It's 9am on Christmas morning and I roll out of bed with much difficulty.
Very much difficulty.
My left eye is swollen and emitting some strange sort of sticky muscous liquid thing that's making my vision very wet and blurry.
If left to my own devices, I'd say TO HELL WITH XMAS and then head back into my covers and sleep till the new year.
But alas, the world isn't run by me. So I wash my face and curse when I realise I didn't bring facial foam, then head to the kitchen.
I mutter a quick thanks to the me yesterday for pre-pressure cooking the pork belly so all I need to do today is to pop it into the air fryer for 30 mins for it to crisp up.
After I do that, I clear the kitchen island and wash 1 cup and 2 plates left over from the shenanigans last night.
I also begin to realise that my husband is still snoring loudly and happily in lalaland when his job for the morning is to vacuum and purchase clams from the supermarket opposite.
In a bid to wake him up, I turn on the television and our new Karoake system (Popsical!) and pick some Xmas songs from my phone.
I crank the volume up to 32 (max of 42) and observe. Still no movement.
But the Christmas songs are getting to me!
I feel the Christmas spirit in my bones!
I can feel my hips swaying to the beat!
If only my left eye would open up like a normal, non swollen eye, my Christmas would be perfect.
I pop the batteries into the microphone and sing along to Jingle Bell Rock.
Husband still doesn't stir.
I walk from the living room and pounce on the bed, and announce loudly in my best mean girl voice, that boo, he's a whore.
Finally, after another 5 minutes of blasting Christmas songs and shaking, he emerges from bed and disappears out the door.
I can only hope he remembers to buy the mussels.
Oh and also the paper cups. Cos we ran out.
I proceed to plate the cold cuts, slice bread and warm up pasta. Thank god most of the cooking was done yesterday.
Husband is back!
With the clams!
And the cups!
The day is perfect and complete. Except we are running on 4 hours of sleep and our lunch party hasn't even started yet.
He vacuums and I wash more stuff. How can one house have so many dirty dishes????
I look out the window to check if it's raining and notice my brother in the carpark.
My family is punctual. Too punctual.
My dining table has no food, and the Aircon isn't turned on. But nevermind. That's what family is for right? To help you line wastepaper baskets and heat up turkey.
Most of my family have arrived and are attacking the lunch spread in some sort of frenzy.
We run out of pasta and I'm told to just boil spaghetti and throw it into the sauce.
At the same time, I realise the turkey needs to bake for 1.5 hours in the oven. Which probably means we can only have it for tea.
The general public consensus is to heat up the turkey.
We play high tech party games, hosted on the TV via Steam (yes, the DOTA and L4D steam) and played via our smart phones.
Nobody sings karaoke because the baby is asleep. Party games are a huge hit amongst the old ladies in the family.
Particularly my mum, who keeps giving ridiculous answers to our guess the drawing type game.
Baby wakes up.
Karaoke session begins.
Daniel waddles over to me in the kitchen and whispers in my ear.
"I want to sleep already. I cannot keep my eyes open."
I only manage a "me too" before pulling the turkey out from the oven and watch while my uncle carves it.
In my heart I wonder why my family is still here, when they usually only stay an hour for parties.
Turkey is sliced and passed around for consumption.
We discover that said turkey is not roast turkey but smoked turkey. It tastes like ham.
Someone asks for vegetables. Like a salad.
I only have onions at home.
So they slice the onions.
It's a turkey onion salad party!!!
We still manage to finish most of the meat. My grandma calls dibs on the bones.
Everyone seems to have found their favourite spot in the house.
My aunt's are in the kitchen, sitting by the island, talking about essential oils.
Cousins are on the couch, singing karaoke.
Uncles are at the dining table, eating turkey and brownies.
Daniel is on his Poang armchair from IKEA, his eyes hooded. I briefly wonder if he's asleep.
Everytime my mum stands up, I wonder if she's going to leave.
Nope. She sits.
By now, I am autopiloting.
I nod to something my aunt says but I don't really listen to it.
My cousin's singing is getting more and more emotional. My ceiling fan whirs and I can feel my non swollen right eye becoming smaller too.
I think I'm sleep walking. Am I sleep walking?
Daniel is now almost fully asleep in his armchair.
My uncle is asleep.
Someone stands up and says….
Did I hear that right????
They will make a move?????
I love my family but right now, I just want to take a nap under my soft covers and under the breeze of my wonderful ceiling fan set to speed 1.
Leaving parties is like a disease. When one person leaves, the rest follows.
We bid them goodbye and promise to host again soon.
And before we know it,
We are alone.
I try to be a responsible adult and ask if we should vacuum before we nap. But there's no way in hell Daniel is going to vacuum now.
I shower and crawl into bed. Daniel showers.
I don't think I hear the shower turn off before I fall asleep
I wake up to the sound of thunder and rain outside my window.
It is quiet and the air still faintly smells like roast pork belly. I unwillingly (again) roll out of bed even though we could very well sleep all the way past boxing day.
There are egg whites left in the fridge from when we made the bread pudding, my lunch from yesterday, uneaten, some duck pate, bread, and turkey onion salad.
Dinner is served.
We put on a movie and balance dinner on our coffee table that is way too small for comfort.
Daniel chooses Captain Fantastic which comes with the typical "indie film filter" and reminds me a little too much of Swiss Army Man.
I hated Swiss Army Man. The first 30 minutes of the movie has me in confusion. It brings back bad memories of SAM.
I eat brownies in silence.
We finish the last of the turkey slices and I wash up. Daniel plugs in the vacuum and prays that the neighbours pardon his Christmas night vacuuming.
We put pillows back into their place, keep dry dishes info the cabinets and flush all the toilets and reline the dustbins.
I pack my make up, hair dryer and straightener, and turn off the electronics.
We sit on the couch for a moment.
I post this on Instagram and I reach out to hold Fatty's hand.
It's a quiet Christmas night, but a perfect way to end the festivities.
Adulting means spending copious amounts of time, energy and money to making others happy and fulfilling responsibilities.
But ultimately, if you have someone to call home, then adulting is a game the two of you play.
Thank you for paying all the bills and for always doing the dirty work.
Adulting is made so much easier with you.