Writing wrap-up posts gives me hives, so I’ll just say the following about the past week. These are the moments that I wish I could capture in a snow globe and revisit in the coming months and years:
Christmas Eve, Jo had to be dragged to church kicking and screaming (almost literally). She spent the first half of the service on my lap or huddled on the floor with the hood of her jacket up. Then, suddenly, she was captivated by “Angels We Have Heard on High.” She wanted to sing along and asked me to help her follow along in the hymnal. This continued for the remainder of the hour.
Christmas morning, the kids sleep later than they have in weeks. When Opie finally gets up, we go into Jo’s room to wake her up. Her first words are “You could have let me sleep a little longer, Opie!”
My dad didn’t pack his Christmas pants. My siblings and I scolded him soundly, then turned on our mother for allowing such an oversight. We suggested he turn around and drive nine hours back home to get them. He said “No.” Can you believe it?
He did, however, bring and wear his 7 jeans. Which looked great on him. Here is how it went down (let me note for the record that my dad is 71 and I haven’t seen him wear jeans in years, but he does work out like two hours a day). He came into the kitchen wearing these stylish, dark, skinnyish jeans. Me: “Wow, nice jeans!” Dad: “Pretty nice huh?” Mom: “They’re ’7 for all’ … nations, or countries or something.” Me: “7 For All Mankind??!?” Dad (shows off label): “Yeah, 7 For All Mankind. I got them at the Saks outlet.”
My mom could not get enough Wii bowling. She was constantly begging someone to play against her.
After everyone left, Jeff noted that Opie’s behavior had been very good, except for a few subpar moments, including that last morning. His response: “I was a little naughty because I didn’t want everyone to leave.” Little scam artist!
I felt very Santa-ish this morning as I lugged two bags and a box through the snow to help make a child’s Christmas special (never mind the fact that yes, my belly shakes like a bowl full of jelly with every step I take).
A few months ago, the folks from Learning Curve gave me a Caring Corners dollhouse to review, with a special condition: I’d get one dollhouse for my kids and I to try out and keep, but I’d also get a second one to give away to a needy child or charity. Part of the toy’s charm is its effort to teach kids about sharing, caring, and good deeds, hence the charitable twist on a product review.
I started corresponding with the house manager of a shelter for abused women in a town near Mayberry. It’s part of a nonprofit group that manages an array of domestic abuse programs benefiting women and children. The shelter has 44 beds (not counting cribs), and right now every one is full; a mother and child are sleeping in the shelter’s library this week because it’s the safest place for them to be.
Unfortunately, because it took a while to coordinate the drop-off (note to self: When someone is clearly a bad emailer, pick up the phone), I couldn’t bring the kids with me. Still, just having the extra dollhouse in our house for all this time gave us plenty of opportunity to talk about why we had it and what we’d be doing with it.
The coordinator who received the dollhouse was just thrilled, and noted that a dollhouse is an especially useful and therapeutic toy for a child who’s experienced abuse. It breaks my heart clean in two to think of a child spending Christmas in a shelter, but I hope this dollhouse helps one little girl dream of the safe, welcoming home she’ll live in one day.
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I also donated a few other reviewed products: the Positive Spin holiday books, and an I Can Do That! game (since that company had also offered two toys, one to review and one to donate). Thank you, Whitney, for coordinating these efforts. It’s been a pleasure to participate.
And have a very merry Christmas, if you’re celebrating. Our guests arrive today, so I’ll be busy chopping vegetables and serving salads for the next few days. See you next week!
Jeff’s mom sent us a box of Omaha steaks for Christmas, which was very generous but also unintentionally funny, because let’s review the guest list* for our holiday festivities:
2 vegans
2 low-fat/low-carb dieters
2 small children
1 vegetarian
1 diabetic
1 pregnant woman whose stomach has a mind of its own (not a rational mind either)
But just like the box can often be the best part of a gift, the OS packaging brought a half an hour of pure glee:
*P.S. My husband (the special-occasion chef in the MM household) has a whole spreadsheet of the meals he is preparing for this crew. If you have need of any festive vegan recipe suggestions, we stand ready to assist.
P.P.S. Re my last post, it looks like I probably overreacted to the NT measurement I (thought I) saw. The result was normal (although at the upper edge of the accepted range). I feel much better now. And pledge not to abuse Google any further.
So the Santa Float came by a couple of days ago. It’s a fire truck fully decked out in Christmas lights and it ferries SANTA! around our whole town, street by street, over the course of a week until he passes every single house. Here’s us watching with our neighbors (at the end you can see my husband is holding the neighbor kid, who ran out of his house so fast he forgot to put on shoes).
Last Christmas Eve my husband and I had one of the most profound conversations of our then decade-long relationship. Conducted entirely in whispers (we were staying at his mother’s and Opie was sleeping just inches away in a travel crib), our talk touched on the experiences we valued from our childhoods, what we wanted for our own kids, and so much more. At one point, Jeff said he was sad that Jo and Opie are not growing up with lots of cousins around. They only have a few, and see them only once or twice a year.
Without even thinking about it–certainly without thinking he would ever take me seriously–I said, “We could have another baby.”
I was astonished when he said, “Yes, we could.” And for the first time ever, he really meant it.
And that’s how it came to be that the best present of Christmas 2007 will, if all goes well, be delivered sometime in June, 2009.
