No doubt, this household has been overwhelmed with much holiday hoopla. So blog posts and the rest of what I usually do just got pushed to the side in the midst of food and fun and family. However. While I regain a little New Years momentum and get back up to blogging speed, I thought I would share a quick memory of Christmas magic with you all.
Needless to say, my own camera was poised when my four year old opened it’s wrapping that morning. And in and amongst hollers of:
“Santa knew it! He just knew it!”
“It’s what I wanted Mommy!”
“The camera! The camera! The CAMERA!!!”
He was doing this…
My heart.
While something that cost so little and hardly does very much as all (apart from a few mechanical calls of “too infinity and beyond”), it brought the most Christmas magic to our morning, by far.
Wishing all of you this kind of joyful magic throughout the New Year.
My kids are FREAKING OUT right now. They have utterly lost their minds. LOST THEM. Why? Um. Christmas is a mere two days away.
TWO DAYS.
GAH.
I’ve been watching them squirm and struggle and grasp at the concept of how long the time we have left is and what it really means. Today my 7 year old asked me how many hours there were left until Christmas morning – exactly. Maybe he asked because hours are an easier measure of time to process than an entire day. So I told him.
38 hours.
I don’t think that helped much.
The Christmas wait is the first time most of us ever experience a painfully slow countdown for something. It’s the first time we ever look forward to something so much, become so SO desperate for it to be now already, that time stands perfectly, painfully… still.
And then the days somehow pass against their will and we face the surreal impossibility that it is here. A day away. Almost in our reach.
It blows your mind. It makes your stomach churn and palms sweat and ache for whatever it is that is almost ALMOST here.
Understanding time and how it moves and what you have to look forward to is impossible to explain. You just have to go through a wait like that to finally know what it’s like to want and imagine and taste raw, bitter anticipation.
Christmas makes it real.
And later, when you are a mature and wise grown-up, you can say, “You know, it was like waiting for Christmas morning.” And we all get it. We all groan inside and empathize and thoroughly understand the magnitude of what that waiting period really meant.
So.
I am trying to sympathise with my children as they lose their minds right now. As they struggle to sleep and find reason in their day and get along with their brother. (And froth at the mouth and throw crap and run around the yard aimlessly screaming…)
How could we possibly expect them to reasonable?
The most MAJOR wait of their life is about to come to an end.
I didn’t expect to find Christmas goodness in Walmart.
Broken carts, grumpy people, concrete floors, lines, yellow rollback smiles posted above askew stacks of unoriginal, over-produced, 100% rayon stuff, yes. But not true goodness.
A couple weeks back I was stuck in one of those Walmart lines with some little girl ramming a cart into the backs of my heels while I waited. My four year old was waiting with me too. Bored, he snatched up a toy from the racks of junk lined along the checkout aisle. I didn’t pay much attention to it. It was my turn to pile my stuff up on the belt and pay.
(And yes. For the record, I knowingly pay for all of these budget-changing savings in small soul seeping increments. My dollars are supporting another superstore yet again.)
So anyway. I pulled out my bankcard to sell my soul to the devil pay, when I heard my son whine very predictably, “I want this!”
He was holding a small toy camera. It was blue. It had “Toy Story” characters all over it. And naturally, I responded with a very decided, “No.”
He was not happy. I stood my ground, I paid, he whined some more and kicked at the bagged groceries in the cart with him, and I wheeled out to the car. Same story, different day.
This weekend, I sat the boys down to to write their letters to Santa. (Because my children REFUSE to sit on some strange fat man’s lap. And for $20 a picture, I can absolutely live with that.) Instead I use this letter writing time as an opportunity to gauge what they want – and perhaps carefully lead them towards or away from anything more or less realistic. Thankfully, it worked out well again as I implied that Santa doesn’t bring PlayStation 3s to seven year olds who already have Wiis. But he might bring a game? That’s when I turned to ask my four year old what he wanted from Santa.
