Monthly Archives: December 2019

Thoughts whilst wrapping presents upon a winter’s eve

Well, well, well. Will you look at that? Here I am. Dragging down last year’s beat up and cobwebbed wrapping paper from the attic. Being proactive. Unlike every other year, where I wait until the last minute to do all this and end up turning into Scrooge, mumbling under my breath about decreasing the surplus population. 

Starting with my family. 

But not this year. No, this year I’m on top of it. Wrapping all these Christmas presents over a WEEK ahead of time. I should totally write a book about time management. 

OK, is this all of them then? Oof, I hope so. I don’t remember buying all this. I should really check our bank account. 

No matter though. It’s Christmas! Come on, get into the spirit. Or better yet, the spirits. Gonna go get me a glass of that gallon of eggnog I bought at the liquor store because it was on sale! Everyone’s asleep. The lights are all aglow (except for that one string that went out but I’m too lazy to replace). It’s not snowing but that sleeting is…picturesque. AND I can finally watch that ridiculous Christmas movie that somehow tries to plausibly pull off a time travel plotline about a medieval knight. 

Sigh. Yes. This is perfect.

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Alright, just going to lower myself down onto the floor here. Erg. Was the floor always this far down?  Did I always used to grunt this much? OK, where are the scissors? Scissors, scissors…ah! There they are. Sneaky little devil. And onto the first present. You know, I don’t think I’d ever tell this to anyone, but I definitely have an above average gift wrapping skill. I mean, just look at this. Such tight corners. That I’d love to tape down. Where is the tape? Tape, tape…do we have tape? Did I forget to buy tape? We have to have tape. What house doesn’t have tape? Ugh. Better go check the junk drawer. Up we go. Erg. Ouch.

OK, so we have an ancient roll of tape that is half gone. Going to have to ration the adhesive. No worries though, I’m a master. Just gonna throw some ribbon on this bad boy and a bow and BOOM. Perfection. 

I mean, look at that curly-cue. 

My family truly doesn’t deserve me. 

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OK, what’s this one? A robot unicorn? With wings? That sings? Definitely going to regret this purchase. She’s going to love it though. And look at this one. An overpriced STEM gift from that fancy catalog. He’s going to go nuts. And get so smart. And then go to Harvard and buy me a house. 

Oof. My back. Already with the back pain. Why is this floor so hard? You know what, though? Nothing a little bit more eggnog can’t solve. A little more eggy-nog-nog. Who would have thought that whiskey went so well with eggs? No one. Technically it’s gross. But it’s doing its job. Come to Momma, you. 

Alright, round two. What’s next? A sled? How the hell do I wrap this thing? It’s HUGE. Where did those scissors go? They were just here! Where the f—Oop. There they are. You know, I honestly can’t wait until Christmas morning. The kids are at that perfect age where everything is magical and…oh come on. Where did the pen go? Or for that matter, my back-up pen? Six hundred pens in this stupid house and not a single one within reach! I swear I will burn this entire place down if…oh, there it is. 

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Wait, who was this one for again? 

OK, how many more are left? Oh. Wow. Haven’t even made a dent. But how? My hips are killing me. Everything hurts. Things I didn’t even know existed hurt. How is it possible I’m only this far along? Do I even like this many people? 

And why are all these toys in such oddly shaped packages?

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So tired. More eggnog. That’ll help. And maybe one of those cookies or two (or five) that I spent all day yesterday making. 

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME!? They ate them ALL? It hasn’t even been 24 hours! Those monsters didn’t even save me one. 

Alright, alright, I need to calm down. This is MY TIME. I should try to enjoy it. Although, if I’m being honest, I wish MY TIME consisted of sitting on the couch doing nothing but mocking this Christmas movie. Seriously, no one dresses like that when it’s cold and snowy out, Ms. Oh But I Wasn’t Even LOOKING For Love. No, in reality, everyone dresses like they’re a homeless marshmallow man from November to April. 

Sigh. OK, where was I? How are there still this many unwrapped things? Eh, you know what? Screw it. I still have plenty of time to wrap before Christmas. I’ll finish tomorrow. Or the next day. Yeah, it’ll totally be fine. 

Now, where’s that eggnog?

 

Not until the holidays are over

It’s understandable, I suppose. If you look at a calendar, there is December, looking on the surface just like any other month. Row after row of days, each begging to be filled up with errands and tasks and to-do lists. So I get why some people treat it just like any other month. 

But let me make this as clear as possible. Nothing is getting accomplished until after the holidays. At least on my end. 

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See, once December starts, you might, MIGHT, get one week at the beginning where I kinda sorta pretend to care and half-heartedly “do” stuff. But we have now reached a point in the season where this is no longer real life. Nothing matters anymore except things that have a decidedly Yuletide bent to them. I am now living in a snow globe filled with eggnog. Go away. I’ll see you all again in January. 

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My dentist is harassing me about making an appointment. The vet is wondering when I’m bringing my dog in for a check-up. My toddler wants me to sign her up for dance classes. Our passports need renewed. Etc. Etc. 

Look, I have to watch “A Christmas Story” AT LEAST five more times. There are cookies I need to buy from the store and pass off as my own special recipe. Not to mention, I still have to figure out which festive liqueur I’m going to slip into my coffee on Christmas morning. I’m swamped. All this constant nagging about deadlines and paying bills and what are we going to do about the leak in the kitchen and the kids need to eat something besides candy canes is fa-la-la-la-la-laing on deaf ears. 

Not until the holidays are over. 

Oh, what’s that? Do I hear what you hear when the car starts? That awful grinding sound? No, sorry. I only hear what Whitney Houston hears. A song, a song, high above the trees, with a voice big enough to block you and the rest of reality out. 

