All in Kaitlyn
I've held off on the updates lately because I desperately did not want to give you the fodder you so love. But alas, I cannot hold back any longer. Without further ado, here's the status of life in the Genovese household with two under two.
Nobody in my house sleeps. Not even the dog.
If I were Charlie Brown, my wise-beyond-his-years spiritual philosopher friend Linus would probably sit me down and give me a long speech with his blue blanket about how Christmas isn’t about all that; “Christmas is about Jesus” he’d say. No, it’s not. If Christmas is about Jesus then why did I spend seventy five bucks on a dead tree that I dragged out of my house nine days before Christmas so I could drive 1200 miles across the country with a wreath tied to the bumper, lights wrapped around the luggage rack, and presents piled so high I couldn’t see out the rear-view mirror? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Jesus’ idea to stop every 75 miles to change a poopy diaper either. We’d have to be out of our minds to do all that for Jesus when there is a perfectly good Catholic church fifteen minutes down the road with plenty of Jesus for everyone. No, Christmas is about sanctimonious Christmas letters from people you don’t really even know and 21 days of high octane super concentrated family.
When daddy read a few Christmas letters out loud to me and mommy, I decided I wasn't going to write one this year. At nine months I just didn't think anything interesting has happened in my life. I didn't get a new job; nobody gave me a raise or a bonus; I'm not building a vacation home or fighting with tenants; and no matter how hard I try, nobody has bought me a new car. I can't even write to tell people how many hundreds of thousands of dollars I lost in the stock market because I didn't have any invested. I dismissed the idea completely until, after reading the last letter, daddy insisted that I should write a letter of my own. Let's see if I have the hang of it.