Fa La La La Frak Frak Frak

It is done.

It is currently in the garage.

A seven-foot noble fir in all it’s sticky, sappy, pine-needled glory.

It is in the garage because of a scheduling nightmare that is creating a reality wherein all five of my family members will not set foot in the same house at the same time until sometime in 2023.

I’ll bring dip.

Four…let me type that again really loudly…FOUR kid-centric performance activities this week.

That’s not quite true. There were, in fact, SIX kid-centric performance activities this week, but the adults only had to attend four.

And one of them was in Latin, for Pete’s sake.

We are now rejecting social invitations purely on principle because there’s just no way that there’s a free day any time between now and Groundhog Day.

“Would you guys like to…”


“How about on…”


“Are you free on…”

“Not a chance.”

“Ok then, Merry Christmas and I hope that Rudolph poops down your chimney.”

“Thanks. Us too.”

Wait. What?

So the Christmas tree is sitting, naked, bored and probably dreaming of households where family members occasionally share a zip code, in the garage next to a full drum kit.

I, because my prescription ran out, am still dreaming of a charmingly decorated house and baked goods for the neighbors.

But I find that it’s hard to spin this little fantasy in my head when the indisputable center of this Norman Rockwell tableau is standing in its altogethers in the space where we store extra cans of chicken broth and paint thinner.

Which, I’m proud to say, we almost never mix up.

Very soon, I am going to start awarding myself Martha Points for secreting insulin.

PS – There is a skunk roaming about our backyard in the late afternoon hours. I keep hoping it will stick around long enough for me to get my camera, but it has so far refused to cooperate. I have stopped short of running after it or tempting it with cat food because given our recent luck with wildlife it is probably a Ninja skunk.  Or a telekinetic badger with a gland problem that’s just waiting for a stupid suburban working mom to get close enough to snare with its psychic powers in order to make her draw it a bath and feed it a sliced up all-beef hotdog.

I know how these things go.


  1. Okay, where the hell is your Jewish husband who WANTED the real tree in the first place??? Why hasn’t he set it up in the living room where it belongs?

    And that brings me to another point…have you ever wondered why they called it a “living room”? I did, or actually, it was my youngest stepson, but regardless, we looked it up. While there’s a lot of different ideas, the one that most disturbed/pleased me (depending on my mood) is that it’s where all the living people would gather after someone died. Thus the name.

    Just thought I’d share. :-)

    BTW, your husband has negative Martha Points now for not getting the tree up!

    1. LOL…Himself took great exception to this! He blames the crazy schedule! (Which is probably fair.)

      It did, however, compel him to tweet in his own defense.

      And that’s it. I’m reverting the old traditions and I’m going to start calling the living room the “Parlor of the Dead.”

  2. My dance car is fool too. Yes, fool. I can’t take another Christmas activity and the only reason my tree is up is because it’s artifiical. Pardon me while I finish the 452 pumpkin muffins I promsied the PTA.

    1. Ok, you were either typing WAY too fast, or commenting from your phone. It took me a fair amount of puzzling to figure out what “My dance car is fool too” meant.

      But I got it! I’m clever! I speak harried mother!

      And now I want a pumpkin muffin.

    1. The second one was in German. That’s a live language.

      The one on Friday will probably be mostly in English, but the high school choral director likes to mix it up.

      And the one on Saturday is ballroom dance.

      So the only one singing will be me.

  3. I actually think that Rudolph poop is QUITE festive.

    And just remember, you’ve always got several points up on me. I haven’t remembered to water my real Christmas tree in 4 days.

  4. Sad little Christmas tree.

    By the way, I want to attend a holiday performance in Latin. It would be fun to imagine what they’re *actually* saying.

    Probably something about wanting a mother-frakking night without social engagements. That, and naked Christmas trees.

    1. Yes! That’s it!

      Requiem ternam dona eis, Domine,

      translates to: Please don’t make me attend the company holiday party where I know someone will get drunk and sing bad karaoke.

  5. this is a part of parenting i do not really look forward to. I kinda like the 2 year old stage where their social and educational calendars are still fairly free. Damn, gotta go! gonna be late for baby yoga class!


    1. Sort of a Catch 22. They need far less from us on a daily basis, but their social calendars now way cramp OURS.

      And…lol…baby yoga! Don’t forget the meditation class afterwards.

  6. Poor tree. How sad and forlorn.

    Mine are trading stories of Christmas past and the bad presents they’ve seen pass by. Like last year when my brother wrapped up stacks of magazines he was done with. He figures there were several hundred dollars worth of subscriptions.

