You know that crazy family member that everyone has that always shows up to the Christmas party drunk and smelling of peppermint schnapps? I am slowly becoming that person. Although I don't like peppermint, I prefer wine and I have not showed up to a Christmas party drunk yet, but I had good intentions last night. Mason, you know your mom is cool when she stuffs a bottle of wine in your diaper bag, fully intending on numbing herself to the crazy Christmas madness. That poor bottle of wine remained unopened. I set him safely in his new home, our fridge, and let him know that Wednesday would be his day to shine. His day to make my Christmas a little merrier.
Instead, that fat bastard jolly old elf named Santa showed up and gave my kid a present. Mason stared at him longingly until it was his turn to sit on his lap and then this happened:
FAIL. He didn't cry but he squirmed until Santa could not contain him anymore and ran away with the goods. Speaking of the goods.
Ahh, presents. He's a quick learner.
See there? He got a PICKUP TRUCK.
And now...A FIRE ENGINE! He liked his poor cousin's fire engine better (the kid has a thing for red) so he ganked it, luckily without getting into a fight with his generous, trading cousin.
And now we are the proud owners of ANOTHER noise-making fire engine. Merry Christmas.