Last night while I was puttering downstairs the little powers that be were snooping about upstairs. How did I find out? The cherubs greeted me in my room with the AG catalog in hand and all that "Santa" was bringing was circled.
Being very trusting, stupid me, I at first thought what a great guesser I was. Imagine, out of all that high priced plastic stuff, I had picked the cream of their dreams. Then later, light dawned on this marble head and I when I looked through the stash, noted Santa's boxes were opened.
I'm angry. I've worked so hard around these holidays; cooking, planning, impromptu baking, shopping, wrapping, sending, and awhole bunch of other verbs all ending in -ing. On the better other hand, my husband is understanding, (not my -ing verb) "All kids do it," he says. And he is right, but it's so difficult for me to put this aside. We talked about calling off their Christmas, but agreed not to. There was mention of bringing the presents back and getting something else. Now, who really wants to do that, or has the energy or time. Instead those presents rifled through will remain in the closet. It is going to be a thin Christmas. Poor kids.