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Two years ago, I wrote a post called ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas (Mystery Science 3000-style). Last year, I followed up that post with a new one called ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – Take TWO! Can I find enough material to revisit this classic Clement Moore poem a THIRD time? I’ll let you be the judge.

Merry Christmas, my friends!

* * * * * * * * * *

‘Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse

  • Um, Mr. Moore. How were you, as a PARENT, not stirring on Christmas Eve? Wait. It’s because MRS. Moore was running herself ragged, mincing the meats, darning the stockings and killing the fatted calf that night, huh? While YOU sat in your study smoking your pipe and writing this poem. Typical.

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“Because I’m guessing you’ll want butter with the damned bread I just made!”

The stockings were hung 
By the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas
Soon would be there

  • Is it weird that the cat in my house has TWO stockings? *I* don’t have two stockings. And I haven’t bitten anybody, crapped on the floor or torn things up with my teeth in AT LEAST a year. Hello?

The children were nestled
All snug in their beds
While visions of sugar plums
Danced in their heads

  • Does anyone know if sugar plums are chewy? Because they sound like gummy candy to me. And with one kid in braces and the other about to be, I’d like to start planting visions of bananas, oatmeal and other soft, non-damaging snacks in their heads. 

And mama in her kerchief
And I in my cap
Had just settled our brains
For a long winter’s nap

  • You know how they say satin pillow cases are better for your hair? Well, how’s this for a million dollar idea? Satin kerchiefs! Because a pillow case only touches one side of your hair but a kerchief touches both simultaneously. Ooh! Or what about a satin TURBAN? It would cover every square inch of your hair. Plus it still fits in your poem. “And mama in her turban and I in my cap …” 

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“No, REALLY, Bernice. Now I can catch up on the daily news, drink my brain tonic AND give my hair that little extra something … all at the same time. Thanks to my Urban Turban!” (Patent pending.)

When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the matter

  • Sprang?!!? But I’m soooo tired. Where’s my sleep mask? And my ear plugs? Maybe if I just ignore it, it’ll go away. 

Away to the window
I flew like a flash
Tore open the shudders
And threw up the sash

  • Seriously, I JUST said I wasn’t springing, so I’m sure as hell not flying anywhere either. Wake up, Dave. It’s YOUR time to tear sashes and throw shudders and whatever else this fool says we have to do.

The moon on the breast
Of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday
To objects below

  • WTF? Snow?!!? This is New Orleans, Mr. Moore. If I’m lucky, our temps “plummet” to the 50s on Christmas Eve. So, at BEST, we’ll have reflections of the moon in the standing puddles that are currently breeding mosquitos on my poorly-paved street. 

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I call him … Skeeter Claus.

(Note: Originally, I was looking for a picture of a family in shorts for the holidays. Warning: Do not Google “Hot Christmas” unless you’re a dude. And there are no children present.)

When what to my wondering
Eyes should appear

But a miniature sleigh
And eight tiny reindeer

  • As a kid, I always felt like Rudolph was cheated in this stanza. As an adult, I know it’s because this poem was written long before the classic reindeer tale, but I still like to pretend Rudolph was just around the side of the house recharging his nose or taking a leak.

With a little old driver
So lively and quick
I knew in a moment
It must be St. Nick

  • I don’t like calling him Nick. He’s SANTA. S-A-N-T-and-oh-yeah-A. So, I think it’s time to update this part and I have a few suggestions. How about “With a little old driver who hailed from Atlanta, I knew in a moment that it must be Santa” OR “With a little old driver just chugging his Fanta …” That second one might actually earn him a sponsorship for the night. Product placement!

More rapid than eagles
His coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name

  • Actually, wouldn’t eagles have made more sense? They already fly. No magic corn (or whatever mystical voodoo he uses) needed. Plus, they’re supposed to be crazy strong. And ruthless little bastards. That’s got to be a good thing where Santa’s safety is concerned, right?

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Don’t they look natural and comfortable together? Just like peanut butter and WD-40.

Now Dasher, Now Dancer
Now Prancer and Vixen
On Comet, On Cupid
On Donner and Blitzen

  • Here’s a thought, Mr. Moore. As long as you’re making up names, why not create two that actually rhyme? ViXen and BlitTZen? Say it aloud with me. Seriously, you can’t hear the difference?

