Moustached Llamas and Other Christmas-y Magic

Did you know Christmassy is a real word?

As in totally legit and in the dictionary.

And by dictionary, of course I mean a real dictionary, not the Urban Dictionary or Unwords.com.

I use the word all the time but I have always assumed it was just a weirdo part of mine and LakeGirl's made up language. 

Because we actually have one of those, you know.

But it's real. 

Downside is... the real word is spelled Christmassy. 

{pause . . . crickets . . .}

I left some blank space there so everyone could take their time getting to the conclusion I hope you all reach.

Are you there yet?

ChristmASSy

You can't have ass in Christmas-y. 

The word literally means exploding with magic and happiness because it's Christmas. 

That does not include an ass.

Anyway. 

This is why I choose to spell it like this- Christmas-y. 

With a nice little hyphen and one less "s" so we can avoid this whole ass business and just focus on what an amazeballs adjective Christmas-y is because as I said before it means magic and twinkle lights and all things Christmas. 

There just isn't an ass in Christmas-y.

I absolutely love, love, love this time of year.

Love.

Love Love.

I've struggled a little bit since getting married because I unintendedly (not sure that's a real word) married Ebeneezer Scrooge and sometimes despite my best efforts to feel all warm, fuzzy and magical about Christmas-y things, his grumplestiltskin self sort of sucks the happiness out of it.

I didn't put up a tree for my daughter's first Christmas. 

I remember being all jazz hands and Christmas carol singing under my breath as I chattered on and on about hiking into the woods to find the perfect pine.

In return, I got a blank stare and a grunt. 

I know I should have cheerfully said "Bah Humbug"

 and set off to make Christmas magic on my own . . .

 but it's just so hard to keep up the energy and happiness when you get absolutely none of it in return. 

So instead I turned my Christmas switch off and stopped trying.

I know I can't do that anymore. 

Because my daughter deserves the chance to experience this magic. 

So I'm gonna give her magic.

Christmas-y magic things come in all shapes and sizes.

Including turquoise pajamas with scarf-wearing Llamas. 

Who also happen to have tiny little Hitler-moustaches.

You see, this is why Christmas time is the most magical time of the year.

Because there is magic and happiness and an extra scoopful of joy in absolutely everything.

You just have to chose to see it.

In other magical news, I'm going to quit my day job and start a present wrapping business.

Probably not for real, but I do dream about it . . .

Things that bring me joy. 

The Pfister Hotel in Milwaukee. If you haven't been,

go now.

Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

Just get there.

I got to be there last week for a seminar and I actually just stood in the lobby doing nothing for about 15 minutes.

I hoped that by standing there long enough perhaps Christmas would seep into my veins. 

I think it worked. 

We also enjoyed Christmas-y magic in the anticipation of a visit from St. Nick.

When I was a kid, instead of stockings, we left out shoes. 

At some point, I came up with the genius idea to leave out one of my dad's shoes instead of my own.

He wore a men's size 12, which clearly trumped the size of my own footwear. 

I'm pretty sure I thought I had pulled a fast-one on the man in the red,

since he would have to bring more presents to fill up the giant shoe I had left by the fireplace.

In the end, my trickery was for naught . . .

 I got the same amount of loot as my little sister,

who of course I enthusiastically encouraged to leave out her own peanut-sized shoe.

Model older sibling I was . . .

The Tiny Human left out her little boot and was absolutely thrilled to find it chock-full on the morning of the 6th.

Some of the goodies were actually courtesy of her fairy godmother, LakeGirl.

I mean, who else would track down the only Christmas book in the world about a unicorn?!?

Such a win.

Somehow the month is half past . . .

and another year is threatening to be a part of history in no time at all.

How does this happen?!!

I swear, I swear I make a conscious effort to slow down, and soak it in . . .

but time marches on.

I've always thought this life of ours is never quite long enough.

And then I read this on a card the other day . . .

Life is long. It is living we risk being short on.

Christmas-y magic. 

Living every single moment you've got. 

And what better way to really start this business about living than with threads like this that speak the truth.