The following post was written to promote the upcoming release of Daddy’s Home in theaters nationwide on Christmas Day 2015.
Sometimes the child has to take on the role of the mature adult to compensate for the immaturity of … well, other members of his or her family. My children are no exception. Last summer, we took one of the best family trips we’ve ever taken … to Paris, France. (Prier pour Paris.) We did everything the Parisian tourist is expected to do. We ascended the Eiffel Tower, we cruised the Seine, we shopped the Champs-Élysées and we even ate snails … more than once!
So when the time came to visit the world-famous Louvre Museum, my son jumped at the opportunity. Dave and I were completely floored. Dean is supposed to be a teenage punk. And we are supposed to be worldly adults who should have been the ones spearheading the mission to get us there, right? Of course, right. But (cough, sputter) … well, the truth is we’d actually already snuck past the Louvre, with absolutely no intent of ever going in, literally ten times so far. Seriously, it just looked so big. And scary. Plus, you know, art. (Yawn.)
So it was on Louvre walk-by #11, on the last day of our trip overseas, that Dean spoke his mind.
“I think we should go in the Louvre.”
“Aren’t we going in the Louvre??”
“Hey! Can we stop? I want to go in the Louvre!!!”
Dave and I were like two crazy-tired toddlers going stiff on Santa’s lap at the mall on Christmas Eve. Fighting the nearly uncontrollable instinct to whine and cry, I put on my best poker face while Dave looked away in defeat. (Coward.) “Um, sure. … Wow!” I managed, pretending I just noticed the colossal museum for the first time on the trip. Then, we scanned the twisting line of people waiting to get in. It put the worst Magic Kingdom line I’d ever seen to shame. “Let’s find the end of the line.” I swallowed hard and smiled catatonically, motioning with clenched teeth to Dave.
And as we waited … and waited … and waited in line, Dave and I did our best to keep our griping and grousing to a dull roar. Don’t get me wrong. We complained our asses off, but just to each other. We didn’t want our son to hear what uncultured boobs we were. We were in France, for Pete’s sake. Who wouldn’t want to go to the Louvre?!!? Your idiot parents, Dean. THAT’S who.
Then we heard it. Vivien, our younger child, tired of waiting in the line and completely unconcerned with how she was going to look or sound to her big brother, articulated what her disgracefully infantile “parents” had been thinking all morning.
“Dean, this line is reeeeally long. Are you SURE this is how you want to spend our last day here?”
Dave and I were snickering and sniveling so much, we almost didn’t hear our brilliant son’s reply. He was genuinely shocked at her disinterest.
“Vivien! The Louvre is the most famous museum in the whole world. We came all the way here. Who knows when we’ll come back? I want to see it!”
(Radio silence on the parental whimpering … #shamed #jackasses)
My son’s words slapped me across the face. Dave, too. When did this boy become the adult? I guess he figured somebody had to be … right? 
Plus, without his “parental” intervention, we never would have met Mona.
Why am I telling you this ridiculously embarrassing story? Because there’s a movie opening in theaters nationwide on Christmas Day this year that reminds me of parents acting like, well, children. Have you seen the trailer for #DaddysHome yet? Check it out right here:
Seriously … Will Ferrell? Mark Wahlberg? What’s not to like? I’ve already shown the trailer to everyone who lives in my house. And we’re making a family date. I’m actually asking for it for Christmas. Because we don’t do enough stuff together these days. And it’s rare that a movie comes out that appeals to (and is appropriate for) my entire family.
Check it out. It’s in theaters CHRISTMAS DAY! 
Maybe it’s because it’s about family. Maybe it’s because it’s the holidays. Or maybe it’s just because I can’t watch even just the trailer without laughing. But personally … I can’t wait.
Learn more about #DaddysHome on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.
This blog post is part of a paid SocialMoms and Daddy’s Home blogging program. The opinions and ideas expressed here are my own.
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OldDogNewTits 
There we were. Christmas morning. Paper was flying. Kids were squealing. Parents were beaming with pride at their success. It was a magical morning. As the last gift was unwrapped and adored, my husband and I noticed our son’s face drop like a rock. We immediately addressed his mood change. He looked up at us and said,
“I guess Santa didn’t think I was a very good boy this year.”
Wh-wh-wh-what? I was speechless and before I knew it, he was enveloped in my arms. My husband jumped in,
“Buddy, why would you say something like that? Look at all the awesome toys you got!”.
Tuck replied, “Well, all I really wanted was the Bumblebee Battle Blaster Arm. It is all I asked Santa for.”
My husband and I exchanged baffled looks mouthing to each other,
“Did he tell YOU that? NO! NOT ME! Did he tell YOU?”
Tuck then came out with it.
“I told Mowgali (our elf) and he was supposed to tell Santa for me.”
More baffled looks were exchanged between my husband and I followed up by mouthing “Are you going to the store, or am I?”
So there I was, in WalMart, on Christmas morning running as fast as I could to the toy aisle saying every prayer I could remember from my 13 years of Catholic school. The white floor tile glare blinded me momentarily, but I finally reached Aisle 13. Looking, searching, panic building and then, there it was! The yellow, tube-like structure labeled “Transformer Bumblebee Blaster.” I grabbed it and ran as fast as I could up to the front. I still to this day cannot tell you how much I paid for that conquest. I didn’t even have her bag it.
I brought it to the car and wrapped it in his special “Santa” paper I threw in the trunk. Once it was set, I had exactly 17 minutes on the drive home to come up with a way to sneak the present into the house. I pulled into our driveway with a mediocre plan. I trusted in my husband’s distracting skills enough to know I could pull the old,
“Oh, look at this rather large, oddly shaped present we missed laying under the tree” routine.
That would do, but it just wasn’t magical enough.
That’s when I saw it. There was about three inches of snow left on the ground from a storm a few days prior. Two sled trails were carved into our front hill from our sled rides. I realized that it looked just like Santa’s sleigh had landed there.
I ran upstairs and threw the present in the slope of one the trails. Then, I pulled into the garage, caught my breath, grabbed the gallon of milk on the seat and went inside the house. (At some point in my panic, I had grabbed a gallon of milk as a cover.) I grabbed my husband by the fridge to fill him in on the plan. After a round of applause, we played it out well.
I explained to the family that when I arrived home, I thought I saw something in the snow. I had our son come over and check out the window for me. He saw the present and flipped out.
“A PRESENT. WRAPPED IN MY PAPER! IN THE SNOW! IT MUST HAVE FALLEN OUT OF SANTA’S SLEIGH!”. Phew! He wasn’t scarred and had a pretty fun memory to boot.
OMG. I LOVE this story. Thanks for sharing it. And good luck!! 🙂
Great plan, and it worked !!!
This post was incredible. I felt like I was right there with you. Also…my favorite line…”Dave and I were like two crazy-tired toddlers going stiff on Santa’s lap at the mall on Christmas Eve.”
I’m still giggling.
Might I add to the story that Dean’s grandparents had already been to the Louvre on a previous trip with you and your brother, so we were across the street at the Musée d’Orsay. A little culture really does exist in the family tree (even though sports and the theatre are usually tied for first place). 🤓
Michele, I finally signed up for notices on your blog! So glad I did!! New to the world of blogs, but oh so happy I read yours!! Happy New Year!!
Yay! Now I just need to start writing again!