Scratchy

I suppose that each holiday has its up and downs; the positives and the negatives.

Thanksgiving requires eating, if you are a kid.  But when you are the adult host it is a different story entirely.  There is the slaving in the kitchen and trying to make a Martha Stewart performance meal.  And always the question of what to do with that little icky bag of giblets inside the turkey.

Christmas is a wonderful event if you are a kid.  But if you are the mom it means buying and decorating the tree (plus dealing with an irritable husband whose patience is tried three fold by the time he tries to straighten the fir for the fourth time.) Then there is the buying of presents—and wrapping them—hanging the stockings and buying the stuff that will go in them, cooking the meals for both Christmas Eve and day.   Oh, and Christmas cards.

No wonder I want a glass of champagne as we open gifts.

Easter is another story.  It was always tied up with church and scratchy dresses and silly hats.  Was it some odd Puritan thing that kids needed to be uncomfortable in their Easter Sunday best in order to get the chocolate? If truth were told, I would much rather have had black licorice and wear jeans.