To the top of the porch
To the top of the wall
Now dash away, dash away
Dash away all

  • What wall? How can they be on top of a wall? A wall is vertical and almost always has a roof attached to it. With the Berlin Wall down, the only place where this wording makes sense is in China. Are you chinese, Mr. Moore? If so, I’m guessing only your mom was Chinese because Moore doesn’t sound like an Asian name to me.

As dry leaves that before
The wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle
Mount to the sky

  • Okay, Clement … may I call you Clement? … I’m making an executive decision to omit this stanza completely. It’s boring. The story loses its momentum here and you risk losing your readers. I want you to try something for me. Read the stanza before it and then immediately go into the one after it. The flow is much better, don’t you think?

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You’re losing them, Clement. YOU’RE LOSING THEM!

So up to the housetop
The coursers they flew
With a sleigh full of toys
And St. Nicholas, too

  • I’ll admit “Nicholas” is much better than “Nick.” Still, I think we need to update to Santa. Listen and learn. “With a sleigh full of toys and hey! Santa Claus, too.” OR “With a sleigh full of toys and damn! Santa Claus, too!” Obviously, we can dial that single syllable exclamation up as much as you like to fit the occasion. 

And then in a twinkling
I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing
Of each little hoof

  • I’ve never heard the word twinkling used as a noun anywhere but in your poem, Clement. I was curious so I Googled it. And the way you’re using it is described as “archaic” meaning it’s obsolete and behind the time. Like “kerchief” and “coursers.” (sigh) You and I have a date with urban dictionary soon to bring this thing up to code, okay?

As I drew in my head
And was turning around
Down the chimney St. Nicholas
Came with a bound

  • Try as I might, I still don’t understand how this tradition got started. Not everyone has a chimney. But EVERYONE has a door. And windows. Seriously, can you imagine if everyone had to use that entrance to get into the house?!!?. 

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“Okay. The only thing left in the moving van is the fridge. Can you guys help me hoist it up to the roof so we can shove it down the chimney?”

He was dressed all in fur
From his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished
With ashes and soot

  • Wouldn’t a fur suit be a HUGE slap in the face to the reindeer? I smell a mutiny.

A bundle of toys
He had flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler
Just opening his pack

  • Lift with your legs, Santa!

His eyes how they twinkled
His dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses
His nose like a cherry

  • Is it just me or does Santa sound like a pretty attractive dude?

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Fine. Maybe I’m exaggerating. A little. (P.S. I’ve never been more certain a picture was photoshopped.)

His droll little mouth
Was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin
Was as white as the snow

  • “Beard of his chin?” That’s kind of reaching to make it fit, Clement. Where the hell else would his beard be? Unless that’s not the kind of BEARD you meant. OMG, is Mrs. Claus his “Katie Holmes?”

The stump of his pipe
He held tight in his teeth
And the smoke, it encircled his head
Like a wreath

  • Sure. Santa’s got the twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks but I bet his smoker’s teeth look like crap.  

He had a broad face
And a round little belly
That shook when he laughed
Like a bowl full of jelly

  • Dear Mr. Depp, Please accept my most sincere apologies for likening you to this man. Had I read the poem further, I never would have slandered you in this way. Your Friend, Michele

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Broad. Round. Jelly-like. Seriously, are we talking about a human being or a plate of flan?

He was chubby and plump
A right jolly, old elf
And I laughed when I saw him
In spite of myself

  • That is one big ass elf.

A wink of his eye
And a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread

  • Was there ever a reason to DREAD Santa Claus? That’s just a tad dramatic. Let’s take the crazy down a few notches. How about “A wink of his eye as he scurried about, I wondered what I was so worried about.” I think we can both agree that’s WAY better. 

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings
Then turned with a jerk

  • Honestly, he was a little rude. He completely ignored me. Ever heard of muli-tasking, Santa? I’m supposed to believe it’s impossible for you to say hi while putting some crap in a sock? 

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“Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll shut up and let me get to EVERY OTHER HOUSE ON THE FREAKIN’ PLANET TONIGHT!”

And laying his finger
Aside of his nose
And giving a nod
Up the chimney he rose

  • Is that sign language? Oh, crap. Is possibly-Chinese, possibly-gay Santa also possibly deaf? God, I am SUCH an ass.

He sprang to his sleigh
To his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew
Like the down of a thistle

  • Look at that. The old man is springing. Something I myself wouldn’t do earlier in this poem. Way to make me feel lazy, Santa.

