Jingle Hell’s Bells
December 22nd
Thirty minutes into our car ride and Georgia was finally starting to get over the fact that Cassie and Thatch hadn’t followed through with their plans to ride with us.
Normally, I might have gloated that I’d known they wouldn’t be riding with us the moment she’d decreed we were leaving at eight a.m., but under these circumstances, with my wife this tense, I thought better of it.
Instead, I’d spent the time reminiscing over the moments where the view of the open road that led to an exciting destination was fun—adventurous, even.
That was before kids. Way, way before kids.
Forty-five minutes into our car ride and the famous golden arches that signified grease, burgers, and fries were a welcomed sight for not only Julia, but me too.
And an hour into our car ride, I was thankful for full bellies and iPads.
This, my friends, was life with kids.
When we were at home, my wife and I strived to feed our girls healthy meals void of fast food and high-fructose corn syrup. We also did our best to keep them active versus sitting around staring at the television or an electronic device all day long.
But in the car, with a fussy eighteen-month-old and an outspoken and cranky five-year-old, we only cared about keeping the peace. If a Happy Meal and My Little Pony on Netflix was the solution, then by God, we accepted it with open fucking arms.
First lesson of parenthood: Pick your battles.
Second lesson of parenthood: Take everyone else’s lessons and tell them to fuck off. What works for one kid doesn’t necessarily work for another. Do what works for you.
Right now, as we headed up Route 17, headphones, iPads, and French fries were working for me.
The car was joyously free of whining and tears, and only the soft sounds of Frank Sinatra serenading us with holiday tunes filled my ears.
Thank everything.
“Are you ready to enjoy a quiet Christmas at the cabin, baby?” I asked and reached out and patted my beautiful wife’s thigh.
“You have no idea how ready I am.” Georgia smiled, and then after a few blissfully quiet moments, she pulled her planner out of her purse.
Oh God. Not the planner…
With a flip of her wrist, she opened it to her bookmarked page. “There is so much to do, Kline. The second we get to the cabin, we need to get unpacked, get the tree, decorate the house with lights—”
I’d been doing everything in my power to stay one step ahead of my wife with this holiday schedule of hers. She wanted a perfect Christmas with her family and friends, but I feared she was going to drive herself literally crazy trying to control and plot out every detail.
She meant well. I knew she meant well. Hell, after spending several holidays with her family, and watching shit hit the fan every single time, I understood her need for a flawless holiday. But holy shit, I feared my Georgie was near the brink of imploding.
And it’s really hard to fuck a collapsed bucket of mush. I hadn’t tried, but I was a man and I could visualize. Not nearly as appealing as my wife in her current state.
She didn’t even realize she was going over the top with this, so I saw it as my responsibility to make sure she didn’t step too far over the line.
Again with the imploding and lack of fucking, etc.
“The tree and lights are already taken care of, Benny.”
“What?” Her eyes went wide with surprise. “What do you mean, they’ve already been taken care of?”
“I hired someone to hang the lights for us. They’ll be at the cabin around noon, and all you need to do is tell them where and how many.”
Now, I’d never been a fan of wasting money on things I could do myself, but when it came to my wife’s sanity—and my own—I didn’t give a shit about the cost.
“I’m really happy about the lights, but what about the tree?” she asked. “Tell me you didn’t just have some random person pick out our Christmas tree, Kline. It’s tradition that we—”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be picking out our tree,” I corrected. “I contacted the owner of the tree farm you fell in love with when we bought the cabin. All we need to do is pick the tree out ourselves,” I added with a smirk, “and he has someone ready to deliver it and set it up for us.”
“Wow. Kline. I…” Georgia looked over at me. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly parted in a little “o.”
Speechless.
Fuck yeah. One win for me.
I placed my hand on her thigh and squeezed gently. “We’re a team, Benny.”
She smiled and a few moments later, whispered, “Thank you.”
Little did she know, that gorgeous smile of hers was the only thanks I needed.
Happy wife. Happy life.
When we made it to the cabin, the girls took off for their room, Julia patiently helping Evie up the stairs, and Georgie went right to work.
