A Charlie Brown Christmas

My Christmas tree is empty. There's nothing under it, on it, or around it. Actually, that's not true. About eleven ornaments hover around my knees, deposited by Leila while I took a shower the other day. She considers it a large toy, referring to it as Christmas. She hasn't even grasped that she will receive presents; it's just delightful that there's this tree! A tree! With lights! In the living room! So! Exciting!
We had a similar problem with Halloween. It was so! cool! That she got to wear a hat all day! She didn't even notice the people were handing her candy. I intended to tell her that Halloween involves candy, but I didn't want to ruin the holiday. Now I've got a Barbie in my closet, and realize that she would be delighted even if I only wrapped up that one itsy bitsy Barbie and placed it under the tree.
Oh, and let's talk about the Barbie, shall we? The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade prominently feature Island Passion Fruit Punch Princess Barbie (or something like that) singing, dancing, and generally frolicking. Leila's little rosebud mouth feel open, and her chipmunk voice went supersonic. "Oh, Mummy. Mummy, I want THAT Barbie. I want it."
So I trooped to Target on BLACK FRIDAY after work, to hunt down Passion Fruit Barbie. There was a small problem. Passion Fruit Barbie talks. And we do not allow toys that make any sort of electronic noise in our house. The rule is that you must bang the toy on something to make noise with it, because God knows you talk enough, and do not need help giving me a headache, my little apple tart. We ended up with some sort of virginal, non talking Barbie, wearing a white dress, but who came with an elephant! Surely the elephant makes up for the lack of eye-searingly bright dress!
No? I will end up buying another Princess Fruity Fun at Giant, less than a week later? And actually giving it to her, lest her other twelve Barbies get lonely? Oh.
But she neeeeeeeeded it, Mummy.

If at first you don't succeed...

I've lived in the metro area for four and a half years now. I've been married. I'm getting divorced. My daughter is 3. I work in retail, as a manager at a very large store where you probably shop. (Keep your receipt, okay?)
I'm 25. I'm bipolar. I do my best.
I love DC.
Let's try this again. Now with more Bitter.