My Real Life

During my 20 minute lunch, I will often call Real Man, just to check in and chat.

I miss that guy during the day.

So, on Friday, I called during lunch and we chatted for a bit.

I said, “The Smurfs” is coming from Netflix today.  I say we call a family movie night and snuggle up and watch with the kids.  They’ve been dying, waiting for it to come.”

Real Man said, “Will we watch the movie before or after you make the gingerbread house with the kids?”

Silence on my end of the phone.

See, some people have the elephant in the room.

Our family has the unopened Gingerbread House kit in the room.

A few years ago, while in the grocery store, the kids asked if we could get a gingerbread house kit.

I said sure, instantly creating warm, fuzzy images in my head of the kids and I, hovering over the kitchen table, laughing and loving as we made a gingerbread house together.

Then, when it was done, it would be all we could do to not begin to eat and destroy it immediately.

Ah, what fun we’d have.

We put the box in the cart and headed home.

However, every time I’d look at that box in the pantry, the warm visions I’d had at the store would be pushed out of the way with new visions of pushing and shoving and kids yelling “Hey!  It’s my turn!  Move!  You’re in my way!  I want to put the red candy on!” and I’d find a reason why we just couldn’t put together the gingerbread house today.

That gingerbread house sat in my pantry for three years.

Every holiday season, the kids would ask to make the house and every year, I’d put them off with “Another day, another time,” while thinking in my head, “Another year.”

When we moved in July, I saw my chance.

While packing up the pantry, I took that box and tossed it in the trash.

There were no kids around to witness it, and it felt so liberating to get that sugary monkey off my back.

I had, quite frankly, forgotten all about the gingerbread house until last weekend, when Monkey Girl and I went to Walmart to get a gift for a friend.

As we passed the Christmas aisle, she turned to me and said, “Oh Mommy…please can we get a gingerbread house?  And MAKE it?”

And there I was, once again, filled with visions of happy children, squealing with delight as I put a dollop of icing on each of their noses, Christmas carols playing sweetly in the background.  The baby, giggling with glee as he watched the merriment from his high chair.

And I put the damn thing in the cart, came home and put it in the pantry.

Where it has been, since last weekend.

So, when Real Man threw down the gingerbread gauntlet on Friday afternoon, it was a challenge that had to be met.

Kids got off the bus on Friday and I said, “Does anyone have any plans this afternoon?”

They didn’t, so I said, “How about it we make our Gingerbread House and then have movie night with “The Smurfs?”

The screams of joy assuaged the small tic I had developed, just saying the words “Make the gingerbread house.”

And you know what?

It was fun.

We decided to scrap the directions and make our own design.

There was a little pushing and shoving, and a few “You put on more gumdrops than me!” but for the most part, it was fun.

A lot of fun.

It ain’t going on display at the Gingerbread Museum (I have a feeling it won’t last much longer than tomorrow night, anyway) but it’s a pretty darn good representation of what’s important to these monkeys.

And I love it.