To all regular readers here at Momisodes that have been around for past Christmases, I have some alarming news.

If you have not read some of my previous infamous Christmas gift stories, click here to get up to speed.

Actually, who am I kidding?  You’re not going to click on the link.  That’s cool.  I understand.  I don’t exactly have riveting prose here.  So allow me to make this easier. Here is a short excerpt just for you.

Originally posted: November 9th, 2007

I’m married, to a guy. One raised on an island inhabited by an isolated species of humans all missing a section of gray matter from their brains; a section directly responsible for the intuitiveness of gift giving. Strangely enough, the island’s population is predominantly men. But clearly, my husband reigns supreme in this land of inconsideration.

Yesterday was my 30th birthday. Perhaps not as commemorative as a 1st, 15th or 21st birthday, but it was at least a milestone. And in today’s aftermath, I have absolutely no gift from a certain mister to speak of. Please don’t think of me as a spoiled little brat. There is more to this post, I promise. But seriously,… nothing?

This lack of acknowledgment uprooted a past incident that left me spitting venom for weeks. Last Christmas, we had just finished moving from California to Massachusetts. In only a few short weeks, I braved the new bitterly cold and unfamiliar surroundings with a toddler to find a thoughtful gift for my husband. So it was to my dismay when I opened my stocking to find this…

Yes boys and girls. That is exactly what you think it is… it’s A TIRE PRESSURE GAUGE! Because nothing gives us ladies the warm fuzzies like a $5 trinket from the local gas station…for CHRISTMAS!…

Many of us who live on the east coast are well aware of the intense snowstorms that came through recently.  And if you did not have to dig your way out of your house or dig to find your car, well, just pretend to be sympathetic here.

Anyhow, the winter storm was due to reach Boston late Saturday night. Thank goodness Dadisodes was able to put on our snow tires before it arrived.

Only problem was, soon after switching out the tires, he swung open the front door and announced, “The tire pressure gauge is broken!”

Dood. You know what this means?

As if it doesn’t already suck that I completely lost my voice from laryngitis, or that can barely walk because of sciatic back pain, or that I pee a little every time I cough (have I mentioned how awesomely glam pregnancy is?).  There stands a good chance I may be receiving a damn car accessory again this year.

I swear, I will fah-reak if I unwrap anything with “P-S-I” on it.  Or, if he thinks that a fancy digital version of a tire pressure gauge is better…

Fah-reak.

Seriously, because there is no need to continue the tradition of bogus-gift-itis.  A card would be better.  No writing necessary. No lie.

It would be a real shame though. Dadisodes has been amazing this year, not only with me, but also with his business and our daughter.  So I spent a lot of time thinking about, scheming, and hiding his gift.

I think I have the receipt somewhere.

Perhaps I should invest in a brown Snuggie for him from Walgreens and give the gift of looking just like a monk.

He can practice looking zen with his new found celibacy.

Someone’s got to go.

Either me. Or him.

The honeymoon phase of spending more time with Dadisodes due to unemployment is officially over.  O-vah.

Sure it was nice having him around during breakfast, together as a family.  Me whipping up eggs and banana pancakes in the kitchen, with Dadisodes and Babisodes sounding out words in the background.  Then still having him around for lunch, and dinner.

It was like vacation…that apparently…isn’t ending.

Yesterday as I rolled out of bed I discovered over a week’s worth of laundry and dishes piled mile high.  Right beside the dust and clutter all reaching epic proportions.  All of it created much sooner than usual. All waiting for moi.

My home is quickly resembling a bachelor pad. No. Wait. It’s actually looking like Dadisodes’ apartment… pre-marriage!

*whimpers*

You scoff, but you have no idea.  Dude didn’t even have furniture. Swear.

And Babisodes?  Don’t even get me started.

Here’s a glimpse of the madness an added parent in the afternoon creates:

Me: (Preparing lunch) Babisodes, do not get yourself a sugar cookie without asking.  You cannot have one until AFTER dinner.  They’re for dessert.

