The Gift of Bleeding Ears

Twas the night before the night before Christmas,

And all through my house,

Children are scurrying, much like a mouse.

I'm so not ready for Christmas this year. It's come too fast, it'll be gone too quickly. I wish I could slow down time and stretch it out, make this magical feeling of Christmas joy last just a tad longer.

Boo surprised us all by walking through the door two days early and my heart still hasn't quit racing. We were all sitting on the couch, like happy little potatoes, watching the reflection of the twinkling Christmas lights glare off our television set when all of a sudden his head popped up in the window behind us.

He banged against the window and then howled something about watching us to ensure we weren't being naughty but nice and I may have peed myself a little.

Generally, if you live alone in the woods with small children, and a large man starts banging on your window, it never ends well. At least according to all the horror movies the kids force me to watch with them.

Even my dog farted with spontaneous fear.

All I can say is that man had better be filling my stocking with something very sparkly to make up for his shaving a decade off my life span.

And speaking of presents, I have one for you. The Jumbster and the rest of us made a very quick video filled with tidings of non-frightening peaceful joy for all of you.

It's our way of saying thanks for sticking with us all year long and supporting my family by reading my blog.

And no, this gift is non-refundable and you can't exchange it for something else.

Although, after you watch it, you'll likely want to.

So, with that, I wish you all holiday peace this season.

Enjoy.



 

Pssst. If you're looking for a little something else to read to tide you over until next week when I get back to business, check out my Hogwash from a Hoser blog. I wrote about the types of wishes I like to make and I went nose to nose in a boxing round with the Bloggess about whether Santa is a flesh eating zombie or not.

Have a merry weekend everyone!

Nuggets of Gold. Or something.

So I'm falling behind on everything. Work. Parenting. Housework.

Although, to be fair, I'm always falling behind on the housework, mostly because I hate doing it so much. I keep dreaming of one day having a maid which leads me to dreaming of having enough money to employ a maid which then leads to me dreaming that hey, if I've got enough money to hire a maid I must have enough money to do actual fun stuff. Like pay someone to shave my legs and hire a circus trainer with a pack of elephants who would then come put on a show on my front lawn.

Because who doesn't want a herd of dancing elephants to call their own?

All of which leads to more day dreaming and less actual house cleaning and well, I've gone full circle and it's all my imaginary maid's fault.

Which is why even if I had money to hire a maid I'd likely not do it.

Because I'd never get anything done.

And I'd probably end up with a metric shit tonne of elephant poop on my grass and what exactly does one need that much fertilizer for?

My point is, I have been busy.

Busy going to craft shows with my mother and my sister and sometimes my daughter because she likes to join in the adult fun and I'm teaching her how to silently mock what passes as craft show art all the while instilling manners and lessons about making eye contact and never laughing at anyone's beloved retail items to their faces even if they are the most hideous things you've ever seen for the low low price of 19.99, not including tax.



Every year my sister makes me try on this type of hat thingy and every year I want to buy it and every year my mother steals my wallet and tells me I must have more money than brains if I am seriously considering buying it. Which I was. And still am. Next year, I promise.

Craft shows are awesome fun I tell you.

Then there have been the requisite Christmas concerts and pageants that are mandatory for all people who decided it would be a good idea to raise small children for fun. And as my father is learning, after having done his time in the audience of umpteen children's Christmas concerts, you can never escape the concert hell. Because after your kids are grown then you have to go see their children perform. It's a vicious unending circle of bad carols, grumpy adults and stupid costumes.

Candy canes. The new devil horns.

Of course, Jumby wasn't the only one required to wear something stupid this holiday season. His big brother had to get in on the act too. And I'm sure Frac will be thrilled beyond reason to know I'm sharing his holiday pain with y'all.

 He is very bitter his sister did not have to wear a dorky costume for her part in the church pageant.

Of course the holiday season means every movement you make, including surreptitiously picking your nose when you think no one is looking, will be well documented by the plethora of iPhones, digital cameras and video cameras everyone seems to carry with them everywhere at this time of year.

Which means if you don't take the time or spend the money you will have to live forever with those photos of you with your finger up your nose while sporting horrible roots.

And that would be a damn travesty.

 The only good roots are the ones you can slice up and put in a stew.

My husband is of course, beyond thrilled to have one more added expense during this time of year. He doesn't seem to understand that my vanity? It's priceless.

 This is what I think about Scrooge and his budget.

Of course, as my husband likes to constantly tell me, a fool and his money will soon be parted. Or rather a fool and her husband's hard earned money would be more accurate in this case.

I finally finished all of my Christmas shopping this week. Better late than never. The only thing left uncrossed on my list is the gift for my adorable in-laws who have everything and more. So I lovingly informed my husband that if he wanted his parents to have a Christmas gift from us, he could figure out what to buy them.

Heads up Mom and Dad in-law, since your son is buying your gift you can expect either a can of tuna or a set of steak knives. Since that's what he's bought for me Christmases past.

Beggars can't be choosers, yo.

Of course, purchasing all the gifts is only half of the battle.

One still has to wrap them.

This small mountain of gifts, including the sheepskin rug for Jumbster (it's okay, he can't read so I'm pretty sure I'm not spoiling his Christmas by writing this) is currently sitting on my living room floor waiting to be wrapped.

 Nixon is scared. And trying to control his urge not to mark his territory on the mountain.

One small problem? How exactly does one wrap a sheep skin rug when one does not have a box big enough to contain it?

First world problems, I have them.

By the time I'm done wrapping all this, I'm going to need one of these:

Single malt whiskey. Where have you been all my life? 

