It's always been one of the saddest days of the year for me. Probably I just need to grow up, and learn how to enjoy a Christmas of my own making as much I used to enjoy it with my home-family. Turns out it takes quite a lot to make Christmas.
I did make a gingerbread house from scratch with the family gingerbread house cutting set my mom passed along to me. Pre-made gingerbread house parts are now available from Trader Joe's, and I totally get why mom now goes with those. I wish I'd taken a picture of my gingerbread house when I first built it, because it was like a Dr. Seuss gecekondu. Then I frosted it and LE decorated it and it looked okay. Then I today I realized it's a metaphorical gingerbread house, reminiscent of the building boom in Istanbul: build a crappy structure, slap a nice-looking veneer on it, and call it good. The gingerbread house is starting to sag as the walls soften in the damp sea air, and the metaphor continues.
I think LE had a good Christmas. The toys are still hurricaned around the house and if he didn't enjoy it, then bless the little fellow for trying so hard to make me happy. For all his almost-4 repetitiveness, I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing him strolling around the house belting out Christmas songs in almost-4 Turklish.
I sometimes have the feeling we're both doing our best to put on a brave face for each other.
