December 2011


Things haven’t slowed down much here since last Thursday, so this is just a quick post to tell everyone Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. We had a wonderful Christmas. Santa came and was very good to the girls. Of all their gifts, so far the two favorites are a Slinky and a Smurfette bookmark. Santa could have saved a lot of money.

We went out to Lake Lanier Islands to see the lights the day after Christmas, so we exetended the holiday by a day. Now I just wonder how long I can milk this “Santa’s watching” bit into January.

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and are ready for a great New Year (unless those Mayans were onto something – then 2012 may be a little stressful).

As I dropped off Olivia at school one day last week, she was excitedly talking about her Christmas party that she was having that day.  “You know whose birthday it is on Christmas?”  she asked. 

“Whose?” I replied.

“It’s Jesus’ birthday!” she said.

“That’s right,” I responded.

After a few seconds of silence, she hit me with one of those six-year old theological questions, “When is the devil’s birthday?”

I was stumped for a second but then told her that since there was no incarnation of the devil, he doesn’t have a birthday.  You know this technique, use big words that will end the line of questioning.

“What’s a car-mation?”  She is very persistent.  “Is that like a car that you ride in?”

“Looks like we’re here!  Have a good day, Olivia.”  That was a total cop-out.

Regardless of your beliefs, I hope you take some time this Sunday to reflect on the real meaning of Christmas.  Even if you don’t believe all of it, let your mind wonder for a bit.  If you do believe, remember what that baby did. 

The holiday season is in full swing, so I thought I would do another one of my Christmas carol re-writes.  This one was inspired by our trip to Chateau Elan this weekend to visit Santa.  My six-year-old hopped in his lap and let him know that she wanted a real puppy, a real bunny, and a real guinea pig.  My three-year-old cowered behind her mother and refused to get within fifteen feet of Santa.  As we left, there were more screaming children terrified of the Big Guy.  It reminded me of the Santa scene in A Christmas Story.  Sing to the tune of Away in a Manger.

 

Away with that stranger, with fake hair on his head.

His beard scares the bejesus, out of kids filled with dread.

Facial scars near his eye, and eyebrows so gray.

Why are they snapping pictures?  I’m not going to pay.

 

The crying is slowing, and so do the shakes.

His boots are made of plastic and really bad fakes.

I move the child toward him, to give it a try.

She screams like a banshee when she sits on his thigh.

 

In line for two hours and now she isn’t going to stay.

He smells like he came, from a beef and cheese buffet.

Frustrated with the children, it’s time to end this affair,

And find another Santa, who’s not the size of a bear.

 

Alright, I’m no Weird Al, but Merry Christmas anyway!