The Twelve Days of Terror: Study of a Gift-Giving Nightmare.

It's that time of year again! Time for shining lights, cheerful spirits and non-stop holiday tunes!

Ah, but are all of those Christmas songs so carefree and delightful? Not at all. In fact, one of the songs we will all hear one hundred times before the season is out is really a vicious, horrifying nightmare at its finest.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'.

Sweet and romantic? The ultimate portrayal of showering your true love with beautiful and wondrous gifts?  Oh, no. Let's change that to the ultimate manifestation of hate and cruelty!

Does anyone realize the sheer magnitude of items you'd have all together if someone really despised you enough to give you all the 'gifts' in that song? Let me break it down for you:

- 12 patridges, 12 pear trees
- 22 turtle doves
- 30 French hens
- 36 calling birds
- 40 golden rings
- 42 geese a layin'
- 42 swans a swimmin'
- 40 maids a milkin', 40 cows to go along with them
- 36 ladies dancing
- 30 lords a leapin'
- 22 pipers piping
- 12 drummers drumming


416. FOUR HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN THINGS YOU ARE NOT AT ALL PREPARED OR WILLING TO WORK WITH. Are you serious? This is totally a doom thrown on you by your greatest enemy. Or a creepy-as-crud stalker. Either way, no good. And it just gets worse.


Eggs. Let's start with eggs. Those partridges? Yeah, they're gonna lay about 360 eggs per year. They have an average lifespan of six years. That's 2,160 eggs between them all. What, may I ask, are you really going to do with partridge eggs? Here's a suggestion: Butcher those freaking partridges and cook 'em. You'll get more use out of them that way. Moving on to French hens. They lay one egg per day. They live for eight years-ish. Sucks for you, because that sticks you with... wait for it... 87,600 eggs. Holy. Cow. You can sell those for maybe $1.50 a dozen. That gives you a tidy profit of $10,950... or so you think. Don't get ahead of yourself. We're not even close to finished. We've still got geese. Geese who are specifically laying. Geese who live for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS. That sticks you with another 84,000 eggs. Good news is, you can get a buck a pop for those eggs, grossing you $84,000. Nice, huh? Nope. You have no idea what's coming. Let's tackle the swans. They lay five eggs per year. Not terrible. Problem is, they live for half a century, giving you approximately 10,500 eggs. However, doesn't look good on the selling front, unless they're fertilized. Of course, anyone who hates you enough to dump forty-two swans on you won't be nice enough to give you any males.


How about all those cows? Cows produce about eight gallons of milk per day. Get ready for 116,800 gallons in their four years before you send them off to slaughter. Don't get too crazy about selling that milk, either, unless you dish out the moolah to make a dairy. Cost on that, you ask? Over half a million bucks. You've only got $94,950 from your eggs. And that milk is only going to give you a profit of about $30,000 a year. Plus, you have to breed those good ol' cows to keep up their milk production. Also, if you want to have those maids milking the cows to stick around, plan on a salary of $175 a week for each of them. Over the four years of those cows lives, you'll be shelling out $1,456,000 to pay those maids. Ouch. Don't forget cows eat about thirty pounds of hay per day and hay is at a cool sixty dollars a bale. I'm not even going to get into the costs on that one because I'd make you shed tears of pain and terror.


140 people are going to be added to your family via this nightmarish gift giving, too. If it costs even $15,000 to support them each per year and you support them for, say, forty years, $84 million will be how much you pay to support some dudes leaping around, some women who can't stop shimmying and a bunch of musicians who are constantly piping and drumming. Not to mention you'd have to add a significant addition to your home, so there goes even more cash. I've pretty much decided it wouldn't last forty years, though. Anyone would flip after a few months of those pipers and drummers and leapers, so you'd probably end up murdering them and facing 140 charges of first-degree homicide, earning you an expedited trip to execution. Yay!


Oops, I forgot about those calling birds, aka blackbirds. I figure you can just set them free and not be worried by them. This brings us to our final gift: golden rings. Forty golden rings, to be exact. Let's hope each one is about four grams, totaling up to seven ounces of gold between those forty rings. Ka-ching! You're the proud recipient of $12,563.60! Whoo!


Hey, twelve drummers drumming, can I get a drum roll please? You, horrified recipient of this disaster of a Christmas present, will only have to pay $84,008,486.40 to maintain these things! But, hey, you can be happy your evil enemy of a giver spent quite a bit of cash on your pain, yeah? Enjoy.

Lesson Learned.