Babisodes: But daddy said he would share one with me now!

Me: (Oh yea, he’s home.)

Later that evening

Dadisodes: Babisodes, what do you think you’re doing?  You are not allowed to have another sugar cookie!

Babisodes: But mommy said I could haf one after dinner!

Poor kid.

She is so confused.  Anything resembling a routine is gone.  She does not understand why her father is suddenly home all the time, but leaves every now and then for an interview or meeting.  Drops her off at preschool, but doesn’t pick her up.  Puts her down for naptime, but isn’t there when she wakes up. She’s never sure if he’s coming or going. It’s reached the point where she no longer wants to sleep anymore.  As in, ever.

She cried for the first time ever in preschool last week. When her teacher asked her why she was so upset she said, “Because I miss my daddy.”

*sigh*

The drama, filth, and lack of sleep are starting to get to me, too. I feel like I’m raising two teens. And frankly, I’m not even prepared for one.

Srsly, some1 needs to wrk. TSTB.*

(*Text message translation- Seriously, someone needs to work. The sooner the better.)

Me: *irrationally gripping armrest for dear life*  Geez!  Slow down!  You’re driving like a maniac!

Babisodes: *screaming from backseat*  Yeah daddy! You drive like maniac!

*sigh*

And of course, now all of her preschool teachers and friends are well informed on his maniacal driving.

However, it is not so much the parroting that annoys impresses me.  It is the signs of deductive reasoning.  Evidence that a toddler is learning to digest the absorbed information, and then inferring their own conclusions.

Several hours after a meal.

Babisodes: Mommy, am I going to be as big as you?

Me: Yup, you’ll probably will be as big as me one day.

Babisodes:  Soon?

Me: Well…not exactly soon. When you’re older, in a few years.

Babisodes:  But I want to be big now!

Me: Why?

Babisodes:  So I can have big dessert like you.

Sorry.  Just thinking about it makes me to nod off.

Anyhow, something else he manages to always find are animal shows.  Not the kind where pure bred animal’s parade around on carpet, and owners brush hair and prop up butts.  I’m talking about where Bambi gently lowers himself before a babbling brook, takes a sip of water, and BAM! Simba and his pals have lunch.

To be honest, I can’t deal.  I cried watching The Lion King, and I’ve never seen the first half of Finding Nemo (Yes, they have doctors for this.  I know).   What can I say?  I’m a bit sappy.  Dadisodes, however? Not so much.

Remember this thing?  The other night, Babisodes decided to bring out this gem I introduced here weeks ago (Dadisodes gave this to her while away on business).  What the heck is that, you ask?  Don’t worry I asked the same question when I first saw it.  It’s a Road Runner, I think.

“Daddy, what do road runners eat?
“Umm…let me think….”
“Uh…I think they eat…lizards.”

“LIZARDS?”

“Yup, lizards.”

*Pause. Insert blank stare*

Fast-forward to the next morning…

…as Babisodes rams the road runner’s face into a plastic reptile.

*Note- Karen of Sillymonkeez nominated Momisodes for a Dottie Award at MomDot!!! She’s an amazing blogger also up for an award.  She thinks I’m “Most Likely to Succeed.”  Me?  Succeed!  Ha! Perhaps at eating record amounts of chocolate in my weight category.

If you have a moment, PLEASE VOTE for me here.

I’ve even nabbed a shot of me in my nerdy glasses…with acne…in front of a bunch of books I’ve never read.

Anyone want to come over for band practice?

I kid. I kid.

Last night after dinner:

Dadisodes: You’re getting a time out.  I told you “No.”  Sit down for 3 minutes.

Babisodes: *bottom lip quivers* But…but….Daaaaddy?  Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!

Dadisodes:  You need to calm down.  Sit here and count to ten.

Babisodes: (serious and straight-faced)  …“TEN!”

Grandma:  *grains of rice shoot from nostrils while restraining laughter*

Me: *runs to computer to Google- Boarding School*