Transitions and Distractions

I have always found it difficult to transition out of big events. Or even just weekends.  I get the Sunday night blues pretty easily and find that first day back to the office after Labor Day to be such a sad marker to end the summer.  So you can imagine what the end of Christmas does to me.  Yes, even after all the craziness, planning and exhaustion, I do love the season and it’s hard for me to let it go. Well, this year I had two sizeable distractions to redirect my mind from boxing, gift receipts and clean up. 

First was the Great Fordeville Vomitfest of Dec 26. I’ll spare you the gruesome details — I think you get it (but remember the pie-eating contest scene in “Stand By Me”?) — and suffice it to say that my husband and son were hit hard and fast.  There was much laundry and Lysol involved.  I ‘m not yet ready to declare victory that the baby and I were spared but here’s to hoping. I felt like a Death Row inmate waiting for my day in the chamber to come.

And then there was the blizzard, or as the Twitterati called it, Snowpocolypse. I think we have just over two feet of snow here. But I enjoy this stuff. I get all sucked into the ongoing Storm Watch news coverage and just love how peaceful and pretty it is. But, then again, I’m not at an airport, going into labor or seeking out emergency dental work. I’m just home cleaning up after the puke aftermath, decontaminating with the zeal and care of a HazMat team. My poor husband, who emerged from 20 hours in bed to find we had moved to the Polar Ice Cap, is now recovered and, I suspect, missing our days in the city when we were not responsible for any snow clearance.   Does anyone have a snowblower we can borrow?

So with all of the unexpected activity of the last 36 hours, I didn’t get a chance to be sad that Christmas is over, though I have sought solace in the presence of massive leftovers.  But it was a great day, and my first large-scale family dinner went pretty well overall. The top things I learned (I realize these don’t apply to everyone):

–Getting dinner on the table always takes longer than you think.  Always.
–Load ’em up on appetizers (see dinner timing warning, above).
–A lot of planning ahead goes a long way.  I sound 80 but whatever.  It really helped to have a plan.
–This falls into the camp of highly obvious and probably just my problem, but you need more than one pie server.  Why do I own only one ? It’s unclear.  I love pie. And people love to bring pie.  My bad.
–Above all, and listen carefully here: Never, ever believe someone who says that he’s not sick, but he just ate something bad. Especially if that person has you over to his house on Christmas Eve.  Because, really, that person has a highly contagious stomach virus that will ultimately take out seven of his own relatives just 24 hours later.  Yeah, I’m a little bitter.

But enough about post-holiday vomit.  Back to the merriment recap.  Here are some photos of the big day.

I wish I had a better shot of the Christmas Eve luminaries that lit our entire street.  It was gorgeous.  A long-standing tradition in the neighborhood but it was our first year here, so we were stunned by the end result.

The kids all dressed up and ready to party — or tear open gifts.  And con endless amounts of junk food out of our relatives.

I thought I could pull off “retro/sparkly” with this centerpiece idea but it ended up looking a little tacky/cheapo instead.  After a few cocktails on Christmas, I think I described it as Martha Stewart hitting the crack pipe and unloading a CVS discount aisle into vases.  Oh well, I tried.

I’m not a girly girl but I do love a fancy holiday dress on my daughter.  And this one I adored.  She was twirling around in it all night and I really had a few moments when I knew I never wanted to forget how she looked this Christmas at 17 months old and loving life.

After hours of adoring his new Thomas the Train tent, my son passed out and said goodnight to Christmas right there.  Too cute.

The puking men bounced back, ate food and began the formidable task of shoveling.  Notice the height of the snow next to my 3 year-old.

And I’ll leave you with this — because nothing says blizzard like a baby stuffed into a sumo-like snowsuit and deposited atop a large drift.

Now, back to the business of shoveling, transitioning out of 2010 — and finishing the Christmas leftovers.