Holidays Are A Battlefield

Holidays Are A Battlefield
2012 Copyright

As I ready myself for every holiday season with my early morning workout of pulling out pots, pans, seasonings, preheating the oven, going over my daily check lists, and managing to keep my sanity in check, it never fails, nothing could ever prepare me for the battlefield that ensnares my humble abode.

First its the march of the soldiers as they make their way inside my home, one by one, two by two, with muddy feet, dirty hands, and an appetite to match that of a full grown elephant. Next we have the staff sergeants that stride into the kitchen with their nostrils flaring, their mouths watering, and their hands ready to attack the second their eyes find the target their nostrils and growling stomachs led them too.

As I make my way around the troops managing not to step on little fingers or toes, I carefully march on to the battle field avoiding heads, arms, fingers, shoulders, while keeping with the flow as I place tray after tray of my heart and soul. Before they even hit the table a full blown war ensues; forks coming from the left of me, forks coming from the right of me, I barely move my hands before they are sliced by a huge machete being wielded across the table.

Clinks of glasses are heard in the distance as I march off the battle field and bring more trays forth. As I fight my way through the throng of bodies I manage to find a small spot and squeeze my battered and bruised body in and place the huge bowl of splendid goods onto the sidelines and as my exhausted body is battling it’s way out I am captured and accosted.

I escape with a few battle wounds and let out a painful war cry as I march with my head held high and place the last of the food on the table. As I march my way off the battlefield I am shocked at the sounds that fill my ears. Chomping, snaring, snarling, gulping, clanking of glasses, forks, knives, spoons scraping across the plates, growls, and was that a belch?

I single-handedly clean my wounds and begin my next tour of duty, KP Duty. I scurry around the kitchen reaching, grabbing, gathering all that I can and begin cleaning as if my life depended on it. Once the first round is complete I turn and gear myself to reenter the battlefield, now armed and dangerous, including the scowl on my face.

I look at the battling soldiers as they line the battlefield with their plates empty, their pants open and their now full bellies hanging out. I quickly gather plates, silverware, glasses, anything I can get my hands on and quickly march off the field doing this like a seasoned battle expert.

Once KP Duty has been completed I am greeted with the battle hymn of gratitude which now includes, sighs, yawns, belches of all different calibers, and oh no, that couldn’t be, could it? No, must be hearing things. Around the throng of bodies lies a god awful stench emanating  like a mushroom cloud of gas that is growing and growing and getting smellier and smellier.

I gag, and choke my way back on to the battlefield looking at each and every soldier, each with an innocent look etched across their face. I manage the army crawl across the room and reach my arms up where I now begin to open the nearest window before blackness threatens to take over. I stand my full height and breathe in the fresh air and manage to turn and look at the faces of each and every soldier who still manage to keep their composure. I head across the battlefield and back to my prison camp and gear up for the next battle.

I quickly march around the mass of over stuffed soldiers dropping a plate and utensils before each body and do the same again with glasses and mugs. I place huge carafes of hot coffee, hot tea, and milk and scurry back to safety ready to bring out the heavy artillery. As I arm myself with as much as I can carry, I make my way through the battle grounds and manage to find one vacated area on the opposite side of the field. With my eyes on the vacated spot, I march with my head held high as I make my way in stride.

I place the heavy artillery down and quickly manage to move my aching arms unscathed as I march back in to gather the final round. I stand there with my arms full, feeling the fatigue of the battle beginning to take over. I begin to slowly put one foot in front of the other as I look for a small place to slide into. Finally, a warrior has left his post, all I need to do is make it there.

Without a scratch or injury, I place the last of the heavy artillery down and vacate the scene. On my way out I once again here gobbling, chewing, slurping, sipping, gulping, sighs, clanking.

The battle cries are heard throughout the entire battle grounds as one after the other the sound of gratitude is heard. I manage to gear up for KP Duty, gaining my second wind, the wind of a seasoned warrior, and march onto the battlefield and collect as much of the damage I can, taking as much with me as I can possibly stand. Once the battle ground is cleaned back to normal I listen.

To my horror I hear belching in the distance and the battle begins again. The sounds are growing louder and louder and suddenly I hear a symphony assaulting my eardrums as a familiar song is now being belched out.

I gear myself with my best artillery, and with the look and anger of a seasoned warrior, I make my way to the dreadful sounds trying my best to keep my eardrums in check and with one sweep of a slightly wet kitchen towel I yield my aim and swing hitting each of my targets and silencing the offending sound.

With the smile of a warrior winning a battle I begin to march back to my station only to hear, oh no, no, no, no, no, no. Not that, surely not the mushroom gas. My smile now missing, I drop to the floor and army crawl my way to the nearest window whilst holding my breath. I pry it open, jump up and breathe as I make my way back to the offending soldiers, only this time the offender now had an army in place.

My green eyes widened in horror as the slew of them circled me and in perfect harmony the mushroom gas enveloped me causing me to gasp, choke, plead for mercy as I sat there waving my white flag...

Holidays are a battlefield, they might have won the battle but I won the war smiles the author as she smiles deviously to herself....  :D