I'll just knock out a wall or two

Can you hear that? Why, it sounds like sighing. It is! It's the sound of parents everywhere expressing their relief that this holiday season is over.

Thank you, Jaysus.

No more freaking shopping, wrapping, hiding, ripping, throwing, and rejection of toys for the boxes they came in for another year. Or until their children's birthdays. But we won't think about that right now. No, for now we will look over the mountains of toys and clothes boxes and stand in horrified solidarity while thinking...

Where the hell am I going to put all this crap?

Yes, where indeed.

Mr. C and I joked that we would need to add another room to our home to house the excess of gifts that Chicky received on Christmas. Unfortunately, neither one of us was laughing.

The holiday started innocently enough with a quiet Christmas Eve spent with my in-laws. We cooked them dinner...

(oh, please remind me that if I ever utter the words "We should use the good china because it's a special occasion" to knock some sense into myself with a gravy boat. That stuff has to be hand washed. Guess what hasn't been done yet? I'm waiting on one more Christmas miracle. It could happen.)

... and then exchanged a few gifts. Her grandparents bought Chicky a toy school bus, that sends her into fits of convulsive terror when it's turned on, and some clothes. Their not ones for excessive gift giving so the evening was very low key and manageable.

Then we went to see my family on Christmas Day and manageable became chaotic quicker than you could say "Ho, ho, whoa! Slow down there."

At one grandmother's house (my mom's mom) there were a minimum of 30 people, all having 30 different conversations, and many gifts for the first great grandchild/grand niece born in over 10 years (not including the children of my older cousins - the Jehovah's Witnesses - which we don't count because we never see them anyway. Hey, don't blame me. They chose religion over family. I can not be held accountable for not knowing their kids' names.).

Then it was back in the car to my Nana's house. I took one step in the front door and noticed that Santa's toy bag had exploded all over her living room. I have no photographic evidence of the mound of toys my father and his girlfriend (yes, those people) lovingly acquired for Chicky, for a few reasons. One, we took video and we're hoping that will suffice in lieu of photos in years to come. This happened mainly because it was the end of a long day and in the frenzy of bows and paper ripping we forgot to take out the digital camera. And also because we didn't have a wide-angle lens to capture it all. A picture wouldn't have done the spectacle justice, anyway. The pile was ginooooorrrrrmous.

I think, quite literally, that my dad and his lady cashed in their retirement money and spent it all on Chicky. I spent our time together on Christmas Day alternating between feelings of horror and deep affection for my dad. There were so many gifts that I felt guilty for accepting them all on behalf of his granddaughter, who lost interest in opening them halfway through the process. But on the other hand many of them were carefully picked out by him without any help from a female in his life, and if you knew anything about my father's history of gift giving you would know that this was a huge accomplishment. He sat there, quietly but with a proud look on his face, and watched his only grandchild rip open the paper with a "Weeeeeee!" and an "Oooooh" and marvel at the toys inside for a moment before moving on to the next.

Was I happy that I tricked Chicky into wearing her Santa suit? You bet your sweet bippy I was.

(Quick aside: She wore the damn Santa hat for three days up until the actual day but when the time came to put on the whole ensemble she took one look at the hat and ran away. And I wasn't kidding when I said I had to trick her into wearing the rest of it. But she did. Sigh.)

Now it's over for another year. I may have to get rid of some things in my home to make room for the toys, like all my furniture, but I'm happy with how it turned out.

How was your holiday?