Christmas Funnies & Stuff

(REPOST - IN CASE YOU MISSED IT THE FIRST TIME)

I have received so many Christmas related jokes, stories, etc., lately that I thought I would post them. Well, there is NO WAY that I can post them ALL but here are a bunch to get you going and keep you busy. Also, feel free to pass them along. Most came from emails, some as links in 'greetings', some from groups, and some I found archived in my own files.

Please be warned that some of the items listed will be funny, some touching, some silly, and some a little risque. Nothing 'RANK' but read and/or 'click' at your own doing. Enjoy!


Mommy's Letter to Santa:
Dear Santa, I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground.

I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my daughter's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

1. I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze; but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.

2. I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.

3. If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

4. On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.

5. I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

6. If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.

7. If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely.

8. It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my daughter saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think she wants her crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours Always, MOM...!

P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa.



CHRISTMAS COOKIE RECIPE (variation):
1 cup of water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup of sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup of brown sugar
lemon juice
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts
2 cups of dried fruit
1 bottle Crown Royal/Whiskey/Rum

Sample the liquor to check quality. Take a large bowl, check the liquor again, to be sure it is of the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink.

Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar. Beat again.

At this point it's best to make sure the liquor is still OK. Try another cup - just in case.

Turn off the mixer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl. Chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the frigging fruit off floor...Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it loose with a dewscriver.

Sample the Liquor to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift two cups of salt, or something.... who giveshz a sheet. Check the Liquor Lickity.

Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add a spoon of ar, or somefink.... whatever you can find. Greash the oven. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to beat off the turner.

Finally, throw the bowl through the window. Finish the bottle of Liquor. Make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.


Cherry Mistmas!

Merry Christmas Sisters!!
THIS SAYS IT ALL:

Time passes.

Life happens.

Distance separates.

Children grow up.

Jobs come and go.

Love waxes and wanes.

Men don't do what they're supposed to do.

Hearts break.

Parents die.

Colleagues forget favors.

Careers end.

BUT - Sisters are there, no matter how much time and how many miles are between you. A girlfriend is never farther away than needing her.

When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life will be on the valley's rim, cheering you on, praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the valley's end.

Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk beside you, or come in and carry you out.

Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters, daughters-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, mothers, grandmothers, aunties, nieces, cousins and extended family all bless our life.

When we began this adventure called womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead, nor did we know how much we would need each other.

Every day, we need each other still.

Pass this on to all the women who help make your life meaningful. I just did.

There are more than 20 angels in this world; 10 are peacefully sleeping
on clouds, nine are playing, and one is reading her email at this moment!

Happy Holidays!

The Grinch That Stole Mommy:
By Jenny Runkel

I hate the Christmas season. Ok, maybe hate is too strong a word. Being an English teacher, I have to be careful with words; they often come back to haunt me in one way or another. I should put more thought into this. Which word really pinpoints my feelings about Christmas?

Bitterness? Melancholy? Cynicism? Dread? Hmm, that has a nice ring to it. Yes, I think that just might be it. I dread Christmas. Like my students dread report card day, I dread "the most wonderful time of the year."

I should be traipsing around town spreading cheer and drinking Peppermint Lattes, but I just can't. To tell you the truth, I feel more like curling up into the fetal position and trying to sleep my way through the craziness. There is just something panic-inducing about the month of December. I have never sat down to try and outline what makes me so anxious whenever I hear Bing Crosby dreaming of a White Christmas, but with another yuletide quickly approaching, it's high time I did just that.

Maybe it's the catalogs that arrive before I've even finished sneaking the KitKats out of my kids' Halloween bags. Those things are relentless. The catalogs, I mean. They clog my mailbox daily, promising lifetime guarantees on 'gift solutions that make life easier.' Let's think about that for a moment. Does a chocolate fondue fountain really make my life easier? What about a hand-held gnome that repeats phrases you give it in a 'silly gnome accent?'

You know what would really make my life easier? Not getting any more catalogs! Maybe it's the supermarkets. I went to the grocery store on November 1st this year to do my weekly shopping. I expected the Halloween candy to be on sale and I knew Thanksgiving trimmings would greet me at the door and stacks of cranberry sauce, perhaps even rows of Indian corn.

