This is a muddy attempt at a wreath.
I don't have much.
Been inside this house for ten days. What I haven't been is driving all over New York to conduct depositions and staying up all night to write reports. So while I'm feeling sorry for myself that I am missing the Christmas festivities, I remind myself that last year I worked on Christmas Eve (which I had taken as a vacation day) until 5:00 that night.
So this is my report from inside my quiet house.
It is very cold out today, so I've been told, but my house is very sunny and the heat is warm.
My knee feels as though a bowling ball is strapped to it, but I can get up and down the stairs about two times a day with the cane, which is a big improvement from even Sunday, when I wasn't using the stairs at all yet.
The house is not decorated for Christmas, but Mr. Pom has been dragging up decorations that he likes (he's developed a thing for bottle brush animals and is taking up all the available table tops leaving me nada.)
This is as close as the dogs want to be to me at all times.
The Graphic Designer came for Saturday night and Sunday morning. She had four Christmas parties to attend (oh to be young and living in Brooklyn and working in Manhattan) and had nothing to wear. When my oldest says she has nothing to wear, I roll my eyes. When the youngest says it, I give her my debit card because she has, indeed, nothing to wear. She's not a consumerist.
The days are long but I manage to cajole a sister or daughter to show up and visit. I had grand dreams of sitting on a stool and making Christmas cookies* but I did not account for 1) oxycodone head and 2) pain/exhaustion when I try not to take the oxycodone. (*Substitute for "making Christmas cookies" any of the following: drawing, painting, writing, reading a book, or looking at a magazine.)
I am not able to babysit the two-year old or run after him when he is here, but he spent the day yesterday with his mommy and one of my sisters. My daughter made a delicious roast chicken for dinner and my sister ran up and down the steps after the two-year old. I was accused of hogging all the afghans and throws, which I was and had the right to because I Had Surgery.
He freaked out when his mother tried to get him to nap in the beautiful crib that Grandma bought. I mean FREAKED OUT. Crying so harshly that my stomach twisted. Just when I was sure his mom was above to cave, she skipped down the stairs. She remembered that he goes down in the crib pretty easily when she is not there. Making one of those very wise mommy decisions, she kissed him and ran out of the room. As soon as she shut the door, he stopped mid-scream and went right to sleep. This little one will soon learn what I've known for 32 years: don't try to BS my daughter.
When we got him up later, I asked him to let me get in front of him on the stairs in case he fell. Without missing a beat, he said, I go down backwards so you don't hurt your little foot, Grandma. (He knows I have a boo boo but just not sure where) and proceeded to go down the stairs on his stomach. So now I do not need any Christmas presents, because I got the best one of all.
The amaryllis bulb that I planted before Thanksgiving was just about to get the heave ho into the trash when I noticed a teeny, tiny green tip peeking through the dead top of the bulb. It won't be ready for Christmas but Valentine's Day should be swell.
As aforesaid, no baking has been done in this house. No gingerbread has scented our rooms and the only use for sprinkles is to give one to the two-year old when he visits. But the youngest (who will be 25 next week!!!!) brought a gingerbread man and woman (8 inches big at least) from Union Square Market over the weekend and I am sufficiently over gingerbread for the season, having eaten at least half of each.
When life give you limones...
I have "ordered" through my sister an Egg Nog Latte to be brought to my throne chair. I allow myself one a season, so I am already 100% over my caloric egg nog latte intake. Thankfully my sister is picking it up because my PCP's office is in the same shopping center and I often run into him at Starbucks, causing me to make sure he sees me pouring skin milk into my drip coffee and then hastily slugging in some half and half after he says hello.
I have sat down (most times, I am lying down) multiple times to paint a Christmas card that Mr. Pom could take to be copied this weekend. So far, nothing. Nada. How many pomegranates and blue bowls can an artist draw. It seems my creative flow is covered by the Aquacell bandage on my knee. So eh, maybe I can hop thru CVS this weekend and find something for those relatives I just cannot miss. It will be such an Christmas adventure! It will involve the purchase of stocking stuffers and candy canes and many magazines I will not read.
Tell me your fun and wild tales from out it in the great, big world!