Stretching the Holiday Truth

     I swear I feel like half the crap I try to feed my kids while I’m doing this parenting gig comes right back to bite me in the ass.  And with Christmas and all its many, many far-fetched ideas, it becomes even more difficult to try to explain myself.  Deer that fly, a sleigh that miraculously fits ALL the toys for every kid in the friggin’ universe, a rather large man squeezing himself down the super skinny chimney — it’s all pretty far out there if you really stop and think about it.  So, throughout this holiday season, I’ve found myself on multiple occasions trying to come up with a logical explanation for a highly illogical concept.

     Scenario Number One: two of Santa’s reindeer miraculously showed up at a landscaping/pet shop near us a few weeks back.  My kids must’ve asked me ten thousand questions about these two antlered-eared deer for which I had to REALLY dig deep into my big bag of bullshit to try to answer.  They had a sign up that said “Only Santa’s elves are allowed to feed the reindeer” — so how was I supposed to explain why we saw two of the store’s employees (who most certainly looked NOTHING like elves) feeding the damn deer?! Could they not have at least thrown on some flipping green tights and pointy toed shoes?  And to make matters worse, the stupid asshats at this store took it upon themselves to proudly display the names of these two reindeer who were named anything BUT Comet, Cupid or Donner.  They had names like Sasha and Donald. Seriously, people, WTF?! Would it really have killed these jackbutts to at least fake that these were two of Santa’s real deal sleigh drivers?!  

     Scenario Number Two: for years I have harped on the idea that Santa has magical powers and oversees little elves who can make any and every toy.  Well, someone should’ve told me to put a damn sock in it, because, naturally, this, too, has come back to haunt me. Lately, my kids have decided to try and make last minute additions to their Christmas wishlists, without any concern whatsoever that it might not be enough notice  for poor “Santa” to make these said items happen. When I tried to confront them about this very topic, they simply told me that Santa can make miracles happen and that it wouldn’t be a problem at all for him to hear about a few add-ons.  I just silently kick my ass as I listen to their logic, because I know that I’m the dumbass who filled their little heads with this crap in the first place.  I may need to come up with some concocted story about Santa’s workshop being closed now for gift wrapping.  I’ve already made a whole shit ton of outrageous claims — surely I can come up with some more, right?

     The older they get, the more they’re gonna realize that all of the wonders of Christmas really make them wonder about just what in the hell their mom and dad have really been trying to pull.  With every make-believe idea that comes out of my mouth, I cross my fingers that they don’t call me out.  When they finally do find out the truth, I just hope they don’t think I’m a hypocrite for telling them that lying is bad and then turning around and telling them that yes, a man who’s a bazillion miles away can really see when they draw on the furniture.

Holiday Hanky Panky

     

     Every year at Christmas, my husband always puts panties in my stocking.  Some people get candy; I get thongs.  Now, normally this wouldn’t be any big deal.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been known to turn down a new pair of undies, especially when they’re pretty ones. However, when your father-in-law and your own dad are sitting right there next to you as you pull out these new skivvies, it can be a little uncomfortable, to say the very least.

     I remember one particular year when my twins were about three years old and very curious about anything and everything.  My husband had taken advantage of the five for $25 sale at Victoria’s Secret and had picked out various colors and patterns of thongs to place inside my stocking.  One of these pairs just so happened to be hot pink, which has always been my daughter’s absolute favorite color. I’d gone first in opening the contents of my stocking that Christmas morning, all the while cringing with each pair that I unwrapped alongside my father-in-law and my dad. After I finished, we all turned our attention to my mom as she unwrapped her stocking’s goodies. And at just about that same time, my daughter decided to take it upon herself to pull on that hot freaking pink thong right over the outside of her pajama bottoms and run around the living room like a damn lunatic. We all laughed and tried our best to just shake it off, but you could cut the tension in that room with a butter knife.  I knew that my father-in-law and my dad had absolutely no desire to see that thong being modeled by their daughter-in-law/daughter, much less their three year old granddaughter.

