Monthly Archives: December, 2013

New Year’s Eve or the Post Everyone Else is Doing

I was trying to think of a kick ass readable post for New Year’s Eve.  I thought of absolutely

How many times did I use this picture in 2013?  Lots!

How many times did I use this picture in 2013? Lots!

Then I saw everyone else posting their reviews and was like, oh free post.  Everyone will be incredibly interested in my stats.  I must say, they are not nearly as fascinating as last year, when my top search word was crack whore.  This year it was Dragon Tales.  This was also my most popular post, even edging out my Freshly Pressed post.  I think this scares me more than having crack whore as a search term.

You can check out my top posts and top commenters (thankfully they didn’t list how many times I had commented on my own blog.)  Is commenter not a word?  For some reason, commenters is underlined, while commenter is not.  So it’s an illegal plural?  Where was I?

Oh, right, so here’s where you can see all that fascinating crap like how all my views could fill several opera houses with spambots.  If you’re bored and like watching computer generated fireworks, have a look.  Stay tuned New Year’s Day for a look back on a year in Alice.

The stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 38,000 times in 2013. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 14 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Thanks for a great year, you guyz,


Three Christmases!

Christmas!  It’s the most wonderful time of the year!  If you’re batshit crazy!  I mean, really, it wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for all those people.  You know, relative people and pretty much everybody who wants something from you (I’m looking at you Salvation Army ringer guy).

If Christmas were only about the Things, my Things, then I’d love it.  I love giving them presents, because even though they are 9 and 13, we are at about the same maturity level.  Some day I hope to be as mature as they are.  Anyway, I love buying them dolls because I love dolls and if I’m really good, they let me play with them.  They have the best games, the Things.  The other day they made up a Sleeping Beauty play with Barbies playing the roles.  The evil fairy said “I curse you with eternal dumbness!  And puberty!”  Yikes, that is harsh.

At one point one of the Barbies exclaimed "It worked!  She's getting pimples!"  Ah, justice.

At one point one of the Barbies exclaimed “It worked! Sleeping Beauty is getting pimples!” Ah, justice.

Yet Christmas is about more than my Things; it is about The Things – the things you have to buy people you don’t know and don’t necessarily like.  My in-laws are not bad people, but I really don’t get them.  It’s like I married into an alien family – a space one, not a Hispanic one, although some of them should be illegal.

They are conservative, which is not all that surprising since we’re in Bible Belt, Texas.  Yet my husband’s latest stepfather is Fox News Ca-razy conservative.  As long as he’s not talking that crap, he’s just mildly irritating while he and my husband talk endlessly about guns and cars and other things that go vroom and boom.  But then the politics come up.

Did you realize that the whole reason the Salvation Army was not allowed to ring their bells at Target that one year was not a stupid decision of management but in fact because of the gayz?  I sure didn’t, but the reasoning is totally sound.  I mean, the gayz are ruining the sanctity of marriage.  The fact that both he and my MIL are on their third spouse makes no difference.  The only thing you can conclude is that gayz want to destroy marriage by first destroying the Salvation Army.  I’m not sure how.  Maybe they are stealing their bells for their dreaded gayz pride parades.

Notice the conspicuous lack of bell ringers.  Those gayz!

Notice the conspicuous lack of bell ringers. Those gayz!

Did you also know that going to a fast food chicken place earns you a place in Heaven?  Or that Obama sucks?  I mean, really sucks?  Did you realize Obama is black?  I learn so much from family get togethers.  Honestly, I’m not sure how my husband came from these people, because he’s one of the nicest, least prejudiced people I know.  I mean, I’m much, much nastier than he is.  He’s not adopted, so I guess occasionally you get a mutant.

Anyway, looking forward to all of this joy and festiveness made me slightly stressed.  I had gifts I had thoughtfully chosen the Christmas before at 50 percent off – half-price bubble bath, lotion, and perfume gift sets from Wal-Mart!  Who doesn’t like this stuff?  Possibly they don’t, but they get it every year anyway because I have no idea what they do like, and I don’t ask them and they don’t ask us.  It’s like every Christmas is one giant white elephant fest.