And what topped his list? What did he ask for without any hesitation but with a sweet, hopeful twinkle in his eye?
“I want a blue ‘Toy Story 3′ camera like that one I saw at the store.”
*blink*
Ok. I figured there had to be one in every Walmart checkout aisle – plus it couldn’t cost more that a couple bucks. So sure. Fine, let’s write that down. Fantastic idea. He was thrilled.
Today I went across town to that very Walmart to do my soul-selling shopping. I assumed I would find it without any trouble. I was wrong. After wheeling all over the place and trying every toy aisle and craning my neck to see down most of the checkout aisles, I finally asked someone. The man I spoke to was very nice and took a moment to look in a couple aisles himself. But it was the young employee standing behind him who jumped to attention and scampered down the checkout aisles searching, one after the other.
I had given up at this time. Maybe I would find it somewhere else. But she chased me down.
“Ma’am? I know exactly the one you’re talking about. I see it all the time – but I can’t seem to find it here. Can you wait a minute so I can check the toy aisle?”
Sure and I wheeled after her. She really didn’t have to go out of her way. This thing couldn’t have cost more than $2.00, maybe $3.00. Her time had to be much more valuable than this little toy.
But again, no luck. And she felt so badly.
“I can’t believe this camera is at the top of his list! Ugh. We have to find one, we have to…”
But I had to go. I was trying to make her feel better about it. No biggee, really. And thank you. But she wasn’t done. She asked me if I felt comfortable leaving my number. She was off at 7pm and she would keep an eye out for it for the rest of the day. Oh sure! Yeah, here you go. And I left.
At 6:55pm tonight, my cell rang. It was her.
“Well, I’ve looked through this entire store for the camera. My manager was even on the case. But no luck. So I called three Walmarts in the area. And guess what! One of them has one! Go there, you should have no problem. I’m so glad we found one for him.”
I was amazed. I was touched. I was a little speechless. I thanked her profusely and told her I had already filled out an online comment card about her (I had) and, really, I was so so appreciative of her taking the time and thanked her a gabillion times again. She wished me “Merry Christmas” and was gone.
So I drove right over to that other Walmart. (We have many here in Florida.) And I walked right up to Customer Service. I told them my story. They were fairly impressed – but not nearly as moved as she was. They said they didn’t hold anything for customers so I would need to look myself. Understood, I was anticipating another search. I had begun to turn away when another girl working in Customer Service blurted out a very sudden “OH SNAP!” And took off. Two minutes later she emerged WITH AN ENTIRE TRAY OF BLUE TOY STORY CAMERAS.
“I just put them back there about an hour ago. Can you believe that?”
Crazy.
I selected one and thanked and thanked them. I even kind of teared up as I handed over my $3.29 for the total POS, rattly, plasticky, checkout-aisle-parent-trap toy a Walmart employee had searched high and low for her ENTIRE day. But she had understood that THAT particular POS just happened to be at the top of my son’s Santa list.
Goodness, people. It happens. Everywhere and anywhere.
Even in a superstore.
Even in an employee who has been busting her ass during a brutal, consumer driven, holiday crazed season where customers hardly offer her even a smile as she itemizes, restocks and checks out. She must see the backside of humanity on a daily basis. She must swallow mean and indifference with every “Have a Nice Day” she offers. But she took her day to make MY son her priority for some rinky-dink “Toy Story” camera that will probably end up in the toy box where my kids’ stuff usually goes to die and be forgotten. She cared about my baby boy. Today.
Goodness happens. It appears out of no where and it lights on our day. In a moment, one warm heart reaches another, regardless of place or time or what anyone really deserves. It gives, it overwhelms and is suddenly gone without any expected return.
Goodness. It happens. And I believe.
So slap a bow on THAT, my friends, and color me yuletide. My faith in goodness has been renewed this holiday season.
