My Obnoxious Christmas Letter

To My Family and Friends,

It’s hard to believe that another year has passed and we are in that most joyous of seasons once again. Time to light the candles, bake some cookies and shop, shop, shop ‘til we drop. Time, too, for greetings sent to those not so near, but always dear, to us. Thus, I sit here clacking away at my new, state-of-the-art laptop computer with a 50 gigabyte hard-drive and 250 RAM, all in an effort to keep personally connected to each and every one of you in a special way.

As hard as it is to believe that another year has passed it’s even harder to believe that each passing year has been better than the last. But (pinch me) it has!

This year was no exception. Things are going smashingly on all fronts for Our Family.

The children, of course, continue to be the stars of this story and bring me my greatest fulfillment. “Little” Daulton is seventeen years old now, six feet tall and as amazing as ever. He has submitted all his college applications and eagerly awaits responses. His biggest worry is how he will choose between Princeton and MIT. It was so nice of those fine institutions to ignore that little incident with the Border Patrol. Dalty has proven to be a fine athlete in addition to a scholar. He has remained faithful to competitive running (that’s what confused the Border Patrol) and participated in another winning cross-country season at his prestigious, New England prep school. In fact, he took first place in the biggest meet of the year. And, after the investigation concluded, it was confirmed that that poor boy from the rival school tripped on his own shoelaces, not Daulton’s foot.

Baby sister, Astrid, is fifteen now and quite the beauty. I’ve overheard some undesirables call her a “babe” but to me she’ll always be my darling baby girl. I’d been told by the Dr. Phil Show that mothers and daughters sometimes clash during the teen years but Astrid and I have remained close. We share so many things. Why, just the other day, she borrowed my credit card to shop at a clothing purveyor called “Victoria’s Secret.” I was happy she felt comfortable enough to reach right into my purse while I was busy re-tiling the bathroom (Carrera marble, of course) and pleased that she liked clothing with historical precedent. Astrid is certainly not one of these flighty, flirty types that we see aggrandized by the press (I’ve made a point of keeping up with popular culture so that we can communicate more easily and I know all about that Paris Hyatt creature). Astrid, not to be outdone by her “loser, brainiac brother,” as she refers to him in that loving, quirky way of hers, is a top student. Beauty and brains will take her far. Check your local listings in September of 2009. Astrid is sure to be a part of that year’s Miss America Scholarship Pageant, even if we have to move to Butte, Montana to do it.

Last, but certainly not least, is me. Or, is it I? I’ve had another great year working in the exciting and lucrative world of stocks and bonds. In addition to making critical decisions every day with other people’s money (it’s less stressful than making critical decisions with your own money but it’s still pretty darned stressful) I single-handedly remodeled my master bathroom and chaired the “Race for Rosacea” 8K fundraiser. I even managed to run the grueling course myself in the very respectable time of 45:25: 02, a personal best for me. I’m proud to say that we raised $468 to fight this benign, but very unflattering, affliction.

Alas, there’s not one, special fellow in my life these days. But don’t fret, Aunt Ida, it’s just a case of “so many men, so little time.” There are loads of nice DWCPMs out there, not to mention DWJPMs and SWPPMs, just dying to commit to a twice-divorced, 46-year-old woman with teenagers, rosacea and a great sense of humor. I’m sure I’ll be hearing those old wedding bells again just as soon as I find time in my hectic schedule for the honeymoon. In the mean time, if anybody knows of anyone acceptable (a pulse and a few brain waves will do just fine) please have him call me at 856-555-HELP.

Well, that wraps it up until next year. I hope that the coming year finds you as blessed, peaceful and humble as us. We, I mean.

Happy Holidays!

As ever,

Marci