Christmas logic can last all year, you know.
On Christmas Day, I ate some eggnog scones we ordered from a bakery we love. I remembered tonight, at what felt like the 14th restaurant meal in two days, why we don't order from that bakery more often. Eggnog Scones or a glorious loaf of Pumpkin-Chocolate Chip Bread (read: CAKE. Yummy, yummy cake) seem innocent enough on their own, but when combined with the anti-logic that is the holiday spirit around our house, a simple scone with Christmas Brunch quickly turns into an extra roll or three at Christmas Dinner, which quickly turns into a few cookies before bed that night, which quickly turns into a five-pound bag of sugar for breakfast the next morning and seven or eight tons of fried cheese for lunch, not to mention the harmless few bottles of Bailey's Irish Cream, because it's Christmas! Everything is justifiable!
The kids could be whining at a volume level of SOMEONE IS IMPALING ME and my nostrils would flare in anger as I brought another bite of something lard-filled to my mouth and John would look at me imploringly and say, "oh, let them have the chainsaw. It's Christmas!" It was this same logic and attitude that led to an inordinate amount of money (post-Christmas presents) being spent in an inordinate amount of time (post-Christmas). (Note to self: Do not take vacations and stay home with sugar and alcohol anymore. You will be broke within 2.5 days.) Looking back on this phenomenon, I can't even say what started it all. Oh, sure, I could blame it on John's perfected psychological torture method - the method whose very nature requires that he deny its existence, because it consists of months worth of planning and careful product placement and orchestrated scenarios involving coincidences that would never occur in real life, all so he can present his case for a brand new ridiculously expensive gaming/networking system in the most seemingly innocuous and un-obvious ways so as not to incur the famous Wrath of Kristen, that impenetrable force of logic and practicality that always, without fail, shuts down any idea that involves fun, money, or frivolity. But as it turns out, when I'm in a sugar coma, distracted by flighty, crazy in-laws and said in-laws' kids and also my own ceaselessly moving, screaming, demanding children, John's psychological torture method is quite effective - and I'm not sure if that says more about the method, or about how I just publicly declared my weak spot to my nemesis.
Once I'd acquiesced to the technology playground for our house, a new set of bedroom furniture for the kids seemed a perfectly acceptable way to spend any leftover money we might have wanted to use for groceries or the mortgage, which we can totally put on credit cards if we need to, DUH. And because our vacuum cleaner exploded in a burning flash of light and screeches as we prepared for the new bedroom furniture, we were able to combine the two necessary trips through Satan's Butthole, I mean Best Buy, into one. Within 24 hours, John had come home with a trunk full of electronics and I'd come home with a few blue pieces of paper detailing delivery times and serving as a constant reminder that, wow, furniture is expensive.
I guess it's good that our house has been the gluttony capital of the world for the past few days, because I've at least been able to temporarily drown my financial sorrows in mounds of chocolate, wine, cheese, bread, and scones. The few trips to the gym I've managed have felt a little phony, I'll admit, but I'll still be clinging to those trips in June when I'm bemoaning my lack of progress. I'll say something like, "this year was so much better than past years - at least I WENT to the gym, at least I TRIED to keep exercising...imagine if I HADN'T!" and then I'll loudly sip the last of my half-cup serving of Bailey's, pop another truffle into my mouth, and tell Bryce to walk the four steps across the living room to pick up the remote control for me, because July will seem like a GREAT time to start over, kind of like January does right now.
The kids could be whining at a volume level of SOMEONE IS IMPALING ME and my nostrils would flare in anger as I brought another bite of something lard-filled to my mouth and John would look at me imploringly and say, "oh, let them have the chainsaw. It's Christmas!" It was this same logic and attitude that led to an inordinate amount of money (post-Christmas presents) being spent in an inordinate amount of time (post-Christmas). (Note to self: Do not take vacations and stay home with sugar and alcohol anymore. You will be broke within 2.5 days.) Looking back on this phenomenon, I can't even say what started it all. Oh, sure, I could blame it on John's perfected psychological torture method - the method whose very nature requires that he deny its existence, because it consists of months worth of planning and careful product placement and orchestrated scenarios involving coincidences that would never occur in real life, all so he can present his case for a brand new ridiculously expensive gaming/networking system in the most seemingly innocuous and un-obvious ways so as not to incur the famous Wrath of Kristen, that impenetrable force of logic and practicality that always, without fail, shuts down any idea that involves fun, money, or frivolity. But as it turns out, when I'm in a sugar coma, distracted by flighty, crazy in-laws and said in-laws' kids and also my own ceaselessly moving, screaming, demanding children, John's psychological torture method is quite effective - and I'm not sure if that says more about the method, or about how I just publicly declared my weak spot to my nemesis.
Once I'd acquiesced to the technology playground for our house, a new set of bedroom furniture for the kids seemed a perfectly acceptable way to spend any leftover money we might have wanted to use for groceries or the mortgage, which we can totally put on credit cards if we need to, DUH. And because our vacuum cleaner exploded in a burning flash of light and screeches as we prepared for the new bedroom furniture, we were able to combine the two necessary trips through Satan's Butthole, I mean Best Buy, into one. Within 24 hours, John had come home with a trunk full of electronics and I'd come home with a few blue pieces of paper detailing delivery times and serving as a constant reminder that, wow, furniture is expensive.
I guess it's good that our house has been the gluttony capital of the world for the past few days, because I've at least been able to temporarily drown my financial sorrows in mounds of chocolate, wine, cheese, bread, and scones. The few trips to the gym I've managed have felt a little phony, I'll admit, but I'll still be clinging to those trips in June when I'm bemoaning my lack of progress. I'll say something like, "this year was so much better than past years - at least I WENT to the gym, at least I TRIED to keep exercising...imagine if I HADN'T!" and then I'll loudly sip the last of my half-cup serving of Bailey's, pop another truffle into my mouth, and tell Bryce to walk the four steps across the living room to pick up the remote control for me, because July will seem like a GREAT time to start over, kind of like January does right now.
Labels: believe it or not, chaos rules
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