The past few nights, I’ve been aghast at the state of Dave’s bathroom-side drawer toothpaste. Having left mine in Evelyn’s room, I’ve been sneakily stealing a dollop from his. The problem? He’s out—or at least I thought he was. With a toothpaste squeezer pushed to the end, the tube seemed like a Mary Poppins bag, producing the teeniest bits of magic than it had any right to. Each night I thought about writing about its lack here but held my breath. Well, I finally turned blue a couple of days ago. Imagine my shock tonight when I opened his drawer to find a brand-new tube. Eureka!
Also on the hygienic front: flossing. Or rather, my embarrassing lack of it. I shoved that tight wire into my cracks for the first time in I-don’t-want-to-say-how-long. By the time I finished brushing, every spit I took had a Merry Christmas red to it.
Speaking of Christmas, tonight was Dave’s and my first-ever viewing of Die Hard. I love that for us. I also love how little it actually has to do with Christmas—except for the dead guy wrapped in Christmas lights and a Santa hat, plus the handful of good and bad guys whistling holiday tunes. Now that it’s in the bag, I doubt we’ll make it an annual tradition, but maybe we’ll try Die Hard 2 next year. Even if it isn’t set during Christmas.
Don’t quote me on this, but I think I can count on my fingers and toes the number of times we’ll actually enjoy our new house’s wood-burning fireplace here in the South. Already, in mid-December, we’ve had two indoor fires and one outdoor one, so I’m on track to be correct. Still, it’s nice to have—the crackling, the glow, the smokiness filling my senses. It’ll be all the more special because of its infrequency.
My only problem is the sharp brick edges near where the kids run and play. I’m contemplating a short padded bench to abut it, like the one in my grandparents’ house, so I can feel less vigilant. But then there are the front and garage brick steps that I almost trip on daily. Is there some kind of putty, clay, or felt I can line them with? I know I sound like a big baby, but I also don’t love that my house is trying to kill me.
Alrighty! Got to be on my way—ten days until Christmas. See you tomorrow.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 