Some holiday gatherings might be pleasant and well,
but for us the whole thing is ill-fated.
Family we never see, people who never call,
but I'm told we're somehow related.
Hi, how are you, here's my son Tommy,
now watch as he wrecks your sweet home.
Please extinguish all flames and lock all doors,
because through this whole place he will roam.
He'll hurt himself with that, he might break this,
better hide that thing over there.
He tends to smear feces and scream for no reason,
we can't get him to sit still in a chair.
The mistletoe is nice and the garland is pretty,
but I'd get those gifts off the floor.
Managing this kid can be a major task,
but in unfamiliar settings it's that and much more.
Now Tommy's harassing your cat, yanking it's tail,
making himself quite a pest.
The music's too loud, there's too many people,
it's an awkward occasion at best.
The moment is here, it's time to open gifts,
but Tommy could really care less.
Scaring the cat, poking and prodding,
I'm just glad he's not making a mess.
Dinner smells good, I love roasted ham,
but I know that Tommy won't eat it.
Mac and cheese is king, a God send in our house,
Tommy just thinks you can't beat it.
Exhausted and hungry, ready to leave,
because, of course, I didn't get a bite.
Tommy kept me on my toes, running around,
keeping one eye on him the whole night.
Out the door, screaming kid in my arms,
thanks for the giggles and kicks.
I've said it before, I'll say it again,
autism and Christmas don't mix.
Fed, bathed, and in bed, Tommy's done for the night,
couldn't of done it much quicker.
My stomach still growling, but food can wait,
I need therapy in the form of liquor.
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