**MAGIC**

I know it's not about the presents.
It really is not.
Especially now for me as an adult.
I love to give and am in want of nothing. Which I am grateful for everyday.

But the magic started with the presents.
It started with the anticipation of waiting for Santa to come on Christmas eve and the sheer, overflowing JOY of seeing our living room on Christmas morning. The spilling of the gifts from under the tree that stretched across the room was AWEsome. Truly.
And thinking back on that time I know that this is how I learned to appreciate the magic that is surrounded by Christmas.
Because when Christmas comes we can be together.
When there is an underlying excitement and suspense and BELIEF then other stressors and anger and real world type stuff can be put aside for a while. Because when we feel this good we want others to feel it too, and we try to spread out cheer the ways that we can.


When Kara posed the question at the beginning of the season about what inspires us could only think of this.
This time of year will always be magical for me, and now with a child it has a renewed spirit and life. I am thankful everyday of the work that I do and the people I get to meet doing it. On the day before Christmas eve I met a patient who was POW in Germany for two years during WWII, and his wife was telling me the story of going to his funeral. I sat in awe of their story and had in the back of my mind how blessed I have been. I am moved by everyone around me, and will try to share their stories, good and bad, to help inspire others. And I will try not to do it only around Christmas.

I will remember seeing our Christmas tree from the olden days, and build magic for others like was done for me.






btw...despite a brief ER visit...X had a GREAT christmas

Crisp Bills.

In my heart of hearts I know I'm supposed to be a philanthropist.
The thought comes to me two, three, sometimes even four times in one day.

I think that is why I got so much joy out of watching the garbage man pull the Christmas envelope off the lid of the can yesterday. And tonight, I held the thank you card from our postman in my hands when I came in from work.

We don't give much, in terms of Christmas "tips" to those who make our days and weeks run more smoothly. But we give what we can. And, we do give.

This year, like every other year that we've owned Happy House, I watched the garbage man walk the Christmas envelope to the door of his truck and place it on the seat. Just before he set back out to work - dumping our can and recyclables, he did what he always does:

He turned toward the Happy House, kissed his right fist and held it high to the heavens. Then he gave a wave and a smile in my general direction.

As in years past, this is when I stepped back toward the curtain in the living room - not wanting to be seen. But certain I'd been caught.

I don't even know his name and yet, this annual exchange is one of the most powerful I've come to know in the Christmas season.... and with that, his truck drove out of sight.

***

It is my Dad who taught me that the Christmas envelopes should carry crisp bills (not wrinkly dirty ones). So Dec and I went to the bank yesterday. He pushed the buttons while I navigated through the ATM prompts.

Crisp bills in hand, we ventured home to write out our envelopes. Mostly they just said "thank you" and "merry christmas". Most were in Dec's darling 5-year-old handwriting.

***

For a few years, I sat with Dad at the dining room table in our old house while he wrote the XMAS cards. Several times I was given the job of labeling all his Christmas envelopes in MY handwriting. I proudly stuffed them too, with bills so crisp just looking at them was grounds for a paper cut.

***

Will Dec do the same with his kids?

While he stuffs envelopes alongside his son or daughter will he be thinking:
"It truly is in giving that we receive."

Is that what Dad thought while I worked on the Christmas envelopes alongside him?



I've never thought about it before now.

But I'm pretty certain it was.



(That image isn't mine but I found it here: http://www.noveltieswholesale.com/holidaycheer.html)

no picture today because

I decided not to shower this morning.
No, don't stop reading.

It's only because I showered before I went to bed last night.

Anyway, by the time I looked at the clock on my work computer this morning I had already said "I am sick of this day". That was at 7:12. I'd been up for approximately 2 hours.

What really stuck the fork in me was when one of my girls said "it's weird, some days your eyes look different" I am thinking, oh does this shirt make them look bluer... "like today they look more tired." That was at 8.

Tomorrow morning, I will shower.

toothbrush tunes.

this evening i made up the funniest song about brushing teeth.

dec and nonie laughed and laughed and laughed.

it was great.

now, for the life of me, i can't remember any of the words.

something about brushing to the right...?

brushing high, brushing low....?

i can't even think of the tune...

...and protect us from all anxiety...

I would love to write you something that will transform you. Move you. Resonate with you. But I am just too worn out, too beat down, too uninterested. All I can think of, all I can imagine as the lining on this cloud, are eight sweet weekdays free of the kids.

The problem, you see, is that I can't seem to put 1/2 my effort into things. Not even 3/4 of my effort. Sometimes Eric laughs when my eyes start to droop during dinner.
"I just left it all on the field" I tell him.
Like I am still an athlete and I played my heart out. And I have nothing left of myself to give.
He smiles, but I think he is worried. Worried that my work will always drain me of my energy. That I will always bring home projects. That weekends will be filled with glitter and gluesticks for the rest of our days. He asked me if I was going to heat up my soup for lunch today. "Of course", I said,  cold soup? He said "Good, because I don't think you take care of yourself at work".
When I had the time, I put that soup in the microwave, and I ate it nice and hot.
It was, you see, my dinner.

