Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas (and I had just finished my shopping an hour ago),

When all through the house ( which looked like Hurricane Sandy returned to my living room . . . bitch)

Not a creature was stirring (actually everyone was still awake and quite hyper),

Not even a mouse. (Rodents . . . big NO NO!)

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care (not really, I just tied them up to the best of my ability),

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there (and leave me a new car, pay off my mortgage but most importantly . . . give me the answers I need to recover my son).

The children were nestled all snug in their beds (ummm . . . didn’t I just tell you they were awake and hyper?),

While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads (more like GFCF cookies from one of our awesome TMR moms’ recipes).

And mamma in her ‘kerchief and I in my cap (I’m in ripped sweatpants).

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap (Thinking Moms’ brains NEVER rest),

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter (the bears must be tearing up my garbage again; can’t blame them for wanting to eat healthy organic food),

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter (no, I didn’t; I only jump for medical emergencies. I have been desensitized to noise).

Away to the window I flew like a flash (only because I tripped over the toys the kids left on the floor),

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash (I don’t have shutters . . . but okay).

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow (please, please, please don’t let it be a full moon),

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below (shit, it’s a full moon).

When what to my wondering eyes would appear (what? What? The supplements I ordered? Oooh. Ooooh. Where? Where?),

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer (the neighbors put their tacky crap out again. Great!!!!),

With a little old driver so lively and quick (ooh. Ooooh.  Is it the hot UPS guy with my supplements?),

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. (St. Nicholas? You must be referring to my Nickybear <3.)

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came (eagles? I dreamed about those. I wonder if they’re symbolic of something? Note to self: check it out tomorrow),

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name (what was the name of that mom in Nicky’s playgroup yesterday? ),

Now, Dasher! (That would be me.) Now, Dancer! (Prima) Now, Prancer (Sunshine) and Vixen. (Goddess)

On, Comet. (Mama Mac) On, Cupid. (The Rev) On, Donner (Any “pioneer” fits here.) and Blitzen. (Poppy)

To the top of the porch. To the top of the wall. (There was dirt and food splattered from an unsuccessful meal.)

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all! (Dash away you annoying, pains in the ass with your winter flu shot signs and suggestions!)

As dry leaves that before a wild hurricane fly (don’t remind me of Sandy again . . . bitch),

When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky (obstacle? We deal with those every day . . . and overcome).

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew (what the hell is a courser? Never mind),

With the sleigh full of toys and St. Nicholas too. (I hope he has a new iPad in there. My broken one is really frustrating Nicky.)

And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof (uggh. I have to get that leak fixed. Sandy, you bitch)

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. (Oh, no!! I hope there are no squirrels up there. You know what it costs to get them out without using poisons and toxins? Ughhh!!)

As I drew in my head and was turning around (lists, lists and more lists),

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. (Note to self:  have to call the chimney sweeper . . . fire hazard.)

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot (does PETA know about this?),

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. (Mine are covered in puke, food and supplement stains.)

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back (iPad, car keys, deed to the house, airline tickets . . . fingers crossed. Fingers crossed),

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. (He looked like a what? Who? Keep him away from my child until I do a background check.)

His eyes how they twinkled! His dimples how merry! (Hmmm? Didn’t they just legalize marijuana by his neck of the woods?)

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. (He must like Pinnacle, too.)

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow (what’s up with his mouth? Have you checked for apraxia?),

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. (Note to self:  must shovel walkway before guests arrive tomorrow . . . Gahhhhh.)

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth (What??? Pipe? My kid has asthma!),

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. (Are you crazy? You better put that out or I’m taking you down.)

He had a broad face and a little round belly (obviously, you don’t eat well. Let us TMRs teach you a thing or two about good nutrition. For example, Twinkies being discontinued is NOT a catastrophe),

That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly. (Sigh . . . enough said.)

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf (give me one month with him. He’ll drop 20lbs and be running Tough Mudders),

And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. (If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.)

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head (was that a tic? Was that a stim?),

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. (Nothing to dread? Until people acknowledge how they’ve injured our children and help us recover them . . . there’s plenty to dread!!)

He spoke not a word but went straight to work (is he non-verbal? What therapies have you used? Can we help?),

And filled all the stockings then turned with a jerk. (Was that another stim?)

And laying his finger aside of his nose (I hope you don’t have a cold. Need to keep germs away from my vaccine-injured child who has a compromised immune system)

And giving a nod up the chimney he rose. (Yes, please leave quickly if you are going to pick your nose and not wash your hands)

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle (Team!!! I LOVE my TMR team. Oh crap!!!! I forgot to mail out my Christmas cards),

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. (Sure. Make a mess and then leave.)

But I heard him exclaim  ‘ere he drove out of sight (drive carefully! Don’t text and drive . . . and that twinkling eye and red nose still have me concerned),

Happy Christmas to all and to all a good-night.

 

Wishing all my non-conventional, kick-ass, think-outside-the-box, rewrite-history, fight-for-a-cure parents a very happy holiday season.

Love,

~ Mamabear

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