The Christmas Con

So we know I have this kid. He is beautiful and bright and amazing. He is also very, very spoiled and has caused quite a bit of Drama this Christmas. (Capitalizations intentional!)
Let me just say, without faltering, that even when I had no job, when I was a full-time student, when we needed public assistance to buy groceries, I still managed to provide the child with everything he wanted.
My in-laws came in this past weekend because I have the work schedule from Hell and we were sure this was the only way they would be able to see him for Christmas. I had already had a conversation with Evan, explaining to him that people do not stop being sick just because it is Christmas time, and that Mommy has to work. In fact, Mommy does not have a day off of work until January 2nd. Together, we decided that it was acceptable for Santa to come late for Christmas so we could all enjoy the time together as a family. Secretly, I was delighted because this agreement meant that around the time I would have a day off of work to shop, there would be the enormous after-holiday sales. I had it all planned in my head: this obscene display of lavishness where John would get Evan out of the house so Santa could come. Evan would return to find this spread of everything he wanted. Everything! Keep this background information in your mind.

So this past weekend, they come into town. They are armed with cash to spend on Christmas gifts for Evan. We visit Toys'R'Us, where Evan is to pick out what he wants within his budget. Evan rattles off the list, and we start to fight the most insane crowd you could imagine in a toy store the weekend before Christmas. One of the items on his list, like every other kid in America, is a Wii. I had planned on buying one for him. But despite the crowd and the demand for the game system, they actually had them in. His grandma explained that if he chose the Wii, that would be it. Instead of getting a large quatity of cheaper presents, he would just get the one big one. He was fine with that. I was as well, thinking that it would be better for him to get it now while they had one in. I just planned on spending the same amount of money on accessories for it, which can be pricey.

John's sister comes up with the idea of taking Evan down with her for a visit this week. Yes, it is Christmas, but I will be working anyhow. We all agree that it is fine. It sucks that my son is not going to be here on Christmas, but neither will I. It is better for him to have some sort of celebration with family. We pack his stuff and when they make the return trip to Southern Kentucky, Evan goes along.

Now here we are. Evan is with them until Saturday. After a heated discussion with John's mother, it is revealed to me that I apparently spend no money on my son, that he is deprived. I cannot believe this is being said about the child who wears nothing but designer clothes. The child who has a room that looks like a toy store, whose mother works 60-70 hours per week to provide him with a private education because public school was not offering enough of a challenge. I am completely dumbfouded and have to step back from the situation for a minute to even think of a response to this. After a minute, I call his mom back and ask where she could possibly get an idea like that.

Where did she get it? From Evan. From my poor underpriviledged, malnourished, neglected little angel. You see, one day Evan had asked me if Santa could fit through the little fireplace at the new house. It didn't seem like too illogical of a question. The fireplace in the living room is small, and Santa is fat, right? My response?

"Well, Evan, Santa has magic on his side. Even when our house didn't have a chimney, Santa still found you, didn't he??? So Santa will find you."

Apparently this got twisted just a bit. My angel went and told John's family that he was told that Santa couldn't fit through our chimney, therfore no Santa this year. As a result, John's mother and father have gone and bought a whole new batch of presents for Evan to open down there on Christmas to make up for his alleged non-Christmas here at home.

Originally, I felt shocked and sad that my baby actually believed I was not going to get him anything for Christmas. But then I stopped and thought back through all of the conversations we have had about Christmas. I made it clear that Santa was going to come. I even made sure Evan understood why he would come late so as not to upset him. If he didn't understand, I would've found a way to celebrate on Christmas and not late. If this were some other child, I would feel like I had failed. This isn't any other child!

This is my gifted son. This is the child who knows exactly how to manipulate others to get what he wants. He has a memory like you would not believe and he knows what was said. This is not miscommunication or confusion. This was a lie. I know my son better than John's family, apparently. They got played. He knew what he was doing all along, and it worked. They got upset and felt badly. Despite the fact that he already got wonderful presents from them this past weekend, they went back and bought him more out of sadness for the poor little boy without Christmas gifts.

I do not know whether to be mad at my son for the conniving way he played them, or angry at my in-laws for not seeing through it. I think it should be a combination. One look at Evan shows anyone he is not deprived. They have seen his bedroom. They have seen the clothes I buy for him. They know he is in private school.

