The Worst Perfect Christmas EVER!

Ok, ok, ok...Clark Griswald gets the award for the Worst Perfect Christmas Ever; we'll just settle for second place. Don't get me wrong, we had a wonderful time but perfect? Hardly! Thankfully John preached a sermon earlier in the month reminding us to not get all strung out trying to create the perfect Christmas; for heaven's sake, the first Christmas lacked candlelight, crackling fires, packages and snow--it was simple and rude in it's very nature. I listened, got the point and I tried but I was hosting Christmas! I was going to be a grown lady! I was going to at least give it my best shot to be magical, all the while remembering that if things go hay-wire to just roll with it...but I don't roll very well. Before my parents arrived, I yelled at Birdie once for sitting on my porcelain plates although someone should have yelled at me for putting them where an-almost-2-year-old COULD sit on them (but I was pulling them out to set the table!) and I yelled at Beatle once for repeatedly coughing on the sugar cookie dough and eventually had to kick her out of the kitchen for further offenses (it icks me out when people tell me their kids helped make something because I know how hygenic children are). So, I tried to regroup and be laid back the rest of the day. My goal was to make the house perfect for when the guests arrived and then let go because I can only hold a house of cards together for so long, people! Once I regrouped, I let go of the stress and enjoyed it and our house looked beautiful! It did! I should have taken pictures but this one is scarily similar...


My parents were about 30 minutes away and I thought I would jump in the shower. A few minutes later Brent came barging in saying something. I had to get him to repeat it several times and lean out the door to figure out that he said, "Beatle just threw up." Oh freakin' no! Why does that child start to puking every time we're about to have a great time? It's so normal now that it feels just like the background music of the high moment video montage of our lives. So we get her set-up in the recliner. Jas dirties her diaper while BR's still cleaning Beatle's mess. So, the only one who realizes and greets my family at the door is a weak child with a puke bowl.

We hoped that it was Strep for Beatle but when Birdie threw up later that night, we knew the Holiday House had just become the House of Horrors. Brent and I subsequently got it and, while the girls were over it in less than a day, I'm still not right! I spent WAY more quality time with my bathroom than I wanted while having houseguests. Unfortunately, my parents wound up taking the virus home with them as a parting gift. We tried SO hard to keep it contained to just us.

Now for the Christmas Eve debacle heard 'round the world and will probably be the reason cited for why she is on Lockdown: Texas Women Prisons in 30 years.



Oh yeah, buddy. There are so many words I could use but to pick one--DISASTER! Santa's elves had been happily assembling a trampoline for the girls in our neighbor's backyard during the day on Christmas Eve. That was a risky move but successful so when night fell, the elves didn't have to do anything but move it into place while the girl elves stuffed stockings on Santa's behalf. Perfect! We delighted in our plan, mused at how smart the lead elf was and secretly back slapped each other for once again, a job well done. Please, please heed my advice. These are sage words from a woman who was chewed up and spit out by a cross-examination that felt more like from a shrewd prosecutor than a 6-year-old on Christmas Eve: NEVER, EVER LET YOUR CHILDREN NAP ON CHRISTMAS EVE! WEAR THEIR BUTTS OUT!

Beatle, all jacked up on sugarplums and her 2-hour-we-thought-she-was-still-recovering-from-the-tummy-bug-nap, came out of her room announcing that she couldn't sleep. I leapt at her, swooping her back into her bedroom but couldn't stop her wandering eyes from glancing over my shoulder and spying already full stockings. She burst into accusations and tears. "You stuff my stockings! You eat the cookies and make it look like Santa! You write the note with fancy handwriting! No wonder you all were so excited, you get to stay up and eat cookies and peek at your presents! THERE'S NO SANTA!!! Why??? Why did you do this to me???" She went on for several minutes--anger mixed with sorrow. At one point, I nervously giggled because I knew we effed this one up big time. I've wondered before if we should do Santa. I mean, I like the big guy and our parents did it for us but I never wanted our children to believe in a man/force they couldn't see and it turn out to be fake all the while we encourage them to believe in another man they can't see while we keep promising that HE'S real. But then again, I've never even heard of an adult that doesn't believe in Jesus because Santa isn't real! Laying beside her in her bed while she wailed, I realized that I have no idea what I'm doing as a parent. I'm just trying the best I can.

Aunt Suzy came in. I breathed a sigh of relief, ah, ye olde auntly advice and some much needed backup. She came and sat on the bed and, trying to assess the extent of the damage, asked, "What's wrong, Brenny?" Then, Beatle hammered away on her too. I could see the whites of Suzy's eyes in the dark bedroom get wider as Beatle descended further into her devastation and as quietly as she came in, Aunt Suzy got up, walked across the room and left me for dead! (But as I found out, she was calling in the big guns and went to fetch our resident-Wonderful-Counselor.)

Brent came in and spoke such soothing words to her and, with my partner there, I was able to find some words too that left her feeling excited instead of betrayed by the morning. (For the record: We've never looked her in the eye and said, "Yes, Brendle, there is a Santa." And, even at Easter when she proclaimed she loved Santa more than Jesus, Brent laid the hammer down on Passover Friday in his office but kids want to believe and she kept believing. Heck, we all want to believe in magic. So, through the whole thing, we could at least say that we did tell her the truth.) It was rough! But in the morning, she had brushed it off and had a fantastic time on her new trampoline and playing with the rest of her presents.

Birdie loves the trampoline and will say, "Outside, PEEEAASSS!" or "More jump." She was precious this year on Christmas. She knew how to open everything and with each thing she opened, she wanted to play with it right then and was perfectly content doing so until we gave her something else to open. And Beatle gave me my FAVORITE gift ever. She loves to craft but will usually come up with some doozy things that really stretch the imagination to get what she was getting out of the whole thing. She had crafted something in the play room in early December and wrapped it and put it under the tree. Honestly, I didn't give it much thought because I figured it would be some little junky "treasure". It was perfect though! The card said, "Thank you Mom for everything. I love you. Have something for you. Love, Brendle <3 :)" and inside was a red solo cup with three different facial expressions completed with googly eyes around it: mad, happy and not sure. So I can turn the cup and give everyone a warning as to how I feel throughout the day! (Poor kid, she knows I'm an emotional train-wreck apparently.) :) She gave such good gifts. What a big heart she has!

We truly did have a great week but sometimes I'm glad Christmas only comes 'round once a year! ;)