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My brother is bald! He shaves his head now, to hide it, or possibly because he works in a kitchen, but you can totally tell that if he had hair it would be a George Costanza hairline. HAH! Good thing the light in that hospital room is dim, because if Granddad actually saw the bar code tattoo on the back of that kid's head I'm not sure what he'd do.
On the other hand, it'd be pretty goddamn funny. Maybe he'll stay awake long enough to get a gander before he goes home tomorrow.
Christmas Eve will be at his place; it's my dad's turn to host, but we're just going to do sandwiches, meatballs, that kind of thing, and hang out at the farm. My sister has arranged with Santa to have the stuff for the kids left at Granddad's; he usually came over to watch them open their presents so she figured returning the favor would be a nice thing to do. Plus, my mom was coming over for breakfast so he'll get to see her as well.
In other news, I had Chinese food for lunch and KC did a phenomenal job getting stocking stuffers for Leah; I made up a list of suggestions and he got everything and then some. The stuff I left vague he filled in quite nicely. (I had suggested "cologne" and said I liked Avon's Sweet Honesty, but if he found something marketed to kiddos to go nuts. He came up with something from the Mary Kate & Ashley line.) So now all we have to do is ship stuff to his family and find something for my brother. And I have to finish him. I feel like crap about that; I cancelled part of the order for his stuff because Amazon was being a bitch, and between Leah duty, work, and the hospital I have not done half the shit I needed to do.
There's still time, and I am off tomorrow. I am not sweating this one yet. There are only two things I have left to get for Leah; one is a book that comes with a doll which she has been eyeing up for weeks. The other is a jar of pickles. KC has been insisting to her that Santa is under the impression that she wants a jar of pickles.
"Well, Santa is wrong or is possibly thinking of a Leah with brown hair. Because I have blonde hair and also I do not like pickles. So I don't even know what that's about, unless he is a crazy Santa."
He is a crazy Santa all right. But we've been teasing her for so long that we must get the jar of pickles, preferably a bulk-sized one from a warehouse store. That way we can use it as a centerpiece for cook-outs for years to come. (Another family tradition, until someone came home drunk one night and finally opened it. I have no idea who. Possibly it was that crazy Santa.)
It is now 4PM and I have no desire to be here any longer today. I wonder if anyone would notice if I vanished?