The New Year Began...

 

I rang in the new year… asleep in my own bed. My own little bed. I’ve been in so many different beds lately — BY MYSELF, thank you, get your mind out of the gutter — that waking up in my own felt like a luxury resort.

Christmas round two happened in Amarillo with Montana and Robin, Dec. 27–30. I basically live out of my car or so it seems.

Then at 6:00 a.m. on New Year’s Day, I was back on the road, loaded up and truckin’ like a one‑woman Smokey and the Bandit reboot. Destination: Brandy’s house. Mission: Christmas, Part Three.

When I arrived, the boys helped me unload the car. And by “helped,” They took in three arm loads, while I rolled in my one little carry one.  By the time we finished, it looked like I was moving in permanently. I half expected Brandy to hand me a lease agreement.

Act I: Michael’s Hershey Kiss

Michael opened his giant Hershey Kiss — a practical joke from me. He didn’t ask for one; he simply wondered aloud if they still make them. Well, yes they do, and now he knows because Zak immediately stole it like a raccoon in a convenience store.

I gave Michael twenty bucks to make up for it. Zak’s Wranglers cost me that much extra anyway because he needed the slim ones. He ripped the tags off and put them on immediately — in the bathroom, thank heavens. This was Christmas, not Magic Mike.

Act II: Brandy’s Fur Fashion Show

Brandy grabbed her huge box and tore into it like she already knew what was inside. (She did. She absolutely did.)

I had layered the gifts: first the rabbit fur vest — tossed aside like yesterday’s mail. Then the fox fur cape — launched into orbit. Finally, the full‑length mink coat she’d been hunting for like a fashion‑obsessed predator.

All thrift store finds, mind you. I once planned to make Christmas stockings out of them. That day never came. 

Brandy turned the living room into a runway, spinning and twirling like she was a top model. 

Zak stared at her in horror and said, “Mom! You’re wearing a dead animal!”

Brandy, without missing a beat: “More like 70 or 80 little minks.”

Zak will absolutely be in therapy someday, and the therapist will write in the notes: Cause of trauma — Mom and Mema.

Act III: Michael’s Earbud Treasure Hunt

Michael opened the giant box I hid his earbuds in. They shot out like they were escaping captivity and disappeared into the mountain of wrapping paper. He had to dig for them like he was on a holiday episode of Gold Rush.

Act IV: Zak’s Gamer Headset

Zak opened his main gift and said, “I have a headset.”

Michael, the voice of reason: “Not like this one. This is a gamer headset. It cost two hundred dollars. Mema got it for ninety dollars."

Zak put it on and immediately said he could tell the difference. I’m pretty sure he was lying to make me feel better, but I’ll take it.

 Meanwhile, Poor Rob…

Rob opened his expensive bottle of whiskey and announced that we are making him look like an alcoholic.

Brandy reminded him he wanted a collection.

Rob said he mentioned it once.

Now he has enough whiskey to open a small saloon.

And Me? I Came Home With a Spa.

Literally. A whirlpool bathtub spa and a whole spa set. After all that family chaos, I earned it. Calgon, take me away — preferably somewhere with no wrapping paper, no fur coats, and no teenage commentary on dead animals.