DUOFILIA

4-year-olds are interested in bodily functions. Very interested. That fact should have been foremost in our minds when we asked them to hand-make Christmas cards for the family. On Christmas Day I opened my card, which consisted of artwork by both of them.

“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to one of two figures on the paper, the one with yellow spiral coming from the vaguely middle portion of the person.

“Potty.” Sydney proclaimed cheerfully.

“Ok. Interesting,” I said, trying to remain diplomatic while wondering what the cards that went to other family looked like. I pointed to the second figure, which has a rather large block of red that seemed to be coming from the legs, “What’s this?”

“Blood.” Summerlyn stated blithely.

“Oh? Why is there blood?” I’m trying to remain as nonchalant as they are.

She answers, “because he was attacked by a lion.”

“Wow. I’ve never…EVER…had a Christmas card like this before, girls.”

Hallmark is never going to hire my daughters. Unless the company comes up with an entirely new, bold, line of cards.

First of all, the whole insects in the Christmas tree didn’t go off as spectacularly as I’d hoped. My mother-in-law found the plastic bugs herself and thought they were cute, but she didn’t see the tarantula. We had to practically point it out to her and then all she did was jump back startled. No screaming or fainting. Christmas is just not as fun as it used to be.

Thursday before Christmas I took the girls on our annual trip to the Dollar Store where they selected presents for everyone on our list. They wrapped the gifts themselves, using more tape than an elderly chorus girl.

Christmas Eve day we delivered the loot to our the needy Christmas family. That was better than last year where the family acted like it was their right to receive gifts. This year’s family was humble and expressed their desire to pay it forward once they got back on their own feet. The husband, who is artistic, gave me a t-shirt he had airbrushed for me. Summerlyn fell in love with their two-month-old baby and wanted to take it home.

Here’s something amazing: not only did the girls not ask us even once, what we got them for Christmas, but on Christmas Day we didn’t get around to opening the presents until about noon and the girls never once asked to open them. The presents had been under the tree for three days.

The girl’s loved their dollhouse, David his tool chest, and me my mixer I’ve wanted for twenty years. It was a lovely Christmas made extra speical by seeing the girls get wrapped up in the spirit of giving instead of receiving.

We won’t talk about the in-law problems that gave me an ulcer all weekend.

This is our monster Christmas tree. My piano is a full sized upright grand, five feet tall and the tree makes it look wimpy. When I play piano the branches attack the left side of my body (notice the bench is in the tree).

Other than sitting in our living room like a manatee at a salamander tea party, it’s quite lovely, trimmed in red, gold and sage green.

However, what you can’t see in the picture is something far more interesting. Yesterday the girls added a dozen of their beanie-baby-sized stuffed animals. But more fascinating than that are the insects they added today. They have about 25 or more very realistic plastic bugs, including flies, worms, beetles, ladybugs, and spiders. They blend into the greenery quite well. In fact, you can’t even tell they are there until you lean in while perhaps trying to look closely at an ornament.

My parents-in-law are coming tonight to spend the weekend. I wonder what will happen when they admire the tree. This weekend has turned out to be quite promising.

Lyme disease has caused me a problem. What was it again? Oh, right…memory problems. Really drives me nuts. I never know when it’s going to hit. And sometimes the ol’ brain seems to work just fine, but I never know when a hole is going to open up and the contents fall out.

Here’s an example of lying in advertising. I bought a TempurPedic memory foam pillow. I’ve used it for about five years now. Nothin’.

Tonight as I was driving home from work, or more like parking home from work — I was listening to Christmas music on the radio. Traffic on my commute home is always bad but with the Happy Holiday Season, it was frightful. After getting groceries I should have hauled them home in the cart on the shoulders of the highways. I would have gotten home sooner.

I have two channels of Christmas music that I flip back and forth when a song annoys me. Like Bruce Springsteen’s Santa Claus is Coming to Town. No offense to anyone who likes it, but me, I can only hear it once a season and then I must flip the channel immediately upon hearing the first jingle bell bars, lest I go irreversibly insane.

Tonight they had segments of callers chatting with the DJ about happy Christmas memories. One woman told a touching story about her wonderful grandparents who gave her so many happy memories while they were alive. Then she asked the DJ to pick a song in their honor.

Immediately what came to my mind was Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer. I need help.