The Power of Negative Thinking

I'm one of those people that sets herself up for disappointment. What's that called? Oh yeah, female. I lie in bed on Christmas Eve, imagining the looks of wonder, joy and happiness of Christmas morning. And then I chastise myself. "Shut up, Mignon. What you imagine is not possible. And if it were possible, you just jinxed it by imagining it." So then I imagine the kids puking in their sleep, the tree bursting into flames, all the stockings falling on the floor, the dog eating all the candy out of them and then dying a tragic death in front of the Christmas tree from chocolate poisoning and smoke inhalation.

Our Christmas was closer to former, with elements of the latter. In the middle of the night Madeleine woke up twice, feverish and sick, and Quinn woke up once coughing and bleeding from both nostrils. When morning finally came, Quinn was up first, disoriented and still sick. We all went in to wake up Madeleine (also disoriented and sick) and then to the living room. Quinn was convinced Santa had mixed up his and Madeleine's stockings (no comment), pulled the first toy he found off the top and hurled it across the room.

So, after the requisite three minutes in his room, a cup of milk and copious threats, the Nice Christmas began. Wonder, joy and happiness. It actually happened. The kids are still sick, but it's that low-grade kind, where they're happy to stay in their pajamas, except when battle gear is required...


I hope yours was what you secretly hoped for, too.