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Crazy Last Minute Gift Ideas

Like all women, I sometimes struggle with last minute gift ideas for my husband, so I Googled “pastor’s gifts” for some inspiration.  I found this nifty web-site called My-Pastor.com which had some intriguing gift ideas for the spiritual man in your life and some AWESOME ones for his lovely wife!!!!

That is…if you live in the magical land of Spare Oom bordering the Forest of Narnia and you have a large pile of gold.

This may be the most bizarre list of gifts I’ve ever seen and I can only assume the lady who wrote this had to be a disgruntled pastor’s wife who seriously needed Calgon to take her away. 

(She seems to have forgotten Rule #1 of blogging…don’t process your emotions on the internet)

I made a few notes so you would have a real-life PW’s perspective.

Pay for an overnight getaway for your pastor and his wife… provide babysitting if necessary.  Right.  Ummm-Hawaii sounds pretty cool.  An ocean-view pad with a personal pool and Jacuzzi is how this pastor’s wife rolls.  Oh yeah, and I have three kids.  Make sure to lock down the internet for the older man-child and don’t let the tween out of the house with five of her friends and a case of toilet-paper after dark.  The toddler is pretty easy if you like to watch five episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba.

Offer to keep her kids overnight on a Friday night. (We’ll be at Casa Ranchera if you need us, I mean Bible Study)

Pay for dinner and a show for the couple…provide babysitting if necessary.  I am really looking forward to Mission Impossible III, thanks for watching my kids again.  The baby likes mac-n-cheese.

Show your pastor appreciation… when he’s discouraged she is too.  He likes Hawaii too.  I’ll invite him to join me.

Get a group of ladies together and go shopping at an outlet mall a day’s trip away…add a mall gift certificate to make this pastor’s wife gift even better.  CABAZON!  Oh yeah!

A Special Gift Basket (let’s focus on the chocolate here people.  Cheese is good too)

Fresh fruit and vegetables…especially if they are from your garden or farm.  Does anyone have a garden or a farm in Orange County, CA?  If you have a potted plant with basil, I’m giving you props.

A walk in your woods with her husband. (Woods?  What woods? We have Ortega Canyon but people get mauled by mountain lions there)

Fence in her back yard so she can let her small children play in safety (ask first).  That’s clever that they tell you to ask first, I mean crap, can you imagine coming home to a new fence some random church member put up?)

Call her when your horse has just delivered so she can see a newborn kick up its heels…don’t laugh…I once helped a farmer deliver a calf. It gives you a new perspective when you watch an animal living in pure joy! (Oh, golly I always wanted to see a horse deliver.  Ummm, sounds like watching an ORK being delivered. What a GIFT! By the way, anybody have a horse?)

Provide the down payment for her dream home. (Heck yeah!!!!!!!)  But, I must confess I am living in my little dream home.  So, you can just cut me a check to create a writing studio over the garage, or to send our posse of kids to college)

Find out what kind of things she enjoyed before she was in ministry. Make it happen for her again. The schedule of ministry and the expectations of church members often encourage a pastor’s wife to be more conservative in areas where she would sometimes rather let loose. Help her do that…even if you have to take her two hours away so no one else from the church sees. (Can you say Vegas baby?  Ladies…pack your bags now!)

 Pay the monthly charges for a cell phone so she can stay in touch with friends and family. That’s $157.00 to be exact.

A corsage on a Sunday morning for no special reason except to say, “She’s special.”  (That sounds interesting-NOT)Babysit while she goes shopping. (Yessssss!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Drop off supper (call first).  If it’s before 6pm you don’t even need to call, because I never have my crap together before then anyway.

Buy a bag of groceries. (Not to be picky or anything, but I like ORGANIC)

Drop off a cup of her favorite cappuccino. (That’s an Americano from Starbucks with extra room and cream please)

 Get into the mindset that when you see special deals at stores such as “buy one get one free”, give the freebie to your pastor’s wife.  (Sweet!  Just don’t get the CVS diapers, because I bought a truckload on a special and they give my baby a rash)

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Bad Reindeer

My phone started buzzing last night with one text after the next.  It was vibrating so much it jumped off the table.  I grabbed it and laughed and started texting back.

