How to Completely Screw Up Your Pinterest-y Holiday in Six Easy Steps

Chippy the Elf Toilet Papered Our Tree Christmas EveOkay, I’ll admit it. I have a Pinterest addiction. I like the little projects I find on the endless DIY boards, and I get particularly crafty around Christmastime. But who am I kidding? All that tchotchke just cannot cover up the hot redneck mess we really are. Here are six easy ways to turn your carefully crafted holiday into a Wally-World-Saturday-Night-Free-For-All.

1. Forget to Properly Discipline Your Elf on the Shelf.

Okay, so we didn’t forget. This year, our elf, Chippy, has hunted toy deer over illegal bait, gotten arrested by a GI Joe, and been caught with jail-bait Barbies. He binged on chocolate chips and threw them up in our toilet. On December 23, he zip-lined into our Christmas tree. On December 24, he toilet-papered it. So much for my carefully-placed ornaments and my Pinterest-inspired ribbon garland.

2. Have Older Siblings Show Up with Foam Dart Guns for the Youngest Kids on Christmas Eve

Then have the grandparents and Santa Claus both add to the collection. My kids shot all the candles out of the windows. Darts cover my floors. There are darts in the foyer windowsill on second floor that I can’t reach. A good friend of mine visited and picked darts out of my houseplants. I’ve given up and decided that since these things are yellow and blue, they might make festive Easter decorations.

3. Buy Your Kids Zombie TargetsMy kids' zombie targets hijacked my Christmas decor

Their father will then affix the targets to a box capable of catching plastic BB type ammo as well as foam darts. The kids will then hijack all your Christmas displays with said targets. I nearly had a hemorrhage when my son set the targets on the mantle next to my Jim Shore angels. I consoled myself with the fact that he didn’t shoot any Wise Men out of the manger.

18 Inch Doll Horse Stable4. Build Your Daughter a Huge Stable for Her 18 Inch Dolls’ Horses.

Three stalls, to be exact. It’s so big that we could take out the inner stall dividers, and my obese beagle could sleep comfortably in it. It’s all fun and games until you realize that your talented husband made the thing 31 inches and your bedroom doors are 30 inches. Taking doors off the hinges to put said gift into your loving daughter’s room really adds to the ambiance of Christmas, let me tell you.

5. Allow Santa to Bring Your Five-Year-Old a Stunt Drone

fullsizerenderWhen a $26 deal on Amazon seems too good to be true, it usually is. Our Hyper Stunt Drone fits in the palm of my hand and doesn’t readily respond to signals from the remote control. Maybe that’s why my husband flew it into the side of the house when he first tried. Or it could be the reason our daughter flew the drone into the swamp. I can tell you for sure it’s the reason my Kindergartener flew it into the tallest tree on the property. I was trying to warm up dinner when I heard gunshots in the front yard. I slid across the kitchen floor on the blobs of sweet potatoes I dropped only to see my dear husband aiming a rifle up at said tree trying to coax the drone to the ground. Naturally the rechargeable battery had died at precisely the time that the stupid thing lit in the tree. My son was more hysterical than those kids on YouTube whose Hatchimals didn’t hatch. As I watched my husband unload his .22 on our poor tree*, I briefly reconsidered nixing that little eggy creature for the drone. When I heard the satisfying pump of our particular Spin Master creation hitting the leaves 100 feet below its original resting place, I wondered if we’d ever find the stupid propellers that fly off it for no reason. I was running out as we’d already been through four. Luckily, we retrieved the thing, charged it, and fired it right back up. It’s been sitting on my dresser ever since.

6. Allow Chippy the Elf to Leave a Fart Machine.

Okay, okay, I admit it. I bought it. I tried to blame the Elf, but that poor fella had enough misdemeanors this year. I have to take responsibility for this train wreck of a toy. I’m 43, and I still think farts are funny. 5,000 of them per minute can get a little annoying, but between the zombies and the darts, I had given up on any semblance of a Southern Living holiday anyhow. What I got in return, though, was a houseful of kids belly laughing until their little tummies hurt, and a treasure trove of good memories. Now, if I could just figure out how to pin that…

* My husband also wants you to know that he only shot three times to get the drone out of the tree. He was highly offended when I relayed that he `unloaded his rifle.’

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