First. There was that Christmas Eve that started out with Grace puking as we exited towards the church where the candlelight service was taking place. This was followed by 36 hours of the three of us puking so much that we just had literal buckets in the living room floor where we were lying on pallets. This was also when Nate discovered I was Santa Claus- I remembered to shove some broken cookies on the mantel in between vomiting spells, and Nate woke up and looked up at me with knowing eyes before he threw up and fell asleep again.
Next. Two Christmases ago. After going in to the urgent care for severe pain, fever, and a weird rash in my eye, the doctor told me I had not only shingles, but also influenza. The REAL influenza, not just a cold or stomach bug. And blisters in my eye- you have not known pain until you have had shingles all over your scalp and in your eye. Nate was also blessed with the bonafide flu, so we retreated to our beds instead of doing Christmas-y things. Our holiday turned into Grace wrapping most of her own presents, and the epic planned fondue feast was replaced with a messed up Domino's order.
Then, July Fourth. That is a separate blog post for another day, but let's just say it involved my monkey eating peanuts, going into anaphylaxis, nine hawt firemen and paramedics in my house, a truly mortified and sick teenage girl, and later, a ninety pound dog puking copious amounts of chicken manure all over my entire house. As Nate said, after we both cried a little over the dog vomit, "This was the worstest crappiest holiday ever. But at least Grace didn't die, so we got that."
And last night. Last night involved neither a near death experience nor chicken manure vomit, but... I left with Brian to take his monkey trick-or-treating, because we live in the best trick-or-treating town ever. Nate was supposed to hand out candy for a half hour, but the door inexplicably jammed shut. It used to glide effortlessly open and shut, thanks to the handyman who installed what I could not, but this door was JAMMED. So poor Nate had to turn trick-or-treaters away in shame. When I came back, the light was off and the door was shut, so I assumed he had let kids double dip and ran out of 300 plus candy bars.
I think our holidays are cursed. That being said, this Christmas is gonna rock. I am hitting this head-on- Pinterest ideas, a shitload of lights, and more good cheer than you can even understand. As I told Naters, "You are gonna have fun, whether you like it or not."
Peace and love and more chocolate candy than one household should have. And if you know of a good handyman for jammed doors, hit me up. Will trade candy. XOXO.