We got home from our Christmas Eve dinner at a nearby restaurant and called the elves at Norad to ask where Santa was in the world.
I handed my phone over to my boy, and he said, “But my Uncle Scott and Mercedes only bring me a pile of poop for Christmas!”
I burst out laughing. I have no idea what Santa’s elf had to say about that, but apparently Parker was a little affected by my brother heckling him about bringing him poop for Christmas.
Soon thereafter, my mom realized that she forgot the contents for my tween niece’s stocking at her house in Phoenix. My niece overheard a conversation about this, and I found her crying on a couch in the basement.
This was not ok.
Everyone has a full stocking in my house on Christmas morning!
My attempts to cheer her worked, and I had her smiling and laughing in moments. But, I’m honestly not THAT great of an aunt because she finally looked at me and said, “Kristy, the more you keep talking, the more you keep cussing.”
Damn it. Well, I’m a passionate person.
We went upstairs together and found an empty house! My brother had my husband drive him to a Walgreens to get stocking loot. My son was in bed. My mom and her husband had also gone to bed (There had been an earlier incident in which my rude brother and I heckled my mom’s poor husband, Carlos, about his driving. Carlos went to bed early.)
I involved Mercedes, my niece, in my attempts to console Carlos and apologize. I fished out an old package from my husband’s drawer, a previous gag gift.
I wrote on it with marker, “We LOVE you!” I put it outside his door and hoped for the best. Or, as I told Mercedes, “Wake up. Get over it. Squirrel underpants.”
Little did I know that the next two days would crescendo into complete madness, which included rapping (not by me!), much air guitar, scandalous mimosas, AND yoga.
I have a feeling that Part 2 of this little Christmas ditty is going to be a good one. Stay tuned.