1) In another edition of “ways to further rot the ceiling and grow mold,” during the daily 4:00 meltdown, the water dumping duo, James and Josie, snuck away and did something to the toilet’s hose, if that is even what it is called. Despite my Italian heritage, plumbing is not my thing, and how or why the toilet was springing out water every time they repeatedly flushed it as they tried to catch it in their shoes remains unknown, but should probably be investigated by a professional. In the season’s first Christmas miracle, my husband’s presence at home allowed me to avoid the upstairs watery clean up as well as the one leaking through the ceiling into the downstairs. And since nothing can be taken seriously when spoken with a speech impediment, the strict punishment remained so right up until bedtime prayers when Josie said, “I’m sorry Jesus for putting twolet wator in my shoe and frowing it.”

2) Additional reasons to call a plumber: maybe its because CrossFit is making me stronger or maybe its because I’m an idiot, but I turned my 1992 shower fixture too hard and it snapped, cracked, and popped right off, leaving the shower stuck in the freezing cold position and me in the screaming one. It ran for approximately way too many minutes more than I’m willing to admit before I learned how to use a wrench. And this event occurred many many days ago and every third day when I turn on the shower, a wrench is still involved.

3) In the first edition of shopping for Christmas, both parental units entered Sam’s club with super serious “let’s be simple and not spoil them,” attitudes and walked out with a trampoline.

4) Just in case Guardian Angels like reading blogs: we bought our accident/trouble prone children a trampoline for Christmas. Take a flight and stay forever. I need you!

5) In the saddest event of the evening, sweet baby Rita climbed into the bathtub and in pure curiosity cut her finger good. Without a cry or a quiver or even a frown she began to bleed generous amounts and I almost called an ambulance for her father. She looks super cool as a baby boxer with her bandage kept tight with a sock and I’m sure she’ll be fine, but a prayer or two for the husband, please.

6) As any mom knows at Christmas, the Advent wreath is the season’s best source of competition and dried spit. The possibility of being the child chosen to blow out the candles at the end of dinner is also the most effective source of “eat your vegetables!” this household has ever invented.  On one particular evening, with brussel sprouts and bacon as the culprit of James’ disgruntle, he attempted to gag no longer (I’m almost positive he has a tastebud disorder) and take matters into his own face. With one clumsy swoop, the smell signaled the dishwasher loading parents to run to the table and remove him and his burning hair, and I will forever smell burning hair every time I see a wreath and probably also feel the mom guilt attached to the memory. Hopefully in future Advents, I will be able to infuse the weekly virtues of hope, peace, joy, and love a little bit better so as to avoid future candle blowing brawls and the chance of my children lighting their faces on fire as they spew significant amounts of saliva across the table before his sister gets there first.

7) And in a lame parent announcement: We are wrapping an old TV remote without batteries and giving it to Rita for Christmas. It’s been the only thing on her list since she learned to grab things. With my mom as their Mammy, this house has roughly the same amount of toys as the North Pole, so new is very much unnecessary. Additionally, there is absolutely nothing as entertaining as watching Rita’s pure joy as she attempts to change the channel on her siblings during Curious George and the way they also think its funny until she actually does change the channel.

8) In the official “bad parent” statement of the evening: the Elf on the Shelf will be permanently returning to its box in the basement (or the North Pole, wherever) at the end of the season. I know parents and children love it, but so far it has taken one or two flights mostly out of pure laziness and lack of creativity and the one morning it was actually hanging in a creative spot, James said, “that is not a shelf mom.” Its also been played with like a toy because it is a toy and I just couldn’t get all hot and bothered about that because well, we throw toilet water here, and I think I should start there when addressing behavioral issues. And last Christmas when our Elf didn’t fly home like the boy’s did next door on Christmas and I said “ohhhh, its because he is staying until the Epiphany!” and was then forced into it for 12 days longer than necessary and made 6 boys think their Elf didn’t like them. Thus, before I ruin Christmas magic for all children, we quit.

I think its Monday still? Happy Monday.