Superglue

        So I am trying to write a few posts ahead of time.  We will be at my parents' place for the week.  They live in Brigadoon/Mayberry/the twelth century.  So I probably will not have an internet connection.   So, I am gonna try to figure out how to post on the fly.  I think it will be easier if a few of them are written before hand.  Luckily, it's Christmas time so I have a bazillion ideas for that subject.   (My new fave idea- telemarketers bugging you?  Hand the phone to the nearest young child and tell them its Santa.)

       But all this bustle and hurry makes me think of the pressure we put upon ourselves at the holidays.  So,  I thought I would make this post be about pressure and memories.  I think most parents put a lot of pressure on themselves to make the holiday just so and very special. It's even worse if you have a disabled kid and already start out halfway to guilt city to begin with.  Now you want to make the holiday super duper special. Eff that nonsense.  (Elf that s&$t?)  The kids will let you know what's special and it's not usually the fussy stuff you're losing your mind trying get just so.  My kids love lights and holiday music and Christmas specials on tv.  Preferably with popcorn or roast chestnuts to stuff into their craws while watching.  Nothing else required thank you.  Give them Charlie Brown or Prep and Landing and the tree lights on and a bag of popcorn  and all is right in their world.  Feisty Pants refers to White Christmas as "that nuggle movie"  (snuggle) because she makes her father cuddle with her while they watch it.  They have seen it together 25 times.  She is ten.  It really isn't ever about the gifts.  And if it is, we have failed somehow.

           And just to prove my point, I would like to share my favorite Christmas memory.   It is brought up every Christmas dinner, much to the delight of the youngest at the table and my father's chagrin.  My mother is allergic to pine trees.  Every year, she would break out in hives decorating the tree.  But she didn't like the artificial ones. Not real looking.  Finally, one year, she found this gorgeous artificial tree. It even smelled of real pine.  We had it forever.  Then one year as she was putting up, one of the bottom branches broke.   Superglue had recently come out.  My mom decided to glue the tree branch.  (Each branch fit into the trunk invidually. Said branch had simply snapped in half.) So she had my dad lie down on his stomach with his arms around trunk of the tree. (The tree was up except for this last branch.) He held the branch in place and my mom glued it. He held it for about a minute to set.  My mom goes, "Let go of the branch, Jack."  Nothing happens.  My mom said, "Let go now,  Jack"  He said, "I can't" She goes, "Quit kidding around now!"  To which my father replies, "You've glued me to the damn tree."    She had. Hijinks ensued.    Nothing she tried would unstick him.  He had to be cut off with a razor blade.   Everytime he said "this is NOT funny"  my older brother and I would fall down laughing. (In retrospect, we were evil children.) So, see, it's not about the presents, or the perfect table, or Martha Stewart's favorite cookie recipe.  It's about making your kids and nieces and nephews squeal and howl at the idea of their dignified Grandpa being superglued to the tree. So, a toast to Christmas please.  Raise your glass and say to hell with perfect.  To hell with pressure we don't deserve.   Here's to a Christmas with laughter and food and just enough superglue to make it interesting.