Of course, now I have tall sons who can reach all the top spots on the Christmas tree, but back then I just had that handsome guy. (And multi-talented, too: those dresses the girls are wearing? He made them.)

That angel is from Dad, Interrupted’s childhood. I believe the story is that his mother had made the angel out of a doll, the kind whose eyes open up when she’s upright and close when she’s not. She holds little white Christmas lights in her hands, like candles.

She’s really pretty, has held up well, and is a nifty bit of crafting.

But DI told the kids that the angel actually was reporting back to Santa all year long on their misbehavior, which is just creepy as hell. The thought of that doll in her shoebox in the closet under the stairs, her eyes open in the darkness, watching us like some sort of Chuckie doll…:shudder:

WHO SAYS THESE THINGS TO KIDS? (Side rant: that Elf on the Shelf business is painful to me. After about two and a half beers I can start to see how the whole thing is a subversive plot to inure our citizens to constant surveillance. Clearly, I’ve been hanging out with DI too long.)

What the heck is she doing now?

© E. Stocking Evans 2016