Apparently, our reindeer have been getting busy.  And it wasn’t the first time today.  My husband came home and found them inappropriately coupling and moved them apart only to have Rudolph get all frustrated and as soon as we shut the door mount Clarice again.

What is in the water at the Keller house?  And, oh by the way, my husband Tim added that last line to my text to Staci.  I think it was a hint.

Just after we delicately removed the young buck and his gal for the second time of the evening and donned our winter caps, John Ramsay texted us. 

“Your reindeer are getting all crazy.”

Crap! Again?  Do they just wait for us to close the door and then start humping?

I guess next year we are going to have a herd of reindeer because Clarice is already showing signs of morning sickness.  Or maybe she’s just exhausted by her frisky buck?  (I can so relate)

 

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Ferris Keller

My husband has many unique attributes –some quirkier than others, but my favorite “Timism” has to be his distinct approach to making friends with everyone he meets.  Remember Ferris Bueller?  That’s what it’s like being married to this guy.  The world is just waiting to be Tim’s new friend.

Saturday, Tim and I (and our littlest girl Kolby) hit the mall to do some Christmas shopping.  But I made sure to lay down the ground rules before we left the house.

The rules were:

  1. No spending four hours debating over a single present.  That means we get in, we get out and we do not make dinner plans with our new best friend –the retail associate.
  2. No negotiating over prices in loud obnoxious voices.  This is the Mission Viejo Mall not the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul.
  3. No buying man purses.
  4. No strange behavior.

First we went to the Apple store, where in less than four minutes I had purchased a gift for my daughter that starts with an “i” and rhymes with mad.  (Sshhh!!!  Faith will be so excited). 

I knew exactly what I wanted and quickly made the purchase.  Just as I reached out to grab the receipt, Tim walks up with his new Apple BFF (some random retail dude) and I have to redo the order because I now have a $10 discount.  Then Tim and Apple guy start talking religion and technology and ten minutes later I excuse myself and head over to Pottery Barn.  I browse for a long time and then call him and leave a frantic text message to extricate him from the store.

Then we go and try on perfume at Nordstrom’s.  I find one I like and my husband debates eau de toilet vs. perfume with the lady –for another twenty minutes.  Once again I have to drag him out of the store because he has made a new “she-friend” and they have exchanged business cards.

Now we go to the hair kiosk and try on extensions and he makes another new friend with the hair lady.  I just love extensions because I have baby fine hair and sometimes, I wear them, and pretend I am a blond Kardashian.  Please don’t ask me if I have them on.  If my hair looks awesome just assume I do and if it looks stringy and like Rogaine would do me some good, you can assume I don’t.

Tim likes extensions too.  Sometimes he wears them and I pretend he is Fabio.

 

 

Then we go to every single kiosk in the mall to look for the perfect iPad cover for Faith and another one for Tim.  I bought him an iPad for his birthday in November and apparently he needs a different iPad cover for all the different ways you might ever want to use an iPad…like on a gondola in the Alps, preaching a sermon in Tuscany, or dancing in the Bahamas.  So there’s the mountain man iPad cover, pastor iPad cover, techno Ipad cover…and so on and so forth.

I’m dying here because all the stupid cases look the same but my sweetie has to check out every single freaking one before he can make a decision.  Then we run into our friend Dan and now we have a shopping posse.

Dan joins us as we head into Brookstone and my husband decides to climb into the massage chair.  The whole store gets a play by-play account as Tim’ calves, arms and derriere are massaged by the a-ma-zing chair.  Tim tries to negotiate with the young girls on the price and asks them very loudly to knock off $1000 off the large price tag.  They laugh and think he’s cute and weird and I crawl into a hole…and die again.

We head to lunch at Nordstrom’s café and have a lovely meal with Kolby and Dan and then inevitably, we go to the man purse store –Tim’s favorite place at the mall. 

And I’m sucked in to his excitement because he’s like a little kid amped up on Lucky Charms and he’s so excited to try all the bags on and find just the right one to fit his new iPad and make him look like James Bond. 

Kolby found one too.

