Up and not so running

     M and A dragged our Christmas tree home a week ago. M wrestled it into the stand and stood it upright without my help. (A relative term; typically my help comprises holding the trunk with two fingers while he squirms on the floor, tightening and loosening screws, asking, "Is is straight now?") He strung it with big fat colored lights. Two nights later he unstrung the colored lights, which were shorting out periodically, and replaced them with those tiny white lights that everyone decided during the Reagan Eighties were somehow less tacky than the lights of our youth. That's when tinsel took a mortal hit, too, I think.

     Now, we have a beautiful tree with lights but no ornaments. Strangely, A hasn't been begging to decorate the tree. She's excited about Christmas, but she's not nutzo like Hopie and I were at her age. On the other hand, she's always been able to entertain herself, to be satisfied, with what's right in front of her. Can't find both shoes she wants to wear? No worries, these others will do nicely, and there are two. That's just how she rolls. Nice little presence in our house. 

     I, like the tree, am up but not exactly good to go. Treatment yesterday took everything out of me; we got home at 1:30, I went to sleep and woke up six hours later. Last night I slept 12 hours. I still feel groggy, and there is so much I want to do for Christmas. A should have presents gathering under the tree (right now there are Amazon boxes and, I believe, a screwdriver or two). Hopie and I should be conspiring about brunch Christmas morning -- bagels and lox? Something sweet? Who will provide the champagne for mimosas? Or should we get M to mix a batch of bloodys? Which night would Hopie like to bring over some A gifts, so she and Andy don't have to schlepp everything Christmas morning? So far, none of that. I haven't even hung the excellent, sparkly, and very likely magical kissing ball A made in pre-K last year. It really is stunning. Glitter.

     M's parents are driving to Atlanta to celebrate their new grandson's first Christmas. He will be almost five months old. He is an excellent baby. M and A are at his folks' house right now, about a half-hour down the road, dropping off goodies for the Atlanta contingent. What's weird about that: I had nothing, but nothing to do with those presents. Not even the wrapping. I don't know what M is sending beyond a little something he carved from wood and painted. (M is a talented artist, imaginative and patient.) I ordered a treat for the baby off the Interwebs and had it sent directly. That's it. I feel like I've dropped off the face of Christmastown. Makes me sad.

     Tonight we have our annual secret gift exchange with friends. (I was unsure I'd be up for it, until I went to workshop on Wednesday night, which was at the professor's house and featured chili and lots of wine. It didn't deplete me at all, so I have confidence about tonight.) I'm almost completely unprepared, and have relied on M for help selecting and acquiring the thing. It's 1:30 Saturday afternoon, the babysitter comes at 7:00, and there's still one more element to the present I have to get done before wrapping. Maybe a nap first. 

     So, in summary: Sloggy sleep, white lights, lots to do, lots foregone, lovely children, just a bit more sleep, please.

     Doesn't seem so different from most Christmases, now that I think of it.