I can remember this time last year. I was the size of a rather attractive small whale with great teeth and glowing skin, anticipating the arrival of our second son. Sitting in a kiddie pool waiting to experience to joys yet again of pushing a watermelon through a garden hose while my personal assistant bought me margaritas all day. Personal assistant/husband, Whatever, It’s so hard to differentiate between the two these days.
Christmas will be a little more exciting this year as it will be the Squirts first Christmas. Not that he will know what is going on but I am sure he will be impressed by the plethora of wrapping paper to chew on, which he will then half swallow and subsequently vomit up all over our freshly shampooed rugs.
Shortly Snots will want to sit down and write ever so slowly around 30 Christmas cards to all of his class mates (I liken this to what i can only imagine removing wafer thin pieces of skin with a potato peeler until you reach the bone, on my entire body would be like). And then he will want to attach stickers to the envelopes. This is a very time consuming process. Don’t want to give the wrong Christmas sticker to the wrong person, this could mean certain social playground death. Not only do we have to do the cards but just to raise the bar slightly higher, one of the mothers last year gave out candy canes. Well LA DE DA! I suppose she parks her car in a garage, oooh a garage, and not a car hole. Determined not to be outdone this year, not only do I have candy Canes for snots to bestow on his fellow classmates but I have three different colour choices, I know, I totally went all out.
My dad won’t stay over this Christmas. We don’t know why, we are so sickeningly nice to him when he is here, its vomit worthy. We can’t work it out because all he does all day at home is watch TV? So he could watch TV here (plus we have cable which is around 100 channels of extra TV goodness) like he does at home, No?. I don’t understand. Oh well, old people, who can work them out?
And memories of my Mum VS cold meats for Christmas lunches. That bitch will knock you flying from a mile away if she picks up on the scent of cold cuts. Meat flies everywhere. She grabs the bag and huddles in the corner chowing down on pieces of ham and mortadella, growling the words “Meat, MMMMMMM, Meat” over and over. Come to think of it watching my mum eat is an event in itself. It should be a spectator sport, behind glass. She is the only person I know that can eat corn on the Cob and end up with it in her hair and all over herself and the person in the next house. Like the corn cob has actually exploded. We take great joy in mocking her when she doesn’t know she is covered in it. Who says you have to wait until they are old to have fun with them?
THE END
Oh, the picture is of my Husband and his brother when they were younger, I do what I can to embarrass them at any given opportunity. Hey, its what I do.
). We like to save for things and we aren’t fans of buying things when you can afford them so after a year of saving we bought a car, well the company bought the car. I know we are boring, but thats ok with me, I would take being boring over being in debt any day.