My husband’s sisters had babies early, and now all my nieces and nephews have started having babies early, as in high school in one case, and so I became a great-aunt at 28 and now have six of the little darlings running around.  If there is one thing my husband’s family does well, it’s breed.  I didn’t even like my own toddlers all the time, and it’s safe to say I do not like other people’s toddlers.

His family is also incredibly unpredictable.  One year we might get awful gifts, another no gifts, and another fabulous gifts (which is the year I gave them crap of course).  Nothing is ever planned early, you never know which family members will be there, no one who comes is on time, and everything is chaos because we’re dealing with free spirits here!  I can’t express how much I love free spirits!

Spirits to help with free spirits!

Spirits to help with free spirits!

So looking forward to not knowing when or where these spirits might pop up, I started to worry about the three Christmases coming up.  (His parents are divorced.  Mine are still together, mostly out of spite.)  I’m very good at worrying.  Also dreading.  And then all of this stuph started making me sick.  Which I was slightly hoping for, because as it turned out, I managed to get out of both in-law celebrations!  Unfortunately, I have mucous coming out of every pore.  Snot funny.  Hahahahaha sob.

I did make it to my family’s.  There was a meltdown, because no family get together is ever complete until somebody screams or cries.  They moved their evening celebration up to lunch, which stressed my mom out although she wouldn’t say so.  But it was for a good cause because my MIL was having hers in the evening.  Except she wasn’t.  Cause half the people came and went by 3 pm.  And we had just finished eating lunch at like 2 pm.  And it was time for dinner again, because they run on Wonderland time.  I opted out.  I’m glad I did, as my children’s Christmas presents might have sent me over the edge.  They got – lawn ornaments.  That say “Ya’ll Come back now” with a big Texas and a frog done in wire.  As my friend Ravin said, “Tacky, yet Tasteless.”

Not that I can really be a snob, what with car parts in my front yard due to my mechanic husband.  But really, would it have killed them to get us pink flamingos instead?  I found out later she did give us some cash too, and really, it’s not that my spoiled children needed more things.  It’s just – I can’t imagine the thought process that goes into “What would 9 and 13-year-old girls like?  I know!  Lawn ornaments!”

As I write, the Things and my husband are at my FIL’s celebration.  I am getting to miss it on account of my snot.  Maybe next year I should just grin and bear it and not make myself so sick.  On the other hand, I have plenty of kleenex and I’m nice and comfy in my fuzzy socks and I can watch the Daily Show and laugh.  Tough to decide!

So how did your family celebrations go?

A Very Boppo Zombie Fox News Christmas!

Here is yet another Christmas post, because, really, what would Christmas be without everyone’s favorite clown?  I was all set to do a Boppo Christmas special because last year I already wrote about the first Christmas.  You know, when Joseph and Mary had a baby in a manger (a white baby) because they had no health insurance and then Santa arrived with a diaper genie for Jesus, hallelujah, the end.  What?  You missed that one?  LINK DROP!  Happy holidays I mean zomg MERRY CHRISTMAS. (Click to enlarge pictures – if you dare!)

It's an awesome story, check it out!

It’s an awesome story, check it out!

Anyways, I was going to do a Boppo post when I realized that I had killed Boppo a little too well last time, and every time I opened the game, he promptly died no matter what.  So what could I do?  I could have recreated him, but work, and so I did the next best thing.  I made another character that could resurrect him by calling Death on a special death phone.  But what character would be fitting to go with a clown and a dog named Wee Wee?

Who wants to be Boppo's friend?

Who wants to be Boppo’s friend?

Then I had it.  Since this was a Christmas post, clearly we needed Fox News, so I created Foxy News, a Fox News reporter.  You’ll notice she looks exactly like every female Fox News host.  She’s blond, blue-eyed, and extremely ticked off most of the time (I gave her no nice points).  Perfection!

Welcome, Foxy!

Welcome, Foxy!

Poor Foxy, she’s not used to living in such conditions!  But a reporter must report the news, even if it’s in a stinky place that is owned by a clown who is probably on welfare.  Oh, but first she has to bring him back to life by making that all important phone call.  When you call up Death, you have to offer him money.  This might be a problem for Foxy.

