Even Talladega Nights paid homage to The Baby before every dinner:
Dear 8 pounds 6 ounces... new born infant jesus,don't even know a word yet.or
Dear Lord Baby Jesus, I want to thank you for this wonderful meal, my two beautiful son's, Walker and Texas Ranger, and my Red-Hot Smokin' Wife, Carley
or
Dear Lord baby Jesus, lyin' there in your ghost manger, just lookin' at your Baby Einstein developmental videos, learnin' 'bout shapes and colors. I would like to thank you for bringin' me and my mama together, and also that my kids no longer sound like retarded gang-bangers.
Usually, I don't even like those types of movies, but this cracked me up. So, why does Baby Jesus need to forgive me?
Well, first of all for laughing at that movie.
Mostly though, it has to do with Christmas. Christmas Eve to be exact. This should be a time of celebration of His birth. Instead, millions of parents across the country come home from midnight candlelight service and turn into a amateur Santa Claus. That is not the bad part... the bad part is what comes out of my mouth when it's 2am and I can't figure out why the playhouse is not fitting together. (No way am I buying her a bike for Christmas) Seriously, I don't celebrate my daughters birthday by a barrage of evil thoughts and words only suitable for HBO against toy makers and why instructions always seem to lack one important piece of information. So, why does this seem impossible to avoid on Christmas Eve?
I may pray in the wee hours Christmas morning, but it is admittedly a selfish prayer. Somewhere along the lines of, "Dear Lord, Pllllllleeeeease help me figure how why piece H is not snapping together with piece G. " In retrospect, there is nothing holy about staying up until 230am on Christmas morning being Santa Claus.
This is why my parents always gave me socks and underwear. They don't need instructions.
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