The Blog I Will Never Write

It is not December and so I cannot write the blog that I wanted to write.
I know this post is still dated in December- but it is a lie. Somehow December escaped my clutches with but one paltry post and that one was about November and now it is January, a whole new year, and far too late to go back to musings on what happened in December of 2010.
So here it is, the blog post that I will never write unless at some future date I happen to cross paths with a time machine.
I am sorry to say you will never read about the soft spot I had this year for the TV Christmas special "It's Christmas Charlie Brown!" as I surveyed my own gimpy wreath and tree. The wreath I made myself with real fir boughs, but it didn't turn out quite as I envisioned it so it hung inside our house and we enjoyed the piny scent. I could pretend that its humble, lop-sided appearance was on purpose in honor of the humble birth place of Jesus, but let's face it- I just can't make wreaths.
The tree, which I will not write about, was just fine, lovely in fact, until we decorated it. The twins helped me decorate it while David John just as quickly ripped off and destroyed ornaments. I had to keep moving the ornaments up higher and higher as David John devised new ways to reach them until the bottom 2/3 of the tree was completely bare and the top 1/3 suffocating with decoration. All of this majesty was topped by a homemade cardboard and foil star which frequently decided to flop over or threaten to fall off entirely.
David John seemed to notice the disparity in decoration, however, and tried to make up for it by shoving megablocks, dinosaurs, cars and dusting cloths into the bottom branches. This was truly a tree only a mother could love and you will never know about it.
I neglected entirely to write about the formal Christmas party for the Cleveland Clinic Children's Hospital that Marc signed us up to go to. You might never know about the panic of trying to find something even semi-formal that would fit over my gigantic pregnant belly. I won't be able to tell you about combing thrift stores with all three boys in tow, about Elijah opening the dressing room door while I was changing or about the miracle of finding a very plain funeralesque floor length black velvet maternity dress for $7 which a team of fairy godmothers turned into a cute knee length little number with fabric flowers on the neckline and matching hair clips and beautiful pearl jewelry. Marc and I had a wonderful time with all of the fabulous people he works with. We played with the exhibits, ate, danced, watched an awesome IMAX movie about Alaska and came home to find that our boys did not destroy our neighbors' house or even their breakable Christmas village display.

My year of blogging will not include the cute quip in which I asked my boys about the nativity scene and the only three characters they seemed to think worth mentioning were baby Jesus, Jesus' mommy, and the cow. (Here is the picture that I would have included of our nativity set we bought in the Philippines. The boys loved watching me unwrap each piece and put it on the mantle.)
I won't get to write about Christmas morning and how Gabriel threw a tantrum about having to put on his pajama pants before he could go downstairs and declared that he did not want presents. Of course, he changed his mind.
I'll never tell you about the boys unwrapping presents to find a sealed box beneath the paper and calling out, "I got a box!" then tossing it aside without thinking that there might be something in the box. This fabulous picture of Elijah after having eaten all of his stocking candy with a smile only a dentist could truly appreciate might never see the light of day.
No one but my immediate family will recall how cute David John looked in his little red robe, or how he stood by the door with his snow boots just waiting for someone to take him outside.
I wish that I would have written about my husband who worked through the Christmas holidays without complaint and even made it through some very tough days of endless patients, long hours and heartbreaking cases without a family to come home to. I wish that I could tell you about my gratitude for him and how sweet it was to come home to him and to have our own little Christmas celebration on New Year's Eve. I wish I could boast about what a good job he did in surprising me with thoughtful gifts but I will never write this blog so I can't.
Oh, and I wish that I could wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year but this blog was never written. Maybe I'll remember to write one this year.