My family has a pretty set Christmas Day routine. MMTM is usually the first person up. She bustles about in the kitchen working on Christmas dinner. My Kind Wacky Father (MKWF) lights the fireplace, gathers scissors for opening presents, and selects the music for the day. My Older Bemused Sister (MOBS) makes breakfast. I pinch hit wherever I am needed.
This past Christmas was no exception. MKWF consulted with me about the fire because the stockings were hung by the chimney with care. He was not sure if there was something in the stockings that might melt if placed near a roaring fire. I was putting some of his favorite cheese into his stocking so I cautioned against the fire. (What! The man loves cheese!)
Breakfast was eaten. Gifts in the stockings were opened. Then we moved into the TV room to open the presents underneath the tree.
Before you ask what I got from Santa, let me set the record straight. MOBS and I never received presents from Santa. They were always from our parents. We never sat on Santa's lap and were never told to make a Christmas list for Santa. We always gave our Christmas lists to our parents and our gifts have always been from our parents. Why? Because we were never told Santa existed. About ten years ago MMTM said, I said I would never lie to my girls and I wasn't going to start by telling them some old white fat man was responsible for their father's hard work.
We each settled on a chair and MOBS and I began distributing the gifts. Gifts were opened and each of us oohed and ahhed and thanked the giver. That is until I got to my big gift from my parents. I pulled the wrapping paper away...and well...I wish that I could say I giggled like a little girl. To be honest, I think a little girl would have been embarrassed by me. I giggled, I smiled, I hugged the box. After I finished hugging the box, I kissed MKWF and MMTM and said thank you thank you thank you. I hugged the box some more. I saw my parents and MOBS exchange a She-has-lost-her-mind-again-but-that's-what-we-expect-from-her look.
It was a Roomba. I have been talking about a Roomba for years. I refused to buy one for myself because it seemed so lazy. My apartment is about 900 square feet. I live by myself. I do not need a robot vacuum. I simply wanted one. That is one of the beauties of Christmas. Giving people gifts you know they want but would not get for themselves.
MKWF's prediction was Annie would see the Roomba rolling by, leap on it, and start yelling, "Mush!". That prediction sent me into additional peals of giggles.
I brought the Roomba home and tried him out. He was nice. But now that I had him, I wanted to upgrade. Isn't that how it always goes? I wouldn't buy one for myself because I thought it would signal laziness, but now that I had one, I wanted better. MMTM mailed me the receipt and I headed off to Best Buy. As I was standing in the aisle, I found myself lamenting that Best Buy did not have the model that allows you to schedule when it should vacuum. How quickly I moved from, No, no...it's lazy to get one of these to I want one that I can schedule the vacuuming so it won't inconvenience me. I said good-bye to the old Roomba and got a nicer model.
I brought the new Roomba home, and he was better than the previous model. On his second outing he got stuck underneath a chair. While trying to free himself, he scratched his paint. He has a scar running across his faceplate. And of course, that is why I call him Tony.
This past Christmas was no exception. MKWF consulted with me about the fire because the stockings were hung by the chimney with care. He was not sure if there was something in the stockings that might melt if placed near a roaring fire. I was putting some of his favorite cheese into his stocking so I cautioned against the fire. (What! The man loves cheese!)
Breakfast was eaten. Gifts in the stockings were opened. Then we moved into the TV room to open the presents underneath the tree.
Before you ask what I got from Santa, let me set the record straight. MOBS and I never received presents from Santa. They were always from our parents. We never sat on Santa's lap and were never told to make a Christmas list for Santa. We always gave our Christmas lists to our parents and our gifts have always been from our parents. Why? Because we were never told Santa existed. About ten years ago MMTM said, I said I would never lie to my girls and I wasn't going to start by telling them some old white fat man was responsible for their father's hard work.
We each settled on a chair and MOBS and I began distributing the gifts. Gifts were opened and each of us oohed and ahhed and thanked the giver. That is until I got to my big gift from my parents. I pulled the wrapping paper away...and well...I wish that I could say I giggled like a little girl. To be honest, I think a little girl would have been embarrassed by me. I giggled, I smiled, I hugged the box. After I finished hugging the box, I kissed MKWF and MMTM and said thank you thank you thank you. I hugged the box some more. I saw my parents and MOBS exchange a She-has-lost-her-mind-again-but-that's-what-we-expect-from-her look.
It was a Roomba. I have been talking about a Roomba for years. I refused to buy one for myself because it seemed so lazy. My apartment is about 900 square feet. I live by myself. I do not need a robot vacuum. I simply wanted one. That is one of the beauties of Christmas. Giving people gifts you know they want but would not get for themselves.
MKWF's prediction was Annie would see the Roomba rolling by, leap on it, and start yelling, "Mush!". That prediction sent me into additional peals of giggles.
I brought the Roomba home and tried him out. He was nice. But now that I had him, I wanted to upgrade. Isn't that how it always goes? I wouldn't buy one for myself because I thought it would signal laziness, but now that I had one, I wanted better. MMTM mailed me the receipt and I headed off to Best Buy. As I was standing in the aisle, I found myself lamenting that Best Buy did not have the model that allows you to schedule when it should vacuum. How quickly I moved from, No, no...it's lazy to get one of these to I want one that I can schedule the vacuuming so it won't inconvenience me. I said good-bye to the old Roomba and got a nicer model.
I brought the new Roomba home, and he was better than the previous model. On his second outing he got stuck underneath a chair. While trying to free himself, he scratched his paint. He has a scar running across his faceplate. And of course, that is why I call him Tony.
Comments
"About ten years ago MMTM said, I said I would never lie to my girls and I wasn't going to start by telling them some old white fat man was responsible for their father's hard work."
AWESOME. Your mom is just AWESOME.
Second - Yay for the Roomba! How fun! I'd love to let that little guy tackle the living room every night. Hmmmm.....
Artemisia, I do love Tony. When you are longer a graduate student, get a Roomba for yourself.