Tag Archives: Santa

Missing the Santa Visit with my Girl

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.


The surgery is scheduled … so I was surprised with a new toy

Within an hour of waking this morning, my surgery was scheduled. I heard the buzzing but, since I was making breakfast for my kids, I opted to let it go. For fear of overbuttering my cell phone. Pretty cavalier considering I was supposed to be looking out for the hospital’s call. (In that sentence, cavalier = stupid.) As soon as I realized my dumb ass mistake, I ran for the phone but, of course, I had already missed the call. So, I washed up, immediately called back, left a message and turned the phone to LOUD ringing (which means Coldplay … for now) rather than vibrate. And, once I had adequately rebuttered my hands, the phone rang again and, this time, I answered it.

My surgery date is Thursday, December 1.

I need to be there for 5am, which is likely what everyone should be most worried about. The only chance I have of getting there on time is having my Dad spend the night on the 30th. (Dad, mark your calendar, please.)

The rather ironic thing is that I had slated the next day for my original surgery. The other one. The elective one. December 2nd was going to be that big day. Nothing was in ink on my calendar but I had used a very good pencil and pressed hard when I wrote it so there would have still been an impression on the page even if I had tried to erase it. Of course, now it’s just scratched through … serving as a constant reminder of the significant change of course on which I am now taking all of you.

So, I have ten days to prepare for everything and avoid driving my family … and myself … too crazy. Today was ‘suddenly throw shit wildly out of the closet’ day. With the holidays fast approaching, festive odds and ends will soon be festooning every nook and cranny of my house. And thus I felt the need to purge before the Russian doll Santas and Nutcrackers descend upon us.

And, in the midst of my brain melt, my husband went out and purchased a rather pricey, non-Christmas present for me. A brand new 13-inch MacBookPro. Check her out. She’s a beauty.


My old PC is a virus-riddled, slow-moving dinosaur. I honestly think my husband was embarrassed for me to be seen at the coffee shop with the old girl. I snapped a close-up of the keyboard so you could see which of its “features” most aggravated my kids when they tried to use it. Unless you know the letters very well, you were pretty much screwed.


Anyway, I just want to say a big thank you to my husband for my for-no-reason present. I think you’ve figured out that writing about everything is our last hope of keeping the unraveling strands of my brain bound together. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re not afraid I’m going to try to shove the whole damned thing in the toaster and serve it with gravy to our family on Thursday.

I really appreciate your efforts to keep my sanity as much a part of our home as the cow clock made of spoons hanging in our kitchen.