Tis the season once again. Are you ready? Presents wrapped, bows tied tight, garland strung from hearth to doorway and everyone on your Christmas list has been checked off whether they’ve been naughty or not? How about the house? Is it all decorated up to gaudy seasonal standards? Me? Why do you ask? Isn’t it slightly rude to answer a question with another question? If you must know the front of my house is adorned with red berries and cinnamon scented pine cones, evergreen trees and symbols of seasonal sentiment; splashes of red and green here and there give this troubled spirit some semblance of a time to be merry and happy. And I say that with all the sarcasm I can muster at this point, thank you very much.
*shrugs*
Yesterday, (ok this entire month) I’ve struggled with the lack of Holiday cheer. It’s been very difficult to be joyful and not let my children down. Unfortunately, I failed miserably. For the last so many years a huge tree with sparkling lights and glistening ornaments was placed in front of the big window in the living room. It was an event to behold when setting it up. Umteen boxes of delicate glass trimmings, unwrapped so carefully, were placed just right where they needed to be, almost like the small spaces and defects in the tree were naturally there for just that purpose, all the while soft holiday music played in the background. Hours later and all done, lights would be turned off and we’d pile outside to look at it from the front yard.
The outside was just as decorated. Garland and ribbons, wreaths for every window, icicle lights dangled from gutters and the porch posts where wrapped like candy canes. Little did anyone know but I always decorated the outside of the house to match that which had adorned the big front window on the inside. Call it what you want. I wanted it to be perfect. Why? I don’t know, maybe I wanted to project the Holiday spirit to each and every driver that sped by on the busy street in front of the house just in case they didn’t have quite enough to get them through their day…Maybe I wanted them to slow down, take the time and remember the reason we celebrate every December 25th for hundreds and hundreds of years.
This year, I barely have anything outside. Just a wreath on the garage door, a small span of garland over the window held up by two bows. No lights, no candy canes, no ribbons and no 8ft tree in the big front window. Drivers pass by as they usually do, paying no attention the little blue house. This year, I brought up only 4 boxes, not the 30 or so that sat in the basement. Just the red berries, a few little evergreen trees and decorative boxes to sit under the table where the tree usually sat til Jan 2nd. On top of that little table was a lit tree with a few smaller ones sitting on a fluffy white cloud of fluff. Not the 8ft tree by any means. And as I looked around the house, not much holiday spirit, either. Sad really. But for the sake of my children, I gave it my best shot and went through the motions that always took place the day after Thanksgiving. Even though, to be perfectly honest, it took me until just last week to finish. Almost time to rip it all down…
I remember when I was younger, the lights were magical, the sounds and sights were glorious, and I was awe struck the moment the tree was cut down and drug home. We had this huge box, brought back from England when we lived there. I couldn’t wait until my father brought the stuff up from the basement and we could get all the decorations out. White bottom, Red lid, I could sleep in it, it was so big. Omigosh, the smell of Christmas as soon as mom cracked the seal, would overload my senses and I was in La La land. I’m sure everyone has memories like that. Remember tinsel?? Static shock the moment you touched someone. Draggin’ your footied pjs across the floor on purpose and racing after your big mean sibling just so you could give them a good shock, lol.
Us kids would play like that while mom sorted out all the decorations, right down to the little blue felt balls that my brother bit as a baby. She’d climb up ladders to hang mistletoe as my brother and I would chase each other or play with the blue sparkly metal garland. Like I said before, it was magical the moment the lights were plugged in, along with the other 10 things in a 2 gang outlet. Christmas morning, Charlie and I would wake with the dawn and creep downstairs, peek through the banister to see if Santa was still there. Wasn’t, of course, but WOW presents!! So we’d run all the way to mom and dad’s room and wake them up. “Can we open presents? CAN WE CAN WE??!!??” All said and done, we’d get ready in our new clothes we just got and pack ourselves in the Rambler and head to the Grandparents for a HUGE dinner and more presents and sing Christmas carols with Grandma as she poked away on the organ. I was happy, content, and full of Holiday spirit.
