…when your 3-year-old comes upstairs (where you are frantically wrapping gifts) to tell you he’s sorry, and you have no idea what he might be sorry for, and all he can tell you is that his brother told him to come say he’s sorry.
After this happened, I called a slightly-more reliable witness to the stand, and he testified that somehow, magically, an ornament fell off the tree. Reminding him that he was under oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth or he’d be in big trouble, he said that while they were playing “Keep the Balloon in the Air,” the 3-year-old fell down, but didn’t actually bump into the tree, but he fell pretty hard, which made the tree move. And thus, the ornament fall.
No biggie, I said. Which ornament was it?
“The gingerbread man,” said the witness.
Enter heart sinking.
I mean, really, it’s just a thing. And things aren’t that important. But this did make me a teensy bit sad.
I’ve had this ornament since 1997, as the back indicated. It was made by my friend Karen‘s mom for me (and each of my roomies) during the Christmas we lived together on Green Street. One of my favorite Christmases ever.
And now he looks like this.
Bennett hung the top part back on the tree, and we threw away the bottom part. The rest of him will go in the trash after this Christmas, and that’s ok.
I’m thinking that 13 years is a long life for a gingerbread man.