Wrapping Gifts With My Mom Is Some Of The BEST Parts Of Christmas

HOLY BABY MOSES FLOATING IN A BASKET!!! THE CHRISTMAS POST I THOUGHT I LOST... I JUST FOUND WHILE TOURING AROUND THE INNARDS OF MY BLOG.

I totally found out what searches people use to find me and about several countries I am not certain I could locate on a map that I have made an appearance in.

So this post is brought to you by my own curiosity... Let's pretend that it is December Twenty something.... maybe the 22nd. Or the 20th. Just sometime before Christmas or none of this makes any sense. Not that it would anyway....


My mom and I have always had a great time at Christmas. If you want to tinkle yourself laughing. Hanging out with my mom is the place to be. I have been up since yesterday. In the morning. Nearly 24 whole entire hours, but the times I am with my mom in the middle of the night are not times that I would trade. Some of my most memorable conversations with my mom have arisen at 2 a.m. You may think that is a heinous time to be awake, but really you do want to be awake with my mom in the middle of the night. You will never regret the sleep you didn't get.

Case in point: Tonight we put the kids to bed and stayed up. "We" wrapped Christmas gifts. By "we" I mean that I wrapped everything that she bought with the exception of what she got for me. You  might think to yourself that you would rather shove tiny shards of broken Christmas bulbs up your finger nail beds than wrap the eleventy billion assorted gifts that someone else bought, but you would be wrong.

Half way through wrapping the gifts she stopped and shouted, "Eric had a giant pepperoni!!!" I, of course, died laughing since I may or may not have already made the pepperoni into a rude display of pretend genitalia. But don't tell my husband. He might refuse to eat the delicious pepperoni.

Up next... and by next... like three hours later... after a trip around the town at 2:15 a.m. to find change to create this gifted wonder and to get boxes because we ran out of supplies... we attempt to make... a money shirt. Mom found a "money shirt form" in a catalog. She ordered it because it sounded awesome. You just needed six bills of any kind. Did we have them? No. Was it 2 a.m. and we weren't quitting after coming so close to finishing? Yes! So off I go in search of something... anything... that was still open. Nada. McDonald's was, but I had to literally ask for three different items before finding something to order because I don't know what McD's serves in the middle of the night. Except I do now. Breakfast. At 2. Whatevs.

On the way back I found a drugstore that was open. Huzzah!!!! I can get boxes!!! And where were you half an hour ago when I couldn't order at McD's or get change???

Boxes in hand, I head back to mom's house where we will attempt to construct the shirt. There were very intricate directions so it should be easy. Yes? NO! You have to make little origami pieces of money from hell. You fold, fold, fold, bend, stick, curse, rearrange, pull your hair, shout 'what the hell is wrong with this?' and then realize that you have the little tab stuck in the wrong spot. You fix, adjust and correct only to realize that this shirt is the ugliest junk you have likely ever seen.

Don't believe me?

Please notice the tiny hamster sized buttons

The company tried. They really did. We had step by step destructions and they included a gift bag. Uh huh, yep. A gift bag. For this fabulous shirt...

Mom: This is terrible and it was hard to put together.

Me: Well... (I really want to try to help this little shirt. If it wasn't made of money everyone would point and laugh at it.)

Mom: No. Look at it! It is just big enough for the hamster to wear.

Warning: Touching this shirt will result in ridiculous and unexplainable laughter

Mom: If I would have had to do this I would have gotten frustrated and just put the money back in my wallet. Or thrown it into the box in heap.

Me: Let's just put it all in a box. Maybe in a box it will be better.

The box makes it better, right?

We agree. Putting it all in a box didn't help, but at least it is in a box. And it is money. Right?


Mom: I have another one. It is  money machine!

The money machine was supposed to be for me. Do I want to put it together at 4 a.m.?

Me: Nooooooooooooo.........

Mom: The thing about this one is that there are no directions.

Greeeeaaaaaat. No. Directions.

Except that once I get it assembled without directions it is cool. Despite looking like a pop up tissue box printed with hundred dollar bills, yo'.




Christmas with mom. Wouldn't trade it. And I didn't even tell you about looking at lights....

... or what she did at this house.

In case you were wondering, the brakes in her car work. Really. Well. I know. From. Experience.

And This Is How You Know He Is Feeling a Little Better....

For those of you who missed it, my grandfather is fighting a battle with cancer. Lately, Cancer has been winning. Today. Yesterday? I decided enough. I called his nurse. No one slaps around people I love and gets away with it. (Consider that your official warning. I wrote it down so you can't say you didn't know should you be someone who decided to mess around with my people.)

