Well, there are three naughty children under this roof tonight and major doubt as to whether there will be gifts under the tree in the morning.
The well-oiled workings of the past week lulled me into a false sense of security. I really thought that, just perhaps, we could pull this holiday off without a hitch. HA!
The fighting and bickering started as soon as Drama Teen got out of bed this morning. She and kinderboy#1 aren’t good together under most circumstances, add the stress of Christmas, and it’s like lighting an incendiary device and throwing it into the living room. Luckily, I’d gotten the dishes and one load of laundry done before WWIII broke out and the crying ensued. The roast resided in a toasty warm oven and noon (when Mr. Scott was supposed to arrive) came and went. I slapped some lunch together and fed my whining brood. I thought pulling up NORAD tracking Santa would provide a bit of distraction. Nope. Or maybe it did…maybe they all decided just to see how naughty they could be before Santa called it quits.
At 1:10 pm I got a text from Mr. Scott that he was leaving work right then. He was moments too late to save me from melting down. Kinderboy#2, usually the reliable, good-natured, never gets into trouble kid, had stuffed 50-100 kandoo wipes down the toilet and flushed. When it clogged (chorus of DUHs here), he wiggled the handle until the chain got lodged under the flapper, so the water continued to fill the bowl. And fill, and fill, then overflow… Only when the water was several inches deep on the floor did he come to tell me there was trouble in paradise. The ding of Mr. Scott’s text only fueled my irritation. By the time he got home, crying boys were ensconced in beds and even Drama Teen was sniffling in the living room. I was seething and instead of taking it out on everyone, I went to bed.
Now, cookies were supposed to have been cooked sometime in the middle of the afternoon. However, no one wanted to disturb furious mother bear from her deep dark pity cave, so when it was determined that the oven was too cool for the cookies to bake, they were cut out and stored. When I finally emerged, still irked and swearing off ever celebrating a major holiday again, to cook supper, I realized the cookies hadn’t been cooked and thus, the roast wasn’t done, as I’d allowed for that higher oven temperature in the cooking time. Curse words were flung, silently for the most part, and it’s been determined that only Mr. Scott deserves to be visited by the jolly old elf tonight.
Well, these winter days may be short in reality, but it’s been hours too long for my patience. It’s 7:15…we did finally eat dinner and are now trying to convince boys that the quickest way to Christmas morning is to get bathed, pajama’d, and tucked in by 8. Ha! Good thing I napped, for Santa may not be visiting the Scott household until the wee sma’ hours.
And yes, dear readers, Santa does deliver coal to those who are naughty. I guess I did my part in making the season a little less bright, for I got a nice big R in my inbox.
Next year…I’m canceling Christmas.