Backstories
So, here in all the glorious, gory details are two of my holiday stories - the two that pushed my holiday spirit to the ground and kicked dirt in its face.
First, Christmas Eve. In the past we have stored the surprise Christmas gifts (i.e. Santa's gifts) in our neighbor's garage. But this year, our neighbors were travelling quite a bit during the holidays so we opted for our storage unit. Very convenient, we thought. Drop the goods off on the way home from shopping, we thought. The kids will never sneak a peek of toys in the trunk or one of us hurrying across the backyard with an armful of Toys R Us bags, we thought.
So after Christmas Eve service, we eat, the kids play and when they finally go to bed I go to the storage unit to get the presents. How sneaky! How deft! I am giddy. Until ... I turn the corner of our storage unit and it is padlocked. I stared at that padlock for a good 60 seconds, really trying to make sure that what I saw was what I saw. And then, on this most silent and holy night, I threw down my keys and yelled the mother of curse words. Then I panicked. I jiggled the lock. I twisted it, I tried my own set of keys (why I don't know). I drove to the manager's office. Closed. I drove home.
Luckily, thankfully, earlier in the year we bought bolt cutters to cut an old lock in our garage. Through wild gestures and whispering I explained to Bryon what was happening. He grabbed the bolt cutters, we sped to the storage unit and broke into our own unit. I spent the rest of the evening convinced the police were on their way.
On to Christmas morning. I had put the previous night's events behind me, the kids were enjoying their presents, the adults were drinking coffee, eating pastries, relaxing. Bryon started fixing our traditional Christmas morning breakfast. I started clearing out paper, moving boxes and toys, making beds. Phineas the Cat was sleeping soundly on Abby's bed so I gently scooped him up to pull the comforter under him. That's when I saw the blood. And then I noticed his tail was nearly severed about halfway down. It looked like a red shoestring connecting two parts of perfectly intact tail. My mom and I took him to the emergency clinic. Several hours later he emerged, hopped up on morphine, with a fancy e-collar and a three-inch tail.
So here I am, a couple of weeks later, no worse for the wear, really. At least it will be a Christmas I'll never forget.
First, Christmas Eve. In the past we have stored the surprise Christmas gifts (i.e. Santa's gifts) in our neighbor's garage. But this year, our neighbors were travelling quite a bit during the holidays so we opted for our storage unit. Very convenient, we thought. Drop the goods off on the way home from shopping, we thought. The kids will never sneak a peek of toys in the trunk or one of us hurrying across the backyard with an armful of Toys R Us bags, we thought.
So after Christmas Eve service, we eat, the kids play and when they finally go to bed I go to the storage unit to get the presents. How sneaky! How deft! I am giddy. Until ... I turn the corner of our storage unit and it is padlocked. I stared at that padlock for a good 60 seconds, really trying to make sure that what I saw was what I saw. And then, on this most silent and holy night, I threw down my keys and yelled the mother of curse words. Then I panicked. I jiggled the lock. I twisted it, I tried my own set of keys (why I don't know). I drove to the manager's office. Closed. I drove home.
Luckily, thankfully, earlier in the year we bought bolt cutters to cut an old lock in our garage. Through wild gestures and whispering I explained to Bryon what was happening. He grabbed the bolt cutters, we sped to the storage unit and broke into our own unit. I spent the rest of the evening convinced the police were on their way.
On to Christmas morning. I had put the previous night's events behind me, the kids were enjoying their presents, the adults were drinking coffee, eating pastries, relaxing. Bryon started fixing our traditional Christmas morning breakfast. I started clearing out paper, moving boxes and toys, making beds. Phineas the Cat was sleeping soundly on Abby's bed so I gently scooped him up to pull the comforter under him. That's when I saw the blood. And then I noticed his tail was nearly severed about halfway down. It looked like a red shoestring connecting two parts of perfectly intact tail. My mom and I took him to the emergency clinic. Several hours later he emerged, hopped up on morphine, with a fancy e-collar and a three-inch tail.
So here I am, a couple of weeks later, no worse for the wear, really. At least it will be a Christmas I'll never forget.
posted by Romine Family at 10:35 AM
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