My daughter went to see Santa today.
I have two kids, the first of whom was born in 1999. That means 2011 marks 13 years of Santa visits. Except this year, I’m not there. All because of a stupid ping pong ball of fleshy goo that decided to settle in my chest cavity.
Stupid-ping-pong-ball-of-fleshy-goo, we’ve talked a lot in the last two weeks. I’ve actually even thanked you for a few things. But today, I’m not thanking you for anything. Today, I’m pissed that you have me apart from my girl who just left … all ‘cuted’ up with her reindeer antler headband in her little girl purse to wear for the picture. Before she left, she hugged me and whispered that she wished that I could go with her but that she’s afraid she wouldn’t be able to protect me while I was there.
When did she have to start protecting me???
I love that kid. She is the spirit of Christmas in this house. And, at the moment, she’s only five minutes away at her school’s ‘Breakfast with Santa.’ But I miss her right now as much as I ever have.
When she gets home, I’m going to hug the living daylights out of her. On my good side, of course. (The left one, in case you encounter me in public these days and feel the need for a hug.)
That’s all for now. I’m just a little sad. And had to put it in writing … for my sanity. And your uncomfortable silence.