Holidaze

Oh, Hole-y Night

Ours was a Christmas Eve full of wardrobe malfunctions:

  • Katie wore the same red dress she has worn for the past three Christmases. “It’s okay, Mom. If I cover it with this sweater, no one can see where it’s pinching my arms.”
  • Lizzie selected her blue dress from our costume dress-up box. Since the back zipper was broken, she went to church with a row of five safety pins holding it up.  When those irritated her, she changed into an Ohio State t-shirt she found in the car.
  • Henry took off his Christmas vest midway through the service, threw it at his sister, and cried when I said he could not have a granola bar.
  • I wore my drab, black funeral dress, since my cheerful, red holiday frock no longer buckles or zips.
  • Dad realized the white shirt he found on the closet floor was not as clean as he originally thought.  Though the largest stain turned out to be white wine and not pee.

I was surprised no one turned to us during the homily to inquire whether we, too, had been born in a barn.

Lizzie requested pancakes for dinner. Katie begged for Indian food. Henry lobbied for macaroni and cheese.

We chose a Japanese restaurant where nobody got what they wanted – except for mom, who did not have to cook – and somehow everyone was happy.

 

Here’s to noodles and soup, shirts without buttons, and clothes that don’t zip.

Whether your holidays thus far have been good, bad, or nutty, don’t forget we all have it pretty darn good.

Happy sushi to all and to all a good night.

 

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