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Christmas loot, like you wanna know: 12/25

Got an aircraft calendar, a Dilbert calendar, and go ahead- ask me what day it is, go ahead, just ask!

A beard trimmer from my older brother, and I can take a hint. Thanks for not getting me a deodorant. Then I'd have to wonder if my Irish Spring ain't workin'.

RocketBoy sweatshirts from my older sister for the kids and me since we'd been shooting model rockets this past summer. She reads me, she really reads me!

But did NOT get any from the WhackoWife, not that I'm complaining, cuz there's always New Year's Day, MLK Jr Day, Valentine's Day, President's Day... and things start looking mighty thin. There are times when having two calendars is of no help at all. And yes, I am feeling a little testy.

Got myself '1339... or So, Being an Apology for a Pedlar,' and a Stevie Ray Vaughn boxed set. I've been able to make myself happy, but not satisfied. Have to remember women don't find desperation attractive, especially my woman.

Not that I'm complainin' cuz I got a box... of CD's. I've got a real good... reading... coming... up. I've got 56rt78yui4587jhmnb v56789rrtyioughjkbnvm
ouch that hurts when I bang my head on the keyboard. I hate it when I do that, I do.

When it all comes down- I'm married to an amazing woman, and have two kids so adorable and bright I should doubt their fatherhood, except they look like their Presidential-scholar mother. I am in like Flint and I know it. But I'd still like to get in a little more, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

(Things do get a little odd when I stay up too late.)

You might call me on all this and say "Whiner, what did you get your fabulous Superwife?" Thanks a lot. You couldn't just let me luxuriate in my own pity party, you had to ruin it. Yeah, thanks a lot. Well Trainboy thought she needed a Pasta Pot. No fooling, everytime he saw it on TV he said his mom needed one. We saw them in Wal-Mart and he said his Mom needed one. I had no ideas, and I'm easily swayed. So I bought her one. Are you happy now? Yes! Yes! I bought my wife a Pasta Pot for Christmas! Are. You. Happy?

Since she often makes things with noodles she's happy with it. I carry no new wounds. Or maybe she's a pacifist. But I tried, honestly I tried. I asked her what she wanted. She said slippers. I begged, I pleaded, "Honey, baby, what do you want for Christmas?" All she'd say was "slippers." My older brother asked me what she wanted, what could I say but, "slippers?"

Thus it was I was taking gift-giving advice from my six year-old son. Fortunately, he's apparently a natural. And how did he fair himself? Pretty fairly. More than fairly. Lots of loot for Trainboy. He was happy, but he wasn't too excited either. Trainboy was concerned with more than loot.

He was apparently concerned because he'd seen most of the presents under the tree before Christmas- not Santa Claus' work. The Supermom pointed out a big box I had brought up after he'd gone to bed. He looked at it and said, "Dad bought that." It was his big Christmas train set that had come in the mail. He'd seen the box, and he remembered. He was not happy. It would be safe to say we won't be making any more gingerbread cookies for Santa. It was his Christmas of Disillusion. There probably won't be any more teeth under the pillow either.

In contrast to Trainboy's fall to Earth, Ms. Pikachu was in it for the loot and was happy for it. She got a large computer graphics tablet. It's bigger than a standard sheet of paper- bought it at Aldi's. It works just fine. Since she's very artsy it makes her happy.

Of course, it wasn't really about the loot. It was about a child born to reconcile us to God. It was the beginning of a story about sacrifice, forgiveness, and the greatest love.

Enough for now.

This morning I was having some facial pain again. The Superwife got my Tegretol and I got medicated and left for work. When I got to work I realized my bottle of pills was still at home. What to do, what to do? When pain threatens the answer is obvious, call home and ask the Superwife to bring it out. So she brought it out at lunch.
Ms. Pikachu was out of school so she came along. While we were eating the Superwife observed that Trainboy is easy to wake up in the morning. He can’t wait to get ready to go to school. He loves riding the bus, he loves his classmates, and he loves his teacher. He loves school and it shows.
What could I say? What I said was, “And this is different from someone else we know?” The WearyWife said, “Oh yeah, somebody else fights getting up every morning.” From behind us came the exasperated cry, “It’s not my fault I’m nocturnal people!”
Maybe it’s not her fault. She probably gets it from my side. But you have to play the cards you’re dealt.
This is going to be a special Christmas. Trainboy is 6 ½ and hanging onto Santa. He still believes. It will surely be the last year that he does. Each passing year will bring more knowledge, more disillusions, and more wisdom. It’s kind of silly that as he hangs on I want to help him hold on tight. As a parent I want him to grow, but the innocence of childhood is so short I want him to have it just a little bit longer.
This will be the last Christmas to put out cookies and milk for Santa. The last time he’ll go to bed expecting Santa to bring him something wonderful. And wonder how he’ll get in without a chimney.
There’s no doubt that one of the joys of having children is getting to do it all over again. Through our children we can relive the excitement and joy of Christmas. Our hearts melt with their joyful expectation of a visit from Santa and are then rent with their disillusion. Our Christmas tree is a brightly lit beacon for a Santa making his last visit.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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