  7. I’m a city life columnist for a newspaper. Basically I get paid to go to parties. December=full of the parties. So I love when my mom tells me all these movies she wants six people to coordinate their schedules and go to together. I love Christmas. But I also love sleep and being lazy and wearing pjs.

    1. Good heavens…

      Do you have a secretary? An assistant? And Elf??


      How do you not go crazy?

      Although if I could go to maybe ONE crazy social party with you and stuff myself on expensive munchies?

      SO FUN!!!

    1. To top it off, Children A and C (No Child B tonight) sat in the family room sighing about how lovely the smell was.

      It ain’t never happening, baby.


  8. Dude. You’re making me feel bad. Hubby wants a real tree? You get it. Me? I am still at home finishing the floor my hubby STILL doesn’t know about. Guess he’ll get a surprise first thing when he comes home from a business trip tomorrow. . .

    1. Ok, I can’t WAIT to hear the gentleman’s reaction when he gets home and discovers NEW FLOOR.

      That takes a certain kind of crazy bravery there woman.

      And I want to make sure I witness the aftermath.

    2. @Mandi, you and I would get along. My husband travels for work too, and my neighbors have started asking me what I’m redoing whenever they know he’s gone. hee hee hee

      It works perfectly because he:
      a. doesn’t know what he wants to see in the house
      b. can’t picture what I want to do when I tell him
      c. argues with me about what I want to do, despite point b
      sooooo, I just do whatever the hell I wanna do when he’s gone.

      And you know, what? He always LOVES what I do. When will they learn???

  9. Your husband?

    Better than mine. Mine has promised the girls that they will get to help chop down a tree. Mark envisions chainsaws and tractors and perhaps big spikes in his shoes so he can climb up to behead a giant tree. He has selected a Christmas tree farm some 90 frakking minutes from our house because he knows the woman who own the place.

    I know. What the heck?

    The girls want to drive 3 minutes to the parking lot next to the grocery store and pull a tree from the pavement into the minivan.

    They are as yet unreconciled.

    And so we have no tree.

    At all.

    Not even in the garage.


    1. I’m sorry…SCALE A TREE?


      Did I miss the part where Mark is lives a secret double life as a lumberjack??

      And, at a certain point of effort, joy leaches from activities for me.

      I think a three hour drive to get to the tree and back might be beyond the tipping point.

      But I’ll be hopeful for you.

      Is this scheduled to happen before either of the girls graduate from college?

  10. Rudolph poop here wouldn’t surprise me. At all.

    The fake tree was up the day after Thanksgiving, but that’s because it was fake and Tater couldn’t wait to get his hands on the ornaments. Plastic/wood/unbreakable on the bottom half of the tree, glass/sentimental/expensive on top. With no help from hubby

    1. That is an EXCELLENT decorating strategy.

      Our is: keep the cats away from the tree because the height of the breakables matters not one darned bit.


  11. We are still tree-less…even fake tree-less. My husband hinted at this weekend for a tree buy, but I’m not counting my ornaments yet.

    I can’t seem to get in the Christmas mood, maybe a tree would help, but right now it just seems like another thing to deal with. Bah Humbug.

  12. Oooh, that’s probably the same skunk that I took a very blurry photo of in September after I had just escaped a closed encounter. S/he seems to live under our new neighbors’ deck. So I guess s/he’ll stick around! And s/he seems to be quite friendly…

    1. Yes, I thought about that.

      On Friday we say it totter over to Across the Street Neighbor’s yard and scurry under the fence.

      And I really think I’d prefer a shy reclusive skunk.

  13. Uh oh…I forsee the skunk going the way of the cats in that some kind of tutorial will be offered and search engine results for skunks will begin to yield your blog.

    1. Oh geez…you’re right.

      That is totally going to happen.

      I’m going to put one of those pre-pages up, you know the kind you have to click “agree” to before you can enter the website?

      That says: I affirm that by clicking “I Agree” that I understand that everything here is for entertainment and that I won’t DO ANYTHING STUPID.”

      Yeah. That’ll work.

  14. I am quite certain that there is a long, lost Norman Rockwell painting of the year the tree sat undecorated, parties went unattended, and Blitzen did his best imitation of sitting on the toilet on top of someone’s roof.

    So use that image if you must. Or refill your prescription soon.

    1. The pharmacist claims that I’m not allowed to refill it more than once a month.

      But personally I think that anything less than twice a week is sub-therapeutic.

  15. OMG – the skunk kills me! I don’t know why, but our 3 YO has started talking about skunks and how they come out at night. (I blame preschool. Or Dora.) Anyway, every night she says something about the skunks. I really don’t think we have any in our neighborhood?

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