Hmm, how little can I spend on this freak and get away with it?

This is ridiculous!  I bet Obama is behind this!

Sensing that this payment for resurrection was surely part of that nasty Obamacare, she decides to pay as little as possible.  This turns out to not be such a good idea. Turns out if you pay for lousy insurance, you get lousy care!

Oh, oh.

Oh, oh.

So Death brings Boppo back, but only kind of sort of.  Boppo the clown is now Boppo the zombie clown!  Zomg!  Now THIS is a story, Foxy!

Question: What is worse than a clown?  Answer: Zombie clown.

Question: What is worse than a clown? Answer: Zombie clown.

But Foxy really doesn’t want to deal with this.  This is like, creepy, and yuck, and she wants back in her nice clean studio where there are no zombies, no clowns, and no icky bugs!

Ew!  Only poor people have bugs!

Ew! Only poor people have bugs!

Sorry, Foxy, gonna have to see this one through.  I mean, look how far into this post we’ve gotten, and Boppo is still very much alive!  Well, okay, so he’s partially alive and dropping parts of himself all over the house, but he’s still moving, and that has to be stopped.  What kind of Christmas special would this be if there were no dead zombie clowns?  Not a very good one, I say.

So it’s time for Boppo to say “bye-bye” once again.  But how?

Cue Jeopardy theme . . .

Cue Jeopardy theme . . .

The Things and I debated on this, and after crashing a sattelite into him, and one time somehow making him completely vanish from the game, we settled on electrocution.  It seemed the most festive, considering how often this happens with Christmas tree lights and whatnot.

You have to be careful of those frayed wires when decorating, silly Boppo!

You have to be careful of those frayed wires when decorating, silly Boppo!

Foxy is there to film everything.  She manages to hide her sorrow quite well, even pointing and winking at Death as she walks by (really, she does this.)  So now it’s just Foxy, all alone in the house of clown, and none of her reporter friends ready to get her.  But what to do?  What would be the most likely way to go for anybody on Fox News, the network that is fair and balanced?

Ah, Foxy, they warned you if you lied enough what would happen.  Turns out there is a God!

Ah, Foxy, they warned you if you lied enough what would happen.

What do you know?  God IS with us!  Merry Christmas, Happy Chaka Kahn, all those other holidays, etc etc.



Come on, baby, spend Christmas with me!

C4C is back – and this time run by a dinosaur – Rara! Find out more by following the link.

Toys of Christmas Past

I was reading Merbear’s post about how her parents lied about Santa and ruined her entire worldview for life, as is a parent’s way.  And she mentioned wanting pound puppies, and I was like, hey, I had those!  I had lots of stupid, crappy toys.  Some of them are no longer made.  Some of them rose again, like zombies from the Island of Misfit Toys.  Here were some of my favorites – see if you remember them too.

Pound Puppies

Buy me before they kill meeeeeeee!

Buy me before they kill meeeeeeee!

I had several of these little mutts.  I remembered the little cardboard dog houses they came in, but I had forgotten they inspired an awful cartoon, and even worse, a full-length feature film.  Thank you, Wikipedia.  If you want to see something really scary, go check out their entry – somebody somewhere went to the trouble of listing every single dog character in the TV show.  I’m scared.

Anyway, the REAL pound puppies had little hearts on their butts with the “PP” logo – that’s pound puppies, not pee pee, though it’s a dog, so I guess either would work.  Ever notice they make baby dolls that go pee, but not toy dogs?  I think they should make peeing toy dogs.  That would certainly make kids think twice about asking for a puppy.

Wait – where was I?  Oh, yes, there were also Pound Purries for those who wanted cats.  But they had to have the logo, or they were generic pups, and no one wants a generic dog.  Kids see right through that.  I had some fake ones anyway.  They probably got their butts kicked by the real ones.

Cabbage Patch Kids

I had one of these doll play pens, yes.  You don't want to let those things out.

I had one of these doll play pens, yes. You don’t want to let those things out.

