Let us review our thrilling Christmas adventures.
|Finally time to wake up!|
This whole affair required Huck and I to spend half a day sterilizing the coop in a memorable holiday family project.
2) Christmas morning began at 2 am, when footsteps on the stairs interrupted one of the worst possible uses of the dreaming subconscious known to man. It was a test dream. But it wasn't a paper test. I was standing in front of the kitchen drainboard being timed on how fast I could name each odd object in it and state where it went in the kitchen. This was followed by a test on the brands and uses of all my boxes of plastic wrap, aluminum foil, sandwhich bags, etc. I could be having sex with movie stars. I could be flying over the plains of Africa. I could be socializing with meteors on the Kuiper Belt (a dream still in my top 10), I could be chasing green snakes around the church sanctuary of my youth. But instead I was enduring a high pressure grilling on kitchen implements.
After intercepting the kids and putting a timer on them I went back to bed, but I refused to go back to sleep. If that's the kind of shlock my brain thinks up, I'm not doing it. At five I hadn't heard the kids yet, so I snuck up stairs and turned off the timer, only to hear a sharp. "Mom! What are you doing!"
|YES! A digital dictionary! Geek Blue|
3) In Huck's stocking he got a white chocolate candy bar and broke off a generous hunk for me. Which sent me in to immediate, debilitating and burning hives. I took a non-drowsy antihistamine and then endured my typical response to uppers of nausea and shaking. Merry Christmas. I went back to bed.
I've had low-grade abdominal hives for over a month. I think I'm allergic to "pea soup fog." Or Winter Solstice. Or underwear.
4) My parents and sister bravely trekked across miles of highway in my dad's seat-heated Audi. God bless their warm buns. With my family here an insane amount of dishes are dirtied and washed. They do almost all of the cleaning, but SOMEONE has to put them all away. The key is to keep on the drain board. And so it's like this Perfection Game (Watch the 1992 Ad!), the timer ticking and I have to get all the pieces in their slots before the next meal, where is all will explode in my face if it's not done. And if someone should try to help, I will have to describe the place where those skewers go, the tea strainer, the bottle opener: cupboard, drawer, left, right, up, down, corner, left of the sink, right of the oven, under the fridge. How do you describe a location on a Lazy Susan?
|Opa shelving Cosmos|
|Women need power drills.|
Happy New Year!