I was watching “Grey’s Anatomy” a couple months ago (yeah, OK, whatever). Dr. Bailey, who is the only reasonably sane character on the show, was being berated on her cell phone by her husband for missing their less-than-one-year-old son’s first Halloween. Then she, talking to intern George, bewailed missing it too, even though she was helping with a surgery to make some cute kid’s life better.
Oh, please.
This year was Lydia’s first Halloween that we went out and celebrated. And her mother took her to a limited number of houses. I mean, how much candy does she really need? (Answer: quite a bit, actually, after eliminating the candies that might have peanuts.)
Likewise, we haven’t had a Christmas tree until this year. This is Lydia’s fourth Christmas. The first year, we were too tired and disorganized. The second year, we were afraid she’d accidentally pull it down on herself unless we had a moat around it. The third year, we weren’t home long enough, as we were at the grandparents’ house; they had a tree. This year, however, we went up to the attic, found the tree stand, negotiated which Christmas bulbs made it on the tree (Carol and I each have our own sets), figured out the lights (we were on the same page on that one), and decided that it would be important to help Lydia, and us, to have some Christmas traditions of our own.
So, I don’t think we’ve psychologically damaged Lydia by having foregone the rituals until now. Or if we have, she can send us the shrink’s bill.
More details anon.
Happy 3 3/4, Lydia.
ROG