Santa came. And then the vomit came. My experience over the last several years is that vomit is the price you pay for a visit from Santa. Maybe we have some special reindeer allergy or something. But it's about as regular as St. Nick's visit itself.
It's been a week since I've written. Since then we've hosted a Christmas Eve party, went to Midnight Mass, arranged St. Nick's benevolence, did Christmas, did Christmas at my parents house, cleaned up vomit, watched Baby clean up in a soccer tournament, went to a rehearsal dinner (an hour away from our home), got all my family members of the wedding party to their scheduled locations at the assigned times (unlike the rest of the party....I really need to remember that schedules during weddings are nothing if not fluid) got X-Man, Mac and Cinco and myself dressed and out the door for a wedding over an hour away (the father figure and the older girls were already there, left in two separate caravans) and survived and marathon of a wedding. In case you think I exaggerate, I give you a two hour wedding ceremony. Ok fine, it was an hour and fifty minutes...I rounded. It's impressive that I myself made it through, but considering I had X-Man and Cinco at nap time (the happy couple chose to ignore the memos I sent concerning their wedding choices. I'm still confused as to why they did not factor my needs into their wedding planning.) The father figure was a groomsman, and although both he and my brother in law had a great plan that involved them sneaking off to assist their wives with the fruit of their....well you know, both ended up sitting in the front row sans children. That was until I marched up there and dropped X-Man in the father figure's lap. Much like he had done to me just around three years ago. Not that X-Man wasn't actually being very well behaved, especially as hour two rolled around and he was still napless. However, at some point Cinco figured out that I was not holding her, and that just didn't sit right with the young lady. In the end, X-Man watered my corsage in the drinking fountian while Cinco licked whatever makeup I had still on my face. Just in time for pictures.
Not that the week was over. There was a cocktail hour to head to. And then a formal dinner. And then dancing. And then more vomit. And then a twelve year wedding anniversary. And then more vomit.
This is why I have not written for a week. Lovely as almost every event was in actuality, I hope to never have another week like it again in my life.