Christmas Chaos
Here I sit, returning after the holidays almost (yes, almost) recovered from the adrenaline overload that accompanies two children under the age of six at Christmas. And how was our low key holiday, you ask? Well, we all survived and I feel like that's a plus. Care for a glimpse into the insanity, loyal readers?
Lets start the week before Christmas, shall we? Christmas shopping complete but nothing wrapped, a full week of work ahead before a lovely five day break for me and nine day break for the cop. We really felt on top of things at this point. After all, it was just work and wrapping presents. We could do that... But then, in the true fashion of working law enforcement, something came up. I went to work on Tuesday and found out that on Wednesday I'd be flying to Wyoming for an overnight trip.
Ok, not really a panic situation... I made my travel arrangements, arranged for the loving grandparents to pick up the hooligans the next night until the cop got off, and spoke in low soothing tones to the cop about how it was still cool, we could do this, no problem...
Tuesday night brought the Kindergarten Christmas Pageant. In a word, adorable. In more than one word? Overwhelmingly crowded evidence that there are way more five year olds in the area than I previously realized, along with the comforting discovery that every little boy occasionally pulls his shirt up in front to either chew on or hide behind. Fortunately for once it wasn't Gavin. Thanks to the parents of the other six or seven little boys who did flash the audience in "kindergartners gone wild" fashion for the few moments of levity. Tossing beads would have been inappropriate, but if I'd had some I would have done it regardless.
Wednesday morning, work out, pack, pack lunches, load up children, day care drop off, kindergarten drop off, then off to work and the trip to Wyoming. When I stumbled into my hotel after ten that night and told them I'd need the shuttle at 5:30 the next morning I wanted to weep just thinking about it. And when I wandered out into the 0 degree morning to catch my tiny plane to Denver it was very much an effort to exude Christmas cheer. Especially after boarding the plane and ending up seated behind the one man on the plane with either the worlds worst hangover, serious food poisoning, or wicked stomach flu on the tiny propellor plane flying through turbulence.
NO WAY was I going to get sick this close to Christmas. I pulled my sweatshirt over my mouth, shrunk in my seat and vowed not to inhale ever during the hour and a half flight. I sprinted off the plane in Denver, away from Mr. Pukes-a-lot, and directly to a restroom to pee and then decontaminate. And as soon as I sat down what did I hear in the next stall? Heaving. Massive, gut wrenching, probably aliens springing from abdomens, heaving. Accompanied by splashing. Which almost drown out my swearing.
Almost.
Which is how I came to be scrubbing fastidiously enough to prepare for surgery in a restroom in the Denver airport. Denver to Sacramento was relatively innocuous. I was super happy to be almost home, until stopping at a restroom on the drive home only to realize that it was actually coated in pink vomit.
Side note. I hate vomit. With a passion. And every one of the people that exposed me to it that day I wish a special kind of torment upon. Something like being trapped in a small room with only CNN on a television for extended periods of time with small children who have been provided with caffeine and sugar but no toys or other outlet. Pink vomit indeed. Who ARE these people?
Home just in time to pick up the wild boys I wandered blindly into the daycare not remembering that it had been Christmas party day at Kindergarten. Gavin had a special glow in his eyes that usually accompanies sugar, no nap, and holiday mania. In case you're wondering that's entirely contagious, and Gabe was also twitching with excitement though he had no idea why exactly. And so my exhaustion was set aside while the boys asked at least 90 times exactly how many days until Christmas Eve, and then Christmas, and exactly how DEEPLY they had to be sleeping for Santa to come, and if you're only a little bad would Santa still bring presents and just put a little reindeer poo in your stocking...
Friday. The final work day. But also, the daycare party. Systems still slightly amped from sugar consumption the prior day, the daycare party pretty much pushed the boys into rocking, twitching balls of motion. Overstimulated to the point of laughing hysterically for no apparent reason and weeping when I turned on the wrong Dora episode, the boys were by my estimation OUT of the "just a little reindeer poo" territory and venturing ever closer to securing us enough reindeer poo to fertilize a summer garden.
