Invasion

Invasion

I see aliens. Or at least one little green man with an alien type head sporting slanted black eyes. He's carrying a six-foot four-inch tall young man in blue jeans and a yellow shirt on his shoulders. As if that's not crazy enough I also see a nine-foot tall pink great white shark standing on his tail fin giving me that old evil eye. It gets worse. A cocky rooster and an American eagle complete with an Uncle Sam top hat in red, white and blue are strutting about shaking their tail feathers challenging each other to bring it on. Both are carrying riders. Something you don't expect to see everyday. Maybe a little more common is a horse with rider and a camel cowboy, too. Wait. There is also a giant teddy bear growling, yep, a red lobster and, and a sloth. Anyway I think that's a sloth. All are at least eight foot tall. Some clown is even walking around on his hands.

What's going on?

Halloween I could maybe understand but it's Christmas! 2024. We adults foolishly granted the request of the grand kids, most all teens and young adults, to handle the gift giving dilemma this year.

Maybe I should go back a bit. My family is large and diverse. No one can afford to buy gifts for everybody so we decide each year if we are going to draw names or do something more creative.

For several years we played what we called 'cut-throat Christmas' where all participants bought a generic gift and wrapped it elegantly. We drew numbers and number one chose which gift to open. Number two could take that gift or open a new one. On down the line each could take an opened gift from someone else or pick a new one to open. If your gift got taken by another, you could choose someone else' or pick a new one. There were always one or two gifts more popular so they passed through multiple hands, never knowing who would end up with the favorite. Also a reappearing 'major award' showed up every year resubmitted by the winner of the previous year in a cleverly disguised package.

We repeated this so often it got boring to the younger generation. In 2023 one of them suggested we do white elephant gifts from our own households instead of purchasing tired old generic gifts. How many candles does one need? And the boys don't want any of them.

So I selected two of my cherished items from my home I thought would appeal to any member of my family. At least they would appreciate it was something Grandma loved. In the game I luckily drew the highest number. (Only 25 that year.) That meant I would have my choice of all the gifts presented.

When the first item was opened, it was a simple Fourth of July small flag on a stick that one waves during a parade. I thought 'Hmm. I expected a more substantial type of prize.' The next was a couple of cans of cat food. Again I assumed more thought should've gone into the choice but some of the kids had very little money so it was fine. The third opened gift looked exactly like a favorite ice cream scoop I owned even down to the discoloration of the wooden handle from leaving it in water too long. There could be others that happened to, right? But the fourth was an antique cream pitcher that I was sure I had picked up at my mom's house after she passed away. I didn't comment until the fifth one turned out to be the chirping bird clock she had in her kitchen for years and had found it's way to my 'museum' room full of things I was going to do something with one of these days. Obviously only one of a kind and it had come from my house!

The gig was up. EVERYTHING had come from my house. Over the last month my sneaky grand kids were helping themselves to all these white elephants. Mostly right before my eyes! With the blessing and help from my dear husband!

As each gift was opened in my mind I was deciding if I was okay parting with these treasures. The overwhelming answer was 'YES'. I was thrilled they wanted them and were getting them out of my house. They would have to do that someday anyway.

When it came my turn to make a selection from all my own things or open the last surprise I debated if I could live without my quesadilla maker or the slat of wood that stood in the corner of my kitchen for years marking the growth of the kids from birthday to birthday. Holli-Bear had stood in front of me with that in her hand just the week before. I thought she was going to mark her height now she turned twenty. (Nope, still 5'1”)

My husband kept encouraging me to take the last gift. So glad I did since it was my medal I won at Killer Nashville for the first fifty pages of my novel that is still waiting for publication!

Turned out my choice didn't matter at all. They were all too happy to return everything back to my house anyway. I really was disappointed. I thought they wanted those irreplaceable trinkets.

Enough of 2023. Back to 2024.

After last year I really didn't know what to expect from these scheming young people. The gifts were all distributed one to each grand child. Val announced, “We're going to have a race.”

The frenzy began with gift wrapping ripped and tossed every which direction. I didn't know which way to look. Then someone hollered for batteries. A tub of them appeared and disappeared. Someone figured out how the blow up mechanism assembled and soon we were surrounded by all these mysterious outlandish characters.

I thought the race was who could get their suits on the fastest. But, no. They all headed outside in the December dusk and staked out the boundaries. A line was drawn from the tree to the garden fence where they all lined up. The goal was the lowest step on the front porch where all us old folks stood to keep out of the slush and the rush.

The racers fidgeted as they vied for position. “READY, SET, GO!” was shouted and they were off.

OOPS! The camel cowboy and the alien tripped. Down they went. They scrambled to regain their footing all be it a tad too late. It was neck and neck between the angler fish with its light bobbing above its head and the low flying fire-breathing dragon but I think the sloth won by a whisker. Don't ask me how. Maybe they don't even have whiskers. Bringing up the rear was the poor clown still walking on her hands. Well, after all, it was muddy!

This race cracks me up each time I see the video. Imagine it. An unstoppable invasion of giant wobbly inflatables. Hilarious!