Oh, don't worry I'm not going to do an overdue Christmas post about the holiday when I was a child. I am going to do an overdue Christmas post about THIS Christmas. Do you think that is ridiculous? I feel a little silly, but this is the speed at which I get around to things these days.
Actually, blame these two:
Large dog poking his nose around in my tiny studio in case I'd forgotten that the plastic bag on my desk had an apple in it. Can be found most nights on my legs with the intent to knock the laptop onto the ground lest it take away attention from the magnificence that is him.
This one wouldn't hurt a fly or bother an apple. But she will sit jump on the bed and lay right on top of my laptop should I dare to open it and write a post.
Don't think I'm kidding about this, friends. These dogs think they are teacup pomeranians and want to spend all their free time in my lap. 'Cept when they are digging massive holes in the backyard or shredding the contents of the waste cans or protecting the house by the power of their lungs from predatory UPS men or unsuspecting friends who dare enter the portals of Dog World.
Okay, enough about the dogs (Micalangela says we are turning into those people - the ones who talk about their dogs all the time).
Instead, I bring you our First Cape Christmas:
Christmas Eve morning waffles and bacon in the sunshine.
I made this little Santa wallhanging about 20 years ago. It has hung in every house we've lived in: Mohegan Lake, Fresno, Memphis, and New York, so I thought it was only fitting that it have a Christmas in Cape Cod.
I'm kind of digging having a 5 foot tree that comes with its own lights and can be decorated in ten minutes. Ease of operation and all that.
A mermaid has pride of place on our tree, but the cool tree topper was designed by Mystery Man on a 3-D printer.
We didn't bring up many decorations, but I couldn't resist these giant stars.
They are from Pier I and made to light up, but they require a wire and I didn't like the way it would look hanging from the rod.
The presentation of the lobsters (we couldn't find any myrrh).
A boy being very good for Santa on Christmas Eve.
Very, very good siblings.
Bella Sera and The GF share a cuddle.
The requisite Princess and The Tentacles shot, captured every year since she was three years old.
Hats were THE gift of 2011. The GF had a skull one, but somehow I didn't get a shot of it.
We kept the bones of our traditions - the tree, the gifts, the lobster, the family - and simmered it all down to the essence of Christmas. We ate and slept and went to church and opened gifts; we hiked on the shore and saw our cousins and made gingerbread cookies; we went to the beach on Christmas Day in a snow shower and back to the ocean at night to look at the stars; we played board games and haunted the bookshops and read our books; we put together our toys and cooked a lot of breakfasts and laughed and laughed an awful lot.
If we could snap our fingers and transport all our family to fit into the cottage, we would. But for this year, and maybe for the last year, we were our little family redefining our traditions.
When we went to church on Christmas Eve we filed into a pew, me leading the way. Usually we take up one half of a pew, but this year, I was nudged to keep going and we took up one and a half. When we all sat down, I looked to my right and saw our little family of five increased to seven, and looked at their beautiful, grown up faces, their hands holding their significant others, then looked at Mr. Pom next to me, his face more lined and worn than when we had to restrain two toddlers from leaving the pew, and I saw my life in a timeline that stretched from birth to now and knew that the best thing I had ever done and would ever do in my life was create this family. I started to cry, Mr. Pom squeezed my hand, Micalangela looked askance at her brother and sister who rolled their eyes, and my tears turned to laughter.
In the words of that old chestnut,
Christmas future is far away
Christmas past is past
Christmas present is here today
Bringing joy that may last
