Christmas morning is just a few days away and I’m overwhelmed with a house full of kids on day one of winter break, piles of Amazon boxes stuffed full of dolls, Legos, and other painful toys, and a mile-long list of things that I should be doing with my kids.
Things are going swimmingly. The good news is that chances are I’ll rally, pull my act together, and get my “mom” on for the remainder of the week. I work better under pressure anyway. I’ll cook, wrap, craft, sing, play, curse, and cry in the laundry room when no one is looking, but I’ll get things done!
Christmas Eve will undoubtedly be a stressful covert operation as my husband and I sneak the gifts under the tree while making sure no child awakes and thwarts our mission. Christmas Day will break with the dawn and our little girls will bask in the magic that is Christmas morning. Ahhhh. It’ll be a glorious event, I’m sure.
It will not, however, go off without any number of surefire mishaps that seem to occur every, single year.
Pictures will be snapped by my husband as he tries to capture each magical moment at 6 a.m. Every one will look ecstatic as they open their presents… everyone except me. I’ll look like crap in every picture. I’ll most likely be hunched over my cup of coffee in my giant fluffy bathroom robe looking like a drunk polar bear. Some pictures will show off my double chin, some will have me mid-speech with a gaping mouth. My hair will have dried in my sleep from last night’s shower, and I’ll look a bit like Michael Landon from “Little House on The Prairie.”
Sexy… I know.
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