We have a new name for the man purse.  It’s now called a holster and if you call it a murse Tim will pull out his gun and he might have to shoot you if you mock him. 

And I buy him a new holster because I am sucked into the vortex of Tim Keller and his exuberance.  And this man is so stinking energetic and adorable and friendly, he’s like Lassie and you just can’t help yourself from loving him because he’s contagious and absolutely priceless.

And that’s probably why he has over a thousand friends on Facebook and it’s why I go to bed every night with a smile on my face (though he might tell you it’s for another reason).

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Gangsta Christmas

Every morning I wake up to another sappy Christmas commercial that emotionally hijacks me and leaves me all weepy in my honey nut Cheerios. For example: the Hallmark tear-jerker that keeps replaying of the lonely soldier in Afghanistan opening up a Charlie Brown book with his little boy’s voice warbling out the Christmas story –sob, sniffle, sniffle, sob.

Enough is enough!  Instead of another blog post on the most amazing Christmas gift I’ve received, or even the most meaningful, how about a tribute to the worst Christmas Day ever?  Yessss…I knew you were in for it.

On a dismal and dreary Christmas morning about ten years ago (a rarity in sun drenched So Cal) my family and I loaded up all the gifts, pies and babies (Kyle was 4, Faith was 1) into our Expedition and with my father and step-mom closely following in the car behind us, we caravanned to the kids’ grandparents (on their dad’s side) in a nearby beach community.

On the way over we sang snowman songs and goofed around.  The roads were quiet and eerily still and we made quick time on the freeway, exited onto a road in a rather bad neighborhood (but one we drive through all the time) and continued on our way. 

All of a sudden, a car coming in the opposite direction u-turned directly in front us and screeched to a halt within inches of our stunned faces.  The kid’s daddy (Brent) threw on the brakes and my father (Papa Ken) stopped quickly behind us almost hitting us.  I looked up and saw a black Escalade hot on the heels of the junky car that had just blocked our path.

The door of the junky car flew open and a man tumbled out with a look of sheer terror on his face, never taking his eyes off the Escalade.  He darted right then jerked to the left as if he was carrying a football into the end zone then dashed across the street directly in the path of our car.  Within a nanosecond, one of the heavily tinted windows of the Escalade lowered and a hand appeared with a large ominous gun tracking the fleeing man.  The man raced across the front of our car and the gun followed his every move.

I screamed “move, move, move!” like a commando from Rambo.   Brent looked at me in confusion because he didn’t see the gun at first, then realized what was happening and quickly moved into action.

I whipped around and motioned for the kids to get down (difficult when babies are in car seats) and hollered at Brent to back the car up and get us out of there pronto.  Brent threw the car in reverse like one of the Duke’s of Hazard boys and maneuvered around Papa Ken’s car motioning like crazy for him to back up. 

The man kept running and a single shot fired off from the gun but missed him –and even more thankfully –us.  The black Escalade roared to life and took off after the man down the side street.  The junky car sat in the middle of the street abandoned, with the door wide open and blocking traffic.

Brent pulled over and we quickly called the police and choked out the incident in bursts of adrenaline.  The police asked us to come in and give them a report. 

Everyone decided it would be best to drop off the hysterical wife (namely –me) at Brent’s parent’s home with the kids and then go back to meet the cops.

I sat at the house in a trance of tremors and tears while my in-laws tried to console me but I was shaken to the core with this near brush of violence.  The last thing I expected on a merry Christmas Day was a drive-by shooting initiated by gangster thugs. 

Who shoots people on Christmas Day anyway?  And what the heck did the guy do to deserve to be hunted down like an animal?

All these thoughts swirled through my brain and then finally peace washed over me like a gentle wave.  And I knew that even in the midst of this terrible awful, I would appreciate this Christmas day like never before.  I held my babies tighter, breathed in their sweet sugary cookie smell, and enjoyed my family with an unfamiliar intensity.

I discovered on that eventful day that sometimes the best Christmas gifts are wrapped in the worst possible circumstances. 

Appreciation rarely reveals itself in the obvious; it’s subtle and generally involves suffering and trial.  And just like the soldier sitting all alone in a tent in the Middle East yearning for his family, I understood all that I had to lose in a split second.

