Thursday, December 15, 2011

Why can't I get into the holiday spirit?

    It all started with a dirty diaper.  
Photobucket
    Wait, back up, that's a bad place to start.  You need to read the beginning of this story first.

    The day I turned into Scrooge, it seemed like a beautiful day.  My children sang Christmas songs.  I thought all was right with the world.  We planning on getting a tree.  AND it was Sunday and I figured, if God liked that day, then so could I.
    Things unraveled around lunchtime.  We didn't get a tree.  Cade packed to go on a business trip.  After he left me WITH HIS FOUR CHILDREN, the kids practically got rabies.  They ran around screaming.  The Zombie Elf (my three year old) lathered himself with shaving cream and looked like the lead in Avatar.  I dragged Doctor Jones from the vents and begged her to stop throwing my precious ornaments away.  
    It was when The Zombie Elf locked all of the doors upstairs and left me with no easy way to get into them, that I almost fainted.
    But could I rest? . . . No, because Doctor Jones had just made a poopy and I wipe butts for a living.
    So, as I changed her "bum bum" (as she says), I just knew my three other children were up to no good.  I wrapped the diaper in a baggie and put it on the porch.  
    Before going on, let me explain: the point is that the Zombie Elf made diaper bombs once.  It was so terrible, so horrific, I never blogged about it.  Needless-to-say, that's why I'll put poopy diapers on the porch.  I always take them out soon after--when I find where the kids have hidden BOTH of my shoes.

    Since you know about my hectic day life, now you'll understand why this next part made me so angry.
    As I cleaned another layer of shaving cream off of the Zombie (who'd just finished soiling and ROLLING IN THE CLEAN LAUNDRY), someone politely knocked on the door.
    I ran toward it, threw an apron on and smiled.  "Yes.  Isn't this a wonderful day?  How are you?"  I batted my lashes and tried remembering if I'd brushed my teeth.
    Okay . . . I wasn't that bad, but I did want things to seem all right, especially when I saw Miss Priss on the other side of the door!
    Do you remember her?  She's my arch enemy--seriously.  She never makes mistakes.  While I'm wearing sweats and sporting a ponytail, she's dressed to impress.  I always see her at the worst times and she doesn't even know what a bad day is!
    To read about our history, please go here:



I left the bag in the turkey!

      So, Miss Priss was at MY DOOR--wow, what an honor--blah blah blah.  "We're doing just great over here.  How are you today?" I said louder.
    "Unwell," she said.  "I go jogging every morning . . . as I'm sure you know . . . and almost every day at this time, you have a dirty diaper on your porch."
    She was kidding right?!  She would jog looking like that?  That set was what I'd wear to a prom.  I just stared at her.
    "These diapers," she motioned to the lone diaper on my porch and scooted away from it, "are bringing down the property values in our neighborhood."
    "Really?"  I asked, but on the inside I wanted to punch her in the fake boob!  Our property values are already so low, how could a diaper bring them lower?
    "Next time, I suggest you take your trash to the garbage can where it belongs."
    "Thank you so much for your . . . concern," I said.  
    Then, as she strutted away, my children screamed in the house and I thought I might explode.
    The Grinch's actions never made sense to me.  I never understood Scrooge, not until last Sunday when Miss Priss made my heart shrink two sizes too small!  I hate admitting this but that day I hated the holidays; I didn't care for Christmas, but most of all I loathed Miss Priss!
    It's strange though, how strong emotions can bring unity.  The Scribe and the Hippie ran up to me after I shut the door.  "I don't like that woman," the Hippie said.
    "Yeah," the Scribe agreed.  "Plus, we've been talking and we think she's a witch."
    "What?" I asked.
    "Don't you remember reading 'The Witches' . . . Women like that always wear gloves.  They love wigs and they're mean to children."
    "So."  I crossed my arms.
    "She always wears gloves!" the Hippie said.
    "That hair can't be real."  The Scribe smiled.  "And we know she's mean to children.  Plus, take off all that makeup and I bet she'd look hideous."
    "O-kay," I said.
    "We need a plan."
    "What do you suggest we do?" I asked.
    "We need to pull off her wig!" The Scribe's eyes shone and I nearly died of laughter.  
    Sure the Zombie Elf had found the shaving cream again.  Sure, Doctor Jones made another poopy, but things weren't so bad.
    "I can think of something even better," I whispered, then cackled until my throat hurt like hell!  
    Miss Priss would regret talking to me; she's rue the freakin' day!  My idea was epic, even better than this!
Photobucket

    "If all of you can find the trash in our house and put it in a garbage bag, then I'll give you ice cream." 
    They were so excited.  They sang songs about sleighs bells and "Santa Baby."  My two youngest kids stopped being hellions and collected trash instead.  It was glorious, fantastic, and as soon as we finished filling two HUGE sacks with broken toys and ripped-up ads, I put the sacks on the porch, right on top of that diaper, then I shut the door.
    Miss Priss jogged by later that day.  She wore tight, black pants, a fancy sweater, ear muffs and (as my kids said) a wig.  I waved to her as she passed by.  But she gave me the look of death.  Maybe my actions weren't nice.  I know they weren't Christian.  I know it wasn't a good thing to teach my children.  It's just that I'm sick of people walking all over me.  
    Once a friend told me I have a flashing sign on my forehead.  "It says, 'come take advantage of me; be mean to me; steal the ADT sign that used to be in my yard!'"  Well, last week I stood up, and that garbage on my porch stands for something . . . it stands for the words "Have a Merry Christmas and LEAVE ME ALONE!"
    I've never flipped someone off--at least not intentionally--but now I understand why people do it.  Sometimes it's fun telling people to mind their own business.
    Have you ever done something like this?  Do you think I'm terrible?