Holiday Memorandum Re: Window Clings

posted in Around the House, The Holidays on by with 4 Replies

TO: Kind and Well-Meaning Family and Friends

FROM: The Crazy Lady With All Those Kids

SUBJECT: The Worst Things EVER

Window Clings

Dear Family and Friends,

I am putting forth this memorandum today in the hope of preventing future breaches to the already fragile harmony of my home.  I realize that it will never be possible to prevent all such breaches, but if I may, I’d like to direct your attention to one particularly insidious sanity-sucker:

Holiday-Themed Window Clings.

Holiday-Themed Window Clings shall heretofore be referred to in this document as “The Damn Clings.”

Exhibit A: The Damn Clings, as they are packaged and sold to well-meaning family and friends.  They're cute, right?  DON'T BE FOOLED.  THIS SNOWMAN HAS EVIL IN HIS COLD, COLD HEART.

Exhibit A: The Damn Clings, as they are packaged and sold to well-meaning family and friends. They’re cute, right? DON’T BE FOOLED. THIS SNOWMAN HAS EVIL IN HIS COLD, COLD HEART.

I get why you want to buy them.  You go into a store, around the time of a major holiday, and you see these festive displays.  “These are cute!” you think.  And, in your defense, when they’re laid out nicely on a sheet of plastic, the way they’re intended to be placed on a window, they are pretty darn cute.  “The girls will have so much fun with these!  And they’re seasonal!  Who doesn’t love a seasonal activity for kids?  I think I’ll buy several sheets to guarantee hours of creative fun!!”

It’s a nice dream.  A fantasy of sisterly harmony and creativity, of rosy-cheeked little ones working together in warmth and joy to decorate a frosty window.  And, if I were you, I would be thinking the very same things.  I would probably imagine the children wearing coordinating snowman sweaters while they Christmas-ify a window.  Surely Vince Guaraldi’s Christmas album would be playing in the background, and homemade gingerbread would be baking its way to warm, brown perfection, filling the house with spicy cheer.  Yay for Christmas window clings!!!


What really happens is that all of the kids get WICKED FREAKING EXCITED when they see The Damn Clings.  They all want to peel them off the sheet “BY MYSELF!!!” which doesn’t work because there are three hopped-up-on-the-Christmas-spirit-kids, or four, if a little cousin happens to be here too, and they all want to grab the same snowman.  So eight little hands are grabbing at me and The Damn Clings as soon as I bring them out.  I set up a system of turn-taking to pull the gooey, booger-like bits of gel from the sheet, but oh, HAHA, for extra fun, the creator of one particular batch of The Damn Clings has broken up each item into A HUNDRED HORRIBLE BOOGERY PIECES.  There are three candy canes, but they are made up of twenty-four individual pieces.  Then there’s a Christmas tree, but the tree itself is in four parts, and then the ornaments and the star are all separate too.  Two and three-year-olds aren’t that great at maneuvering these non-edible Jell-O jigglers onto a window.  Which is actually fine with me; I don’t care if the tree looks perfect or anything, and I let them do it however they want.

It is not fine, however, with The Enforcer.  (I mean, obviously, right?)

She finishes putting up the tree pieces in a mass of green goo that looks like The Grinch sneezed on the window, and says,

“This tree is the worst.

So of course I help her to fix it.  But two seconds later, someone else has dismantled it.  And the littlest kiddos just can’t resist pulling apart the stretchy clings so that as if there weren’t already enough bits and pieces to contend with, now most of them have also been violently dismembered.  In the blink of an eye, there are remnants of The Damn Clings:

  • all over the floor
  • mashed into the sofa
  • trying to start a house fire inside at least one radiator
  • floating in a dog’s water bowl, and
  • languishing under the Christmas tree, decked out in a disgusting coat of dog hair and pine needles.

The Damn Clings cannot be vacuumed.

They cannot be swept, wiped, or otherwise easily cleaned up.

You have to pick up each tiny piece, which is now dirty and gross, by hand, and decide whether it is worth sticking it back on the window or just throwing it away.  And just when you think you’ve cleaned up all the bits, you discover awful pieces of cling-carnage like this:

photo 2(1)

And the window, rather than looking cheerful and festive, looks like some kind of post-modern protest art:

Aw, nice job, kids!  That's just lovely.

Aw, nice job, kids! That’s just lovely.

So, in conclusion, while your efforts and generosity are appreciated, anyone attempting to bring window clings into this house in the future will be instantly and without further warning LEFT TO DEAL WITH THE KIDS AND THE DAMN CLINGS BY HIM OR HERSELF WHILE I GLEEFULLY ESCAPE FAR, FAR AWAY.  (I might also cackle.  That’s at my personal discretion.)  This decree is binding and not subject to change.  Heretofore, henceforward, so on and so forth, forever and ever as long as we all shall live.

With Love,

Shakespeare’s Mom (the crazy lady with all those kids)