I’ve written about this before, but I had dozens of these freakish things – eventually.  At first it was almost impossible to find one.  And every kid wanted one.  Other kids checked you out as soon as you go to school.  “Got a Kid?  No, Flower Kids don’t count.  We gotta see the signature – PULL OFF THE DIAPER!”  Yes, every authentic CPK had a signature of the creator on his bum.  This was important – all other dolls were clearly counterfeit.

When you think about it, they’re pretty ugly.  But I loved mine.  We even had a play with the Cabbage Patch Kids – every kid got to bring their doll with them.  I remember there being an evil rabbit and a doll named “Sybil Sabie.” or something like that.  These were messed up times, the 80s.  But if you think that’s weird, I just found out that there is STILL a Babyland Hospital where you can see cabbages give birth (I am not making this up) and get your own original doll.  WTF.  Surprisingly, the revival of these creatures did not hit it big with anyone but the parents of today’s children.

My Little Pony

They weren't so bedazzled in the 80s.

An 80s style bedazzled by yours truly – and her Things

Ah, My Little Pony.  These guys, er girls – I don’t think there were any boy ponies, which makes one wonder how there were ponies at all, but no matter – were awesome toys.  They were relatively cheap, so you could have lots of them.  Like any other popular toy, there were knock offs, but the real ones had marks on their butts with rainbows and stars and crap like that.  Also their hair and bodies were all colors of the rainbow – like ponies who had been through some freakish technicolor wonderland.

How you doin'?

How you doin’?

At least they resembled ponies at that time.  Now they’ve changed . . . a lot.  They’re – I’m not sure how to say this since we’re talking about an animal here – sexier.  Like there’s this “come hither” look on these things.  Still, you can’t deny that unlike either pound puppies or Cabbage Patches, the ponies really have made a huge comeback.  They have a new animated cartoon, very different from the original one in the 80s.  The original had bad guys and stuff.  In the new one, problems usually revolve around stupid stuff like whether Minty can get a new candy cane for the top of the freaking Christmas tree.  Edge of my seat, here.


Like the rest of us, Barbie in the 1980s had terrible taste.

Like the rest of us, Barbie in the 1980s had terrible taste.

Barbie has been around since 1959.  By the time I started getting Barbies, though, they had morphed from a Betty Davis style witch face to the familiar blank stare of today.

That charming "Bite me" look of the '60s.

That charming “Bite me” look of the ’60s.

Bubblehead expression of today

“Say what?” look of the 80s

They also wore pink – a lot of it.  And they drove pink cars, and lived in pink houses and condos, and had pink dogs.  Some people felt sorry for Ken, having to put up with all that pink furniture, but I think he secretly kind of liked it. I mean, just look at the guy.

Check out my flash pants!

Check out my flash pants!

I had a lot of Barbies.  And their stuff.  I mean, Barbie had everything.  She had cars, and houses, and furniture, and billions of tiny shoes you lost immediately in the carpet, and even a baby sister.  Or at least they said it was her baby sister.  Also, there was the middle sister, Skipper, who in the 1980s was flat chested, but grew tiny boobs in the 2000’s.  Ironically, Barbie herself had breast reduction surgery, so if you have an old 1980s Barbie, you’ll find she can’t fit in the 2000 Barbie clothes.  Sort of like how 2000’s me can’t fit into 1990s clothes, only it’s not the boobs.

Barbie is still just as popular as she was for the last few generations. She’s never going away.  In fact, she’s even running for political office.  Check it out.

Nobody tell her the 2012 election is already over.

Nobody tell her the 2012 election is already over.

She seems strangely familiar though.  I mean, where have I seen someone like her before?

There we go!

There we go!

So there’s my list of toys of Christmas past.  Are they better or worse than those of today?  It’s a toss up.  I mean, we have Furbies now, so I dunno.  Let me know in the comments below!

Merry Christmas, George Michael

Ah, George.  You with your dangly earrings and your bedazzled jeans!  That charming way you shake your butt right in front of the camera!  I heart you, truly, man.  Nevermind those peeps who say you’re a has-been freak.  You’re still tops in my book.  Like, how could anyone forget that classic “Wake me up before you go-go?”  And then when you rhymed that with yo-yo?  Lyrical genius!  I know my heart strings went “Wham!” on that one.

