Dear Lily June,
Your dad got sick and couldn’t cook the Christmas meal. The Linzer cookies I made all baked together into a giant blob. It didn’t snow. You dropped a poop-‘splosion in your Santa pajamas. You got overwhelmed by the sounds and the lights and the smells and the toys of the season and had a tiny holiday meltdown.
In other words, it was a perfect first Christmas.
I say that without a whiff of insincerity or a hint of sarcasm. All the small things that went wrong? They were all small things. Your dad took some medication, ordered Chinese food, and slipped into a traditional holiday mini-coma. I recut the cookies after they baked, and they came out looking mildly cookie-like. Even sprinkling the powdered sugar over them felt like watching a sweet snow fall.
Your Santa pj’s got washed–on hot–and when they popped out of the dryer, they were even snugglier than before. I sequestered you to your crib for a little bit with a single toy, a dragon I’ve dubbed “Dragu” for you (rhymes with the pasta sauce), and you were all smiles from then on out. I have never had a better holiday in my life.
It was fifteenth-century Italian Renaissance artist Michelangelo who said,
“Trifles make perfection, and perfection is no trifle.”
And considering that he produced some of the most memorable art of human history, including the sculpture of the David or the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel, he’s probably a dead guy worth listening to. Still, Lily, I think we’ve got him beat. Your mother, after all, has mastered the fine arts of Microsoft Paint. And that, my dear, along with your face, are true perfection. Thank you, my little lovely, for showing me what Christmas is all about. I think my masterpiece below subtly captures the overarching spirit of the day.