Krampus!

So, I've mentioned before that my parents never taught my brother or me about Santa Claus.  They also didn't let us go trick-or-treating.  (But our sister, who is 15 years younger than me, both believed in Santa and got to go trick-or-treating.  It seems that by the time you're on your third kid you don't care if it frolics around with Satan.)  And while I'm very bitter about being denied the chance to go door-to-door seeking out candy, I'm kind of whatevs about the whole Santa thing.  I think I even enjoyed the power that came with being the only kid in the first grade who wasn't so silly as to believe in some bearded fat guy coming down a chimney.  Plus, even if my parents had tried to tell us about Santa, our belief would have been short-lived because I was the master at finding my presents hidden around the house.

Matt, on the other hand, believed in Santa [for an appropriate amount of time], and enjoyed the magic and wonder that accompanied the whole North Pole/fat man/elf/toys legend.

Now, as Matt and I have these weird moments where we realize that this time next year there will be a [likely mobile] little human in our home, we're faced with some big decisions.  Do I really have to make my beautiful tree kid-friendly?  What do we do when Mitch steals the baby's toys?  What do we do when the baby steals Mitch's toys?  Can a 9-month old eat marshmallows?  And, finally, Are we going to tell our kid about Santa?

Now, next year we're probably in the clear, but the year after that we have to know.  And I'm a little blah about telling the kid about Santa, but Matt thinks we probably should.  Actually, I should say that I was a little blah about telling the kid about Santa, until I learned about the best part of the Santa story that nobody ever told me.

Krampus.

Now, you're probably way more hip and knowledgeable than I am, and you've probably known about Krampus for decades, but I just found out about him. But if you're like me and didn't know, well, let me fill you in.  Krampus, according to the almighty Wikipedia, is a scary/evil mythical creature recognized in Alpine countries who accompanies Santa on his Christmas Eve journey around the world.  While Santa leaves gifts for the good children, Krampus kidnaps the bad children, puts them in his sack, and takes them back to his lair where he devours them for his Christmas supper.

Amazing!

Please please please can we tell our kid about Krampus?  It just makes the whole Santa story come alive for me!  Matt says it might be too scary (especially when I suggested that if our little spawn had been bad, then I could plant a burlap sack that was stamped "Property of Krampus" somewhere in the house) and Shecky said that it borders on child abuse.  But people, think of all of the fun possibilities!*

I tried to argue to Matt that there is no crime in Alpine countries**, and that it was probably because people believed in Krampus there.  He rebutted that, no, instead they have really high suicide rates.  Then he stopped, thought, and added, "Or maybe those weren't suicides.  Maybe Krampus just ate them all."

So, it's big grown-up decision-making time.  Do we tell our kid about Krampus or no?



*Like, "Oh, I used to have a brother named Darryl, but he got taken by the Krampus when he was six"  or "See this scar on my arm?  It's from where Krampus grabbed me when I was seven.  I narrowly escaped."


**Which is probably not true at all.

Does This Mean That I'm a Prude?

So, today I was in the middle of one of my very favorite activities, walking through Target whilst talking on the phone, when I was stopped in my tracks.  I was walking past the kid clothing section, a place where I normally do not stop (because, aside from those that I see at Baby Gap--which basically just look like miniature real person clothes--I think kids clothes are boring and not nearly as cute as other people seem to think that they are).  But I stopped as soon as I saw this:

Really?  Madonna?  On your baby?  I mean, it's not like the humor is lost on me.  I get how that's funny.  I just can't seem to shake how by dressing your young girl in this shirt is somehow setting the expectation that she'll one day mature, that she'll one day become this:

[source]

(By the way, there were much skankier pictures that I found that Matt said were not blog appropriate.)  And, I mean, more power to Madonna and her freaky arms and such, but it just creeps me out to have a toddler advertising her future skankiness.

But that wasn't all.  There were Aerosmith shirts for the kiddies.  Because nothing screams "wholesome childhood" like Steven Tyler.  (By the way, my senior year of high school I was obsessed with Aerosmith's song "Pink."  I loved it because, I, too, loved the color pink, and I thought the song was catchy.  Apparently "pink" has more than one meaning, and I was sending out some mixed messages by playing the song on repeat as I drove around in my '86 Ford Escort singing at the top of my lungs. Here's the video for your Wednesday enjoyment.)

