Puke and Monopoly are what make a family a "family".

It's Christmas!

Santa has come and gone, the presents were opened, played with and left behind in a hail storm of ripped gift wrap, scraps of cardboard and shards of plastic (also, what's with the impenetrable packaging on kids' toys these days, it's like saying, "Here's your present, but damn me if you'll enjoy it").

D was up at around 5 am- despite the fact that he isn't a big fan of Christmas, the kids were up by 5:30 am, and I was up at 6. Then the REAL fun began.

Brat had already thrown up on the couch by the time I woke up, so my darling husband wiped it halfheartedly and covered it with a blanket. Wonderful. That will smell awesome come dinnertime tonight I'm sure.

So we handed out the stockings (I got a Bitchin' Kitchen cookbook in my stocking- and I didn't even buy it for myself). Brat continued to throw up, but wouldn't go to the bathroom and "miss" anything, so I have a picture of her sitting on the couch, holding her puke bucket and trying to open her stocking at the same time.

Ah. Family. Isn't it grand?

As of right now, the baby is whining, the older kids are fighting over who said a bathroom word first, and I'm trying to pretend none of them exist at all. But I wouldn't change a thing. Because having a good fight, having a good laugh, smacking someone smaller than you (sorry Soph) and biting are all a part of ANY good family get-together. Just like crying, hiding and playing board games (until Poppy gets mad and slaps the monopoly board into smithereens- which, to be fair, only happened seven or eight years in a row). Board games, stories, food and laughter.

I love everything damned thing about this holiday.

The spirit of Christmas is loving and giving. Just keep saying it until you believe it too. Time for some left over turkey sandwiches, with mashed potatoes and gravy on the side. And maybe a nap.

#WINNING!

That's right. I win.

I'm done. I'm done shopping, wrapping, baking- EVERYTHING. I win.

Christmas is just as much of a race as parenting is. You know it. I know it.

Unlike the majority of my fellow Christmas-ers, I won it.

I do a happy dance everytime I manage to get something just exactly right. And I've been dancing for two whole days now. I WIN!!!

I'm not much of a 'twitter-er', but here we go #IWINCHRISTMAS

Now, I get to sit back, laugh gleefully at my husband who still hasn't started shopping (I'm the only person he has to buy for, so that's not unusual), and at all my friends who are freaking out over the number of things they have left to do.

WINNING!

The Bringer of DSi's

Today I want to write about Christmas. The way Christmas makes me feel, the traditions I grew up with, the ones we've started with our kids and the ones I wish would go straight in the garbage bin.

The way I feel about Christmas? I love it. I love every single thing about Christmas. Family, food, presents, laughter, days and days of celebrating. Stockings (that's the best part).

There is something so calming about Christmas for me. Church pageants, collecting toys for the toy drive, spending time with people you love. The lights, the sounds, the smells. Everything. I love every damned thing about Christmastime.

Christmas in my memory always comes back to the year I was 6 or 7 years old. This was the best Christmas ever- and most of them were pretty close to this.

This particular year, every person in my family got together at my gramma's house. All gramma's kids, all their spouses, all the children. And back then there weren't many of us grandkids, so the 3 of us were spoiled completely by all the different adults. Our stockings were so big that they were put into green garbage bags to hold all of it. Awesome.

There was food, delicious food. There were boxes of chocolates on the countertops, cakes, tarts, pies, turkey, gravy, bread, potatoes- well, you probably have all those things too. But when you're 6, and there is such an array of food, you just get absolutely blasted by it.

So, that was us. Crackers got cracked, and all of us have to wear our paper hats, tell the joke to everyone else. Then the stories start. Things my mom and her siblings did as children- told by some of the absolute funniest people on Earth. All of it told at a volume that could deafen an apple. It's incredible.

My family- both sides- have done this year after year. The stories are just as funny today as they were 30 years ago. The food is just as good. The stockings have (unfortunately) gotten less impressive, and they are less of a surprise every year (I now have to buy my own stocking stuffers). But the feeling is the same. Sheer love and joy. Being with people I love, who love me- who always will.

