Jolly ol' St. Nicholas

in Which the Little One Writes a Letter.

On the Eve of the day in which our world was to end, my three-year old quite obliviously wrote a letter to Santa Claus.  She chose the letter A.  And then she drew a balloon and colored it black.  On the outside of the envelope she instructed me in very fine detail to tell Santa that she wanted two toys.  No more, no less. That night, she gave thanks for Santa and his reindeer.  Also, thank you that I am going to get two toys.  At one point in time, Eva had known that this holiday was about Jesus, but then she saw Santa in the mall.  I’m pretty sure that he’s the one who whispered the idea of two toys in her ear.  And now it must come to pass.  There are no outs on this one because she truly believed him.  Two gifts—from Santa, because he never lies…. 

Meanwhile, I face the cruelest of all facts: I spent good time and money buying my daughter the best of all gifts (exact number: two).  I had visions of being the coolest mom ever as Eva opened her princess stuff—forget visions of sugar plums.  We don’t have a ton of money for this kind of thing.  Now the parents are stuck with giving a tutu (her third), a hand-me-down Tinkerbell purse, and a toothbrush.  All these were supposed to be stocking stuffers (thanks for the full stocking, Santa)! For the good stuff—scratch that—all the stuff I have to give credit to the dubious Kris Kringle, alias St. Nick.  Unbelievable.  

It’s a good thing the world didn’t end, because I would be charged with a)failure to teach said child in all things religious and b)strangling a fat and jolly man.

SHUT-IN

in Which Legalities Greatly Affect our Heroine.

I don’t get out much. 

About five months ago, I had a major seizure and it takes the grand total of six months for quasi-epileptics like me to legally drive.  I am not actually epileptic and I don’t plan on having a seizure anytime soon, yet I am illegal.  Oh-how-traumatically-unjust.

But maybe I’m not seeing this the right way.  For one, I now know who my real friends are—they are the people who routinely drive me everywhere.  Additionally I get to spend a lot more one on one time with my daughter.  I appreciate my husband even more because he is my constant companion: i.e., chauffer.  I get to do a lot of reading.  With all my spare time, I do a teensy bit more housework. 

The unfortunate downside is that I don’t have a lot to write about as far as current events.  Right now, I am the event of every day (along with my daughter and her shenanigans).  In that vein, a summary of me and my life: I feel pretty good, though I still have tired/dizzy spells sometimes (not every day).  Emotions fairly stable (except for that one day…).  My head shakes when held in the right/wrong position, like an old woman.  This can be very disconcerting when teaching a RS class, solution: slump as much as possible and tip head alternatively from left to right.  If you are lucky, people will think you are concentrating really hard on various comments—not that I wasn’t.  (Promise--the comments were exceptional, but my slouchy neck issue was a distraction on occasion.)  Grade: B+.  Oddly enough, it isn’t so bad to be awkwardly off-balance.   It’s the driving thing that’s really getting on my nerves.