Waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.
Those Christmas movies and commercials and TV shows and illustrations showing children running down the stairs before the sun comes up on December 25th ? Not in our house. We were up - three of us - but we learned from experience to take our time, find something to do, have a leisurely breakfast, maybe do a 750-piece jigsaw puzzle or remodel a small room, because we were always waiting. That old cliché of the husband, in suit and tie, looking at his watch and tapping his foot by the door while his wife still primps at the vanity? Yeah, no. Not ever. We were – and it’s still true to this day – always waiting with heavy sighs and rolling eyes, for Dad.
My husband is, as I’ve said many times and will repeat just as often, the best of men. He is also an easily distracted human glacier. This is an immutable characteristic and one our little family has simply come to accept. Christmas morning, especially, will somehow find him a leaky faucet in an upstairs bathroom that needs his immediate attention lest we all die, or a painting that needs to be varnished or packaged or something that really can just bloody wait. Mix this persistent idiosyncrasy with a real talent for moving like molasses and you’ll pull out all of your hair just to fill the damn time.
In response, I’ve become addicted to crossword puzzles (I’ll do upwards of eight a day – in pen), so instead of standing around sighing and tsking and complaining and plotting murder while he inspects the walls for ants before we’re on our way out to breakfast, I have something to distract myself with.
So Merry Christmas to the sunrise and rip ‘em open crowd! We’ll catch up with you sometime around 11:30 or so, after a new washer is installed, or the still-tacky painting is properly boxed up, or the ants have been vanquished. And then we’ll sit by the fire, which will take another hour to set up because the wood in the garage is wet and . . .