We got him on a new pain medicine and I think that it might be working. I have been keeping a skeptical eye on him because this is a man who feels no pain. Growing up I can remember seeing him come in after trimming the palms and he would be dripping blood from his arm and never know it was there. Have you ever been poked by a palm thorn? That shit hurts. I think palm trees might be tiny little assassins.

In light of knowing about how he is with pain, saying "I am feeling better" could just mean I don't feel like my body has been  lit on fire and then danced upon by tiny little axe murderers bearing palm tree spikes. It could be that it is just the tiny axe murderers with toothpick spikes. Or being lit on fire, but not both. Nevertheless, I am watching. Cancer pain be gone you hateful bitch.

I think that he may actually be feeling better. I went over at 3:55 to make sure he took his 4:00 a.m. pills. I walked into his bedroom and he appeared to be sleeping so I snuck up on him. Of course, he was awake. He flipped over... rather quickly for an 80 plus cancer patient. He smiled at me and said that he knew one of us would be over to check, but that I shoulda just stayed in bed. Really? Like that was going to happen. How could I make sure that the assassins weren't stabbing him in the face with the palm tree spikes if I was snoozing?

I hand him his pills 3:58 a.m. But it isn't 4 a.m. yet. I think it is OK. Let's just take them. He does. My heart sings with the joy of peanut butter flavored chocolate.

After he takes his pills, I sit down beside him on his bed made of what feels to my behind like bricks. (No wonder he sleeps on the floor so much.) We talk about the pain and then he tells me a story. And this story tells me more about how much better he is feeling than when he says "my pain level is half of what it was."

I asked him on a scale of one to ten what is the pain level. This is a question doctors ask so it must be important. He tells me maybe a five and that I sound like that lady at the bank. The whaa?

Pap: I ever tell you the story about the guys at the bank?

Me: Nope. Not that I can remember.

Pap: He was a real jerk.

Me: ----. giggle.

Pap: The bank lady called and asked if I would take a survey about him and I said sure. I told her I didn't like him and he didn't like me. I would be glad to take the survey.

Me: Well.

Pap: So she asked me on a scale of one to ten how I would rate him. I said well, if you are giving me a scale of one to ten I would rate him a ZERO.

Lady: Our scale doesn't go that low.

Pap: Well, mine does and he is a ZERO. He is good for nothin. All these years at your bank and he gives me the run around about cashing a check. I tell him if it don't go through I got enough money in there to cover the check.

Me: How much was the check? (Thinking it was a possibly large check)

Pap: $27.00.

Me: -----.

Pap: Yeah, he gave me a hard time so I gave him a zero. (Pauses, thinking.) You know what, I haven't seen him in there in a long time.

Me: Probably you got him fired.

Pap: Good. He was.... obnoxious.

This. This is how I know he is feeling better. Not that he said "I am feeling better than I have in two months" or that he ate today, more than one time and without a gun or palm tree needles pointed at him. This story and his humor let me know that he is feeling a little better. I can go to sleep happy.

And to the Zero at the bank? I hope he maybe did lose his job. Who gives and 80 something year old man a hard time about a twenty seven dollar check regarding his beloved slightly recently deceased wife? That is just asking for the little assassins to come after you with palm tree spikes.

Christmas

I just wrote the coolest Christmas entry. Complete with pictures.

I was editing spelling. Did I save it? No. Round one to the computer. You win.

And now I am pissed. I will write it again. Later. Boo!

Count Your Blessings, but for the love of all things sacred DO NOT sit in my spot!

My darling angel children had a little performace at our church this past weekend. I love going to church. I love to feel the love in a church. I love to go to a place for the same reason as other people (to worship and get a little Jesus because I sooooo need it) and I love, truly love, singing songs with the congregation. Sometimes I love it so much, I mist up a bit. (I know, I don't even believe it.)



Picture intentionally blurred. Or not.



I love it when the kiddies perform. They are so stinkin' cute. Seriously. I don't even really like most kids, but who can't love this?

I'm smiling because I am not where I am supposed to be and there isn't anything you can do about it without looking like a meanie head!

Yes, that is Mini Me. And she isn't necessarily doing what was intended, but hey... she isn't pulling the tail on the sheep beside her so that is a win. Right? Yes!

OK - So when all of the kids are performing it tends to pack out the church. What a great opportunity for church growth you might think if you were listening to my thoughts. I hope you aren't listening to my thoughts and if you are I am so sorry. Even I try not to listen to me. Sorry, squirrel! moment. It has passed.

