1st hour of Christmas—I backed my moms car into my car trying to deliver presents to Carrington’s house. Yep, it sucks. No dents, just scratches but a helluva way to start off Christmas and huge evidence that Santa is not on my career to-do list.

2nd hour of Christmas—The oven caught on fire. My grandma spilled wax in the bottom yesterday while we made candies. My mom discovered it today trying to bake a cake. My sister tried to put it out with salt (because my other grandma does that to her pilot light). This fed the flames. I sought out baking soda to throw on it and my mother yells “Not that box! its for the cake.” I look at her like she’s crazy.“The oven you were going to put the cake in is on fire!” Luckily Kassie finds the “correct” baking soda and we douse the flames. So much for listening to ones elders. My dad’s mom thought to put the candy wax we used yesterday in the oven. My mom’s mom taught Kassie how to feed to a fire while simultaneously putting it out. My mom thought it necessary to let it burn, let it burn, let it burn as long as her cake had all of its ingredients (sans maybe an oven).  

Finally, I thought it was best to take the advice of my Aunt Shirley instead. Once the fire was out, I said “eff it”  and made Egg Nog heavy on the brandy.

3rd hour of Christmas— We call my grandma (yes the wax one) and tell her that dinner, which was originally at 1pm, is running behind and will be at 3pm instead. It’s currently 3:02 and dad is in the kitchen with chemicals cleaning the oven and ridding it of wax. There is no food prepared. There is no cake baked. And my dad is now planning to grill the lamb outside. I’m dubious about this additional source of fire.

And I’m beginning to wonder if we are aiming to give Jesus His biggest birthday candle yet?

4th hour of Christmas—In trying to set up an oven chemical fumigation barricade between the kitchen and the living room, I knock mom’s glass wreath bedecked with beveled and frosted shards of glass on my dad’s head. He is fine, but I can take no more. I seek refuge of tumblr and think to call grandma and tell her that dinner is still running late. I decide against it. She is the wax one. She started this snowball.


Speaking of snowball…its gonna snow. Yay! But with our luck something or someone may become impaled with an icicle (I pray not)…

I’ll add more as necessary, but here’s hoping we don’t make it to  the full 12.