
- DanCentury /Foter
For years, growing up, I thought there was something wrong with Santa. Don't get me wrong - he took good care of my sister and I. Frankly, we made out like bandits. But when it came to my parents....Santa was just a bit off.
My Dad is an ex-hockey player, and like any good hockey player he's a little...how shall I put this??...jerky. Funny? Yes. Loving? Totally. But at the core of this totally amazing man is an ever-so-slightly-arrogant, jerky, prank-loving, hockey player. One who just barely walks the naughty/nice line. My mother, on the other hand, is a saint. Of course.
So how unexpected, for a child, when Santa would year after year after year pony up ah-mazing stuff for my smirking father's stocking, but would somehow go so. totally. wrong. for my mother's.
Candles. She'd get candles (which she hated). And for some strange reason, Santa would always stick a jar of this nasty, uber-strong orange marmalade (that only my Dad liked) in my mother's stocking. I mean weird, right? Scotti and I would be all, "Oh my gosh! Santa got it wrong AGAIN! Only Dad likes that!!" And Dad would be smirking and my mother would look pissed.
The final straw, I think, was the year my mom's stocking was filled with stuff from around the house. And by "stuff" I mean everyday objects. SERIOUSLY. On Christmas Eve, Dad Santa literally must've run through the house in a mad panic throwing crap into Mom's stocking. Poor mom - the stocking was so full, we were all excited. "Maybe Santa got it right this year!!" But out came....half-used scotch tape. A bag of chocolate chips. A freaking hammer from Dad's work bench. As mom pulled out each offending item (a pair of her own socks, a candle from the previous year) her eyes narrowed further, and my Dad's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, a huge grin on his face.
After that, I pretty much figured out what the problem was with Santa. And Santa paid dearly for all those years of mirth. With his credit card. Every year at the Estee Lauder and Clinique counters, where I'd drag him every December 23rd. It actually became a Christmas ritual.
So color me NOT SURPRISED when my stocking, come the night of Dec 24th, looks a little light. And my husband looks guilty. "Uh, Babe? You know I love you right? I just....uh...totally forgot about stockings. I mean, I have a gift. I do! I have a gift! You'll love it! But uh...the whole stocking thing..."
Right.
Last year, since I was worried that R might be old enough to notice (he wasn't), I actually had a small stash of treats saved away for my own stocking. Just two or three little things. Which Mike happily added to his random-food-gifts-bought-at-Whole-Foods-on-Dec-24th-for-wife's-stocking stash. This year, I'm just buyin' the whole shebang. I mean, I like a good balsamic vinegar as much as the next girl....but...
Whatever. So. If I were to stuff my own stocking, here's what I'd include:
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