So if your Christmas stinks this year –let it be a reminder of better times, both in the past and yet to come (Lord willing).  And relish the gift of appreciation, unconventionally wrapped, often missed but when found –deeply treasured.

(I know, I know…Halmark wants me to write for them)

What do you appreciate this Christmas?  What do you long for? Do you have a worst Christmas tale?

 

 

 

 

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Awkward Reindeer Games

Merry Christmas!

It’s been a whirlwind weekend despite my less than stellar health.  Tim and I frolicked and made enough Christmas cheer that my teenage son actually asked us, “so are you guys (like) partiers now?”

“No, son this is called the Christmas Season when normally boring parents don Santa Hats, red cocktail dresses, and sweater vests with snowmen.  It’s the time of year when we designate drivers, eat too much and try out new cocktails like “cake batter martinis.”

Some of the highlights of this festive weekend include:

  • Friday Cocktail Party: My husband approached an ongoing conversation and randomly overheard a woman describing a frisky sex game she plays with her husband…just then the host interrupted and introduced my husband to her as “Pastor Tim.”  Poor, poor woman… strangely enough, she avoided us the rest of the evening.
  • Me hacking up a lung at every event.  I coughed so much I have ripped abs.  I’m not kidding.  Forget seven minute abs –try bronchitis or the emu flu or whatever the heck I have. (And yes I’m heading to the doctor today because it feels like an elephant sat on my chest)
  • Attending my office Christmas party at the Cellar in Fullerton.  The Cellar is located at the site of the original Hotel California which is surprisingly haunted…pretty cool huh?  Personally I don’t believe in ghosts, but somehow my entire meal and my chocolate soufflé disappeared?  (darn ghost)
  • Decorating the awesome nine foot Christmas tree on Saturday morning with the family (that a very cool young man gave to us as a gift).  So fun!!!!  And little Kolby has only demolished three treasured ornaments that I hand-painted from 1980.  (Daddy forgot the three foot high toddler tree rule)

 

  • Waiting in line outside for Faith’s recital with no coats for thirty minutes in the freezing cold.  I told Kyle to go to the car and find something warm –a jacket, a blanket, anything so we wouldn’t turn into popsicles.  Unfortunately we were driving my husband’s car, so I didn’t know what he would find.  Kyle sheepishly came back with a stained and pitted undershirt of Tim’s he found in his gym bag that I was forced to use to wrap up baby Kolby to keep her warm.  I could see all the people around me curiously staring.  Yep that’s me-the woman who gives her toddler a crappy and stinky old t-shirt as a blankie. 

 

 

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Putting the “Fun” Back into Dysfunction

Normally by this time of year I’d be up to my ears in Christmas cheer, volunteering, filling bags of gifts for kids of felons, and helping to clothe and feed the homeless. But this December, due to a demanding writing schedule I’ve been a bit lax in my elvish duties. I’ve watched instead of engaged.

So in a guilt ridden effort to do at least one noble deed for the greater good, I want to acknowledge those that have stepped up to the plate.

Take my ex-husband “Uncle Brent” for instance. (For more details of this twisted relationship see the Dysfunctional Family, and “NO” I am not from Arkansas or Appalachia or mountainous communities where we marry our brothers).

A few weeks ago Uncle Brent mentioned he and his wife “Auntie Lauren” wanted to serve the homeless. I just happened to have a flier from church with a list of all the “do good” activities I planned to do but put off (no judgment please).

But Brent actually followed through and took my two older kids (Kyle and Faith) last Saturday to serve in downtown Santa Ana. My son Kyle filled me in on their adventure. He told me the leader of the group –Randy, asked Brent if he knew how to pray. Brent replied “yes.” So Randy informed Brent that he was now in charge of praying for the whole group before they tended to the poor. (No pressure!)

Now this might not sound like a big deal to most of you –but it’s kind of a big deal to my son, to me and maybe to Brent too. He hasn’t been super involved in church in a long time –since our divorce, actually (eight years ago), and in a roundabout twisted way, it felt sort of redemptive.

I never wanted to be the reason someone turned away from God but in all the mess of the divorce, I clung to the church in my (victim mentality) righteousness and Brent moved away in his (bad-guy) shame.

