I wish I could say that this Christmas brought out my children's good sides, where they went around caroling to the neighbors and spreading Christmas cheer like butter-cream on Aunt Edna's yule log cake. But if I did, my britches would be attracting firefighters from here to Waleska...and that sure ain't happened.
Christmas Eve night, we always let the kids open one gift. We usually pick the one that has pj's or underwear just for our amusement. But this year, we decided that each of them could open one from one of their siblings.
Well, it turns out that Bubby and Rae-Rae got each other the same thing: a Call of Duty poster/ suburban knuckle knocker. They haven't been hung up yet, but they look like they've been in the arena with Bocephus and a six-pack of intoxicated rodeo clowns.
Li'l Blondie picks the one from Bubby to open. She rips the paper open...and sits there with her mouth hanging open.
"Are you kiddin' me? This is NOT a pwesent! What the heck?"
Nice, kiddo, real nice. I hope Bubby take a deuce in that new Easy Bake Oven you're gettin' tomorrow.
He picked her out this sparkadelic, pom-pom ponytail ornament with red and black tinsel. We both thought she'd love it, but apparently it was shocking to her. She's wearing it today, so it must not be too bad.
The kids each got something they've been wanting. Rae-Rae got a mini-iPad. (Thank you, baby Jesus, for the bartering corner and trading post area of Craigslist!) Emzilla got an Easy Bake oven and a Princess Barbie house. Bubby got a set of pimp-daddy headphones. Actually, all three kids got a set of headphones of varying degrees of awesomeness. (Epic win for the grown-ups!)
But yesterday, I decided to open Rae-Rae's Clue game he got. I immediately started having flashbacks of sleepovers with my childhood best friend, Katie Ashley (her pen name), and watching the Madeline Kahn cinematic masterpiece over and over and over.
We get it out, and me, the hubbs, and Rae-Rae set out on a dark investigation of cretinous Crayola killings. Let me say for the record: playing a board game with anyone in my immediate family is like dumping a milk carton of glitter in on Nemo and Dory, and telling them to just ignore it. Their combined attention span would have to eat Wheaties for a month to hit any recordable, positive integer.
The hubster wins, of course, and Rae-Rae lets out a long, exasperated sigh.
"It's okay, Rae-Rae, you'll get the hang of it."
Pause.
"Wow, thank God that's over." He proceeds to run off like he's got jellyfish in his junk.
"Well, FINE, you little mutt! I hate trying to play a game with all of y'all! Y'all can't pay attention to nothing!"
"Mommy, you don't hate me cuz I'm lovely, and my butt cwack is lovely," chimes in my my little psycho princess.
"You're right, honey. I was just kidding. I don't hate any of y'all. I just wish that anybody in this house could focus for more than 3 seconds."
From the cave where the Playstation resides...
"Focus? What happened? Are you talking to me? OOHHH!!! I used the shock paddles on his butt cheeks!" Nice, Bubby, real nice.
So, while miracles happen every Christmas season, the miraculous gift of attention spans has seemed to skip our home once again.
Oh! Oh! Oh! That special about hunting the Sheepsquatch is on!
Wait, what was I saying?
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