Saturday, December 02, 2006

CH is for Christmas, CH is also for Chiropractor - Xmas Parades are Bad for Your Back

Smack it. Flip it. Rub it down. And let the season of senseless imbibing in the name of glittery, garish fake snow and lawn decor BEGIN.

(Excuse the bad Bel Biv Devoe "Do Me, Baby" song reference, especially if I've made you feel as old as I am. Admit it. You know you put that swanky squeeze cheese-like song on your phat R&B mix tape back in the 80s day too. Hopefully you figured out what "I need a body bag" referred to before I did. And hopefully you're still not forgetting the "J, the I, the M, the M, the Y, y'all" when need be.)

That's right, tonight, with three kids in tow, we gallivanted to and from and back again to our first smash-hit Christmas party of the silly season.

Unfortunately I was the designated driver. My festive beyond festive husband on the other hand tipped back enough holiday cheer (vodka and 7up on the rocks) to giggle like the Pillsbury Doughboy every time I knowingly smiled at him from across the garland and holly draped deck under the moonlit sky. We're both very comfortable meeting new people and schmoozing accordingly. Thankfully all three of our kids seem to be smooth party operators as well. Bringing a few choice adults peppermint frosted chocolate cupcakes doesn't hurt.
Good job guys. Way to load the party acquaintance deck, just like Mommy and Daddy.

Our newlywed friends are skilled hosts, even if they claim tonight's soiree to be their first formal entertaining effort. They are natural. Gracious. Relaxed. Nice enough to actually introduce us around and make us feel truly welcome, even at home. (Doesn't it irk the hell out of you when a host fails to introduce you to the other guests properly, especially when you hardly know anyone at the party other than said rude host? Anywhoodles ...)

The party was so damn good, fun and funny that we kept our poor, runny nose-d kids out well past 11 p.m. And we NEVER, EVER do that, especially not when they're feeling under the weather. Ear infection afflicted two-year-old Pigtail Sprite conked out on the hosts' guest bed. I was told that several party goers checked on her. One even covered her with a blanket. Yes, I was one of the party goers who sneaked a peek on her as well.

"She (Pigtail Sprite) looked so cold," my friend's boyfriend, Patrick told me half-jokingly. "I was this close to calling Child Services on you but I covered her with a blanket instead."

Another friend, Anita, reported that she intercepted Moody Cheeks McGee, 3, attempting to gobble down a jiggly reddish-purple Jell-o shot that I mistook for congealed and cut up into chunks cranberry sauce. I must still have Thanksgiving (the holiday featuring my favorite foods of all time, turkey and stuffing) on my mind.

Kids and adult parties don't always mix. Surprisingly, a grip of guests who weren't parents were super friendly with my brood. A different Patrick than the one quoted above "bonded" with Cheeks talking about Cheeks' preschool, riding bikes and how yummy the hostess' cupcakes were. (He ate three for dinner at the party in about five minutes flat. Repeat to self until you believe it: It's okay to eat cupcakes for dinner because it's the holidays.)

We started our evening of decking the halls with the Belmont Shore Christmas parade (aka the miserable time when parents hold their children like dead weight for hours on end in their tired arms so they can see the baton twirlers and marching bands pass boisterously by ... also so their when-the-hell-did-they-get-this-heavy kids can view the tops of the heads of the childless and the obviously annoyed by parade-going children adults in front of them. Oh, and who could forget the Santa fairy tale we all tell our children? That's the whole point of the parade - so they can see Santa just far away enough to incessantly bark at their trying-their-hardest-not-to-drop-them-like-they're-hot parents, "Where?! Where's Santa?! I can't see him? Does he know what I want for Christmas? What if he can't hear me from there? Razor kick scooter. I WANNA RAZOR SCOOTER, SANTA!!! Did he hear me? Huh, mommy? Did he? Did he? Where's Santa now, mommy. I don't see him. Will he a'member what I want? Huh, mommy?" I mean, seriously, how long can you hold your kid for before you're tempted to simply drop him/her and hope for a decent non skull cracking landing? I tried everything at the parade tonight not to wear each arm out so I could grip the minivan steering wheel on the drive home with two appendages made from something other than over-stretched, spent Silly Putty. Under-the-arm football hold. Over the shoulder boulder holder hold. Balancing on the the suspended in mid-air alternating knee hold. On the shoulders hold. And the gold mama standard - the hip grip. Except my kids can't get the part where they reciprocal grip mama back by clamping their fidget legs around my hips. Instead they whimsically swing like tassels from my hips while I do all the work fighting gravity. Holy digression, nippy Jack Frost. Oh, and, "uber husband" as he just now nicknamed himself invented the two-kid shoulder hold, hoisting our 5- and 3-year-old sons onto his shoulders sideways so they could catch a glimpse of highly chemical but highly pretty fake snow flakes. Without complaint (unlike whiny me) and for about an hour, he managed/manwiched their combined weight of approximately 79 skin-and-bone pounds around his neck like two jiggly oversized squawking parrots on his broad, manly-man shoulders. The newly self-crowned uber husband calls this dual child shoulders hold the "exponential, serious compression of the lower spine" move that will take several days to decompress. "But I can stretch when I'm dead," he just added.)

