Holiday Misfires

So, like every other mother in America, I’ve spent the last couple of weeks running around like an elf on Ritalin. Now the kids are out of school and we’ve all got the sniffles, but things are finally starting to slow down. I thought I’d share some Christmas funnies in the off chance that you have a slow moment to read this week.

We'll start with children and gifts. I think Chunky has written a dozen letters to Santa asking for things like a billion dollars and to be turned into a dragon. He has us scratching our heads. Even Santa was a little baffled when Chunky sat on his lap and asked for, of all things, a lava lamp.

Monkey is a little more straight forward. In fact, subtlety escapes him entirely. A few weeks ago he came up from downstairs with a wrapped gift. He showed it to me and said, “Mommy, this is for you, but you can’t open it until Christmas, and I’m not going to tell you what it is.” Chunky wanted in on the secret, so Monkey went over to tell him. Monkey got right up next to his brother’s ear, started whispering then looked over his shoulder at me. “Mom, what are those things you wear in your ears called?”

Without blinking, I said, “Earrings.”

I did blink, however, when I saw these in a store recently.


I’m not going to tell you what store because I love the place and consider this to be an error in judgment best left to the ghost of Christmas past. I have to wonder what Mary would have to say about this pink sparkly representation of her. After all these years in blue and white, maybe she’d appreciate a little bling.

Speaking of Mary, I’d like to write a letter to the folks who made my nativity set.

Dear Manufacturers of Porcelain Nativity,

Why have you left Joseph out? Every year when I unpack my set, I wonder if one of the FOUR wise men is supposed to be Joseph, but since they’re all holding a gift—gold, frankincense, myrrh, and fruitcake?—I figure they have to be the magi.

Then there’s the shepherd carrying his sheep. Clearly, he’s not Joseph.

The camel and the donkey are a nice touch, but still I think you could’ve left one of them out in favor of Mary’s husband. I know, biologically speaking, Joseph wasn’t necessary, but having given birth myself, I can state with certainty that it’s nice to have a man to yell at. I think Mary was glad he was there, and I’d be glad if the arrangement on my hutch was a little more balanced.

If you ever make a Joseph, please let me know. Unless, of course, he looks like this.


Sincerely,
Evangeline Denmark

If you have a Christmas funny to share, please leave a comment. With all the stress and rush of the season, it helps to share a little merry.

How Evangeline Couldn't Steal Christmas

The Season is here with a vengeance.

I have already:

1. Injured myself putting up decorations
2. Spent too much money
3. Decorated sugar cookies with white, green, and pink frosting
4. Donned a little black dress
5. Sat on a large replica of a sea turtle



Aren’t the holidays magical?

Actually, if I’m honest with you, I’m not feeling very Christmas-y this year. I think, like the Grinch, my heart is two sizes too small, leaving me cranky, selfish, and slightly green.

I feel sorry for the Whos affected by my deficient heart. But, well, they are annoyingly chipper, and they sing nonsense songs, dress funny, and then there’s the noise. NOISE, NOISE, NOISE.

You know, it’s not a totally bad thing to feel disconnected from the hustle and bustle of the holidays. My state-of-mind has made one thing clear to me. Christmas is not found in the ginormous boxes that hold the sections of our twelve foot tree. I can’t bring it home in a shopping bag. And I can’t put it on with my party dress.

But I think its spirit was here when my six-year-old insisted that we make a cross cutout cookie because Jesus came to die for our sins. And I think Christmas whispered in my nine-year-old's ear as he added the words “and that everyone would have a good Christmas” to his list for Santa. And the merry part of it showed up when I bemoaned the fact that I didn’t buy the all-over squeezy thing to go under my black dress, and my husband quirked a brow at me and asked, “Who is Oliver?” and then told me I looked beautiful.

If, like me, you’re feeling that your Santa costume wouldn’t fool Cindy-Lou Who, then I encourage you to at least recognize the moments when God reaches into your cold cave and touches your reluctant heart. I'm glad my Grinchyness can't stop Christmas from coming. I hope at some point this holiday season that I can be talked down from my ledge and convinced to join those weird little Whos in celebrating Christmas.