Growing up, we all knew that when a present said it was from Mom and Dad, it was really from Mom and she was nice enough to write Dad's name on it. Even now, if Dad actually makes an effort to get something, then the present just says from Dad, and it's usually something practical, like jumper cables or tire chains. This never really bothered me, except now I'm Mom. Even before that, when I was just Auntie, it was the same. For all of the kids' birthdays and Christmases, I am the one figuring out what they like, what size they wear, and then I go shopping, buy and wrap the presents. But you know what the card says? "Love Auntie Katie and Uncle Travis." Hey kids: Uncle Travis didn't do shit! Why does he get to take credit? For some reason, it bothers me more now that we have our own little one to shop for. Last night I was wrapping presents and writing on them, "Love Mommy and Daddy." Damnit! Daddy didn't do shit! I'm sure my mother was tempted to write that on several presents, but never did. I do it because I don't want her to grow up thinking Daddy doesn't care, because he does, just not in the thoughtful, buy you presents kinda way. Usually he waits until the last possible minute and then buys something pretty random, or if he can't find anything, jewelry. I have come to accept and even love this, and luckily we had a girl so he can get by with just buying more jewelry, but it still drives me nuts! One time I was too busy at work to buy our nephew a birthday gift, so I asked him to pick something up at the store before the party. I think he went to that random dollar section in Target, you know the cluster of stuff that's always right up front? He came back with an inflatable toy where the bottom is filled with sand so when you punch it, it pops back up, and a small rubber shark. WTF?! Then for wrapping I think he stapled a paper bag around them. It was horrible. I guess it's partly my fault, because I could torture us both by insisting we go out shopping together, but I'm pretty sure shopping with me steals small bits of his soul. I get distracted easily and have to touch everything. And every time I go shopping with him, I feel like it's time for Final Jeopardy. The theme song plays so loud in my head that I end up just grabbing something so we can both be put out of our misery. Don't even get me started on the Christmas cards. Or the wedding invitations. I'm still pissed!
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In the picture online it did not have
little Christmasy pictures embedded in it.
I'm trying to breathe through it. |
What do you make of Baby's First Christmas anyway? I flip-flop between going all out and doing nothing. She has no idea what's going on, so it seems rude to buy her toys and then make her wait a month to play with them. She's going to be more interested in the wrapping paper anyway. But I did the obligatory first ornament and got her a pretty pink stocking with her name on it. A family friend pointed out that we only have one baby, so there would be no confusion as to whose stocking the pink one was. She has a damn good point, but alas, reason lost and Trinity's stocking will FOR SURE never be confused with anyone elses.
To give Travis some credit, he doesn't get off scott free during all these Christmas shananigans. I look forward to picking out a tree every year, but I understand it must kind of suck for him. We can't just do something easy like pick up a tree from his work, oh no. We are riding that damn tractor in the freezing cold out to the north 40 so we can trod around in the mud and take turns picking out trees that the other one is inevitably going to hate until we are so frozen and mad that in a fit of rage he just starts sawing one down. It's tradition! But this year we have an 8-month-old with us, and we have to make it snappy because we don't want our indecision to leave her with frostbite. It is also more dangerous because she is strapped to the front of me in the Baby Bjorn and I can't see where I'm walking so I trip over countless stumps and we almost eat shit several times. Luckily it doesn't take long before we find an acceptable tree. While he gets down in the mud to saw it down, I panic and run off looking for a better one. I have a committment problem. Then after he's sweating and breathing hard from all the sawing, he has to hoist it up over his shoulder and walk it back to where the tractor will pick us up. I'm having a blast! But I realize that without him this trip would be impossible. Not only would it be a physical impossibility, I would flat-out refuse because the actual manual labor involved seems like the most unfun thing ever. Plus I hate getting dirty.
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| Do work son! I take this same picture every year to fuel the rage. |
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| Due to a lack of pictures of the 3 of us, this may or may not be on our Christmas card. Act surprised. |
So we bring it back home where he informs me that this year, he refuses to decorate the tree. Apparently it's something he's NEVER enjoyed. I don't know if that means he's never enjoyed it in his whole life, or just the years he's spent with me. I'm thankful for this, because his ornament hanging gives me anxiety. It has no rhyme or reason, and I usually end up redoing it when he isn't looking anyway. So I let him off the hook with the decorating, but I ask him to bring me home some peppermint candy ornaments from work, because that is the planned theme for the tree this year. Knowing his shopping skills, I ask that he send me a picture of the ornaments before he buys them, just to make sure they are up to par. I receive no picture. He comes home with these:
Not only are they NOT peppermint candies, they're not even ornaments!! It's a small string of candy cane lights that plays obnoxious carols. His defense is that candy canes are made of peppermint candy, so he thought it would be ok. WHAT?!? What can you even say to that? Nothing. So I rallied. I found a bunch of glittery snowflakes that I've never used in the ornament box and created a snowflake tree. I figure I only have a few years left of respectable trees before little T creates beautiful, tacky treasures to adorn the branches with, so I'm gonna enjoy it while it lasts.
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| I see the irony in talking about respectable trees when my topper is absolutely ridiculous. But it makes me so happy! |
So, while Mommy and Daddy are two very different people, we are actually two infuriating halves to a whole. Or maybe we're just the only two people who could put up with each other's quirks. Either way, working off of our strengths and weaknesses, we somehow manage to get shit done. In the end that's what's important. Oh, and our baby girl is a beautiful, happy little weirdo.
