Christmas Spirit Abounds...

My gift to you: some crappy Christmas poetry

'Tis the week before Christmas and all through the halls,

you can hear distinct sounds of

kids bouncing off walls...

They're all giddy, unfocused, anxious and weird

with everyone wondering: "When will Santa be here?"

It's almost vacation and they've completely

"checked out,"

w h  i n i n g r u n n i n g c r a s h i n g

 'til The SassMaster shouts

That gets their attention for a moment or two

and then it's right back to

chaos times 9+2

Perhaps, "In the lanes, snow is glistening..."

but in preschool, no one's listening.

I'd pull out my hair if I wasn't so delighted

to know that at the end, the tunnel is lighted:

when each little bum scoots out of that door,

they're someone else's problem for 10 days or more!

For you, I wish

full tummies, warm beds and safe arms to hold you,

A little magic, lots of love

 and many stories to be told to you.

As for me,

My couch awaits with a (picture-less!) book and a glass*,

I can almost feel it easing the pain in my ass...

toodle-oo, happy vacation

from the Master of Sass!

*Click the asterisk for MERRY HUMBUG MARGARITA recipe

And a cheerful anecdote for your amusement:

"Let go of the tree, woman or I'll stick it where the lights won't twinkle!"

The following is the conversation between The Dad and I on our way home from Target where we attempted to finalize the shopping portion of this year's holiday cluster fuck:

Me: So, I got a few things for the boys to wrap up for you, and you have the coffee mug and the flip flop ornament on your dresser that they can decorate for me. Then maybe you could just pick up a gift certificate for me at Barnes and Noble...

The Dad: Maybe I could just give you a coupon that says you can wax my ass for free...

Me: Score! But fair warning, dip shit... if you wake up one of these days clean shaven, with no eye brows you can consider my coupon "redeemed."

Merry Humbug !

Merry Humbug Margaritas

1 cup fresh squeezed limes


1 cup Cointreau or Triple Sec


1 cup cranberry juice


1 cup POM juice
2 cups sliver tequila

Mix ingredients in a pitcher and serve over ice...

I like my 'ritas on the rocks, but it wouldn't be hard to toss it all in a blender with some ice for a frozen version.

"Salting" the Rim... (It was difficult not to title this portion of the post "Rim Jobs")
If you're all about presentation, you could use the red or green sugar crystals that never made it onto the cookies you didn't bake because the dough disappeared mysteriously before the oven was even pre-heated... And don't even try to tell me that only happens at my house.
OR...
you could scrounge your purse for loose Ambien.

Have fun and stay put - these are not your ordinary holiday cocktails. These are "flip-off-your-mother-in-law-slug-your-brother-with-a-rock-'tails"... be forewarned.

I'd Rather Be...Any Where Else

So this is the guy I spent the last few hours with and while I get as hot as the next gal for a detachable face and above average nostril size, I was less than thrilled about my date...

 

CPR training. Every year I am required to get re- certified in CPR as part of my job. And every year it's the same shit. Three people need to one up each other with the stories about their mother's next door neighbor's half brother who choked on a piece of pot roast... After the instructor had to spend 5 minutes with someone who insisted that her husband had been choking on water in the shower one morning and that she'd saved him by blowing INTO his mouth, I tuned the fuck out... I should have been thinking about ratios of breaths to compressions (in case you have a burning desire to know: 2 breaths to 15 compressions) but here's what was bangin' around in my noggin instead:

• If I ever drop, chances are it's going to happen at work. Some days I'm channelling Jackie Gleason by the time I've intervened twice with two preschoolers having a "whine off" over a race car or from hearing the sound of repeated block towers clattering to the concrete floor. Throw in the kid who opened the barber shop in the art area and I'm a stroke waiting to happen... Watching all the folks in my CPR class, who all work for the same agency, I know one thing - if I do go down, I want the biggest bitch you can find to hammer on my chest. (Incidentally, there ought to be a Medic Alert bracelet to this effect...) Those little skinny girls don't have enough weight behind them to flatten a whoopie cushion. Please, God... don't leave one of them in charge of getting oxygen to my precious brain. It's the only part of my body it didn't take me 25 years to love. I also got a bit worried watching some of these folks with lip piercings mauling the dummies with their stainless steel. The idea that I could end up brain dead with a chipped grill just might be enough to propel me toward the gym and away from the Nutty Bars for now. 
• I started to feel like Mr.Faster! Deeper! Harder! needed a good back story if I was really going to get into the spirit of trying to save his armless, legless torso. So I decided he was a children's librarian with a lovely Italian accent who had lost his arms and legs to a rare, flesh eating parasite he'd contracted while teaching children to read in the jungles of South America. 

I was trying to decide what flavor of gelato is his favorite when the instructor asked me what I would do if I walked into my classroom and there was a child lying motionless on the floor. FYI - "pistachio" is not the right answer to that question...