Special Gifts

I wonder if Thomas Kinkade ever felt bloated? You know, sitting in one of his cozy cottages eating figgy pudding in front of a roaring fire?



Do you think he ever thought to himself, dang my life would be pert near perfect if only I wasn't so bloated.

And if only I hadn't accidentally bought my son Madden 12 for the Wii instead of for the Xbox 360.

And if only I hadn't grabbed two left shoes when I bought him his new Vans.

And don't even get me started about the briefs instead of boxers.

In my last post I told you that this year I was going to wrap up the things my kids didn't do and put them under the tree, like bags of leaves they didn't rake, and boxes of dirty dishes they didn't put away, etc, etc, etc, but what goes around comes around, you know. I ended up wrapping a few of the things I didn't do as well, like check to make sure the Madden 12 was for the Xbox 360 and the Vans had one of each foot, and the briefs were actually boxers instead of briefs.

Do you think Thomas Kinkade ever forgot to do things like that while he was roasting his chestnuts on his open fire?

Prob not, because these are the things that can threaten an otherwise happy cottage on Christmas morning.

But they are also the things that can teach our children important lessons about life.

If you think about it, we all come into this world with gifts, right? Special gifts. Maybe they aren't exactly what we asked for, like the wrong gaming system, or two left feet, or briefs instead of boxers, but it's what we do with our special gifts that counts.

At least that's what I told my son before I told him DEAL WITH IT, dude!

I'm pretty sure that's what the big guy upstairs would have told me if I was pouting over my special gifts. You don't see me whining because I'm dumb. No, I embrace it. I celebrate it. Just the other day I bought a sweater at D.I. that happened to be the same sweater I donated to D.I. two months ago. Did I cry? Of course not. No sense crying over recycled sweaters. That's what I always say. Even if you have to pay for them. Twice.


I look at my gift as a mutation. Some mutants can read minds, or spit fire, or walk through walls. I attract sweaters into my life that didn't work for me the first time. And I pay for them.


What my son decided to do with his special gifts was have me return them, which just goes to show that some people would rather wear boxers than learn about life.


Other than that my Christmas was great. My favorite special gift of the season was from my neighbor, Myken who brought me this clock:

I loved it so much that I making it my Dummy Blog Motto.

I know I made a New Years resolution that this year I am going to change my personal word from Whatever to Improve, but I haven't started improving yet. Mostly because I've been so busy not improving. But I will start improving . . . tomorrow.

I promise I will start improving tomorrow.

If you look at my blog it kinda looks like I've been improving, but this little makeover is just the tip of the iceburg, peeps. I haven't even started scratching the surface of labeling and organizing all 925 posts, and describing myself in a nutshell.

Get it? Nutshell. (no pun intended.)


It's just that I can't believe how much you can get done when you're not improving. The amount of addictions you can pick up over the holidays alone is breathtaking. Sleeping in, for instance. And watching movies. And eating leftovers. And not doing laundry. Not doing laundry is like the crack cocaine of domestic don't do's.


It's too bad they don't make paper clothes like they make paper plates.


Thanks to my children I'm also addicted to American Pickers and Storage Wars and Pawn Stars and Finding Bigfoot and Gold Rush and, of course, Celebrity Ghost Stories.


Btw, have you ever noticed that celebrities have better ghost stories than the rest of us? Why is that? Ghosts seem to reveal themselves to celebrities, while the rest of us have to settle for a cold chill and a case of the heebie jeebies. Celebrities, they get choked by their ghosts or levitated. Their ghosts text them and play their pianos. But the only attention we get from our ghosts is an occasional bout of nausea or a footstep across a creaky stair.

Not that I blame them, but I resent the fact that celebs always have it so much better. Not only do they get better jobs and better cars and better body parts, but they also get better ghosts!?

And they have better Nightmares too. Ever watched Celebrity Nightmares? And better rehab. Ever watch Celebrity Rehab? And whaddaya bet that after watching Celebrity Wife Swap tomorrow they'll have better spouses too.

But that's neither here nor there.

My latest and greatest addiction of the season is Just Dance 3 on the Kinnect. Not the dancing part, but the watching my hub dancing part. Let's just say I've lost control of at least one bodily function while ROTFLMHeadO.


He could go viral peeps. I'm telling you, HE. COULD. GO. VIRAL. And I have the video to prove it. If I didn't respect his dignity and privacy so darn much I would upload it faster than you could say ex. ploy. tation.

Or ex. hus. band.


Too bad I respect his dignity and privacy so darn much.


(Told ya I was dumb.)