The yellow fingerless kitchen gloves paired with the pink shirt make the perfect look!

The yellow fingerless gloves paired with the pink shirt make the perfect look!

And “Careless Whisper” makes so much sense and is so true to life and all that stuff.  Who hasn’t experienced the feeling of no rhythm because your feet are too guilty?  I sure have.  That’s why I can’t dance.  Feet guilt.

What about “Father Figure”, huh?  “Put your tiny hand in mine.”  That’s just so cute, and not creepy.  I mean, not once did I think about adding the lyrics “Would you like some candy / go hop in this van of mine.”  Not even when you said “Sometimes love can be mistaken for a crime.”  I mean, that’s totally understandable there.  Sometimes love is, um, criminal and prosecuted by law and um . . .

People just don't understannnnnd!

People just don’t understannnnnd!

People just don’t have “Faith” in you, George, but ya gotta have faith.  You gotta have faith a faith a faith – ba-by!  And I do, George!  Despite your subtle, unassuming nature, I can really feel your tender love ballads, especially “I want your sex.”  Talk about romantic.  I remember parents being concerned about that song when I was a kid.  I bet they wish they could have your songs back now, George!

Not to mention your butt!

Not to mention your butt!

It’s Christmas time again, George, and you remember what happened “Last Christmas”?  You gave some girl your heart and she gave it away like the VERY NEXT DAY?  Talk about rude!  Especially since heart transplants are really hard to come by.  You don’t have to worry about that with me, George, because I am here forever and ever!  I watch your video “Last Christmas” every chance I get.  It’s so groovy and modern, and your feathery hair just sets me a’flame, Georgie.  Hang on while I get my skies!

Love your greatest fan ev-er,


Santa Kicker!

Santa sucks.  We all know this.  I mean, I’ve been talking about it for how many posts?  Still not even close to the number of 50 Shades posts?  Eh.  Anyway, I’ve been shopping for gifts and thinking of those poor parents who are still playing the Santa game and how this Santa freak is taking all the credit.  Adults are getting rightly tired of this crap.  Well adults with the exception of Megyn, Fox News anchor, who still believes in Santa, white Santa, because she’s not too bright.  That also explains why she can’t spell her name correctly.  But most adults do not believe in Santa, and are ready to kick the jolly fat jerk.

Wait, what?

Santa is totes real . . . and white.  Where am I?

Wait, did someone say kick?  Guess what?  You’re in luck!   There is a game that the Things introduced to me – it’s totally educational.  No, really.  It’s from a Math site, so you can learn Math stuphs while having a reindeer kick Santa toward a chimney.  You know the reindeer have totally been waiting for this chance for centuries.  As the game goes on, the challenges get greater.  Sometimes you have fans blowing Santa into fire and stuph.  Or he gets impaled, bloodless of course, on spikes.  Because it’s a kid’s game.

Watch out for those spikes, Santa, oh nooooos!

Watch out for those spikes, Santa, oh nooooos!

Other times he just smashes into walls, and flops down.  It’s like his body is made out of stuffing.  Like toy Santas.  At – at least I think they’re toy Santas.  We’re gonna go with toys, not dead bodies of the multiple Santa clones seen in malls the world over.

The bodies are piling up . . .

The bodies are piling up . . .

It’s such a popular game that they have come out with Santa Kicker I, II, and III!  I love it when people makes stuff so I don’t have to!  Also so I don’t look like the only disturbed individual!  Anyway, the best part of this game is that it is free and on the internetz so you can play it anytime!  Except work of course!  You wouldn’t do that, would you?  Of course you would.  Go check it out.

That will teach you to give Rudolf crap, Santa.

That will teach you to give Rudolf crap, Santa.

You Better Watch Out : Scary Santa Songs!

Ah, Santa Claus.  He’s a hoot because he gives you a chance to lie to your kids and get away with it.  It’s for a greater cause, of course – getting the little punks to behave lest they lose any of their much wanted merchandise.  Recently, Santa has gotten lazy, though, and enlisted the help of the elf on the shelf.  This little freak narcs on kids to Santa for an entire flipping month.  He’s so creepy.  That . . . that grin.  And he keeps moving around.  You never know where he’ll be.  Some elves even stage elaborate pranks.  This scares the heck out of me, and I’m not even a small child.

