Dear Santa, I want some Loritab and a nice big bottle of Crown Royal. Thanks.

So yesterday I get a phone call from my dear husband and I could tell he was a little bit not himself.  Come to find out, he cut his hand open, is bleeding profusely and is trying to get to the emergency room.

This was more than a little alarming to hear him even mention the ER because this is the same man who practically cut his finger completely off his hand a while back and, as the finger is dangling with blood shooting across the room and bone exposed he calmly asked me to run get one of William's spiderman band-aids.  Of course I couldn't hear him because I was in an unconscious heap in the floor. 

He called me an hour or so later and said he had 5 stitches in his hand and was on his way to the liquor store to pick a little something up in case he started hurting later.  But he also had a prescription for a pain killer.  

I hope he wakes up in time for Christmas.

I may be taping a note on the bicycle boxes that says something like, "Dear kids....Santa was too tired to put these together.  Instructions are in the box.  Good luck.  Love, Santa."

But now that I think about it, the bikes won't even make it out of the attic.  Maybe I'll just draw an arrow on the note pointing up.  I'm sure they'll get over it....  one day.