not a creature was stirring, except for the frickin' cat.
The stockings weren't hung, because boxes weren't marked,
and "I can't find them," I occasionally barked
at Ryan as he dug through the closet without care,
throwing Halloween knickknacks here and then there.
We came up with a candle and a string of purple lights
purchased by my colorblind husband on a solo-shopping night.
|Stock photo eerily similar to Mongo|
as the lightbulbs on Tree 1 proved too tempting for some.
And while the cheap ornaments were getting some batting and chewing,
we ignored it and listed what still needed doing.
Shopping and baking and mailing and wrapping.
Cleaning and laundry and organizing and napping.
Fixing the light that was broke in the yard.
Avoiding Mall Santa so Norah won't be scarred.
And when we finally nestled all snug in our bed,
with visions of road rage in parking lots dancing in our heads,
Little Norah started singing, through the monitor we heard.
Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, she sang out each word.
And before we could groan that she wasn't asleep
we smiled and hoped this Christmas memory would keep.