Not Ready for the Holidays!

Every morning my husband dons a glow in the dark hockey mask, holds up backpacks and offers to put the children on their buses.  I offer to wave to them out the doorway wearing my Perry the Platypus slippers and furry bathrobe.  For some reason the children always decline our offers and run out on us.

Every morning, afternoon and evening I am subjected to Selena Gomez singing her ONE song.  Over and over.  At the same time I am listening to Mark’s favorite computer videos, two young British boys, telling the SAME tales, the SAME jokes again and again.

Every November I look around and discover that we are not ready for the holidays.  There is a three-foot Grim Reaper leering over my husbands recliner, a vacuum cleaner that needs dusting before I can use it for vacuuming and table legs cracking under the weight of socks and paperwork.

Every day I spend at least an hour searching for things the ferrets stole from us.  Then I spend another two hours trying to find stuff the kids stole/lost/broke/hid or “borrowed” from us.

Every day I wash the same clothes that I swear I brought down just the other day.  Every day I search in vain for two matching socks for someone…anyone.

I was informed by my husband that his three-foot grim reaper will be staying out all year-long.  I am charged with finding a little Santa cap for Grim’s head and a big candy cane for him to hold, along with his scythe..

My nine-year old girl comes to me with a very serious expression and tells me she needs to talk with me. She told me she was a Goth now and only wished for black,silver, blue and purple clothing now.  The clothing itself consists of tight leggings that are black with glitter or have the jeans look to them.  Over the leggings she wears black tutus that have pink, purple or glitter touches to them.  Today she wore black glittery leggings, a tutu AND a long black glittery shirt that ended in a bright pink tutu skirt, which sort of puffed over the bottom tutu.  She looked like she was on break from a circus show so that she could attend a funeral.

I look at her dresser and closet, it’s mainly all the pink and rainbow colors that she had wanted last year.  I guess I will have some big bags for the donation bin.

Trying to be a responsible parent, I decided it was time to have “the talk” with my twelve-year-old son. After a minute Chris decided to join us.  I had given Mark a book a few months ago that covered the basics, I would ask if he had any questions, and he would always say no.  I waited until one quiet night when I called him to the table, I figured I should try to use words he could relate to.  However, when I tried to explain homosexuality, my husband burst into uncontrollable laughter and my son put his hand over my mouth, through his giggles he begged me to just stop talking.  I don’t know where I went wrong.  All I said was, “When one UFC fighter loves another UFC fighter very, very much..”, next thing I know my husband is in tears laughing and I have a hand plastered over my mouth!

I have a hole or rip in every pair of pants I own, except for the bright blue sweatpants that look very strange on me.  I own two bras.  A fifty dollar black bra with lots of foam padding with under-wire and a five dollar sports bra stolen from my mother.  Between the evil washing machine/dryer that hate me, ferrets that believe everything is their toy, and two children that thought my bra was something that can be used in the yard as a slingshot, the black bra now has three cups.  Unless I can grow a third breast, it doesn’t fit right.  However, I can now finally stun people with my chest!

The sports bra used to be white, it’s now a sort of gray color.  It has another little quirk too.  When I wear it, the bottom elastic tends to wander around.  Slowly, it makes its way towards my belly button.  It sags with my breasts.

Someone mixed up my makeup with the Halloween makeup, now when an occasion comes that I need to make up my face, I have an option of green or black lipstick.  For foundation I have dead white or graveyard color.  I will be a hit at school meetings and it should certainly jazz up any wedding or funeral.

When I was cooking dinner the other night, the skillet died right in front of me.  It was not a pretty death.  While I was doing dishes I noticed we only had three glasses, most of my silverware rusted or tilts in strange directions.  I have no real bowls, the three plastic ones I bought from CVS, melted to new positions.  My two sauce pans are rusted, giving our food a new ashy look and taste. What I don’t understand is this, if I have so few dishware and cookware things left, then why is the sink always so full?

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