happy christmas, a history.

I'm lying in bed and hear a whine. Instinctively, I pull my covers up over my head and ignore the noise. *whineeee* I push my head farther into my pillow--I mean, maybe he'll think I'm not here or something. And then. A long, resounding whine.

I tell myself I can go back to sleep when we're done and crawl out of bed. Apparently the Christmas Coma has already begun.

I don a coat and boots and walk outside when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. K, I'm kidding. But there was a lot of snow. Wet, wet snow. Spit + I made some of our famous snowdogs, seen below. Take a gander.













It's beautiful, but I hate it. But I also love it. Anyway.

I told a stranger Merry Christmas while we were walking. I love that. Even if you're not really thinking about it when you say it, it's more than just good morning or happy holidays. Even though I'm all about being politically correct. Or something like that.

Back to the walk.

I was just contemplating on Christmas and my dog and all good things and was struck by how much we've changed in the past however many years. Obvi, right? I've been alive for a whole whopping two decades so it's to be expected. BUT.

We kids sleep by the tree every Christmas Eve. Today is Christmas Eve so I'm thinking about that and then BAM! memory lane is all up in my business.

It all started with two little lovebirds, ahem Mom + Dad (aka the only people who actually read this blog) wayyyy back in Germany. Romantic, right? And then Soldier came along. Though he wasn't so much of a soldier but more of a roly-poly fat blob with a great smile and uncanny love for food. Even if it was blood sausage from the German neighbors.

And then I came along a few years later and we moved to England right after I was born, just two months-ish before Christmas. And then the tradition started. Soldier + me + our two dogs all cuddled up by the tree.

And then we arrived in Alabama. Soldier + I were joined by Princess + the two dogs.

And then we arrived in Hawaii. Soldier, Princess, + I by the tree, but no dogs. And a snowman made of sand. I'm the blonde pale one on the left. #redheadedstepchild

And then we arrived in England again. Cue the ever so cute obligatory Christmas-tree-hat picture to the left. Cue the inevitable awwww. The three of us by the tree + two new dogs: Spit + Mossie.

And then Alabama again. Still two dogs, Soldier, Princess, + I.

And then Alaska. It was a long, cold FIVE winters. With all five of us by the tree. Somewhere in those five years, two cats chose to join us and the tree. But only if they weren't wreaking havoc with wrapping paper and ornaments. In one of those five years Princess went running up wooden stairs on Christmas Eve. Fell. Broke her teeth. This resulted in Soldier + I unwrapping our pajamas by ourselves and waiting all by ourselves with Spit + Mossie for the others to get home. This summer Princess's fake tooth broke, giving us the lovely toothless grin on the right.

And then Utah. Exactly one week before Christmas Mossie passed away. Which meant just the three of us + Spit under the tree. That was Christmas of 2009, the saddest but sweetest Christmas.

We're still in Utah. Soldier is home for Christmas but will be leaving soon. We still have Spit, but won't for much longer--my 12 year old Baby Boy is feeling old. Princess is almost 16, and far too beautiful for her own good. AKA people think she's the older sister. I'm halfway done with college. And have minor arthritis in my left knee. Anyway.

I think about all this on our way back home. My family feels old, and yet new in every way.

It's just us, growing and changing, becoming us.

I help Baby Boy up the steps and dry him off. I crawl back into bed, full of memories.

And then can't take it anymore and have to write it all down, fearful that I'll forget this feeling, forget this Christmas Magic.

But I won't. And that is the Magic of Christmas.

So.

Tell a stranger Merry Christmas. Go make snowdogs with your puppy. Make a snowman with your friends. Go sledding with your family. Eat candy and laugh and talk and enjoy. Take a picture you could never recreate.

Happy Christmas,

kj.



a beary merry christmas to you.

 





"the snow doesn't give a soft white
damn whom it touches." --e.e. cummings.

finals suck.

I took this photo like a week ago. Can we all agree I look happy? Because I was. And now? I'm a bitter mess that needs makeup. And a massage. And Excedrin. Moral of the story: finals SUCK.

Finals week is the one week of the semester when you cram in all the learning and studying and practicing and researching that you shoulda been doing all semester. But here's the thing:

I pretty much do that all semester!

I'm good at staying on top of my grades. I practically live at the library. My feet have an intimate relationship with the pathways to the library. And you think I'm kidding. I'm kinda Hermione.

And then finals week comes and... I don't even know. But it sucks.

Everyone hates it because they have to learn and actually go to class yada, yada, yadahhh. I hate it because I find out that I didn't actually learn a single bloody thing the whole semester!!

I study and study and study and then get to the test and discover a foreign language! Without a key! (This was the actual case with my 7am Spanish final this morning--and yes. The ungodly hour of 7am. Whyyy?) Would it kill a professor to actually tell you what stuff (stuff can be vague) to study??

Now. The topic of showers.

I have heard farrrr too many people saying "oh, I haven't showered since Monday," or "they're picking me up in half an hour to go home for the holidays and I haven't showered since Monday."

MONDAY.

Do you hear yourselves, people? I am calling you to action! Bathe! Shower! Rinse! Repeat! You need to. The testing center has enough bodies in it to stink it up without you not even showering! Children. Please, for the sake of humanity, take a freaking shower.

Oh. You don't have time. I see.

NO. Get off Facebook or instagram or whatever and take a shower. Five minutes of your time to go clean yourself. That's all I'm asking for (and world peace (which coincidentally begins with eliminating finals forever) but that's currently irrelevant).

And last. I study all semester in the library. Which means I have my seat and when you come to the library for the one whole week you ever come, you have neither the right to sit there nor the privilege to argue about this. It's my seat. It's where I sit. Get out. (And yes, this is very similar to the neurotic Sheldon. But also very true.)

So. Don't sit in my seat. Do shower. Do take nose plugs to the testing center with you.

May the finals be ever in your favor.

xxx. kj.