On the sixth day of Hanukkah blogging, my true love gave to me – six silk strait jackets, five blistered fingers, four vials of medication, three odd dreams, two whopper candies, and a therapist who is familiar with polyamory. (Note: Foreshadowing, it’s what’s for dinner)
My wife and I have a tradition. It’s been modified a few times due to a changing of financial situations, but in essence we gather money from the family and take our nephews Christmas shopping so the boyos can purchase their own gifts for all the family. It is a way to teach them that Christmas is about giving presents and love and not about getting all the shiniest new toys and video games.
It’s also an energy-draining ball of frustration covered in equal random bits of yelling in anger and doubling over in laughter, dipped in a “I can’t believe you don’t know your right from your left yet” caramel coating. I can’t decide if I absolutely adore this yearly tradition and should fight harder to adopt my own child(ren), or immediately go live in a Buddhist temple somewhere in Laos where children aren’t allowed.
I’m still sitting on the fence, so I guess I’ll have to do this all again in 2016 and think about it some more.
In light of my new-found philosophy of looking at the positive little moments, allow me to share some of the odd little things that made me realize my baby nephews are growing up into deviants all their own.
- A breast pocket is now called a “nipple pocket.” I did try to explain it is a breast pocket, but I was informed that breasts have nipples so it’s a nipple pocket. I have to admit, it’s a lot more fun to say “nipple pocket” than breast pocket. In fact, we sat there and just said “nipple pocket” and giggling for about five minutes until…
- My second nephew said it was more fun to say, “nipple whip.” Which just made me laugh harder and I tried desperately to tell him never to repeat that phrase again. But I just couldn’t get out the words through the image of my nephew growing up and being a submissive to a strong Dominatrix. Let me state for the record, I didn’t do it. I’ve kept my personal life and choices very secret from my too young nephews. He’s doing it himself.
- My third nephew has the bladder the size of a gnat. He can look at a bead of water on a table and instantly have to go to the bathroom, and can only hold it for about one minute before it’s an emergency. Once, as he came out of the bathroom, I asked him if he washed his hands. He gave me a look like I was crazy and grabbed my hands and said, “See? Wet.” His oldest brother just said, “Pee is wet too, maybe you just peed on your hands and came right out.” I gagged and laughed at the same time.
- The most well behaved nephew at the restaurant was a toss-up between a 13 year old and a 1 year old. How a 1 year old already has as good of table manners as a teenager but still has the urge to eat crayons like they are candy is beyond me. The other two are hopeless. But I love them anyways.
- How they decide which present to buy which person always astonishes me. I warn my family every year, “I exert little control over what they buy, just how much money they can spend.” This year is no exception. But the gifts are always thoughtful. They surprise me with their giving natures… and then return to normal by pointing out everything they want for themselves.
Okay. It doesn’t matter if I ever get to raise a child of my own. These four, plus a graduating one out in Nebraska, are enough blessings for any man.