When I transitioned from Corporate America to the home with the wee ones, it was a big adjustment not to have a space of my own. Not even a nook nor a cranny to be found that was mine, all mine. It may seem like a small thing, but it bothered me. Then my first Christmas I pondered where to hide the gifts. I had no office to stash everything. No assistant for addressing Christmas cards. It was all me, baby. Me, with no space of my own. No place to hide. I thought I was pretty clever with the all gift certificate theme for my husband that year. But could I do that two years in a row? No, I don't think I could get away with that. They were carefully hidden in the diaper bag. Trust me, he is not going anywhere near that.
This year I have hidden his gifts in a space that has been safe from any little or big prying eyes. The counter under the sink that is labeled "bathroom cleaning supplies." I have rigged the cabinet door to see if anyone opened the door. ~a trick I learned from the Bond movies that I watch with my better half. So far his goodies are safely hidden. I can picture him Christmas morning, "Wow! I am so surprised. I love these gifts. and I love their fresh pine scent."
Happy Festivus, friends. A holiday for the rest of us. December 23rd. Do you remember that from Seinfield? Hilarious episode. On with the airing of grievances and feats of strength.
ROFL, so, did he enjoy his pine scented gifts?
Posted by: Gwen | December 26, 2006 at 07:42 AM