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Good day to all,
It’s less than 48 hours until Christmas morning, which will be far less chaotic at the Bell home than in years past. The expectation is an early wakeup — thanks in whole to our dog, Winston, whose 7:30 a.m. internal alarm doesn’t shut off on holidays — and a few cups of coffee (with a generous splash of Baileys in each) in the living room with Christmas music playing in the background. The electric fireplace will be on, as will a few strands of miniature lights draped tastefully across the TV stand.
We have no tree up this year, as it’s locked up in storage — a lousy byproduct of just recently moving into a new place. It’s a one off. I guarantee it.
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It will be just the two of us, opening our gifts. The aforementioned eight-year-old Chihuahua will watch intently, in case any of the packages contain people food, and Marty Byrde, our two-year-old conure parrot, will be on my shoulder.
Our grown children, Scott, 29, and Eliza, 25, will wake at their own place about 10 minutes away.
They live together, along with my son’s girlfriend, Justine, in the house my son owns. Their dog, Margot, will tear around the place as the three “kids” spend Christmas morning opening gifts.
It’s the first year in the condo for Allie and me, and just our second Dec. 25th morning without the noise, mess and general mayhem that is standard operating procedure when kids are the focus of Christmas morning. It won’t be the same.
Eliza rarely stops singing. Loves to laugh. Was appointed official present hander-outer when she was like, three. She manages the garbage/recycling collection, too.. Scott is loud. Always has been. And just so funny. And, like me, prefers to sit on the couch while his sister does the work.
It’s not like we won’t see them at all on Sunday.
We’ll gather for brunch late in the morning, then for dinner even later. We’ll eat and drink and play games and laugh. That’s our schtick.
But this whole not-watching-the-kids-rip-open-their-presents thing is going to suck. Again.
I really need grandkids.
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