Christmas Newsletters

I know, I know, some people hate Christmas newsletters. We usually send one out and try to be self-deprecating or funny. We get lots of comments, especially from older relatives and friends, who say they look forward to our newsletter. This year, I suggested to Earl since so many people have had a rough year, maybe we should skip the newsletter. What were we going to say? We both kept our jobs, Grace started college and we went to Paris for our 20th anniversary? It just sounded too self-satisfied.
But, when Earl bought Christmas cards and sat down to address them, I hated the idea of sending a card that simply had our names signed. I don't like to get cards with people's names -- no picture, no comments. This is the only time of year we catch up with some families.
"Okay, okay," I said as I held downward dog position in the middle of my P90X yoga. "Grace and I will write a Christmas letter."
I wrote one, searched for photos and pasted it all together. Then I made a fatal flaw. I printed it out and left it lying on the table.
"Don't draw attention to the fact that my eyes were swollen," commented Grace about the family photo as she was leaving for school.
"You can't say I gained 30 pounds of muscle and scored 10 points last week," complained Spencer. "It sounds too braggy."
Then Tucker caught a glimpse of it. "Could you find a worse picture of me?" he asked. Truthfully, I had a hard time finding a decent picture of him.
"And look, you wrote twice as much about Spencer and Grace as you did about me," he said.
I sighed.
The Christmas paper I bought to print the newsletter on left a big snowflake in the middle of Spencer's nose. Grace wasn't crazy about the jumping in the snow picture.
Oh, well. Even if the letter never leaves the house, I made the effort and hope all my friends and relatives, even those who will never see the Christmas newsletter, have a Merry Christmas.
And to my blog readers, Merry Christmas. You get to catch up on my family everyday, so you aren't getting a newsletter either.