All I can say at this point is….Thanks a LOT, Santa.

---

This is all my fault. There is no one to blame but me. This s***tastic Holiday shopping debacle that I am currently in is the simple product of inexperienced parenting. I have much to learn. My oldest crotch spawn is four years old. In the eyes of some, I am a seasoned mother. In the eyes of MOST, I am the feeble, meek, laughable newbie mom that needs to pull her head out of her ass and actually USE it. In the grand scheme of life, some might compare my parenting experience to that of a newborn infant baby fawn, laying there in the middle of the forest all covered in crotch goo, attemping to stand up on it’s wobbly, skinny little fawn legs for the first time. Except, my legs look nothing like the skin and bones of a newborn fawn and more like the sturdy, massive roots of your precious Grammy’s full grown oak tree. (THANKS A LOT, FITBIT. YOU EFFING PORTABLE CONFIDENCE DESTROYER). I’m not complaining, those tree trunks that are attached to my ass are PERFECT for s**t kicking. DON’T CROSS ME IN A DARK ALLEY, SUCKAS. BAM!

I’m veering from my original point…….. **insert wide eyed blank stare HERE**

BASICALLY, what I’m getting at is my parenting experience level is currently sitting somewhere between “you have no mother-flipping idea what you are doing” and “if you need me, I’ll  be in the corner in the fetal position, sobbing hyserically”.

Having that been said, my 30 years on planet Earth TECHNICALLY qualifies me to identify with the very first borns of the Millennial generation, so I would like to cash in on that privilege right now and BLAME SOMEONE ELSE FOR MY MISTAKES. (hahaha see what I did there?!) And that person I would like to formally charge is SANTA.

So for reference, let’s take it back a bit. It’s late October, early November even, and a proverbial light bulb has gone off in my super-smart (or so I thought) Mom brain. I thought to myself, “Hey there, Sexy Mama. How’s about you start Christmas shopping EARLY this year so that you don’t scramble around at the last minute, thus driving yourself crazy and your bank account balance down to a big, fat, effing GOOSE EGG in mid December.”

**head nods at self approvingly and gives self a celebratory shimmy**

And that’s when my ATTEMPT at a Mom win began. I asked Everlee no less than 20 times what she was going to ask Santa for. This way I could keep my eye open for early sales and save myself (errrrrr I mean SANTA) a potential pretty penny. BOOSH, BIOTCHES.

Everlee’s response was ALWAYS the same:

“I want a hair style Poppy troll doll.”

Groovy, that I can do. I’ve seen it a million times. It’s a plastic Poppy troll doll that has been conveniently DECAPITATED so that it can sit right there, wobble-free, on your counter top like a murdered psychopath while your child braids it’s PRECIOUS pink troll hair. Lucky for me, this is the only part where I ACTUALLY used my damn brain. I held off on buying that weird, decapitated troll. I had a feeling that, despite her asking for it NO LESS than 20 times, her crooked little preschool mind would flip sides and set her sights on a different toy.

So the rat race that is BLACK FRIDAY **shutters** came and went without my check book taking a single deduction (HAHAHAHA check book, I just instantly made myself 90 years old. No one uses checks anymore, not even myself. I don’t even have any in this house. So I digress…) And while I was proud of myself for holding off on purchasing any gifts TOO early, I knew the holiday clock was a tickin’ and I needed to get my ass in gear. So I ask Everlee ANOTHER 50 times what she is going to ask Santa for. And just as I had predicted, that little vag-nugget changed her damn mind:

“I want Hug Time Poppy Troll.”

Ah, yes. HUG TIME Poppy Troll. The only thing weirder than a decapitated troll is a troll that forces you to wear a flower tracking device fit for a stalker bracelet that lights up and forces unassuming children to hug a mystical forest creature. Yea….perfectly acceptable life lesson. But whatevs, I’m gonna buy that damn thing because the tree is up, the lights are hung and it’s GO TIME, F***ERS!!