What happened? Some say that the moment we no longer believe in Santa Claus, we lose the very spirit that fuels the season. Some, I said “Some”. I had it until a few years ago but I hadn’t believed in the fat man since the 2nd grade. It’s like someone has pulled the plug and all the magic has dried up. This year, I didn’t put up the 8ft tree. I couldn’t even bare the thought of dragging it up stairs. This is what it’s become, I suppose. The Christmas season. Nothing more than dedicated decorations unearthed for only a month out of the year then placed back into its longevity til next time. It’s been summarily commercialized and placed for you and yours to buy buy buy the few weeks before Halloween in hopes that everyone will give the almighty dollar to an already fat cash cow.
I’ve lost my Christmas spirit. I’ve lost the magic. I’ve lost the ability to believe.
I layed in bed last night, for hours since I didn’t sleep; went through some wonderful memories of days gone by. Then I could have kicked myself for not letting my children have the same opportunity as I did. They helped me decorate, don’t get me wrong, I did put up quite a bit, just not as much as I used to. I keep thinking to myself, have I ruined it for my kids? I feel horrid for not putting up a tree and decorating it. What have I become? I’ve become Scrooge in a sense and to be perfectly honest, I wish for those 3 symbolic spirits to come visit me tonight. I want the magic back. I just don’t know how.
The last couple of years haven’t been the greatest in the Karr household. Wish it was back to normal and my family back together. I don’t mind the shuffling and hurried time spent with several different sides of the family, I just want that feeling of togetherness that I used to have when I was a kid, the magic. I want to be kissed under the mistletoe and tinsel shocked. I want to be woke up before dawn to open the bevy of presents that magically appeared after midnight and see the faces of my children light up when they rip off the pretty paper.
Tis the season to give and not receive. Mommy doesn’t care that she’s not anything to open. Just the excitement in a flourish of ribbon and shouts of “oooh” is good enough for me. I seem to not be able to get passed the fact that I can’t give my kids what we used to. Give my family just the same. Sort of negates any and all feeling of seasonal cheer. I can’t really get into the holiday spirit if I’m so distraught over the fact that I feel like a failure. I’d much rather forget the 25th of December all together. But I can’t do that to my kids who still believe in the magic.
As I lay there, I began to think of all the things I have to give and what’s been given to me. Doesn’t cost money, it’s not the price tag or check mark on the Christmas list. I need to get over myself and get back to being Toni and give my children the best Christmas that I can.
The only thing I wish for Christmas can’t fit in a stocking or wrapped up in pretty green and red paper and tied with a bow. The only thing I want for Christmas is the magic. I wish this gift for everyone. EVERYONE. Take the time, people, relive and remember how it used to be. Give the gift that someone can believe in. It opens up so many feelings and euphoric sensations, makes a person happy. I want to be happy. So in closing I’ll say this simply and I hope you take it with all the sincerity of a woman who used to overflow with Holiday Cheer and wants so badly to get it back...
Merry Christmas!!
Merry Christmas to you and your family!!
Merry Christmas you yellow snowman on the lawn!!
Merry Christmas you old building and loan!!
Light up that tree and sing till you puke eggnog out your nose, go caroling and drive through the town, looking at all the pretty lights. Catch that Holiday spirit before it’s gone and give it out all year long because the more you give the more the magic grows.
Believe in the magic. Believe in yourself. Believe!!
Monday, December 24, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Let's talk about sex baby
So…when is it a good time to talk to your kids about “Things”? And by “Things” of course I’m referring to that ooh so tender moment when you break out the Unabridged Encyclopedia of the Smart Ass and point at the engrossly enlarged picture of the male anatomy and say “Keep that away from THAT until you’re married” while pointing to the picture across the page of pretty little “Flower”.
I understand that next year Bubba is going to get the chance to watch the “This is your body” movie with the rest of his male brethren in a cold and stale classroom environment but he won’t listen. I’m not oblivious, I know my son. They’ll talk amongst them selves and giggle then get grossed out when either the PE or GC will point to the diagram of the “penis” and explain what happens when the blood flows but neglect to explain WHY.