As I shoveled the snowy driveway this evening I thought, at the outset, that I'd just do a little.
Maybe just the part by the door. But then I was at the car. Ok. Just a path around here. Alright, half the driveway will do. Well I might as well do this part, too.
Next thing I knew I had shoveled the whole thing. And I mean, there was hardly a speck left.

The trouble is, I know that something's gotta give. The teacher next door tells me "Oh I used to do that WHEN I WAS YOUNG". And I hear the bitterness in her voice. But, the fortuneteller, too. Like after a certain point, she couldn't keep up with herself. And she knows I'll get there. And I know I will, too. Because I don't think I can do it all, and I don't want the things I let slip to be the things that should fill me back up again. And I don't want it all to come caving in at once.

When I was good about filling my cup, when I had the luxury of time and my work stayed at work, I would say to myself "enjoy this, enjoy this..." to get me through the lows.
I stopped myself the other day when I found myself saying "and protect us from all anxiety, and protect us from all anxiety..."

When did that change?

Do Your Best.

Back in September this was the theme we introduced for the kids' 2010-2011 school year.
And I promised to reveal this great theme in my post here.
But then I didn't deliver on that promise. Until today.

Today I read this sign, carved by the hubs and hanging in a prominent locale in our kitchen.
I must scurry by it a gazillion times a day.
But today I paused, spun on my heels and read it.
Seconds passed on the clock as the words sunk in.

"Do your best".
(I can do that)

It doesn't say "Do it all"
(Which is good, cause I can't do that)

I carried on and realized quickly that I'd accepted these three words as my theme for today.
And actually, after mulling it over in the shower this afternoon,
I've decided to ride this theme straight into the New Year...

'Cause I can do that.

gotta go gotta go gotta go

I got a Kindle for Christmas.
It got shipped to a man in the next town over who happens to have the same name as Briny.
And when he left us a voicemail saying he thinks he has our Kindle I knew Santa had come early.

I am still feeling it out.
Still getting used to flipping with a button.
In our days of an abundance of technology, this new "toy" will take some time getting used to.
I love books.
Booksth, as Xave calls them (his lisp is great). There is something about the weight, the smell and the feel.
And there is an unknown reaction that happens in the body when surrounded by books. For me it is the bookstore.
And for Xave, it is apparently the library. The sudden "gotta go" type urge.

For the past several weeks, as Xave and I pull into the library, he starts shouting, "PEEPEE! PEEPEE THERE!"
Huh?
And the first thing we do is head to the potty seat, pull down the diaper so he can yell and scream at me that he does not, in fact have to do peepee. BUt after about 10 minutes pulling out every 4th book in the children's section asking "firetuck? firetuckbookmom? He gets the gotta go urge. And goes. And tells me after. And no, not PEEPEE.
And I can't say I blame him. There is not a bookstore I have met where the same thing hasn't occured to me.

So I slowly enter the realm of the bookless books.
And wonder about the relationship between books and bowels.
And am happy that at least one of my traits was passed on to my son.
So when people say "he looks just like his dad", I can always come back with:
"yes but he does THIS, just like me..."

These are Sheep.

And a friend in the field sent me the picture - cause when something amazing happens in the environmental sector - there is a ripple effect.

These are big-horn sheep who are being moved to an area, where just 3 years ago the natural habitat was too degraded to support them - their herd.

But, the land was restored to the point where it could naturally sustain the herd.

And so, ewe see, the sheep arrived via air mail...

The end.

Why are you throwing snow on my head?

Sometimes I wonder what Drake would say if he could talk.

Today I think he would have asked me why I was throwing shovels-full of snow at him.

I can't help but be sad about where he might have been this time last year. As I deck the halls, the walls, the windows, doors, his crate... I wonder if he was out in the frosty wide open. Struggling to stay alive. Or maybe he was in a mansion in Nashville. With little kids swinging from his floppy ears. I will never know. But now he's here. unamused by being buried in snow, getting it caught in his paws, me trying to get him to eat it.

There are just some things I can't do for him. "Butter will have to teach you how to play in the snow" I told him.

But can she teach him this?

And the floor shook beneath us.

A Sister.
A Sister-in-Law.
A Cousin.
A Might-As-Well-Be-My-Cousin.
A Best Friend.
And Me.

Snugged in to a NYC Winery to listen to never-heard-before-tunes.
A sweet soothing voice. An introvert, we mused. We laughed about his promise of "hits".
And that Sarah would marry him.
Specially crafted wines. And lack of kinder appropriate tunes.

A very memorable way to spend an otherwise cold, cold Friday eve.

And every time the subway ran under the winery - it shook the floors.

And I'll always remember it. All of it.
Including the giant Xmas trees awaiting the perfect SoHo lofts.

And how they smelled in the crisp air.

And then home by 3 to give way to sleep and dreams of brand new sets of wings.

Good to Each Other. When I'm Gone.

Sometimes I wonder if my children will be good to each other when I'm gone.

You know, when I'm not here to keep the peace?

Because sometimes a peacemaker is necessary.