So I hop online and promptly log in to that there AMAZON PRIME (Click the sound clip below to catch a glimpse of what my brain does when it hears the words “Amazon Prime”)

I mean, that sound clip couldn’t be any more accurate, AMIRIGHT?! After I snapped myself out of my Prime dreaming stupor, I found that damned Hug Time Poppy and at rapid speeds I hit that “Buy Now with 1-Click” button. BOOM. SUCCESS! Santa is on his way, you Christmas-y bastards! 

This first purchase only sparked my twitchy buying fingers. Call me butter because I was on a ROLL. Every second that passed shortened that detrimental Holiday shopping to-do list. Some toy tractors? CHECK. A baby doll that has a magically disappearing milk bottle? CHECK. Amazon Prime exclusive toys that no one asked for but EVERYONE needs? CHECK. Crap, crap, crap, and more wrap-able crap that I can purchase at the tip of my fingers? CONSIDER IT DONE.

Santa’s on FIIIIRRREEEEE!

I’m feeling good at this point. Like “kick a pillow case filled with pudding” good. So I decide to muster up all of the energy and patience that I have left in my body and take the final leap in this Christmas brigade. We MUST go see SANTA! We get the mini me’s all dressed in their Christmas-y best and load up in to the car. We excitedly run in to Bass Pro “Santa’s House” and grab our spot in the WORLD’S LONGEST SANTA LINE IN THE HISTORY OF ALL EFFING SANTA LINES! *sigh* Repeat after me:  “it’s for the kids. It’s for the kids. IT’S FOR THE FREAKIN’ KIDS”. *Gives a little wiggle and pulls up big girl panties*

After 700 laps around Santa’s Workshop and approximately 200 lifts in and out of the shopping cart, our time has FINALLY arrived. And just like that, the clouds parted and the heavenly light shone down on Santa’s fat, perfect face. To say my kids were shell shocked was a COMPLETE understatement. Everlee turns weirdly sheepish and seemingly melts in to some form of holiday goo right there in front of Santa. I’ve literally NEVER seen my daughter at a loss for words until this moment right here. She was in pure awe. And I gotta say, he was a pretty magical Santa if I do say so myself. So she plops her tiny buns right there on Santa’s lap while Leyton screams and tries his absolute best to rip that fat Santa’s beard right off his magical cherub face. And in the hustle and bustle of me running over to save poor Santa from his surely 100th screaming infant, I made sure to strain my ears in an attempt to hear what Everlee asked Santa for. And it’s a good damn thing I did, because this is what she whispered in his hairy ear:

“I would like a Magical Bop Cinderella.” That’s it. That’s all she said.

WHAT THE ACTUAL F, KIIIIDDD!! WHAT THE F IS A ‘MAGICAL BOP CINDERELLA’? AND WHERE THE HELL DID ‘HUG TIME POPPY’ GO? WHY WHY WHYYYYYYY?!?!?!

Mmmmmmmmkay, this is where my juvenile Mom experience shines through and I fail MAJOR. Why, oh why did I attempt to be organized….and prompt….and budget conscious….and PREPARED. Who am I kidding, parents are NEVER prepared. In my four short years of parenting, this was one fact I DID know. WE. ARE. NEVER. PREPARED. No matter how much we try, you can never be TRULY prepared. And this little holiday set back is proof. I start questioning everything I have tried to do thus far:

“Why, oh why did you  have to go ahead and buy the presents BEFORE taking the spawns to see Santa?”

“Whyyyy did you spend $40 on a weird Troll doll that has no regard for personal space and forces physical contact?”

“And for pete’s sake, WHY did you have to buy them all online in a selfish attempt shop without your skivvies?! You KNOW you won’t put forth the effort it takes to ship those suckers BACK to heavenly Prime land. Now you will keep those blessed toys and are out that money because you TRIED to be prepared but are really just a lazy turd.”

“And what the actual F is a ‘magical bop Cinderella’ anyway?”

