Today was a lot more productive than yesterday. Unless, of course, you define productive as WE SAT AROUND THE HOUSE IN OUR PAJAMAS ALL DAY, READING BOOKS AND PLAYING VIDEO GAMES ON OUR PHONES. Hubs swears that he has no regrets over yesterday, even though I posted on the World Wide Web that he played a game on his phone until his phone died.
His phone died TWICE playing that game.
Also, my fit bit said that I took 739 steps yesterday. I know that a lot of fitness gurus will read that and, with shocked expressions… with their eyebrows raised clear up into their bangs… yell, “I get 739 steps IN MY SHOWER every morning.”
Dude. I didn’t TAKE a shower yesterday, so CLEARLY.
But this morning, we thawed the Suburban out, as she’d been sitting in our driveway for a few days, completely unused. Thing 2 and I shoveled her out, warmed her up, and off we went to hockey practice. And then we ran errands and popped into Walmart for a humidifier, because the static electricity in my hair is going to push me right into a convertible car, in a very Thelma-and-Louise-style scenario. We cleaned house and did laundry and YES, FELICIA! We were productive members of our society today, because the boy helped me clean out my walk-in closet.
WE GUTTED AND CLEANED A WALK-IN CLOSET.
Commence the clapping.
Also? Well, I texted Hubs at lunchtime today to let him know exactly how my day was going. I simply texted, “Can you clean chicken pox off with soap and water? Why do they call it chicken pox? How do you get rid of chicken pox? Do chickens actually get chicken pox? Can I have three cinnamon rolls after I eat lunch? Why are a lot of cinnamon rolls not good for kids? What if they’re gluten-free cinnamon rolls? Why aren’t a lot of gluten-free cinnamon rolls healthy for kids either? What kind of oven do we have? Where is the oven fan? What kind of oven fan do we actually have? How do they put light bulbs in ovens? If your whole family dies, who puts you in that box in the ground, if you don’t have a mom and a dad to do it, and you died, too? What are spark plugs? How many spark plugs do we have? What do spark plugs do? If you have a lot of spark plugs, does your car go faster? Who made Legos?”
I finally had to tell Thing 2, “Please. For the love! Go talk to Alexa!”
An hour later, Alexa hollered out, from her little round, computerized home, “Please! It’s time for you to ask your mother all these questions! You’re burning up my central processing unit!”
And then I looked at the calendar to count how many more days are left before Christmas break is over and kindergarten gets started back up.
Our Christmas Day was a busy one. With all of our families in town, we open gifts at our house, hop over to Mam and Pa’s house for breakfast and more gifts, and then drive out to Papa and Grammy’s house, for dinner and more presents. It makes for a busy day, but I can’t imagine spending it without all of our family around.
Thing 2 already has three toy train sets. Santa Claus brought him the Polar Express train last Christmas, but what Santa Claus failed to do was ACTUALLY READ THE DIMENSIONS ON THE TRAIN HE WAS ORDERING OFF AMAZON. Santa THOUGHT he was buying a small train last year, but when that small train arrived, he quickly found out that each train car was the size of a black lab dog. And there were four cars. And the track took up half the living room.
Throughout the year, Thing 2 talked each of his grandmothers into buying him OTHER toy trains, because, according to his five-year-old brain, “A boy can never have too many trains.”
Which is what he told Santa THIS Christmas. Santa vehemently disagreed with him, because Santa zeroed right in on the Mom Look, which said with the eyes, “ENOUGH WITH ALL THE TRAINS!” And then Thing 2 never quit asking for a remote control train that BLOWS REAL SMOKE, because none of the other three BLOW REAL SMOKE.
Which… you know… made it entirely different than all the others.
So Santa, in his last-ditch effort of sanity, before he just toppled over in exhaustion, had the elves make a smaller train, and YES! It blows real smoke out of the engine.
Thing 2 was up at 5:55 on Christmas morning, which was nothing short of a miracle, as the kid SLEPT IN. I was sound asleep at 5:55 on Christmas morning, dreaming, when I heard the screech.
“COMEHERECOMEHERECOMEHERE!!!! EVERYONE GET OUT OF BED!!!! GET OUT OF BED!!! SANTA CAME!!! HE CAME AND THIS TRAIN BLOWS REAL SMOKE AND THIS IS THE BEST CHRISTMAS EVER!!!!!”
I wish we had surveillance cameras in the living room that could have captured the excitement, because all we got to do was HEAR IT play out from our bedroom. Santa and Mrs. Claus high-fived each other in bed, because WHAT’S ONE EXTRA TRAIN SET, WHEN IT HAS BROUGHT THAT MUCH JOY TO A LITTLE BOY?
