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It’s Holiday Season Again: Christmas…Execution Style


I am proud (or embarrassed) to present the final installment of the Holiday Season Series.  So sit back, drop your pants, tighten that belt around your neck one more notch and try not to lose conciousness before you “finish”.

Ah Christmas, the culmination of a long journey that is the holiday season.  Complete with enough glitz and glam to impress even little bearded baby Jesus, who just happens to share a fake birthday with our favorite day to celebrate capitalism.  It’s funny really when you take a step back and look at how we have bastardized what was once a holy day to many.  Frankincense and Myrrh have been replaced with PS3 & iPad.  Saint Nicholas is now a fat ass cookie-gobbling home invader, and the traditional nativity scene now comes with Yoda as the baby Jesus.  But hey, at least we are winning the war on terror… Suck on that Bin Ladin!  However, I admit that I, too am to blame for the capitalization of Christmas, but screw it, I like blinky lights and boxes wrapped with shiny paper just as much as the next guy, which brings us to Christmas and my family.

I have purposely waited 2 months to publish this entry because it has taken this long to recover. I still shutter at the mere thought of a Christmas tree.  Once upon a time Christmas could quite possibly have been my most favorite time of year.  My folks were blessed with the good fortune to be able to afford to buy my sister and me pretty much anything we asked for, and believe me, we asked for a lot.  I think at one time I had enough G.I. Joe paraphernalia to invade a small country and my sister had a enough Barbie dolls to recreate Hugh Hefner’s wildest Playboy Mansion shindig…that is until we turned all of those plastic bitches into Pope-shredding Sinead O’Connor doppelgangers! It’s safe to say that my sis and I loved us some Christmas.

Fast forward from prepubescent, kung fu grip-enthusiast to 37 years old, married with kids.  Now I am getting a glimpse behind the shimmering, happy happy-joy joy facade that is Christmas and I don’t like what I see.  I used to look under the ole Christmas tree and I was instantly transformed into a present-hoarding Gollum, or Smeagolif you prefer…my precious…Now when I look under that same tree I see boxes wrapped in my money and an ever-worsening toy infestation problem in our home.

Looks more like my sister than me

I don’t know how my folks did it.  It seems like my sis and I had a ton of toys and somehow my folks managed to keep the toys from taking over their home.  I can’t walk through my house now without stepping on a Zooble (WTF is a Zooble??), or having to clear the furniture of stuffed animals and books just to sit down.  In fact, we once had a guest room in our house that is now overrun with Elmo and his gang of Asian-made marauders.  And this Christmas is no exception.

Christmas Eve: My House

Since Francine, our Elf on The Shelf, came to live with us a couple of years ago, we have ceased to travel for Christmas.  The original thought of setting up the Santa crime scene was endearing…until we realized that “some assembly required” means that you will spend endless hours putting together toys that your kids will play with for about an hour on Christmas morning.  Those same toys are never to be seen again once they are shuttled off to the confines of Elmo’s World…er the playroom.  Still, with the dexterity of South American sweat shop workers we assemble toy after toy.  We are about half-way through a handle of Crown when I notice that the decals are going on a bit crooked, but screw it, we are on a mission and we will not be delayed by drunken decal-ing!  It is about midnight and I am putting the finishing touches on Lil B’s new basketball goal when in walks a groggy M.  We just freeze like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar (who the hell has an actual cookie jar?).  The wife suddenly breaks herself from the Crown-induced haze and shields M’s eyes from the harsh reality as she whisks her back to her bed.

Thank You Roofies Jr.

Amazingly, M has no recollection of waking up that night and is fully surprised on Christmas morning…thank you Rohypnol!- (When simply being an irresponsible parent just isn’t enough)

Christmas morning goes as expected, or at least my hangover-hazed memory tells me that it did.  M walks into the room calm and collected.  She makes her way through the maze of toys that “Santa” painstakingly set up and she is silently taking inventory.  The first thing from her mouth is not, “YAY!” or screams of delight.  No, M remembers exactly everything that she asked for and she is mentally scratching each item from the list as she makes her way around the tree.  Upon completion of her rounds, she simply looks at us with a sad little face and says, ” I didn’t get the Zhu Zhu Palace”…(WTF is a Zhu Zhu??)

To add to our toy prison overcrowding problems, our kids just happen to have some of the best grandparents in the world.  With the undying love of grandparents comes…you guessed it, boxes and boxes of toys arriving almost daily throughout the month of December.  My neighbors must think that our house is acting as an overflow distribution center for FedEx.  It got so “bad” this year that if there was no box on our porch when we went to check the mail, that my greedy kids thought something was wrong.  The toy situation is so bad that we have to cull through the post unwrapping carnage and sneak as many of the toys away as we can to be hidden away and used for bribes during the coming year.  (I highly suggest this if you have the room to hide more toys)

Despite the fact that we are prime candidates to make an appearance on Hoarders, this Christmas goes off with little incident.  We are thankful and lucky to have such great grandparents and an Elf on the Shelf that knows how to regulate.  I am starting to feel the stress of the holidays melt away as we edge ever closer to spring.  In fact, I am already making a list of toys to get the kids next Christmas.  Actually, my list is not toys, but rather a list of those to be executed.  Three guesses as to what bearded, fat-bellied bastard is at the top of that list.

One Down...Now where is that damn Easter Bunny?

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