It’s New Year’s Eve, and our grand plans to welcome in 2010 involve nothing more than junk food, our pajamas and whatever random movies on Netflix and Zune seem vaguely interesting. Trey is in Colorado visiting his father’s side of the family, but whilst one may think us eager to go out on a baby-free night of celebratory bliss, we’re just too damned tired. The holiday season took its toll on both our bodies as well as our house, and we’re busily spending the next few days in a frantic clean-a-thon before heading out to Disneyworld next week. I think I’m mostly to blame for the chaotic state of disarray of the homestead, although I’m loathe to admit it. I hardly feel any guilt about it, of course, seeing as how the lion’s share of clutter was a direct result from the Christmas extravaganza Brittany and I put together for Trey. Yes, I went a little overboard – but it was our first Christmas together as a family, and I can’t be held responsible for the egregious scattering of various toys and boxes simply because I was overemotional about the whole thing. Trust me, I’ve already paid the price for my enthusiastic over-giving. I had to put everything together!
When Christmas Eve finally rolled around and we were through with familial obligations and back at home, it was time to get Trey ready for bed and start playing up the whole Santa Claus home invasion scenario. Our stockings were hung on my obscenely large television, a simple applet running on the Xbox displayed a cheerful fireplace on the screen, and I sat on the floor with Trey to read The Night Before Christmas. After the story, we put out cookies and milk for old Saint Nick, then ushered him off to bed. My parents were helping out with some of this, and as soon as Trey climbed into bed, sleigh bells began ringing just outside his window. Convinced that Santa was somewhere on the lawn, Trey did not dutifully close his eyes and pretend to be asleep. Instead, he jumped up and flew to the window to cast an inquisitive eye towards catching a glimpse of the famous fat man. Eventually, after carefully scrutinizing the magnolia tree in the front yard and paying close attention to the shrubberies, he gave up on the fruitless pursuit and started playing along properly, mashing his eyes tightly closed while fake-snoring in the way that kids do when pretending to be asleep. We told him goodnight and to stay in bed, then closed his door and headed into the living room for…The Assembly!
Only a short time later, while we were busy wrapping packages and putting things together, Trey started crying. We ran to his room and threw open the door to see what was the matter, and he informed us that Santa Claus was, for some reason, going to attack him with bells. I’m not sure what murderous travesty he imagined Santa was going to do with those fearful chimes, but it took some impressive persuasive effort to convince him that nothing bad was going to happen. Even so, we had to promise to come sleep in his room later that night before he would even consider going back to bed. Once pacified, we told him goodnight once more and made our way back to the living room.
Brittany sat on the floor wrapping an endless supply of toys that I insisted all be wrapped individually for maximum presentation value in the morning, and I worked on putting together every package that bore the ominous phrase ‘Some Assembly Required’. The first thing I began to construct was his train table. The boy is fascinated with trains right now, and his favorite thing to do when we are in either the bookstore or the toy store is to proceed directly to the train table and subsequently refuse to ever leave, ever. Naturally, having such a table for him at home was a no-brainer, so we got ahold of one and I began assembling what I thought was going to be an easy thing to set up. I was wrong. It should have been easy, mind you, and the assembly was actually going pretty smoothly for a time, at least until I discovered that a flimsy piece of what seemed like nothing more than thick cardboard had been damaged in transit. Actually, I’d known about the damage beforehand, but it didn’t seem to be that big of a deal at the time. What I didn’t know until I started putting the accursed thing together, however, was that this flimsy piece of throwaway cardboard was actually designed to be one of the primary structural supports of the entire table. I quickly improvised and found some sort of mysterious adhesive I’d never seen before hiding away in the back of one of my kitchen cabinets, applied a generous amount of it to the damaged area, then taped the whole blasted thing together. Surprisingly, it not only held together, but I think my trailer park engineering actually improved the structure’s stability to such an extent that I’m now giving serious consideration towards changing my name to MacGyver.
