How many of you out there have had kids jacked up on sugar for the past two weeks?
Out of school?
Ready to drive you nuts?
Wanting to know when they can open their presents?
How long will it take Santa to get from KAH-ZICK-I-STAHN to Floriduh?
How many of you have presents hidden in your house?
Why on earth would there be presents IN THE HOUSE if Santa doesn't bring them until the middle of the night on December 25th?
Huh? Huh? Huh?!
Yes, you have my permission to use that argument next year, AND, you may take complete and full credit for it without citing my blog.
This amazing undefeatable argument has NOT stopped my thieving little scoundrel pirates from searching for the booty (I mean, presents).
The other day, I heard the bzzz-bzzzz-bzzzzz.
You know it.
The bzzzzz-bzzzzzz-bzzzzz of conniving.
The whispering that you can hear, but you can't make out the words.
And then I heard my bedroom door slam OPEN.
And then I heard my bedroom door slam SHUT.
I knew what they were up to.
And I knew that their search for buried treasure would end up completely and utterly unsuccessful.
The Captain STRUTS into the kitchen, with one arm behind his back.
His sister Reilly the Red is stalking behind him, head bowed, as if she is a Buddhist woman walking two steps behind her husband's dead afire body during a massive funeral procession in Mumbai.
I don't even have to ask.
Of course, if YOU had a Captain Jake Sparrow, you would never ask.
You wouldn't have to.
Because, you know, of the PIE-HOLE.
He still has the arm one hand behind his back, and since he's about eight feet away from me, and clinically a little person since he's only 18" tall, weighs 37 pounds, wears 2T pants, and is now SIX (get OFF my back and my blog, 'little people', he really really is...)....I can't see what he's got.
So I wait.
Eons later, okay, seconds....
"What does AMAZON DOT COM sell?"
"Were you in my room?"
"Yep. What does AMAZON DOT COM sell?"
"What were you doing in my room when the door was closed?"
"Reilly made me go in there and look for Christmas presents. What does AMAZON DOT COM sell?
The two-steps behind Buddhist widower bolts in front of the Captain and exalts, "JAKE! You weren't supposed to tell!"
The Captain continues.
If nothing else, I really have to give him credit for his persistence.
On a good day I call it persistence.
There aren't very many of those.
The rest of the time I called it obstinence.
"MOM! WHAT DOES AMAZON DOT COM SELL?"
"Why are you asking me this?"
"BECAUSE! I saw AMAZON DOT COM boxes in your room! WHAT DOES AMAZON DOT COM sell?"
"What do you have behind your back?"
And he whips out a Wal-Mart bag that enclosed three FIVE DOLLAR long sleeve shirts for a GIRL which are clearly marked SIZE 10/12 and ALL of them have peace signs on them, to which my daughter is addicted. (Not the shirts, the peace signs, even if she has loudly proclaimed herself a conservative Republican).
Cuz they weren't Christmas presents.
It just so happened that the weather in our very balmy West Central Florida town was going to be dipping below freezing for a few days.
And my kid didn't have any long sleeved shirts.
So I splurged a whole flipping fifteen bucks BEFORE Christmas, just so she wouldn't freeze to death.
And I offered this closing argument to my teeny tiny prosecutorial attorney in training, VERBATIM.
And they THOUGHT they had me foiled!
Or so I thought.
The Scalawag of a Captain did NOT let up.
He threw the bag at his short-sleeved sister.
Then he screamed, (as if I speak Teletubbie or something)
"MOM! WHAT DOES AMAZON DOT COM SELL??????"
Finally I answered him.
"Books", I said.
And he responded,
" D A M M I T "