Warm and Fuzzy Christmasy Stuff

I’m back in Southern California after four months of living in an (unheated) apartment in Chicago (which clearly nominates me for sainthood. Clearly.). Although four months does not cover twenty-seven years in the paper, rock, scissors game of time, and all of California should be imprinted into my DNA, I am still shocked and ecstatic beyond belief at the warmth and sunshine. Seventy five degrees on Christmas people. SEVENTY FIVE! That’s a Christmas miracle.

When my sister (who was also returning from four months away from the motherland) and I de-boarded the plane in Long Beach the entire group of passengers sighed at the love we were all feeling for each other now that we weren’t subject to inhaling ice. And then the captain kissed every single one of us when we left, on the mouth, and the flight attendants showered us with skittles and rainbows before handing us each our own bottle of champagne and hiring limos to take us home.

Or at least that’s what it felt like.

And we proclaimed: Damn you coats! Where just hours ago you were there to keep my body temperature just slightly above hypothermia, now you are nothing but a Berlin Wall separating my arms from the warm sea air! And you – you wool hat! How dare you take up so much space in my purse, because that’s where you’ll be staying for the next three weeks – Sucker!

From the airport we drove straight (except for the detour to Taco Bell) to my Mom’s house where she greeted us with hugs and kisses and *gasp* had the heat on.

The heat. Was. On.

“Mom,” I said stripping down to my underwear. “Why do you have the heat on? It’s a thousand degrees in here!”

“It’s 76 Miss Smarty Pants, and it’s on because it got down to 66 in here. I was ready to put on my parka.”

My sister put her arm around me and we tilted our heads together as we stared lovingly at our precious little mother.

“Aren’t you the most spoiled, cutest thing ever!” I said right before I ducked her lightning-like right hook, as she swat me with a magazine for being ‘flip’. (I will never be an adult to her. Of course, I still insist on filled stockings from Santa so maybe this is a two way sort of sword, or er, street.)

So, the heat is still on in the house and I’m walking around in shorts and a tank top and I REFUSE to put on anything heavier, (even though I’m pretty sure it just started raining) and my mother is following me around with a blanket and a portable heater everywhere I go saying, “I’m so cold! Put this on.”

*sigh*

It’s good to be home.