I let the Turkey Day have it’s 24 hours of glory and then I break out the dozens – no, hundreds – of Rubbermaid boxes that hold my most precious items (please, don’t call Human Services; The Daughters haven’t been kept in Rubbermaid boxes since they started school!): I get out my Christmas decorations!
Each year, I pack the ornaments into specific boxes designated for each Daughter, and then I pack the family ornaments into specific boxes designated Not-Breakable and Breakable. These boxes are not labeled because when you open the Not-Breakable box, the ornaments are just stacked and smooshed on one another. The Breakable box contains newspaper, bubble wrap and fleece protecting each ornament. It’s a sickness. I know.
As we decorate for the season, I like to pretend that I’m Martha Stewart, and I’m the star of a TV-special documenting how families decorate for the season. I have Bing Crosby singing, “White Christmas” in my mind. Usually, though, our decorating ends up being more like the dogs barking, “Jingle Bells”!
After The Dad gets done cussing the tree and making sure that each *$@!&# light is on and that each %#$@* branch of the tree is connected properly, I’ll hand The Daughters their own boxes of ornaments. While they are tinseling up the tree, I’ll finish putting out the rest of the decorations throughout the house. By the time I’m done, The Daughters are also done and then in the quiet of the night (or the Will Ferrell as Elf-induced coma), I’ll gently unwrap the fragile (that does not mean they are Italian!) ornaments and hang them on safe and sturdy branches. Then we bask in the glow of the lights (or the TV-screen) and sigh. Life is so good once the tree is decorated!
This year, however, I was slow … or The Daughters were fast… and I didn’t put the Breakables out of reach and just as I spread the evergreen garland with red-plaid ribbon o’er the piano, I heard the first S H A T T E R. (Yes, I said first.)
The Daughters are standing over a little Madeline ornament all of her smashed against the tile of the kitchen… except her head.
Deep Breath In. Deep Breath Out.
The Daughters didn’t lay blame. They don’t offer excuses, they just mumbled their “I’m sorrys” as I went to the garage to fetch the dust pan. Daughter 1 hung Madeline’s dismembered head on a branch anyway.
As I dumped the shards into the trash, I heard that sound again: S H A T T E R!
Deep Breath In. Deep Breath Out.
This time it was followed by soft whispers: “I told you not to.” “I didn’t! You did!” and the ever-famous, “Na-huh!”
I re-enter the war zone and see a formerly glitter-filled ball all over the tile. I still have the dust pan in my hands and bend down to sweep up what had to have been 3 pounds of glitter and 2.5 million pieces of glass ball.
Instead of “I’m sorry” this time I get, “It was an accident.”
“I know it was an accident,” I say in my best “Mommie Dearest” voice, “Please: No more breakables.”
I see two very remorseful heads nod and run right back to the boxes. I return the dustpan to the garage and open the door just in time to hear it once more: S H A T T E R.
My eye began twitching and my ears began ringing. This time, the fight was on!
Deep Breath In. Hold it. Hold. It.
Daughter 1 starts by throwing her arm, finger pointing, right into Daughter 2’s chest. “SHE did it. I told her not to. I told her you said no. SHE didn’t listen.” Daughter 2 has her leg raised and her arms cocked as if she’s channeling the Karate Kid, “It wasn’t my fault! I was trying to take it back from you to put up and not mess with it, JUST LIKE MOM SAID.”
And that’s when it started. Fists were flying! Feet were kicking! Bodies were slamming! Voices are screaming.
I step over the latest shattered casualty (with only a Santa nose left intact) to try and separate the two when I get caught not only by a flailing arm, but also by, what I believe is called a round-house kick. (Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.) I aimed for the couch, but found myself flying right into the… Tree.
Deep Breath In. Deep Breath Out. OK. I’m still breathing. And if I’m still breathing, I’m still alive. But, I must have gone deaf because I can’t hear a thing.
I can’t hear anyone saying, “See what you’ve done?”
I can’t hear anyone saying, “It’s all your fault!”
I can’t hear anyone saying, “I told you not to!”
I can’t hear anything…The Daughters have cleared the room! (The Dad told me that he later found them in their bedrooms reading their Bibles!)
I try desperately to untangle myself from the tree, but no matter what move I make, I become more and more tangled. I finally hear something: The Dad is coming in from outside. I look to him for help. He stands at the edge of the room grinning at me.
“What?” I ask.
“That How-To-Pole-Dance DVD is really paying off, Babe!” he smirks before helping me (and the tree) to a stable, standing position.
The tree looks just fine tilting at that angle… besides, it hides the section where we don’t have any decorations! The Dad, on the other hand, is walking with a little limp…
CHRISTMAS GIVEAWAY!!!
To spread some holiday joy around, Minivan Momma is giving away one red sleigh candle from Keepsake Candles in Bartlesville, OK. The candle is small votive size and will be shipped to you wherever you are! All you have to do is email Minivan Momma (minivan.momma.2@gmail.com) and tell her which column is your favorite. The Daughters will randomly draw an email out of a hat and that person will win the candle! The contest will end at midnight on Saturday, December 5. Only one entry per email will be entered. Good Luck!
You can contact Minivan Momma at minivan.momma.2@gmail.com
© 2009 “Minivan Momma”
