A happy Christmas indeed

It's not Christmas until someone throws on a set of antlers and does their best impersonation of a hyena. At least it wasn't a lamp shade.

Before the festivities kicked in, David and I were out hunting Christmas trees. They never had a chance.


The cool thing about buying a Christmas tree on the 24th is - they're dirt cheap. Not so cool is that the only ones left have been picked over for several weeks and left behind for obvious reasons. The fact that David didn't give a shit that our tree was only slightly taller than him, leaned to one side and was missing half of its branches was, well - cool.

In addition to being a sash for traditional Japanese kimonos, OBI is also one of the few stores here in Germany that that still sells Christmas trees on Christmas Eve. If you're not living in 'Schland, you probably won't appreciate why David screaming 'Wie, wo, was, weiß OBI!' at the top of his lungs to the cashier cracked me up, but maybe this clip will help explain.

The cashier also cracked up and started singing along with David. Afterwards, she gave him a pack of gum and went on and on about how hot his dad is. David's heard it a thousand times before, though, so I thought I'd save us a bit of time. I winked, flashed the girl my golden finger leash and when the weeping began, we left to pack up the car.

I had to return the shopping cart, but David started freaking out and blubbering on about wanting a piece of his gum. I got him strapped into his car seat and opened his precious love offering from aisle 4 and explained the rules.

'David, I have to go return the cart. Here's a piece of gum. Leave your seatbelt on and do not get out of your seat; I'll be right back.'

'Okay, Papa - you're the coolest!'

Twenty seconds later, I came back and found the brand new bubble gum package sitting on the driver seat where I left it, only instead of missing one piece, it was missing five. I asked David if he might possibly know where the missing pieces went.


It was Christmas, so I overlooked David's little black lie that a pack of angry elves unbuckled his seatbelt and stole his gum and decided instead to just drive home.

We packed up the animals and, as per usual, we were two hours late getting to Grams and Opa's. Honestly, though, they should have figured out by now that we need to be given an arrival time two hours before they actually expect us, so I'm hoping that 1:00 was just their attempt at being funny.

When we started to trim their tree, my hairy brain immediately began placing bets on which kid would be the first to break a bulb. It happens every year and my money was on David. Even though the odds were 7:1, Opa was actually the first to christen the floor with porcelain. Damn it! There goes Papa's new shoes.

Believe it or not, the boys did not actually break anything. Yet. Aside from the blatant foreshadowing, they did a great job of decorating the tree. Right?


Okay, the tree might have been a little bottom heavy, but after Peter, David and Tom took turns falling off of the step ladder, we (me) decided that the bulbs actually looked the best crammed together at the one meter level.

After creating the 'most awesome, bestest tree ever', Peter decided to outdo everyone by drawing the 'most awesome, bestest picture of a tree ever'.

It was kinda like the tree we had just decorated, only this one had a friendly rainbow hovering above it. Peace, Santa - and cool hat, dude.

Barb wasn't donning her party hat yet, but she was definitely getting her face primed.

I have to say, this year Angie and I were complete crap at maintaining the illusion of Christmas. Mostly Angie, but only 'cause it's my blog. Sofa me.

Before leaving for Grams and Opa's, Peter and David both [SHOCK ALERT] ignored Mama's sudden rule that they were forbidden to go into our bedroom. Peter and David came out annoyed. They certainly get the 'ignoring' part from me; I'm just not sure where they get the 'annoying' part, but Angie wasn't around to ask.

'Oh, Papaaaa! We wanted to jump on the bed, but there is all these gifts there.'

'Didn't Mama tell you not to go into our bedroom?'

'Don't remember.'

'Wrong answer. Trust me; I've dealt with her kind long enough to know that the amnesia card doesn't work.'

'What's ameezy?'

'Forget it. Forget everything. These are not the presents you're looking for.'

'These aren't the presents we're looking for.'

'You can go about your business.'

'We can continue destroying the house.'

After the Christmas tree hunt, I think you can guess who was OBI-Wan and yes, he only hears what he wants to destroy.

The next big obstacle was trying to explain how Santa Clause came down the lit chimney and dumped his load while they sat in the room next door watching toons.


'Yeah, but Papaaaa! How can he do that so fast with the fire on and then he shout ho-ho-ho that sound just like you. That not make sense.'

'Neither does marriage, buddy - but that doesn't stop me from believing in it. Now shut up and go open some gifts.'

It was Tommy's first 'real' Christmas. The first year never counts; the sleepy poop-sacks are easily impressed with ribbon and normally just want to play with the box. Even the second year brings into question whether they are really old enough. If I had it my way, Tommy would have been tucked away in bed, dreaming of sugar plums and desperately needed haircuts. Of course, had I done it my way, there'd be regrets. I've had a few.

Tommy was a slow starter compared to Peter and David. They can actually read their names on the tags posted by Santa. Tommy can't, but that didn't stop him from ripping open anything that Grams put into his greedy little hands.


Greed turned out to be the sin of the season. As soon as Tommy had worked himself into a full swing ripping frenzy, Peter made his move for the mother load. I didn't think it was possible for six-year olds to put their back out, but Peter decided to test my thinking by immediately going for the biggest, heaviest mother of the whole load.


David ignored Peter's grunting and heaving, followed by pleas for help and instead began his own greed-packed crusade to unpack.

Maya stood vigilant watch, ready to tear apart any of Angie's childhood memories if anyone had been foolish enough to pack them. I guess she took lessons from Lola. [Editorial note: there was no destruction caused by canines during the making of this year's Christmas.]

As the owner of three, I think it's great that there are so many groups out there fighting for the protection of animals. I just feel that there isn't enough being done to fight against the cruel and unusual treatment of toys. It's probably good, since David would have been locked away years ago, but still. Take this poor little Pin Art toy, for example.

This executive pin screen had been sitting in a dark box for over a year, eagerly waiting to be opened and played with. Little did it know that it's long journey from China would end up in a rather loud house in Germany, as the victim of a hate crime. By definition, a hate crime implies that a woman is to blame and this time it was no different. Barb played with David's new toy and he hated it.

The ensuing flying kick to Barb's head produced several results. For one, I don't think that Barb will be touching any of Davey's shit again. Ever. Second, poor little Pinny suffered a fracture and is still in a garbage-like coma. And last, but certainly not least entertaining, it made me crack up.

As long as I'm sticking with the whole 'find humor in other people's anguish' theme, I should point out that Armin showed up sporting his Frankenfinger.


I forget sometimes that I'm an asshole, but Angie is somehow always there to remind me that asking a guy who recently sliced off his index finger if it's a box of finger puppets is not appropriate. Okay, she used different words, but I was quick to point out that they were just as inappropriate.

Slightly less profanic was Peter, obviously following someone's lead.

Okay, he wasn't exactly hyperventilating like a hyena, but Barb was still cackling somewhere in the background, asking everyone if they had seen a lamp shade.
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I see the all the presents by the tree.
David: Baaam, bagaty doom ma shoom, right?
Tom: I sleep now, Papa.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When Tommy open my present even when my name on it is and even when I say 'no, Tommy - that mine!' and then he laugh at me.
David: When my finger push thing fall to the floor - aaaggh bonk - then it was broken.
Tom: When I cry like this - waaaaaggh!

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: Play super agent with my secret rocket ship.
David: When I play with my new castle that you build, okay?
Tom: Opa and Lola and Grams and you, Papa.