Update: I can’t figure out how to get the feature photo to not cut off the top (see above). What it says is.”We hope our Christmas card alerted you to how much better our family is doing than yours”.
It’s almost Christmas, so what better time to finally write a new post for my blog? Well, to be truthful, Christmas doesn’t exactly scream B L O G, but it has been a while and I don’t want to lose my faithful followers. If I don’t make myself post something, I can’t claim to be a blogger, which is what every girl grows up hoping to be. Well, that and Melania Trump, less the old dude.
My cats love the holidays, up until the point we leave town. Anyone who says cats aren’t loyal to, or miss their owners, haven’t met mine. Our middle-child (J.J.) will chew on my daughter’s shoes if we don’t remember to hide them. It’s the only time he’ll do something like this, which makes me think it’s his passive-aggressive way of saying, “Bitch, you said you’d never leave me”.
In case you missed it, our youngest (Cookie) is underneath the tree. He’s made sure I can’t use curly ribbons when wrapping presents, because EVERY TIME he rips it off the package and puts it in his food bowl. What is it with cats? You don’t see me taking Kate Spade purses off the shelves at Nordstrom’s and putting it in my Chicken Shawarma.
Look at this a-hole, J.J. I decided to put felt on my glass table, so that my Dicken’s Village could have “snow” underneath the buildings. Now, my turn of the century English village is dusted with orange cat hair. He loves when I turn the lights on in the buildings. I hear he set-up a Tinder profile and is hoping the cute blonde he’s talking to will meet him outside West Lott Chapel.
Bad news J.J., she’s a dude who hasn’t been able to leave his house in 2-years.
Then there’s this guy, Blackie. Is he staring at Rich because he wants a pet or is he waiting for the poison to take effect? I am starting to wonder if we’re supporting the Black Cats Lives matter movement or making bad jokes. Not a day goes by that we don’t talk about Blackie not being able to drive with us to St. Louis, since the cops will see him and pull us over.
Which brings me to what I am doing today; which is getting my Christmas cards ready to mail. Every year, I rope a friend into coming over while we wear coordinated outfits my 14-year old son objects to, before he even sees it.
Isn’t it arrogant that people assume you are dying to get a card with their picture on it? I know it is a complete a-hole move, yet I’ve done it every year since my daughter was born (2000). Each year, I tell myself I am going to buy a beautifully crafted card, filled with robins, holly, and glitter. Yet, when the time comes I find myself sending another family photo.
Over the years, the cards I get in return have dwindled, which makes me sad. Part of it is I quit working, so obligatory “I care about you” card and gift exchanges no longer exist. But the main reason is people don’t feel societal pressure or the need to send cards. They communicate using social media instead; it’s easier and immediate. Thus, the custom of sending cards has nearly disappeared, other than when it comes to old fashioned gals like me. The “sad” part is that a Facebook post isn’t something you can put away, and remember another time.
I’ve kept every card we’ve received as a family since our inception, and find comfort in reading words written by those no longer here with us. Even seeing my grandma’s signature on the ugly variety set of cards she bought at Walgreens, brings a smile to my face. Now, let me warn you, you need really tall beds to save anywhere close to the amount I have. I even have letters written to me in 1985, by people I haven’t talked to in nearly as long. I don’t even claim to be born in 1985- yet, I know that my pen pal in New York loved the new song, Raspberry Beret. I never liked it, or Prince, which Blackie finds racist. See, I am at it again.
I remember watching Sex and the City, and Carrie lamenting about how many seasonal social engagements she had. I wish! I haven’t been blessed with a large extended family, or at least one that talks & sees one another. So, I think my desire to receive cards is tied to my desire to feel like I am celebrating the seasons with an extended community. I know I am not alone in that. There are plenty losers like me, who wish they had what they don’t. Before you shed a tear, I should tell you I celebrate Christmas or New Year’s every year in Disney. That MF’er Mickey knows how to party.
So, what’s my point in all this? First of all, if you read this far you are truly a good friend. You should seriously DM me and admit you care enough to read this dribble. If I don’t actually know you, I feel like you are a really cool person. I bet you like cats though, because seriously. Why else would you read this?
Okay, back to my point. I don’t know if you are lucky enough to have your grandmother still. And if you do, whether she’s a nice person that gives great advice. But, let’s pretend she’s dead and you really liked her. This is what she’d say:
Send cards, the old-fashioned kind.
Send newsletters filled with bragging and only good news.
Take a family photo, even if your son wants to pull off his collared shirt and is mad he’s missing the Purdue game.
These things stay. They are there 15-years from now, when your daughter is having her own family. Hopefully with a really kind, handsome, rich guy who lives only 10-minutes away.