Sometimes, I don't understand people. I don't understand how you can demand respect but not give it. I don't understand how you can forcefully argue you should be treated as an adult when you're acting like a child. I don't understand how you can expect someone to listen to your ideas and opinions when you won't give them the common courtesy by doing the same.

Okay, so I usually don't understand people.

It takes a lot sometimes to be the bigger person and take the higher road. It's not worth it to waste your breath and defend yourself when people are cemented in their false opinions about who you are or what you've done. People can call you a coward or accuse you of taking the easy way out, but that's not true. I think it is a thousand times harder to keep your mouth shut and just walk away from a situation that is spiraling out of control. From time to time, the only way to win is to lose.

Really, it is the same with my faith. The only way to 'win' everlasting life is to 'lose' who I am as a flesh and blood human. I have to give up selfishness, pride, hate, greed and impatience. 'I wish you could see me now. I wish I could show you how I'm not who I was.' It has been a long, hard road and will continue to be until the day I take my last breath, but it is completely worth it.

There are greater things in store for me, whether in this life or the next, so why should I let the negative opinions and words of those who ultimately don't matter bog me down? I have my treasure stored up in Heaven, and a family and group of true friends, near and far, who are worth their weight in gold.

Sometimes, life gives us hard lessons, but the learning is a victory for sure.

Never Forget.

'I will praise the LORD , who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me. I have set the LORD always before me. Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken.' - Psalm 16:7 & 8

 

 'I call on You, O God, for You will answer me; give ear to me and hear my prayer.' -Psalm 17:6

^'Cast your cares on the LORD and He will sustain you; He will never let the righteous fall.' -Psalm 55:22

^'Look to the LORD and His strength; seek His face always.' -Psalm 105: 4

^'What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?' -Romans 8:31

But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.' -2 Corinthians 12:9 & 10

I will remember, Lord.

You're Here With Me Now.

Dear August,

You know, I love you. The greatest moments of my day are the ones when you stop what you're doing, look at me and give me that adorable little grin. It's like you're saying, 'You know what, Ma? You're all right.' I love those smiles. I love almost everything about you.

There is, however, something I'm not so fond of, and this is your official warning to take note and change your ways before I have to take actions into my own hands.

STOP GROWING UP.


You hear me, little dude? Stop it. Just stop it. No, seriously... stop it. You're trotting around the house on your hands and knees, sitting up on your knees and reaching for things, sitting on your bottom and looking at me like, 'Yeah, I sit. I'm big. What of it?' You're outgrowing clothes and car seats. You like toys with buttons that make noise. What happened to the day I could give you a sock and you'd be entertained for hours? Huh? You chase the cat around until she's madder than a hornet. Wasn't it just yesterday when you didn't pay attention to her at all?


You're almost six months old. How did that happen? Where did the little guy in the NICU go, the one I thought would never get to come home? You're getting so big, so fast.


Today, I baby-proof the house from your curious hands and mouth. Tomorrow, I'll be sending you off to school. Next week, you'll be graduating college. Next month, I'll be watching you say your vows to a beautiful woman you'll have been raised to love fully and unconditionally. Next year, I'll be... oh, goodness, no... a GRANDMOTHER.


Please, buddy, slow it down. I don't want you to stop being my baby.


I'm not joking. Stop grinning at me.


Seriously, stop!

The Soggy Mini-Wheat.

You know what I feel like?

I feel like a soggy Frosted Mini Wheat.  You know, the one drowning in the milk with all its icing washed off?  That's how I feel.

I'm the mini wheat that's not fun to eat.  Ew, soggy mass of whole grains.  Yuck.  I'm the one that the kid (Who doesn't want to eat Frosted Mini Wheats in the first place, mind you.) picks around until he finally HAS to eat me.  But maybe he won't eat me.  Maybe he'll just dump me down the sink.  I'll get caught in the milk current & get dragged down, down, down, into the garbage disposal, which the kid will turn on just to hear the neglected mini wheat slosh.  My sad, tattered, cereal-ingly gory remains will wash into a public sewage system where who knows what is floating around.  Oh, poo.

Funny thing is, I like the soggy Frosted Mini Wheats.  I'd rather have them than the brand spankin' new, solid, crisp ones.  This may be God telling me to actually like myself.  Huh.  Interesting.

There Is Nothing Quite Like...

There is nothing quite like picking your adorable, sweet, hilarious son up first thing in the morning and cheerfully exclaiming, 'Good morning, Mr. Awesome!'.