First of all, I know. I know how much you hate shopping. I know that walking around some department store trying to find any sort of gift-giving inspiration while Mariah Carey sings tortured versions of Jingle Bells and shoppers – gah, the shoppers – who could care less and push past and get in your way make your entire time searching so much more unbearable than it needs to be. I know how horrid that is when you just want to park the car, jump out, find it, grab a gift bag, pay, throw it together and be done. I know.
So thank you for rallying to get out there in the first place.
But I thought maybe I could help a little bit. You know, just give you a couple hints so you don’t waste your time, your money, or your sanity on something you’re “supposed” to buy your wife.
Because here’s the deal. Those commercials? You know the ones created by chain store jewelers where the husband tiptoes down stairs to a Christmas tree and wife waiting by a crackling fire only to reveal a black velvet box. And she opens it and… awwwww, something with diamonds or whatever twinkles up at her. You know, the commercial that tells you to show her just how much you really care?
Husband of mine, if you tiptoed out with some over-priced, gaudy, Jane Seymour inspired, bobble nestled in a black velvet box? Call me ungrateful. Call me practical. But a present like that might make me faint dead away in a mess of stress. (How much did it cost? OMG is that the Jane Seymour cheesy Open Heart thing?? Where would I wear it? But really, how much did this cost???) It’s a lovely thought, and I certainly love jewelry – especially when its price is proportionate to our budget. But here’s my real point.
The stores are making you think that’s what good husbands get their wives. It’s not fair. They’re preying on you. Ignore them.
So what else is there? Do husbands or partners get any other commercial guidance about what to get their significant others when we so often say: “Nothing much, no really, don’t worry about me.” And then we never give you any real ideas. BUT expect some wonderfully thoughtful crackling-fire-next-to-the-Christmas-tree “moment” just WITHOUT the over-priced Jane Seymour Open Hearts necklace and WITH something… just *sigh* perfect.
And if you really loved me, you would just KNOW what that certain brand of “perfect” is. Right?
Heh. Yeah, right.
So back to the department stores we go with you bumbling your way through the aisles, muttering and wondering where that “perfect” really is. I know you want to just grab some box of perfume being sprayed at you, throw it in a gift bag WITH the receipt, and then feel awkward about it and sheepishly admit you just really weren’t that sure…
And then I feel bad and say I love it and love you for trying. And return it quietly another day.
Cringe.
Not fair. And most of all, it’s not fair to YOU. Because, dear husband, you have just been asked to mind read and then set up for eventual gift-giving failure.
Not fair at all.
So where does that leave us?
The good news is that our little brand of “perfect” is rarely found in the jewelry section of JC Penny’s (rarely but not never – and I’ll come back to that). The bad news is that it is usually found after some careful consideration and thought. That means you won’t be able to find it after work in a 10 minute stop over. Unless you’ve planned ahead.
Because what makes our hearts melt and those crackling fireside moments come to life is when you put real thought and care into whatever you purchase. Or make. Because we love it when you make stuff too.
Maybe its an old fashioned love song mix. OMG, I would just fall to pieces over something like that. And play it and get all 14 year old starry eyed over it.
Or maybe its a water color print you found somewhere online of that little town we loved on that special trip from ten years ago.
Or maybe its a carefully constructed spreadsheet that took you hours but you knew would help me organize my freelance jobs.
Or. OR. Or maybe it IS that Open Hearts necklace I was taking shots at earlier. Because maybe I was once saying that my two boys are my hearts and I would love to have something special to represent that. And knowing how much I adore cheesy jewelry, you bought me the Open Hearts necklace. And low and behold, I thought it was the most perfect gift ever (assuming we could afford it).
(This is not a hint, just an example. Ahem.)
Because, of course, every one’s “perfect” is different.
But I hope you realize there is no pressure. Not really. No, I mean it. Because its so much more about just thinking about us and who we are than how big or expensive of a thing it is. A little something goes a long way. Your thoughts, your heart, count. A lot.
