Christmas Break Wrap-up

The Aldis have hit a new low. Believe it.

I didn't think there was anything lower than giving a kid a shitty gift, but there is. It's giving a kid a really awesome gift that doesn't work. They got the boys cool AirHog helicopters and threw in, as a bonus, these cool-looking guns that shoot nerfball-like things.

At least, that's what they're supposed to do. They don't do shit but collect dust. They don't WORK. The boys were so bummed, it was sad. Who wants to see a sad kid on Christmas?

The Aldis included batteries, which was surprisingly generous. So when we got home (of course I couldn't let the boys open them at Chez Inlaw because they'd shoot them all over and I'd be the worst parent in the world) we put them in, and couldn't get either gun to work. R thought perhaps we should get some NEW batteries, as we wouldn't put it past the Aldis to include some mostly-dead batteries that they'd taken out of one of their kids' toys. New batteries didn't work either.

R did a quick internet search, and found these items on Super Duper Clearance at Target.com. We kicked ourselves for not opening them at Chez Inlaw so the Aldis could be exposed as the crappy giftgivers they are.

There were a couple other memorable holiday moments at Chez Inlaw. At one point, Beebie and Aldigirl were talking about birthstones, and Beebie mentioned that she had a set of genuine birthstone earrings, including a pair that is genuine diamond.

"Are they real?" Aldigirl asked.

"That's what genuine means, Aldigirl," Beeb replied. I was tickled.

And then, later, as we were all posing for the annual Inlaw/Karma/Aldi/Lexus family photo (which, we've been taking for years but none of us has ever seen any of them printed), FIL was having a little trouble with the self-timer thing, and I don't know what prompted it, but Mrs. Lexus said something about how photography has really only been around since around the Civil War.

And the mighty Reverend Aldi claimed that it's been around since ancient Egypt or something. Mrs. Lexus, along with the rest of us, thought he was full of shit. I don't know what she said to him, but his defense was,

"Well, it depends on what your definition of pho-TAAAAH-graphy..."

Because everything depends on your definition of everything.
Dude, JUST. SHUT. UP. Nobody CARES.

Santa brought the Karmas some gifts worth mentioning. The boys each got MP3 players which they absolutely loved. Beeb got Disney SingIt! for the Wii. R got an Xbox 360. And I (er, the kids) got RockBand to play on it. But the greatest gift of all? R got me the Classy flask! I tried to take pictures and they didn't come out, but trust me, it's exactly what I wanted.

My parents came up on the 28th. Here are some highlights of their visit:

A) We went bowling to celebrate Tito's birthday on the 29th.

Oh, I should mention that Saturday is Tito's birthday party. The child's turning six, and he's never had an actual birthday party. It's not entirely because I'm a lazyass, but that's definitely a tertiary factor. So this year I invited all of the boys in Tito's class. Including Lubaba's brother.

I was tempted to specify on the invitation "To Johnathon - NOT Lubaba's party-moochin' ass", but I thought it might be just as much fun and slightly less snarkilicious to just sit back and see if they try to smuggle Lubaba into the party too. You KNOW I'll let you know if those dimwit parents who have no clue about basic birthday party etiquette pull any fucking horseshit like that.


B) After-Christmas Shopping yielded me some righteous pink boots.



And four bags of these, so I don't have to wait for Easter to get my Cadbury chocolate fix.



My mom took Beebie shopping and got her 4 pairs of jeans. Beeb needed a belt, so I made one out of Recycled Sari Silk Yarn. Beeb dug it.



And yesterday I saw this at Knitorious -


KOFA said I should knit a cozy for my flask.


C) As you may know, my dad is a minister, and while he was here he wanted to find a vestment bag for his fancy preachin' outfits, so we went to the Catholic Supply store. I should point out that he's obviously not a Catholic priest, because, well, vows of celibacy and whatnot. But fortunately you don't have to show a Catholic ID when you go in, and the Catholic Supply shop is an absolute hoot, if you have a demented sense of humor like I do. And if you don't, I can't imagine why you'd read this blog.

The idea of Jesus playing hockey is just hilarious to me.



And this looks like the severed head of Bette Davis and her less-developed conjoined twin.



And right across the street from the Catholic Supply store is -



No visit to St. Louis should lack a visit to Ted Drewes. And it's NEVER too cold for a pumpkin pie concrete.


D) I'm pretty sure there's a special little extra-hot section of Hell just for the asshole who created Chuck E. Cheese. It's right next to the asshole who created Play-Doh, but that's another story.








E) The next morning, before my parents left, we went to a spectacular breakfast at the Original Pancake House or Company or something, I forget the name. Anyway, SPECTACULAR, I tell you.



The kids wouldn't let me snap a picture of them crying like last time.


We saw three movies over Christmas Break.



Between Bedtime Stories, Marley and Me, and The Tale of Desperaux, I liked Bedtime Stories the best.

Yesterday, Tito had a soccer game. And I went into full-on Soccer Mom Mode.

I'll have you know, KOFA, that I did not wear the standard-issue soccer mom uniform Adidas track suit. No, sir. No way.

Hoodie. Down vest. Ponytail. Fuck you. :P



And speaking of appropriate attire, what the fuck kind of mother puts a dipshit matching fucking BOW in her little princess' hair before she sends her onto the field to get her ass kicked? Seriously! This ain't no Little Miss Ladybug pageant, this is mortal fucking combat, JonBenet!



Tito scored a goal. Another boy on Tito's team scored four goals. FOR THE OTHER TEAM. Ooooh, I was about to leap from the bleachers and shake the kid by the shoulders screaming, "THAT's the goal you're supposed to be shooting at, dumbass!" But I bit my tongue while the dumbass kid's parents lavished a sickening amount of praise upon him.

"Wow, Sweetie! You were GREAT!!! You scored all those goals, and you even had a couple of assists, too! You're SUPER!! You're an AMAZING soccer player!!!"

I can't stand to see that kind of parenting. I'm all for the Nonpliment, in which you say something that's vague but true, such as "I saw you running really fast!" but don't let the kid think he's David Fucking Beckham if he forgets that you're not supposed to pick the ball up with your hands and he can't keep straight in his head which goal counts for his team and which one counts for the Opposing team.

Yeah, I get that self-esteem is fragile and whatever, and you can be honest without being cruel, but what's going to happen when that kid grows up and wants to be on the soccer team in his middle school, having been led to believe that he's a natural soccer star, and in the tryouts he scores six goals into the wrong net, since all this time he didn't think it mattered which goal the ball went into.

You think it's not going to be more damaging when he comes home crushed and says, "Mom, Dad, everybody laughed at me... and you told me I was GREAT!!! Thanks a LOT! See if I believe a word you say ever again!!"

Trust me, I'm the product of over-praising parents, and although I know they meant well (as all parents do), it's taken me my entire adult life to undo the damage. It's the root of my competitive nature - the need to be recognized for my accomplishments.

And lastly, I'll add this story just cuz it's funny - this morning I was about to take my daily meds, and I had poured two pills into my hand, I was about to put one of them back into the bottle, and instead I accidentally dropped BOTH of them into the open can of Diet Coke I had sitting on the sink. And I drank it anyway. No point in wasting two pills AND an entire bottle of Diet Coke.

Funny enough, sure, but then I had to explain to Tito that he couldn't have a sip of my Coke because Mommy put Medicine in it. I can just see that getting back to his teacher somehow. "My Mommy said I can't share her soda because she put Medicine in it." He's already told his teacher that Mommy drinks and drives pretty much every single day.

I fully expect an intervention team to show up at my house any day now.