     Then there was the year when my husband tried to buy me a pair of Hanky Panky’s.  If you’re not familiar with the Hanky Panky, it’s supposedly “the world’s most comfortable thong”.  They’re very pretty, made of stretchy lace fabric and are labeled as “one size fits all”. My husband just knew that I’d most certainly want to surround my ass in this type of self-proclaimed comfort.  Somehow or another, though, the lady at Nordstrom’s sent him to the wrong department (completely unbeknownst to him), and he ended up buying me a pair of “plus” size panties.  (Side note: I am 5’2″ and have a petite frame.) When I pulled these panties out of my stocking, I couldn’t help but be confused by their size. As I held them up to scrutinize them, my husband reassured me that these panties were “one size fits all”.  I tried my best to be appreciative and remain optimistic that these “plus” size panties would be able to accomodate every sized ass in America, but deep inside, I really had my doubts.  Once again, I could sense the uneasiness of the older male figures in the room and calmly shoved the thong to the side until I could get to the root of the problem.  Upon further investigation later on, I discovered that they were, in fact, actually “plus” size panties and ended up exchanging them for my appropriate size.  Even though he severely screwed up, I gotta give the man some points for at least trying, although he’s damn lucky I’m so understanding!

     My father-in-law has since passed away, and because of my dad’s cancer treatments, this will be the first year I’ve EVER been without my parents on Christmas morning.  As sad as it will be that we’re not all together, I’m sure my dad will breathe a small sigh of relief to not have to watch me pull out another fancy new thong from my stocking this year.  I guess we’ll just have to videotape the whole event so he doesn’t miss all the holiday Hanky Panky fun.

The Twelve Nucking Futty Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
a migraine with a backache.

On the second day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the third day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the fourth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the fifth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the sixth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the seventh day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS 
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the eighth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
8 stopped-up toilets
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the ninth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
9 broken crayons
8 stopped-up toilets
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the tenth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
10 skid-marked undies
9 broken crayons
8 stopped-up toilets
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
11 wrestling matches
10 skid-marked undies
9 broken crayons
8 stopped-up toilets
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
12 mismatched mittens
11 wrestling matches
10 skid-marked undies
9 broken crayons
8 stopped-up toilets
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache!!!

Non-Traditional Thanksgiving

     This Thanksgiving was a very non-traditional one for us.  It was the first year that I’ve ever been without my parents, since my dad’s immune system’s too weak to be around the kids.  Luckily, our good friends came to the rescue and invited us to their house.  Our kids were super pumped to hang out all day with kids their own age, and we were grateful not to have to do all the cooking!  

     We no sooner than got in the door before our kids were off and running with our friends’ kids.  They completely disappeared for a good two hours before we even saw a glimpse of them.  We took advantage of that kid-free time by snacking and chatting and drinking cocktails, while keeping an eye on the ginormous bird in the oven. However, it’s always been my experience that when kids are out of sight for too long, there’s most likely something fishy going on.  I decided to try and track them down before someone lost an eye or set the house on fire.

     I finally found them down in the basement all the way back in the storage room.  When I walked into the room, I first saw my friends’ little boy sitting in his baby brother’s swing all wrapped up in a blanket  (oh, and did I mention that he’s FOUR YEARS OLD?!) I then saw my son walk across the room wearing only his pants, since the top part of him was completely naked.  And when I asked why on earth he was going topless, I was simply told by my daughter that the boys were being cavemen.  Well, that made perfect sense, then.  All prehistoric dudes strut their stuff in Gap corduroy pants and chill out in infant swings.  Since nobody was bleeding and nobody was crying, I left the naked caveman and went back to join the rest of the adults.

     When the food was finally ready to go, the boys put their clothes back on so we could all chow down on a G-rated turkey dinner.  All in all, it was a fun Thanksgiving spent with some of our favorite friends.  The kids clearly enjoyed using their wild imaginations, while the big people enjoyed throwing back a few too many drinks. Although it wasn’t quite the same as spending time with my family, I suppose it was the second best thing. Sometimes traditions have to be tweaked in order to roll with the punches that life throws your way. And I’m thankful that I’ve got such amazing people in my life who protect me from those nasty left hooks.