And I am always one of the ones traveling, every year of the *ahem*twenty*ahem* since I graduated from high school. As a kid, I spent every single holiday at home, not just in my hometown but in our house. My mother was the designated hostess for every Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, birthday, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Fourth of July and regular old Sunday meal, and the guests were always my grandmother (who lived a few blocks away) and my aunt, uncle, and cousin (who lived around the corner). In the usual kid grass-is-always-greener way, I envied my friends who got to go somewhere and do something for holidays instead of staying home which is so boring.
Be careful what you wish for, as they say. Since I turned 18, I’ve never been in my own home for Thanksgiving. Not that I ever wanted to cook a turkey in my dorm room or my Manhattan studio apartment, but you see what I mean. It feels a bit Peter Pan-ish to always be the guest and never the host. Like I’m not a Real Mom (hi, Motrin!) until I’ve stuffed the turkey and mashed the potatoes my own self.
(The reality is that my husband cooks the turkeys around here anyway.)
Truthfully, I can deal with Thanksgiving travel, even when it’s on a crazy day like today and even with two travel companions under 7 years old. They may be young, but they are experienced. Thanksgiving doesn’t have quite the baggage Christmas does (in the form of gifts, for one, and more firmly entrenched traditions, for two) and I’m above all thankful that we have families who love us and with whom we will enjoy sharing a meal.
I’m thankful for all of you, too, and hope you have a wonderful day and weekend, wherever you spend it and whatever you eat.
Except for my mom, the rest of the grandparents (my dad, mother-in-law, grandmother-in-law, and oh god, mother-in-law’s gentleman friend) are very very very hard to shop for. I mean, I adore Great-Grandma Nonnie but she just turned 90 and pretty much never leaves the house. The same house she’s lived in for about 65 years.
Of course, we turn to the kid-crafted gift whenever we possibly can. Framed photos, paint-your-own-pottery–the classics. A couple of years ago my dad wanted a bathrobe. (Another staple on his wish list is always “seamless socks.” Thrilling!) I found one that met his specifications (he had several) but it was still such a boring present. So I thought the kids could doctor it up with little handprints on the pockets. Can you picture it, like I did, kind of subtle and oh-so-cute? Right! And can you also imagine how ugly the finished product was? So ugly I pitched it into the dress-up bin and started over with a brand-new robe.
It was such an obvious demonstration of how Not Crafty I am. The paint I bought was wrong, or my technique sucked, or something; anyway instead of cute kiddie handprints, we just had big blobs of paint. It looked like a dropcloth instead of a bathrobe. Fail! This is also what happens every time I try to follow a recipe for something that is supposed to be attractive-looking. The end result never looks like what it does in the instructions. NEV-ER.
Bathrobe 2.0 was slightly more successful. I traced the kids’ hands onto felt, cut them out and glued them on to the pockets of the new robe. They probably fell off the first time it went into the laundry but my dad has graciously refrained from telling me that.
This year, he’s getting plain seamless socks.
This crafty confession brought to you by Parent Bloggers Network and Klutz, publishers of very fun craft books and kits for kids. Fun because kids can play with them all by themselves. Seriously, I love them and not just because I used to work for Klutz’s parent company or because they are sponsoring a blog blast with darn good prizes. See for yourself.
That is what my husband calls the characters I would call “trick-or-treaters.” And a few stopped by our house tonight. We gave away about 10 bags’ worth of candy and were down to our last three tiny boxes of Dots (I didn’t buy those!) when time was up. Our favorite Halloweener was dressed as a “killer banana.” He wore a banana suit with a bloody hockey mask and carried a big scary knife. One of our friends’ kids came by dressed as a ninja. My husband disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a slice of sweet potato carved into a throwing star. He so crafty!
Four hundred ninety- ninth post. How scary is that? Happy Halloween!
Costume pictures to follow later, but here’s 2007 and 2002 through 2006. I’m coming to terms with the fact that this year’s storebought race car driver costume doesn’t hold a candle to last year’s “stick guy.” He could have gone as the naked chef, I guess.
Here’s a Blair-Witch style video of the outdoor decorations I tweeted about. (None of the stills came out.) At about 30 secs you can see the whole thing and then turn it off.
We made a pilgrimage to the mall yesterday to exchange all our ill-fitting/disdained (“I don’t like turtlenecks, Mommy. I will never wear those ever”) stuff. We came out pretty much even at Macy’s but somehow at Gymboree I exchanged three old items for four new items and ending up spending $50! (Time for another WTF haiku.)
Now here’s the thing — because all the gift receipts went missing in the Christmas frenzy, my mother-in-law just gave me all the regular Gymboree receipts. I have three of them and each one is about a foot and a half long, because she was buying for three kids on behalf of four different adults.
It’s also GymBucks time. I have an insane number of GymBucks now: 250. That means I could buy $500 worth of overpriced clothes for the low price of $250.
My kids don’t need $250 worth of clothes. They don’t need 25 cents worth of clothes. I am no good at shopping ahead for upcoming seasons either (I rarely buy them clothes, period–their grandmas are so very generous). I know the sane thing would be to just throw the coupons out but it feels too much like throwing away actual money. I also know this is quite possibly the most bourgeois problem I could describe. But, what should I do … can I sell these things on eBay? Donate them somewhere? Would it be worth buying a bunch of stuff then reselling it online or at a consignment store? Do you want them? Halp.
Writing wrap-up posts gives me hives, so I’ll just say the following about the past week. These are the moments that I wish I could capture in a snow globe and revisit in the coming months and years:
