Thursday, December 15, 2011

How to use small children as football targets. your uterus a chance.

Hello! I would first like to say (or secondly, I guess "Hello" was first) I am SO sorry I've been such a blogging slacker (try making someone feel bad by calling them that name!). With the holidays in full swing and staying busy at work, I haven't had much time to sit down for a post worthy of your time. I also promised the next post would be humorous because I got all sentimental in the last couple. Don't worry...I've got plenty of material to entertain you this go 'round...

Let's start with some funny things that happened back on ol' Turkey Day. Every year, my immediate family and some of our extended family meet up in the woods for a potluck-type Thanksgiving. This is by far one of my favorite holidays because hardly anyone gets cell phone service, so we're able to relax in lawn chairs (after stuffing ourselves sassy) and truly enjoy each other's company. This year, I dressed like a pilgrim to really make the experience authentic. Did you buy that last sentence? Hope was a lie.

Back to more, usually someone will bring a football or baseball (something for us to do to make ourselves feel less guilty about the thousands of calories we've put away) to play with between feedings. Football was determined the physical fitness activity for Turkey Day 2011. A handful of us were throwing the football, including my distant cousin's little boy, who is somewhere around four...I think. I love kids (when they're not screaming or whining...or biting...or throwing up...), so I was making sure Toby was included in the fun. He was catching the underhand tosses pretty well, so I decided it was time to graduate him to the overhand throw. BIG mistake. After I pegged him in the head with a fairly decent spiral, he became the crying child. After this, I decided maybe it would be best if I skipped the whole kids thing. I mean, mine would obviously wind up in the hospital all the time from me trying to improve their skills. I call that love, but I'm pretty sure child services might have another name for it.

Concerning the kids chapter of this novel of a post...all it took was some time in Target's toy aisle for me to realize that maybe parenting would be more fun than I thought, and maybe I should give my uterus a chance to show me what it could do one day.

Our gym was holding a Toys for Tots drive, so I decided I would get in the giving Christmas spirit and pick up a toy or two. As soon as I stepped foot in the first aisle, it was like I was five all over again. I remembered the days when I wanted every last Barbie and baby doll on the shelf. I really am clueless how Santa always picked exactly what I wanted because I'm pretty sure they all made it to "Tor's Top 50".

Three toys (I finally parted ways with Mr. Potato Head) and a good $45 later, I was set with true Christmas cheer in my heart. I thought about who would get each gift and the fact that it may be his or her only present this year. This made me feel rather guilty as I thought back on how huge Christmas was when I was younger. It was such a big deal that I would literally go into convulsions on Christmas Eve. called me on it...that's a lie, too. Is it bad to lie if you tell the truth immediately after? Don't answer that, it will kill my jokes.

While guilt flooded part of my mind when I thought about how fortunate I'd been as a kid, the idea that I still get lots of goodies also took root in my brain. I know this sounds bad, and I do understand the true meaning of Christmas is the birth of Jesus Christ, but I like a good surprise as much as the next person. I'm telling you this because I'm in my mid twenties (also have a sister creeping up on 30 and brother, who is 22) and still get just as good a loot as I used to! It might have something to do with the fact that my parents had my youngest brother when I was 15, but I also attribute it to the fact that none of us are married or have kids. My brain started churning on this one: if I can stay single the rest of my life, I can always be the kid on Christmas!

Now you see I'm back at square 55...which is: do I stay lonely and be the kid at Christmas (looking through stockings with my future nieces and nephews), or do I grow up and enjoy that feeling I get in my heart when I see a kid excitedly opening a present (the same feeling I got while shopping for the perfect three presents)? I guess perspectives of fun all change as we get older. Maybe I'll give my reproductive organs a shot.

PLEASE NOTE- Do not be under the impression that this post means I'm currently seeking sperm. I'm not. This was all meant for future tense purposes. So...please do not tell my family (specifically my mother) my favorite pastime is gettin' pregnant. It's not...and that is not a lie.