Time Out For Daddy!

On Christmas Day, my DH put himself in time-out twice.

The first time, he dropped a glass plate and it shattered. He marched over to our time-out corner and sat down. I asked him if he intended to sit there for 37 minutes.

The second time, he was playing with a trivet after finishing Christmas dinner, and accidentally popped one of the tiny legs off, sending it bouncing off the dinner table, over my FIL’s head, and onto our very dark Oriental rug, making it impossible to find.

No doubt my young son will locate it today and eat it.

DH says that he wants to show the kids that he is being fair about doling out time-outs. I would have tried to explain to him why I think this is silly, but I was too busy laughing at the idea.

And after his second time-out, I found him in the corner, explained why he was in time-out, instructed him never to play with the trivet again, told him I loved him, and gave him a hug.

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Slurring Your Way Through Christmas

You what’s great about any Dean Martin song? He sounds completely hammered in all of them. It’s even better in the Christmas songs because somehow, it just seems appropriate.

How did the holidays become so stressful? Where is this “joy” that I keep hearing about but never seem to see? Go to a mall in December and you will be lucky to escape with merely a black eye and a few dollars left in your wallet.

The worst is the children who get dragged to see Santa Claus and end up having to stand in line for three hours in an uncomfortable outfit just so the parents have a photo of them sitting in a stranger’s lap, screaming their heads off from a brutal combination of boredom, fatigue, hunger, and fear.

There is a reason my mother stopped taking me to see Santa when I was still very young, and I am going to guess that it had something to do with maintaining her sanity and not wanting to feel the urge to sell me for a cup of coffee and a good book in a quiet location.

And yes, I will be taking my kids to see Santa when they get a bit older, because I’m a huge fan of hypocrisy and torture. But I’m fairly certain I will take a cue from Dean and bring a flask, size large.

Black Friday As A Spectator Sport

Kudos to anyone who had to courage to venture out on Black Friday to snag some good Christmas deals.

Personally, I think this ought to be a spectator sport. I would like to see stadium seating in some of the bigger stores (Target, WalMart, etc.) for those of us who enjoy watching people act like insane asylum escapees.

Oh, the money these stores could earn on ticket and beer sales! Betting would, of course, be permitted (“I’ll wager $5 that the crotchety old man with the pointy elbows gets to that Dora doll before the tired-looking woman with three kids!”).

As long as we’re headed down this path, let’s have the same set-up at those bridal stores where they occasionally have those bum-rush-the-store sales and the primary goal is to get out with your nose intact and a marginally attractive wedding gown that is within 3 dress sizes of your actual size.

Solid family entertainment, my friends.

Just Say No To Glitter

Recently I received a lovely Christmas party invitation from our neighbors for a party. They are wonderful, fun-loving people who always have an open door and have been great about helping me out in many different ways in the four years that we have lived here, including taking on a last-minute babysitting gig for my kids. Truly good people.

Unfortunately, I now must hate them.

You see, the invitation envelope was filled with glitter that spilled everywhere when I opened the envelope. Worse, it was translucent glitter, so I couldn’t see it well enough to clean it up. Days later, I am still finding it everywhere. Just last night, I found a smattering of it on Fred’s wiggly little bum as he did the four-limbed shuffle across the kitchen floor.

I have already complained to GrumpyDaddy that my job title should be “Cleaner-In-Chief” because all I do all day long is clean up after my kids and (not so) occasionally, GrumpyDaddy. It’s a miracle I haven’t thrown my back out given how much time I spend hunched over picking up toys, food, clothing, dirty diapers (I’ll explain that one in another post), objects formerly attached to the wall, etc.

And now this.

So I figure we will attend the party and I’ll let my kids behave in their normal fashion. The resulting devastation will keep my neighbors busy for days trying to clean up. Merry Christmas!

One Daddy Isn’t Enough

Today we took the kids to the mall so that GrumpyDaddy could buy some jeans. While he was trying them on, the kids and I wandered around to prevent little Fred from getting too fussy while sitting in his stroller. Ginger, running around with her snack cup, decided that she missed Daddy and started wailing for him.

Embarrassing enough if that were all, but then this: Ginger ran up to a saleswoman and yelled, “I want a daddy!”

So now half the store is looking at me with a mixture of pity and anger, thinking that I’m a single mom dragging her miserable kids to the mall whilst they suffer the emotional scars of being fatherless after what clearly was a nasty break-up.

Perhaps more traumatic than public embarrassment was the fact that the stores were decorated to the hilt for Christmas and had Christmas music playing. It’s early November and none of us wore coats today because it was so warm.

No wonder everyone gets cranky during the holidays. Listening to the Chipmunks singing Christmas songs for two months straight would make me homicidal as well.