And yes. It blows real smoke. What Santa and Mrs. Claus did not realize was that real smoke coming out of a toy train smells a lot like a pile of plastic that has caught fire. It’s a smell that Scentsy is incapable of masking.
All the blesses.
Thing 2 wasted no time getting his teenage brother out of bed, because IT’S CHRISTMAS! IT’S CHRISTMAS! WHY ARE YOU STILL IN BED WHEN IT’S CHRISTMAS?!
Even the cat was a little disgruntled about being hauled out of bed with all the shouting.
… as millions of families were doing about that time…
… we opened our presents to one another at 6:00 on Christmas morning. Our friends, Keith and Carrie, get the boy a Sasquatch gift every year.
Every Christmas. Every birthday.
This year, Carrie sent him a turquoise Under Armour golf polo, which looks amazing. The boy loved it, but, after unwrapping it, he sighed and said, “I’m only SLIGHTLY offended that this wasn’t a Sasquatch thing!”
The boy also got some cologne from Abercrombie, so that he doesn’t SMELL like a Sasquatch (or like a toy train that blows real smoke, for that matter) around the ladies.
Thing 2 also asked Santa for “an Under Armour shirt with a hood,” and Santa felt like this was a much more reasonable gift, than a fourth remote control train set was.
It should be noted that Thing 2 ALSO asked Santa for a “real snowblower.” We HAVE a snowblower, because our driveway is long and steep, and shoveling it is something that’s best done by a high school wrestling team, which is trying to get a cardio workout in. Sadly, Hubs is no longer a high school wrestler, and we are now old folks who need a snowblower.
Last month, when Thing 2 was getting his hair cut, he asked the stylist if she had a snowblower. She said that she did not, and that she was stuck using a shovel on her driveway. She asked him if HE had a snowblower, and he replied, with a straight face, “My dad has one, but it’s so small, it’s embarrassing when he uses it.”
People! Hubs’ opinion on all power tools, vehicles, barbecues and major kitchen appliances is simply GO BIG, OR GO HOME. Our snowblower is NOT small. It’s a decent-sized contraption that puts others to shame. When I told Hubs what his boy had said to the hair stylist, he said, “Well. Now I have a snowblower complex, and I’m afraid to use it outside. My heart hurts a little that Thing 2 is EMBARRASSED BY MY SNOWBLOWER’S SIZE!”
Needless to say, Santa’s feelings were hurt about the whole snowblower conversation, and he DID NOT bring a real one to Thing 2.
But what Santa DID bring was a new PHONE to the boy. The boy’s smart phone was moving into the antique stage, as his parents insisted for months upon months… upon months, “If you want a new phone, then… by all means.. spend some of your very own money and buy one.”
The boy doesn’t like to spend his own money. The boy hoards his own money. Hubs and I are proud of this trait of his. What we were not happy about is that we could never get a hold of the boy, when he wasn’t home, because his phone’s battery was constantly dead.
CONSTANTLY… ALL THE TIME… DAY IN AND DAY OUT… DEAD.
His battery was ready for a museum, because LOOK HOW OLD IT IS, and he was forever telling me, “I’m sorry I missed your text! I used the calculator on my phone in calculus class and the battery died before second period.”
Santa and Mrs. Claus felt it was TO THEIR BENEFIT that the boy have a phone with a battery that had some staying power, and that, in a nutshell, is why the boy got the phone of his dreams on Christmas morning.
He was a little surprised.
He was A LOT surprised.
He can use the calculator and snap chat away and listen to music and watch an endless string of You Tube videos and text and text and text some more, and… at lunchtime… his battery is still at 83%.
His mother his happy.
He now has zero excuses for losing touch with his parents, while he’s out and about.
And then, at precisely 8:45 on Christmas MORNING…
… THIS happened:
The driest Christmas tree in the history of Christmas trees was disrobed, dis-lighted, disinherited, and taken out.
She left enough pine needles on my floors on her way out the door to assemble another twelve foot tree from scratch. You would not even believe the extent of my rejoicing to have that DRY MONSTROSITY GONE. I felt relief… and I sang songs of merriment over that thing being tossed alongside the driveway, to be taken to the recycling bin later.
And then… after the floor had been vacuumed and everyone had showered, we piled ourselves into the car and drove over to Mam and Pa’s house on Christmas morning for breakfast.
Y’all have a good Tuesday evening.