Nothing. Until. The. Holidays. Are. Over. 

Sure I’ll still send my oldest kid to school (because I’m pretty sure legally I have to). But his hygiene and preparedness are a crapshoot this far along in the month. Was I aware I sent him to school wearing two different shoes? And only one sock? Where is his homework? And backpack? Why is he quoting “Die Hard?” 

All things I will definitely address. After the holidays are over. (Although please enjoy these definitely homemade cookies that are my own special recipe). 

We’re out of toothpaste? I’ll put it on your Christmas list. The laundry needs done? What’s a few more days in those pajamas you’ve been wearing all weekend? That gigantic tower of unread mail on my desk? I’ll get to it. I swear. Right now, however, I have to drive around and look at Christmas lights and then stop at a festively decorated craft brewery where my kids will eat french fries and I will drink a beer with 12 percent alcohol called “Yankee Swap.”

That book club I want to start? The writing group I’ve already promised to start? That Christmas party I was thinking of hosting?

All of them can wait. UNTIL AFTER THE HOLIDAYS. I mean, “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” isn’t going to watch itself while eating three-fourths of a large pizza. 

And come January 2, you can come bug me about all the stuff I’ve been putting off. Or the 3rd, depending on how bad my New Year Eve’s hangover is. Just get in line behind everyone else and do your best to ignore my sobbing. 

So you’ve decided to argue with a child

Oh hello. I see that you’ve decided to argue with a child. Allow me to assure you that you’ve come to the right place. I have over five plus years of experience arguing with children. Most of which I’ve lost. 

But this abysmal track record has given me a wealth of insight into the minds of these adorable little psychopaths and I would love nothing more than to share my wisdom with you and do my part in taking down as many of these tiny despots as I possibly can. Solidarity, my fellow caretakers! 

First things first, before beginning any rigorous argument regimen, there are some steps you should take to ensure your safety and well-being (and the safety and well-being of any and all children in the vicinity). If you are a pointer or tend to lean toward gesturing, some light stretching might be in order. Some positive affirmations in the mirror couldn’t hurt as well. Remember, YOU are the grown-up! They have no power over you! They weigh 35 pounds and have poor hand-eye coordination!

I also highly recommend doing some verbal exercises ahead of time since chances are high you will be dealing with rapid fire questions of “why?” and “why not?” and “but why?” and “how come?”. Personally, I find a little alcohol beforehand helps. Not too much, mind you. You have to keep your wits about you. But just enough so that my head doesn’t explode from the absolute absurdity of what’s happening. 

Which brings us to Tip No. 1. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to use logic. Children are not rational beings. They’re not even irrational beings. They are walking impulses housed in tiny, sticky, meat suits that are hell-bent on destruction and chaos. Logic merely bounces off them and comes right back to hit you in your stupid rational face. 

Tip No. 2, show no fear. Children can smell weakness with the same alarming accuracy as they can hear a candy bar being opened from four rooms away. If there is even the slightest bit of hesitation on your part, they will pounce, sink their tiny little teeth into that hesitation and never, ever let go. To avoid this, I find it helps to have a ready-made mental list of responses. Let’s try an exercise that you can practice with an adult partner:

“Can I get a cell phone?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re five.”

“Jasper is five and she has a cell phone.”

“Jasper is not my kid.”

“But I want a cell phone.”

“I want to not have acne at 38 but we don’t always get what we want.”

“I need a cell phone!”

“No, you need oxygen. The rest is just a bonus.”

“If you were a nice mom you’d get me a cell phone.”

“If I were a nice mom, I wouldn’t be Mom, I’d be Grandma.”

“Will Grandma get me a cell phone?”

“No.”

“But why?”

“Because I’m her kid and if she even dares brings this up, I will ‘but why?’ her to death.”

Tip No. 3, do not be distracted by their insults. When children feel they are losing an argument, they typically resort to verbal assault. “You’re a Mr. Poopy Peepee Face.” “I stupid hate you, stupid Mommy.” Etc. Most of these are harmless but be ready for some to hurt. Kids are incredibly adept at homing in on what bothers you most. “Yeah, well, you’re a girl so then why do you have a mustache, Mom?” 

Tip No. 4, make sure there are no loopholes. Kids love jumping through loopholes and they never, ever get tired or run out of energy. Or want a nap. Just imagine that every time you give a vague answer or agree to something (under the guise of “compromise”) that you are not dealing with a child but rather a genie or a monkey’s paw or some other supernatural phenomenon that you have to be very, very, VERY specific with. For example, to a kid…

“Let me think about it” means “Yes.”

“I don’t know” means “Yes.”

“I don’t think so” means “Yes.”

“Maybe later” means “Yes” for eternity.

“No” means “ask again in seven minutes.”

Tip No. 5, do not remind them how good they have it. Kids don’t care. Because IT IS NOT GOOD RIGHT NOW AND WON’T EVER BE GOOD AGAIN UNLESS THEY CAN DO THE THING OR HAVE THE THING OR EAT THE THING. 

Tip No. 6, lie. Yes! It is ok to lie to children. In fact, lying is the only reason adults have managed to keep our tenuous hold on the upper hand. “Oh, but I would never lie to my child,” I hear a few of you more naive parents saying. But you will. Because in order for us to remain in power, all of us parents have to hold the line. So, the park is closing, the store completely ran out of ice cream and it is against the law for kids to be up past 8 p.m. on a school night. 

And lastly, do not assume you’ve won. Ever. Just wait. Somehow, some way, this will all come back to bite you in your ass. You merely won the battle, not the war. The war is not won until you get to watch your children argue with their own kids as you secretly hand your grandkids more sugar to add fuel to the fire.