There Was Some Toast

With only 3 minutes left in 2009 the hostess of the party we attended gathered all the kids around for a toast. The other seven children excitedly grabbed their respective cups of sparkling apple juice and started waiting. Our boys said, "Where's the bread?" We handed them each a chunk of garlic bread and didn't think anything more of it.

Until midnight when they eagerly bit into their TOAST.

I Love You Stinky Face

I found myself in the doctor's office with my two rugrats recently. During the visit the doctor had to excuse himself to take an important phone call. Which is exactly when my children started farting. The treatment room in which we were confined was basically airless and my boys were really getting smelly. Exasperated I asked, "Who stinks!?!?!?"

Without a moment's hesitation Mason answered, "Grandma Go Go."

Love you, mommy.

Busted!

For some unexplained reason I insisted that my family join me when I picked out my new camera -- I'll tell you about said camera a little later on, maybe tomorrow.

Anyway, the camera store is directly across the street from one of the largest DSWs I've ever seen. And let me just say, I'm always on the look out for a good DSW. As we pulled out of the parking lot Mason noticed the DSW and screamed, "Mommy! There's the shoe store!"

My husband rolled his eyes.

There are a few places my children know on sight.

1. The library
2. The elementary school
3. The gym

... and ...

4. DSW

Is this a commentary on my likes and dislikes?

What Does This Mean?

After a few hours of tearing into paper, throwing boxes around, and enjoying the bounty of Christmas morning I looked up and sighed, "This place is a mess."

Cooper replied, "Mom, that's what Christmas is all about ... long pause ... and being good." That last part was added pretty sheepishly.


I'm wondering if there is a record for uninterrupted, non-structured play? We're going on 15 hours and there is no predictable end.

On The Eve of Hysteria

There is something about Christmas Eve that is more special than Christmas. When we stand on the brink of expectations, excitement, and even a bit of anxiety, there is much to treasure and cherish. There is a field of imagination yet to be mined and our minds dig right in and try to. That's the magic of it.

By the following day, we've had what we're going to have and it's over. Only to be wished and planned upon for another year.

At my home right now... we're wavering in between the Eve and the Day. It's warm inside, but cold and snowy outside. The boys are asleep in their beds. Santa has done his (and her) job. And only my busy fingers are flitting over the keyboard searching for memories and thoughts that remind me of some of my favorite years.

At about this time some 16 years ago I charged into my parents' home after a night out with friends to find Santa had done his (and her) job for the night. The house was dark but already I could see the bounty of what would be Christmas morning and my heart broke a little bit. It was the first time I had seen the workings of Eve into Day. Of course I suspected there was a little more to the process than a jolly fellow falling down the chimney. But I'd never peeked behind the curtain. And part of me still wishes I never had.

Rewind even deeper and Christmas Eve would have meant a tiring night of cousins, second cousins, and a bunch of uncles and sweet but alien aunts. Because Christmas Eve was always the night of my Great Grandmother's party cum talent show. There must have been 100 of us -- seriously -- from all over the country in her little farm house. We'd feast on homemade popcorn balls and candy while waiting for our turn in front of or at the piano. And then Santa would come -- who looked a lot like one of my great uncles -- and we'd each get a gift. Something my great grandmother would have sewn for us. Usually a slip with lots of lace, and always longer than any of my dresses and skirts. (I guess she knew what kind of girl I was going to become and was trying to send early hints.)

On the way home my brothers and I would slump in the backseat, sick on candy canes and hot from our party clothes, and fall asleep. But by the time we were home, none of us could sleep in our own beds. You might think this lasted until we were 7. But I distinctly remember staying up well past 4 a.m. on at least one Christmas Eve when I was in junior high.

I'm not sure how my parents decided what traditions we would follow. How they weeded through their respective families' customs to find their own is a mystery to me. I look at my own little foursome and I wonder what I should do. I thought I wanted to have and keep lots and lots of Christmas books. And now it's starting to seem like a storage issue to me, rather than a heartfelt tradition. I thought I wanted to keep the same stockings for my family year after year. But every time I see new trims and patterns, and baubles I want to remake the ones I've already created. (Plus, nothing fits in Cooper's.) I thought I wanted to be insulated from obligation and plans on Christmas Eve and Christmas day. But I felt a little lonely this evening.

One thing is for sure. I don't have to figure it out in one night, or one year, or ever. It's the most fluid holiday I've ever experienced. The only thing I'm hellbent on preserving is the magic. So, for my children I wish...

May you never see the strings that orchestrate the puppet show and may Christmas EVE live in your mind forever.

PHOTO NOTE: My Great Grandmother (when she was a child).

Another Word for Nutcracker

You know that fabled legend claiming a nutcracker shows power and strength and can guard your family from evil spirits and danger? Yeah, my kids don't buy it either. But they sure like staring at 'em.

Only problem is, they can't ever remember what they are called.

That duy with the treepy teef. (Mason)

You know, that toy with the handle cruncher? (Cooper)

Graham cracker (Cooper)

Nut-tracker (Mason)

Anyway, hope you can keep track of your nuts this holiday season. If not, well, you better call in the aforementioned guard.

A List

At this time of year, I suspect you are making lists. What food to buy. What food to cook. What food to give away. It's a very simple season, really.

Anyway we have our lists, too. At bedtime, Mason became quite focused in reciting a list of his own.

"I don't like salad...."

"orrrrrrrr totatoes...."

"or cheese that is old."

Try as I might, I've been trying to make sense of this list. Salad? No surprises. And totatoes? Well, that could be either tomatoes or potatoes. I haven't seen him consume a large portion of either, unless it has been in the form of salsa and french fries, respectively. But old cheese!?!?!? Who doesn't like old cheese.

I hope you can make sense of your lists this time of year. Please, please, please remember to make a list that is meaningful, reasonable, and full of service. You'll be better for it. Now, let's see... what did I do with that list I made this morning?
PHOTO NOTE: Mason swimming in "cheese".