Well, today I begin my official holiday vacation. So my posts will be sporadic between now and New Year’s Day. Not that you’ll be checking MAMMAKAZE. I know you all have better things to do. You know. Like spend time with family. Cook fabulous turkey dinners with all the trimmings. Get blotto at the neighbor’s New Year’s Eve party and rearrange your other neighbor’s lighted reindeer so that they look like they’re humping.  

Yeah. That happened to me.  And I had to explain to Julia what they were doing. “Playing leap frog,” I lied. Thanks, Kevin.

Anyhow,  I wanted to wish you all a wonderful holiday season. Enjoy the time with your family. Make memories. Love each other. And especially love and enjoy your children. They are a great gift. Plus they’ll take care of you when you’re old so be nice to them now… Cuz payback’s a bitch, especially when you’re immobile in a wheelchair.

 

Okay. Last year we bought this advent calendar in the shape of a Santa at Target’s after Christmas clearance. And this year we began a “tradition”  where every night on the 25 days of December leading up to Christmas, the elves come and bring Julia a little something.  

I know I know. Over-indulgence.  Believe you me, I wouldn’t have started this lovely tradition except my friend JENNIE does this every year with her two boys JAKE and ZACH. And last Christmas every day on the way to school Julia was privvy to their excited ramblings about what the elves brought them the night before. Naturally, she wanted to know why the heck the elves came to them but not to such a nice, well-behaved young lady as herself. Being a tale-spinner from way back, I tried to spin some tale about different families and different holiday traditions starting hundreds of years ago. But she wasn’t having any of it. And thus, a tradition was born.

As if I didn’t have enough to do prepping for the holidays. Now I also have to come up with something clever every night for 25 nights for the elves to bring! And since Julia is up at the crack of dawn and sometimes she falls asleep AFTER me, I’ve often had to tip-toe downstairs at 4 am to put something in the #$%@# calendar.

Anyway, one of the things the elves bring is money. Coins. Quarters, dimes, nickels. And since we have started this tradition (three weeks ago now)  Julia has been like a magpie and squirreled away everything she’s gotten from the elves in a shoebox that she calls her “trinket box”. Even the chocolates. Don’t ask me why. It’s probably that same gene that (when I was a kid) made my Halloween candy last from October until May (much to the dismay of my brothers who downed theirs in a day).

That was a whole big preface to what happened this weekend.

So we got back from errands and while I went to wrap gifts with my newly acquired wrapping paper, Julia made a beeline for the potty. Right on schedule as she’d had her Saturday morning donut and milk just an hour before. She’s nothing if not regular.

Anyway. suddenly, mid-wrap I hear a blood-curdling SCREAM come from the bathroom. My mommy mind immediately went to all manner of horrific scenarios including one in which she somehow managed to slip off the potty into the tub, cracking her head on the faucet. “I knew it was too soon to take the rubber polar bear faucet cover off!” I thought as I raced to the bathroom.

I FLUNG open the door. She stood there, bare butted, in front of the toilet SOBBING.

ME: Jules! What’s wrong?!

JULIA: My nickel. It fell in the toilet!

ME: What are you talking about? What nickel?

JULIA: My nickel from the elves!

Sure enough, she was holding her “trinket box” full of chocolates and coins and wind-up Santas.

TONI: What were you doing looking at your trinket box while you were going potty?

JULIA: I don’t know. I just was. Mom! You HAVE to get it!

ME: Honey. It’s just a nickel.

JULIA: No. The ELVES brought it! It’s special!

Ah yes. The “special” nickel. What have I wrought?

I looked down in the toilet. I saw a LOT of stuff but no nickel.

ME: Uh, I don’t see it. Maybe it didn’t fall in there.

JULIA: It did! It did! Get it mamma! Pleeeeeease!

I love my kid. And I’ll do almost anything for her. And I have gone through great lengths to impress upon her the importance of saving money and not being wasteful. But there’s waste and then there’s WASTE.

I drew the line. And by drawing the line, I mean I lied.

ME:  Julia. I’m sure you didn’t lose a nickel in there.  I’m sure it’s on the floor.

JULIA: (calming down) Really?

ME: I’m positive.

Knowing it probably wasn’t on the floor, I planned on planting a substitute somewhere on the floor when she wasn’t looking.

ME: Now pull up your pants and then I’ll help you look.

JULIA: Okay.

As she pulled up her pants, I flushed the toilet. And as I did… the loud CLINK CLINK CLINKING of metal being swished around the porcelain bowl could distinctly be heard. And we both saw a flash of silver just before the bowl emptied with a rush of water.

JULIA: AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!

Sigh. Guess tomorrow calls for an extra  special gift from the elves. Maybe a Webkinz? Thanks a lot Jennie.

 

The details of this story are soooo bizarre that they almost make you laugh… if it wasn’t so sad.

A 4 year old-Tennessee boy broke through a child safety knob, got out of his grandparent’s house in the middle of the night. And while drinking a beer he got from home, broke into a neighbor’s house (through an unlocked door) stole five Christmas presents. One was a girl’s dress, which he put on.

Police found him wandering the streets, wearing the dress and with a beer can in hand.

His 21 year-old mother (yes, that means she was 17 when she had him) says he was purposely trying to get into trouble so he could go to jail to be with his father. Yes, that’s right. His dad is in prison. What a surprise.

