Thursday, December 13, 2012: I Melt with You

Dear Babies,

Do you have their address??

I need their address!

What’s their new address?

Is he married? Have kids? Do I address his card “and family?” 

Faux pas, faux pas! Heaven forbid I commit a Christmas-card faux pas!

But look, I just did, I said the word “Christmas” instead of “Holiday,” ahhhh!

I spent hours scouring through pictures for our Christmas I mean Holiday card, deliberating over things like in this one she’s looking at the camera, he’s not. This one vice versa. This one you can’t see their faces–and I could hear the Italians, the master card critics, saying what type of card is this? Who sends a card like this? You can’t see the kid’s face! 

Hunched over the iPhoto at midnight, trying to create magic with cropping and zooming and there’s always sepia ( “maybe it will look dreamy if I blur the edges, and people won’t notice that it’s just a bad picture taken with my phone”) I remembered why we forked over the money last year to hire a professional photographer. One whole year has gone by and do you know how many pictures I found of the four of us? Zip. Call Giada over at the Food Network, tell her I like to look perfect while whipping up bucatini all’amatriciana with spicy smoked mozzarella meatballs, too, only, damn, I guess I don’t have the pictures to prove it.

And then there’s the list.

Your dad is so afraid I’m going to leave someone off our card mailing-list. Meanwhile, what’s the worst thing that can happen here? Someone sends us a holiday card and I didn’t send them one? I commit yet another faux pas, me and my exemplary behavior? Can’t I just take their address from the back of their envelope and pop one in the mail anyway, hope it gets there in time for Groundhog Day–when we really should be sending out 200 pictures of our kids to people anyway, brighten moods come pale-ass February when there’s nothing else to do except watch to see if a groundhog named Phil who lives in Pennsylvania sees his shadow (true story!). He keeps emailing me co-workers addresses, people from all over the country whom I’ve never met. One by one I add them to the excel sheet.  We’re up to line 168…

I’m sitting in the car in the gym parking lot addressing envelopes with the clock ticking: Five minutes until I have to leave to pick you up from school.

I’m listening to Martha Quinn on the Sirius 80’s on 8 channel. She just said something like “one of the most popular songs from the 80’s was about melting with someone you love.” Modern English’s “I Melt With You.”

“Ooh, I love this song,” I said, probably aloud, while cranking up the volume as she played it. Then I thought about the lyrics. A song about melting with the one you love, how foolish…and I went back to filling out my cards with fever.

Spreading holiday cheer, sure. But look at this thing we’ve created, the time, the money, the added pressure.

You tell me who’s the fool.

Melting Stinks



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