Archive for December 8th, 2006

Of Christmas Cards and Bunions

Our family members and some close friends are going to think me and Gastrica are the two gayest sisters around.  They are going to think she and I got together and said "Let’s do our Christmas cards exactly alike!"  Trust me.  We did not.

Gastrica and I both like to use Shutterfly for our photo needs.  I’ve gotten Christmas cards from them before and was pleasantly surprised to see these cool, collage Christmas cards they’ve started making, so I planned on getting those. Then, Gastrica mentioned hers and basically, she and I have the same Christmas card this year.  The colors are a little different, but, it’s the same, Brady Bunch opening design.   

Then, I ordered these cute little return address labels.  Upon receipt of Gastrica’s card today, SHE STOLE MY LABEL!  Thanks, Gassy.  Heh. Heh.  Really, we did not conspire to be the Cutesy Poo Christmas Card Sisters. 

Another thing about Christmas cards, I started doing one of those annoying Christmas letters years ago.  I started doing them because I would write a little note on each card and realized I was basically writing the same thing on each card and I decided "This sucks."  So, thus began the Smiff Letter thingy.  Until I began blogging, that was just about my only writing outlet for years.  I’ve always tried to be snarky and silly in my letters and think mine are a little more interesting than the average letter.  I’m sure there’s some retard family member out there who thinks it’s stupid, but, they probably can’t spell their own name anyway.

When we were growing up, my parents got a Christmas letter every single year from this woman that used to work where Dad worked.  Bonnie always went down every little detail of her PTA work, work with the Girl Scouts and a bunch of crap about her perfect daughters.  We gleefully looked forward to Bonnie’s letter every year because it was so humorous. 

The best Bonnie letter we ever got was the year that she wrote of her teenaged daughter: "Becky has bunionettes on both feet."  Woo hoo!  I hope Becky didn’t speak to Bonnie for a year for that.  That is wrong right there, telling the world that a teenaged girl has frickin’ bunions. 

I think I should start adding things like  "Manchild now has armpit hair, our Daughter started her period and Mr. Smiff had hemorroids the size of Milwaukee in July" just for reaction and to give some lucky recipient of the Smiff letter something to make fun of.

Trips in the Field

I told #2 I would go with him and his class to the Adventure Science Museum.  This is one of those things I wish I wouldn’t have agreed to, mostly because I’ve got a jillion things I need to do today and I’m not looking forward to chaperoning.  I also hope I don’t have to have another Mom ride with me.  I’m not afraid to drive into Nashville (you’d be surprised at the ones who never leave Sumner County for any reason) I’ve tried to get Mr. Smiff to come along, but, I do believe that battle is lost. I really don’t want to be responsible for the cooler, either.  I’m hauling a Grammy nominated bass in the car.  That should get me outta that.

It’s not that I don’t like kids.  Obviously, I do.  What I don’t like is apparently, they want me to be joined at the hip with the ones they assign to me.  That is not Sista’s mother style, especially when visiting a place like the Science Museum.  There’s so much to do there and these are 3rd graders.  They don’t need me holding their hands and if they wander off…how far can they go?  I mean, come on.

I’m sure it’ll be fun and all that.  I know it will mean a ton to #2.  I’ve never gotten to go on a field trip with him because the other moms are so dang gung ho about it, they always take up the spots first.  The Muffia ones that volunteer first for everything and are at the school everytime I ever have to be there for anything. 

I only went on one field trip apiece with the other kids.  Now, I’m not allowed within a mile of school activities, or at least not allowed to address them publicly. I keep threatening to chaperone one of their dances and wear my Daisy Dukes and a really tight tshirt with blacked out teeth and a sign announcing that I’m Manchild’s Mama.  I fantasize about doing the Booty Pop in the middle of the gym and watching the Daughter react in horror.