Christmas & Aftermath

by jkatejohnston

25 December 2013

Dear Max,

Last night when I was snuggling Enzo down before sleep, he said, “What if Santa comes in here and punches me in the face?” Pause. “Santa doesn’t do that.”


Then he woke up at 3:30 and wanted to get up and open presents. I made him stay in bed and close his eyes. I offered to sleep on the bottom bunk. Still with the silent tears, nose blowing, many tissues. “I just don’t feel like myself. I think maybe I won’t even open my presents.” Finally he came down and slept on the bottom bunk with me, shirtless for some reason. We huddled together and finally slept. I dreamed that I forgot to ask for a continuance that I badly needed in an administrative hearing. Then it was morning. Up! And in this online diary, I will omit the list of presents, which can be of interest only to ourselves. Though I should mention that Enzo got Robo Raptor over whose directions Teresa is now quietly cursing. 


Eating dinner a few days ago:

Enzo: “Falafel? That’s not even a word!”

Teresa: “The falafel was awful!”

Kate: “It should be unlawful!”

Teresa: “I couldn’t eat a jawful!”

Enzo: “Stop. Just please stop.”


Enzo: “Duncan’s going Bollywood. As in ball.” (I don’t remember the context for this, I’m just copying the note. And now Teresa and Enzo are both denying every having said Bollywood about anything. But I don’t have any reason to have made it up. Somebody said it, and it sounds like Enzo.)


Teresa: “Why can’t we just be pagan?”

Me: “Isn’t that pretty much what we are?”

Enzo: “Bacon?”

Teresa: “I would worship bacon.”


Day after Christmas: Enzo woke up and picked up his new toy: “Hi Robo Raptor. Hi Clunky Metal.”