Five Universal Laws of Holidays

If I squeeze hard enough, maybe you'll
pass out and I can run away? Please?

Christmas and Thanksgiving are just around the corner. Like, forty days away or something. Which should bring to mind all the warm, Norman Rockwell-y fuzzy thoughts of families gathered around fireplaces, singing carols and wrapping presents while sipping on a cup of something warm that we didn't have to make for ourselves.  

Except that it never turns out like that. Why? Because, like mornings, bedtime, privacy and summer, the holidays have their own special, special set of laws. Laws that make us wish we were that little Macaulay Culkin kid and our family would all go away and leave us home alone. Except without the screaming. Or the burglar dudes. Because if we came home and found our child safe and the presents still there and the bad guys in jail, we'd still find a way to be pissed about the mess in the house.

1. The Acquisition Negotiation: You know that list you wrote up? The one that has everyone's name and the litany of toys and games and stocking stuffers they want? Yeah, that's just the beginning. Now someone actually has to go out and acquire those things. And then the stored-up cache of threats, bribes and you-owe-me's come conga dancing out of the recesses of your mind. OH LYYYYYYDIIIIIAAAAAA! Remember that time I picked up your kids at the bus stop because you were getting your hair striped and you begged me not to tell the Cap'n because you didn't have a coupon? Yes? Excellent. Because you live very close to Target, and I need a few things from there. Here's my list.

2. The Space/Time Continuum Violation I know we have your family, my family, the people-who-aren't-family-but-might-as-well-be family, the choir thing at church, the caroling, the grandparents and the extended family visits. But, let's get one thing clear. There is one dude on Earth that can visit three billion houses in one night, eat three billion cookies and still be happy about it. And do you know why? Because he has short people who help him the other 364 days a year so he can do his job all in one night and a spouse who might have a lifetime supply of Valium. The minute our children sing while they do their chores and we own Pfizer, I'll be happy to visit your parents. Until then, I'll be in the bedroom with a box of Oreos. Sixty-four....sixty-five. We need more milk.

Wait! I think we're missing a piece.

3. The Construction Deconstruction What is it with assembly instructions? I do not have a mechanical engineering degree. Or a warehouse to lay out all these damn parts. Or an Allen wrench? Who the hell is Allen? All I know is Allen is going to be in pain in about, oh, twenty to thirty years when I finish putting this dollhouse together. What? Oh right, I mean bike. When I finish putting this bike together. Stupid Christmas.

4. The Daddy Variable: Dear My Spouse, I know you looooove Christmas, and you want our children to have all these awesome, marshmallow-filled memories of feety pajamas and baking bread and caroling in the neighborhood when we're invited in for spiced cider and eggnog. And I'm really starting to believe you think those things happen because you thought them out loud. Sweetheart, I love your holiday spirit, but you actually have to do something to make that happen. And by "do something" I mean get on amazon.com and order toys, not  just talk about pretending to be Santa and surprising the children. Wait. Oh dear Maude, is that a red velvet costume? Please take off that beard. And, stop patting your lap and asking me if I've been good. You're out of your damn mind.


I HATE MY PRESENT AND YOUR HOUSE SMELLS FUNNY!

 5. The Griswoldian Imperative Here's how it's gonna work out. We're gonna have a great Christmas, and we're gonna smile for the camera, and yes we ARE gonna call crazy Aunt Myrna even though she gave you underpants for Christmas -- maybe she thought you would like Sleeping Beauty even though you're a boy. And you ARE going to eat that fruitcake shut up about how there's not actually fruit in it I'll slap an apple in your mouth if it'll make you shut your piehole I swear to Maude next Christmas I'm going to Maui can we for once just shut up and make some HAPPY F*)!CKING MEMORIES HERE, PEOPLE?!?!  Smile! *click* Here's a tissue.

Merry Christmas...

And, seriously dear. Take off that Santa suit. Without the porn music, please. Now you're just freaking me out.  

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011