Instead of trying to redirect her to relaxing, loosening up, or something that was more enjoyable than closely studying her to-do list, I took the opportunity to head out back and get some firewood chopped for the next few days without interruption.
Georgia usually teased me that I liked to do it myself, with an old-fashioned ax rather than a wood splitter, no less, but it never changed my mind.
Something about the repetitiveness, simplicity, and physical exertion of splitting logs by hand cleared my mind and settled my soul.
This was life. This was love. This was me providing for my family in a way my relatives used to before life got so complicated.
Once I started, though, I was fully involved. So it was actually a surprise when Georgia came out a couple of hours later to tell me that Thatch and Cassie and their kids, Ace and Gunner, had arrived.
I wiped some sweat off of my forehead with the back of my arm and smiled at the look in my wife’s eyes. She might tease me about chopping wood, but it turned her on tremendously.
“Okay, baby. I’ll come in and take a quick shower. Then we can get busy on your activities list.”
All of the arousal swimming in her eyes doubled in volume.
Who knew Christmas talk was the way to go?
I almost laughed as she bit her lip and shifted to squeeze her legs together.
“Cass is already protesting organized activity.”
She was still smiling, which was eerie given her words. I couldn’t help but question it.
“That doesn’t upset you?”
She winked and clapped her hands together with glee. “I’d already built in five hours of settling time while I sorted the lights—which you already did—so I just made up a bunch of stuff so she’ll be more amenable later when I really want to do things. Right now, she thinks she’s getting one over on me.”
“Quite cunning, Mrs. Brooks,” I congratulated.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Brooks,” she accepted with a jump, twist, and kick of her foot as she headed back to the house.
I quickly stacked the smattering of logs I’d just split and followed her in.
The shower was hot and glorious, and the only thing that would have made it better was some company from my wife. But I knew better than to expect her to pop in when she had four kids and Cassie and Thatch downstairs to keep her occupied.
I got dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt and trotted down the stairs to the sound of Thatch’s booming voice.
He was even more animated than normal, and it drew me straight to the kitchen like a magnet, out of curiosity to find out what had him so fired up.
When I got there, I found him with his ass on my counter, long legs hanging nearly to the floor, and Georgia and Cassie were looking on as he talked at his phone to someone on FaceTime.
“Tell me Mitchell’s hamstring isn’t acting up!”
Ah, Wes.
Wes’s answering voice was annoyed. “Stop making up injuries, for Christ’s sake. Mitchell is fine, Sean is fine, Bailey is fine, the whole team is fucking fine. But I swear on the perkiness of Cassie’s tits, you won’t be fine if you keep trying to jinx us.”
Thatch’s face darkened. “You can’t threaten my wife’s tits! That’s a personal foul, asshole.”
“Hmm,” Wes muttered, unfazed. “I can, and I did. Flat, saggy, meatless tits. That’s all you’ll have to play with for the rest of your life if you don’t cool it.”
Thatch’s face turned panicked as he looked to Cassie to confirm the curse hadn’t already set in. She squeezed them together and let them bounce before rolling her eyes. “Perky and full, Thatcher. Relax.”
Georgia charged though, using the opportunity to snag the phone from his hand.
“Wes—”
“Hi, Georgia,” he greeted.
She waved a hand in front of her face and scrunched her nose. “Yeah, yeah, hi. Can you put Winnie on?”
Quite frankly, I didn’t even think any of them had noticed I was in the room yet.
Wes sighed but passed the phone. I could hear Winnie’s laugh as she took it. “Hey, Georgie!”
“Hi! I’ve got a list for you so you can tell Lex what to expect. Do you have a pen?”
Lex, Winnie and Wes’s daughter, was high-functioning on the autism spectrum. Schedule, planning, and advanced notice were comforts for her, and with one simple comment, Georgia made it clear—even with a brain full of chaos—she had a mind to that.
Thatch and Cassie glanced to me, and all at once, all of us fell more in love with my wife.
This was why we were here.
This was what kept us coming back for more.
This was what made me one of the luckiest guys alive.