I'm living with a two-foot ninja.
My little girl has the remarkable ability to appear out of nowhere and scare the crap out of me. Pair her stealth-like ability with a black shirt and a dimly-lit room and she looks like a freakin' animal of some kind. Cat, dog, possum, whatever. I just jumped out of my chair.
(Combined with my previous entry about my fright over Santa Claus, some may say I scare easily.)
Last week she dropkicked my bedroom door and scared the living shit out of me as I slept. It was like a scene from NYPD Blue. The cartoons that featured a scared cat clinging to the ceiling is a pretty damn accurate way to describe how I believe I must have looked at that moment. Maybe I even looked less composed than that. My husband appeared behind her moments later and laughed and laughed. I found myself clearly on the hate side of the fine line of love and hate. Of course Katie smiled when I revealed myself from under the covers and walked toward me to give me a hug. So I naturally found a way to blame Dan for the whole incident since I couldn't stay mad at my sweet Ninja for long.
In other news, we finally got a Christmas tree this past week and klaskkkkkkkkkkkkkkndjkkkkkkk;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;lkd
[As a general aside, Ninja just struck again. She subtly started crying in the kitchen and when I went to investigate and offer my motherly comfort, she wasn't there. But in the meantime, she went into the dining room and hopped up onto my chair to get to the computer. Pretty soon she'll be taking money from my purse and will have a strange relationship with a guy who could only be reached by pager.]
Anyway, our Christmas tree is up. Presents are wrapped. Sugarplums are dancing in heads, although it's probably more because no one really knows what the hell sugarplums are these days. My brother and his family are coming in this weekend for Christmas and I'm very excited. All is well.
I hope you have a great holiday!