Get thee behind me, elf.

Get thee behind me, elf.

Why do you need an elf anyway?  Isn’t Santa scary enough?  Oh, sure, Coca Cola painted him as a fat old jolly fellow in a red suit, but they also made polar bears look adorable, and those things can rip your face off.  All you have to do is listen to songs about Santa to make you start questioning this kind little fairy tale we all tell to our kids.  Well, most of us think it’s a fairy tale.  Fox News had four commentators on – there’s actual video – discussing Santa’s ethnicity.  In case you were wondering, he’s white.  According to Megyn, Fox News Host, that’s a “verifiable fact.”  Also in discussion was Jesus who naturally was also white.  So I guess that explains why some minority children get crappy gifts.  Anyway, some people believe in Jesus and others don’t, but I’m pretty sure most people over eight or so realize Santa is imaginary.  And thank goodness for that.  Here’s just three songs that point out why I find Santa kind of scary, and you should too.  But first, check out the scariness of Fox News.

Exhibit A: Santa Claus is coming to town

This has to be the worst one of the bunch.  Just for kicks, try replacing “Santa Claus” with “Serial Killer”.

You better watch out, better not cry

Better not pout I’m telling you why

Serial killer is coming to town.

See?  Happy, happy!  Note that you can also replace “Santa Claus” with “Christian Grey” and get the same effect.  These next lines, slightly edited by yours truly, show that Santa is really not to be trusted.

He sees you when you’re sleeping

He knows when you’re awake

He knows what your address is man

So lock your door for goodness sakes

Elf on the shelf really can’t come close to that kind of terrifying wackiness.  I don’t even think he has a song unless you count “Somebody’s watching me” or “Every Breath You Take”.

Just think of this comin' down your chimney.

Just think of this comin’ down your chimney.

Exhibit B: Up on the House Top

This one’s just really, really odd.  I had to look up the lyrics because they didn’t make sense and they still don’t make sense.

Ho, ho, ho, who wouldn’t go

Ho, ho, ho, who wouldn’t go

up on the house top click, click, click,

down through the chimney with good St. Nick.

Well, I wouldn’t go up on the housetop and I’m not so sure we should be encouraging children to do this either.  Hey, there’s some weirdo on the roof, Willy, why don’t you go check that out?  Don’t worry, honey, you can slide down the chimney to get back down!  Then you can open your stocking and see what totally appropriate toys Santa got you!

Next comes the stocking of little Will

Oh, just see what a glorious fill

Here is a hammer and lots of tacks

Also a ball and a whip that cracks

Holy crap.  I’m thinking this is just asking for a trip to the ER and multiple lawsuits here.  Little Nell better hide her dolly unless she wants her brother to hammer some tacks in her.  Or use his whip. I can’t believe whips weren’t on the top toys list for Toys R Us this year.  Ah, the good old days when you could give your kids fun stuff like whips, hammers, and lawn darts.

The next song really confuses the heck out of me, but it does lend credence to the theory, sported by my then four-year-old daughter Thing One, that Santa works for God.  Something like middle management, I guess.

Hey, Santa, God here - go deliver some presents.  Try to mention the kid, okay?

Hey, Santa, God here – go deliver some presents. Try to mention the kid, okay?

Exhibit C: Here Comes Santa Claus

Hang your stockings and say your prayers

Cause Santa Claus comes tonight!

Why do we need prayers?   Are these prayers that Santa is okay, or prayers that Santa leaves our house untouched?

Santa Claus knows we’re all God’s children

That makes everything right

We are?  All of us?  What about the kids who are other religions?  Do they not count?  I thought Santa was Pagan.  When did he convert?  I’m really confused here.  Maybe Fox News could explain this to me a little better.

