Mother of the Year.

In one of our many Louisiana houses, 

our backyard opened up to our neighbor's front yard. 

Does that make sense? 

Basically, we could play in our backyard, 

while our neighbor watched from her front porch.

Sometimes she'd watch. 

Sometimes she'd smoke.

Sometimes she'd turn around and watch 

television through the window, 

while she smoked.

We lovingly called her Mother of the Year.

This year I'm nominating myself.

(Not because of the smoking thing...)

But because I feel like The Grinch. 

I did not decorate a tree. 

The only Christmas songs I hear are the ones we sing on Sunday.

Eating Christmas treats is a chore.

And get this... 

I even told my children that Santa does not exist.

That in fact... he is simply a fun, fun story. 

Robs informed me that she was going to think he existed anyway, 

and asked if we could we please leave cookies out on Christmas Eve. 

I told her regardless of whether or not Santa exists, we can make delicious cookies.

And that is why I'm Mother of the Year.