?
Christmas was fun as always, but on the days leading up to it, I went about 20% too crazy for my physical and emotional health. Like, on Christmas Eve, I shouldn’t have spent hours in the kitchen baking banana bread, bailey’s cheesecake, chocolate peanut butter cookies, oatmeal cookies and such. I know, right? For hours, I could have been lounging in front of the TV, yelling at the baby, but nope, I chose to spend this special day in the kitchen. I’m biting my fingernail again.
Christmas, though. It has brought on this ridiculous frenzy of baking. I was worried that my sister would not be experiencing the heartstopping joy of christmas morning as remembered in my childhood. But my fears were unwarranted. Just the idea of being able to rip the wrapper of presents was enough to send her into an unstoppable rampage.It was then my mom stepped in and stopped her from eating my baked goods. “Sugar high,” she intoned. I privately agreed, and made a mental note to wrap each and every lego block next year.
As I am sure you are aware, Christmas, besides being Jesus’s birthday, is also my mom’s birthday. A bunch of people swarmed over, whom I joyously dumped my cookies on. One thing would have made this day perfect though. I wanted to teach the baby to play mahjong, but nooo, something about the wrong values of gambling, and anyway they were too busy teaching me.
Bah.
Anyway, I swallowed my bitter disappointment and enjoyed myself. And now it’s two days later and I haven’t stopped baking. I can barely crawl across the room without wanting to curl up and hibernate for a day. I don’t know if it’s the baking and the many glasses of bailey’s, or the high-pitched screams of my sister as she rips into our letters and christmas cards. Or both! Probably both.
