Holiday Memories

This post is an oldie but a goody from a couple of years ago.  Get out the cocoa because it’s about to get warm and fuzzy up in here, circa 1988!

I have fond memories of going to pick out a Christmas tree as a child. My parents, my two sisters and I would load up in our Dodge Omni and head out to what seemed like the wilderness. Most people bought their Christmas trees from a vendor in the Kroger parking lot, or went to a tree farm, but not us. Years later I would realize that we had actually been tree thieving trespassers on some strangers land, but what the hay. It was quality time together and that’s what mattered. 

One year in particular, we found the most perfect tree. It was just right in size and shape. My Dad cut it down and strapped it to the top of our car and the five of us loaded back in. We were on our way home when my dad slowed down and pointed to a different tree on the side of the road. “I think that one might be better than the one we just picked, but I’m not sure if it’s big enough. Lori, would you go stand next to it so we can see how big it is by comparison?”

“Sure, Daddy.” My sisters and I had been singing Christmas carols in the backseat, but I was happy to stop singing and oblige my father. I even felt special that he had asked me, rather than my older sister. I jumped out of the car and ran across the dirt road. When I located the particular tree I turned around to face the car. At that moment I knew I had been set up. My entire family waved out the window at me and I could hear them laughing as my dad sped away.

I was eight years old and all alone, standing next to someone else’s tree, on someone else’s property like a big jackass. It doesn’t get much worse than that. Down the road I saw my dad backing the car up to come back and get me. I considered not getting back in, but I didn’t have a lot of options. My family had a good laugh at my expense. “You should’ve seen your face,” and “That was so funny!” was all I heard the whole way home.

“Yeah,” I thought. “Really funny”. I wish the police had driven by. I could’ve told them what happened and my parents would’ve gone to jail on Christmas. Trespassing, stealing, and child neglect- that would show them. I made the ride home as unpleasant as possible for everyone by singing Christmas carols non-stop, and at the top of my lungs. An hour and twenty minutes later we arrived home and they all clamored out of the car. I may not have abandoned them on a deserted road, but I had gotten under their skin and I took solace in that. My real revenge would have to wait, though. I knew there was a jolly fat man watching and I needed to act the part.

Flash forward about twenty years to a slight fear of abandonment. Go figure.

Herman Cain, Creative Finance, and Booby Traps

To do list:

  1. Obtain Herman Cain book tour schedule. 
  2. Buy copy of This is Herman Cain! My Journey to the White House.
  3. Don a low cut blouse.
  4. Wait in line to have the book signed. 
  5. Get groped. 
  6. Wait on vagina chasing Gloria Allred to call me.
  7. Deposit check. 

While a five figure settlement isn’t enough to live comfortably on, it could certainly help out with Christmas expenses.

Crappy Christmas

The joke was on me this year when I opened a beautifully wrapped package from a dear friend, only to discover THIS lying within. Despite my shock, I can always appreciate a good poop joke. This was definitely one of my favorite Christmas gifts. Here’s to wishing you and yours a crappy 2011!

Seeing the World Through Mr. Potato Head Glasses

This is how Luke (2.5 yrs old) thinks our Nativity scene should be set up. Notice Mary and Joseph are back to back, most likely not speaking to each other. Was it an argument over sending baby Jesus to public vs. private school? I can’t be sure. Poor baby Jesus is out in the cold with the animals, wearing nothing but swaddling clothes. Shame on Mary and Joseph. It would take Child Protective Services awhile to get there because they too, were following the star. My favorite part of the scene, however, would have to be the creepy wise man that is lying on his side, peering in at Mary through the window.
This is not how I imagine things happened after the birth of baby Jesus, but then again who’s to say. Life is always a lot more interesting when you’re seeing the world through Mr. Potato Head glasses.

Ho-Ho-Hack, Cough, Wheeze-Ho!

Luke’s (18 mos) Mom’s Day Out class hosted a humorous Christmas program yesterday. It consisted of all of the kids sitting on a stage and singing Christmas carols and/or crying. Luckily my video camera was on hand to capture the riveting footage of Luke sitting in his teacher’s lap while he sucked on his fingers and/or put them in his nose.

An announcement was made that Santa would be there, but would be unable to do individual pictures because he had COPD and didn’t want to get sick. I knew Santa was getting old, but he is definitely not as magical as I remembered. I couldn’t help but wonder if Santa’s pulmonologist was on “the good list” this year. Let’s hope so.

When I picked Luke up that afternoon we headed straight to the mall to get a picture made with Santa. While waiting in line, Luke got a little antsy and had to get out of his stroller. Once free of his cumbersome wheels, he took off running. He ran directly into the North Pole exit and fast tracked it to Santa. He managed a “ho-ho-ho!” before I caught up to him and put him back in line.
About ten minutes later we got our turn, but stage fright had set in and Luke refused to look in Santa’s vicinity. I held Luke as I recounted to Santa, everything that Luke “wanted” for Christmas while Luke looked in the opposite direction, whispering “no way, no way, no way.”

I wasn’t about to get out of there without a photo op, and since Luke refused to have his picture made solely with the fat man…

…I joined in the fun.

You’ll Shoot Your Eye Out!

It was hardly the Red Ryder BB gun from A Christmas Story. “This is what I want for Christmas,” I told Brantley as I dropped the Hammacher Schlemmer catalog down in front of him.

Brantley: “I’m not getting you a marshmallow gun.”
Me: “Why not?”
Brantley: “Because you would use it even less than the night vision goggles you wanted last year.”
Me: “I had a reason for not using them but I never told you because I didn’t want to talk about it.”
Brantley: “Talk about what?”
Me: (in a whisper tone) “One night I heard something outside. You were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you, so I quietly opened the blinds and put on my goggles. That’s when I saw him. Standing in the woods behind our house was a man who was also wearing night vision goggles. He was staring back at me.”
Brantley: “I can tell your lying because your eyes are open.”
Me: “Alright, fine but the infrared function is all crappy. It’s not military grade.”
Brantley: “No, it isn’t military grade! Why should it be?”
Me: “If I had that marshmallow gun I could stalk through the woods behind our house at night WITH my night vision goggles. Not to mention I’ve always wanted to be able to say, hand me my gun…Sure do wish I had me a marshmallow gun.”
Brantley: “Sure do wish I had a real gun.