Building and living sustainably means recycling. The coolest thing I do is to take something that is cast off, something that others deem worthless… and then turn it into something useful.
That said… I hate Crafters. I hate ’em!
You know… as winter rolls in, many of us are forced to stay indoors staring at our hovels, thinking about how we had planned to do some “freshening up” in the “Fall that never came”.
Meanwhile my little boy, who has just started public school (he was homeschooled until now) is coming home from his new friend’s houses, complaining that HIS house doesn’t smell like “Christmas and Pine cones and other sparkly crap”…
Okay, in an old farmhouse with poor ventilation the house smells more like “feet and farts” most days. You know… a “Manly House”. It’s not an issue. The smell of wood smoke and burning food usually covers up most of it.
We don’t eat crumpets and drink tea, we practice Kung Fu and eat meat (and that’s after we kill it in our own yards).
But where was I? Oh yeah…
It’s not just a “birthday party” thing. You know, those events that sound of raucous noise and squeals and smells of little kids feet, vomit and band-aids. And I can’t avoid this because, for the first time, Joshua is (a) living in town, and (b) getting invited to birthday parties at other kids houses. As a result, he’s being exposed to this double overload of “criminal Christmas” activity.
I swear that there’s something sinister happening at those homes. He’s getting brainwashed by Moms decked out in blinking LED Holiday sweaters who deck the halls until they’re ready to burst as they throw birthday bashes for their young’uns in multi-tasking feats that are maddening to those of us who..well… you just never mind!
I mean, it should be one or the other. Pick a theme, pick a party and then stick to it. Nobody like a show-off. I mean… really. I wish they’d just stop it.
Apparently while the Thanksgiving Turkey was cooling, they were already throwing trees up in their living rooms like a freakin’ reforestation project. The “pumpkins chucked” (the evidence of that is on rooftops all over town), they were already dragging Santa out and harnessing him into positions of bondage in the front yard with poor inflatable reindeer forced to witness the December degradation of their beloved master.
(High winds and snow = “Santa Bondage”. Deal with it!) 🙂
I hate these “ho ho ho!” types. They make the rest of us slackers look bad. It’s one thing to see it and know you can just drive by rolling your eyes. It’s another when your kid comes home and convicts you of “Holiday Hooliganism” as you try to convince him that Santa just won’t land in the yard of a hunter for fear someone will shoot and then eat Rudolph.
And that’s just on their yards! Cross their thresholds and it gets worse! There’s treachery afoot, I tell you…
I’ll admit at this point that my version of “Christmas” is more like just tossing a festive candy cane into my cup of hot coffee to kill the bitterness of the triple portion of caffeine I just threw in there.
But there’s an enemy among us, folks. There’s a group of devious terrorists out there called “Crafters”. They sit in their sewing circles armed with ammo cans filled with glue guns and sparkles, plotting and scheming, making a list and checking it twice… filled with the names of people they’re going to shame with their “St. Nick Nonsense…”
Case in point;
We just had to move at the last minute. Weather, finances and circumstance have delayed our farm project and we’re still in town. Between illness and travel, we haven’t even managed to unpack yet. Due to the fact that we’re not going to be here long, I see that as a “remodeling or refinishing would be a waste of time” excuse waiting to happen.
But try to explain that to a kid who comes home asking if you’re P.O.’d at Santa.
(Before you start frothing and sputtering, know that while Dad is Jewish, we run a multi-observant household. I want Joshua to feel everything and then… when the time is right, he’ll decide which path his heart leads him to walk. I don’t want him to miss out on anything. His life is challenging enough.)
So, with a straight face, you just look at him and smile while you try to change the subject with a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows in it.
But he’s tenacious. He’s like a Great White when he locks onto something.
He asks again; “Dad, WHY are you mad at Santa?”
So, I asked him WHY he thought I was mad at Santa.
“Dad, we don’t have a sleigh in the potty.”
I almost burst out laughing. “What? What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face.
“Kohl’s mom has a sleigh in the potty. It’s for Santa,” he says as he crosses his arms authoritatively.
I think he’s pulling my leg, but he’s quite insistent.
Now… My “Spidey sense” is tingling like Athlete’s foot. I mean, it’s gone off like an alarm bell at a fire station. Gotham is in trouble and I’m the only one standing between treachery and tranquility. Kohl’s mom has become the enemy. I’ll teach them something about making lists… Muwahahahah!
Okay, this I gotta see. Punching in numbers on my cell like I’m entering nuclear launch sequences, I’m determined to get to the bottom of this.
(“Potty?” “Bottom?” See what I did there! Huh?) LOL!
Sure enough, Kohl’s mom describes (while texting images in “Multi-tasking Mom” mode) 8×10 glossy pictures covered in circles and arrows… that demonstrate that she does indeed have a “Santa Sleigh Potty Room”.
That’s just demented. I mean, they make medication for these kind of situations. 😉
At this point, I’m thinking that she is making the whole thing up as “torment piled on the shoulders of yet another poor defenseless single dad”.
And then… she sends me a link.
“I got the idea from this place. It was easy. You should do it… but wait… you can’t, because you don’t speak ‘crafter’! You need to possess the creative passions of a woman with kids to pull off something this cool.”
Again, WTH? I mean, I’m thinking that over the course of my life I’ve been forced to get up in the middle of the night (moonlight, rain or snow) so many times to go buy tampons and other assorted feminine hygiene products that I should have gotten those skills by osmosis. 🙂
So I clicked the link.
And then, Santa used that “Crafting Siren of sleigh-bending” to smack me right between the eyes;
Some sinister soccer mom of a siren with way too much time on her hands cruised the neighborhood in her mini-van and robbed somebody’s garage and absconded with a precious family heirloom… Grand-dad’s beloved sleigh.
It mattered not that an entire lineage remembered the legacy of that poor sleigh as Grand-dad risked life and limb to chase after little joey and stop him before he crashed into that big tree in the yard. In fact, Uncle Joey still walks with the limp he earned that terrible day in December…
And then… shamelessly, she hid that sleigh in the potty.
Not satisfied to just use a PVC or cheap Chinese tubing rack over the toilet, she took that sleigh of precious memories and turned it into a purveyor of butt-tape and murdered tree branches.
Because nothing says Christmas like pine needles dropping onto your head while you’re trying to poop out a fruitcake that was baked in 1934.
Apparently, it was pretty easy to do. The sleigh mods… not the fruitcake elimination. Pay attention huh? These posts don’t write themselves. Jeez… LOL!
You know what’s even worse? I have one of those sleighs hanging from the rafters in my storage shed. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m just jealous. Maybe I need to start dating again… Oy. That’s a trainwreck waiting to happen…
To all my Gentile friends, Merry Christmas! May the holidays surround you with love and laughter and bring you joy.