After the train table came the Smart Cycle Extreme! I’m not sure what’s extreme about it other than the fact that the handlebars rumble, but apparently a little bit of vibration is all it takes to excite a toddler beyond all reason. I unboxed the large chunk of plastic and found a small card inside that appeared to be assembly instructions. There were eight large pictures accompanying each of the eight steps, and once again I was confident that I could blaze through the assembly process with ease. And, again I was wrong. It turns out that the small card I found was actually some sort of addendum to the existing instruction manual that was itself buried deep within a hidden corner of the box. So, after following the addendum’s instructions thinking they were the actual steps of full assembly, I was actually skipping ahead in the process and bypassing some important steps that would later prove to be rather vital. However, I eventually got it all sorted out and the Smart Cycle Extreme! was finally assembled and ready to go. All that remained was to plug it into the television, which seemed simple enough. Again, the confidence. Again, the failure.
I first plugged the RCA connectors into my system selector, which stubbornly refused to accept the connection. I then decided to connect the bike directly to my television, which required that I take on the strange combined abilities of Indiana Jones and a Korean circus contortionist as I bent my body in impossible ways to slide past the Christmas tree and gain access to the forbidden temple of the TV’s rear input panel. It was touch and go there for awhile, but I eventually succeeded, although I also failed. Brittany switched on the bike and nothing happened. I tried a different input, and still there was nothing. Finally, as I was laboriously making my way out from behind the television, I heard a sharp slapping sound followed by the tinny bleeps and bloops of what sounded like an old Atari 2600 springing to live. Brittany had located the game cartridge that fits into the side of the bike, and perhaps inspired by her own genius, she slapped it into place. The bike immediately worked. I felt stupid for not having figured out about the cartridge myself, but my shame was quickly overcome by my joy of not having to bother with it any longer.
With the train table and bike set up, I turned my attention towards helping Brittany wrap the remaining packages. I managed to wrap two, maybe three, before she sighed and insisted that I just let her finish the rest. My gift wrapping skills are questionable at best, so I decided to agree to her request and I just sat there talking to her while she completed the last of the wrapping. Once the packages were all finished, I put some track down on the train table, along with some train cars, plastic scenery and props for the finishing touch. The presents were spilling out from underneath the Christmas tree and in front of the train table. It was an impressive sight to behold at five o’clock in the morning, so we beheld it for approximately two tenths of a second before yawning and going to bed. Granted, we slept on Trey’s floor that night, but at least we slept.
We woke Trey a few hours later, and he quickly found our stockings lying at his feet. We took turns dumping out their contents and playing with the various toys whilst getting a head start on breakfast by means of ingesting copious amounts of candy, then we made our way into the living room. Trey walked in and, upon spying all of his gifts from Santa wrapped in Thomas The Tank Engine paper, he shouted ‘Thomas toys!’ and ran to start opening them. However, he was soon stopped in mid-stride by the awesome sight of his very own train table sitting there, waiting for him to abuse. At this, he could merely freeze and shoot out his arm to point whilst remaining awkwardly silent. Eventually, as he excitedly stumbled over some incomprehensible string of words understandable only by himself and perhaps a particularly acute chipmunk, he was able to shout something about the table before bypassing all of his other presents entirely. So enamored was he with the table that he had no desire to open any other presents that morning. ‘I just want to play trains!’
In time, we were able to get him to unwrap the rest of the presents, although he eventually resorted to simply tossing them at Brittany and I and shouting, ‘Here ya go!’ We dutifully opened them, calling him over to show him what he’d received. We’d get a smile or a nod if we were lucky, then it was back to the trains. Slowly, he worked his way over to the Smart Cycle Extreme! and discovered the confusing idea of motor skills when trying to peddle backwards. He eventually figured it out, of course, and the rest of the day was spent with him migrating from the train table to the bike while scattering every single one of his other presents in the widest area of distribution possible. We didn’t bother cleaning anything up beyond the wrapping paper, and instead spent the next few hours just letting him play with his new toys. Eventually, we piled into the car and headed to my sister’s for a family dinner and to let Trey spend more time with his cousins, but from the time we arrived back home until the moment he left to go visit his father, he was playing. Playing and playing and playing.
