It’s not that I don’t like holidays. I think it’s more that I love the idea of holidays. But then, as with life, nothing goes according to plan and things ultimately fall short of that quintessential Normal Rockwell image stuck in my head. You know the one:
See, at my house, cute little cherubs don’t fall asleep in an overstuffed chair, waiting for Santa.
At my house, mommy forgets every single year that she packed this special little holiday decoration away, and gets sucker-punched with it over and over again. Imagine hearing this, 50 times a day, every single day, for 30 days straight:
But then my husband gets into the act. See, he grouses and complains about the materialism and greed of the holiday, renounces the stores and their holiday sales ploys, and rages against the holiday commercials on TV. Once I’ve completed the indoor decorations, he is then taken by the holiday fever, and commences to put Clark Griswold to shame.
And a mere 4 hours, two ladders, one trip to Wal-mart, and two changed fuses later…
But it’s not over. He says he needs to get more lights for the other bushes…special lights. Super!
My mom got into the act by ordering cookie dough from the school fundraiser. Six boxes of cookie dough. Each box contains four dozen cookies. Yes, yes that means we have enough dough to make 24 dozen cookies (or for you math geeks, 288 cookies). Oh, and then there’s the forthcoming $80 order from Swiss Colony.
Oh hey, there’s also the school holiday festival to talk about! Yes, that’s coming up this weekend, and it’s shaping up to be a real hoot. See, the 2nd graders will be performing at the festival. Their song sheet came home last week, and I was, um, surprised to see this as one of their songs:
Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please
It’s Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there’s not much time
You see she’s been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes would make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight
What. The. FUCK? If that’s not a real pick-me-up, I don’t know what is. Also, see my prior post about religion.
But I assure you, I have no plans to meet any strange men tonight, or any night. The kids can sing about me dying all they want, but I’m not going anywhere today! Also, don’t buy me shoes. You guys never get the right size anyway.
In the midst of this chaos and madness, I stood on the front porch leaning against the brick post, cheek against the cool, hard clay. As my husband dangled precariously from the ladder, I watched Connor, riding his scooter and running up and down the sidewalk in front of our house, playing with some neighborhood children. And laughing.
It was exactly what I wanted for Christmas. Beat THAT, Norman Rockwell!