The truth is there should be room for both of us and God makes no distinction between the prodigal son and the older brother who played by all the rules.

It took me a long time to embrace forgiveness and understand true mercy, to let go of my anger, move towards healing and learn to love my ex-husband like a real brother. Fortunately the benefits of extending grace have far outweighed the excruciating refinement of my crusty character.

I can honestly say I enjoy co-parenting my son and daughter with Uncle Brent and Aunt Lauren. I know all of you divorced parents out there are like, “Really?” Yes! Really. I pinky swear.

I love watching my husband and ex-husband hang Christmas lights together and bumble around on the boom, seeing little Kolby squeal with delight when Auntie Lauren comes over, and I am overwhelmed with emotion when I hear my boy telling me about his dad leading a group of humble servants in prayer and service to the poor and needy.

And to me…this is what it’s all about.

To seek justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God.

(Oh yeah…and TO FORGIVE. Even when it’s hard)

From the Keller’s to Uncle Brent and Aunt Lauren…we love you and Merry Christmas.

Samantha, Tim, Kyle Adams, Faith Adams, and Kolby Keller

If you would like to jump on board this Christmas and help out the poor in the South Orange County area, here is a list of service opportunities through Mariners Mission Viejo Church.

Spread the Love by serving this year! And if you sign up, let me know and I’ll join you.

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The Awful Ornament and the Charlie Brown Hussy Part II

I got my invitation to the ornament exchange!  Sooooo excited Keri took pity on me and was kind enough to let me try again after last years blunder.

(See The Awful Ornament and the Charlie Brown Hussy)

I thought it was smart of her to clarify what type of ornament to bring this year!

Subtle but direct!
 
So, I’ve been trying to come up with an appropriate offering to the exchange.  Here’s a few ideas…
 
Baby's First Angst
 
Or maybe this one?
 
Hot Diggity Dog
 
How about this lovely?
 
 
Or my personal favorite…
Emu cutie!
 
I can’t wait for the big night!
 
Suggestions welcome!

 

 
 
 
 
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The Fart Game

Who farted?

“Ooohhhh, that’s stinky!” said Kolby, crinkling up her pert little nose.  “Daddy farted.”

Daddy looked dismayed.  “I did not fart!  Kyle farted,” Tim adamantly replied.

A guilty look crossed (my teenager) Kyle’s face.  “Nope, it wasn’t me,” he playfully teased, even though we all knew his butt smelled like day old broccoli.

Baby Kolby looked confused, but then a brilliant thought passed through her emerging toddler paradigm, “I know,” she said very seriously, “Mickey Mouse farted!”

And how could we do anything but laugh –because at the tender age of twenty-three months, Kolby is already learning the blame game.

We blame being late to church on traffic or cranky babies, not finishing home projects on illness or injury (like back pain, sprained ankles and the endless cold…I’m just referring to random people dear, not you).

We blame our overspending on the bad economy, our addictions on stress, and our wine habit on the kids (this is a generalization, not a confession.  I do not have a wine habit, though I do like a nice Cabernet occasionally if you would like an idea for a Christmas gift)

I personally get frustrated when my pants don’t fit and blame it on hormones, getting older, and my parents for being tremendous cooks.  I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I have only exercised less than a dozen times since I came back from my cruise in July.  Or, that I put whip cream on my coffee every day and that since Casa Ranchero has opened (my favorite Mexican restaurant) I have demolished about 52 baskets of chips with an accompanying margarita (that’s over the last year -not all at once)

Blame has been around since the gardening days of Adam and Eve.  Adam said the woman made him do it, while Eve blamed the serpent for her lust of the forbidden fruit.  (I wonder what would have happened if they had just owned it?) 

“Uhhh yeah God, I wanted it, I thought you were withholding and I ate it.” (We might have gotten lighter curses…just saying)

So, I’m thinking about what it would mean to me if I admitted more of my stuff.

Is it rude to say I’m late because I dawdled around and read just five more pages of the Hunger Games(which is AMAZING) before getting in the shower (i.e. I’m selfish and don’t care that much about your time) or how about I’ve gained five pounds because I like pie and the reason I’m walking like a duck is because I worked-out the last four days in a row and I can’t sit because my buttocks ache –all because I ate the pie, can’t afford a new wardrobe and I hate having a muffin top.

