Christmas

I'm sorry for the delay in blogging. I actually wrote a pre-Christmas blog about a week ago, but the draft was lost and I'm too lazy to come up with that material again.

Call it post-Christmas-trauma disorder.

In reality, my Christmas went well. I'm too poor to purchase a Christmas tree and space wouldn't allow it if I had the $90 to fork over for plastic cinders. I improvised by re-purposing a vase of plastic daisies. Brendan provided the homemade ornaments. And just to make it even more authentic, I took one of my many couple-less socks and used it as a stocking. Here's the evidence:


All those presents are unfortunately not for me. I ended up stuffing everyone's stocking:
Dad-newest XRT cd
Melanie (step mom)- Elvis wine holder
Mom- tickets to see Million Dollar Quartet
Grandma- new outdoor thermometer
Aunt P- a personalized dessert carrier
Aunt J- a pajama set and a hand knitted scarf
Niece- gift card for target, bonnie bell lip smackers, and an Angel necklace
Nephew- two onesies and some diapers (what more does a 5 month old need?)

In return, I ended up getting:
-4 sweaters and a corduroy coat (mom)
- hoop necklace (mom)
- A new metal bed frame (aunts)
- Mattress cover, pad, and pillow topper (aunts)
- Easel and paint set (aunts)
- Two pairs of boots that didn't fit (aunts)... they are getting returned and replaced by new running pants and a new Nike hookup for my running shoes
- Large pots and pans set (dad and Melanie)
- New silverware (dad and Melanie)

What about darling boyfriend? Well, we decided to save money and make gifts for each other. I made him a tie-dye tshirt and painted a picture frame to match. He gave me an entire cd worth of songs from our relationship, but instead of it being the original artist, it's actually him singing and playing all the parts! He also played Santa and stuffed my stocking (ha!) with candy and a new candle.

Of course, Christmas wasn't without drama. This one, while sort of not unexpected, knocked everyone out. Instead of being a fight between who's gift was better or which Christmas we would attend, this year's Christmas woe was full of fear, tears, and unbelievable anger and regret. I really, really wish I could blog about it here. I have so much to say, so much anger and sadness to express that it seems unfair that I cant just come out and say what happened. My nightmares over that night have not ceased, and every day, the confusion and guilt have just increased to a boiling point.

This is not what Christmas is supposed to be. And frankly, I will never forget this Christmas night, that phone call, or the events leading up to it. I cant imagine the next couple of years not having that scar on it.

Anyways, I was blessed to have the happy moments I did. I am blessed by an amazingly resilient and giving family. And to the friend who texted me throughout the night and day, thank you. The same goes to the boyfriend who tried his best to comfort me and to make my Christmas as normal as possible.

I've been without a solid support group since I've moved to the city. My friendships have been dwindling to a precious few I can count on to have a complete conversation with. And in times like this, you understand how much you have and how much you miss. But that's part of being an adult. There's no tree back at home waiting for you to be decorated. There are no line of friends waiting to hold you or willing to drop their lives to see you. And there is certainly not a real Santa around to eat your cookies and leave you the mass amount of things you need for the apartment.

This is growing up. I'm glad to be at this part of my life because: "Try as we might, happy as we were, we can never go back."

And now, because this became a complete bummer of a post... ADORABLE CHILDREN! (credit goes to my brother's girlfriend and my sister since I was without a camera):

Niece opening up her build-a-bear. I swear she has a bajillion of these things.

Nephew and brother opening gifts. I just love this picture.

Santa "baby"!

A Letter To My Younger Self:

Ok. I'm going to be honest. I haven't had much to write about lately. My life is pretty steady. I go to work, come home, attend a class (Monday, some Tuesdays, and Wednesdays), and sleep. Weekends are spent with B (mainly lounging).

There's just not anything interesting to tell you about.

However, a week or so ago, my favorite site posted an article with a letter to the author's younger self. I wrote a brief one in the comments, but I decided to expand upon that with more detailed ones for you all to read, since I am terribly void of intelligent, passable thoughts. I'm going to try to write one a day for five days, so that maybe, I'll get my writing mojo back:

Dear Michelle at 6,

Wow. Lots has changed since you've started school. You're six now, in the first grade, yet most days you could pass as a 10 year old. You're beyond awkward and tall, and you hate that on picture day, you have to be the last to line up since it's shortest to tallest. Adding insult to injury, you have that wavy pixie cut going that will only make you look even more like the boys you have to stand next to.

For the next four years, you will grow ever so slightly. It will be a dream- everyone rising up above you as you make your slow ascent to the front of the short line. And that pixie cut, well, you'll rock that until you turn 22. Sorry. Mom's inability to comb your hair now will only create a crippling inability to deal with long hair tangles and up-dos. Proof:


But give mom a break. She's doing her best. It's hard to be a single mom raising three kids. When she's working till 10pm, way past your bedtime, it's because she loves you and wants to get you those shiny, white bunk beds for the bedroom in your new house (which will be built, even though you think it's taking longer than Noah's Arc).

Let me put it this way, it's like when Angela, the kids next door, and you had that arts and crafts sale in Nana's front yard. You wanted to quit so you could play house and take care of Teddy, but you wanted money to fill your piggy bank. Filling that blue plastic pig will take a ton of effort and lots of glitter on that paper plate. But in the end, that's the only way you can afford to buy play food for your favorite bear.

Speaking of arts and crafts, stop crying when you get glue on your hands. You look like a fool.

You especially look like a goof to the three boys you are madly in love with. This will last until you turn 16 and get your first boyfriend (and you'll realize that they are as stupid as they were at 6). When NF plays cops and robbers with you, it's not because he wants to hold your hand. When AA calls you smart, it's because he needs the answers to the math test. And just ignore that "i luv youe" note from DE... he wont mean it ten years later.

At six, you should enjoy your awesome birthday parties, ignore your sister when she sits on you to get the couch, and ask your aunts for all the help they can give on your math homework. You'll need it later on. Dont worry about boys, makeup, your parent's arguments, or the fact that the mean girl keeps telling you that you still have your "baby hair."

Just be a six year old, even if you still look like you're going on 12.

Love,
Yourself, 13 years later.