Christmas Gifts 101

We spent five years purposefully not spoiling our son by buying him copious amounts of toys just because it was Christmas. He usually got four or five gifts which he was perfectly happy with, at least, that is, until he went to visit a cousin whose basement had been transformed into ToysRus. I suppose that could have been the driving force. I remember it like it was yesterday.

The boys ran downstairs to show him what they had gotten. My son entered the basement and stopped abruptly as if he had been hit in the chest, and his wind had been knocked out. His eyes grew larger than I had ever seen, his mouth fell open at the billions of boxes, and bags upon bags that engulfed 3/4 of the room. He said incredulously, "Wow! It's like you got one hundred gifts!" And my nephew, never one to miss an opportunity to let the world know just how blessed he is, replied smugly, "No, it's more like one hundred and one." Later, as we were leaving, my son pulled me aside and said in an almost heartbroken tone, " Mommy, I don't understand. I have been good, why didn't Santa bring me as many gifts?"

Yes, I am sure that was the turning point. We never really discussed it again, my husband and I, but this year something happened. Something was turned off -- like sanity, or maybe I just fell off the wagon (the shopaholic wagon). Or... maybe it was just that I had subconsciously decided to ensure that my son would never feel slighted again. He was just as special as other children. Whatever the reason, I can truly say my husband and I literally lost our minds this year. Every time I went out to shop even if it was for other people, I saw things that he really could use, justified them to myself, and bought them.

There was an arcade style Basketball shooting machine, an Xbox, Four Lego sets, two race car tracks, a marble run, and games, games, and more games.There were movies and remote control things. There were XBox and Wii games. There was a skateboard, and an electric scooter, helmet, and knee pads. There were even many boxes of Discovery educational scientific toys. It was absolutely ridiculous.

Thirty minutes into the unwrapping session, my husband began "psst-ing" me to get my attention. He then nodded towards the XBox and mouthed the words, 'save it for his birthday." I didn't miss a beat. Unbeknownst to him I had already yanked his name off of a couple of things myself while he frantically searched for the gift boxes he swore he had counted.

No, I do not want him to ever be heartbroken or to feel less than anyone else, however, there is a limit. And while I sat there watching him unwrap all those gifts, I  realized that we had gone beyond ours.

Another Eighties Fashion Faux Pas

With Spirit week at school the teachers get into it more than the students, and I am proof positive: It was "Eighties" day. I had my stilettos and short-ish straight skirt with leggings. My long white shirt with the turned up collar and brooch was covered with a man's suit jacket -- sleeves rolled up, of course. My hair rode high in a side ponytail and my lips glowed with too bright lipstick. I was ready! But fate stepped in and saved the day; something made me check my email. Oh my! I found out that I was actually "flash-dancing my way to the Super Bowl." It was not Eighties day, yet -- it was favorite team Jersey day. Phew!

BATMAN, WHERE ARE YOU?

I had him dressed to the nines. You couldn't tell me anything. He had a cool all black Batman costume with a black face mask and attached long black flowing cape. I made him change out of his red turtleneck and into the black one. Lastly, I made him wear the black socks so they wouldn't show above the all black tennis shoes. It looked great in the house....but then I sent him out into the pitch black streetlight-less night to trick-or-treat with a crowd of children and spent the whole evening calling out, "TREY, where are you?" What in the world was I thinking?

The Calvary

I slept good last night for the first time in two weeks because I knew the Calvary was on its way. It has been six days since the battle that I won last Sunday. Unfortunately, the stench of death (their stinky odor) is a pheromone, so by Wednesday their dead little bodies were like a mating call to hundreds more. they won that day. I parked on the street and ran sreaming into the house. I hunker

ed in and did not leave til sunrise. That is also when I made up my mind to call out the National Guards. When I walk out on my porch this morning in the dawn of the bright sunlight, it will be with my posse. Orkin will be by my side! May their stench this time be the Siren call of Mermaids, calling any that dare answer to their death!

Message in a Bottle

Help, I am being held captive by a couple hundred checkpoints that are determined to be graded. I was able to sneak on the computer for a second to make this SOS message. I would have loved to have my response come via messge in a bottle (a bordeaux shaped one at that), but all I got was this message in a coffee mug and it said, "Wake up and get back to work!"

Feeling Super!

He picked it again! Batman, hands down. But I must admit, it had nothing to do with who he wanted to be for Halloween, it was all about the costume with the longest cape. He will not be happy til I make him one that drags the floor and trips him up. Anyone know when they stop wanting to wear one? Oh, never mind, I just realized that his Dad's is hanging in the closet, too.

Owww!

‎"Oww Mommy! It hurts so bad! Can you put a bandaid on it." "Oh, baby, do you mean the (tiny little) scratch you got last week?" "Yes mommy, oww!" "Does it hurt here? (I said as I pressed on his shoulder) and here?" "Oww, yes there!" "Okay! Let's look at it in the mirror so you can watch me." "Oww! Okay, but hurry, it hurts!" "HUH? I don't see it." "No, baby, there is no scratch there. See, look, it was the other shoulder that got scratched. Now, does it really still hurt?" Owww! Mommy, yes. can put a bandaid on that shoulder."