Holiday Hangover

Yes, the holidays are over, and have been for awhile, but I have been so caught up in the aftermath that it was painful to even think about typing when I could be napping.

My house is still a mess; there are still pine needles clinging to surfaces even though I recycled the tree on Tuesday. I have gained three pounds because everywhere I turned there was yet another plate of fudge, or cookies, or a glass of brandy (thanks, Mom).

The week before school let out for the Holiday break Polly was given a name for her secret Santa, the boy she was supposed to buy little things for and slip said items into his locker. The name she received was a twelve year old boy, one who liked skateboarding and chocolate, or at least that is what she could gather from talking with his friends at recess. I took her shopping to buy things for this boy, but seeing how I had a problem giving him five days of candy, I begged her to find other gifts. A new skateboard was a little outside of the price range I was willing to enter, so I asked if maybe he would like some of those little techdeckdudes. Nathan used to collect them when he was younger. Polly was adamant that they weren’t cool anymore as she shot me the “you are so tragically unhip” look. After going to store after store I felt as if candy for five days straight might be the best idea after all. I didn’t even give this much thought to my own childrens’ gifts for Christ’s sake. I learned a few things about kids on our voyage. You can’t buy a twelve year old boy a stuffed animal, but uglydolls are “in” right now. Polly also selected a large plastic ring with a hideous purple stone the size of an eyeball because they are called “pimp rings” and it’s cool to wear them. Pimp rings? Who knew? I was glad when we were done.

At my daughter’s school they have banned candy and soda from the premises and from all sack lunches taken off campus. That means that if Polly notifies me at 7:15 on a school morning that she needs a sack lunch because they are going on a field trip and she forgot to tell me I can’t fumble in the fridge and grab a can of Sprite to put in the sack with her hastily made sandwich and crudely chopped carrot sticks because it will be confiscated. I have a serious problem with people telling me how to raise my kids. Have I mentioned this? Probably.

On the last day of school before the holiday break I arrived to pick her up and saw immediately a fire engine and two police cars. As the over-reactor that I am, I immediately thought that my daughter had been hurt. She came out of the school with a sour look on her face and her hand across her heart as if she had been injured, or maybe she was doing a half assed rendition of the pledge of allegiance.

I immediately asked her what was going on, my mind on all of the emergency vehicles, and she dropped her hand as she wailed, “My secret Santa bought it for me!” There on her chest was a button that said “I Love Porn.” I put my hand out and she gave it to me and as she was so afraid of the consequences of this silly button I couldn’t get her to calm down enough to tell me why the front of her school was surrounded by emergency vehicles. I swear she acts like we beat her, which we never have, at least not yet.

Once she realized that she wasn’t in trouble she told me what had happened at her school that had required the 911 phone call.

Since candy is forbidden, and many kids had candy due to the secret Santa event, a boy had skated off to a locale that he thought was safe from the prying eyes of the administrators and teachers. The particular boy had received a gift of candy cigarettes. He had one in his hand and as he stood on his skateboard he lifted it to his mouth to take a nibble. The vice principal came out and without listening to the boy protest that is was only candy, she called the police to report that she had a seventh grader smoking on school grounds, and so they came out to lecture the boy about the evil dangers of smoking as he stood there with candy between his pointer and middle finger, complete with a red tip that may or may not have looked like it was on fire. The whole matter reeks of overreaction to me. The matter could have been dealt with without Police intervention.

Christmas went well and as easy as it could have been to get myself sucked into the family dramas I did not. Alex enjoyed his present, (NSFW) a Fleshlight, and we all ate good food and relaxed.

Next on the agenda is Polly’s homework. She was supposed to read one novel which is a piece of cake for her, and write an essay on, “the ramifications of action figures on today’s society.”

As much as I wish I could speak to her teacher about this assignment, or just write it myself, Polly has begged me to not intervene.

I suggested that she use as a subject her 15 year old brother who played with action figures for years. He would hate me for saying this, but he also played with dolls, and I never tried to stop him. It was only when he started making friends at school and they came over to play at our house that he was mocked for the fact that he had an assortment of dolls in his toy box. He claimed that they were his sisters and it made me sad that he felt that he had to hide the toys that he had once enjoyed so much.

I can’t find my camera. Alex was the last one using it and I dare not wake him because he has to work tonight.

Happy New Year and thanks for reading.

Tagged as: Christmas hangover, parenting teens, secret Santa