One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas Day. Don’t clean it up too quickly. — Andy Rooney
Mamacita says: Well, it’s over. The kids are gone again, and I’m left with the Christmas mess. I both love and hate it.
I love it because it’s the Christmas mess, and it represents family and togetherness and fun, and it’s wadded giftwrap and bits of ribbon and shredded styrofoam and SLABS of styrofoam and empty boxes and funny-shaped pieces of cardboard and candy wrappers. It’s little (and big) pieces of cellophane, invisible on the carpet unless the light is juuuuust right. One can also find those by slipping on them and nearly (or actually) falling on one’s large butt. It’s those metallic gold coin wrappers that the kids kick under the furniture. I am still finding those in midsummer. It’s tissue paper and tags and napkins with Coke rings on them beside all the chairs in the living room. It’s bubble wrap under the dining room table (my feet love that!) and it’s the third dishwasher load in four hours. What a mess. I love it.
I hate it because the Christmas mess means the Christmas fun is over.
My children have left my home and gone home. I’m not sure I will ever get used to my kids talking about “home,” and having it NOT be my house any more.
It’s always (okay, ‘usually’) hard to say goodbye to my kids. I kissed them and hugged them and told them I loved them. I loaded them up with clean laundry and pie and leftovers. They’ve got parties to go to later tonight. They got in the car and drove away.
The house is very quiet and peaceful now, but that’s not how I like to live. Quiet homes are overrated. I’d rather have activity and laughter and chaos.
I am not ready for Christmas to be over. Then again, I am never ready for Christmas to be over.
You surly curmudgeons who hate Christmas and can’t wait for it to end: You ain’t right in the head. I mean it. There is something missing inside of you – something vital and necessary and wonderful
You can get it back if you really want to.
And if you don’t want to, let me repeat: You ain’t right in the head.