Christmas is in the air

It's Christmas morning, and as I watch my children excitedly tear open the mountain of gifts under the tree, I check the clock, knowing that in just a couple of hours we will be in the car, rushing back and forth between the homes of open armed grandparents, and aunts and uncles. Knowing full well that my children will explode into fits of rage at having to get dressed and leave the toys behind, I silently sip my coffee, taking in the last moments of peace on earth.

I dress first, trying to slow down the impending doom that is sure to send my house into an uproar. Of course, I have nothing "Christmasy" to wear, and end up throwing on a pair of jeans and any sweater I can find that's the least bit clean. I clean up piles of wrapping paper, and carefully lay out each child's dress clothes, which they will no doubt destroy before we even reach the first house.

As I tip toe into the living room, my son is busy constructing the latest Star Wars Clone Trooper assault vehicle, while my daughter is playing house with her wide array of barbie dolls and teddy bears. I shake my head knowing that they are never this quiet, and to disturb them will mean hours of dirty looks and pouting. Suddenly they look up from play, knowing exactly why I'm there. I put on my game face, and head into what will no doubt be war.

My son wails as if having to put on clothes is the worst form of torture ever laid upon someone, all while yelling, "It's not fair! You are the meanest mom ever!" My daughter puts up quite a fight, wriggling and sqirming in every direction possible. It takes me ten minutes to get a leg in her little red tights. And comb her hair? Impossible. I limp away from the battle, with bruised abdomen from the kicks of a two-year old, and a scratch just below one eye. Meanwhile the two of them are howling in the background, one vowing to never speak to me again.

"Well then," I look at my husband who's so obviously amused at not having to do anything, "looks like we're ready."

As we pull into my parents' driveway, I quickly scramble to get out, running for the door, children screaming behind me. My son has threatened to rip off his red sweater and stomp it unrecognizable, while my daughter has already stained her beautiful dress with cranberry juice and some other goo I've never seen before. Thankfully, more presents await, and with them more peace and quiet.

We enjoy a wonderful Christmas meal, minus my son freaking out because vegetables are "icky", and my daughter flinging mashed potatoes on everyone. Again I look at the clock in agony, and begin the battle once more. I leave my parents smiling, knowing that they will now have peace until our next visit.

As we head down the road to the next house, my husband begins to sniff the air next to me.

"What?" I say somewhat annoyed, and give him the look of death.
"Oh nothing, you just kind of smell like onions from the food." he shrugs like it's nothing, like people just walk around smelling like onions everyday. Great. I quickly search the car for anything that smells better than onions. I spray on the first scent I find, and take a deep breath as we pull into yet another driveway.

We're greeted warmly by my husband's great grandmother, who gives me a hug. She smiles up at me. "Dear, you smell lovely. What is that scent?" I rack my brain, trying to think of some great sounding perfume, but to no avail. I just shrug.
"It's febreze auto."