holly day.

Good morning, boys and girls! Today's lesson is sponsored by GET OVER YOURSELF. GET OVER YOURSELF is an effective treatment for angry, incoherent e-mail missives, patronizing Facebook messages, myopic whining, and delusions of grandeur of all kinds. Side effects of GET OVER YOURSELF may include stopping to breathe, sheepish atonement, and vague regret. Sudden bouts of compassion, empathy, and human decency have occurred in some cases. GET OVER YOURSELF should not be used by the clinically insane or terminally self-absorbed. Talk to your doctor, beleaguered colleague, or genuinely suffering fellow man about GET OVER YOURSELF today. Operators are standing by.

This message brought to you by People Who Have Too Much Time on Their Hands But Not Enough to Learn How to Navigate This Crazy Universe They Call "The Internet." Thank you, each of you, for screaming into our voicemails. You make the cocktails that much sweeter.

Last night I arrived home from a particularly long day at work to find two messages on my answering machine—one from my bank and one from Southeast Toyota Finance. This morning I smoothed out those messes, plus an additional one from my insurance company, then arrived to another particularly long day at work to find that my e-mail doesn't work and the toggle button on my mouse will only scroll UP.

I've looked everywhere for a place to return my grownup card, but it keeps coming back nonrefundable. (Though I'll admit, while I have managed to skate my way into my 30th year with a continued distaste for talking on the phone to strangers and tackling the small details, it's the inability to scroll DOWN that's really twitch-making.)

And so I dwell on the happy holiday memories, when the days were filled with sleep and the calories didn't count. (This is an opinion my reflection in the cubicle window does not support.)

We spend Christmas morning at my mom's, LSis, BiL, the grandmadre, S&M, and I. The names have changed, but the mimosas remain the same. This year we invited the chicken to join us, and she was impressed.



We gave gifts



(earrings, in M's case. Isn't she lovely?) and received gifts



(the entire set, which my grandmother has been lovingly, and amazingly, collecting for each of us for nigh these 12 long years) and, in some cases, glanced askance at gifts



(M: It's a hose! Endorsed by the National Arthritis Foundation! G: I asked for a hose reel).

The pups watched the festivities from behind bars, skittering and whining in consternation.



Except for the chosen people, of course.



This is how a pug gloats.



Lots of people say lots of schmaltzy things during the holidays, about how it's not about the food that you eat or the lawnmowers that you get but about the family.



The time spent with loved ones in the glow of the early morning light and the twinkling strands on the tree.



The laughter exchanged and the misty moments recalled, combined with a stunning sense that there are things this Christmas that didn't even seem possible at the last one.



I have no idea what those people are talking about.