The Twelve Hours of Christmas

Mock me if you must...my topic follows the minimalist tradition.

Holiday havoc...I visited Fantasy in Lights with my husband's family at Callaway Gardens this weekend. There were twenty-one of us. I could stop there, but I don't know that you could imagine the holiday "spirit" that filled me.

"April, did you get us tickets to Callaway?"

"Yes Mama, I said I would. I thought it would be fun if we rode the trolley to see the lights. That way we can all be together instead of strung out in four cars."

I looked at Ben with that look that should only be recognizable to him. It's also known as disguised panic. I motioned for him to follow me upstairs.

"Ben, it's gonna be twenty degrees tonight, and we're going right the damn trolley at nine o' clock to look at lights?????"

"Aunt Beth and April are excited, and the kids will love it."

Four hours later we are packed into a suburban like a mother of ten trying to wear her high school cheerleading uniform.

"Sir, you can't park here."

"Just unloading," Uncle Wayne replies.

"Sir, you can't unload here."

You don't tell Uncle Wayne he can't do anything. He is the patriach.

"Well then, I'll move as soon as everyone gets out."

We enter Santa's Village, which smells more like hotdogs and sausage on a stick than the north pole. It is cold. Not twenty-degrees in Pine Mountain cold. North Pole cold. Santa would cancel Christmas if he had to fly in this. And we're here to see the lights.

All the girls to take a potty break before we get in line for the trolley, so we find the nearest bathroom. There is a line about a quarter of a mile outside the door and down the sidewalk.

"Girls, there's another bathroom over there in the trailers if you want to use it," an slightly toothless peroxdide blonde calls out.

So we find the trailer. And it wasn't too difficult. Because the smell billowing from it could be used for military purposes. If we could have bottled this, well many a war may have ended differently.

But when you've got to go, you've got to go. So, we waited in line, downwind from the stench, and practiced living on Mars. Without oxygen. Only to find that the trailer was without air freshener and toilet paper.

I comforted myself with the fact that if I peed down my leg, at least I would have a few seconds of warmth. We found the line for the trolley and began the wait. Our tickets were for nine, and about ten-thirty we boarded our trolley. Within ten minutes all five of the kiddies in attendance (eight and under I might add) were asleep. Yea, the kids are sooo excited. So we froze. But we saw some really beautiful Christmas lights and we did a lot of laughing at ourselves. Good family Christmases aren't about a perfect turkey on the table and immaculately cleaned and decorated houses. There about laughing through the rough parts and enjoying each other regardless. They are about twelve hours that could have been hell, but were a little piece of heaven.

Holiday Memories

Hmm, so Holiday Havoc is the prompt. I'll just start with holiday memories and see where that takes me.

Holiday Memories:

• playing Pictionary with Wes's family ("We're the same stupid.")
• kickball games at Aunt Carolyn's house (Robby's shout during kickball)
• getting my 1974 MG Midget convertible for the 16th Christmas and not knowing how to drive a standard
• making candy with my family

Here's the Pictionary story: Will, my nephew, insists upon a family game of Pictionary the night before Thanksgiving, the one day we can all get together. I resist but not for long because everyone else is playing. Wes's two brothers, Billy and Jeff, play on the same team with Will, Billy's son. Wes and I are on the same team with others.

The card requires an all-play to draw Hercules. I'm no artist, so I draw my regular stick figure but give him big biceps. Of course, he looks like he has cysts or tumors instead of muscles, but it doesn't matter because Billy shouts out, "Hercules!"

"How did Jeff draw Hercules?" I wonder and lean forward to see his notepad. What I see is a stick figure standing between two columns, pushing them over. "That's Samson, not Hercules!" I yell.

Everyone laughs as they realize Jeff drew Samson. Billy grins and says, "My brother and me, we're the same stupid."

Here's another Thanksgiving story. This time we're at my aunt's house, where we eat Thanksgiving lunch with about eighty of my closest relatives. After the game ends, we head outside for the annual kickball game. I watch and talk to Wes while he snaps pictures.

My cousin Robby stands with some other cousins and talks while his wife Brenda plays.

Brenda kicks the ball, and it soars past the oak tree serving as third base. She rounds first and heads to second base, the Wal-Mart bag filled with pine cones. Tom, another cousin, gets the ball and fires it at Brenda. It nails her on the rear.

Robby yells, "Tom, if you missed the target, I was gonna tell you to get your eyes checked!"

I look at Wes and say, "How long have they been married?"

"Long enough, I guess," he responds.

***

Even though I chose the topic, it didn't really engage me until I started telling stories. Then, I typed and giggled, wanting to interrupt Lindsi and Diana to talk about my stories, but refusing to interrupt them while they typed.

How screwed up can you make a holiday?

Holidays, busy days, kids, in-laws, visiting, strange people, fights. So far this year has been a typical holiday. Thanksgiving saw fights and making up. My parents visited, experiencing their first thanksgiving. My son came home with his wife, more fighting. It was so nice when they left. Young may be sweet, but it isn't all its cracked up to be. I don't miss it. My mum and heaved a HUGE sigh of relief when it was back to "normal." Now I get to plan for Christmas. The tree is up. Pressies are yet to be bought, about one third complete. Son and wife will be back, bottle of wine in the fridge ready. Mother-in-law is visiting, she willbe moving here in January. Sister-in-law will visit, she sleeps on the sofa when not in bed. Another bottle of wine at the ready. Wonder how cooking sherry goes with ham LOL maybe a bottle of that just in case. Who cares about chaos when you can't think.

Some may eat, looks across table, but I like to think I am preserving myself. Drink is just an agent that aids in pickling, preservation of the tastiest kind.

I shall use the next few days wisely. So many tests. I hate that we have to stress kids with a test that counts as such a major grade. Wonder how my kids will manage with EOCT'S? So much information is pumped in, in such a short time. It's a wonder wed any of us manage to comprehend any of it. Even I struggle to remember what was taught, let alone learned.

I need to catch up on grading when I get home. The big tests this week will take all weekend to grade. I am looking forward to next week. A short week, jujst have to write very short lesson plans, hard when we are not really teaching. Guess I throw in review.

Think I will go and get coffee. Maybe my writing will be helped. I think I used it all up in class earlier.

Write Night Post

Holiday Havoc