…and all through the house were kids so obnoxious; their mother did grouse.
And, by grouse, I mean totally lose her shit and threaten to call the emergency line at the North Pole to tell Santa not to bother with this house. Because, my good lord, could they be any louder? Could they possibly find one more toy to drag into the fort they have constructed in the living room and in which they intend to sleep tonight? Could the uncontrollable laughter and constant giggling become any more maniacal?
I’m guessing not but; the idea of being wrong terrifies me because I am one “Could you please settle down?!” away from making the front page of tomorrow’s newspaper. And, not in a good way.
I know! Merry Christmas!
Thank heavens Hugh is taking over the parenting duties for me for a bit while I head into the hardware store to make the daily deposit; the antics of our offspring fail to tap-dance on his nerves quite as effectively as they do on mine so he might just save our good reputation as kind and loving (non-homicidal) parents, after all.
On the other hand, the man is no saint and a loooong Christmas Eve stretches before us, with the kids becoming more and more agitated by the hour, no doubt.
Pray for us, I do not want to be responsible for bloodshed on the baby Jesus’s birthday.
With that; I wish you all a very merry Christmas!