Not sure how that would go over?  Our culture seems to embrace the little white lie as a requisite of good manners. 

Hmmmm?  Regardless, we now have a new friend in the house to blame our farts on (and yours too if you visit).

So if it stinks in the Keller home, blame it on Mickey Mouse.  (Apparently, he’s related to MVE–our dearest and fartiest friend)

 

What do you like to blame things on?  Got a good excuse?  Share it with me!

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Waffle Irons and Black Friday Ninja Skills

“That’s my mama,” says Kolby, pointing to me as I drive while talking to her sister.  My toddler’s burgeoning vocabulary makes me chuckle and I glance at them in the rearview mirror.

Faith smiles at Kolby.  “Yes, that is Kolby’s mama,” she agrees.  “But its Faith’s mama too.”

Kolby narrows her gaze into a territorial sneer, “No Faith.  That’s Kolby’s mama.  Not Faith’s mama.”

And so Faith volleys back and the next thing I know the car is filled with the wails of an almost two year old and her ten year-old sibling bickering over who has claims to me.

“Mine.”

“Ours.”

“No Faith, mine mama.”

It was funny at first –this cuteness of a toddler ensconced in a world where everything belongs to her; where sharing is optional and highly overrated (in Kolby’s opinion). 

But as we move into the holiday season and I reflect on our culture, I don’t know if the world operates much differently than an entitled baby fighting over her mama.

Last week’s Black Friday headlines have left me scratching my head and wondering what the hell is wrong with our country?

And even though I love Target and Wal-Mart, (as much as the next women out there who can pick up power tools and Goldfish all in one store) I have to wonder what kind of ideology I am buying into when the Target add on TV depicts a woman training for the super athletic event of shopping. 

After this year, maybe next year’s ad could show the woman training with weapons, like the lady in Walmart who pepper sprayed a group of shoppers to get to an X-Box? 

Or they could show her at the gun range learning how to protect her loot, maybe jousting with a waffle iron, or learning ninja smart phone skills to take down those pesky people who get their grubby hands on your goods.

Mine. Mine. Mine,

How about practicing the art of the trample?  There’s a nice pastime to usher in the Christmas spirit (and yes this is pure sarcasm because I know I will get a comment or another blogger posting Samantha Keller advocates trampling.  I do not nor have I ever trampled…just to be clear!)

But I am appalled at the greed and inhumanity Black Friday reveals about the state of our hearts.  Clearly, some Americans feel so entitled to a get a good holiday deal they will even kill for it. Really? 

We now have two holidays that have mutated. What are we going to lose next?

Halloween –dress like a slut day and Black Friday –act like an animal at the mall day.  (Use violence if necessary)

I’m taking a stand and reclaiming this Christmas. 

It’s not about Santa or the “Christmas Spirit”, the lights (though they are fun), the presents (which are grand) or the food (even though I sure love pie). 

Christmas is about a baby, born in a manger and a big God who made himself small to be with us.

And this Jesus is mine. And yours. And ours. 

Buy less stuff!  Instead of “Go Big or Go Home,” how about “Go Small and Go Home (and be with your loved ones.)

 

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The Awful Ornament and the Charlie Brown Hussy

I shudder when I think about last year’s Christmas ornament exchange.  Some experiences scar you for a lifetime.  Now ornaments make me cry.

What (you ask) could possibly go so wrong at a lovely soiree with women, eggnog, and high heels?  Apparently everything when you bring the white elephant gift of the century to a serious glamazon shindig.

It would have been easier if I had gotten tipsy or barfed on Keri’s new custom sofa, but my inadvertent lapse of civility, an errant blip of nonchalance, and truthfully, an all too honest snapshot of my too busy life played out in front of an audience of serious homemakers sent me into a puddle of self-imposed ostracism and shame.