So let’s give thanks to the Lord above

That Santa Claus comes tonight

We’re thanking God for Santa Claus?  So then – God created Santa?  But wait, if Santa’s not real, then is this song lying about God?  I mean, talk about a way to mess with a child’s mind there.  Or does Santa just hire out maybe?  Like he works for Pagans sometimes, and Christians sometimes, and Muslims sometimes, but this particular song writer just assumes that Santa is Christian?  If this isn’t a Fox News Christmas Song, I don’t know what is, you guys.  Let’s thank baby Jesus for sending us white Santa Claus who stalked us and snuck in our houses and gave us weapons, la la la la la!  Yay!

O Bleeping Christmas Tree!

Our Christmas Tree, Our Christmas Tree

It’s pretty and it’s quite stout

But if you don’t decorate it right

I’ll go and punch your lights out!

No, no, no, you decorate the tree, stupid.

No, no, no, you decorate the tree, stupid.

These are not the correct lyrics to the song.  I’m actually not sure what the correct lyrics are beyond “O Christmas Tree.”  For all I know they could be the same as the lyrics of “O Canada”, since I also don’t know any of that song except “O Canada.”  Yes, I could Google it, but why bother when you can find such fabulous news stories as this one?

I heard about it on the radio station this morning and looked it up.  This is one of those stories that really makes you believe in hope, wonder, and the Christmas spirit and I swear I am not making it up.

Headline: Deputies Calm Family’s Fight Over Christmas Tree Decorating

One of the women in the story was found like this by police . . .

One of the women in the story was found like this by police . . .

This story, which you can read if you follow the link, concerns a few related women.  Two of them started decorating the tree, another one came home and got mad they did it without her, and all hell broke loose.  Over a Christmas tree.  Ridiculous you think?  Well, I can totally believe this.  My family almost always gets in some sort of fight every single Christmas – it’s as much a tradition as pumpkin pie.  But I don’t think we’ve actually gotten into a fight over decorating a Christmas tree.

Now the library is another matter.  You would not believe just how important decorating is in a library.  This is a place where having certain psychiatric disorders, like say OCD, are of actual benefit to your job.  I can be rather obsessive myself, but rarely about anything regarding work.  Librarians can turn obsession into an art form – at least they can here.

We have a Christmas tree at work.  It has origami paper decorations that some librarian who no longer works here made who knows how long ago.  Each year they are flattened out and carefully hung up because being paper, they could tear.  Sometimes one of the librarians, I kid you not, irons the paper.  Anyway, my first year at this university, I thought decorating the tree might be lighthearted and fun.  How stupid was I!  This was serious business, people, and needed to be done a certain way.

OMG I am having SO much fun help me now!

OMG I am having SO much fun help me now!

For instance, you were not to put the swirly decorations on first.  That’s because the swirly ones were supposed to fill in all the open spaces (there were none) in the tree after the other decorations were put up.  I was informed of this when I mistakenly tried to hang up one of the swirly pieces of paper first.  This annoyed me, so I hung up the swirly ones first anyway, whenever their backs were turned.  Like I told you before – rebel.

It quickly became apparent that there were far too many cooks in this kitchen, but no way could you escape or you were abandoning everybody.  I’m not sure I’ve ever had the fun so thoroughly taken out of a project.  I decided not to help with the decorating after that year.  Considering what happened to that family in South Carolina, I think this was wise.  I’d hate to see the 911 call that would have inevitably occurred when I got caught putting up decorations in the wrong order.  It could have gotten ugly, fast, and we can’t have aggression in a library – unless it’s passive, then pile it on!

This, by the way, is yet another reason I think librarians drink so much at library conferences.

Thing One is Tested

Thing One has always been an individual.  She saw no need to bother following baby books, nor did she see a need to stay on some arbitrary growth chart.  Mom and doctors freaking out were really just a bonus.  At around six months she sat up, but then didn’t do what to do.  She couldn’t get back down again, so she just sat there, arms held out, like a little doll.  At nine months, she crawled, but it was an army crawl, dragging herself across the floor.  And this was only if she was really desperate for something, since usually stuff came to her if she waited long enough.

She was so tiny she stayed in her car seat, rear facing, until at a year I asked the doctor if I could turn her around.  She was only 16 pounds, but so long that her feet were up by her ears.  But she was content in her car seat.  In fact, if you didn’t get her belted in securely enough, she would scream until you stopped the car, panicked, and looked back to see her staring at you like “You moron, look at this unlocked belt.  I’m calling the cops.”

