Ramblings from the outside of nowhere

SJ's comment about my Christmas post made me realize just how depressing it was.  I had absolutely wonderful Christmases when my children were growing up.  I became like a little kid myself, and always spent way too much money.  I wanted them to have everything they wanted, but of course there were times when we just didn't have the resources, we'll say. 

I remember when Travis was five, the anticipation of Christmas became too much for him.  He came up to me while I was washing dishes, and said, "I know what you got for Christmas."  I said something like well, what did I get?  And he told me a toaster, a food processor, and a big fry pan.  Now if  he had said cookies and candy and GI joes, I probably wouldn't have thought much about it.  But these were things I had bitch asked for.  So, I went over to the tree and examined the gifts, and sure enough, each one had a tiny little tear in it.  This reminded me so much of something my mother would have done,  I started laughing, and took him aside and told him not to tell anyone else what they got.  It would be our secret until Christmas.  Then we got tape and fixed the packages.  Travis was so cute at four years old, nobody could get mad at that 'youngun.'

When they were older, we lived in a house in the country, and had moved up the socio-economic ladder.  I had gone into work at 3:00 am to feed up and power wash a nursery room at the swine production farm, and got home around 7:30am.  By then the kids were up, my husband was watching TV, and we started opening our presents.  This time, we made a video of the whole thing.  Everything went beautifully until my husband was opening one of his gifts, and EJ, God love him, lifted one leg and farted one of the loudest, longest farts I have ever heard.  At first, we tried to ignore it..but, damn, you can't, can you? We fell out of our chairs laughing.  I think we wore the VCR out watching that tape and fast-forwarding to the part where the farting began.

Every Christmas I wanted to read "Twas the Night Before Christmas" to the boys.  I had loved it so much as a child, and I guess I wanted them to love it too.  And every year they whined, "Mama, can I go watch TV?"  "Mama, we already heard it!" "Mama, Santa Claus is way too fat to get down our chimney..." and it finally occured to me they didn't want to hear it.  So, I read to myself out loud.  Hah! 

As the boys aged, the routine changed.  They would go deer hunting with their father.  I had gone to the hunter safety course with them, which my husband loved, because I got all into guns.  I went out and got a Remington semi-automatic 12 guage shotgun, which, after I shot it a few times, decided hunting wasn't for me.  Anyway, the new routine was getting up early, opening gifts, the boys and their dad leaving to go hunting, me cooking my ass off, them coming home at noon to eat, then going back hunting, and me putting stuff away, washing dishes, and then sleeping in a turkey induced stupor until they came back.   I think one winter we lived on deer meat.  It took me two years to learn how to prepare it, and cook it where you could actually eat it.  One year I made so much stuff, I forgot the mashed potatoes in the oven, where I had left them to stay warm.

These are just a very few memories I have of my kids growing up and the wonderful holidays we spent together.  They are like precious gifts you take out every so often to touch, savor, relive.

But back to the farts for one minute.  One day when my kids were 3 and 4, we were watching a movie called Saturday the 14th, which was funny, and had monsters, but was basically a comedy.  Someone, probably EJ, let loose with a silent but deadly noxious vapor, and we teased Travis, sitting in a chair with his blanket, thumb in mouth, saying Travis farted,  until he became very indignant.  He took his thumb out of his mouth, and said, "If I had of farted, I would have heard it!"

It does make sense in a way, doesn't it?