Although it pains me every year to shell out money for her dad's gift, I feel it is my duty to do so in her name. I let her pick out the gift, wrap it, and I am in charge of mailing it. This year was no different. Until it came time to mail the gift, she put her dad's presents under our tree and daily told me she was proud of the wrapping job. It was pretty fantastic. Mine always look like Dr. Seuss wrapping and so that is now the kind of Christmas we have.
Photo credit: Pinterest
Our tree looks like that as well. The star is a little crooked, the ornaments might be heavy on one side... BUT--it's the love of putting it together that counts.
I embraced Christmas once again in 2000, when Bug was born. From that day on, I vowed to make her holidays as special as my parents made mine. Of course, the first order of business is to teach her what each holiday means, where it originated and to celebrate each and every true meaning, not just the commercialized version. I have never been extravagant with gifts even when I had the funds. It just isn't about that.
So this year, I again gave her the money to go shopping and off she went. She got some nice gifts and wrapped like a pro. Back to the gifts were placed under the tree part. So, my brother brought us a new puppy, cute as pie, and he is a doll. We are working on the potty training which is going very well. He likes to chew things up, however, and the tree ornaments and packages make a nice sound. It's called fatal attraction.
Last Thursday, I was moseying around the house with my cup of coffee, reminding Bug to have her dad's gifts ready for me to mail. She told me they were under the tree. Well, I happen to be in the parlor where the tree was and the puppy, Murphy, followed me. Naturally, I had already let him out, fed him, and leaned down to pet his cute head.
As I took a sip of my coffee, I admired the tree and the room decorated for the holidays. It gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling. I heard a noise. A familiar noise. It took me a minute to register what I was hearing. I looked down toward the noise just in time to see the puppy finish his business on the ex's gifts. I snorted coffee, said, "Good dog", then panicked to get the presents wiped off. Still laughing of course. I mean, how priceless!
I told Bug about it and she did not believe me. She came to the kitchen, felt the presents. They were dry. Well, duh, I had wiped them. I asked, "Did you want to smell them?" She said, "No, Mom, you are lying. Don't joke about that. It isn't funny. Now put them in your bag to mail." Ok.
And so I did.
Is it wrong to think this whole thing is funny?