Then I heard him exclaim
As he drove out of sight
Happy Christmas to all
And to all a good night

  • Oh, okay! So he’s NOT deaf! He’s just rude. Is there some reason you couldn’t have wished me these good tidings while we were actually looking at each other IN THE FACE, old man? 

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Also, the last time I checked, this was AMERICA. And we say MERRY Christmas here, comrade.

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That Suburban Momma
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A year ago, I wrote a post about one of the most famous poems ever written. I came across it recently … “and I laughed when I read it, in spite of myself.” Okay, fine. So that’s not exactly how the poem goes. Which is sort of the whole point. It was tough coming up with a second set of jokes for some of these stanzas. But I managed. Or maybe I mangled. Either way, it’s pretty much the same word.

So, with that, I give you ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – Mystery Science Theater 3000-Style – TAKE TWO!

* * * * * * * * * *

‘Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse

  • Technically, he’s not a mouse. But I bet Herve’s going to be doing some serious nocturnal “stirring” on Christmas Eve. Does anyone know what the Benadryl dosage would be for a hamster? He weighs just over 5 ounces.

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Here’s the proof. And now I have to throw away that food bowl.

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And here’s how much he weighs when he’s blurry.

 

The stockings were hung 
By the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas
Soon would be there

  • I’m glad the elf brought us a new “H” stocking for Herve. Originally, we planned to use the cat’s old one with an “M” on it. And, if Herve asked, the plan was to tell him that the stocking stood for “MY Herve.” Honestly, I don’t know what would have pissed him off more … the fact that we thought he was stupid enough to fall for that lame explanation OR the fact that he was expected to use Milo’s hand-me-downs.

The children were nestled
All snug in their beds
While visions of sugar plums
Danced in their heads

  • I just paid a dental bill on TWO fillings for one of my kids. So, there will be NO sugar plums, Sugar Smacks, sugar cookies, Sugar Babies, Sugar Daddies or even sugar snap peas. Yes, I know we still need three syllables for the poem. How about “While visions of toothbrushes danced in their heads?” No? What about dental floss? Fluoride rinse? Fine. I’ll keep thinking.

And mama in her kerchief
And I in my cap
Had just settled our brains
For a long winter’s nap

  • The day I go to sleep with a kerchief on is the day you people can finally come commit me. A kerchief? Who wears those? I mean … besides the Brady girls.

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And it always meant they were going to be doing some kind of serious cleaning in that episode.

When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the matter

  • OMG, really? I already go to bed late enough that night. You know what I want for Christmas, Santa? Sleep. On Christmas Eve and every night for that matter. So, please … keep it down.

Away to the window
I flew like a flash
Tore open the shudders
And threw up the sash

  • Why all the fancy-pants window dressing? I merely have curtains in my room. From J.C. Penney. You can look out the window in one easy step. And there’s no “tearing” or “throwing” involved. It sounds so violent.

The moon on the breast
Of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday
To objects below

  • Beavis and Butthead would have a field day with this stanza. Seriously, I have looked up “breast” on ten different dictionary-style websites. And none of them stray from the mammary gland. What the hell, Mr. Moore?

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I guess this looks a little like a breast. I mean … when the moon shines on it. Right?

When what to my wondering
Eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh
And eight tiny reindeer

  • I would think that a sleigh large enough to carry the big guy not to mention at least one present for every kid around the globe would be described as anything but “miniature.” And “tiny” reindeer? Animals capable of towing this load would have to be ‘roided up Clydesdales. … Wouldn’t they?

With a little old driver
So lively and quick
I knew in a moment
It must be St. Nick

  • A little old driver named Nick makes him sound like a cabbie from a 1970s sitcom.

More rapid than eagles
His coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name

  • Anyone who whistles or shouts once my kids finally pass out on Christmas Eve is getting a brick of coal chucked firmly at his head.

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Yes, yes. We all know it’s not me. But I bet he’d pipe down for this chick.

Now Dasher, Now Dancer
Now Prancer and Vixen
On Comet, On Cupid
On Donner and Blitzen

  • Originally, these names were all slated as tribute names for the Hunger Games trilogy. “Now Katniss, Now Peeta, Now Foxface and Glimmer …”

To the top of the porch
To the top of the wall
Now dash away, dash away
Dash away all

  • Since I have one-story home, might you consider just landing on the lawn for a change? Or, better yet, on my neighbor’s roof? You can’t seriously hop from rooftop to rooftop. Aren’t you like the mailman? You park, handle a number of houses in close proximity, then return to your vehicle to relocate it for the next set of houses. Right?

