Saturday, December 17, 2011

It's Not Really Christmas til Someone Gets Kicked in the Eye

Ahhhh. The sounds of Christmastime. The pitter-patter of little feet. The sound of a child's laughter floating through the hall. The sound of a slap followed by shrieks that would make a banshee envious. Yes, Christmas at our house is a joyous occasion. My kids act like, well, kids. They are not write-home-to-mom well-behaved. They are also not look-up-the-nearest-military-school little demons...all the time.

They have their ups and downs, first adoring and hugging each other, playing school or restaurant, then, five minutes later, Monkey pulls Bear's hair and she grabs the toy from his hand and he proceeds to poke her and she slaps his hand and they shove each other and within 30 seconds it either escalates to a screaming match or they are laughing hysterically. It's a toss up.

This was taken approximately 30 seconds before he hit Bear with that train.

They inevitably choose to begin these arguments while I'm trying to nurse Roo to sleep. Which usually results in whispered threats from the couch, someone running in crying, Roo waking up, me losing my temper and putting everyone in time out. Including myself. Do I take a bottle of wine to time out with me? Maybe.

But with Christmas quickly approaching, the "Santa Claus is watching you" threat is being used more and more. Insert Ray Stevens video here.

However, it is losing its effectiveness. That's right. Now when I say, "Santa is making his lists! Do you think you're gonna be on the nice list if he sees you writhing on the floor with pillows on your head, sobbing and kicking and flailing because your brother tried to sit on your dollhouse?" I merely get more tantrum. What are my options here? I can see the wheels turning in her head, reasoning out the possibilities of a stocking full of coal:
Well, I heard that last year and the year before and I still got presents... Oh, well. Better keep up the flailing....

I suppose I could follow through on the coal threat. But I just can't bring myself to do it. So, instead, I simply pick her up, put her on the bed, and walk away to wait until she (or he, as the case may be) is ready to be reasonable.

Unwanted affection. It's rather hard to hate on him when he's being so adorable.

I know it looks like they are getting along in this one. He was actually rearing back to spit at her.

And still, I can't complain about my children. They are Good Kids, they know Right from Wrong, and they know exactly where the Line is drawn. I realized this even more last night as I was watching Jimmy Kimmel's Christmas YouTube challenge. These parents "let" their kids open one present early. They were horrible. The presents, not the kids. Okay, some of the kids were. A few were really young and very honest, saying, "I don't like this!" A couple realized that their parents' feelings might be hurt and tried (very diplomatically, I might add) to express their dissatisfaction while allowing the 'rents to save face.

But a few of those kids...

I swear on everything holy, if my child ever throws a present in my face, rushes me and screams that he hates his "stupid parents".... Not only would I be too ashamed to upload that video for the entire world to see my offspring act like that, I'd immediately start looking up the aforementioned military schools. I would be appalled to realize that my son not only knows the term "suck my balls" but would say it to his mother.

Yes, readers, it happened, it happened on camera, and now it has been documented by the Jimmy Kimmel Show, YouTube, and all the world.

So I guess we've got it pretty good. My kids are normal, well-adjusted, thankful for what they get, and I haven't tried to sell them to the gypsies.



  1. I'm buying you an "Elf on the Shelf." ;)

  2. By the way, I seem to remember one Christmas that involved sliding down the steps, scraping your foot, and Dad running around naked while looking for a band-aid. It's always fun at our Christmases! :)

  3. That's hilarious. I just told everyone at work about that Christmas.