I’ve been scanning some old pictures onto my computer and
came across one set of pictures that took me back to the weirdest Christmas Eve
I’ve ever had.
Many years ago, my MIL entered a raffle to win a gingerbread
house. And she won. A beautiful house made be a woman in DeFuniak Springs.
We arrived at my MIL’s house for Christmas Eve and the
gingerbread house was the centerpiece on the table.
Just beautiful.
The kids were fascinated with it and she gladly told them
they could have a nibble.
They gently picked and nibbled for a bit and then my MIL
told them to take bigger pieces.
I thought that was odd but figured she wanted them to really
enjoy the experience.
Once they’d finished nibbling, her eyes started twinkling
and she told them she had a surprise for them.
She left the room and returned with 2 hammers.
Hammers.
She handed each kid a hammer and told them to go to town on
the gingerbread house.
I stood back and watched in horror as she let them smash the
house to pieces with the hammers.
I was shocked. No, shocked doesn’t even come close.
Horrified? Floored? Flabbergasted?
The kids were wailing away at the gingerbread house, having
an absolute blast, while my MIL and FIL were having just as much fun watching.
It’s Christmas Eve!
This is the sickest thing I’ve ever seen. My children are
dressed in their fancy little Christmas clothes and are sitting on top of the
dining room table, smashing a gingerbread house with hammers.
Even now, 12 years later, I still feel like I was in the
middle of the Twighlight Zone.
The Island King and his uncles are all on board with this
and they’re encouraging them and telling them to “get that spot” and “hit it
over there.”
My MIL looked up and saw my face and said “Look at how much
fun they’re having.”
Well, uhm, they’re little children, there are a lot of
things they would have fun doing but we don’t let them.
It was Christmas Eve and I certainly didn’t want to cause a
scene by yelling and taking the hammers away but at the same time I just
couldn’t believe I was letting this happen.
My MIL found that fact that I was horrified even funnier
than watching the kids.
She said “What am I going to do with this gingerbread
house?”
I told her to spray it with some kind of sealant and then
she could use it as decoration again next year.
She asked me where she would store it? It’s large, once it’s
in a box it can’t have anything on top of it and it certainly can’t go in the
attic. So what was she supposed to do with it?
“But a woman put a lot of time and effort into making this
house and the kids just smashed it to pieces.”
Again, she wanted to know what she was supposed to do with
it.
She said that after Christmas she would end up having to
throw it in the trash but this way the kids got to make memories.
She was right about that. The Island Girl says it is one of
her most favorite Christmas memories.
Which is really warped.
Her, the Oldest Island Boy, their Dad, and my inlaws still
laugh and talk about the gingerbread house demolition event.
And every time they do, I stand there, shaking my head and
telling them that it was a sick thing to do.
I’m positive that event is one of the reasons they’ve grown
into such odd ducks.
I’m also positive that my husband and his family are some weird
individuals.
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