There was a loaf of zucchini bread on the counter, chock full of healthy vegetable goodness. Next to it a bowl of homemade banana pudding, sprinkled with almonds, and packed with vitamins. On the other side sat whole wheat muffins stuffed with cranberries and blueberries.

My kids?

They stuffed themselves full of chocolate chip cookies and cupcakes drowning in frosting. Then topped it off with red dye flooded fake juice. They waxed poetic about mini chocolate bars and butterscotch candies. They zoned out on the couch with video games and classic cartoons packed with violence. They tried to skip the stuffing in exchange for another slice of cake.

And I fielded questions about what they eat at home, how much TV do they usually watch, and why is your son still so damn skinny? Oh, and when are you going to put your kids in public school like a normal person?

Cue the disapproving looks.

Holidays are even more fun when you’re the bad mom that everyone loves to hate. But at least the socks they got me are warm. That counts for something, right?

Arts and crafts are…horrible, despicable things. Glitter gets everywhere, and I mean everywhere…I wiped my tushie the other day and viola, a piece of shining gold glitter. Unless I’ve actually learned how to pee urine or contracted hepatitis-f (f stands for fabulous, of course) it’s from that damn ornament my kid brought home from school.

You’ve probably seen one – or even have one – yourself. It’s a red plastic drinking cup (way to go green, preschool!) turned upside down, slathered in glue, and coated in glitter with a bell inside. Because nothing screams Christmas like disposable cups with glitter and a bell.

I asked my husband if I could tell the magical tale of the Christmas Cow to my children. (I tend to check in with him before doing something that could potentially scar my children or send them to therapy later in life. Just so it’s not ALL my fault. I can say, “You could have stopped this madness!” I’m basically covering my ass…but back to the story of the Christmas Cow…)

Every Christmas when the fields are dead and the cupboards are bare, little boys and girls who have been good receive a visit from the Christmas Cow, who comes bearing warm milk and sour cream. If you’ve been bad, your milk will turn sour and clumpy the second before it is consumed, thus creating a horrible and gross Christmas for naughty little children.

My husband said, “Sure” – which is what he always says when he hasn’t been listening. So I told my kids the story of the maaaagical Christmas Cow – and now if I think they’ve done something bad I immediately offer them a glass of milk. If they say no … I go look for evidence of the deed that has been done.

I swear everything I do is a setup to figure out what the hell my kids have done wrong when I wasn’t looking.

Oh, and for those that might be wondering, the Christmas Cow says “Moo! Moo! Moo!” just like Santa says, “Ho! Ho! Ho!” – I wasn’t original enough to come up with something better.

Got any suggestions for how I can incorporate the Christmas Cow into more Christmas stuff in my house? I tried to get cow-patterned stockings but that was vetoed by the husband. (Guess he was listening that time, damn!)