Chuckle #478 | December 21st, 2011
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One of my favorite things to do on Christmas Eve is to drive around town and ogle the holiday lights. Nothing gets our family in the holiday spirit faster than the serene glow of electric “candlelight”, a glimpse of twinkling trees, and passing a carton of eggnog around in the car. It’s all so magical.
Of course there's always the house that looks like it’s been decorated by elves on crack.
There are five strobe lights mounted to the roof and an inflatable Santa dressed as Elvis on the porch. Motion sensor trash-talking deer line the driveway and giant candy canes hang from the gutters.
If my kids were still little, this would be the house of unadulterated joy - well worth a special trip to the Italian side of town. Drive-by slowly enough and the kids will have just enough time to take it all in before the strobe lights trigger an epileptic fit.
If there is one thing that Italians know how to do well - no offense Uncle Nico – it’s how to amp up Christmas.
Some people need to be overstimulated in order to achieve the same holiday ‘high’ that the rest of us can get from a single spotlight and a wreath on the front door. These folks are either neurologically impaired, or just very devout. Real Catholics know that you can’t adequately Light the Way for baby Jesus with fewer than 15 extension cords.
Episcopalians think you can do it with two, (which is why no one does Christmas Eve drive-bys in those neighborhoods.)
I’m normally pretty tolerant, but when it comes to Christmas decorating, I’ve got certain pre-conceived notions about how it should be done...
1) Tastefully. No giant blow-up anything and absolutely no live reindeer chained to a stake in the front yard. They’re covered in ticks, just like regular deer.
2) Environmentally. Your abuse of the electrical grid should not imperil the neighborhood or require more than one power strip. Assuage your inner ‘light junkie’ with a trip to Vegas.
3) Skillfully. If your parents never taught you how to put up lights, don’t just wing it, get help. Go online, ask a friendly neighbor, look closely at other badly lit houses and try not to emulate them.
Speaking of the badly lit, there's a house in my neighborhood that is in serious violation of Rule Number 3. It sits amidst our tasteful white lights and tabletop menorahs reeking of the post-Christmas 50% off sale at CVS.
These folks have stretched a single strand of red lights haphazardly across the front of their house in a decorating style best described as ‘war zone’. The Santa heads mounted on spikes in the lawn scream French Revolution. The overall look is more Arab Spring than Happy Holidays, but maybe that’s what they are going for. For all we know, they could be Tunisian expats just trying to make CT feel more like home.
Or maybe they just have terrible taste in holiday decorations.
I understand that it can be hard to find the time to put the lights up AND get the holiday cards out. But I assure you that it is more important to put the lights up right than to just fling them over a random bush in the yard and drive your neighbors crazy for three weeks.
Think about it. You sit inside your house, oblivious to what it looks like from everyone else’s perspective. Take pity on us and pull the plug. And seriously, the Creepy Santa Heads have to go. They’re attracting way too many sketchy, eggnog swigging drive-bys.
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Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
Mommy Dearest, Please Don't Mail that Card!
Chuckle #477 | December 14th, 2011
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My teenage daughter is damaged goods. Or so she says. She claims that last year’s holiday photo card pretty much ruined her life. I thought the kids looked happy and adorable. But what do I know. A teenager’s mind works in mysterious ways. I get blamed for a lot of stuff, lost mittens, misplaced homework, lame tweets, etc... Almost everything I do is deemed “life ruining”.
Last year’s holiday card featured a lovely photo of my three glorious, well-adjusted children whose very existence reflects well on my husband and me. Isn’t that the point of sending out “photo” cards every year? If we had sullen, angry children and an ugly three-legged dog, we probably wouldn’t go to all this trouble.
What could my daughter have found so offensive about last year’s photo?
Then I saw “IT” - the raw nerve, the open wound, the smoking gun. “It” was a wide open metal mouth grin, snapped mid-guffaw, with my daughter’s unnaturally long epiglottis dangling in full technicolor view. I don't know how I missed that.
Damaged goods might actually be too kind.
My daughter is not taking any chances with the card this year. She’s issued ultimatums and made demands. And quite frankly, after the drama over last year’s photo, I am more than willing to make amends. So I have agreed not to use any photo in the holiday card without her prior consent. I have given her full dictatorial veto power over the holiday card. It’s the least I could do for the poor, ruined child.
If anyone gets a card from us this year it will be an authentic Holiday Miracle.
As you can see, I’m bending over backwards to be a nicer, better parent, when my natural inclination is to say something immature and sarcastic that I’m sure to regret later. But what about me? Does anyone care that pre-menopausal hot flashes make life especially challenging for moms during the holidays? Of course no one cares. (But you don’t hear us telling the kids that they’ve ruined OUR lives do you?) That’s because parents aren’t allowed to say stuff like that out loud.
We can only think it, mumble it under our breath, and sneak canned dog food into the meatloaf.