Seriously, what is WRONG with you, Mother?

Seriously, what is WRONG with you, Mother?

She didn’t walk at a year old.  A couple of months later, she would walk just fine holding on to your finger, but if you let go, she’d drop onto her diapered butt.  She finally decided to walk at 16 months.  She didn’t get a single tooth until she was 15 months, and the doctor was ready to call the dentist.  With expressions like hers, she didn’t really need to speak much, so she didn’t.  One of her first popular phrases was “Daddy, toe!” I’m not sure what the thing was with her toe, but it was very important to her.

We liked having a quiet child.  She played quietly by herself in the play pen and in her crib.  In church, she sat perfectly on our laps.  It was like we were awesome parents or something.  Well, until I fetched her from Sunday School when she was three, and the teacher informed me that she should be speaking in complete sentences by now and we should have her tested.  Huh.  Go figure.  She was our first child, and I’d thrown out Parents magazine long ago, so like we knew anything was up.

So I took her to be tested at the local elementary school, because it’s never to early to start giving your children idiotic tests.  The lady who was supposedly some sort of expert at this stuff, started merrily trying to get Thing One to do what she asked.   She handed her a pair of scissors.  Thing One looked at them like “Wft is this?”  She had good reason to, as I had never given her scissors.  Mark one against Thing One.  Seriously, though, who the hell gives their three-year-old scissors?

Reason 365 not to give a child scissors.

Reason 365 not to give a child scissors.

She tossed them aside, and went back to playing with the various educational toys strewn around.  Not that she did anything with them she was supposed to, like say stack the blocks.  She just examined them, found them lacking, and dropped them again.  The lady tried to get her to color.  She handed her crayons and asked her to color a picture.  Thing One was now starting to get annoyed with this strange woman.  She took the crayon and made one slash across the paper.  Done!  Mark two against Thing One.  Thing One could not have cared less.

She tried to focus Thing One’s attention on her, but Thing One was done with all that.  She laughed and said “It’s like she’s saying ‘Talk to the hand!'”  No, lady, it wasn’t like she was saying that, she actually was conveying this with every bit of body language she possessed.  To this day I really don’t know what it was that Thing One really couldn’t do and what things she just didn’t feel like doing.  The  lady said my daughter was on a one-year-old level, and was going to need to go to something called PPCD for kids with disabilites due to her verbal and motor delays.  People at the school used to call them the “Pee Pee” kids, because they didn’t have to be toilet trained in order to go to school.

And this was when they had me.  It is rather difficult to motivate someone to use the potty when you don’t really communicate with them well, and of course no one wanted to take a kid who was in diapers.  Insult or no, they were willing to take my kid who wasn’t potty-trained yet?  Hallelujah!  Thing One absolutely loved school, and she was for the next few years the shining star of PPCD, as many of the children had much more severe disabilities.  Also she happened to look like a little fairy, and when you’re tiny and cute, people like doing stuff for you.  She immediately accepted the kids with various disabilities, and to this day I think that was one of the most important things she took out of these classes.  She’d have learned to do the other stuff on her own eventually, but this class helped teach her empathy for others, which she still has today.

My wish is your command!

My wish is your command!

One of her best friends was a boy named Carlos with Cerebal Palsy.  They were the princess and the ninja, since everyday Thing One wore a princess costume and Carlos a tie wrapped around his head.  She also loved playing on her own, and her favorite thing to do was go hide in the cabinet.  She apparently did this every day.  At one point, they were concerned she might also have Autism, because she had many symptoms.  For instance, bandaids freaked her out more than shots, the guy giving the smiley face stickers at Wal-Mart was the devil, and don’t even TRY to get her to play with finger paint or shaving foam.  She literally tackled other kids to get away from it.

As it turned out, she wasn’t autistic, just weird.  And I love that about her, because she is delightfully weird and different and perfect.  And now, you’d never know she was ever behind, as she jumped up to 50th percentile on the growth chart and makes straight As.  One thing that hasn’t changed is that she is still every bit the individual, and if you don’t interest her, well – expect to talk to the hand.