As dry leaves that before
The wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle
Mount to the sky

  • As a kid, this stanza was always my LEAST FAVORITE of this poem. Which is weird because … WHAT OTHER KID DO YOU KNOW WHO’S DECLARED A LEAST FAVORITE STANZA IN ANY POEM? (Nerd.)

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Also not me … but we’re getting warmer.

So up to the housetop
The coursers they flew
With a sleigh full of toys
And St. Nicholas, too

  • They’re always on the tops of houses, but what of those who don’t have chimneys? Sure, we have one NOW. But it was a pretty uphill climb that my parents took us on with the whole “Santa has a key that fits every lock” story back in the day.

And then in a twinkling
I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing
Of each little hoof

  • If I hear pawing or scratching at my ceiling or walls during the night, I will be found hiding in the back of my closet in the fetal position clutching a vial of holy water and a crucifix.

As I drew in my head
And was turning around
Down the chimney St. Nicholas
Came with a bound

  • Nope. Never mind. I stand corrected. A fat killer sliding down my chimney is what would send me into the closet.

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He makes the Grinch look like a kitten.

He was dressed all in fur
From his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished
With ashes and soot

  • Fine. A fat, DIRTY killer.

A bundle of toys
He had flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler
Just opening his pack

  • He’s reaching into his … HELP! HE’S GOT A GUN!

His eyes how they twinkled
His dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses
His nose like a cherry

  • Oh, thank God. He was just reaching for his flask. That dude is completely juiced.

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“Ten lords a-dancing, Nine ladies swimming, Seven … I mean … EIGHT GOLDEN GEESE!!! (hiccup) .. Four calling hens …”

His droll little mouth
Was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin
Was as white as the snow

  • I know I sound like a hypocrite here but I do not think we should be making fun of the old drunk’s mouth.

The stump of his pipe
He held tight in his teeth
And the smoke, it encircled his head
Like a wreath

  • A pipe?!!? Oh, God. Please be ordinary tobacco …. please be ordinary tobacco …

He had a broad face
And a round little belly
That shook when he laughed
Like a bowl full of jelly

  • I really don’t think we should kick a man when he’s down.

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“Shut up, you guys. Can you believe Fatty’s still trying to pull off that furry track suit? I’m surprised the Red Cross hasn’t declared him a total fashion disaster.”

He was chubby and plump
A right jolly, old elf
And I laughed when I saw him
In spite of myself

  • Well, now I just sound like a jerk.

A wink of his eye
And a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread

  • Oh, God. I think he’s making a pass at me.

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings
Then turned with a jerk

  • Crap. That’s me. I’M the jerk with whom he’s turning. Damn it. Why did I have to laugh at his obesity?

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Here’s what I see when I look in the mirror. Which means I’m not only a jerk … I’m also a vampire!

And laying his finger
Aside of his nose
And giving a nod
Up the chimney he rose

  • I always thought this seemed like a baseball signal. Or maybe a cue from the Mafia.

He sprang to his sleigh
To his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew
Like the down of a thistle

  • Anyone know what that means? I didn’t so I looked it up. It’s that white feathery weed you blew on as a kid to make a wish. I can still remember my old neighbor saying, “DON’T BLOW THAT CRAP ALL OVER MY YARD! GO IN YOUR OWN YARD TO SPREAD WEEDS, YOU BRAINLESS WONDER!” Aaaah, memories.

Then I heard him exclaim
As he drove out of sight
Happy Christmas to all
And to all a good night

  • He really tore out of here fast. We are sure he LEFT things at all the houses, right?

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Um … has anyone seen my purse?

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That Suburban Momma



It’s Christmas Eve and what I really want to do is reference you back to my first stab at this parody business entitled ‘Twas a Week Since my Surg’ry” … but that would be lazy, right?  And sooo tacky.  So, I’ll just link you to it and we’ll get to work today on an entirely new version of the famous poem by Clement C. Moore.

My surgery set me back a bit this season, but thanks to my new friend, Honest Mom, for virtually slapping me across the face yesterday … and to Dave for wrapping more gifts in one day than he has so far in his lifetime, I think we’re going to make it.  Now, I just have to wrap his gifts and finish a little easy last minute shopping at the drugstore, conveniently located five minutes away. Well, except that we haven’t prepared a thing for the Christmas Eve dinner we host for my family every year. (Don’t tell them but I’m totally going to get everything from the ready-made section of my local grocery store.)

