Author's note: Lately I've been plagued by the desire to write and create, but left without the inspiration for what to do. So I've been throwing it out there to the Internet to give me some ideas. Crowd sourcing. This idea actually came back to me from my lovely wife (yes, the Internet is the only way we talk most times).
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'Twas the day before the night before Christmas. School had been out for a week and Dad was ready for the holiday break to be over. Or to send the kids to visit their Grandmother in Nebraska. Or to take them out in the desert and make them find their way back home.
The morning chaos was already in full swing as his feet met the floor. His left foot landed with an uncomfortable 'squish' on the rug. Sigh. Good morning to you too, Ginger, stupid dog.
Stand. Bones creak. Stretch. Scratch scratch scratch. Mumble. Stumble to the bathroom.
The chaos had become a full blown party by the time he found his way to the kitchen for coffee. The anticipation had been building in the children since the first of December and now it was at it's screaming peak. Mr. 6th grade has decided to make pancakes, but not any pancakes, pancakes in Christmas shapes. Santa was currently in the pan, burning to a blackened lump, smoke pouring out of what should have been his mouth. Miss 4th grade was trying to strangle Mr. 6th grade over a disagreement about which Pokemon would beat Superman. Mr. Kindergarten and Miss Preschool were each rooting for their favorite Pokemon in the fight, while also flinging butter and syrup at the battling duo.
Miss 7th grade, who had developed an allergy to mornings since break began at the beginning of the week, was feigning sleep on the couch in the adjoining living room. Mr. and Miss College were still sleeping, as usual. It would be past noon before those two made an appearance.
Rather than break up the fight, and thereby not learn which Pokemon would win the fight, Dad simply turned off the stove, put out the fire, and poured himself a cup of coffee. Three sips later he was awake enough to realize the coffee was left from the day before and wasn't only ice cold, but also had spaghetti in it.
He did the only thing he could do: pick out the noodles and warm it up in the microwave.
It was on this scene of smoke, butter, syrup, blood and screaming that Mom entered.
As if by direction, the cheers, jeers, and screams of pain stopped. A pat of butter fell from the ceiling where it had been stuck and landed at Mom's feet. Mom didn't say a word. Neither did she look at the children. Her eyes, like flaming daggers were locked on Dad. If looks could kill, Dad's head would not only have exploded, but would have damaged several square miles and left the soil unfit for farming for centuries.
Without a word, Mom simply poured herself a cup of spaghetti coffee and returned to the bedroom.
It was decided then that Superman could beat any Pokemon and that maybe it was time to clean up breakfast and do some chores before it got too late in the day.
Ah, Christmas Eve. Such a great time for relaxation and quiet reflection. It's a shame that Dad has yet to experience a quiet and relaxing Christmas Ever. At least not since he became a dad.
The biggest challenge on Christmas eve day is always "how do we entertain the children?" Make cookies? Cut snowflakes out of copy paper? A new Christmas movie? Do we dare take them out of the house? Usually the answer to how to entertain ended up being the long discussion of what to do and running out of time to actually do anything. It had become a time honored tradition that was sure to be practiced for many years to come.
Little did anyone know that this Christmas Eve would be unlike any before, and one they would never forget.
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What should happen next? Post your ideas in the comments! I'll write the wackiest one!
