Holiday Commercialism and Totino's Pizza Rolls

A common theme voiced throughout the fall and winter months is that we're all sick to death of the commercialism that the holiday season brings.

So my question for you is this: What can you do or do you already do to counteract the commercialism brought into our homes via television, internet and written media? How do you make the holidays about something other than "what am I getting" and "I want that"?

I know for my family, we use it as a time (at least for our nuclear family) to be together, showing each other how much we value one another and enjoying the season for its beauty. We love the snow, the cold, the perfect blue sky (on those days when the sky is blue and perfect), the lights, the warmth of the house, seasonal foods, etc.

We have our own family traditions like lighting a red candle in the middle of the dinner table throughout December. While we enjoy our meal together, we go around and tell one great thing that happened to us that day or something that made us smile and made us feel blessed. This year we are planning to open any cards we receive at dinner as well.'

Each year my girls and I watch the movies I grew up with: all those wonderful Rankin and Bass productions, George C. Scott as everyone's favorite crotchety Ebenezer Scrooge and of course my Emmet Otter and his holey washtub.

We got hooked on The Polar Express a few years ago and every year we fall into making fun of the commercials we see. I guess that's our way of working commercialism in as a source of amusement. Last year it was an advertisement for Totino's Pizza Rolls. (Shut up, Nicholas!) It stuck with us all year long and still brings a laugh every time someone mentions them. So I guess for us, in a way, we prefer not to have our holidays commercialism-free, as some of our holiday traditions are the direct result of commercials!

While the holidays do find us huddled around the warmth of the flat-screen TV for a large portion of December, they also bring us together to be entertained and laugh with each other and that doesn't cost a thing.

What do you do to make the holidays more about family and less about the gifts?

And the Truth Shall Set You Free (Even Though You Smell Like Pee).

Fade in: My living room. Picture me cuddling with my seven year old and my nine year old daughters. Enter husband, wearing serious face.

"Honey, you'll want to come see this."

Me: *sigh*

I followed him to the kitchen, where my husband, soul-mate, sugar daddy said, "That's pee on the floor," as he made a grand, sweeping gesture with his hand. Yes, indeedily, it certainly was pee, and a good portion of the kitchen floor and a step-stool were covered with it. The dog hasn't hosed down a room like that in some time and quite frankly, the husband hasn't either. I knew who the culprit was by the fact that the dog wasn't the only pantless one in the kitchen. I looked at the guilty three-year-old Samantha and said, "Sam, did you pee on the floor?" She said, "Yes, but I said I was sorry." This surprised me (marking her territory on the linoleum, not her apology) and I asked her why she would do that. Sam looked up from cleaning her mess like a miniature Cinderella and said, "Well, I had to GO." ...Um...Yeah. Okay, that served me right for asking a three-year-old to explain herself.

Fast forward five minutes.

Back to the kitchen to refill my water. Seeing the monster of a dog, I give him a pat on the head as I pass. His head is damp. Wha...? *double take* "How did your head get...Oh, no." I smelled his furry melon and sure enough, that unmistakeable odor reached my nose. Lovely. Just lovely.

"SAM?!" *walks quickly to the living room where Sam sits watching t.v. with her sisters*

"Why is Brinkley's head wet?"

"He got it wet," said Sam.

"Yes, I know, but HOW did he get it wet, Samantha?"

Child makes up story quicker than you can blink..."He put his head in his water bowl."

I said, "No, his head is wet on TOP. How did that happen?"

Oldest sister Madison pipes up, "Sam, if you tell the truth you won't get in trouble." (Yes! Good thinking, Madison. That's how we'll get it out of her! I was just about to get the folding chair, rubber hose and a VERY bright light.)

Sam confesses. "Yes, I pee-peed on the doggy's head." (Mommy hides behind a pillow, giggling silently, thinking "Remember, you're her mother. Laugh later.")

"WHY did you pee on the dog's head?"

Sam, very matter-of-fact, shrugs her shoulders, explaining, "Because it was kinda FUNNY."

Note: Sam has apologized to the dog and promised not to pee on anyone ever again. Madison and I have recovered from our fits of laughter out of Sam's earshot and the floor and dog are once again, clean and pee-free. Thanks for your support.

NO means "NO" - A Lesson In Self-Control

Pizza seduces me. It tempts me with its slightly browned cheese and its rich and nommable tomato sauce. It whispers, "Eat me" and without hesitation I do. I can't help myself.

I was having a(nother) piece of pizza at dinner tonight, despite the annoying little voice that said,

"No, Erika. Put that back. You don't want another slice."

I ignored that voice and went for the second helping:

"Add more crushed red pepper! Mama-Mia, I like-a the spicy pizza!"

*shake-a shake-a shak-AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! MYEYESITBURNSMYEYESOWOWOWOWOW!!!*

Yes. In my fevered frenzy of seasoning, the smallest particles of (really) crushed red pepper caught the wind of the ceiling fan and...I peppered myself.

Ow.

After about ten minutes of flushing my very sore, very red eyes under the bathroom faucet and cursing the employees of McCormick Spices and their offspring and their offspring's offspring and anyone who knew their offspring's offspring, I spent another ten minutes enduring watery eyes and an uncontrollably runny nose. I now understand what it is that pepper spray will do to an assailant.

I have learned my lesson. If I insist on forcing myself on the pizza, I MUST NOT ARM THE PIZZA. (Clearly, I was asking for it.) Better yet, I should steer clear of that Italian-American tease and never think of it again.

"NO" means "NO". I get that now.

I guess I didn't really want that piece of pizza after all. Now that I think about it, it probably had a parasite in its pepperoni.

(Ah-HA! Did you see what I did there? I rejected the pizza, it didn't reject me. I dumped it first, therefore I win. Humph!)

*quietly* Slut.