We are T-minus 24 hours from the big day and, we’re not going to lie, we’re struggling here at Christmas central.
Complete anarchy erupted in a baker’s box, and now we have a half dozen gingerbread men in a less than dignified state of undress, with clumps of parchment paper stuck to their limbs and some sort of horrifying evisceration we’d rather not talk about.
A USPS box arrived yesterday missing half my order. I called in a panic and enjoyed this reassuring conversation.
“No worries, ma’am. I am showing a refund will be coming your way.”
“I don’t want a refund. I want the item.”
“Oh, well, it’s not coming. It’s on backorder.”
“But, no one told me. I didn’t get an email. No notice at all.”
“No worries, ma’am. Your refund will be mailed on December 28.”
“Yes but Christmas is on December 25.”
We’re behind in our Christmas baking. And, by behind I mean we have not yet baked a thing.
During the polar vortex, a bottle of wine meant for a gift exploded in a car trunk, staining the other gifts stored there,
Someone we’re not going to out but whose name starts with Ch and rhymes with arlie drank half a bottle of fresh orange juice meant for a Christmas gift.
Someone else bought pierced earrings for a person who doesn’t have pierced ears.
Someone else bought a wine corker for someone allergic to wine.
Someone else thought she ordered a lovely gift from China, and then realized she’d never pressed send.
A guest spotted her unwrapped gift on our dining room table and then took it home with her.
We lose receipts, improvise wrapping paper, and pretty consistently burn the last batch of cookies.
But we still love Christmas, man. Every single one of us.
We love the quiet moments of faith, and the happy chaos of massive meal preparation, and the funny stories, and the sweet gifts, and the pranks, and the road trips.
We love our bread. We love our butter.
But most of all, we love each other.
Merry Christmas from Molly B and Me.