Just Call Me Mrs. Grench

Forgive my neglect but I’m dying. I haven’t had  a single moment alone in days nor been able to finish one thought through to the end since this fabulous winter break began. Plus I’m genetically challenged in the Patient Parent and Christmas Cheer departments and I’m  l o s i n g   m y    m  i  n  d.

It doesn’t help that I hate Christmas. It’s been meaningless to me since that day, long ago once upon a time when I peeped into reality and realized that the magic of Christmas was just something my grandparents pulled out of their credit card debt asses. Some super nice fat guy wasn’t watching me to see how nice I was! The snow fairy queen didn’t hand roll those coconut covered ice cream snowballs just for me! And who ate all those damn cookies I made so pretty just for Santa? Now Christmas is just a big fat pain in my ass. I think the only way I’d like it is if something could be done about this kid over-excitement, gimme gimme situation. And if I were rich. Then I could afford to not only buy enough gifts to drown the hell of “exteneded family-time” in but also pay someone to do that shopping for me. And yes, I’m talking about Christmas because despite our religious indifference, that’s what our family does to “bring light to the darkness of winter.” If you and your family “celebrate” something else, then good for you, but don’t get all pissy because I’m not using the PC term “holiday.”

So needless to say but I’m saying anyway, this school break/Christmas thing has really put a cramp into my “cramp relief medication” plan, not to mention but I’ll mention anyway my ability to sleep late, finish a thought or laugh with RM1 all day, let alone writing or getting any work done. The Renegade Moms had a school vacation survival plan but something went wrong. Yes, RM1 and I had fancy ideas that Pink and Green would play blissfully over at her house while we “worked” over here in my mess with pretty, mega-corporate-made coffees in hand and not an interruption in sight. But then two days into the break, what to my wondering ears did appear?

“You’re being a little bitch.”

Let me recap for you, please.

I was in my kerchief under a wrap, still settled in for my long winters nap, when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I lay in my warm bed and listened to the matter.

Pink was in the yard practicing his spells. Oh yes, he’s a regular Hermoine these days.

Pink: “Wingardium levioso! Wingardium levioso!”

Green: “I’m not playing.”

Pink: “I’m not playing a game. It’s real.”

Green: “Well I’m not playing.”

Pink: “I don’t care. This is real.”

A few more spells and a cat meow go by.

Pink utters an unintelligible “spell” and Green says the magic words. “Pink, you’re being a little bitch.”

Pink: “I’m telling.”

Green: “Hey Pink, you see that yellow swing?”  (The one hanging from the tree in our front yard.)

Pink: “Yeah, of course I do.”

Green: “It’s not yours.”

Pink: “Yes it is!”

Green: “No it isn’t.”

Pink: “Yes! It! Is! Green!”

Green: “No it isn’t.”

Pink: “Yes it is! The Easter bunny gave it to me!”

Green: “No he didn’t.”

Pink: “Yes he did, Green!”

Green: “You don’t even know the Easter bunny.”

Pink: “So, he gave it to me for Easter.”

Green: “The Easter bunny isn’t real.”

Pink: “Yes he is! He gave me that swing!”

Green: “No.”

Pink: “Yes. You’re not real. You’re a puppet.”

And then Green frowned and rode away on his bike, helmet clasps flapping in the wind.

Pink: “Hmph.”

And now, six days in, they are finally zapping sugarplums into the air together. Finally. And instead of using this blissful time to sneak a cigarette in the backyard or to wrap the ten bags of Target goodies Santa’s bringing tonight or to do any actual factual work, I’m spending it here, with you, in my happy place, RenegadeMoms.com. Yes, I made these cookies myself.

Fucking Christmas. Just call me Mrs. Grinch. And that’s Mrs. Grench to you, betch.

~RM2