You know that warm, fuzzy, cinnamon-scented feeling that emanates in your bones at Christmastime? I don't have it this year.
So much so, that I was seriously considering foregoing the 12 days of Zimmerman Christmas festiveness. Because I just couldn't seem to muster enough merry in me.
Then on my way home from the gym yesterday, I had the tragic thought that my Grinchedness could actually spoil the sparkle of Christmas for the kids. And that would surely earn me a sad and lonely gigantic lump of coal.
Instead I decided to buck up and fake it, in hopes that the Christmas spirit will come slap me in the face and leave me jollier than the boy with the belly full of jelly.
And so it was that the first day of Christmas was celebrated by scissoring our way to snowflakes.
I'm feeling better already.
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