I've made the executive decision that I am still on Christmas Break, so I am ignoring the bathrooms in favor of catching up on my pals in the Google Reader. I could really get used to this Christmas Break thing. The dirty bathrooms? Not so much. But there is a time to every purpose under heaven, right? Now is not the time for bathrooms.
Our Christmas Day was lovely, and the house looks pretty good for having a small tornado whip right through the living room and down to the playroom. Actually, I think it was three small individual tornadic events, but so what? The kids had fun and I am still on Break, so the mess can stay.
We took the children to the 4 pm mass on Christmas Eve, along with 12,000 of our fellow parishioners and their closest relatives. We had the
While still at home, we decided that it would be best for us to head directly downstairs, since we would most likely need to remove one (or more) of the children before the recessional hymn. We left home at 3:15 for the five minute drive to the 4 pm mass, and we found that our decision was a moot point anyway. There was no room at the inn for the upstairs mass, since people had been camping out for seats the night before. Oh, I kid. They had only been there since 10 am.
We happily traipsed down to the hall with the kids to find the last four adjacent seats in the entire building. A Christmas miracle right there, my friends. (A bonus: the bathrooms are in the hall, so mass down there was not such a trial for this pregnant lady.)
The children were exceptionally well behaved, and this is coming from their harshest behavioral critic. Even Fiver, our Man of Routine, only asked "Why are we having mass in here?" about twelve or forty times. He parked it in a folding chair, his arch nemesis as far as posture and balance are concerned, and sat there for at least half of the mass. Chalk it up to another Christmas miracle.
The next morning, there was no rest for the weary. The weary being Rob and myself. Francie was awake at 3:45. AM. Santa wasn't even finished with his deliveries, for Pete's sake. When Rob told her that we were not going downstairs until seven at the earliest, she shuffled to her room muttering, "Oh man, that's another 4 hours!" Rob called back, "Don't be silly! It's only 3 hours and 15 minutes!"
Guess where we were at 7:01? Here's a hint: Not in our bed.
By 10 am, Rob and I had finally freed all the new stuff from those evil wire twisty ties, and the children had happily retreated to their own corners. I sat on the sofa and debated between taking a nap and eating some chocolate peanut butter cookies. Despite my exhaustion, I managed to rally for the cookies. It's all about dedication, my friends.
So now I am trying to hold on to all the relaxed vibes by prolonging my Christmas Break, and it seems to be working. I've been busy reading new books, resting on the couch, eating chocolate truffles, and playing innumerable rounds of Whac-a-Mole.
In short: it's been perfect. How about you?