Yesterday I spoke aloud of packing up the Nutcracker army and Der Bingle was not appalled, but did find the idea unsettling. It might be a bit out of character for me: Okay, you’ve been out; Christmas is over; let’s get you stowed away.  I’m usually the one who sees personalities in little painted faces and hears random cries such as, “I wanted to see the summer roses.”

Guess I’ll have to sneak them in the box.

I think it has become too procedural for me; with artificial decorations and marketing extending holiday decorating, it doesn’t seem so much of a holiday anymore. There is a definite feeling of trying too hard, rather than letting things just come.

There were good times this year – the pretty much impromptu breadmaking, the stringing of  the 16-function golden lights in the kitchen with Quentin on one chair, Der Bingle on another and kibitzers all around, the deviled eggs Quentin-style with hot sauce added and then Summer taking it in her head to add food coloring to the yolk mixture.  You may thank me now for not including a picture.

Summer and I enjoyed wrapping her dad’s Kindle Fire in TWO boxes, using duct tape, electrician’s tape, strapping tape and telling him any early tampering would result in present forfeiture . . . Der Bingle and Quentin and kids watching a string of Burn Notice episodes on Netflix – with the no eating in the living room rule suspended . . . The illuminated lawn polar bear staying inside by the tree and getting caught on my sweater and having his arm ripped off. (It went back on.)

Elves introducing me to Little Debbie Boston Cream Cakes.

I see that we did break away from the glossy magazine template, after all. And, actually, I feeling a bit more positive about next year.