And yes I said “penis”; after all, in our family the ratio is 3 boys to 2 girls (I’m including the dogs since Sir Captain Crapsalot can’t quite seem to keep his >for lack of better words since I don’t know one< not out…OMG! it’s touching my carpet again!!). Therefore, we have a plethora of Penis’s in the house. Did I spell that right? Penis’s? Or is it peni? Penises? Sad thing is, my office assistance didn’t tell me I fugged up so I don’t know!! Maybe I should use Scrotum but that could lead me back to the same situation. Scrotums? Scroti? Scrotumes? Which is more scientific and embarrassing? I want to use THAT one!
Ok back to the PE teacher and his stick trying to explain Morning Wood to 30 boys who thought it funny that the whole time the stick was precariously touching the anus… Hey I remember hearing the next room of laughing cootie ridden boys when I was 10! They should have sympathy for us girls, we got the talk about Aunt Flo but nooooo, we had to endure a week or more of x-ray vision goggle stares and nerds carrying around their notes while whispering outloud “Yeah, that’s what they really look like…” Not to mention that’s when bra snapping commenced because we started growing in places a lot faster than those boys did. Laugh it up boys…Laugh. It. Up. You’ll get yours soon enough, sort of like, NOW when your mother wants to talk about your PENIS and she’s not afraid to say PENIS because she knows it embarrasses the hell out of you! HA HA
Maybe I should explain why I feel the need to concern myself with this conversation…
Bubba, who’s 9, on more than one occasion, has had a girlfriend or two. Yup, you guessed it, my son is a playa… I used to tease him about this one girl a couple of years ago that his younger brother let spill, that I affectionately called “Petunia” because he never would tell me her name. Now, no matter who the girl is, Petunia is brought up.
Mom: (obviously when the moment hits me to embarrass my son) So…How’s Petunia?
Bubba: Mooooom, her name isn’t Petunia
Mom: Oh, so you admit, even if inadvertently, that you have a girl then? Is Petunia pretty? When do I get to meet her? *points to any girl in the school yard* Is that her?
Bubba: Mom, Ima hurt you…
Mom: Oooooh, so I’ve hit a nerve have I? That means she’s here. Her? Her? How bout her? Come on, boy, give a dog a bone, tell me!
Bubba: *growls as his face gets a bit redder* Moooom
Mom: What??!! *smiles in silent satisfaction*
Ooooh you should have been there at Parent/Teacher conferences! The family was walking into the school and this girl walks out with her mother. Cute little thing, all dressed up to impress no one…except my son. What happened next, I will never let my son live down….
Mom: This door, Bubba? *points to the door as SHE walks out*
Bubba: *head immediately drops and face flushes* yes
Petunia: *smiles with the biggest shit eating grin there ever was, turns around in a flourish with her skirt and says at the same time in a long drawn out husky voice…* Hi….Trevor Karr! *waves*
Bubba: Hi (did he really say it? It went so quick I could barely hear him)
Mom: (this was after we all stopped dead in our tracks to assess the situation) Trevor’s got a girlfriend! And she’s cute! *pokes Bubba in the side*
Dad: Who’s that Bubba?
Poo: Bubba’s got a girlfriend!
Bubba: SHUT UP she’s not my girlfriend, she’s not Petunia and her name is Kaitlin. Can we get over this now?
Did we hit a nerve? *laughter* And of course I had to embarrass my son at Thanksgiving with that little diddy of a story to which EVERYONE enjoyed at his expense. Not to mention tell a few others who had to give him shit about. I love being a mom… BUT then…. The other day, the boys come home from school and he bursts into my room and says
Bubba: Mom? Can Rachell come over?
Mom: Rachell? Who’s Rachell? Petunia, is that Petunia?
Bubba: Moooom….seriously she’s like my best friend in the whole world and she’s wants to meet you, so can she please please please?
Mom: (after stammering a bit since I was blindsided by the notion my son wanted a girl to come over) She can’t go passed the front room
Stays but a half hour and she’s got to go home. Phew…
Mom: Petunia’s really cute
Bubba: Mooooom!
