Given the title of this post, Iâ€™m sure you will be utterly SHOCKED to hear that one of the little men became so overwhelmed with the excitement of Christmas that he regurgitated yesterdayâ€™s breakfast.
I think his brother, Destroy, was just thankful Santa hadnâ€™t stolen his soul in the dark of night.
Christmas morning came and went with the typical mirth and merriment you would expect from two toddlers surrounded by a plethora of cardboard boxes and wrapping paper. (Also, actual toys. But these are secondary to the trimmings.)
A Little Tykes play kitchen awaited their arrival downstairs. (Shouts of, â€œI COOK!â€ are still oft heard around these parts.) There was Yule Log and Pumpkin Roll for breakfast. And under the tree were Legos and trucks galore â€“ an entire construction site, if you will.
Then it was off to a ginormous Christmas party gathering filled with 50+ people I did not know. No matter. Search and Destroy held court among their new fans. (And can you guess who was coyly flirting with the ladies? Yeah, Destroy hasnâ€™t changed.) There was also a great deal of muppet photobombing as individual family units attempted to take pictures in front of a massive lit tree. (Dear people at the party, please feel free to send photobombed photos my way. Iâ€™d love to see them. And also, who WOULDNâ€™T want a Search/Destroy cameo in your holiday memories?)
We returned home, through the pouring rain, after passing by all the brightly lit houses with exceedingly large inflatable penguins and snowpeoples. Everyone was exhausted.
TBD was playing the classic A Christmas Story on repeat for 24 hours straight. Jon collapsed into the sofa, informing the boys, â€œYouâ€™ll shoot your eye out!â€ Search and Destroy joined us for snuggles after methodically dumping out every Lego, gear, block, or other box/container comprising neatly contained small pieces.
Destroy eyed the television and the satan Santa (notice the inherent anagram there) and announced, without hesitation, that the TV needed to be off. Right. Now.
His request was summarily declined. Instead, he was presented with the opportunity for bed â€“ normally a very unenthusiastic event within the Stream household.
â€œYes. I need to go to bed right now. I go upstairs now.â€
Search toddled up after him â€“ suspicious, but not entirely clear on what all the hubbub was about.
Eleven hours later the twins arose. Destroy popped up out of bed, ready to tackle the day having completely forgotten the terror of a certain red-suited jolly fat man. Search was much more subdued. In fact, he wasnâ€™t at all certain he even wanted to get out of bed. (He didnâ€™t want to remain in his room â€“ I think he would have preferred to be transported downstairs, big boy bed et al.)
He uttered one word.
This seemed a bit odd to me. But, like many a rookie toddler mom, I acquiesced. Search chowed down on his cheese stick as well as a few stolen bites of his brotherâ€™s persimmon. The eggs were left untouched.
I chased Destroy into the living room (or libbin doom to hear the wee one say it) and set him bouncing about with mounds of his new treasure trove. PLAY WITH ALL THE THINGS. THEN THROW THEM!
Suddenly I heard a pathetic whimper. I turned. Search bore a truly unfortunate pastey palor. And I knew.
Moments later, sweetly parsimony-peach color puke had been projected across our dining room table.
Were the celebrations simply overwhelming? Was it a bad piece of cheese? The winter flu? We may never know.
I wedged a large bowl (never to be used again) into his lap and surveyed the Toys R Us toy vomit once again encompassing my home.
Ladies and Gentlemen: This concludes the 2012 holiday sesason.