There is nothing quite like the adorable, sweet, hilarious son puking curdled formula all over your face.

There is nothing quite like anxiously attempting to clean the curdled formula out of your ear and knowing you're failing miserably.

There is nothing quite like coming up with the brilliant idea to shove a shower jet into your ear to eradicate remnants of curdled formula.

And, finally, there is nothing quite like having swimmer's ear for the remainder of the day.

Ah, yes, having children... There is nothing quite like it.

The Devil's Playground.

The skies were dazzling and luminous, a sprinkling of downy white clouds adding innocence and charm to the view.  A slight breeze played with the tree branches, making the warm temperatures a bit easier to bear. Smoothing her shirt down over the top of her jeans, the girl slowly looked to the heavens and cursed the beautiful sight above.  The brilliant weather conditions held no candle to the evil our heroine would soon face:

A trip to Walmart.

The girl straightened her back, determined to take on the major retailer with quick wit and fast legs.  Her mission was simple: Rush in, procure the few items she needed, and high-tail it out of that wicked location.  She would not stand for delays or an extended search, oh no.  She knew what she needed, and she knew where to go.  Nothing could detain her.  With a deep breath, she marched through the doors into a malicious world of vile disasters.

Nimbly side-stepping around fellow patrons, or, as she thought with a chuckle, the mindless hordes of zombie shoppers, the girl dashed in and out of aisles, snatching what she came for.  Silently congratulating herself for her success thus far, she was on her way to obtain the last item when misfortune struck.  In the blink of an eye and the swift turn of a corner, she found herself challenged with a catastrophic setback:

She was stuck.

Two elderly women blocked her route of escape with their nearly-empty shopping carts.  Stopped, but not discouraged, the girl pulled a risky move by nudging herself as close to the old folks as she politely could, praying they would recognize her impatient failure-to-maintain-a-safe-distance mentality and make room for her to pass.  No such luck.  The customers merely stayed put.

Not wanting to waste any more of her precious time in the aisle, the girl spun around on her heels and took off in the opposite direction, slipping easily into another aisle and making her getaway from the area.  Only mildly annoyed, she took another corner at breakneck speed only to find herself once again at the mercy of hindrance.  This time, a hefty woman was blocking the entire walkway.  Eager to try her earlier plan yet again, the girl stepped up next to the woman, who happened to be chatting on a phone of cellular nature, and nonchalantly cleared her throat.  The vicious woman chose to ignore our champion and maintained her passageway domination.

Again deterred, the girl backtracked, only to find herself in an aisle jam-packed with teenage mutants.  No, not turtles... boys.  With a gasp of horror and a prayer she wouldn't be seen by the female-seeking robots, she stealthily fled the aisle and tore down an empty one.

Once she was clear of the perilous dangers she had nearly been lost to, the girl acquired the last item from her list.  Certain she could make it out alive, she quietly peeked around a shelf to see if the way was clear, only to hear something so eerie, it would make her spine shiver and blood run cold:

'Would you like to try a sample of pizza, dear?'

Eyes wide, the girl slowly turned her head and instantaneously froze.  There behind her stood another woman of aged persuasion, only this one wore a sinisterly sweet smile and a black apron.  She was situated behind a cart piled high with bits of tomato sauce-drowned, cheese-piled artery cloggers.  Her unrelenting gaze nearly foiled the girl's plans of departure, and she found herself confronting a dilemma: She could either partake of the food pieces and surely die, or she could find the strength and voice to deny her foe and shimmy away as fast as possible.  With great courage, she opened her mouth, and said:

'NO, thank you.'

Quick as a wink, she took flight and soon found herself at the checkouts.  Bypassing all rows where a line of angry customers were anxiously awaiting to send her straight to doom, she flung herself in front of a blessedly empty express lane.  With shaking hands, she handed her treasures over to be scanned and paid, only to find herself fighting to free her bag of merchandise from the cold, metallic clutches of the bag corral.  Glancing around nervously, she spotted the leader of the checkouts watching her, and in that moment, on the verge of a menacing calamity, she rescued the bag from the apparatus' steely grip and departed the store with impressive gusto.

With a sigh of relief, the girl found herself outside.  As she jaunted towards her vehicle, victory radiating from her face, a final blow was about to be dealt:

'Miss, would you like this cart?  I don't need it anymore.'

THE END.

Based on a true story.  Results not typical.  All claims founded on the first-hand experience of one Breanne Jackson of Papillion, Nebraska, United States of America.