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How the Grinch Got Tourette’s Syndrome

6 Dec
You're a mean one, Mama Grinch.

You’re a mean one, Mama Grinch.

The weekend before Thanksgiving, the children were bugging me to put up the Christmas tree.

Kids: Pleeeeeezze, Mama?

Me: No, it’s too early.

Kids: Pleeeeeeeeeeeeezzze!

Me: No, I don’t feel like digging the tree out of the closet.

Kids: Pretty please?

Me: No, the house isn’t clean.

Kids: We’ll clean the house!

Me: snort

Kids: What was that horrible and terrifying noise? (I’m paraphrasing.)

Me: It was me.  I snorted at you in disdain and contempt.

Kids: If we clean up, can we decorate the tree?

Me: snort. Sure. Whatever.

Exactly 12 minutes later . . . .

Kids: Mama, we’re done. Now can we decorate the tree?

Oh, my! My little angels! They did clean the house! You could actually see the floors in their bedrooms, the living room, the bathrooms! I HAD FLOORS AGAIN! It was truly a Christmas miracle.

I had no alternative but to reward my darlings.

I watched the kids decorate our tree. All the ornaments were placed within an eight-inch section of the tree. The garland was mysteriously missing. Most of the ornaments were made at daycare. But that’s ok. It’s our tree. It’s representative of where our family is at this moment. The only thing that is perfect on our tree is the lights. Thank goodness for pre-lit trees!

The decorating was done, the house was clean and the kids were satisfied. I decided it was a good time to take a shower.

Exactly 12 minutes later . . . .

I emerge from my room showered and refreshed. The decorations were up and my home was cl . . . . err???  What’s this? The lights are not lit on the Christmas tree. Oh well, some kid probably turned off the light switch that controls that outlet. Ah, those curious kids!

Err???? What’s this? The light switch is already on. Hmmm . . . ah, one of my little geniuses probably just found the switch on the cord attached to the tree. Heh-heh-heh . . . those cute little trouble-makers! I’ll just check the cord leading up to the tree . . .

Err???? What the hell? What the f . . . MY TREE IS SPARKING AND SMOKING! omg! OMG! OMG!

Me: Son of a bi . . . GRRRRRR . . . mother f. . . . . GRRRRRRRR . . . .

I was SO angry and I couldn’t even cuss because my children were watching me.

Kid #1: What’s wrong with Mama? She’s talking funny.

Kid #2: I don’t know.  Maybe she’s having a stroke or something.

Me: Fricken frack. Arrrrrrgh. Hmmmmm.

I could barely control the urge to say something that I should not say in front of my children. I couldn’t trust my words, so I sent them a telepathic message.

Leave my presence, you destroyers of Christmas spirit. Leave this place at once so that I may put my fury into words instead of directing it at the guilty parties.

They stood there . . . staring . . . like idiots. What good is a mother-child bond if you can’t send a fricking telepathic message in the event of an emergency?

I did the best that I could. I’m aware that the following sentence makes no sense.

Me: Who broke my HONKING Christmas tree?

Kids: (in unison) Not me!

I got a confession one week later. The youngest two decided to see how long they could spin the tree. This led to the cord wrapping around the base of the tree, which broke the cord after about 25 spins.

And although the Grinch didn’t exactly have Tourette’s syndrome, she came as close as she wanted to come.

I blame myself.  I took a 12-minute shower. What was I thinking?

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