*ring ring*
Caller: Tell Bubba, let the force be with you (er something like that )
Mom: They say Let the force be with you *laughter*
Bubba: Moom! *growls* Can’t you just feel the sexual force around me *uses hand motions to accentuate*
Mom: *the sound a needle on a record makes when you pull it back harshly* WTF
So yeah… um That was soo not the comment I was looking for… I was mortified, or just shocked, I’m not sure what I was. Just the other day, this boy of 9 was running thru the house naked yelling “They’re after my lucky charms!!” and now he’s referring to his SEXual force?
Once again…so yeah…um…When is it time to have that talk? Do I need to?
Petunia…Oooh Petunia
I understand that next year Bubba is going to get the chance to watch the “This is your body” movie with the rest of his male brethren in a cold and stale classroom environment but he won’t listen. I’m not oblivious, I know my son. They’ll talk amongst them selves and giggle then get grossed out when either the PE or GC will point to the diagram of the “penis” and explain what happens when the blood flows but neglect to explain WHY.
And yes I said “penis”; after all, in our family the ratio is 3 boys to 2 girls (I’m including the dogs since Sir Captain Crapsalot can’t quite seem to keep his >for lack of better words since I don’t know one< not out…OMG! it’s touching my carpet again!!). Therefore, we have a plethora of Penis’s in the house. Did I spell that right? Penis’s? Or is it peni? Penises? Sad thing is, my office assistance didn’t tell me I fugged up so I don’t know!! Maybe I should use Scrotum but that could lead me back to the same situation. Scrotums? Scroti? Scrotumes? Which is more scientific and embarrassing? I want to use THAT one!
Ok back to the PE teacher and his stick trying to explain Morning Wood to 30 boys who thought it funny that the whole time the stick was precariously touching the anus… Hey I remember hearing the next room of laughing cootie ridden boys when I was 10! They should have sympathy for us girls, we got the talk about Aunt Flo but nooooo, we had to endure a week or more of x-ray vision goggle stares and nerds carrying around their notes while whispering outloud “Yeah, that’s what they really look like…” Not to mention that’s when bra snapping commenced because we started growing in places a lot faster than those boys did. Laugh it up boys…Laugh. It. Up. You’ll get yours soon enough, sort of like, NOW when your mother wants to talk about your PENIS and she’s not afraid to say PENIS because she knows it embarrasses the hell out of you! HA HA
Maybe I should explain why I feel the need to concern myself with this conversation…
Bubba, who’s 9, on more than one occasion, has had a girlfriend or two. Yup, you guessed it, my son is a playa… I used to tease him about this one girl a couple of years ago that his younger brother let spill, that I affectionately called “Petunia” because he never would tell me her name. Now, no matter who the girl is, Petunia is brought up.
Mom: (obviously when the moment hits me to embarrass my son) So…How’s Petunia?
Bubba: Mooooom, her name isn’t Petunia
Mom: Oh, so you admit, even if inadvertently, that you have a girl then? Is Petunia pretty? When do I get to meet her? *points to any girl in the school yard* Is that her?
Bubba: Mom, Ima hurt you…
Mom: Oooooh, so I’ve hit a nerve have I? That means she’s here. Her? Her? How bout her? Come on, boy, give a dog a bone, tell me!
Bubba: *growls as his face gets a bit redder* Moooom
Mom: What??!! *smiles in silent satisfaction*
Ooooh you should have been there at Parent/Teacher conferences! The family was walking into the school and this girl walks out with her mother. Cute little thing, all dressed up to impress no one…except my son. What happened next, I will never let my son live down….
Mom: This door, Bubba? *points to the door as SHE walks out*
Bubba: *head immediately drops and face flushes* yes
Petunia: *smiles with the biggest shit eating grin there ever was, turns around in a flourish with her skirt and says at the same time in a long drawn out husky voice…* Hi….Trevor Karr! *waves*
Bubba: Hi (did he really say it? It went so quick I could barely hear him)
Mom: (this was after we all stopped dead in our tracks to assess the situation) Trevor’s got a girlfriend! And she’s cute! *pokes Bubba in the side*
Dad: Who’s that Bubba?
