Holiday Hangover

It is the first Monday of the new year, and I am sure many of you, like me, are in the throes of a rather nasty vacation hangover. I can picture you, wherever you may find yourself (at the office; in a minivan full of children you don’t really know or like; in central holding as you await bail for a crime that you are fairly certain you didn’t commit), an errant piece of tinsel still in your hair, a few crumbs (remnants of a long-ago eaten holiday treat) grazing your lips. You whisper, “I do not want to be here,” but no one responds. Your current fate is now more tortuous than watching a Nick Cage movie marathon.

Or perhaps you are of one the lucky few who has woken up, bright and early, bursting with energy and excitement about all the new year has to offer. In which case I don’t think we can be friends, because you probably also enjoy tetanus shots, jogging, and eating an apple for dessert.

It’s not that I don’t think 2012 will be a blast – even if this whole Mayan apocalypse happens, which I’m fairly certain it will, things are going pretty swimmingly. It’s just that I’m having a hard time getting over the holidays, and I have three people to blame. Three very short, sticky people.

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Already I know, in ten years, there will be broken hearts over him.

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They would scream, "TIME FOR SNUGGLE CLUB." And then they'd accost my husband.

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And then they hijacked my camera.

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A pouting contest, in which both competitors kept laughing.

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Her hair, which she refused to let me brush, smelled like strawberries.

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And right now, I’m having trouble blogging, because I’m too busy thinking about the Christmas gifts they gave me and Rand: a small collection of Legos, a game token from Chucky Cheese, and a stuffy nose. The brittle lump of coal that is my heart is breaking just a weensy bit. I wish I wasn’t in Seattle. I wish they weren’t so far away in Florida. I wish ticket prices were cheaper and that they didn’t grow up so damn much between our visits. And maybe I wish they weren’t always covered in Nutella, but really, I can deal with that last one.

Please excuse me while I go harden up a bit (by, incidentally, watching Nick Cage movies). Welcome to the new year. May yours be full of Legos and sticky love.