A Christmas Story

What to do when you've already watched The Fantastic Mr. Fox three times in one afternoon? When you can't stand the Angry Bird game theme song tinnily ringing through the house any longer?

Turn off the television. Confiscate the games. Turn off all the lights. Read stories to your kids under the tree.

We read Pippi Longstocking, which gleefully I ordered out of Charlie's little Scholastic catalog flyer thing they send home. Remember those?

Charlie was leery, since it was a girl on the cover. Until I explained that he was going to lose his mind once he found out about Pippi. That basically she has no parents, lives in her own house, has a horse, a monkey, is stronger than any grownup... oh, and has an endless supply of gold in a tree trunk in her front yard. Sold.

I know, I know, it sounds very good-mommy of me. And all looks very quaint. Until I couldn't resist and had to grab the digital camera. Which, since it has a screen, my kids thought was the closest they could get to playing the DS or my iPhone. So they took turns taking photos of each other, of me and the tree. When I say taking turns I mean alternately screaming. Which I hesitate to mention, since it all looks so picturesque. But what's a good Christmas story without a little mayhem?