And Bob Marley.  "Daddy, am I still too young to smoke pot?"

And the Grateful Dead.  "Hi, Mommy.  When I grow up I'm going to die of a drug overdose."

And Run DMC.  Because no kid's outfit is complete without a faux gold chain.

And ACDC.  I really don't know anything about ACDC except that either Beavis or Butthead wore their shirt.  I think I'd keep my kid out of Beavis and Butthead attire until they were at least eight.

And The Beatles.  Well, no real complaints there.  Except that maybe the kiddos would misunderstand the meaning of the greatest of all of their songs, "Why Don't We Do It In The Road?"  We don't need to be encouraging our youth to forsake safety, now, do we?  Safety should always come first.

You know, though, as much as I might disagree with the messages that these shirts would communicate, I have to say that I don't think they're nearly as awful as some of the tshirt alternatives that are out there for little kids like, "My brother did it" and "Aren't I cute."  I REALLY hate those shirts.  No, your brother didn't do it, and no, you're not that cute.  (Especially when you're screaming in a restaurant or in front of me in line at the store.)

But I think this is the one that makes me want to puke all over myself the most.

[source]

Oh, shoot.  Matt says that he just got Mitch a collar that has this same saying on it. 

**Note** Apparently the person I believed was Bob Marley is really Jimi Hendrix.  Many thanks to the friends who pointed this out to me.  (If it's not Danny, Donnie, Jordan, Jon, or Joe, I guess I am ignorant.)  Jimi Hendrix, by the way, is just as bad for a kid shirt.  But not as bad as 50% Mommy, 50% Daddy, 100% Cute.  I'll take a mysterious death and a rockin' "Star-Spangled Banner" over that shit any day of the week.

Single Ladies Devastation

Somewhere in the world there exists a video of Aunt Darcey dancing to Beyonce's "Single Ladies," and then tripping over a cooler in the Carport Bistro and busting her ass.  It's a good video, but since Darcey is a professional, and since I do still retain some sense of propriety, I probably won't be posting it on the interwebs for the whole planet.  (Hear that, Darcey?  Target gift cards will work just fine.  Just how much is that video worth?) 

But this one might even be better. 



The best part is the sister in the middle.

Have a good Friday!

Oh, Iris.

So, this is Iris, our favorite 3-year old on the planet. Since my baby sister, Iris is the first kid I've been around since she was a newborn, the first one whose growth and development I've been able to witness first-hand. If Matt and I ever procreate, the world has this little delight to thank and/or blame.


Iris's parents are pretty obsessed with her, as they should be. Her dad used to go on and on about how advanced she was, and it became a running joke with us. It wasn't until we would spend time with other children around Iris's age that we realized that he was right and she is not only above-average but is also a little genius.


Iris can carry on a full conversation with any adult. She says things like, "Wait just a moment," and asks to eat avocado and hummus.


And she's so cute that it hurts me sometimes.

About a year ago, Cassie and I decided that it would be great fun to get Iris to start swearing. She's not our kid, and we wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions of a child who swears like a sailor, so why not? We were mild, though, and spent the better part of an evening trying to teach her when to say "Oh, hell."

We tried and tried and tried, but Iris seemed to think we were trying to trick her, which we kind of were. She refused.

Apparently we were being a little too vanilla for Iris's taste. A couple of nights ago, Matt and I had dinner with Iris and her parents. After dinner we were all chatting in the living room. Iris was playing with some sort of stacking toy, meticulously stacking rings (she's a bit type-A). When she finally had them all stacked, her kid sister Opal stumbled by and knocked all of them down. Iris, disgusted, mumbled under her breath: "Futtin' Opal. Futtin' futtin' futtin'."

Her parents recognized what she was saying, shot looks at Matt and me that required we not laugh, and then corrected Iris, telling her that futtin' is not a nice word for either adults or kids to use and that she was not to use the word again.

Futtin' parents, always ruining all the fun.