This is your younger self. I know you're busy in the old folks' home looking for your misplaced walker/oxygen tank/pants and complaining about the temperature of the room, but I thought I should write to you anyway.
You already have a memory like a goldfish at age 34 and it's probably not getting any better, so in case you forgot, I wanted to remind you of a few things about Christmas 2016.
This was the year when the kids made cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve without your supervision, and they somehow turned out so flat and brittle the only way to salvage them was to crumble them up in a bowl and leave a note instructing Santa to add milk and eat them like cereal.
|I'm sure Santa dreads coming to our house since we insist on baking for him every year.|
This was the year when you just did not have the time or energy to make a coordinating stocking for the baby, so we hung up one of Phillip's socks and filled it out with a new tube of diaper rash cream.
(In all fairness, the baby was way too young to know or care, and it was a Christmas sock with a picture of a penguin on it.)
This was the year when you and Phillip basically exchanged spatulas, both of you having secretly bought a new one and snuck it into each other's stockings. There was something very Gift of the Magi about the whole thing.
This was the year you herded all the kids downstairs on Christmas Eve (wrapped in blankets, because you STILL hadn't finished the basement) to drink egg nog, watch a nativity video, and listen to a Christmas carol playlist Phillip put together. At one point the 2-year-old put his head on your shoulder and said "I lug you!" You weren't totally sure what he meant but he looked happy so you decided to assume it was a mashup of 'love' and 'hug.'
This was the year you and Phillip spent a combined total of 8 hours wrapping presents. Since accepting that you're sloppy gift wrappers a few years ago, the two of you have gotten decidedly worse.
This was the year you woke up on Christmas morning to find your 2-year-old under the Christmas tree playing with his gift from Santa, even though the other kids were under explicit instructions not to take him out of his crib and let him loose down there without you.
And then when you tried to recreate the magical moment on film he was busy stewing about getting in trouble earlier for throwing something and wouldn't cooperate. The best you could get out of him was a gruff "Don't want this." Even though you caught him playing with it later.
This was the year we all got sick. You couldn't take anything good because you were still nursing, and you were so congested you could barely hear. As your 5-year-old put it, "My ears aren't working!!"
This was the year you learned you'll do things for love that you thought you'd never do, like buy an architecture set of 1,210 clear Legos (hopefully, the 12-year-old recipient knows better than to leave them scattered on the floor like a scene from one of your worst nightmares.)
This was the year you surveyed the wrapping paper carnage and the noise that comes with 6 kids opening, sharing, fighting over, and playing with their gifts and remembered that every good thing in your life is here, either directly or indirectly, because of Jesus Christ.
By now, future self, I've probably made you late for bingo or a colonoscopy or possibly both, but I wanted to remind you what Christmas 2016 was like. Just something to smile about today while you're driving down the freeway 20 miles under the speed limit with your blinker on.