“Sleigh Bells ring are you listening? In the lane, snow is glistening! A beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland.”

I sing this for the fourteenth time this week. I’ve just finished my Christmas spinning at Milk and my Santa Claus hat rests on the cloth-covered passenger seat of my Jeep. I have heard nothing but Christmas carols for the couple of days on my regular radio stations, which is no surprise, as it is only two shopping days until Christmas. I even mixed my own version of “All I want for Christmas is You” and played it for the club. They went wild. I hope I don’t get slapped with Anti-Semitism issues, but there aren’t that many Hanukah songs, besides, the festival of lights is not what I celebrate. I’m sweaty now and would love to go home and hop into the shower, put on a pair of pajamas and curl up in bed. I’m also sore from lugging my equipment around and vow to myself to leave it in the car until the morning.

Pulling down my street I steer the Jeep into a free space along the side and hop out, making sure to lock the doors. Sienna Boulevard is notorious for its neighborly communions, but also for its armed robbers. I don’t want to take my chances with the equipment in the hatch. The house is dark, save the bundles of Christmas lights around the Birds of Paradise plants on the outside of the house. This is so amusing to me because it looks just like a Griswold Christmas special, I can see Chevy Chase, now. No one appears to be awake when I get home and so I lock the door and shuffle into the dark entry hall. I nearly kill myself on a toy truck perched near the doorframe and pick it up, tossing it gently onto the sofa.

Manuel, or Manny, my youngest brother is only nine years old and still leaves his toys around the house. I don’t mind as much as my mother does, but still, it’s really no good when I almost break my big toe. Oh well, I’m not one to be bitter at pre-adolescent children. I make my way through the dining room, averting the corner on the glossy wooden dining table that I have so frequently banged my hip against and bee line into the kitchen, moving to the first thing I see- the refrigerator. It’s stocked with leftovers and cans of Coke as well as Bud Light and juice boxes. We have an array of tastes in the house and my mom does her best to fulfill them. I select a juice box and walk over to the counter littered with mail.