 Of course, my daughter has musical theatre rehearsal tonight, my son has a basketball game in a different town and my youngest will need me sober enough to push him up our snow covered driveway when he gets off the bus so I'm only going to be dreaming of my whiskey induced happiness instead of actually making it a reality.

In the mean time, the kids and I made y'all a video for Neil Kramer's Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert!

We sound horrible, but we perform with heart. Or so I like to tell myself.

If you are all in the mood for a little merry holiday spirit, you should wander on over and check out the entire concert. There are some gems of gold over there. Mine, not included.



Now please excuse me. Those presents aren't going to wrap themselves, no matter how hard I wish they would.

Some Wish Lists Are Better Left Unwritten

For years I prided myself on being a hyper-organized neat freak. I'm not talking about the years of early adulthood. The ones where I had my first apartment, or even the ones during my first few years of marriage. No, those years were mostly dedicated to surviving. It was all about scraping together enough money to pay our utility bills, rent and tuition.

Those years were ugly. And well documented with hundreds of pictures of bad hair. My house was in a constant state of disarray, my babies were lucky if they were clothed and I couldn't see past the mess I was living in.

But slowly, I pulled myself and my household out of the gutter, got a better hairstyle and managed to find a way to survive the early parent, young marriage years.

And I became the uber wife, super mom prodigy I like to mock nowadays.

For about seven years, I had my shit together. I did my Christmas shopping in the off season when I found sales and I carried a list with me where ever I went. There was none of this wandering the grocery store aisles while hungry, randomly filling my cart with whatever I hoped we needed because I forgot to make a list before leaving home, like I shop now.

No, come December first every year, the gifts were all purchased and lovingly wrapped in carefully coordinated wrapping papers and strategically placed bows. I'd laugh at all the suckers who ran around at the last minute trying to score good deals as they purchased their holiday gifts and goodies.

I was obnoxious, really. But I was obnoxious with a ridiculously clean house and a stick up my arse most of the time too.

Ya. I was a total jackass.

And then things changed. I don't know if I grew up a little more or if what had seemed so important to me before no longer was a priority once my son died. But suddenly, I'm satisfied if the inside of the toilet bowl isn't brown and there is at least a path to navigate in between the dog fur, the dust bunnies and the kids discarded socks.

Oh how the mighty has fallen.

And once again, I am sorely unprepared for Christmas. I've picked up a couple presents for a few people but the reality is, if I don't get my arse moving soon, there isn't going to be much under the Christmas tree for anybody. I'm woefully ill prepared for the holiday season. There has been no Christmas baking, no gift wrapping, nothing.

I'm just lucky I managed to throw a couple of loads of laundry into the wash and sweep the floor before falling down in exhaustion. The idea of Christmas is completely wearing me out. I don't know how real grown up people with real jobs do all this. Because I'm completely faking it.

Oh ya, I'm a holiday faker. But at least I managed to get my Christmas tree up. Small victories.

Between Jumby's complex needs, boys basketball, girls basketball, club volleyball, musical theatre, broken in-laws, an absent husband and blogging, I don't have much time to do anything but drive, write and scatter some dry cereal around for the ferals to eat. I used to think I was busy when I had two toddlers and a baby. Apparently I didn't know what busy meant.

So when my husband called to ask me what I wanted for Christmas, I blanked. Apparently he didn't like my suggestions in the post I wrote for him. He's got some personal rule against buying me dead stuffed animals or pots I will never use.

When I couldn't come up with anything he deemed reasonable he was hard pressed to believe I haven't spent time crafting a very long wish list like I have in years past. (Because the best way to ensure you get what you want for Christmas, I've learned, is to write down very specific items including locations in which he can purchase said goodies. Works like a charm every year I tell ya.)

Without my Christmas wish list I've apparently spiralled my husband into the depths of Christmas misery alongside me.

Welcome to the club sweetie.

So I got to thinking. What do I really want for Christmas?

The list? It's not pretty.

I'd like a set of boobs that don't flap around like tube socks. But I don't want to have them surgically altered. I want them magically fixed. It's less painful that way.

Speaking of boobs, I'd like the none whiskered variety. Because nipple hair? It's not attractive on any one. Especially on a 36 year old woman. And I'm tired of plucking.

I'd like the waist I had back when I was 20. Before children. You remember the one. It was narrow enough both of your hands could fit around it and touch. I miss that waist.

I'd like a butt. I miss having one. And I'm too lazy to exercise to get one. I hear they make padded underwear. Sounds fantastic to me.

I want legs I never have to shave again. And toe nails that never grow. Because the current set I own of each require me to bend over to trim and shave and to let's be honest, I'm too lazy for that type of maintenance.

I want a car that fuels itself and never needs an oil change.

Children who don't require feeding. Or driving. I'm so tired of driving.

I want floors that don't have a rip in the linoleum or scratches in the laminate.

How about some extra cupboards so I can store the zombie head cookie jar I'm coveting?

I want socks that never get dirty and never need folding. Shirts that make me look like I'm actually trim and fit and pants I can button up with out sucking in my gut and then having a lovely roll of muffin top hanging over the edge.

I'd like a self-cleaning refrigerator.

My best friend to move back to Canada. Preferably next door.

How about a job for Boo that doesn't require him living under a different roof?

I'd like my back pain to be cured, my dad's rheumatoid arthritis to go away and for Jumby to be able to sit independently.

But what I really, really want for Christmas?

I'd like someone to come and finish all my Christmas shopping for me and then wrap everything so I won't have to. Because at this rate, I'm seriously considering wrapping up potatoes and frozen bags of peas in old newspaper for everyone and calling it a day.

Happy shopping Boo. I hope you have better luck with your Christmas shopping than I am mine.