The tree and decorations are all taken down and boxed away. I am enjoying the feeling of opulence that obtaining extra living room space, formerly occupied by said tree and decorations, can bring. I am no longer performing gymnastic feats merely to close the drapes. Last night I curled up on the couch with a glass of wine that I could set on the end table, which was previously banished to make way for the tree. The house has been decoration-free for twenty-eight hours now, which was twenty-four later than I wanted it to be.

It was a lovely Christmas, and I would post pictures of the many, many lovely moments that were captured on camera, had Mark not inadvertently deleted everything on the camera after he photographed the tree “one last time” before it was dismantled. I would be angry about this, but he was so unbelievably heart-broken it was all I could do to comfort his hysterical sobbing. “I can’t believe I deleted the Christmas pictures!” he cried, the personification of devastation. ME EITHER, I didn’t say, but thought sadly.

Oh well. I was so thoroughly spoiled with gifts – Pajamas! Yoga mat! Earrings! A robe that fits me and does not feel like burlap, unlike the relic I’ve had for 12 years that saw me through two pregnancies and massive weight gains and losses! – that even the loss of Christmas pictures can’t spoil my happy, post-Christmas feeling. Some of the pictures would have been frightening anyway, given that I spent a solid two hours Christmas morning building Jake’s Playmobil farm and swearing. I had to send the kids out of the room so they wouldn’t be forever scarred by my mental collapse. “STOP TALKING, I’M TRYING TO SET UP YOUR MERRY F***KING CHRISTMAS GIFT, G**DAMMIT!!!” That’s not so much the memories one wants to make, is it? So while I followed twelve pages of directions, soothing coffee and Bailey’s in hand, the boys played in the living room while Rob attempted his own acts of engineering, changing oddly complicated Transformers from vehicle to robot form.

I will leave you with a most amusing joke that my sister-in-law told me about. My nephew had heard this joke on the radio, and, not understanding, asked my brother about it. What is the difference between Tiger Woods and Santa Claus? Santa Claus stopped at three ho’s. My brother told my nephew he would explain when he was older, but yes, it is a good joke.