Santa Claus is coming to town...

What...is...this? Did I really agree to this? What was I thinking?!? These are all the questions that keep running through my head. However, the kid in me is so freakin' excited I can hardly contain it.

Santa a.k.a. Grampa is giving the crumb snatchers a whole new category in childhood memories. The momma in me hopes there are no chapters entitled "I broke every bone in my body and lived to tell about it." or "Mommee, why, why...whhyyyy did you agree?" The kid in me hopes there are chapters like "Did you see that?!" and "Personal records we keep breaking...again and again."

The most fun aspect of the whole deal? The Crumb Snatchers don't have a clue! In fact, I have gone out of my way to make them think they are getting silly, "smile cause it's your sweet relative giving you a gift" kinda gifts from Grampa and Granny M. Hee, heee, heee (read in a diabolical way please). They have no clue they are ending their festive gift opening evening in Connecticut with a scavenger hunt that finally leads them to helmets and a visit to this blog site to see Big Shooter showing them their ultimate gift waiting for them at home in Plainsville. Side Note:
Yes, he is wearing pajama bottoms...you will have to excuse him. It really is my fault...kinda, sorta...well, kinda really.

You see he had some dental work done, really deep dental work. (I will not give you the details b/c as most of you know, I don't know the details or I'd pass out. I am getting dizzy just imagining the depth, damage, digging...oh, God just take me now!) Anyway, my big, virile, manly man of a husband was writhing in pain the entire night. So I, being the loving, caring, and of sound mind wife that I am (now snickering allowed), gave him all the drugs he asked for. Which since he has a very high tolerance to pain killers turned out to be quite a bit. 8 Lortabs, 6-8 Motrin (I can't recall the exact amount. That's bad isn't it?) and 3 Benadryal (that amount I know, because it caused him to finally pass out and let me sleep longer than 10 minutes...sorry, I meant sleep soundly). All in about a 15 hour time period. By morning I figured he obviously needed something more potent so as soon as I thought it was okay to call the dentist, I did. And asked for Percocet...for me. Just kidding, for Big Shooter too.

So now it is needless to point out the fact that he was really not quite all together when he left the house this morning. It dawned on me he was still in his pj bottoms as he was leaving the drive way. When I shared this information with my father he asked, "...and you didn't call him?" Confused, I answered, "Noooo. Why would I? It will make a great post on my blog..." There was momentary silent contemplation on the other end of the line, then laughter. Poor Big Shooter. He doesn't read my blog too often so he won't know. Unless of course ya'll all tease him about his plaid pjs...