Then the mother proceeds to say:

“Kids do things like this. It’s out of your control. You can only do your best as a mother.”

I don’t know about you, but I don’t know too many 4 year-olds to whom it would occur to commit such crimes. And I LOVE how she says it’s out of her control. I guess it was out of her control to use birth control too.

She should take some freaking responsibility! Oh, but I forgot. No one’s responsible for anything anymore. It’s always someone else’s fault.

This poor kid seems doomed to me. Now this is a mom who SHOULD FEEL GUILTY.

(NOTE to my friend J: Sneaking a peek at a present doesn’t seem like such a CRIME after watching this video, does it?)

 

I love me some wacky, clever folks. These get the $25 Starbucks card if you ask me. Thanks again, Bruce.

 

The spirit of Patrick Swayze lives on. “Ditto”

 

 

This is an actual lights display. The guy hanging off the roof is a dummy.

Police made the homeowner take this down because they were getting too many 911 calls. Hee Hee Hee

 

I was at the ATM today. And as I was leaving a woman walked up. She was wearing a grey velour sweat suit. You know, the kind that isn’t really for sweating in but more the kind in which the only type of running that is done is running errands. The fancy kind.

Anyway, as the woman turned toward the ATM, I was suddenly blinded! A bright light seared my retinas. My rods went wild! I blinked a few times and as my eyes readjusted to the lower wattage of the sunlight I saw, across her butt, in great big, hot pink SPARKLY letters the words: PINK LADY.

I didn’t know what it meant. Maybe it’s a GREASE reference. I doubt it. I doubt SHE even knew what it meant. She probably just liked the bling. The point is, it caught the sun and consequently caught my eye. Rather it FORCED my eye to stare at her bum. And you know what? I didn’t want to. Really, I didn’t. But how could I avoid it? The eye is drawn to things that stand out. It’s a survival mechanism from the days when we had to fight off wooly mammoths. I’m not saying her butt had any resemblance to a wooly mammoth. I’m just saying, my eye wasn’t happy.

Because FYI. No matter what font it is, what color it’s in or how many sparkles are used… pants with sparkly writing across the butt…not a good look.  Okay, maybe if you’re Miranda Kerr or one of those other Victoria’s Secrets models who looks good in anything…or nothing. Nah. Not even on them.

Cuz you know what those blingy butted sweatpants remind me of? Jon Gosselin in those Ed Hardy T-shirts. And I think we all agree – that’s not a good thing.

And let’s face it, most of us who have ever carried another human being inside our bodies don’t really need to be drawing attention to our fannies. Do we? Well, I don’t. I go to great lengths to make sure no one looks at my behind. I mean, if you’ve ever seen me at a party, you’ll notice I’m the one standing in the corner. And those long sweaters… not a fashion favorite… totally strategic. Randy the perfekt husband doesn’t realize it, but he hasn’t seen my butt in years. That’s because I’m quite good at backing out of room without making it look weird. It’s become such a skill in fact, that I’m sure it’s imprinted on my DNA and will henceforth be passed on in my genetic line.

Okay. I know I’m going to get bashed by those folks out there who say a woman should feel comfortable enough in her body to flaunt it no matter how she looks. And I agree. I’ll be the first to throw out oodles of kudos to a woman who is so comfortable with her behind that she is actually willing to advertise on it in Helvetica BOLD.  

And honestly, it’s not the clingy sweats I have a problem with. Or the even the printed words really. I mean if a woman wants to announce to the world that she’s “juicy”, hey, it’s her tush.

It’s the BLING ON THE BOTTOM that bugs me. I mean, really? Do you need attention THAT badly? It’s not enough to have rhinestones on your sunglasses or sparkles on your top in the shape of a fleur de lis ( I have one by the way) or on those little train conductor hats that are all the rage but which, of course, I look stupid in? You’ve got to FLASH me with your ass?

And let’s discuss the logistics here. You cannot tell me that it’s comfortable sitting on all that bedazzling. (I mean, I get all “Princess and the Pea” if the the little seam on the end of my socks doesn’t precisely line up with my toes).  And what about the leather interior of your Beamer? Or the wooden bottom of your nook chairs? Is it really worth the scuffs and scratches on your furniture to bring attention to your “this and that”?

I don’t know. Maybe if I had better body image I’d consider blinging out my booty….NAH. I just don’t see doing it…EVER.

Well, to each her own. I guess if I don’t like it, I don’t have to look. Right?

Except of course when the sun hits the bling and I am temporarily blinded to the point that I’m not sure if that bump I went over in the road was a speed bump or the neighbor’s dog. Then you’re not just assaulting my sensibilities, you’re assaulting my senses. So, please. STOP!

NOTE OF APOLOGY TO ALL MY FRIENDS WHO BLING THEIR BEHINDS. It’s not you, it’s me. And lack of caffeine.

 

So next time you’re wondering if you’ve gone too far in your efforts to win that $25 Starbucks card in your neighborhood HOA sponsored holiday lights contest by putting the life size inflatable snow globe on your front lawn or the 12 neon flamingos with the blinking Santa hats on your roof… at least take solace in the fact that, while you may be tacky, at least you’re not offensive.

Sent in by MAMMAKAZE reader Bruce. Thanks Bruce. I think.

 

Rudolph Roadkill

 

Let him go, let him go, let him go!