The Joy of Christmas Shopping

I just finished watching "The Middle" and the Christmas episode.  It completely cracks me up simply because I am so Frankie Heck.  How many times have I made a commitment to simplify Christmas and stop trying to make every present equal in size and number dispersed for children?  Can't have one child feeling like s/he is less loved because of the amount spent/size of present.  And yes, as a matter of fact, Virginia, I DO count the number of each color of Hershey Kisses I put into each stocking. 

I'd like to add a few more stresses to my long list of Christmas complaints.  One is occurring right this minute.  One of my children is hanging 6 inches from my face and not moving because she absolutely must have glue stick for a gift she is making for her brother.  I am expected to drop everything I am doing and run to the craft store and get them RIGHT NOW.  1) I am not leaving the comfort of my pajamas any earlier than I must (dinnertime) and 2) I spent an hour and a half at the craft store getting a present for her.  In fact, what you missed between this sentence and the one previous is an argument that ended with her stomping off in frustration because I am not helpful enough.

Next frustration is the child(ren) whose Christmas wish list changes with every commercial.  When the wish list actually has something on it twice in a row, I start thinking it may be something s/he actually wants.  I go buy it and the list changes again.  In fact, yesterday, after a particularly frustrating shopping day (read: trying to please all those little people that keep pulling me in one direction or another and can NOT GET that I am not at their beck and call simply because they are bored and I do NOT need to come home to entertain them), two of my children informed me what they really, really, really, really want.  Okay, I am seriously afraid for my safety out in the big, bad capitalistic world today.  Terrified, in fact.

Last night I dropped my girls off to have girl-time and shop.  I then took the boys out to lunch with my dad paying.  The girls called for me to pick them up.  Traffic was horrendous and it took me 18 minutes to drive the 3 miles to get them.  Way too many traffic lights.  By the time I got to the store where they were, I couldn't find any place to stop without halting traffic.  I pulled into a too small parking stall, making a mental note to not scrape the car beside me.  The girls got in and complained I took too long to get there and I noticed a car waiting for my parking spot.  While they are complaining and another child had to talk to me RIGHT NOW, the rain coming down, I carefully maneuvered the new Kia Sedona out of the parking stall, taking care to not scrape the other car, trying to hurry so the other person could take the stall.  That's when I heard the sickening crunch.

Oh, yeah.  I totally backed up into a Land Cruiser.  That's when the profanities began.  Although it's difficult to translate my single word into a swear word.  It was something like, "shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit..."  Meanwhile, the ungrateful children are yelling at me to watch my language while I'm trying to figure out how to get my van out of reverse and into drive.  And no, my mouth did not stop.  In fact, I think I may have included a little "shut up" in there.  I am a stellar example of parenting, you know.

60 seconds later, I had the van parked in a different stall, quickly evaluated my crushed tail light and cracked bumper, getting soaked in the rain while I am still saying that long, long word, I walked up to the Land Cruiser and picked a big piece of red plastic off the metal grill, knowing it was my tail light.  The owner had just entered her SUV and had no idea what had just happened.  She looked terrified as I knocked on her window, water now dripping into the neck of my sweater. We found a crack in her head light.  She called her husband who told her that was already there.  Damage to my van will equal more than I spent on Christmas this year.

Subdued, we pulled into the garage and I sat down on the couch.  Now the 10 year old played the guilt card.  I PROMISED I'd take him Christmas shopping, too.  He did not care one little, teeny, tiny bit that I'd crashed the van.  He was not letting me off the hook.  Back to the circus, ending up at Walmart where I looked for a sharp object to slash my wrists or poke in my eye.  No such luck.  Next to Seagull Book to finish it off and then he wanted a frozen yogurt on this drizzly, cold winter night. 

Back to the garage, I dropped the boy off and ventured out AGAIN.  There was a screaming sale on Cricut cutters at the craft store from 9 - 11 p.m.  I was dead on my feet but, in case you care, I got a personal Cricut for $69 plus $10 off coupon.  I know!  It ALMOST made it worth it.  Except for the $1000 - $1400 damage to my van.

Home at last for the night, I was assaulted with new Christmas gift ideas and I started for the kitchen, looking for that sharp object once again.  Scott stopped me before I jammed it into my eye and offered dinner.  Everybody went to bed and my wired body and mind finally turned off at 5:30 a.m. 

Now you go ahead and judge me for wearing my pajamas at noon.  Go ahead!  While you're at it, throw me some glue stick, will you.  I have no doubt I will feel guilt and go buy some as soon as I pull the auger from my eye.