Saturday, December 5, 2009

Christmas cram session.

I feel like the whole month of December is one big cram session. But in a good way.

I want to cram all the fun in, all the traditions, and some new experiences too. It goes by too quickly. We wait for it all year, and then suddenly it's January, and we're all, "Huh? Where did it go?"

The Christmas season is just all kinds of awesome.

First of all, let it be known. Santa is watching these kids.

It's a fact that I remind them any chance I get.

Santa is the best form of parental bribery there is. However, the threat of him is starting to wear thin on the two older boys. Their belief is starting to wane, mostly in the mind of Charlie, my 9-year old.

Nine-year olds know it all. Surely you knew that. But if not, then see how little you know? If only you were a 9-year old, then you would have known how much 9-year olds know. But I'm sure the same is true for 10-year olds, 11-year olds, and those pesky teenagers.

It's really only a matter of time before the jig is up with Charlie, regarding Santa. I mean, really, how much longer is he going to believe that a bearded fat man drops off presents on the living room floor and then whisks himself back up the chimney? A chimney, by the way, that is fake. Yes, we have a beautiful stone chimney built and attached to the back of our house, but it is just for show. It does nothing but stand there, tall and proud. And that's it. It is not a portal for fat men in red suits. Our fireplace is a gas one that conveniently turns on with a light switch on the wall. The logs are pretty, but fake. Fake. Fake. Fake.

But the sweetest thing about Charlie's age is that he so fervently wants to believe. He wants to think it's all real. He doesn't want logic to settle in. Logic, schmogic.

He wants to believe in the magic.

And far be it from me to ever burst anyone's Santa bubble. If he's 13 and still believes, then so be it.

We have many traditions around our house at this time of year, as I'm sure you do. The kids all love them and look forward to them, but no one around here seems to love the traditions more than my Henry. Something I am learning about his ADHD and his ODD is that he likes to control situations. He doesn't like surprises. So when we hang up the same ornaments every year, and light up the same porcelain houses on the fireplace mantel, and display the same manger scene by the tree, Henry is in heaven. This is his element. Sure, we introduce a new tradition or two every year, but it is he that makes sure that I continue it the next year.

Yesterday after church we decided to take the kids to see Santa at the mall. We knew there would be long lines, but decided to brave the lines anyway. However, the kids were having none of it.

"Santa is scary," George insisted.

"Scary? No he's not."

"Yeah, he is," Henry joined in.

"Really? Well then why is it okay to ask him for presents, and he brings them to you, but you don't want to talk to him?" I asked.

" 'Cause we don't have to see him. He just drops the stuff off. Duh, mom," said Charlie. "He scares me a little bit too. Besides, you can just email him or call him and tell him what we want."

Oh. Duh. Santa 2009 is all about technology. I wonder if it's hard to text with those white gloves on his hand.

Honestly, can I just say that deep down I was relieved? Bill and I weren't about to force them to sit on Santa's lap; therefore, no long lines and waiting. It was win-win for all.

Instead, we decided to finish up a little Christmas shopping. This was a superbly awesome idea to do with two parents and four children on a Sunday afternoon at the mall a few weeks before Christmas. Because it's not like it's crowded or anything.

Fortunately, the kids were good because we bribed them with time at the play place/climbing/2,742 kids-running-out-of-control area.

Bill and I live to bribe these children.

Really though. Bribery and blackmail just sounds so seedy. Let's just call it "offering incentives." Now it sounds like a bonus program. There's nothing better than turning a negative into a positive.

So we're walking through the mall, and to what to my wandering eyes do appear? It was a huge display of Victoria's Secret's brand-new Miraculous Bra! It makes you TWO chest sizes bigger! And lordy knows I need a miracle or two in my chestal regions. The table with all the bras was right at the opening of the store, and I just turned the stroller with Annabel riding in it, and headed towards the display.

With my 4 men in tow.

I know. My brilliant ideas keep on coming.

Why oh why, do I put myself in these situations where I find myself having to explain uncomfortable things to my shorties?

Maybe if Bill were a better mind-reader, then he would just be all, "Hey guys. Let's go over to Gamestop. Or Sears Hardware, or [insert manly store here] while mommy looks at this boring girl stuff." But no. He's all, Victoria's Secret? And a legitimate reason to go in here? Why, thank you very much! Don't mind if I do. DON'T MIND IF I DO.

In my mind, there is nothing salacious about buying a bra. They're utilitarian. Sure, they're pretty, but they just serve a purpose. And in my case, it helps me look like I don't have the chest of a twelve-year old boy that coincidentally has breast-fed four children. So in my defense, I was just thinking, bras? Miraculous Bras? Well I think I'll just check out this display of pillows that you can strap to your chest. Because, let's be honest. That's all they are. Pillows. Seriously you guys. I can't even begin to explain how much padding is needed to make your chest look Miraculous.

Anyway, the next thing I know, my boys, and even little Annabel, are rifling through the drawers of bras on the stands like a group of uncivilized mini-perverts. Pink! Lime Green! Orange! They're all, "Ooooh...look at all the pretty colors!" And I'm so busy looking for my size, that I didn't notice at first until George grabbed a big orange bra, swung it upwards and exclaimed, "Yeah! I like BIG FAT BOOBIES!"


"Bill, did you hear that?"

"No. What?"

Focus, Bill. They're just mannequins. With fake plastic boobs. Get with the program here. Focus!

"George, what did you just say?" I tenatively asked.

"I like big fat boobies, Mom."

Oh. That's what I thought you said.

That's great. Not only does my 5-year old like boobies, but he likes big, fat ones.

By the way, I have no idea where he heard that word. It's not like it's common vocab around here. Bill insists that I have said it, but I insist that it's a word that I have said out of earshot.

Whatevs. George now knows what boobies are. Big. Fat. Boobies.

Alright. Everyone out of Victoria's Secret. That'll be enough of that. Mommy didn't think that one through. Daddy is a little dumbstruck at the moment.

Don't think that we'll be starting an Annual Family Trip to Victoria's Secret at Christmastime anytime soon.

1 comment:

  1. Wow I totally cracked up laughing at that one. Out loud.


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