What I didn't expect was to be hit in the face by Christmas. Literally. A gigantic inflatable Santa smacked me in the head just as I walked down the greeting card aisle. On November 1st! The clerk hauling Jolly St. Nick to his appointed spot apologized profusely, saying that she didn't see me around the corner, but I know better. I saw the look on Santa's face as they headed down aisle 14 to meet up with the candy canes. He was definitely smirking.

Maybe it's the magazines lining the checkout counters. While I'm wrestling my kids away from the Skittles (and remembering that one of them hasn't had a dentist appointment in ages), I'm faced with photos of darling children in precious Christmas sweaters making their own ornaments and baking cookies while Mom is scrapbooking the moment as it happens. AUGH!!!!

And then it hits me. I don't really dread Christmas itself. It's the pressure of the Holidays that make me woozy. All the glitz and glitter that the stores and commercials try to sell us has left me feeling empty and small. Real holidays, at least the holidays I've experienced, usually involve hurt feelings and awkward conversations.

The catalogs, stores, and magazines don't show you that side of things. They show the plastic side of Christmas. It's not the decorations or shopping that make me crazy, it's the expectations that I've attached to those things. I've been listening to my inner "Child" without even recognizing it. This voice tells me what I'm supposed to do, how I'm supposed to look, how my children are supposed to behave.

Apparently, it doesn't stop there, though. It also tells me what the Holidays are supposed to be like. It tells me that I should bake cookies and put up Christmas lights. I should get the perfect gifts for my kids' teachers, crossing guards, and coaches (not to mention friends and family). I should decorate the house and create a warm, cozy environment. I should write the perfect holiday letter and take the perfect holiday photo. I should catch up with all my long lost friends who send those same perfect letters and photos to me. I should record all these fantastic moments for eternity with pictures and videos. And I MUST do it all in precious Christmas sweaters.

I'm exhausted just thinking about it all. I am paralyzed by the sheer volume of things that need to be done. What am I doing to myself? To my family? This is Christmas, not the Mommy Olympics. Although sometimes it feels like it, there is no one watching my every move and waiting to give me a score. The loud echo of "The You Should" doesn't have to govern my actions and attitudes.

No more! I am a smart, successful woman. I have the power and ability to overcome the lure of "The You Should" and start enjoying the winter wonderland along with the best of them. From now on, I will listen to a new voice in my head. One that is a little more gentle, a little more wise and a lot more sane. I will call this my Maya Angelou voice. She sits on a windowsill in my mind waiting to comfort me with a smile and a nod.

When I feel the urge to deck something other than the halls, I will hear her say to me in her warm, buttery voice, "It's ok to say no. You don't need to attend all those parties and volunteer for every activity. Put your feet up and take care of you for a change. When's the last time you had some peace and quiet? You are not alone. Just about everyone gets stressed around the holidays. Be creative. There is not one right way to do everything. Revel in your unique approach. Work smarter, not harder. Figure out what you're not great at and let someone who is lend you a hand. Enjoy the little moments. You will one day miss the way your child furrows her brow when writing to Santa. Be gentle with yourself and with others. That is a gift worth giving."

My inner Angelou. She makes me feel better already. There's one problem with my plan. "The You Should" won't go away easily. It's comfortable in my head. It's been there for a long time and if I'm not careful, it will choke out Maya at the first sign of stress. I've got to think up a way to take that annoyingly persistent whine out of my head before it ruins yet another Christmas.

An epiphany! I know what I will do. I will order the Talking Gnome. I can give my "Should" another home and this time, instead of sounding like me, it will have a 'silly gnome accent.' Maybe that Gnome really will make my life easier, after all.


Christmas Story (for people having a bad day):
When four of Santa's elves got sick, the trainee elves did not produce toys as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel the pre-Christmas pressure. Then Mrs. Claus told Santa her Mother was coming to visit, which stressed Santa even more.

When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two others had jumped the fence and were out, Heaven knows where. Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the floorboards cracked, the toy bag fell to the ground and all the toys were scattered. So, frustrated, Santa went in the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum.

When he went to the cupboard, he discovered the elves had drank all the cider and hidden the liquor. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider jug, and it broke into hundreds of little glass pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found the mice had eaten all the straw off the end of the broom.

Just then the doorbell rang, and irritated Santa marched to the door, yanked it open, and there stood a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't this a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?"

And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree. (thanks Linda).

Until Next time...Happy Needling!!!

Gerry