Christmas…we’re sorry jesus.

Christmas used to be a kickass time of the year to me.  All year long I was mostly well behaved enough that I knew Santa was going to come and leave me some booty under the tree.

I was always good enough to get most of what I wanted, but almost never good enough to get exactly what I wanted.  I guess you had to be really, really good to get the Mongoose bike with mag wheels. I was only good enough to get the Team Murray bike with spoke wheels.  It did have a number plate though.  The REALLY cool remote control cars came from a hobby shop, whereas mine came from Radio Shack.  Geez, my friend Mark got all C’s and a D on his report card and he got the Mongoose!  In hindsight though, I do appreciate that Christmas wasn’t something my parents could easily just pull out of their asses to make happen, especially 30 years ago.

My God, they had to actually go to a store and fight crowds to purchase gifts!  That was during the Reagan years when everyone had money to spend so they were all at the mall, asshole to bellybutton!  Amazon was still decades away from making Christmas shopping at the mall a thing of the past for many of us.

At some point, I stopped being the recipient of Christmas joy and became the provider of that joy. Imagine that, me spreading Christmas fucking joy!! Wonderful! I guess that’s one of the many prices we pay for having kids.

The absurdity of what Christmas has become hit me a couple of mornings ago when I noticed Ace and Cdawg were both up before me and sitting downstairs at the island while I was getting ready to catch the honkey bus to work.  This was very unusual, as normally Ace is still drooling on her pillow and Cdawg is upstairs pestering his mother while she’s trying to get ready herself about whether or not he can play the Wii when he gets home in 12 hours.

Then Ace says, pretty matter of factly, “Dad the elf hasn’t moved in three days.”

Oh that stupid fucking elf!!  Just the thought of it makes my butthole pucker anymore.

We got the Elf on the Shelf five years ago, before it was mainstream enough that I’d ever heard of it (not that I’m cool, so it’s not surprising).  A beloved, I guess trendy aunt sent it to Ace as a gift in 2007.  Nobody ever knew what it was so it stayed unopened in the box for several years.  The elf never made an appearance in the old South City house for sure, but for some reason we opened it last year and half-assed moved it around a few times.  Ha ha ha the kids liked it, sort of.

Well, those few times apparently opened the floodgates to a new, undesired tradition.  It’s bad enought that I feel obligated to get my fat ass up on the roof to hang lights from our 2 story house, but this is too much!  It’s all I can do to remember to put pants on before I leave the house everyday, let alone having to move this elf every night!

The elf was apparently unpacked last weekend with the Christmas lights and trees.  I didn’t know the elf had been out for several days, but there it was, on the shelf over the fireplace, laying face down on the mantle where he’s apparently been, unbeknownst to me, for several days.  I assume Ace knew it was there, so why did she wait several days to ask about him?

The night before this elf inquisition, we had finally gotten around to reading the story to the kids for the first time ever.  It all made sense after I read the story. “Where will you find me? Over here or there or what?” asks the elf? God I hate you elf! I’ll find you in the shitter once these kids move out of the house! 

Well, we read the book and Ace wanted to name her stupid elf Rocco because, if it already had a name, nobody could remember it.  It was Jack or Buddy or something.  I wanted to name it A-A Ron so we could ask “Where are you right now, A-A Ron?” while we looked for him each morning.  Lol, that joke will not be funny by the time I post this, but it made me chuckle.  We went to write Rocco in the book where you’re supposed to put its name and we noticed that my aunt had the book signed by the author and illustrator (probably at an FAO Schwarz in NY City), so I didn’t have the heart to write in it.

Without missing a beat, I began to explain to Ace why the elf I knew nothing about had been on the shelf, unbeknownst to me, for several days.  At some point in the middle of my convoluted lie to explain why Rocco hasn’t moved in days because JoJo (the dog) has been sleeping downstairs by the fireplace instead of in mommy and daddy’s room for some reason and if the dog sees the elf moving and barks, the elf becomes paralyzed with fear and its magic flies out of its ass and into the dog’s mouth and then JoJo would be responsible for reporting back to Santa but she’d have to walk so it really wouldn’t work and JoJo can’t have more than 4 years of life left, etc. I looked at Ace and wondered if she was fucking with me.

She’s 9 now and a very mature 9 at that.  She’s never asked about Santa or questioned where or how her toys wind up under the tree on Christmas morning.  She may be like I was.  I never cared, but I believed and never asked until I was 29 years old!  SOMEONE brought gifts, so why question where they came from and risk an end to the gravy train?