Anyway, I literally got out of bed to type this morning when these verses started running through my head. Don’t get me wrong.  I love Christmas.  Always have.  But the stress and pressure this year?  Well, it’s killing me. Please allow me to elaborate.

——————————————–

‘Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse

Okay, first of all, gross! My house does not have mice, thanks to Orkin pest control. And, if it did, you can bet my ass would be doing plenty of stirring, to say the least.  And secondly, hello? Even rodent-free, I will be ‘stirring’ until at least midnight to get everything done tonight. 

The stockings were hung
By the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas
Soon would be there

Damn, I wish that I hadn’t upgraded us to those stupid new stockings last year. Those things are huge.  Let’s just say it’s a lot more work for ‘St. Nicholas’ to get the job done.

The children were nestled
All snug in their beds
While visions of sugar plums
Danced in their heads

God, I wish their wants were as simple and inexpensive as ‘sugar plums.’ Not that I have any idea what they are anyway.  And they sound British, so the shipping alone probably negates the savings. I wonder if Amazon even carries them and if they’d qualify for my Prime membership with free shipping. Do I really want something with ‘sugar’ in its name though? Isn’t that why the marketing geniuses at Sugar Smacks changed the name to Honey Smacks years ago? What parent in their right mind would buy something for their child that starts with the word ‘sugar?’

And mama in her kerchief
And I in my cap
Had just settled our brains
For a long winter’s nap

This story is told from the mom’s point of view so I guess that would put Dave in the kerchief.  And, seriously, if he ever tries to go to sleep wearing a kerchief, I will Gilligan-slap him with my cap.  And I will post a picture of him in this kerchief here and all over Facebook so you’ll be the first to know. Oh, and settling ‘our brains for long winter’s nap?’ What are we … bears?

When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the matter

Geez, Santa. Can you and your fleet please keep it down out there so my kids stay ‘nestled?’ I’ve got work to do here.

Away to the window
I flew like a flash
Tore open the shudders
And threw up the sash

Great. Thanks a lot, Santa. Now I need to get to Home Depot the day after Christmas to replace my shudders. And, apparently, my sash.   What aisle are the sashes on?

The moon on the breast
Of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday
To objects below

I wonder how many weasels who google ‘breast’ looking for, you know, wind up being directed to ODNT … or this poem. Maybe the famed poet used ‘breast’ as a tag for his poem to get more hits on his website.  Duh. Yes, I know they didn’t have Google back in the 1800s. In the early days, they used stuff like Lycos and WebCrawler.

When what to my wondering
Eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh
Any eight tiny reindeer

Whoa, maybe I need to back off the pain meds. This is way worse that swaying fan blades. And, more importantly, where the hell is Rudolph?

With a little old driver
So lively and quick
I knew in a moment
It must be St. Nick

Old? Fine.  But little?  No offense, Santa, but I have no idea how you can be either ‘lively’ or ‘quick.’ Seriously, what’s your secret? Wait … it’s ‘sugar’ plums, isn’t it?

More rapid than eagles
His coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name

OMG, Santa! Will you please keep it down?

Now Dasher, Now Dancer
Now Prancer and Vixen
On Comet, On Cupid
On Donner and Blitzen

Comet? Vixen? Who named these deer anyway?  And, again, where the hell is Rudolph?

To the top of the porch
To the top of the wall
Now dash away, dash away
Dash away all

Dash away? Wait, you haven’t even come in yet.  Oh, and please get the reindeer off the porch.  Last year, they knocked off a ton of shingles and we spent the week between Christmas and New Year’s fixing the damned roof.

As dry leaves that before
The wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle
Mount to the sky

Hurricanes? Uncool, Mr. Moore, uncool.  We, New Orleanians, do not want to be concerned with hurricanes on Christmas Eve.  So, I’m suggesting the following replacement options: ‘As dry leaves put in my daughter’s mud pie’ or maybe ‘As dry leaves cluster across my lawn (sigh).’ Ooh, and one more.  ‘As dry leaves indicate the plant’s gonna die.’ You can have any and all of them.  Consider them my gift.  Just get ‘hurricane’ out of that poem.

So up to the housetop
The coursers they flew
With a sleigh full of toys
And St. Nicholas, too

Again, with the coursers? What’s with the ten dollar word, Mr. Moore?  You do realize that ‘reindeer’ would’ve worked fine here, too, right?

