In January, twelve long months ago, I had this really great idea. I’d make Christmas gifts for our family this year. It would be brilliant. I’d start then. I’d have plenty of time. I wouldn’t be freaking out at the last-minute. It would all be so lovely.
Since I’ve spent the past two days bent over my sewing machine, you can infer how well that plan worked out. One of these days, y’all. I’m gonna get my act together. You’ll never even know what hit ya!
In the February, my hard drive did this weird melty thing where I lost all my data. It was the second time in as many years that my hard drive did this. Yes, I had a backup. Two, in fact. No, neither backed anything up. So that was, you know, super thrilling.
I found an old version of my Christmas card list on a flash drive. I spent a fair amount of time reconstructing it. But something seems to have gone wrong in the addressing cards portion of this endeavor. It appears that I’ve sent two Christmas cards to some people on the list and none to others.
Please don’t ask me to explain. I can’t.
I’m all but sure my kid doesn’t believe in Santa anymore. We’ve had too many conversations about logistics for him to still buy this con. But everyone in this house, him included, wants him to believe so very badly, that we’re playing the dumbest game of charades ever.
Seriously, the kid is 8 years old. He’s in second grade. He knows.
But he wrote a letter to Santa anyway. Because in that very small chance that I’m wrong, he could have one more magical morning in his life. And that’s worth a lot.