It’s tradition to decorate our house for Christmas on the day after Thanksgiving. Just like everyone else I think. After reading my last post you’ll understand a little better as to why we didn’t do that this year. On Black Friday we were out shopping and then celebrating our own family Thanksgiving. So, no Christmas decorating.
The day after Thanksgiving slid into the next week. Then came work and school. Then came a trip. Now it’s the 8th and we still don’t have a single decoration up. I don’t even know where we’re going to put a tree, our house is so small. It’s time to get everything Christmasy though. Deck the halls and such.
This morning I stuck the girls into the truck. They weren’t too happy to be getting back into a vehicle. We just drove TWELVE hours yesterday to make it home in one night. I wasn’t too excited about the idea of two more hours in a vehicle to go down to our storage unit to get these Christmas decorations. Tis the season and all, I guess.
So we get down there and I actually have the correct keys this time. Last time I drove all the way down there I didn’t have the proper keys. I was so happy this time to have the combo to open the gate onto the premises and the right keys to unlock our storage unit. I even drove the truck in order to have room for these holiday boxes that hold so much magic in them that our whole holiday spirit depends on getting the crap that’s in them out and about the house.
I’m glad there wasn’t a camera on my face at the moment of discovery. It was kind of like that time Geraldo was sure he had found Al Capone’s treasure. Remember that?
He hyped it up. He had the cameras ready. He opened the vault….AND….!!!!!
Not a freaking thing.
Well, I had a little more than Geraldo. Everything we put in storage is still there (I think). The treasured Christmas boxes were nowhere to be seen though. That’s when I really wished I could kick myself. I should have asked Reagan to do it for me. Du had told me several times, “I think we brought some Christmas stuff home with us the last time we were down there.” And each time I would reply, “no, I think we only took a box of shoes because that’s all that could fit in the car.”
I was second guessing myself. Had we not been in the car? Had we stuffed the four big red boxes in the truck? Do I have amnesia? Who are these kids screaming about being hungry and thirsty? Shouldn’t I be on the Riviera shopping or something?
Then Reagan says, “I thought we put those boxes up in the attic?” Are you kidding me? Why had I not even thought to climb up the stupid ladder and just peek in the attic to make sure the boxes weren’t there? Why didn’t God give me little mind hints that would jog my memory at just the right times so that I wouldn’t do asinine things like this? Why didn’t I have teleportive powers to blink my way back to the house to check the attic before leaving the storage shed?
Well, I don’t have teleportive powers so it was back in the truck and one more hour taken forever from our lives. I did bring home a box of clothes so it wasn’t a complete waste of two hours. Back at home I was ready to face my shame. I was ready to see the boxes in the attic, have a good, self-deprecating laugh and get to the bleeping decorating. I pulled down the attic ladder, climbed slowly up, and peeked up only to see…
nothing. It was dark.
Back down I climbed for a flashlight. The suspense was killing me! Back up the ladder. Slowly. I popped my head over the ledge, turned on the flashlight and what did I see?!?!
The bleeping Christmas boxes were not up there! Wha? Our house isn’t that big. Our storage shed is tiny. We were very careful to put anything we might need access to in the front of the storage room so that we wouldn’t have to climb over precariously stacked boxes and chairs and crap that we somehow still need. Where are those dumb boxes? We’ve got to get all Christmasy up in here.
Maybe our Christmas boxes are hidden with Al Capone’s treasure. Maybe they’re all hanging out with Jimmy Hoffa. Maybe I am a princess and my rightful lineage and fortune will be restored to me posthaste. Maybe I’ll wake up and this whole Obama presidency will have been a dream. All unlikely. But where are the bleeping Christmas decorations?
P.S. I solved the mystery. Go here to read it. And laugh at me.