ugh and aftermaths

Good morning.  I am typing to you from the Land of Holiday Food Hangovers.  Christmas was very, very good.  Everybody liked what I gave them, and my golly, it was wonderful to have my kids here.  There was noise!  And Sara Pie was here, which made it that much more special.  At 4 years old, she was the youngest of the children, and the magic was intact.

And it's time again for my too-nauseous-to-write repost.  Hope your Christmas left you glowing.  :-)

Aftermath

it’s the day after christmas. those of us who have no self-discipline are:
1. terminally hung over from aunt robbie’s/whitman’s/terry’s to-die-for delicacies

2. terminally aromatic from the perfume/aftershave we received and liked
3. pitifully destitute from spending more than we should have, but couldn’t help ourselves

those of us who feel the guilt are:

1. swearing off of chocolate for the rest of our lives
2. we smell good, so what the hell. one more spritz won’t hurt.
3. actively seeking secondary employment

those of us who are hopeful are:

1. Pondering the amazing transformation that will occur as a direct result of our well thought out new year’s resolutions
2. pondering a romance-scented night, when we shall wear nothing but our new perfume (after the nausea from overeating subsides. don’t rock that boat just yet. blech).
3. applying for a first-of-the-year loan.

and those of us whom the past year has changed are looking forward to new adventures, a life of service to others, new love when the old has worn too thin to cover everything it should, or old love that has become a thick blanket over time. we look forward to strengthening ties with family. we know which path is ours, and if it’s new territory, that’s fine, too. we’ll find our way, and we’ll be happy because we’re sure we’re doing what’s right.

aftermaths don’t have to smell of smoke. sometimes they’re new perfume.