The Holiday Parade

     This weekend was our town’s big annual holiday parade.  Now, why on earth a town would choose to have a “holiday” parade before we’ve even carved the flippin’ turkey is beyond me, but apparently, that’s how they roll in these here parts.  Normally we are out of town and miss it, but this year we got to experience all of the <ahem> “excitement” (ok, I can’t even use that word without laughing — hahahaha!).   We really didn’t have very high expectations since the only thing we had to compare it to was the Memorial Day parade, where we accidentally blinked and missed the whole damn thing.  Nevertheless, we had to put on our proud parent party hats cause our daughter’s Girl Scouts troop would be marching their little hearts out in it.

     When we pulled up, I honestly expected there to be five trucks, a police car, and maybe a fire truck or two zipping down a street staggered with a few onlookers, but surprisingly, there were floats and balloons and everything.  It was actually gonna be a real, live parade!  Who knew? And because the crowd was so large, I decided I would walk with my daughter and the other moms, so I wouldn’t lose her in all the chaos. I was truly amazed at the amount of people gathered at the starting point.  I have no earthly idea where they all even came from.  They must’ve recruited people from the surrounding towns to fill in the cracks or something.  We searched through the sea of Girl Scouts uniforms to locate my daughter’s troop and had just enough time to snap a quick photo or two before we were told to head on out.

     The girls were all jazzed up to hand out the candy they’d brought for the crowd, but unfortunately, the amount of spectators at the beginning of the parade route was pretty slim to none.  I’m quite certain it’s because the whole freaking town was marching along right behind us. Luckily, we came upon more bystanders about half-way through, and the girls went balls to the wall with their candy hand-outs.  They were completely out of sugar WAY before the ending, but they continued to smile and wave the rest of the way like they were the mother plucking Queen of England.  

     We scooched onto the curb with all the other town saps after we’d finished our walk of fame, and WOW, were there some interesting sights to see.  The most ironically funny participants were the “go green” promoters who drove a Prius through the crowd and held up pictures of CFL lightbulbs, immediately followed by a pack of Harley’s revving their engines and blowing smoke exhaust fumes all over the green movement message. Awesome timing, people, awesome timing. Santa rounded out the parade as he was the last one to finally float down the street.  And I’m not quite sure what he did to the little elves riding next to him, but they looked absolutely scared shitless for some unknown reason.  Guess they didn’t get the memo that said they were supposed to be out spreading Christmas cheer, because their petrified little faces told a whole different story.  It really put a whole new spin on that whole “Santa is watching” thing.  I suppose you just don’t mess with a man in a red suit.  Yikes!

     When it was all said and done, I had one very happy, very proud little Girl Scout on my hands.  She’s already asked when she gets to march again cause evidently, she’s completely hooked on strutting her stuff.  I’ve always heard people say that everybody loves a parade, and normally I would have to disagree.  This time, however, I gotta admit that I actually did have a lot of fun.  It appears that my town just doesn’t mess around when it comes to a holiday celebration in November cause this parade totally kicked the Memorial Day parade’s ass.

Costume Party

     I absolutely L-O-V-E Halloween.  Sure it’s great to take the kids out trick-or-treating and all that jazz, but it’s not just all about the kids. It’s the one night a year when even adults can dress up like idiots and make complete fools out of themselves. So, I was beyond excited last year when we were invited to the costume party of all costume parties in the city.

     These people have a reputation for being unbelievable costume creators.  They work for weeks and weeks to come up with some seriously killer getups. Since I knew we were running with the big dogs, I spent hours looking online for unique ideas for my husband and me.  I wanted something different than the typical boring old couples costumes.  We finally decided on a devil and an angel, with a twist, of course.  My husband wore a red velvet smoking jacket with a devil’s tail attached to the back of it. I got him some sparkly gold sunglasses, a big gold chain, and a fat cigar that said “Big Daddy.”  A drawn-on black mustache that screamed 80′s porn king completed the ensemble.  I wore a teensy tiny white dress and stuffed a pillow underneath to form my baby bump.  I had feathery wings and a tattoo on my chest that said, “Love Stinks.” The final touch was a sash that I wore across one shoulder that read, “The Devil Made Me Do It.” Surprisingly, we were a big hit at the party, but we definitely had some stiff competition.

