Chestnuts Roasting....

Its Christmas time and the various households in my family have been busy decorating. Our family website is filled with stories of family gatherings where my parents dotingly watch as my adult nephew mischievously coaxes his 3 year old cousin and godchild to decorate their own spot on the entirely red and gold tree with silver balls. When I read these stories I see Gap and Target ads, where beautiful children drink hot chocolate with holiday music playing in the background.

It was finally time for my household to prepare for the holidays. Currently, my sister is living with the pug and I as she is relocating from New Orleans. We have another evacuee from New Orleans, our brother's family dachshund who is not allowed in their rental home. So when it was time to decorate, I had that warm and cozy feeling that I was preparing my home for my new extended family.

My friend is visiting from France and I've enlisted his help before in decorating. Sometimes he's over the top, but usually after he leaves I make a few minor arrangements and all is well.

I prepared days before by pulling out all the decorations. I went to the store and brought more ribbon and two precious red sweaters for the dogs. I envisioned a Christmas picture with the dogs in their sweaters beside the tree making everyone ooh and awe when they opened their Email.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard I try, my life never seems to manage a Norman Rockwell scene. The Frenchman arrived flustered and flurried and began throwing decorations any old way. We fought and argued until we came to an agreement. When he left the tree truly was lovely. The rest, well he says the French have a saying, "C'est too much!"

I put the sweater on the pug and he was very impressed with himself. He rolled and strutted demanding attention and adoration which he received in mass quantities. Then I went to dress his cousin. The dachshund growled as I gingerly pulled on the sweater. The pug was furious; he ran up and started to push the dachshund away. When I pushed the pug away he ran off in a huff. I struggled with the sweater and suddenly looked down on the Sisal rug, what is that brown stuff? I lifted my shoe and realized with dismay the pug had vacated yesterday's vittles in a fit of pique.

So now the Frenchman is hanging tree decorations on every knob in the house and I'm on my hands and knees with a toothbrush and Pine sol cleaning the rug and floor. The dachshund is sitting in his bed staring at the wall, embarrassed and acting as if wearing the sweater is the greatest punishment. The pug is in time out behind a gate trying to look sorry, but secretly quite pleased with himself.

Later, the dachshund wakes from a nap and walks quietly into the kitchen. I'm removing a terracotta angel that is hanging from a knob on my kitchen cabinet when I turn to see he's stepped out of the sleeves and is now wearing his sweater like some ridiculous skirt.

No, Norman wouldn't paint us. And we're certainly not cool enough to have interested Andy. I'm thinking we're better suited for a Simpson's episode. Or maybe South Park. They've got plenty of potty humor.