Tired of All Those Christmas Brag Letters?

December 7, 2013

By Cathy Cantu

I really admire the families who include letters with their Christmas cards.  They send perfect pictures of their well-behaved children in the beautiful places they’ve visited this year.

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However, I don’t have time for perfect on account of I’m too busy watching Dr. Phil and that medical talk show with all those hot doctors.  And I’m always plagued by some important task hanging over my head.  It’s too bad I can’t remember what it is.

And why can’t I go to those beautiful places?  Because I’m home editing a five-page paper on why Zeus and Medusa wound up inside the Trojan Horse or some crap like that.  The next day I’m scraping burnt french fries off my rusty cookie sheet, and my friend is over there in Italy telling Edwardo, her hot masseuse, “A little more warm oil, please.”

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Don’t get me wrong.  I love my friends who send letters.  I want to know about their exciting lives.  A part of me wants to slip it down the garbage disposal, but the sender may ask me later what I thought about their Alaskan cruise.  But a part of me is glad they are thoroughly enjoying their lives.

Why am I jealous sometimes, though?  I have everything I want.  I have plenty of time to ponder my blessings when I’m driving back at 9 p.m. from a wrestling match an hour away.  Thank God I usually remember to buy granola bars for my other two kids for dinner.  I also ruminate on my blessings, shivering, at 7 a.m. and again at 7 p.m. at soccer games in a tournament seven hours away.  Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed with thankfulness that I want to get on my knees right there on the sideline but my butt is stuck to the bleachers.

ktar.com

But the thing is—there’s no where I’d rather be.  I’ll never have these days back, but Turks and Caicos will always be there.  I’d rather watch my daughter play point guard for the very first time than visit some Paradise Point.  I’d rather see her perfect her rise ball than watch a sunrise in Oahu.  And most of all, seeing my daughter’s embarrassment when I volunteer to have her Bible study at my house is priceless.

One day I might make it to an exotic location, but right now I’m enjoying watching my beautiful children put their home-made (well, school-made) ornaments on our Christmas tree.    When I do make it to Italy, I wonder if Edwardo will still be there.

O Come All Ye Braggers: Merry Christmas From Me and My Hot Masseuse

O Come All Ye Braggers:  Merry Christmas From Me and My Hot Masseuse

It really chaps my chestnuts when friends send Christmas cards including brag-letters about their amazing trips.  I never go anywhere cool.  My cultural awareness consists of the time Layna and I happened to be at Nuttin’ But Beer ‘n Wings on “Chug Around the World” night.

At Christmas, friends who are normal all year lose their humble filter and send beautiful pictures of themselves on gondolas in Venice and dubious ones of their kids hugging and smiling after the ten-hour flight.  Please.  I could Photoshop too, but I spend all my time not cleaning out from behind the dryer.                                   

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Here’s an example of holiday brag-mail:

“This year Barbie challenged Babs that if she maintained a 4.0 GPA all year, Barbie would reward her with a trip to Paris!  Her average was a 4.3 so the clan donned their berets and hopped on a plane!  They saw the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, and Barbie discovered she loves champagne and that French people are very nice!   In fact, after several glasses of bubbly, she danced the Can-Can at the Moulin Rouge and several guys gave her very friendly hugs!  Ken bought some manly skinny jeans, and Kenny Jr. wants to pursue an internship in the French Quarter in ‘Nawlins!   Babs was disappointed that no restaurants served “French” fries though!  hee hee!” 

                                                                                                    burlesqueandcabaret.com

Reading it, I wished I’d skipped the cheesy burrito for lunch.  Just take away my wine and shoot me now if someone uses seven exclamation points in a row and says “donned,” because that’s kind of bizarro unless you’re J. K. Rowling or you collect Lord of the Rings paraphernalia.

Why can’t I take a week off and travel to beautiful places?  Because my fingers are flitting over a keyboard at midnight, editing my kid’s paper on why Zeus and Aphrodite wound up inside the Trojan Horse or something.  Meanwhile, the hands of Edwardo, the hot masseuse, are flitting over my friend’s back in Italy as he coos, “Would you like a leeetle more warm oil, cara mia?”

                                                           

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I shouldn’t be jealous.  I have everything I want.   I ruminate on my blessings driving back from my kid’s basketball camp in Chattanooga and shivering at the crack of dawn at soccer tournaments in Atlanta.  Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed with thankfulness that I’d hit my knees there on the sideline if my rear wasn’t stuck to the bleachers.

But honestly, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.  I’ll never have these days back with my children, but Turks and Caicos will always be there.  I’d rather watch my daughter play point guard than visit some Paradise Point.  I’d rather see her perfect her rise ball than watch a sunrise in Oahu.  And most of all, seeing my daughter’s embarrassment when I volunteer to have her Bible study at my house is priceless.  

In the future I might make it to an exotic location, or maybe even to Dollywood for a Christmas show.  But right now I’m enjoying watching my beautiful children put their old home-made (OK, school-made) ornaments on our tree.  Someday I’ll get to Italy.  And I’m definitely looking up Edwardo .

Tired of All the Christmas Brag Letters?

Tired of All the Christmas Brag Letters?

I really admire those people who send out letters with their Christmas cards.  They send perfect pictures of their well-behaved children in the beautiful places they’ve visited this year.  

www.corbisimages.com

First of all, I can’t sit down and watch 5 minutes of Dr. Phil without being plagued by some important task hanging over my head.  It’s too bad I can’t remember what it is.

Second of all, why can’t I go to those beautiful places?  I’m home editing a 5-page paper on why Zeus and Hermione (Her-mine-ee) wound up inside the Trojan Horse or something like that.  Midnight, head spinning.  Later I’m scraping burnt french fries off my rusty cookie sheet, and my friend is over there in Italy telling Edwardo, her hot masseuse, “A little more warm oil, please.”

commonmedicalquestions.com

Don’t get me wrong.  I love my friends who send letters.  I want to know about their exciting lives.  A part of me wants to slip it down the garbage disposal, but the senders may ask me later what I thought about their Alaskan cruise.  But a part of me is glad that they are thoroughly enjoying their lives.

Why am I jealous sometimes, though?  I have everything I want.  I have plenty of time to ponder my blessings when I’m driving back from a wrestling match in Millington (for those of you living elsewhere, about an hour away) at 9 p.m.  Thank goodness my two other kids have a wonderful beef stew in the crock pot I made this morning—yeah, right.  I also ruminate on my blessings, shivering, at 7 a.m. and again at 7 p.m. at soccer games in a tournament 7 hours away.  Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed with thankfulness that I want to get on my knees right there on the sideline but my butt is stuck to the bleachers.

ktar.com

But the thing is—there’s no where I’d rather be.  I’ll never have these days back, but Turks and Caicos will always be there.  I’d rather watch my daughter play point guard for the very first time than visit some Paradise Point. 

I’d rather see her perfect her rise ball than watch a sunrise in Oahu.  And most of all, seeing my daughter’s embarrassment when I volunteer to have her Bible study at my house is priceless.  

One day I might make it to an exotic location, but right now I’m enjoying watching my beautiful children put their home-made (well, school-made) ornaments on our Christmas tree.    When I do make it to Italy, I wonder if Edwardo will still be there.