Here’s my response to the numerous weight-conscious articles I’ve read lately that specifically target holiday pounds.
Luke’s preschool had their Thanksgiving pageant and party this afternoon. Not to my surprise, Luke wasn’t much on participation. He immediately ripped off his decorative Native American vest fashioned out of a brown paper bag, and threw down his feathered hat. Then, I had to sit in front of fifty people while securing him in position (held him down) as the kids sang a song about turkeys. He actually didn’t sing much, but he cut his eyes at me with a slight grin on his face which told me that he was enjoying himself. I was glad.
After the show it was time to eat. We got in line and while standing in front of the dessert table, Luke grew impatient and stuck his entire face into an iced carrot cake. Yes, it had nuts in it, and yes, he’s still alive. Then, he sat still long enough to stuff himself silly. The only thing that kid can be serious about is food.
After that, we helped clean up and headed out. I had to make one stop at the post office before we started home. There was a package that needed mailing. Despite my efforts to hurry Luke along, he sauntered through the parking lot and in the door as slowly as he could. I addressed the package and sealed it up. Now, all we had to do was wait our turn, but Luke had already proven once today that he wasn’t a good waiter. That’s when suddenly and without warning, he licked the garbage can that stood in the lobby. It seemed to have happened in slow motion, and much like a bad dream, I couldn’t intervene in time. Before snatching him up and reprimanding him, I caught a glimpse of the sticky brown substance he had just imbibed. Could it be anthrax, glue, or perhaps liquid cooties? I guess we won’t know until his fever spikes.
Have the holidays really just begun? Please someone, wake me when Santa leaves.
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 Chrsitmas tree as a child. My parents, my two sisters and I would load up in our hatchback 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 better 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 heard a few times.
Yeah, I thought. Real funny. I wish the police had driven by. I would’ve told them what happened and my parents would’ve been in big trouble. I made the ride home as unpleasant as possible for everyone by singing Christmas carols non-stop at the top of my lungs. An hour and twenty minutes later we arrived home and they all clamored out of the car. It may not have been abandonment 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. I can’t imagine why.
Happy holidays from my dysfunctional family to yours!