Back on track. So. A little kid performance draws in a ton of visitors. I am telling you that the people show up early and plentiful complete with donations and cameras and extra sparkles and perfume and hats and a run on sentence. Better than Easter. Children's perfomace day is a day to show your best, Church. Seriously. Those of you who know me are preparing yourself for the other shoe. Here it is: If you know that you are presenting yourself to people who may never go to church except once a year, why, why, why would you show people this?





"Count your blessings, but for the love of God keep your butt, your camera and you potential donations OUT of my pew!"

One of these folded signs did literally read "Count Your Blessings." 
Really? Just how many of the teens have children who are performing? Hmmmmmm... I wonder what people would have done or felt if Jesus had welcomed them this way? What if this was the only time someone had EVER been to church? What if this was your ONE opportunity to save a soul?

To be fair, the teen group was not the only ones guilty of this. LAST year, one old person hit someone with their cane for being in their spot. Seriously. Well, almost hit her. OK. Didn't hit her, but did stand in an empty sanctuary having a hissy fit about where to sit! Guess which child didn't have a parent there to watch them this year? Yup. You guessed it. Because of the idiotic behavior of the people who are members of the church a little girl had no adult there to watch her this year. Congratulations on your successful welcoming of potential new members. Or not.

People wonder why there is such a religion fail in this country, in this world. Scroll up. I never claim to be perfect. There was but one perfect person and I am not Him, but you can bet if I had to welcome guests to my home I am not going to put signs on my chairs that say "reserved for the family dog" or "you are lucky we invited you here, so sit on the floor, bitches."

The program was amazing. I love my kids and I love to watch them do their thing and feel proud of themselves. The entire group of children and the people helping the children did a great job. "Big church" (what I like to call the sanctuary people)? Way. To. Fail.

I am singing! I am singing and smiling... because I am pulling the tail of the sheep

Guess how I got such a cool pic of Little Miss Trouble? From the floor.

My gradfather has cancer. In related news, I think my mom is a pirate.

*DISCLAIMER: Cancer is not funny. Cancer is serious and debilitating. The conversation I had was hilarious and revealed to me that my mom might be a pirate. Or a passive aggressive murderer. One of those. Possibly both.

Recently we learned that my grandfather has Oral cancer. I am saddened by this, but not especially suprised. He has chewed cigars (yes, I said chews. As in, take a bite of the cigar and keep in in your cheek for three days.) for my entire life and certainly before I was born. When I went over for a visit the following conversation happened. There is a high probability that it is only funny to me due to the massive stress I am experiencing about life right now. Possibly it is just funny.

Me: How are you feeling?

Pap: Well, I feel OK. So I guess I am not taking the pain pills anymore.

Me: They are what keeps you not feeling bad.

Pap: What do those doctors know?

Me: Ummmm....

Hubs: (sitting quietly in the corner so I don't snipe his head off. Again)

Pap: You know I went in to get my teeth pulled. I told them I wanted them all out and get a set of pearly whites. That doctor wouldn't do it. Sent me to a different doctor. A surgeon.

Mom: He told him to prepare for the worst. I knew what he meant.

Pap: Well, I just thought prepare for the worst meant I had to get all my teeth out.

Me: (confused, but keeping silent. Didn't he go to the doctor to get them all out in the first place?)

Pap: Instead of taking my three teeth out.... AND theystill  hurt... they took out a hunk of my cheek.

Mom: The doctor said to expect the worst. How did he not know they were checking for cancer?

Me: Well, they could have been looking for something else. (Someone has to defend Pap; he has cancer, people.)

Mom: What? What else could they be looking for with a biopsy?

Me: Ummm....

Husband: (Who gave you permission to speak?) Yah, what else are they looking for when they take a biopsy? (His eyes are sparkling, he better not be laughing at me. I'm about to learn what my mom's super hero power is and I will use it on him!)

Me: I don't know. (I am not a doctor and was distracted by all of this pressure about what else a biopsy looks for, but now that no one is badgering me I think they could be looking for all kinds of things... I am just not telling you because I am experiencing PTSD about being yelled at and I forgot again.)

Pap: Well, They sure took a biopsy, allright. That damn doctor took it out and hung a strip of my mouth in front of my eyes.

Me: (stunned horror)

Pap: Ha! Tells me to close my eyes whe he is sewing it up, but shows me the piece of meat he took out of my mouth.

Me: (still unable to form words)

Pap: Then he comes in and tells me the other day that it is cancer.

