what the hell Friday: Christmas school vacation

Note: if you happen to be a teacher, you may want to stop reading now.  It's not that I don't love you, I do, but I'm thisclose to losing it. 

When I was but a young lass, Christmas vacation was the best.  It was the best two weeks of the year, it was the shiznit if you will, pardon my hip hop slang.  Right before the break, all the kids had written their letters to Santa and talked about what we'd asked the big man for.  We had our Christmas parties at school and Christmas programs at church, the countdown was on.  The last day before school let out for the break, there was a flurry of activity.  I remember watching Christmas movies, singing carols, working holiday word find puzzles, and giving my teacher a small gift. 

These days not much has changed, sure the teacher gifts are a little nicer and of course the Christmas outfits and dresses are much prettier, but it's still the same excitement of getting out for two whole weeks of Christmas.  So, what the hell?  Now I'm the mom!

I don't know exactly when it was that I became an adult.  Yes, I know — I could vote at 18, drink at 21, but I wasn't an adult.  I married the hubs at 23, but I wasn't an adult.  I didn't become an adult until I was responsible for another life.  Little did I know that little 7 1/2 lb life would change a lot of things.  It started before she was even born.  I couldn't eat guacamole or brocolli when I was pregnant and when she came into this world, suddenly I had to turn the music down in the car, there was no sleeping in on weeekends, she controlled my life. 

And now, she and her sister are in elementary school.  Their brother is in mother's day out twice a week.  You know what that means?  Christmas vacation. 

Let me explain how things are now that I'm the mom.  We get the December calendars for school and both of the girls have Christmas parties, Molly has a progam, Andrew has a program — and here's the best part: the parties are on the same day and so are the programs.  And so it begins, the mad rush before the break.  Now, having three children means lots of gifts.  No, not for them!  For teachers, bus drivers, librarian, and 400 other people you have to buy gifts for if you're the mom.  So, by now you're broke and you've run around town like a crazy person finding gifts for people, outfits for programs, and then you get a note in the backpack.  For the program, your child's class has to wear cowboy gear.  What the hell?  What do cowboys have to do with Christmas?  Oh, they're singing the western version of Jingle Bells, which is the regular Jingle Bells, with a twang and a yee-ha at the end.  Makes perfect since.  And so you send the hubs to buy a cowboy hat at Target on the dollar aisle because they had them last week and you're busy wrapping teacher gifts.  The hubs calls to say no, there are no cowboy hats!  So, you send him across town to Party City and he calls asking if it's okay to get her a pink sequined cowboy hat.  Sure, at this point you don't care if has flashing neon flamingos on it, whatevs!

And so the Friday Christmas break begins they kids come in all high on sugar and bring in backpacks with all sorts of little gifts and candy from friends, tons of artwork and ornaments made from popcicle sticks, beads, pompons, and pipe cleaners that litter the kitchen table.  And the children say, "Mom, isn't it great?!  We're out for two weeks!"  Oh, yeah, just great.  Just wonderful.  Just shoot me in face right now. 

We're almost at the end of the two weeks and my house is a disaster.  I have stress acne.  They've eaten everything in the fridge and pantry.  I've watched more Noggin, Rudolph, Boomerang, and Strawberry Shortcake than anyone should ever have to.  Truthfully, it's cruel and unusual punishment and I wouldn't wish it on hardened criminals.  Well, yes I would, especially Yo Gabba Gabba and Dora the Explorer.  Come on vamonos, everybody let's go — yeah, go to hell, Dora!  I'm sorry I got carried away for a minute.  I really hate Dora.  Her head is shaped like a damn football.  What the hell?  Have the illustrators ever seen a human being?  We tend to have heads shaped more like baseballs, not footballs.  But I digress. 

My daughters go back to school on Monday.  When they get on the bus, I'll be doing the mother effin' Mexican hat dance and beating the hell out of a pinata in celebration.  I may start drinking for the occasion.  A little tequila in my coffee cup sounds about right. 

Also on Monday, I will be writing a letter to my congressman.  I believe I have come up with a plan to make the Christmas holiday a little more manageable.  I know it won't be easy, I know we have a long road ahead of us, but I know that it will make the moms of this country a little more sane and full of Christmas spirit.  My plan is to make Christmas a holiday celebrated much like Thanksgiving.  We will make Christmas on a Monday every year and New Year's Eve will be on Thursday.  That way Christmas vacation lasts only one week and sanity is spared all across this great nation.  But Kerry, we can't move Christmas! Oh, yes, my friends, we can.  You see, since we're celebrating the birth of Jesus and He was born in the spring as our theologian scholar friends believe, we're not celebrating it on the right day anyway, so it's okay.  But Kerry, won't that mess up the whole calendar if New Year's Eve is on Thursday every year?  Listen, I didn't say my plan is perfect and there are plenty of smart people who can figure this out.  Hell, we have leap year every four years and I still don't understand how they come up with when we have Easter every year.  I know we have Mardi Gras 40 days before Easter, but how do we know when Easter is?  See, there are people wiser than I who can figure these things out. 

No need to thank me, I'm sure there's already a statue being carved out of stone in my honor, hopefully it will be a little thinner than the flesh and blood version, I don't ask for much.  Don't worry, I'll keep you updated on how my bill progresses.  I'd like congress to call it the Give Momma a Break Bill.  Or the What the Hell Vacation Bill.  Either way, I'm sure we'll get the votes for it to pass.  I'll be willing to go to Capital Hill if need be.  Hear that, Hillary?  I'm comin' for you.  And I'm bring my kids for you to babysit.  You should have plenty of time now that you're going to be Secretary of State and all.  Maybe we can have lunch and enjoy some girl talk, you know, about hair products, pantsuits, whatever.