I’ve got to find out. I HAVE to find out what that damn, undoubtedly dumb yet expensive toy is. I AM SANTA. I AM THE GIVER OF GIFTS. I AM THE F***ING SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS,  FOR CRIPES SAKE. I MUST PROSPER! I CAN’T FAIL ON THE ONE FLIPPIN’ TOY MY KID EVEN ASKED FOR! AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!

I question. I poke. I prod. I delve deep, deep in to the psyche of my barely-able-to-reach-the-counter offspring. Does Cinderella dance? Is that what ‘bop’ means? Does she smack you on the head with her nuclear-war-strength plastic wand? WHAT MAKES HER BOP? And I couldn’t figure out the riddle of ‘magical bop Cinderella’. So I did the only thing I could think of: I poured a glass of wine, turned on the Disney Channel, and watched every mother effing, eye-ball burning, brain melting toy commercial on that channel. And JUST before I would completely go crazy and poke my eyeballs out with dull butter knives, it worked. It’s a “Magical Wand Cinderella”.  WAND. The word the whole time was supposed to be WAND. This is the worst.

“Everlee, what did you ask Santa for?”

“Magical bop Cinderella.”

“Are you sure it isn’t Magical WAND Cinderella?”

“Nooooo…it’s Magical BOP Cinderella.”

(pauses commercial and makes Everlee watch)

“Is THIS Magical bop Cinderella?”

“Yes! Yes! That’s it! Magical bop Cinderella!!”

Oh, for F sake. This is ridiculous. I should have just waited until AFTER taking the nuggets to see Santa because NOW this God forsaken Cinderella is my new mission and has thus rendered that Hug Time Poppy virtually useless. Has she mentioned that Poppy troll again? No. Not once. She obsessed and obsessed over the creepy thing for a month and now? Nope. Santa brought out the crazy in her and she mouth spewed the ONE TOY that she kept a complete and total secret from me. WAIT A MINUTE…I  know how that twisted little Everlee mind works. THIS IS HER TEST! This is her way of justifying the existence of Santa and assuring that I head straight to the mental ward in the very near future. And I’ll bet she knows me just as well as I know her and I’ll bet she is fully aware that I will be entirely too lazy to mail back any online purchases I have made thus far, effectively doubling her gift load. THAT SMART LITTLE PRESCHOOL S**T.

Well, guess what? YOU WIN, EVERLEE. I will not be the one to squash the Christmas magic and I WILL buy you that Cinderella so as to keep the spirit alive. And naturally, the next shopping day that I happen to have available to purchase f***ing BOP Cinderella would also be the week that I catch a nasty case of pneumonia and double ear infection. So now, not only do I get to go shopping IN THE STORES and AWAY FROM MY PRIME APP (for SHAME!!) but I have to cough and wheeze my way through the entire store, all bobbin’ and weavin’ between the other toy-hungry-mom-mongers cloggin’ up the aisles. And let’s not forget the nasty side effect of three pneumonia meds at once. That Target bathroom was EXACTLY the place I wanted to spend half my shopping day. * INSERT FART NOISE*. That was just the crap icing on top of my s***t cake, I tell ya.

But once I FINALLY hobbled my nasty ass back to the Disney Toy aisle and I got my hands on THE TOY THAT WILL SAVE CHRISTMAS, I took my preverbial pill and CHILLED THE F OUT. I had to calmly remind myself that this is NOT the end of my rope. This is just a tiny little snag in the giant Christmas quilt of life. I had to remind myself that going out and shopping for this toy on a day that my body would much rather be on the toilet couch was actually a BLESSING. Why? Because we have the money to buy this toy, that’s more than most. Not only that, but we are able to not only buy the one thing that our oldest child wants, but we do not have to return the ones I  mom-failed and jumped the gun on, either. Our children will be spoiled on Christmas day playing with their toys, noshing on their tasty Who treats, and staying warm in their lovely home. And because of these blessings, I’ll s**t in a public restroom any day.