It’s the most wonderful time of the year…blowing the dust off of the Christmas boxes, rooting through piles of decorations, realizing that items previously considered keepsakes now deserved a proper burial in the “tacky pile.”

I lugged what I could salvage upstairs anticipating a “Norman Rockwell” moment. The family gathered around, ripping open boxes and reminiscing about their favorites. There was a sudden poof… and then there were none.

It was so quiet I could hear the “dust bunnies” vying for position in that impossible-to-reach corner behind the Christmas tree. I stood amidst the Christmas clutter, wondering where that magic moment had gone.

Sacked out on the couch, totally engrossed in a football game, was my husband, in his trance. Out of desperation, I glanced at the dogs, who both yawned and went back to sleep.

It was once again up to me to be the “Christmas Fairy.” I knew after I spent numerous hours creating a Christmas wonderland, they all would magically reappear. After the oohs and awes, they would clamor together about what a terrific job “we” had done.

Many curses later, I had burned off enough calories to justify a few Christmas cookies. I headed to the kitchen only to find my dogs had “counter surfed” (scoffed all the cookies off of the counter), leaving only a trail of crumbs. They were both snoozing on their backs with contented doggie smiles in a cookie induced stupor.

Frustrated, I figured my decorating task was almost complete, until I walked into the living room and found my “mantel masterpiece” strewn precariously across the floor. It looked quite nice as a hearth embellishment. Time for several pieces of fudge.

Hubby was now standing directly in front of the TV watching the movie “Saving Private Ryan”. What the heck was wrong with him and where was his Christmas spirit? He needed a “Scrooge intervention”. I hinted that a Christmas movie would really put us in the spirit.

“Honey, I want a good holiday movie fix. I need it now, or I won’t be responsible for the bodily harm I’ll inflict on you… it won’t be pretty!”

He still assumed the position. My chronic warning that he would become sterile standing that close to the set was pointless. I swear I saw his “Mini Me” alter ego, sitting on his shoulder having a one sided discussion with him.

“She doesn’t really need your help, you’ll only interrupt her creative process. Besides, you deserve to be able to relax and watch what you want. You’re the man.”

If “Mini Me”, didn’t shut up, I’d turn him into a doggie chew toy.

He whispered something into my husband’s ear and I heard him chuckle. That was the final straw. I’d get even with the little squirt later.

I mumbled that I thought we could get buffalo hot wings for dinner if I managed to finish all of the decorating. Suddenly, my husband sprang to life and “Mini Me” flew off his shoulder as the channel changer flew in the air. I deftly intercepted it and flipped to the ABC Family channel. He was distracted as “visions of hot chicken wings danced in his head.”

“Mini Me” disappeared, but not before flipping me off. I was victorious and I suddenly had a willing helper.

As I anticipated, they all appeared from nowhere as buffalo hot sauce drifted through the house. The Holiday aroma of home baked cookies mixed with hot wing sauce was indescribable.

“It looks so beautiful,” they all chimed in unison. “That took us no time at all.”

Visions of throwing them all in the nearest snow bank, danced in my head!

This weekend we will have our traditional family outing to purchase our real Christmas tree. If “Mini Me” shows his snotty little face again, he will be replacing the Christmas angel on top of the tree. I wonder how he will feel having a 9’ Fraser Fur shoved up his… “