Dear everyone who is important to me,
This has been quite a year for me. If you’re someone I see or talk to regularly, you’ve probably left me a bunch of phone messages I haven’t returned. If you’re someone far away and/or whom I remain in only sporadic touch, not only haven’t you heard from me, you have no idea, perhaps, that I’m getting married and all the other things that have changed this year.
You all deserve a beautiful Christmas card from me. A sickly-sweet photo of my children, and a heartfelt message inside, along with a succinct summary of news (but not a Christmas Form Letter, because who has time for that?), perhaps.
You deserve all of that and probably a lot more, but you’re not getting it.
It’s not you, it’s me. You’re fine. You’re SPLENDID. You look wonderful. May I borrow those shoes?
No, see, it’s like this: There was a time when I would’ve taken forty pictures of the children and then lovingly (read: with attendant alcohol and snacks) reviewed them all and performed heroic acts of editing and against all odds—despite having 39 pictures wherein one or both children appeared to be drooling or about to vomit or both—I would’ve produced a card-worthy photo and uploaded it to the appropriate website with coupon code in hand and ordered a stack of Christmas cards.
By the end of the ordeal I would be cranky, snappish, sleep-deprived, and when you gushed to me about how great the photo was, I would immediately volunteer than I cut Monkey’s head off from another picture and pasted it onto that one, but it’s great because you really couldn’t even tell. And Merry Christmas!
This year I took exactly four photos and I reviewed and edited and cut and pasted and became cranky and snappish and decided that you all can just believe me when I say that I love you, but there are not going to be any Christmas cards this year.
There will, however, be plenty of PTA newsletters to go around. Anyone? Hello?
Next year, there will be cards, and no one will have their head cut off and I will enjoy every minute of it. That’s because next year, it’s Otto’s job. (I’m not marrying a photographer for nothing, people.)
Anyway, I hope you understand. If you don’t, feel free to come on over and deal with it, because I am missing the three crucial card-making gifts, this year: time, patience, and alcohol.