Christmas is...

My dad has this album on vinyl. I remember every year we would play that thing on his turntable, the scratches and bumps coming through the stereo speakers along with Frank and Tony. It wasn't Christmas until that album was played.

But I wonder...

Putting up OUR tree is a nightmare of spilled ornament hooks, insane cats climbing the tree, and me yelling, "I just want ONE NORMAL PICTURE," as my two boys wrestle each other in the glow of the tree lights. Nobody listens and the music we turned-on-in-order-to-be-festive gets turned off because I can not deal with ANYMORE NOISE. Definitely not the warm and cozy holiday memories of my childhood.

Was I delusional? Have I supplanted real memories with invented ones I've seen/heard somewhere else (most likely television)? (Is supplant even the right word?)

Sure, we have our moments. We snuggle as a family and watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas...until Myles decides he NEEDS to whack his brother in the face with his dirty underwear.

Steve and I laugh at their silliness as they shovel the quarter inch of snow (that lasted one day before melting in what seems to be the never-ending rain of 2011)...until they start to use their shovels as light sabers and we have to take them away.

Christmas cards don't get sent out on time (New Year's cards, anyone?).

Fresh baked cookies come courtesy of the Pillsbury Dough Boy and last about ten seconds.

And the stockings...will be hung probably just in time for Santa to fill them on Christmas Eve.

Myles asked me why the Grinch was mean in the beginning. I have no idea. I have clearly missed a step somewhere in this whole Christmas thing.

Christmas is...different from how I remember it.

But that doesn't mean it is bad.