I should back up a bit to about a week and a half before Christmas.
I received a Christmas card in the mail from my grandparents with a gift card for Dylan. I decided I’d better call to thank them for the gesture. Two hours later and some wicked tear shed, I was prepared to reach out.
The last time I saw my dad was at Dylan’s 1st birthday party. In February. i.e. 10 months ago.
Even before receiving the prompting of his mother to “continue with your efforts so when he passes away, at least you’ll know you tried to have a relationship with him” (A little morbid. That’s my grandmother. Honest.), I had made attempts to meet up for lunch, dinner, just because to no avail.
I sent him a text message that my Blackberry seems to have deleted so I can’t quite recite it verbatim like I’d hoped to. It was something along the lines of, “What are your plans for Christmas?”
I heard back from him three days later with Christmas Eve dinner.
I heard back from him December 23rd that dinner would be at 5pm.
We packed ourselves up in the car to make our way an hour and a half south for dinner at my dad’s.
The evening was far from awkward (it usually is pretty brutal), the food was delicious, and Dylan got an amazing inflatable, mesh, circus themed, ball pit thingamajig that will be perfect for future timeouts. It’s like our own little toddler cage. Not to mention the inspiration for his 2nd birthday party. Circus. I’ll be posting like crazy with all the preparations. Oh balls, it’s only five and a half weeks away!
Christmas Eve/My Birthday celebration (only 5 months late).
Not as painfully dreadful as it could have been.
Being our own family entity for the past two years, I decided that we needed to start a tradition.
I dubbed Christmas Eve the night we exchange brand new Christmas jammies and Steve amended the proposal with the addition of a quirky ornament exchange to the jammies. I also said that we’d trade off who bought Dylan’s jammies so it wasn’t always up to one or the other. Monetarily fair as well I suppose.
After returning from my dad’s we opened our jammies and ornaments.
Then I cried.
It’s not that I’m an ungrateful gift getter*, it’s just that I have a “set idea” when it comes to tradition.
Christmas jammies = CHRISTMAS jammies.
Bless Steve’s heart for putting up with me and my ridiculousness. I think the irrational crying spawned from the lack thereof from Christmas at my dad’s. I had prepared for that portion of Christmas Eve to be the emotionally distraught part. The pent up angst had to go somewhere, right?
It was bedtime and Dylan was anything but tired. I’ll attribute that to the cracked out chocolate chip cookies he had at Grandpa’s. Steve decided to sleep downstairs with him and his night terrors, bringing Dylan upstairs early in the morning to let Santa deliver all the presents.
Then 3am rolled around…
*My Christmas Eve jammies are the softest, most comfy things in the whole world…as far as lounge wear goes.