The weekend was just further torment for them, really. Several days of anticipation and only each to play with, so come Christmas Eve on Monday they were ready for the family visits. We started with the grandparents and Auntie Jess early in the day, so Gavin could have Auntie help him wrap his presents. I won't say the boys misbehaved, per se, but I will say at one point the three year old had Auntie pinned to the floor while he forced her mouth open and demanded a flashlight after suspecting she was less than truthful about having gum.
Let's not forget, also, that Christmas Eve means Christmas Eve church services. I love the Christmas Eve services, always have. But in an effort to encourage family unity our church has decided this will be the one service of the year where there is no children's church, no daycare, no nursery. Oh, and of course, there will be candles. Every year we leave with several minor injuries. This year Gabe got three burns and the cop and I got covered in enough wax droplets to make the dry cleaner wonder if we were venturing the way of 50 Shades of Grey.
Then back to the grandparent's house for dinner. Thirteen people, four of whom were small children, two small dogs, and one very small house. Lots of sugar combined with Christmas Eve hysteria. Need I say more?
Don't get me wrong. This insanity is our tradition. I love every minute of it. And when we made it home I watched the cop read the boys The Night Before Christmas as they fell asleep, and for once we felt very Norman Rockwell. That was our one time for the year (we are law enforcement, there are quotas to be fulfilled...)
Christmas was equally chaotic. I'm sure you all have the idea. The boys thundered down the stairs like a herd of buffalo and came to our room carrying gifts from Santa while their bodies hummed with energy to the degree that their edges blurred, and speaking in octaves that could only be heard and understood by bats and dogs. The family arrived later for a day of over indulgence in food and serious spoiling of children. And that evening I had to convince the wild boys that they couldn't actually sleep in their new circus tent, even if they did have flashlights, and they should probably thank me now because Lord knows they will most likely spend plenty of evenings in their teenage years sleeping in circus tents when they realize that running away with Barnum and Bailey is probably still more normal than this family.
All in all, a magical Christmas full of blessings, seriously. Because even if you have boys as wild as these time with family is beautiful.
Until next time.
Lets start the week before Christmas, shall we? Christmas shopping complete but nothing wrapped, a full week of work ahead before a lovely five day break for me and nine day break for the cop. We really felt on top of things at this point. After all, it was just work and wrapping presents. We could do that... But then, in the true fashion of working law enforcement, something came up. I went to work on Tuesday and found out that on Wednesday I'd be flying to Wyoming for an overnight trip.
Ok, not really a panic situation... I made my travel arrangements, arranged for the loving grandparents to pick up the hooligans the next night until the cop got off, and spoke in low soothing tones to the cop about how it was still cool, we could do this, no problem...
Tuesday night brought the Kindergarten Christmas Pageant. In a word, adorable. In more than one word? Overwhelmingly crowded evidence that there are way more five year olds in the area than I previously realized, along with the comforting discovery that every little boy occasionally pulls his shirt up in front to either chew on or hide behind. Fortunately for once it wasn't Gavin. Thanks to the parents of the other six or seven little boys who did flash the audience in "kindergartners gone wild" fashion for the few moments of levity. Tossing beads would have been inappropriate, but if I'd had some I would have done it regardless.
Wednesday morning, work out, pack, pack lunches, load up children, day care drop off, kindergarten drop off, then off to work and the trip to Wyoming. When I stumbled into my hotel after ten that night and told them I'd need the shuttle at 5:30 the next morning I wanted to weep just thinking about it. And when I wandered out into the 0 degree morning to catch my tiny plane to Denver it was very much an effort to exude Christmas cheer. Especially after boarding the plane and ending up seated behind the one man on the plane with either the worlds worst hangover, serious food poisoning, or wicked stomach flu on the tiny propellor plane flying through turbulence.