Actually, a peacemaker was needed about 2 dozen times today. But who's counting?


Tonight and twice, I was reassured that they will be. (Good to each other when I'm gone.)

The first time I re-tucked Nonie into bed I made her cozy in a sea of flannel bedding with skiers on it. I kissed her forehead, complemented the ornament she hung on the tiny Xmas tree in their room and told her I loved her. Twice.

"Mommy kiss Dety", she ordered before I tiptoed out of the room.

So I did. For a second time this evening, I found his smooth forehead tucked in to his bed - asleep for a good 15 minutes already. And I kissed it - nice and loud so that Ms. Bossy would know I obeyed her.

******

But the second time she needed to be re-tucked in (do the math, this is her third time being kissed goodnight - darn those late-day naps) - I found each of her sleeping pals, tucked them in cozy under the hand-knit blankets and smooched her on her forehead.

We rubbed noses for a while and I tried to find her big blue eyes in the glow of their Xmas tree lights but I couldn't.

So I giggled. And got up to leave.

Halfway to the door I heard it again.

"Mommy kiss Dety", she reminded.

So I went to Decky's bed, found his smooth forehead and smooched it again.

******

There is a bond between my children that I get glimpses of but do not fully comprehend.
I guess that's to be expected, because the bond hasn't fully established itself.

Many days, all I hope for is that my children will be good to each other when I'm gone.

And tonight. And Twice. I was given a glimmer of how it will be.

And it looked comforting and good. And full of love.

ME.

I think I suffer from mild to severe Christmas light decoration jealousy.
And this is only the beginning of the list of things that just aren't right about this week.

A co-worker handed me a piece of paper and told me to do with it "what the spirit guided me to".
It was a piece of paper. A simple newsletter.
What the spirit guided me to?
I can't get it out of my mind.
The spirit?
Of course, yes, I know what she means.
And of course, yes, I do believe in her message.
But I get so caught up. In life. Stinking, sometimes. Especially the week after a vacation in a room of 24 six year olds who seem to be on some personal quest to say my name as many times as they can without going hoarse. They never do seem to go hoarse. But it's a mystery to me how that is.
Oh anyway, I just take it all so personally. Where have a failed the child who opened up the bottle of glue and poured it all over the desk on Wednesday morning? How have I misled him? No worry that his father is in jail. It is my shortcoming that has gotten him to this point.
At would point should I have explicitly told those boys that they shouldn't punch a classmate in the stomach at recess? And the boy that got punched? When did I show him what putting up your middle finger means?

I get so self-centered. So wrapped up in me-ness. I assume I am the epicenter of all these actions and the roots behind them. But it is hard to separate the time, effort and money I put into making my room happen at all from the actions they choose while they are with me. They are with me for more waking hours a week than they are with their own families. Of course I take it personally.
But like I've said so many times before, and then forget once the words slip off the keyboard, I cannot think I am in this alone.
I am not in this alone.
Something is guiding me through it. 

And it's not all bad. There are silver linings, I just have to look harder for them.

Like... "Ms. H" (ugh) "here's you in your wedding dress"...

And, well, I still got my looks.

Charades

(Or as I like to say Sha Rods, sometimes it's fun to put the emPHAsis on the wrong syALLble.)

Family traditions. Some are traditional, say our (non)secret santa tradition.

Some should remain within the family and not be shared. (perhaps the quarter game of ourleen's future in-laws).

Then there are the ones that some families are great at and enjoy.

And others should not do.

Charades is one we are not so great at.

We are not actors.

We try, but it is pretty pathetic.

Fun? Yes... but a little sad.

And as I was thinking of this I have a vivid memory of an MV night, when another set of in-laws started a rousing game of charades.

And papa got this to act out:

To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar.

Even the best actor on his best day would struggle with this.

Poor papa.

I am not sure what he came up with. But I'm sure it wasn't pretty.

And I know I will never forget the name of that movie.

Here's to the holidays and all traditions, new and old.

This one I learned at the first Thanksgiving I spent with my in-laws.

A toast to the President.

Happy Holidays.

'Tis the Season....

'Tis the season....

when I take stock of what I have

been given.

And I think

Oh!

WOW!

(ALL FOR ME?)

THANKS!

***

It is also the time of year when I wrap the outside of Happy House in Christmas.

And that comes with its own set of Oh! WOW! moments.

Like, the other night I was on a step ladder hanging from the front tree where we've hung about 1,000 strands of white lights and 35 gold ball christmas ornaments.

I bent down the tippy top branch and hooked a gold ball to it. Yes! (I thought) I got a ball on the very top branch!!! (don't even ask me why this would be important to me. it just is).

Well, about 10 seconds later I heard the ball bounce off the roof of a neighbor's car - a good 30 yards down the road!!!

I'd launched that sucker right through the air and I nearly fell off the ladder with laughter because of it.

I mean, if anyone saw these antics they'd have me arrested - and the hubby would have dragged me inside telling me my decorating for the day was doneski.

Thank God this all happened in the cover of dark.

'Tis the Season.