Me: Well, you do chew cigars. This diagnosis makes sense.

Pap: (Laughing, wth?) I haven't had a cigarret in my mouth in my entire life. Tell all the doctors that, too.

Me: You use smokeless tobacco.

Mom: And I fill out your forms. I tell all the doctors you chew cigars.

Pap: Chewing doesn't have anything to do with the cancer. I chew on the other side.

Me: (Whuk?)

Pap: Nope, I got the cancer because I bit myself.

Me: (trying to process how he thinks that biting the inside of his mouth would cause a mutation of cells. Can't.)

Pap: Besides, I haven't had a cigar in my mouth in a month. Have to wait till my mouth feels better. I got $25 in cigars waiting for me.

***and this is where it gets crazy***

Anyone who knows my grandfather is aware that if anything costs more than seventeen cents he isn't interested in it for himself (he will spare no expense for his family, but for him $0.17 is his personal limit). $25 of cigars is equivallent to eleventy million dollars to him. I know he fully intends to have cigars in his mouth again. My mother is outraged at his plan. Her outrage turns her into a passive aggressive murdering pirate.

Mom: You may have them, but by the time you can get them into your mouth they will be gone! (Her eyes are maybe turning red and glowing here.)

Pap: Can't let it go to waste.

Mom: THEN YOU CAN GIVE THE TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS IN CIGARS TO SOMEONE YOU DON'T LIKE!!!!!

Me: (Still unable to speak. Did my mom just say that?)

I am sad about my grandfather, but I love my family. Even my mom. Especially my mom. Even if she might be planning on giving the cigars to me after she reads this. I will just hope that they are alrady gift wrapped for the person at the pahrmacy who crossed her about getting my grandfathers cancer medication. Look out pharmicyarista, my mom has a gift for you. It's cigars.

My Best Friend Can Make You Spew Coke Through Your Nose

...without even trying to do it.

Some of you are like "Ewwww. Gross." You should probably stop reading right now. Those of you nodding because this has happened to you totally understand what I am talking about. And you few. Yes, you there with the eybrows all akimbo...I know what you are thinking. "At least it wasn't Dr. Pepper. That junk buuuuurrrrnnnnnns!"

So. After lunch we were sitting in her room and she gives me this coke (because I am feeling only about 42% well today). I notice it has a delicate mist over it and begin to sing to the can (because that's how we roll) to the the tune of "Hey Soul Sister" ... and, no. Don't ask. I won't sing it here for you right now. We sing impromptu songs all the time and if you miss the moment, you miss it. Maybe I will sing for you a song someday, but not now. Back to the nose-coke-spewing. The can top hadn't been popped yet, so I am pretty sure that she wouldn't have meade me spew this can. Probably.

So here is the scene... we just finished our musical number for the coke can (I think he liked it) and in my random almost ADD fashion I glance at the bookshelf behind her desk. Conversation as follows... read fast because the following conversation happened in about 45 seconds. I will play the role of me and my Biff will be known as Panda.... because I said so.

Me: Gasp! You have a book about pie! (I notice these things because I like food)

Panda: Meh, it was a freebie. I haven't read it yet.

Me: *BUT IT IS ABOUT PIE* (Eyes wide, folks. We are talking about dessert here!)

Panda: Yes. It is about pie. (Unenthused. *What* is her problem!?!?! It's PIE!)

Me: (Eyeing the book) Well, I like pie. (Could I steal this book unnoticed?)

Panda: (A smile forming... oh! I know this smile. I love this smile.) You see what kind of pie?

Me: NO. Who cares? It's PIE! I like pie.

Panda: (Grinning... uh oh. This is dangerous) BUT.... do you like pussy pie?

Me: Huh? (Confused! I hate cats and vaginas. Gross.)

Panda: Mmmmm hmmmm.... Look at the cover.

Me: HOLY CROW! (Grabbing the book.... YES! It is all there.... )

Panda: (Laughing because she knows the word pussy makes me uncomfortable)

Me: (Looking at the cover. Gasp!!!) You are laughing, but do you know what kind of pussy pie it is?

Panda: Um, no. (Bet she was distracted by the cat and thinking of naughty words.)

Me: CHERRY pussy pie.

.... and then we both burst into laughter. Thank Cheezus that can of coke was not open. That would have been a wet book.

Please. Never let me near a fundraiser form.