It started with the first big “no no” of guest etiquette –I didn’t read the invitation well.  In my usual rush of holiday crazed intensity, I pinned the delicate invitation up on the jumbled board of Christmas cards, baby’s scribbles and pending items with a cursory glance.  When the actual night of the event was upon me, I picked up the card and realized in horror, that:

  1. I had to dress up
  2. I needed to bring a wrapped Christmas ornament to share
  3. I needed to bring an appetizer

All essential details I might wanted to have considered before the twenty minutes I had left to pull my crap together.  In a panic, I sent my husband to the store to pick up an ornament and gift bag while I scavenged through the pantry for some crackers and cheese to put on a platter.

Then I ran upstairs and with no time to shower, pulled on a pair of black pants, a nice sweater with only a few baby stains, high heels and smoothed my stringy hair into a ponytail.  I swiped on some lipstick, a hefty dose of perfume, a lot of deodorant and brushed my teeth. 

At least I wouldn’t offend anyone; I was mostly presentable as long as you didn’t get too close to smell the remnants of baby barf or poo.  I was sort of like a Monet –one of those images that look good from far away as long as you don’t get too close up and then it gets sort of fuzzy.

Tim returned as I hustled downstairs and I scooped up his purchase and stopped in my tracks.  It was a pale blue Charlie Brown ornament that read “Baby’s First Christmas.”  The cheap plastic trinket featuring the Peanut’s Gang was in a CVS box proudly displaying its bargain basement price of $4.99 in bold black letters that could not be hidden.   And if that wasn’t bad enough, the bag he brought back to wrap it in was a deep burgundy, slightly crinkled with green tissue paper and no ribbon.  AWESOME!

Dragging my heels, I walked across the street to the party with my cheeks flaming red.  My sweet neighbor Keri opened the door and I was greeted with a warm hug and ensconced into a winter wonderland of painstakingly applied graciousness.  Her home was beautifully decorated, spotlessly clean, and every toy from her two small children put away.  There were glorious garlands, petit appetizers and warm cider brewing; clearly Keri had gone all out to make this an upscale event.

Trying to be as blasé as possible, I casually put down my ornament in the pile, but I saw Keri glance at the ugly wrapping paper out of the corner of my eye and winced as her eyebrows raised in surprise.

I mingled around with the guests, all lovely stay-at-home mothers who brought divine home-made appetizers, had carefully coiffed hair, and matching stain-free ensembles.  The secret arsenal that takes down all working mothers is the feeling of domestic inadequacy which mommy’s at home generally excel at.  Their subtle ploy worked.  As each moment went by, my crackers felt more inadequate, my hair greasier, and I just prayed no one got close enough to smell me.

Then it was time for the exchange.  All the ladies gathered around a large pile of ornaments and one by one, either picked a gift or stole an open ornament.  I watched in terror as extravagant ornaments were carefully unearthed from frothy designer tissue paper.  These were the Nordstrom’s of ornaments –glass and feather concoctions with jewels and sparkles.  I reached for my wine and took a big gulp as tremors reverberated from my toes to my teeth.

My number came up and I sheepishly grabbed a bag, opened an ornament worth ten times the value of the piece of Charlie Brown awfulness I had brought and slumped back into the sofa.  Around and around we went until all of the ornaments had been claimed but one.

There sat my sad little burgundy bag.  It looked forlorn and trashy amidst all the glitz and glamour.  Finally the last lady, forced out of the prize offerings by an exchange thief gingerly picked it up and with her nose crinkled in disgust opened the gift.

A hush went around the room with a few titters and whispered cries of disbelief.  What kind of insincere, thoughtless woman would bring a white elephant gift to a serious exchange of this magnitude?  Clearly there was some prankster in the midst?

Keri quickly moved into caring hostess mode and claimed she just had to steal the baby’s first Christmas, even though her own baby was a girl child and we all knew the tacky ornament would never grace the branch of her lovely tree. 

I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.  I could hear the ladies whispering around me at the audaciousness of the horrible ornament.  I smiled and laughed and agreed that this brazen Charlie Brown hussy must be removed from the guest list.

About a week later I confessed to Keri that it me who was the perpetrator and the destroyer of the prestigious ornament exchange.  And we laughed and laughed and cried at the awfulness of it all.

Strangely enough, I haven’t gotten an invitation this year?  I can’t understand why?

 

 

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