Out of respect for my husband, I don’t put Christmas
decorations up until after my birthday (on the 7th of November). Out of respect
for the military, I don’t put Christmas decorations up until after Remembrance
Day. Once the digital clock rings 11:12 on the 11th, however, all
bets are off.
Up came the boxes of Christmas stuff, down went my
husband into the basement where he claimed he could “put off Christmas until at
least next week” by avoiding the glitter-soaked, pepperminty red and green
extravaganza. My kiddos, wanting only
the best for their beloved father, turned up the Christmas music extra-loud so
he could be included (no matter how hard he tried to do otherwise). Ha.
The children and I eagerly opened box after box of
Christmas decorations, ooh-ing and ahhh-ing over this little thing or that. Oh
look, there’s the ball your grandmother gave your father when he was a child
and now you can play with it during Christmas. This is the stocking my mother
made me, and I made you a stocking, isn’t that special? Oh yes, it was like The Hallmark Channel all
over the living room.
It wasn’t until I opened one box in particular that I
truly had the Christmas spirit all over. In fact, for a reason I can’t quite
figure out, the children (sensing danger?) told me I could open that box all by
myself. I unfolded the box top slowly and, like an archaeologist opening a
mummy’s tomb, when daylight, 2012 hit the contents of this box, a dust bomb was
triggered. Poof!
I sneezed until I was sitting from the dizziness,
rubbed my eyes and asked (once the air had cleared) what the heck was in that
box in the first place. The children
looked inside and shrugged. It seemed to be empty.
Concerned that we’d inadvertently opened some version
of Pandora’s Box, I peered in. Just as they’d surmised: Empty. Astonishing. It had weight before I opened
it, I thought. What happened?
Then, my son looked at me and said, “Momma look like
Christmas.”
My daughter’s eyes got the size of Jolly Ranchers and
she said “Momma! You look like Lady Gaga!”
I looked in the mirror and dusted off my hands. I was covered in glitter. I brought my hands
to my face and tried to brush the glitter off. Glitter, for those of you who don’t indulge your inner Martha Stewart
on the regular, is the cockroach of craft supplies. There’s nothing that will kill it and once
you get one speck of it, it’s everywhere in your house in a matter of
hours. If we added Glitter to Rock,
Paper, Scissors, it would beat everything and the game would be dead. Dead.
I brushed my (surprisingly) glitter-free hands onto my
face. Not. One. Piece. Moved. I mean, it
was glued to my hide like… well like someone had glued glitter to my skin. Oh,
and say what? I have to get groceries and go to a Christmas open-house and … oh
all in the next hour? Oh that’s fabulous.
Unable to remove or even just move the glitter to a
new location, I took my Twilight-self to the grocery with my (confusingly)
glitter-free children.
By the way, Guys, I get it now. I had no idea the
looks I was giving my male friends while they grew their Movember ‘staches for prostate research. You see, every friend I saw at the store (and
there were many) kept glancing at various parts of my face, while trying to
pretend they weren’t looking, and yet were listening to what I was saying. Some friends protectively drew their children
closer to themselves all while smiling a “What the heck is going on with your
FACE? Do you know? You must know so why haven’t you done anything about it? My
uterus is scared for whatever your problem is.”
I got my (abridged) list of groceries, stopped in at
the open house and returned home hoping I’d left a trail of glitter like Billy
from the Family Circus cartoons. I even hopped on a couple of picnic
benches and squirmed through a tire swing, just to leave a reasonable
facsimile, but the dang glitter remained.
So, if you see me between now and the New Year, please
just assume I’m either a) returning from a Theatre Kent audition and I really
REALLY want the role of Mirrorball or I’m b) just super-crazy festive! Woo hoo!
Happy
Glitter-mas, everyone!
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