Well. It is that time of year again. You may be thinking Fall, but no. What I am talking about is fundraising season. Every Dalton, Hailey, Kimberly, Diana, and Michael are out hawking their wares like gypsies. Only more scary because they are related to you/related to your boss/sociopaths outside the grocery store. You know you have to purchase something. You don't want to be the *only* person at the Thanksgiving table with *nothing* ordered from the catalog of the teen trying to go rebuild a broken village in some third world country that was hit by a tornado/tsunami/plague of STDs. Well, unless you are me. If you are me you do horrible things to the catalog, convince other people to do them too and then smile whilst handing back the catalog You do this all while thinking about looking at Target for that candle/wrapping paper/popcorn container/peanut brittle/ whateverthehecktheyareselling because you know it is going to be a third the price there.

I am known, occasionally, for my different ... perspective on things. I just view things a little different from other people or they view things different than me. Either way, I am quirky. Unique? Odd? Yes. Often odd. I am cool with it. I *like* odd. So anyway, my SIL flies down for a visit. She brings with her the fundraiser form for her child #1. He is selling candles. *Yankee candles* (I find this funny because they are sooooooo rooted in not a Yankee state, but I digress). She brings the form on her mini vacation and whips it out at the family dinner. In the following conversation the (hugs) are my internal monologue. I frequently have my own conversations. Some things are better left unsaid, but I like to think the hell out of them (so they go to heaven).

SIL: You should take the catalog with you and decide what you want.

(I am soooo longing to look at a fundraiser catalog while relaxing at a hotel. Whatever would I do with my time otherwise?)

Me: Sure. Their stuff is great (for making me sneeze. OMG I *do not* need another candle). Do you have any apple in the catalog?
(I can always use apple and if I buy apple husband probably won't murder me. Maybe)

SIL: Oh, I don't know (huh?) You will have to look and see. *AND* The catalog is scratch and sniff.

Me: (trying not to break my neck with my suddenly captured attention) Whuk? Scratch and SNIFF!!!! (Best catalog ever.)

SIL: Yup. You want to see it?

Me: (Winning best Aunt ever award) Oh, yes I do!

...... later, much, much later.....

Several members of the family are splitting a hotel room. We are all chilling and (finally!) it is my turn to see what I want from the catalog. Turns out. I am poor. I do not want anything. However I am intrigued by the catalog. There are magic circles. If you rub the magic circle... suddenly, fragrance! Pine, sugar cookies, baked apples, pumpkin pies... all sorts of glorious fragrance erupt from the pages. These pages smell fantastic. Also, extremely realistic. As I am sniffing... vanilla something or other I think "huh, this smells just like vanilla - I wonder if it tastes like vanilla. Vanilla is like a ninja fragrance. Smells good and all, but it will kick your ever lovin' butt with its badness. Sometimes my thoughts are like a cancer. I think them and they eat at me until I have to just get them out. I start obsessing. What do the circles taste like??? I look around. Someone is showering, someone is blowing dry hair, someone is changing in a closet... *no one* is looking at me. Score.

Anyone who knows me well would find my next action very hard to believe. I am a bit of a germ phobe. I pretend to sniff the pine. Surely anything that strong smelling will taste like something - right? So. I pretend to sniff and instead... put my tongue on the circle. Nothing. No flavor at all. I am so astounded that I just lick another one. And another. OK - I definitely licked at least five more until...  I am caught.

Niece: Gasp! Did you just lick that?

Me: No. I licked *that* one. You should try it.

Niece: Um, no. Gross.

Me: Seriously. It tastes like *nothing* - smells great tastes like nothing.

Niece: I don't trust you.

Me: When have I lied to you?

Niece: You told Jason the cupcake wrapper was edible like the Chinese candy wrapper. He believed you and he ate it.

Me: Yes. I did that. But when have I lied to *you*? Also, I would like to point out you helped me sell that obvious lie. Sheesh!

Niece: Never

Me: Exactly! (thrusting form over) DO IT!

Niece: (hesitating greatly... what *is* wrong with her?????) It...it doesn't taste like anything.

Me: I know! Let's make your mom try! (Snatches catalog and dances off...)

Eventually, every single person in that room licked that catalog. I want to tell you that no circles that are scratch and sniff actually taste like anything. We had seven people in our room. We *all* tried it (eventually... some people and their trust issues!). Then, I made another victim ... errrr... relative try it the next day.

I didn't order anything, but I sure did have fun with the catalog.

Before you ask. No. We never told her that we all tasted the pages of her catalog. And you can't either. Sometimes at night I think about her with that catalog in her Sunday school class and people thinking... why does this catalog smell like mouth?