As the boxes made their way into the house her squeals of excitement escalated. We had promised her that today we would decorate and she did not forget.
Little hands pawed all through the packages that I had so neatly packed away the year before and I could feel my anxiety rising as I patiently asked her not to touch 100 times over.
I reminded her we would get to that point but there were steps to decorating.
Why in God’s name was I telling a four-year old there were steps to decorating?
Her excitement exploded when she found the Little People Christmas Train and ornaments from the year before that she could remember. She danced in a circle knocking things off of tables, boxes off of chairs, and ornaments out of boxes all while singing Santa Baby.
Everything flew out-of-place and into piles, bulbs rolled across the floor, fingers reached into boxes, and this was my nightmare.
I reached for the booze and handed her the boxes of breakables.
Suddenly relaxing I realized she’s only four once.
So let the Christmas spirit ring.
Let the ribbons run down the stairs, let the stocking hang with abandon, and let the ornaments all hang on the bottom of the tree.
She did it with love.
And who cares? I’m drunk.