Dear family and friends: A brutally honest holiday letter awaits!
I don’t know about you, but those “family holiday letter” things are too much for me. I never need to know that Craig is in his second year at Syracuse and that Grandpa caught a big one at the lake last summer.
And besides, even if I did need to know, I’ve got Facebook and so do you and that should be that.
At the very least, I think these letters should do more than just celebrate the mundane “accomplishments” of your family. Fact is, if you’re going to do a letter this year, at least be honest. As in, brutally honest.
And so with that, I present to you the first-ever Edelstein Family Holiday Letter! *****
Dear extended family and friends who I never talk to which is why you’re receiving this letter,
Sorry for not calling much this year, but the truth is, we obviously don’t really care all that much about each other. I mean, we don’t even know when our respective birthdays are.
Anywho, let me catch you up on all things Edelstein!
Baby Boy Edelstein isn’t much of a baby anymore; can you believe he’s almost 10 years old?! What a joy he is. Very smart, so handsome, quickly becoming an all-star swimmer. He’s also become hyper-aggressive in the household! He refuses to go to bed without a fight, thinks he knows everything, and I’m convinced he hasn’t washed his hands since June.
Our eldest daughter is doing great. She has some special needs, and she’s finally somewhere where real learning is happening. She’s doing great! She also continues to refuse, for some godforsaken reason, to cover herself back up if her blanket comes off her body when she sleeps. Instead, she just moans loudly - think of the sound a dying humpback whale might make - until someone goes into her room and covers her back up. She also claims to never remember keening like a doomed whale.
And our youngest! She’s a pistol, I’ll tell you. Smart, funny, cute, the total package. She also - thanks to our son - listens to top 40 music and she has the dancing bug! Not sure where she picked up her moves, but they are something else. Reminiscent of a stripper, quite frankly. We are already very, very, very concerned. Very.
As for our family pooch? Loyal to a fault. Fun-loving and sweet. Dumb as bricks. Ate coffee grounds the other day. What the hell is wrong with that dog? I mean, coffee grounds? What’s the draw there, Fido?
Of course, can’t forget about the love of my life, my ever-loving wife. We celebrated our 16th wedding anniversary this year, and we’re closer than ever, if by “closer than ever” you mean we never get a chance to spend more than 45 seconds together alone without the kids needing something. Seriously. We need a bigger house. And a full-time nanny. And a lock on the bedroom door.
Then there’s me, ol’ Jeff. I continue to somehow manage to thrive despite some weird combination of misplaced confidence and an unfathomable fear of the unknown. I drink too often, I’m surprisingly surly and mean-spirited to those I love the most, and I’m one stupid bet away from having a full-blown gambling problem. I’m out of shape, look terrible naked, and have hair growing in the oddest places. Like my flank.
We also have a rotating cast of tiny goldfish. They keep dying and we keep replacing them. The kids don’t know. Tell them and I swear I’ll brain ya. Happy holidays!
Love (not really, but whatever),
Jeff