I have not decided what I am going to do about this. I am tempted to not buy him anything for Christmas. I don't know if that is a good enough lesson. I think he needs to learn about true deprivation. I cannot decide if this should mean that he will need to personally box up all of the extra Christmas gifts and physically hand them over to charity, or if I am going to take him to a soup kitchen and make him do some age-appropriate task for them so he can see what it is like. That while he is throwing around these statements and ideas, there are others without food or shelter. There are children living on the streets, with no warm clothes or hot meals. Heaven forbid the Wii was his only Christmas gift fro his grandparents.

Pixie, Rain/Snow, and Santa's Lack of Punctuality?

A nurse from the ER is talking about a pup she must rid herself up, simply because the other dogs in her home do not get along with the puppy. Me and my big mouth! "What type of puppy?", I ask. Well, part dachsund and part Yorkie. In this age of designer dogs, according to my internet search, this is a Dorkie. (Hahaha! How appropriate that my dog should be a Dorkie!) This one has been named Pixie, is almost a year old, and is house-broken. Sweet! Yes, I will take her.
So Pixie came to live with us. She is so little and cute and taking to us like a duck to water. Her previous owner told us that she loved blankets. Boy does she ever! John and I were lounging around the living room watching tv last night and she went to whoever was the snuggliest. But she doesn't just run to the blanket. She buurows down into it to find the warmest place. She kept me legs warm last night while I slept. And as for the house-breaking: I was scared. We were told a dog was house-broken before, only to find that he had been trained to pee somewhere with hard floors. The result was disgusting, with a male dog peeing all over the kitchen. Gross! But it would appear that she really is. She stood in the living room, looking at us while we were dressing Evan for school, as if to say "Hey, I need some help here!". She did her business outside like a champ, and I was singing her praises until I stepped into my office and found the tiniest dog turd I have ever seen in my life. There it was, in a sea of carpeting. John cleaned it away and scolded her, and thus the adventure begins.
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In the meantime, it has been raining like crazy here. Thank God it is not cold enough to freeze or we would be in a perpetual ice rink. It did snow quite a bit the other day, though it is all melted away now. But it snowed long and hard enough for me to learn something about myself. When we were in Southern Kentucky, which was not so long ago, I used to complain about the drivers there. A little bit of flurries and everyone would reach a standstill on the roads, and I would cuss and complain about how they just did not know how to drive in the stuff and were going to get people killed by the accidents they caused.
So it snows one night while I am in the safe coccoon of the hospital, working away. I come outside in the morning and the ground and all of our cars are covered. I get in my car, and try to maneuver it around the lot stalkers (more about them later, as they deserve their own post!). And it finally dawns on me! I have become one of them. I am almost in a panic as I start to head home. I am worried as I maneuver through the residential area of the city, where parked cars line both sides of the street. I can just picture my new car sliding into one of them. It took me until about the halfway point of the trip to realize that, hey, I live back home now! They actually treat the roads days in advance. And my fellow navigators on the road actually know how to drive in the stuff. I will get my chops back eventually.
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This leads me to the last thing I need to discuss, other than the lot stalkers, for the day. I am seriously contemplating having "Santa" visit my house late this year. There are two reasons for this. The first reason is that I literally work or have worked everyday in December, other than 6 days. In plainer terms, I have only 6 days off this month. Whoopty-Doo, right? Well think about this: The average American works five eight-hour days per week. This would leave an average of eight days off a month for them. But my standard work week is 3 12-hour days. My standard workday is 12 hours. Before you go thinking that I get 4 dyas off a week and that would be such a treat, I would like to remind you that it generally takes that long to recover from what they have done to me while at work. So then add to the mix that I picked up all of this overtime to make up for the fact that my husband is still not employed. Most of the days I picked up are 12's. That makes for a lot of hours! A lot of aching feet! A lot of fatigue! Two of those days are Christmas Eve and Christmas Day!
If you add to this equation that I am completely broke from the move, and that I am getting thousands of dollars back in the form of a financial aid refund at the beginning of the year, you could probably understand my idea of postponing Christmas in the Ferguson household. If I wait just a week, I could not only afford to grant every Christmas wish my boys have, but can also actually be present to spend the time with them. After all, Evan wants a Wii for his bedroom, and John wants a new PS3 for the living room. That alone is about $800 without the games and accessories! So financially, it makes sense. With regard to my schedule, it makes sense. But I am scared to death that this is going to push me over the edge and I will become a part of the Bad Mommy Club. Any thoughts?