The week after New Year’s is the worst. The excitement of the holidays is over and the house is a disaster. Annie is still expecting parties and cookies and chocolate every day, because that’s what life has been like around here for the last three weeks. I have taken down exactly one decoration (the princess tree), and that was only because I had to take advantage of the local waste management. My goal, like every year, is to have everything down and packed away by Annie’s birthday weekend. That gives me two weeks. Mike is antsy for everything to be away already, but I have a system and it is not to be trifled with. He got the nesting gene, I did not.

It’s been very windy here the last few days, so our lights are still up. No one is going on the roof until these gusts die down. Annie and I went out in the front yard yesterday to get the mail and she SHRIEKED because our light-up Frosty’s head had um…blown off of its body.

NOT going to see Santa.
Annie and Frosty in wholer, happier times.

She started sobbing, and it was so sad (but kind of funny). I gave her a hug, then said, “Annie, Frosty is okay, but it’s time for him to go because it’s time for your birthday. Remember the song? Thumpity thump, look at Frosty go?” That seemed to appease her. But really, mentioning her birthday at any time appeases her.

I left decapitated Frosty on the porch as-is.

Mike: Did you know Frosty’s head blew off?
Me: Yes.
Mike: Did you remember there is a school full of small children 500 yards away?
Me: Yes.
Mike: Did…we want to do something about Frosty?
Me: I am sending a message to potential wrong-doers. Don’t mess with this house! We destroy beloved childhood characters.
Annie: Don’t mess with us, bong-doers!!!

We should be fully back to our regular routines next week, and I’m hoping to keep the full post-holiday let-down at bay permanently. I need all the damn tear-jerking commercials to stop and for everything to be normal again. As I said to Mike, my hormones are crazy, I’m exhausted, my body hurts, my lips are cracked, and I am starving. He probably thinks I ripped Frosty’s head off with my bare hands.

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