     One girl turned herself into a Jesus candle.  Another transformed herself into Humpty Dumpty, complete with brick wall and everything. Then there was the guy who made himself half Max and half Wild Thing from “Where the Wild Things Are.”  And another group of people posed as polygamists with each wife wearing a sign on their backs that said, “Wife #1“, “Wife #2” and so on. One of my favorites, though, was a guy who had on blue scrubs with white clumps of cotton attached all over them.  I stared and stared at him all night trying to figure out just what in the hell he was supposed to be. Finally, I decided to walk over and ask him.  He said, “Here, hold this,” and reached into his pocket to grab a tiny little purple drink umbrella.  He then pulled out a water bottle, spritzed my face with water, and said he was “Partly Cloudy With a Chance of Showers.” Freaking genius!

     This year we are helping to host a big Halloween party in the ‘burbs, so the pressure is on once again to get all decked out.  After much pondering, another one of the wives and I have decided to go as competing prom queens.  We dug out our shitastic old prom dresses from high school and are going to attempt to squeeze our more mature, very post high school asses into them once again. We’re gonna use some magic makeup tricks to give ourselves black eyes and bloody lips, tease our hair all out to hell and back with some good ol’ Aquanet hair spray, rip a crown in half for us each to wear, and tear our dresses as if we’ve really been throwing down. We’re even going so far as to get baby’s breath for our hair and gaudy corsages for our wrists — yeah, baby, we’re going all out!  My husband and her husband are going as Dumb and Dumber with the tacky orange and blue tuxedos and top hats.  Should definitely make for some funny pictures.

     I can’t wait to see what other creations people come up with.  I’m hoping they bring their A-game cause there are fantastic prizes to be awarded for superior awesomeness.  It’s Halloween, people, and it’s time to let your hair down and have some fun!  You may be hesitant at first, but that won’t last long, for no mere mortal can resist the evil of the thriller.  Ah ha ha ha ha, ah ha ha ha ha!

***** HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!*****

The Party’s Over

     Thanks to Mother Nature, we had to change our 4th of July BBQ to a 5th of July BBQ.  Postponing the festivities turned out to be a very smart move, because the weather yesterday could not have been more gorgeous — not too hot and not too chilly.  Although there were a few families who couldn’t make the new date, we had a really good turnout overall with at least 75 or more people here at different times throughout the afternoon. Everyone seemed to have a blast, particularly the kids, as was evidenced by their filthy, dirty feet and scraped up knees and elbows by the end of the day — the true sign of a good party.  

     The party started with just a few families hanging around talking in our backyard, when I noticed that my husband had suddenly disappeared. Come to find out, one of my son’s friends had completely stopped up and totally overflowed the powder room toilet. It took his dad and my husband a good twenty minutes to clean up the mess.  And this was just the beginning of all the fun!  

     I was pretty adamant in the fact that I didn’t want a bunch of kids wandering around unsupervised in our house.  So, in an attempt to thwart that scenario, my husband and I positioned the long food table in front of the deck stairs that lead to the back door.  But, kids will be kids, and as the day went on, I kept noticing different groups of kids coming and going from the inside of the house. When I went to check on the situation, I found lights on throughout the entire house. Apparently, they had been snooping around in our master bedroom and even in our closets.  They had also dragged out a bunch of old bathtub toys from under the kids’ bathroom sinks.  I have no clue who was responsible for all the snooping, and luckily, it seemed to have stopped at just snooping.  Nothing appeared to be damaged or broken.

     At another point during the afternoon, my daughter decided to bring out her savings account book to show all of her friends how much money she has in the bank from her allowance.  It is a complete mystery to me what possessed her to bust this out!  Did I mention that she is only six??!! She really doesn’t have a ton of money in there, but to her, anything over a dollar means a lot.  I’m glad the child is proud of her earnings, but I really don’t think it’s appropriate to be whipping out her financial portfolio at the holiday BBQ!  

     And my poor son now looks like he went to battle after spending more time making full-on contact with the concrete than standing upright.  He must’ve come up to me three different times throughout the day with blood streaming down from some appendage on his body.  He finished the day off with a direct blow to the eye from an oversized frisbee, resulting in a big reddish, blueish scrape under his right eye.  I should’ve dressed him in red, white and blue body armor, given how horribly accident-prone the little guy seems to be.

     Overall, though, the party was a huge success.  We have some super nice neighbors who even stayed after to help us clean up the mess.  The squirrels and other neighborhood varmints will be in seventh heaven over the next couple of days as they work to clean up the remaining crumbs and food chunks that fell to the ground.  As my husband and I sat with our feet propped up eating a Dominos pizza last night, we felt a huge sigh of relief that the party was over.  Now we only have 363 days to decide if we can muster up the strength to do it all over again….

