December 9, 2010

Trimming the Fat

Something about the holidays makes me want to cut people out of my life. 

Not my family.  But the unimportant ones. 

The people who make me insanely mad and crazy and are general energy vampires.  I think I feel this way because I want to be closer with my family during this time. I could almost devour my kids lately.  They are just too delicious. They smell like Christmas and yumminess.


The kids are growing up so fast.  Time is flying.  Technology never slows, the red light on my phone never stops blinking. And I am wanting to trim the fat:  the layers around my midsection, and the excess layers of crap in my life. 

I want to dig a big hole, cover it with some sort of thatch product, fill it with candy and bearskin rugs (well, that's not very vege of me) and just hole up with my husband and kids.  No worries about money, work, stupid people, lazy people, whiny people, liars and theives.  Just us.  Oh, and the television. And cookies.  Okay, so my escape hatch and all the Christmas goody doesn't much help with trimming my chubby belly.   But somehow I think ...if I could trim the excess garbage out of my life, I wouldn't mind my belly.  Or maybe that's where I hold all my tolerance for the garbage.  Instead of infiltrating my brain, the garbage of life heads into through my belly button and festers there.

I am not making any sense.  Anyway. 

Christmas is approaching!  The kids are getting a fabulous kid kitchen in hopes they'll stay the heck out of mine. Stella is obsessed with the oven, and I'm told that's dangerous.

James:     I see the Christmas tree!

Stella:     Treeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Me:        
Okay, time to decorate.  Let's put up the lights!

Stella:    
Liiiiiiights!

James:   
No!  No, I don't like the lights tomorrow.

Stella:    
Liiiiiights!

James:    No!!!

Me:         We're putting up the lights James.  Santa has to be able to see the tree when he arrives.

James:    
I no like Santa! NO No no!  Santa no come here tomorrow! No!

Me:         Sorry, dude. We're decorating the tree.

Stella:     Cheese!  Yes!  Cheeeeeese!!

Me:         No, Stella.  Tree, not cheese.

Stella:     Cheese!

(crying, crying crying....)


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