Oh, Good Grief

Every year I swear I'm going to get a handle on the holidays and have things done early and plan ahead and make sure everything possible is done WELL BEFORE the children get out of school and take over the house in what has to be the most remarkable impression of the term Chaos I've ever seen in my life. (What gets my goat is that they don't do this during summer; only during winter break does the house officially turn into a haven for stray Nerf bullets and dinosaur bones and heaven only knows what else... I'm honestly scared to look.)

And every year something happens.

This year, I thought I was doing fantastic. I ordered the last big Christmas gift for the kids in October. During the last week of November, I ordered the last gift for Oz.

And during the second week of December, he went out and bought himself the same gift.

REALLY?!?!?!?!?

Now, he claims that he told me he was buying it and that I was playing a game on my phone at the time (probably Angry Birds Seasons because if there's anything better than Angry Birds, it's Angry Birds plowing through snow and Christmas presents like... well... like my children), and he should know that if I'm attempting to calculate the precise angle at which I should aim a bird at a particular green pig that I'm not really paying any attention to him, especially if the TV is on, which it was, and I can even tell you that it was Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. See? My memory isn't that bad. I just can't focus on the sound of his voice. And he can't fault me for that, because I can't even tell you how many times he's tuned me out, so it's my turn, dangit.

I don't have ADHD. I just have...



SQUIRREL!

Moving on. A box arrived from a particular ginormous online retailer who shall remain nameless but whose might start with A, and when Oz opened up the box and pulled out the contents and unwrapped them, I began mentally cursing.

Because it meant I wasn't done. He undid my beautiful early planning! Curses!

The children and I are now in cahoots. Plotting against Daddy is one of their favorite exercises. It's a Domination thing.

And I must say, they're remarkably good at it.

Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.