Yes, Virginia...

               So, I guess we call Christmas a success this year.  No one was in the hospital. (Last year, my mother was in and she is still pissed about that.)  Both my brothers could make it. (We do Christmas at my folks.)  The kids seemed to be having a blast.  My nephews got helicopters and cameras that seemed to occupy them.  A note to the world- NEVER tell a six year old with a new camera you don't like having your picture taken.  They instantly morph into paparazzi of the most ardent sort. At last count, he had over two hundred pictures of me.  Feisty Pants got some crazy doll that flies.  (It's like a cross between a fairy and a fragile glass seeking missile)  Best of all, the six year old shutterbug brought MAGIC REINDEER CORN.  Which Feisty Pants had asked for.  Apparently, it's a thing now.  His had glitter and everything.  OK, it's not really glitter. It's the MAGIC, duh.  Or so FP informed me.  They had a blast spreading it out on my parents'  lawn.  The children later pronounced this a successful mission as a few hours later they peeked out the patio doors to find deer in the backyard eating it. (I did say it was Mayberry.) And there was enough food to feed an army.  And enough cookies and goodies to give all of Pennsylvania type 2 diabetes.  And, it snowed on Christmas Eve.

                 So, so what if there were ten people sharing a house with one and half bathrooms.  And so what if what one those people is VERY pregnant.  And so what if Goo and I didn't get much sleep.  Especially Goo.  So what if Feisty Pants discovered boys have cooties.  And her new favorite phrase is "mack you one" (I'll smack you one.)  So what if all the adults discovered they are really still 12 years old inside when playing scattergories and the letter to start all the words is F.  So what if there was no internet connection and I came home to 1500 emails.  And 35 phone messages.  And a dead mouse in the foyer. 

                   The absolutely most remarkable thing about this Christmas is that it wasn't remarkable in any way.  When you spend your life as that kid's mom, the one who needs a million exceptions to every situation, the one for whom every action is a million times more complicated, the one whose life is filled with weirdness and medical devices and personnel; it's heavenly to be boring and hectic and normal.   To find out my kid gets a little bratty if she thinks she is not being watched..  To notice my nephews sometimes dismissed her because she's a GIRL with real live girlcooties not because she's disabled.   To have to reprimand her for threatening to smack somebody instead of trying to pull out her g-tube. So, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. I know this because he brought me a big bag of nothing unusual this Christmas.  And I am so very grateful.