6:45: Bella awakes. Let the games begin!
7:10: As a preface to this entry, Mr. ABF finally wrote an email to the asshats. It was so mature, and honest, and straightforward -- as one of my friends who got a gander of it said, it left nothing between the lines. It was also loving, welcoming them back into our lives (and Bella's, most importantly). They have yet to respond, I'm sure thinking we have "cut them out" or some such. Let's see if they call this morning. As of now, no call.
7:15: Bella bursts into tears (well, not really, but did become a little forlorn on the phone with a g'rent) because live pony is not under tree, despite mom's repeated (and I do mean repeated) warnings that Santa does not bring live animals. Still no call from the asshats.
7:30: Break for coffee so I may thoroughly enjoy the Onion world atlas.
7:36: Bella seems to be enjoying her sustainable bamboo unleaded gifts. But not nearly as much as the bullshit bought from Target (we caved on 2-3 items that she specifically asked Santa for). Damn.
7:41: Just realized we do not have music on. In fact, we have not played Christmas music all month. And people, we own at least 30 Christmas CD's from the wild to the classical. Just seems . . . . pointless.
8:10: I decide reading the Times is infinitely less depressing than watching Bella open presents by herself. Still no call from the asshats.
8:31: Mr. ABF gets a bit annoyed that I am chattering to myself about QEII on YouTube rather than paying attention to the wrapping paper pile growing under my tree. Sigh. Open a sweater. Return to story.
8:47: Mr. ABF discovers live blog and pre-empts entertainment (and possible betting fun) by calling the asshats himself. Killjoy. They don't answer. Duh! Game still on.
9:01: Florida relatives call. Not the asshats.
9:20: complete opening lovely stemless martini glasses from Mr. ABF. Point out that they would be stunning with a berry/cream dessert in them. He rolls his eyes.
9:21: Realize bottoms of said glasses could hold a copious amount of blue-cheese stuffed olives. He's right. I don't know what I was thinking.
9:30: Presents opened. Dog 3, Presents 0. Ah well. At least the dog enjoys sustainable bamboo. Whoever had 9:30 for the asshats, you're out.
9:30-1:30, play with toys. Bella returns to bamboo stuff and really seems to enjoy it. In fact, she really seems to enjoy everything. Phew. Read book.
2:30: Head to recently re-connected relatives with the baby for dinner. No, really. Because I'm a sadist. Of the nth magnitude. Begin to seriously doubt this decision in the car. Thankfully on road where it's easy to pull over and throw up. But dude, if baby shows up at the table with a "Baby's First Christmas" bib, you will see pot-roast fly.
3:11: Arrive, looking v. much forward to discussion with cousin who has had two miscarriages, two failed IVF's, and whose husband just announced he's leaving her. She jumps into chocolates, so I think we're golden discussing the Worst Christmas on Record. Except she's really into the chocolate and doesn't have a historical bone in her body so she's really not interested in ruminating over possibilities of worse Christmases involving wartime or pestilence. Plan self on couch to watch Bella open another round of presents.
3:34: Is is just me, or do you feel people give your children things that they feel you deprive them of as parents? Bella is opening an extraordinary amount of pink commercial crap. I had told this particular branch of the family that dress up clothes would be most welcome, and while I have nothing against a princess outfit in the mix, I guess I think kids would also like the opportunity to dress up as pirates and firemen. They, it turns out, do not, and have given her no less than 4 princess outfits replete with high heels, and one very pink ballet outfit (she doesn't do ballet), which I am pleased to announce to everyone that the shoes are too small. I clearly have been suppressing my daughter's inner princess this year. Fucking dead baby.
3:37: NEWSFLASH: Bella is ALREADY BORED with princess and other commercial crap, and wanders off to play on the Wii with her Dad! THAT'S my girl! Breathe sigh of relief.
4:14: Distant relative, but now my BFF, turns on NBA game. Yesssssssss.
6:02: Mom of baby asks if the asshats have called, I give her the "what do YOU think" stare. She then launches into diatribe against other relatives of Mr. ABF's side. Good news: She and husband have been our strongest, smartest, most loyal and understanding supporters. Bad News: They've had to be because the rest of the in-laws have apparently gone batfuck crazy. I'll spare you details, but Mom of Baby actually at one point put her hand up to interrupt a relative and said, "excuse me, but all I'm hearing is you you you. This isn't YOUR tragedy. It's THEIR tragedy. And YOU need to support THEM." That was in addition to pointing out that certain delusions wouldn't have come true even if Maddy had lived. I probably didn't need to hear this I realize because now I'm really upset. Wonder if I should go find cousin with the chocolate.
8:00: Head home with trunk full of product placement, and one extremely cool gift from the people with baby. (Figures.) Another evening of "hide the baby," but again, it seemed to work. Sinuses are f'ng killing me.
8:31: Because Bella fell asleep for 20 minutes in the car, according to the Bella exponential sleep deprivation calculator, this means she will be up an additional two hours now. Mr. ABF tries to call the asshats again. They don't pick up. He leaves a Merry Christmas message. Boy, I'll say.