And then in a twinkling
I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing
Of each little hoof

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As I drew in my head
And was turning around
Down the chimney St. Nicholas
Came with a bound

A bound??? Now, you’re not even trying.  I’m going to bed.  If you wake them up, YOU deal with it.

He was dressed all in fur
From his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished
With ashes and soot

As Mrs. Claus, I would be so pissed at having to get out ash and soot stains every year.  You know how tired that poor woman probably is by the 26th?  And how do you think the reindeer feel about Santa dressing ‘all in fur?’ That outfit is probably red from years of PETA followers throwing buckets of blood all over the old man.  Santa, ever consider an upgrade? I found this fly red track suit you might be interested in.

A bundle of toys
He had flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler
Just opening his pack

Honestly, if someone fell down my chimney in the middle of the night … his appearance (‘peddler’ or otherwise) … would send me running for the panic button on my house alarm’s keypad.

His eyes how they twinkled
His dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses
His nose like a cherry

It sounds like you have a terrible case of eczema right now, Santa.  Very common for this time of year.  You really should see a dermatologist about it before it gets any worse.

His droll little mouth
Was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin
Was as white as the snow

Seriously, if you don’t take care of that skin problem, that beautiful beard is going to start falling out in clumps.

The stump of his pipe
He held tight in his teeth
And the smoke, it encircled his head
Like a wreath

I cannot believe you smoked in my house.  Geez, Santa.  It’s 2011. Get some help. http://www.nicodermcq.com/

He had a broad face
And a round little belly
That shook when he laughed
Like a bowl full of jelly

http://jennycraig.com/

He was chubby and plump
A right jolly, old elf
And I laughed when I saw him
In spite of myself

I know, I know.  How many times can I apologize?  I’m sorry.  It’s just that with the bowl-full-of-jelly-thing and the red face … well, YOU try not to laugh.

A wink of his eye
And a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread

I’m not afraid of you, jolly man! … And stop winking at me, creeper.

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings
Then turned with a jerk

I get this mental picture in my brain every time I hear this line.

And laying his finger
Aside of his nose
And giving a nod
Up the chimney he rose

As a child, I always heard “inside of his nose.” Kleenex, Santa?

He sprang to his sleigh
To his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew
Like the down of a thistle

Sure.  Go ahead, whistle.  My kids have been awake for hours now anyway.

Then I heard him exclaim
As he drove out of sight
Happy Christmas to all
And to all a good night

Well, at least they were awake to hear your good tidings.  But were we the last stop in our neighborhood … or was everyone else naughty?  Shouldn’t you be going to other houses tonight?  Also, are you British?  I love the expression ‘Happy Christmas’ and just wrote about it yesterday.  Did you read my ‘Throw your arms around the World’ post?  (That’s ridiculous. Like Santa has time to read ODNT these days.)

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That Suburban Momma


{December 9, 2011}   ‘Twas a Week since my Surg’ry

‘Twas a week since my surg’ry
To take out the mass
I still can’t believe
It all happened so fast

We started out chatting
And blogging ’bout boobs
Yet somehow this week
We’re onto chest tubes

We’ve learned about mole rats
The kind with no fur
And we’ve all guessed which boobs
Go with him or with her

We’ve met lots of doctors
Who all aim to please
Some say just a lift
Some say double Ds

If you go with an implant
Then, you’ll need to choose
‘Tween saline and silicone
With both you can’t lose

But you’re not done yet
Now you must decide
If it’s under or over
the muscle inside

The scars, anesthesia,
The risks and the price
It all made my head spin
This roll of the dice

And we found a lump
in my breast on the way
But learned it was nothing
Hip-freakin’-hurray!

Then later an x-ray
Revealed a round mass
Attached to my lung
And we struck an impasse

So a CAT scan, a spec’list,
A loud MRI
Soon gave us to know
that a surg’ry was nigh

So I dealt with my fears
And I packed up my stuff
And I went to the hospital
‘Cause I’d had enough!

Through IVs and catheters
Chills and Code Red
I came out of it all
I’m now home in my bed

My right side’s still achy
It hurts when I cough
So I’ll rest, write & e-shop
Hey, look! That’s half-off!

My friends were amazing
My family divine
But the best thing of all
was to hear “It’s benign.”

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et cetera
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