Christmas time means Vomit time!

Every December, my parents' house transforms. You would always know that Christmas is approaching from the little things. My father would disappear into the attic, only to rematerialize with many plastic boxes in tow. My mother would have these day-long shopping excursions. Or so I believe. I can never confirm this thanks to her insistence on my shutting of eyes while she schleps many large and noisy bags up the stairs. But the biggest sign that Christmas is upon us is when my father sets up his 6 CD changer and pipes his secular and religious mix through the entire house. Not long after that happens, I find myself drafted to decorate the interior of the house with swags of pine and branches of holly; miles of garland and candles aplenty. My only relief is a cold beer for which I can nurse my hands on after hours of slaving on an artificial tree and a seemingly bottomless crate of ornaments. We have a joke in our family. Come December the 25th, Christmas has vomited all over our house. And you know what......I love it.