Because the wife and I are either lazy or just suck at being shifty, or because we have 57 things to do the second we walk into the house with these kids, we often leave Amazon boxes in the foyer where the kids practically trip right over them when they come into the house.  Ace asked the other day what was in all of the boxes.  Sigh, more Christmas related interrogation….well Ace, Daddy has been eating a lot of cookies and not exercising lately so he’s developed diabetes and some of the boxes are my new medication. Some are more cookies and others are homebrewing materials so daddy can make beer.

“Oh, can I have some cookies?” she asked.

“Hey, I just told you daddy has diabetes for the first time and you want to know if you can have my cookies?!! Daddy could lose a foot or die you know!” “They’re disgusting sugar-free medicine cookies that you wouldn’t like!

The pouty face...

The pouty face…

“Sorry Dad” she said, and made me feel like a douche, while making her pouty face. I hate the pouty face!

We’re having an argument about her priorities in not caring about a disease I don’t have (I don’t officially have it, but who knows really?) that I had to lie about to keep up with the lie that Santa brought the gifts that are in the foyer, not the FedEx man! Merry Christmas! 

If I’m remembering my PSR lessons correctly, Thou Shalt Not Lie is one of the Ten Commandments that God gave to Moses to share with the people so we would know how to behave and find our way to heaven!


Instead of celebrating the birth of sweet baby Jesus, who was apparently born in a barn because the inns were full, even though there was no Christmas travel yet because, duh, Christ hadn’t been born yet, the holiday has morphed into the current clusterfuck we call Christmas.

How ironic that there is really no greater conspiracy to lie (commandments people!) than there is at Christmas.  These poor babies are led to believe that there’s a fat man who enters their house through the chimney and delivers presents that he hauls around in a sled being pulled by flying reindeer…lol!  Can you imagine the first person who thought this up?  Apparently, somebody in his group wasn’t stoned when he heard it and took the idea and ran with it.  Probably someone who owned Walmart stock.

That’s fine and dandy, but this great Christmas lie oftentimes has to be reinforced by smaller lies and it never ends.    

Ace recently entered a drawing through her orthodontist’s office to win an iPad. I told her I hope she wins and she told me that it’d be ok if she didn’t because she’d just ask Santa for one. What the fuck!?  Next thing I knew, without thinking, I’m weaving a story about Apple controlling certain rights in Japan and how getting titanium to the North Pole is very difficult, and that even though Santa himself is very much magical, his duties are limited to delivery. He is not able to interfere in production because that’s for the elves…you know, the little people who work or volunteer or are born into servitude at the North Pole?  Well, they don’t have magical powers and can only work with what they have, dear.  iPads require titanium and that’s too hard to get. 

I don’t know that ANY of that is true!

Sadly, it doesn’t even require effort anymore. I lie or make shit up about Christmas as it comes to me just as naturally as I breathe and then keep lying to reinforce the previous lies validity! Then I have to share the lie with the wife so she’s not telling contrary lies that make us both look like we’re really lying!  It’s pretty sad, really.

What may be sadder is that there’s a good chance that Ace knows we’re full of shit and is taking our nonsense to school with her and holding court with other fourth graders comparing outlandish lies their parents told them the night before to carry on with this Santa farce.  Can you imagine? 

Ace: “my dad said he had diabetes and that the boxes were medicine!”

Sally 4th grader: “OMG STFU No Way!  Your dad is retarded!  Mine told me that the gifts with my name on them in their closet are for poor children named Sally 4th grader and not me.  Whateva!”

Screw you little girls!!!

Not too far-fetched, really.  These kids are smarter than we give them credit for and Ace has an iPod touch. 

It’s entirely possible that she’s Googled Christmas and uncovered the fact that mom and dad are Santa Claus and is letting us carry on with our lies because she’s a big meanie!  In that case, she’s lying to us while we’re lying to her and that’s just not right!  After all, lying is against God’s commandments!

This entry was posted in Family, Parenting and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Christmas…we’re sorry jesus.

  1. Sarah says:

    Best one yet. Lol

  2. Pingback: We’ll shelve this elf yet… | don of all trades

  3. Pingback: The buddhists are ruining christmas for christians… | don of all trades

  4. The Flyby Muse says:

    LOL – I had to tell mine that elves can’t make iPads – only apple can cos of copyright!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s