Hetherington Holiday Mayhem

Over the past several Christmases, my sister has been enjoying a holiday tradition that she likes to rub in my face all year long. She invites my dad over to her house and she and my nieces make Christmas cookies with him. Last year they called me at work, giggling and listening to carols, bragging on and on about how much fun they were having with Dad.

Well, this year she was nice enough to include me, and thus begun the holiday hilarity of my weekend.

Dad was feeling a little under the weather, so we weren’t sure what to expect from him in terms of creativity. As you can see from the picture above, he more than delivered. He turned a gingerbread man into an alien, a Santa Claus into a Krusty the Clown-esque snowman, and an ornament into a very lifelike clock.

Given Dad’s less than healthy state, it was no surprise that last night—at our extended family Christmas dinner—Mom asked, “Who knows how to carve a turkey?” There was no way we were letting Dad get germs on our birds. The only person to raise his hand in the room was, my hero, Mr. Wonderful. Of course he knew how to carve a turkey, he watches 5-27 hours of the Food network each week.

The turkeys were carved and all was well in the world. Until dessert.

As a side note, it should be known that my 8- and 10-year old nieces are deathly afraid of human vomit. Simply saying the word “throw up” is equivalent to describing the Charles Manson murders in detail.

The two of them were perched on the couch when my cousin’s 2-year old started to choke on his pumpkin pie. He was still talking—no airways were cut off—he just needed a little sip of water to wash it down. Unfortunately, his dad didn’t move fast enough, and as my nieces watched with mouths agape and eyes bulging, poor little Lucas tossed his cookies. My cousin, being an expert in the field of motherhood, simply reached out and caught it on her dessert plate.

The nieces screamed. The room erupted into moans. Mr. W murmured, “Ooooh no…” And my mother started laughing so hard at everyone else’s reactions, that she locked at the knees and began doing a bladder handicapped run down the hallway to the bathroom.

Given that she wet her pants a smidge on Thanksgiving when my brother flew Mr. W’s remote controlled helicopter into the china cabinet and broke an antique glass, I was fairly confident that she’d ruptured the seal this time as well.

Ten minutes later, she reappeared, wearing slightly different black pants. “Did you pee?” I asked as she wiped tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. She tried to play coy at first. But after much harassing, she admitted that not only did she break the seal, she had a full flood on her hands…or rather, feet…by the time she reached the bathroom.

My family is all getting together again on Wednesday, so there may be more stories to come. And my sister will be writing a guest blog about this year’s disgusting gift exchange with our cousin’s husband.

Yes folks, it’s the most wonderful time of year in the Hetherington household… I hope we all survive it.