Christmas Eve. All my presents are wrapped (for the first time in...um...EVER!) and the only hurdle remaining is the timing of the dinner. My oven doesn't have enough shelves for all my dishes.
It's been a strenuous two weeks. Some people might plan ahead, and have their preparations ready before then. But not Val. Let the record show that I wore out a pair of scissors. I wondered why my right thumb kept having gunk all over it. Gunk that reminded me of graphite. I just thought I was a dirty bird, and wiped it off every time I noticed. Then I picked up the scissors and felt a pinch.
Wore 'em plumb out, I did. When I laid them down for a picture, a piece of plastic fell off from the crack in the handle. It's not like I was using the delicate scissors designated for gossamer wing trimming. These are regular scissors that one would expect to cut through wrapping paper. Without breaking. Without pinching. I don't mean for blog buddy Joe H to have a flashback of remorse. I was using the living room scissors, the ones designated for the job. However...after their destruction at my own hand, I had to bring the kitchen shears in to finish the job.
Lest you think that wrapping gifts for the men of the homestead is a simple task...here's a photo of the injury I suffered on Thursday.
That is from the tape. A brand name, even! Scotch tape. The tear-off teeth are all wonky. You can't rip off a piece of tape like you're supposed to. You have to bring that ribbon of tape sideways, so the edge of the ribbon is over the middle of the tear-off teeth. It was not just that one roll. The one after it did the same. Let the record show that I bought 3 packs, which is 9 rolls, of this tape. Caveat emptor, people! Caveat emptor!
For the first time, I have piled the presents all under the Christmas tree. The Christmas tree that The Pony didn't put up until Wednesday, and didn't finish decorating until Thursday. Don't worry! I'll leave it up until Easter. Or the 4th of July. I like the glow of my Christmas tree lights at night.
The boys usually go to bed Christmas Eve with only a couple of lesser presents showing under the tree. Then they get up Christmas morning, and see the pile. I guess it's no secret anymore that I'm the one putting them there. Oh, the years of coming home from dinner and game-playing at my sister the ex-mayor's wife's house, only to spend most of the night finishing the wrapping, and setting out the gifts and filling the stockings. All while Hick snoozed the sleep of the simple, leaving these duties to me.
The stockings are sorted into separate Walmart bags with care, and rather than carefully apportion each one's contents in the early morning hours (HEY! HE GOT ONE MORE RED HERSHEY KISS THAN I DID!), all I need to do is put them inside the stocking. Yes, that part of Christmas is much easier now.
It's getting all parts of the dinner ready at the same time that weighs on my mind.