The traditions we've kept with our kids are much the same. My in laws come over, my father and stepmother come over, we invite friends- Christmas Eve is a happy time here.

The new traditions are computer/ tv related. The kids track Santa on the www.noradsanta.org Norad Santa Tracker website. We turn the "Holiday Firelog" on the tv and listen to Christmas music. My children go to bed, and I make the stocking- laughing with the other adults while I do.

There are so many things to be grateful for, to be thankful for. Family is top. Friends, God, gifts (of any size, price point or usefulness), food, love. But here is one thing I don't think we should keep up. I don't think we should keep up the consumerism.

There are so many things I want my kids to have. That's true. I want them to have the best I can give them of everything. But I don't want them to believe that something has to be expensive/ paid for in order to be worthwhile. And I think overall the kids know that- we make gifts every year for the people we love.

But then, the top TV commercials for the last month started me thinking. My daughter keeps asking for a DSi. She can't have one. It's not the money. It's the fact that she's 5 years old. What the bloody buggering hell could she possibly need a DSi for? She doesn't know how to play video games. But, she overheard one of the other moms telling a classmate that "Santa will probably bring you a DS".

I wish Santa brought only a stocking. Apparently, Santa gifts are expensive. I wonder how long I have before Brat points out to me that Santa brings her a 'crappier/ cheaper' gift than he brings her friends.  Ohh, poopballs. What age do kids figure out that the real Santa is the spirit of sharing- NOT the bringer of DSi's???

It's A Wonderful Life.

Well, hot damn, it's almost Christmas.


"So it's Christmas- and I want EVERYTHING." This song has been in my head for the last week, and I can't seem to shake it. 'Tis the season.


So, normally, because I am such a huge fan of everything Christmas, I start pushing at the beginning of November for my husband to drag out the 'tree'. I say "tree" simply because I am not quite sure that a $70.00 fake tree that is almost 10 years old still qualifies as a tree- in any sense. The bristles are starting to fall, it's a bit threadbare looking, and the box is being held together with several different types of tape. Fact is, the only thing keeping this tree up is hope- and a precarious plastic stick.


But it's already the end of the first week of December this year, and our family just got the tree up tonight.


It's full of lights, glittery stars, icicles, pictures, balls, faeries, a pair of paper skates, and love. Even though it's clearly been decorated by demented, gluebag elves (or kids hopped up on sugar cookies), I love it.


My husband hates everything about Christmas (and if I'd known that when I met him, I might not have gone on that first date), but more than that, he HATES this tree (it offends his sense of colour, order, balance- well probably everything). I think, given the option, he'd launch it off the roof, and pee down on it.


Next year, we are getting a real tree. I love real trees- the only down side is you can only have them up for a few weeks. I would lose out on at least three weeks of treedom. But I still love real trees, there is something so much more Christmas-y about a real tree.


My dad always went and got us a nice big tree. The only thing I remember about Christmas for about five years running is this: dad comes home, with the tree in the back of a borrowed truck. The next five hours are a horror show, complete with screaming, swearing, hacksaws, and threats. And eventually, mom taking me out of the house, so my dad could have a complete meltdown in peace.


The absolute best year though, was the year my dad cut his own tree down at the tree farm. It was a glorious tree. Perfectly cone-ish, full branches on every side, six feet tall, dark green with a wonderful smell.


Dad put the tree up in the living room, right in the centre, spotlighted by the huge picture window. He put the tree into the holder, the leaned back to check the levels. The tree toppled instantaneously. He cursed. Mom went over and helped set it right again. But no matter how dad moved base level, the tree WOULD NOT stay up.  It was perpetually canted to an angle of about 30 degrees.


He had picked a tree with a crooked bole. It looked perfect- but if you tried to secure the base, the rest of the tree had an 'ell' shape in it. Eventually, after almost throwing the damned tree through the window, dad took a hacksaw to the tree, right above the bend.


It was still a perfect tree. Only four feet tall- and missing a chunk of branches on one side where dad grabbed it to throw it.


On second thought, next year we'll buy ourselves a new fake tree. It's probably safer all around.