My 2014 Christmas Letter
So here’s the letter I probably should have included with our Christmas cards this year.
Dear Family/Friends/The Person Who Stole This Letter From Someone’s Mailbox,
In February my husband took us on a work trip to Park City, Utah. We purchased an outrageous amount of snow gear so we could walk outside one afternoon at our resort so the kids could experience the cold. “It sucks, right,” I asked them as they tried to make snow angels. It reminded me of my childhood in Philadelphia when my mom would force me to shovel our long uphill driveway, which usually took hours. At the airport on the way home my husband got into a fight with the people at the rental car agency as the baby pissed through her clothes and the baby Bjorn. He says he can’t wait to go back. I will only return if I can bring a fleet of babysitters and a case of vodka.
We visited my sister in her coastal New Jersey town for a week in the summer. Her house is filled with glass tables and expensive upholstered furniture, which is fantastic when you have three kids under 3. I wore a one-piece bathing suit, slathered myself in sunscreen, and wore a huge hat on the beach to the non-delight of my husband who tans easily. One of the kids got pink eye. I had to pretend I liked the guy my sister was dating, which was especially hard after I saw him rub his feet on her leg.
We had a party for the girl’s birthday (they were both born on Bastille Day four years apart). The theater student I hired to play Princess Anna from Frozen sang La Vie en Rose in their honor. I sobbed while the kids asked why Anna wasn’t singing Let It Go. I nearly punched the neighborhood kid who asked her if she was wearing a wig.
The oldest started kindergarten in the fall. All of the kids held beautiful signs made weeks in advance off of Etsy. I made hers in crayon on the back of a take out menu. I expected her to cry, but instead she basically asked me to beat it.
Her brother began his second year of preschool. On several occasions he caressed his teacher’s face before leaving his classroom before pulling her in for a soft kiss. He’s three.
My husband thinks it was a bad idea putting the baby’s room next to ours. He says she has “parental radar” even though we perform like ninjas trying to get from the top of the stairs to our bedroom. Just when you are about to go off to sleep you hear “mommy” call you like the old woman from Poltergeist. But she’s cute, so you forget you are sleep deprived. A psychic told me she would only take jobs that made her plenty of money, which makes sense because she likes to unzip my wallet and wave dollar bills in the air.
Oh, our house is haunted. But it’s cool because I think it is my friend Joe or my father-in-law. The baby waves to someone in the corner and even though I keep replacing the batteries to the smoke alarms they randomly will beep and always in the middle of the night.
I tried to figure out a way to keep working, transition into a full time writer, and manage to drop off and pick up my kids at school on a weekly basis without stabbing someone.
My husband opened two new offices of his company, traveled to Cuba, and was named for the second year to Forbes list of America’s 100 Most Promising Companies and Inc. 5000. In related news Jackie Collins and Rita Wilson retweeted my Housewives of Beverly Hills recap.
The kids learned to swim, read hundreds of books, made plenty of art projects, baked cookies, played at the park, and watched entirely too many episodes of Jake and The Neverland Pirates.
After sending out our family Christmas cards my friend Adam pointed out one of the kids looked as if she needed to use a rest room.
Despite the madness I am hoping I can convince my husband to have one more child before all my eggs have dried up. He thinks I might have psychological issues. “Are you a baby hoarder?”
Sending my love to your family this holiday. Hope I can continue to bring you more laughter and an escape from your very busy lives.
Love, Kate (LoveandKnuckles)
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