You know, I don’t really put a lot of thought in to Xmas. We usually host my parents with Husband cooking up an amazing five-course meal that’s a lot for the 80-pound-senior citizen elderly people to eat, we have wine, swap gifts, and move on. It’s a really lovely tradition, but this year, for different reasons, we ended up having a variety of plans that all went ka-put in the eleventh hour so we did not plan for a meal, and our plans became so progressively informal that even my mother bailed thirty minutes prior to our meeting time.
Husband woke up in such a grump mood, he said, “This Christmas stinks. This is Doodie Christmas,” and would mutter “Doodie Christmas” under his breath every time something went wrong. Christmas Eve was rough because Husband worked till the evening and Baby behaved like a Drunken Midget all day, so our prep time just shrank. We did get a tree but as of 9 p.m. Christmas Day, I’ve only managed to hang three ornaments (and will probably stop there). Still, I was in a good mood all day and lectured Husband, “if you want a special Christmas, make it special.” I shopped for some brunch items, he made us pancakes, we opened gifts, and then we all napped. It was not a half-bad day.
Only when my mom bailed on dinner (and not that I blame her — she’s just getting over a bad cold, and she didn’t like the plan of wandering around Brooklyn until we found a restaurant that was open), did I become grumpy. In my grump, I decided to go to Queens to a friend’s Xmas party. We packed up Baby with all his accoutrements and booked a car, which drove so haphazardly, that when I looked over at Husband, he looked like he was going to hurl. Unfortunately, Baby really did hurl, poor little dude, all over his jeans, coat, and chair. Husband got in an altercation with the driver when we got out (it’s amazing; he can let out his anger like projectile vomit and I swallow everything), then made up and wiped the seat. Baby is so good-natured, that even with puke all over his body, he was still in a pleasant mood. I mean, once you puke, you can only go up, you know? (Especially when you’re the Buddha Baby.)
We wondered if our friends were still home, since we ended up taking so long to finally get there. The way Doodie Christmas was going, I assumed they had left to see a movie, so my back-up plan was to change Baby in their vestibule, grab dinner at a diner, then go home — the whole thought of which made me giggle uncontrollably, Husband made me take slow breaths so I wouldn’t give birth. (Actually, I started giggling once Baby puked in the car.) Once we finally got to the party, we all three had a great time.
Next year, I will be Captain Christmas. I realize since I’m going to have a kajillion kids, I sort of have to take the lead and actually make it festive at home. Duh.
Funny how today was kind of rough and epic but ended up being great.
Merry Doodie Christmas, everybody!