Shouldn’t we, as a country, be a bit more concerned about this Santa thing? I mean, S.A.N.T.A. What does that stand for? The fact that NORAD is tracking it should tell you something. I, for one, will not be letting this tipsy, fat, white, bearded man dressed in red felt, edged with white cotton balls in our house or ANYWHERE near my children. I’d rather have the Grinch himself over to steal our two foot tall Charlie Brown Christmas tree, covered in ornaments made of snack boxes and tin foil and roast beast. Santa gets weirder and fatter, more drunk and unpredictable by the year.
Today is day, what, day four? of house arrest by various scourges and the most recent blizzard. Luckily I had a shift in my brain yesterday morning. Where I would usually be yelling at the girls for any number of heinous toddlerish acts, yesterday I found myself, to my own surprise, reasoning with them, staying calm, coming up with solutions rather than just getting really pissed off. This is gonna be THE BEST CHRISTMAS EEEEEAAAAAVVVVVVVEEEEEERRRRRR!
20 Fingers, 20 Toes 
After intense pain one hallucinates happy, warm thoughts. After four days of insanity, one becomes the parent one wishes one could be all the time.
I could go with that theory except that I’ve had 4 years of insanity and still suck at controlling my temper and being rational and reasonable only for four or five tries before I lose it.
Santa creeps me out, too.
Looking at that picture again, I’m a little nervous. How do the shoulders make it out? If I didn’t know that the first 5 years are way way way way way way harder than birth, I’d get really freaked out right now.