I am almost completely done with my Christmas shopping, all thanks to the internet. I bought my daughter quality over quantity this year, so she’ll have less to open on Christmas morning, but more wow factor. This is her last year as a technical kid, so I wanted to make it memorable for her.

Nothing says Merry Christmas like a Daryl Dixon Bobblehead.

 

Don’t worry, she never reads my blog.

I also found my mom something she wanted, and my aunt a nice gift. Nothing great or anything, although I wish that I could blow $100 on them apiece.

I’ll find something small for my niece, nephew, brother, (a kick in the arse, maybe?) and my sister-in-law.

Tonight is my daughters Christmas concert. In years past, going to this festive hootenanny has helped me to find my Christmas spirit. I especially enjoy the jazz band.

Of course I’m not feeling well, but I’m going regardless.

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I bought a roll of wrapping paper last night. It has snowmen on it.

My daughter said, “I hope Santa doesn’t end up using the same wrapping paper as you.”

I laughed, but her sarcasm, which I am so very proud of usually, made me kind of sad this time. She hasn’t believed in him since the age of 9, I reckon. I blame all of the mean kids at her school. What an innocence sucker.

Speaking of which, my own mother had to tell me the truth when I was 8, because I was adamant that the bearded one was going to bringΒ me my own pony. I was a good girl, loved my parents, loved Jesus, and my brother too.

I argued to the point of insanity for my poor parents, who finally decided that it was time to shut me the hell up for good.

ass

We are all Santa, I learned that night, while sitting on my parents bed. So, since we were poor, and had no hay, I was not going to be getting a pony for Christmas.

The worst of it, I had to keep on the charade for my younger brothers sake. Oh, the horror. He asked for small things like Transformers, unlike his greedy big sister. I had to wipe my tears away, and carry on.

I got a Barbie, and I liked it, gosh darn it.

My priority all of these years has been to make sure that my daughter was never disappointed on Christmas morning. I always found a way to scrape up enough money. It’s been less recently, but I still think that I have nailed each of her 18 years.

This is it, an end of an era for both of us.

Do you remember that excitement you felt as a kid, seeing the tree awaiting you, with shiny packages underneath with your name on them? That slight electrical peppiness in the air? Smelling the cinnamon rolls in the oven? (The ones in the can. Never enough frosting.)

On my side, seeing her eyes light up when she opens her last gift, the big one, the one that makes her Christmas kick ass. (I really do talk like this, by the way.)

She is excited to give me my gift, something that she picked up at Mecca awhile ago.

I really hope it’s not a pony, I’m allergic, and they stink.

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