Poo: Bubba’s got a girlfriend!
Bubba: SHUT UP she’s not my girlfriend, she’s not Petunia and her name is Kaitlin. Can we get over this now?
Did we hit a nerve? *laughter* And of course I had to embarrass my son at Thanksgiving with that little diddy of a story to which EVERYONE enjoyed at his expense. Not to mention tell a few others who had to give him shit about. I love being a mom… BUT then…. The other day, the boys come home from school and he bursts into my room and says
Bubba: Mom? Can Rachell come over?
Mom: Rachell? Who’s Rachell? Petunia, is that Petunia?
Bubba: Moooom….seriously she’s like my best friend in the whole world and she’s wants to meet you, so can she please please please?
Mom: (after stammering a bit since I was blindsided by the notion my son wanted a girl to come over) She can’t go passed the front room
Stays but a half hour and she’s got to go home. Phew…
Mom: Petunia’s really cute
Bubba: Mooooom!
*ring ring*
Caller: Tell Bubba, let the force be with you (er something like that )
Mom: They say Let the force be with you *laughter*
Bubba: Moom! *growls* Can’t you just feel the sexual force around me *uses hand motions to accentuate*
Mom: *the sound a needle on a record makes when you pull it back harshly* WTF
So yeah… um That was soo not the comment I was looking for… I was mortified, or just shocked, I’m not sure what I was. Just the other day, this boy of 9 was running thru the house naked yelling “They’re after my lucky charms!!” and now he’s referring to his SEXual force?
Once again…so yeah…um…When is it time to have that talk? Do I need to?
Petunia…Oooh Petunia
Dear Burglar
Dear Burglar,
I want to take this opportunity to thank you for letting me know that my heart does indubitably tick, and not just tick, I mean wild and off the scale. It’s been pretty numb of late for obvious reasons, and only races when I have to “P” and I’m a whole house away from the Loo or when I get my cell phone bill. You, on the other hand, made my heart feel as if it was going to jump entirely out of my chest this morning. I felt alive and invigorated and I’m sure, if need be, the adrenaline boost it gave could have helped me lift a double-decker bus.
Why you ask? Well, I’ll be more than happy to explain why I am soo happy that you decided to trespass on my property.
Today, morning as usual, I fall out of bed, grab the inhaler and head towards the front of the house to see if by some chance the lottery fairy left me a million bucks on the kitchen counter. Unfortunately, there was no such lump sum just the lump in my throat as you laid a trap for me half way down the hallway. What? What was that I heard you say? You’re not a very good burglar, are you? Flunk out of Breaking and Entry 101, did ya? Maybe you should go back to school and try that class again, but before you leave, please do me a favor and turn off the lights and furnace in the garage…
Oh and before you go, I want to thank you once again for shoveling the 2 feet of snow from in front of the garage door. I know I wouldn’t have been able to do that myself, asthma and all. I even thought last night as I watched the footage of the white powdery stuff fall from the sky… Toni, you’re a goof, you left the snow shovel in the garage and you can’t even see the steps to get off the porch, how you gonna get out?
I’m sure it was tedious to get in there since the blizzard last night. Maybe that’s the reason there was only one set of footprints leading TO the garage and not from and the very reason you decided to sleep in my car. No that’s ok, I didn’t mind so much not leaving part, since it makes it easier for the police to apprehend your stupid ass. What really pissed me off was that you decided to plug in the furnace that hadn’t been serviced or even turned on in well over a year. I understand it’s the Holiday season and it IS better to give than to receive but that very furnace prolly cost me about $100 to make you all cozy and toasty warm. Oh, I’m sorry, it wasn’t the furnace that made you toasty? Silly me, I didn’t realize you came already insulated…
I’m curious, though. Answer me this, since you were already in the car, why didn’t you just open my wallet up and set ablaze my checkbook and any cash that was in my purse? Probably would have been a hella lot cheaper than to plug in that old furnace. Especially when you could have stomped out the measly little pile of burning fundage a lot easier than the possibility of burning down my fucking house.