By the way Kasha, my husband can't stop saying how beautiful you looked tonight. To the point where I almost punched him in his perfectly shorn and shaped beard. Seriously, you did look stunning. Diggin' the wooden earrings. I love crafty adornments carved from natural sources and dangled from lobes. You said I have four months to make it down to Escondido to visit. How about two months or is that too soon? If at all possible, when I visit I'd like to reenact our Mexican vacation in-hotel tsunami scene, okay? This time, let's eliminate the floating atop the flood flip-flops and insert something edible and delectable instead like chunks of velvety Brie cheese. I'd be far more compelled to rescue slabs of melty Brie from a flooded hotel room than a pair of cheap rubber soled Reef thongs. Hopefully we'll have a box of garlic melba toast and a thinly sliced hothouse English cucumber hanging around to accent the Brie.

Tomorrow night introduces me to the ladies' game of Bunko (also referred to by my friend Suzanne who knows these things as "Drunko"). Uber husband will ever so uber skillfully put the kids to bed while I attempt to sneak the entire Bunko kitty from beneath the other mamas' none the wiser noses. Seems like a stellar way to wile away a Sunday night to me.

Tonight's Domestic Slackstress Christmas cocktail party holiday weight gain/overindulgence tally:
Eight cut on the bias brown-sugar and red wine vinaigrette soaked baked sausage
One filled to the top bowl of fiery, nose-hair curling homemade a la Chef Christian piping hot chili
Eight hot and spicy meatballs in a mystery deelish tomato sauce flecked with slivered onions and bell peppers
A handful of various cheese from the world over (What's a night out without cheese?)

Uber Husband's mindboggling food diary for the entire day today:
One glazed buttermilk donut
One semi-synthetic shrimp flavored Cup o Noodles soup/noodle tangle (aka MSG enema with rehydrated petrified miniscule shrimp)
A handful of Tostitos
One burned to a crisp chocolate chip cookie from Babette's Feast on Second Street (which normally bakes deeee-lish cookies but curiously failed tonight, presumably a huge night for business with the Christmas Parade rolling right past its French doors)
A handful of salty mixed nuts
One snack pack-sized package of Nabisco Nutter Butter Bites
Two or three tidbits of Muenster cheese

How does he survive?

Maybe tomorrow night's Bunko blast-o bonanza with the girls will "spin me right round baby, right round like a record baby, right round, round round." Either way, I'll let you know. I'm sure the food will be smash-tastic too. I'd better look at my eVite to see if Bunko night is a potluck kinda' gig.

For now I'm gonna' check out and stretch in my sleep.


At 6:04 AM, Blogger Iris said... seem to have a lot going on there.

I don't do Christmas parties.....I hate going without a date. And my most recent husband was rather anti-social. And there is no way in hell I would take my kids, they are heathens.

I don't do Parades either. You, to me, are supermom!!!!

At 3:24 PM, Blogger Lucia said...

You ARE supermom! Good for you for juggling kiddos, jello shots and hot 'n' spicy meatballs.

I don't know what the heck Bunko is beyond some sort of game my Gram used to play (I think).

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