The last few weeks Brett has been groaning about the approach of Christmas. Not like I have been groaning about the approach of Christmas. I wish I had more time to get ready. I LOVE Christmas. I love the lights, the music, the smell of cookies (and the taste of cookies), and I especially love to watch my kids open their presents on Christmas morning.
I think perhaps that is where my husband and I differ. He has been dreading Christmas morning probably BECAUSE of the presents. I am instruction-challenged which in essence means I can't put things together. My seven-year old can read and follow instructions with more ease and skill than I can. No exaggeration. I'm serious.
So with four boys and all their toys and accompanying instructions I suppose that Christmas morning becomes somewhat of an instruction overload and therefore a nightmare for him as boys clamor for immediate help from the only parent who can give it.
Last night Brett said to me, "we need to do my family history." I gave him a strange look because I know for a fact that his grandmother has already done extensive family history in his family. I didn't quite understand what he meant. He elaborated. "I'm pretty sure I must be related to Ebenezer Scrooge."
I laughed. "You know he's a fictional character right?" I replied.
Still... I had better look through the toys a second time and make sure there aren't too complicated or I might have a revolt on my hands come Christmas morning.
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