NO WAY was I going to get sick this close to Christmas. I pulled my sweatshirt over my mouth, shrunk in my seat and vowed not to inhale ever during the hour and a half flight. I sprinted off the plane in Denver, away from Mr. Pukes-a-lot, and directly to a restroom to pee and then decontaminate. And as soon as I sat down what did I hear in the next stall? Heaving. Massive, gut wrenching, probably aliens springing from abdomens, heaving. Accompanied by splashing. Which almost drown out my swearing.
Almost.
Which is how I came to be scrubbing fastidiously enough to prepare for surgery in a restroom in the Denver airport. Denver to Sacramento was relatively innocuous. I was super happy to be almost home, until stopping at a restroom on the drive home only to realize that it was actually coated in pink vomit.
Side note. I hate vomit. With a passion. And every one of the people that exposed me to it that day I wish a special kind of torment upon. Something like being trapped in a small room with only CNN on a television for extended periods of time with small children who have been provided with caffeine and sugar but no toys or other outlet. Pink vomit indeed. Who ARE these people?
Home just in time to pick up the wild boys I wandered blindly into the daycare not remembering that it had been Christmas party day at Kindergarten. Gavin had a special glow in his eyes that usually accompanies sugar, no nap, and holiday mania. In case you're wondering that's entirely contagious, and Gabe was also twitching with excitement though he had no idea why exactly. And so my exhaustion was set aside while the boys asked at least 90 times exactly how many days until Christmas Eve, and then Christmas, and exactly how DEEPLY they had to be sleeping for Santa to come, and if you're only a little bad would Santa still bring presents and just put a little reindeer poo in your stocking...
Friday. The final work day. But also, the daycare party. Systems still slightly amped from sugar consumption the prior day, the daycare party pretty much pushed the boys into rocking, twitching balls of motion. Overstimulated to the point of laughing hysterically for no apparent reason and weeping when I turned on the wrong Dora episode, the boys were by my estimation OUT of the "just a little reindeer poo" territory and venturing ever closer to securing us enough reindeer poo to fertilize a summer garden.
The weekend was just further torment for them, really. Several days of anticipation and only each to play with, so come Christmas Eve on Monday they were ready for the family visits. We started with the grandparents and Auntie Jess early in the day, so Gavin could have Auntie help him wrap his presents. I won't say the boys misbehaved, per se, but I will say at one point the three year old had Auntie pinned to the floor while he forced her mouth open and demanded a flashlight after suspecting she was less than truthful about having gum.
Let's not forget, also, that Christmas Eve means Christmas Eve church services. I love the Christmas Eve services, always have. But in an effort to encourage family unity our church has decided this will be the one service of the year where there is no children's church, no daycare, no nursery. Oh, and of course, there will be candles. Every year we leave with several minor injuries. This year Gabe got three burns and the cop and I got covered in enough wax droplets to make the dry cleaner wonder if we were venturing the way of 50 Shades of Grey.
Then back to the grandparent's house for dinner. Thirteen people, four of whom were small children, two small dogs, and one very small house. Lots of sugar combined with Christmas Eve hysteria. Need I say more?
Don't get me wrong. This insanity is our tradition. I love every minute of it. And when we made it home I watched the cop read the boys The Night Before Christmas as they fell asleep, and for once we felt very Norman Rockwell. That was our one time for the year (we are law enforcement, there are quotas to be fulfilled...)
Christmas was equally chaotic. I'm sure you all have the idea. The boys thundered down the stairs like a herd of buffalo and came to our room carrying gifts from Santa while their bodies hummed with energy to the degree that their edges blurred, and speaking in octaves that could only be heard and understood by bats and dogs. The family arrived later for a day of over indulgence in food and serious spoiling of children. And that evening I had to convince the wild boys that they couldn't actually sleep in their new circus tent, even if they did have flashlights, and they should probably thank me now because Lord knows they will most likely spend plenty of evenings in their teenage years sleeping in circus tents when they realize that running away with Barnum and Bailey is probably still more normal than this family.
All in all, a magical Christmas full of blessings, seriously. Because even if you have boys as wild as these time with family is beautiful.
Until next time.
You always make me laugh, Jenny!
ReplyDelete