I have a confession to make.
Every year, after all is said and done for the Christmas season, I take great joy in butchering your Christmas cards.
Every last one of them.
I have this great vision of having a perfect collage of beloved faces on our refrigerator. My children will spend the year gazing upon all of your cheery holiday smiles in admiration and love, as they are reminded daily of all of the important people in their lives.
(And then there are those photos of people they’ve never met, of whom they ask me daily, “Who is that again??” — ok, that’s really annoying, but alas – the dream lives on.)
So to see my vision come to fruition, I get out my scissors and my roll of magnets and gleefully origamize your cards.
Because within this project, I have a quirk: No words allowed.
No joy, no love, no bible verses, no names, no nice platitudinal statements, no wishes for a wonderful holiday.
The only exception is the year (but only if it’s in number form – NO words allowed!!), and only then if it is impossible to dissect it from the photos.
Some of you make this process easy for me, nicely separating your photos and your wording. One chop and your card is ready for magnetization.
But some of you don’t.
In the pleasant, euphoric place that is the inside of my head, all of the photos would magically and perfectly fit together like the puzzle pieces that make up our lives.
But after all of the shoving, maneuvering, and cramming together, I annually resign myself to the fact that you don’t make very cooperative puzzle pieces.
Apologies are extended for the slaying of your Christmas cards. And double apologies are given to anyone who had photos on both sides – especially to those of you that I decapitated. Merry Christmas.