Patriotic Partying

    

     Every year for the past ten years, we have had a big 4th of July bash in our backyard.  It started off on the smaller side with a few neighbors and friends, but it has gotten bigger and bigger with each passing year.  This year will by far be the biggest of them all.  Now, we’ve got all the kindergarten families we’ve become friends with to consider.  So, somehow or another, I have gotten myself into hosting approximately one hundred people here at our house tomorrow! Just the mere thought of that makes me a little sick to my stomach, and I pray to God that it doesn’t rain.  

     Planning for a party of this magnitude is a little tricky, because you never know if people are actually going to eat when they stop by. Many people like to party hop on the 4th, so they’ve already eaten by the time they get to our place. However, I am a firm believer in having too much, rather than not enough.  I’d rather have a zillion leftover hot dogs than a bunch of hungry people.  The amount of drinks is another tough thing to try to pre-determine.  We usually end up with enough beer and wine AFTER the party to have a whole other party! But, just as sure as we’d cut back on how much alcohol we buy, everyone would show up ready to throw back and do keg stands.  You just never know.

        I also like to have some kind of little fireworks display of some kind for the kids.  The problem is that they are illegal in the state where we live.  In the past, we’ve bought them in my parents’ town, where they are more than willing to sell festive explosives.  My husband and his friends get all fired up (no pun intended) about lighting something on fire and watching it explode in the sky.  It’s that whole pyromania fascination that guys seem to have, I guess. One year they were shooting off bottle rockets in the alley and nearly caught the giant evergreen in my neighbor’s yard on fire.  And another time, they actually even alerted the police with all their explosive alley activity.  Luckily, the teenagers next door were also out setting off fireworks, so my husband and all his “responsible” adult friends blamed it on them.  This year, I was only able to buy some sparklers and some of those popper things, so I think it’s pretty safe to say we won’t be having any blue-uniformed visitors to the party.

     I’m sure it’ll be a great time when it’s all said and done, but right now, it just seems like so much work.  I ask myself every year why it is that we do this.  The kids sure LOVE it, because they get to stay up WAY past their bedtime and run around and get filthy dirty with their friends all afternoon and night.  I usually end up enjoying it as well, right up until the point where everyone has gone home and we’re left with an enormous wreck of a mess in the backyard.  That’s when I want someone else to take over and let me wash that party right out of my hair.

Hippity Hop History

For the past couple of days, I’ve been wondering how in the world the whole Easter bunny concept came to be and what the hell eggs have to do with a rabbit!  It’s pretty amazing that no one ever seems to question the association of an oversized hare who hides plastic eggs with the resurrection of Jesus.  I am almost 37 years old and have never once thought to figure out if there’s even a remote connection!

What I found out is that apparently, rabbits and eggs are both symbols of fertility and new life, which is supposed to be what Spring is all about, right?   Well, supposedly, back in the 1700s, it was believed that a certain rabbit spirit known as “Oschter Haws” would come to the homes of well-behaved children and plop out a nest of brightly colored eggs.  Kids would actually go around their homes and yards and set up nests for this pregnant bunny to give birth to these coveted eggs.

Seriously?  It really all goes back to an egg-laying bunny who only went into labor in the homes of good girls and boys?  Maybe it’s just me, but I find this a bit disturbing.  So, you mean to tell me that we stain our hands dyeing hard-boiled eggs, dress up our kids and parade them to the mall to sit on the laps of a bunch of underpaid bunny wannabes, spend oodles of money on a bunch of sugar-laced, cavity-inducing crap, and hide plastic ovals in every possible crevice of our homes, all in the name of a horny hare who’s ready to pop?

I almost wish I wouldn’t have Googled the history of this crazy holiday tradition, because in this case, I really think ignorance is bliss.  In fact, it is just plain odd!  I pray to God that like me, my kids can go a couple more decades before they think to investigate this wacky notion.  We’ll just go on pretending like it’s all cute and innocent fun to find all the abandoned after-birth of some overgrown long-eared animal lying about the living room.  Happy Easter everyone!