Well, I must close here. I’ve could have written a lot more, but you best be on your way. The police, even though the roads are treacherous, thought it comical when I called them up with this information and wanted to get here post haste. If I were them, I’d be a little let down actually. You know, the thrill of the chase. Not so much a thrill if your suspect is still lounging in the passenger seat of the car in the garage he so chose to trespass. But they prolly just wanted to see with their own eyes, the most stupid burglar in the world. It’s entirely too bad that the only pair of handcuffs in the vicinity was under my bed and not in the car. You could have apprehended yourself.
Farewell, Burglar
Home Owner
PS. please leave my checkbook in its entirety on the front seat of my car, lock it and give the officer the keys. Dudley Doo Right can give them back to me when he fills out the police report. Thanks so much, you’re too kind, REALLY!!
I want to take this opportunity to thank you for letting me know that my heart does indubitably tick, and not just tick, I mean wild and off the scale. It’s been pretty numb of late for obvious reasons, and only races when I have to “P” and I’m a whole house away from the Loo or when I get my cell phone bill. You, on the other hand, made my heart feel as if it was going to jump entirely out of my chest this morning. I felt alive and invigorated and I’m sure, if need be, the adrenaline boost it gave could have helped me lift a double-decker bus.
Why you ask? Well, I’ll be more than happy to explain why I am soo happy that you decided to trespass on my property.
Today, morning as usual, I fall out of bed, grab the inhaler and head towards the front of the house to see if by some chance the lottery fairy left me a million bucks on the kitchen counter. Unfortunately, there was no such lump sum just the lump in my throat as you laid a trap for me half way down the hallway. What? What was that I heard you say? You’re not a very good burglar, are you? Flunk out of Breaking and Entry 101, did ya? Maybe you should go back to school and try that class again, but before you leave, please do me a favor and turn off the lights and furnace in the garage…
Oh and before you go, I want to thank you once again for shoveling the 2 feet of snow from in front of the garage door. I know I wouldn’t have been able to do that myself, asthma and all. I even thought last night as I watched the footage of the white powdery stuff fall from the sky… Toni, you’re a goof, you left the snow shovel in the garage and you can’t even see the steps to get off the porch, how you gonna get out?
I’m sure it was tedious to get in there since the blizzard last night. Maybe that’s the reason there was only one set of footprints leading TO the garage and not from and the very reason you decided to sleep in my car. No that’s ok, I didn’t mind so much not leaving part, since it makes it easier for the police to apprehend your stupid ass. What really pissed me off was that you decided to plug in the furnace that hadn’t been serviced or even turned on in well over a year. I understand it’s the Holiday season and it IS better to give than to receive but that very furnace prolly cost me about $100 to make you all cozy and toasty warm. Oh, I’m sorry, it wasn’t the furnace that made you toasty? Silly me, I didn’t realize you came already insulated…
I’m curious, though. Answer me this, since you were already in the car, why didn’t you just open my wallet up and set ablaze my checkbook and any cash that was in my purse? Probably would have been a hella lot cheaper than to plug in that old furnace. Especially when you could have stomped out the measly little pile of burning fundage a lot easier than the possibility of burning down my fucking house.
Well, I must close here. I’ve could have written a lot more, but you best be on your way. The police, even though the roads are treacherous, thought it comical when I called them up with this information and wanted to get here post haste. If I were them, I’d be a little let down actually. You know, the thrill of the chase. Not so much a thrill if your suspect is still lounging in the passenger seat of the car in the garage he so chose to trespass. But they prolly just wanted to see with their own eyes, the most stupid burglar in the world. It’s entirely too bad that the only pair of handcuffs in the vicinity was under my bed and not in the car. You could have apprehended yourself.
Farewell, Burglar
Home Owner
PS. please leave my checkbook in its entirety on the front seat of my car, lock it and give the officer the keys. Dudley Doo Right can give them back to me when he fills out the police report. Thanks so much, you’re too kind, REALLY!!
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