I have decided that we need to revamp the following Christmas carol:
It’s the most wonderful time of the year.
It should say something like this:
It’s the most germiest time of the year.
December has been one long sick month. And it’s only mid-month. There has been, and still is, inordinate amounts of snot, used tissues, and coughing spit in all parts of this house. Popping pills and slurping syrup has become the new trend. Every family member wants to try it out.
Too bad all this drug taking isn’t making the tiny people tired.
We could also rename the song to this:
It’s the most exasperating time of the year.
Everytime I walk past a toy section in a store and examine the crap, the absolute junk that we call toys these days, I feel, among other things, pure exasperation. I feel disgusted, depressed and confused.
I also feel this way when I notice the extraordinary amounts of landfill-ripe rigid plastic the crap is wrapped in.
Note to self: you will require a well-stocked toolbox belonging to a full-time professional handyman on Christmas Day when opening and assembling toys.
Second note to self: call Bob (our basement renovater extraordinaire). He’s got a truck full of tools we’ll need to borrow.
Another way to sing the song could be like this:
It’s the most fattening time of the year.
I decided that I will let my frustrations, what with the germs and crappy toys and alll, out on butter. Like Mir. She bakes when she seethes. And she uses butter. I’m seething right now because the baby is sick and refuses to nap. The preschooler is sick and refuses to DO SOMETHING QUIET, like WATCH TV like NORMAL preschoolers for example, so the baby can GO TO SLEEP ALREADY. But no. He needs to play in bare feet with the Swiss cow bell, the kitchen broom, and the Doctor’s Kit. (I don’t ask.)
So I will go and take out my ingredients to make Nanaimo Bars.
Don’t blame me when there isn’t any left for you. Or if there isn’t any left by Christmas.
And send money. I will need larger pants in January.