I told my daughter that I was “fine” with ‘photo shopping’ a more acceptable version of her head onto her body this year if that would make her happy. I’d even be “fine” doing a Partridge Family style montage instead of a group photo, if that would make her happy. My efforts at being loving, understanding and accommodating were met with outright suspicion and lingering hostility.
But that was before we played paintball.
My daughter is now very enthusiastic about using the photo of us dressed head to toe in military camouflage and wielding paintball guns. She likes this photo for two reasons. One, because her face is completely obscured by a visor and safety goggles, and two, she REALLY enjoyed gunning her mother down with semi-automatic paintball rifle. (Repeatedly, even when we were on the same team.)
The bruising was a small price to pay to get our relationship back on track.
The paintball photo would not have been my first choice for the holiday card. Writing “Holiday Peace and Joy to Your Family from Ours” seems a bit incongruous when my family is got up like a Texas militia. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
I miss the days when I could unilaterally choose the holiday photo, order the cards, and send them out without anyone complaining about a life-ruining epiglottis 'moment'. But I can see that my daughter has a legitimate point. I probably wouldn’t want her choosing which photo of me to put on the holiday card.
What if it showed my chin waggle, or what if I was braless under my grannie jammies? What if, God forbid, I was making my “crazy eyed Wookiee face”? What if it were all THREE at once!
With that thought in mind, I am giving up my Putin-esque control over the family card. Everyone will get a say in choosing the holiday photo this year. No more drama; and no more camo. Paintball may be the cheapest form of family therapy, but it’s definitely not in the Holiday Spirit.
----------------------------------------------------------------
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Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
scroll down to leave a comment
My teenage daughter is damaged goods. Or so she says. She claims that last year’s holiday photo card pretty much ruined her life. I thought the kids looked happy and adorable. But what do I know. A teenager’s mind works in mysterious ways. I get blamed for a lot of stuff, lost mittens, misplaced homework, lame tweets, etc... Almost everything I do is deemed “life ruining”.
Last year’s holiday card featured a lovely photo of my three glorious, well-adjusted children whose very existence reflects well on my husband and me. Isn’t that the point of sending out “photo” cards every year? If we had sullen, angry children and an ugly three-legged dog, we probably wouldn’t go to all this trouble.
What could my daughter have found so offensive about last year’s photo?
Then I saw “IT” - the raw nerve, the open wound, the smoking gun. “It” was a wide open metal mouth grin, snapped mid-guffaw, with my daughter’s unnaturally long epiglottis dangling in full technicolor view. I don't know how I missed that.
Damaged goods might actually be too kind.
My daughter is not taking any chances with the card this year. She’s issued ultimatums and made demands. And quite frankly, after the drama over last year’s photo, I am more than willing to make amends. So I have agreed not to use any photo in the holiday card without her prior consent. I have given her full dictatorial veto power over the holiday card. It’s the least I could do for the poor, ruined child.
If anyone gets a card from us this year it will be an authentic Holiday Miracle.
As you can see, I’m bending over backwards to be a nicer, better parent, when my natural inclination is to say something immature and sarcastic that I’m sure to regret later. But what about me? Does anyone care that pre-menopausal hot flashes make life especially challenging for moms during the holidays? Of course no one cares. (But you don’t hear us telling the kids that they’ve ruined OUR lives do you?) That’s because parents aren’t allowed to say stuff like that out loud.
We can only think it, mumble it under our breath, and sneak canned dog food into the meatloaf.
I told my daughter that I was “fine” with ‘photo shopping’ a more acceptable version of her head onto her body this year if that would make her happy. I’d even be “fine” doing a Partridge Family style montage instead of a group photo, if that would make her happy. My efforts at being loving, understanding and accommodating were met with outright suspicion and lingering hostility.
But that was before we played paintball.
My daughter is now very enthusiastic about using the photo of us dressed head to toe in military camouflage and wielding paintball guns. She likes this photo for two reasons. One, because her face is completely obscured by a visor and safety goggles, and two, she REALLY enjoyed gunning her mother down with semi-automatic paintball rifle. (Repeatedly, even when we were on the same team.)
The bruising was a small price to pay to get our relationship back on track.
The paintball photo would not have been my first choice for the holiday card. Writing “Holiday Peace and Joy to Your Family from Ours” seems a bit incongruous when my family is got up like a Texas militia. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
I miss the days when I could unilaterally choose the holiday photo, order the cards, and send them out without anyone complaining about a life-ruining epiglottis 'moment'. But I can see that my daughter has a legitimate point. I probably wouldn’t want her choosing which photo of me to put on the holiday card.
What if it showed my chin waggle, or what if I was braless under my grannie jammies? What if, God forbid, I was making my “crazy eyed Wookiee face”? What if it were all THREE at once!
With that thought in mind, I am giving up my Putin-esque control over the family card. Everyone will get a say in choosing the holiday photo this year. No more drama; and no more camo. Paintball may be the cheapest form of family therapy, but it’s definitely not in the Holiday Spirit.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
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