Now that Christmas is over and New Year’s Eve is upon us, Brittany and I have decided that it’s time to start getting the house back into some semblance of order before we leave for Disneyworld on Monday morning, assuming Trey makes it back from his father’s when he’s supposed to. I’ll spend the rest of that day driving from Texas to Florida, which is not something I’m particularly looking forward to, so I’d like to get as early of a start as possible. It’s a terribly boring drive, accented only by the strange and frightening local color of swampy Louisiana and rural Florida. Heading east on Interstate 10 also takes you through Mississippi and Alabama, which are states equally defined by inbreeding and people with red necks, but which pale compared to the hillbilly crazyfests that are Louisiana and Florida. Dead alligators are a staple of interior decorating, and having old tires on your front lawn is some sort of status symbol. Residents of these states, I suspect, are given banjos at birth and taught to play the soundtrack from Deliverance before puberty. There are places along the route that you do not want to stop and ask for directions, especially if you’ve ever seen a single horror movie in your entire life. Thankfully, I know the route well and am going armed with a GPS, so I think we’ll be alright.
Check back next Tuesday, when I’ll be babbling all about Trey’s first day in Walt Disney World along with detailing any particularly disconcerting aspects of our journey through the places of the world that God forgot. It’ll be fun. I promise!
Want some books? 'Course ya do!
NOTE:I know times are hard and yeah, I need to make a living too, but if you want to read any of my books but can't afford to buy them right now, hit me up.
I'll take care of it.
Humor | Nonfiction Available now from the following retailers
Have you ever lived through an experience that was so humiliating that you wanted to die, but when you tell it to all your friends, they can't stop laughing?
Have you ever made a decision that seemed like a good idea at the time, but you're still living with the hilarious consequences years later?
If so, then grab a snack, get comfortable, and prepare to have all of your own poor life choices seem just a little bit more bearable.
You're welcome.
Short Stories Available now from the following retailers
The nine stories of rage and sadness collected here range from the most intimate of human experiences to the wildest realms of magic and fantasy. The first story is a violent gut-punch to the soul, and the rest of them just hit harder from there.
Those who tough it out will find a book filled with as much hope as despair, a constant contradiction pulling you from one extreme to another.
Life might knock us down, over and over, and will the beat the ever-loving snot out of us from the time we're old enough to give it attitude until the day we finally let it win and stop getting up.
Always get back up.
Gaming | Nonfiction Available now from the following retailers
This isn't just a book. It's a portal to other worlds where there be magic and dragons and hilarious pirates. Okay, not really. But this book is about those portals, except they're called video games.
The Life Bytes series of books take a deep dive into one man's personal journey through childhood into kinda/sorta being a responsible, competent adult as told through the magical lens of whatever video games he was playing at the time.
Part One starts way back in 1975 and meanders down various digital pathways until, oh, around about 1993 or so.
If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of gaming or if you just want to understand why the gamer in your life loves this hobby so much, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack this bad boy open.
I'll try to not be boring.
Horror Available now from the following retailers
What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end.
What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries involving shadow people, sleep paralysis, and crippling fear. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end.
The views and opinions expressed on this website, COQUETTING TARRADIDDLES, constitute a work of creative nonfiction, should not be interpreted as factual, and are solely of the individual author of this website, KRISTIAN BLAND, and are not the views of any other individual or organization, or of any individual or organization otherwise affiliated with the author unless explicitly stated within the content of the website.
Publishing Schedule
Coquetting Tarradiddles publishes new essays Whenever I Damn Well Feel Like It, except where prohibited by law.*
*Prices and participation may vary. Always consult a physician before beginning a new reading regimen. Individual results are not guaranteed. If you are pregnant or may become pregnant, do not handle past participles or wayward adverbs. Side effects may include an increase in intelligence followed by overwhelming waves of anger, frustration and rage, irritable bowels and/or various effronteries to good taste and decent folk everywhere. Ask your doctor if Coquetting Tarradiddles is right for you!
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