Although, I have nothing against you asking me what I want and me telling you. Because I realize that shopping itself is pure agony and that it is a true declaration of your love that you dare brave ANY store this time of year on a weekend or after work anyway.
And? And. I’m not sure how well I’ve even followed my rules for you this year. At least so far.
…..Um.
Yeah. I’m not sure how much thought I’ve given anything I’ve purchased you. (Cue my usual practical tendencies…*groan*). So. I need to focus on you a little harder myself. Heh.
Anyway. You know what I mean. You’ve got it. You totally know what you’re doing. And you’ve done a damn good job plenty of times before.
So get out there. I’ve got the kids and relatives covered. And I’ve got all their wrapping covered too.
You can do this.
And in a couple weeks, I’ll meet you by the open sliding door on a breezy Florida Christmas Eve, besides our fake Christmas tree, with a couple icy Coronas.
Whatever it is, just know I will always [two open hearts in a figure eight shape] you. Forever.
So I’ve been feeling kind of cruddy. Just some stupid cold. It’s not like I’m dying or anything – regardless of what horrible hacking noises I make from beneath my jumble of blankets in the morning.
But I’ve been needing a little holiday pick me up.
Because all of these half unpacked boxes of Christmas “cheer” just seem to translate into Christmas clutter when I’m feeling all sick and sorry for myself. And that’s just not acceptable. Not with two wide-eyed wondering children in the prime of their Christmas magic years.
It’s time to buck up.
So after my husband bustled the boys off to school this morning, instead of going to my to-do list of blog tasks, writing tasks, and (holy unbought Christmas gifts) holiday tasks, I made a hot cup of tea and opened up my itunes. What was I looking to do? Well. Create the perfect Christmas music mix of course.
Because my Christmas cheer must be found. I NEEDED A CHRISTMAS CAROL…
SO. I made my Christmas mix. And you know what? I DO feel better. Buddy was right.
Speaking of Buddy, the Elf soundtrack is on my list of top ten Christmas albums. Wanna hear what my top ten list of Christmas albums are? Well, SURE YOU DO!
(A big BY THE WAY. While I was considering this post, I thought “Gee, if I only had an associates page so I could link my recs… Wait a minute. I should make one!” So I did. Each album is linked to it. But whatever. No need to click or buy or anything like that. Just sharing my favorites, that’s all…)
Ok, so there are a few cheese-balls in here (maybe its just me, but Shaggy tunes don’t exactly scream holly or jolly – just saying). But the first part is fantastic – a nice overall collection of the must-haves.
While not quite a Rat Pack crooner, there are some beautiful songs on this Harry Connick album. He sings a really fun big band version of “Frosty the Snowman” and then a really pretty “Mary’s Little Boy Child”.
What feels more Christmasy than Burl Ives? His “Holly Jolly Christmas” is the one from the animated “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer” TV movie we all grew up with. (Which I own and force my kids to watch every December…)
Want to get your parents all misty with memories of Christmases past? Shoot, I well up hearing Bing Crosby croon “White Christmas” or “Silver Bells”. I think we had this original album once upon a time.
Speaking of nostalgia, are you kidding me with this? Oh how I love the songs on this album, especially their version of “O Tannenbaum” and then the wonderful “Christmas Time is Here”.
My mother used to take me to this ballet every Christmas. I remember patent leather shoes and a grand theater and peering into the orchestra pit to watch them warm up before the show. This music IS my childhood Christmas.
BNL rocks the holiday season out in this album. And I could not adore the BNL, Sarah McLaughlin “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” more. There are traditional tunes and fun, upbeat versions of old favorites. The whole album is terrific.
Yes, this is the big band, crooner, collection of holiday favorites you’ve been looking for. I adore this entire album from start to finish. And let’s take bets on how many eggnogs were passed around for the live version of “A Marshmellow World”.
Ok, you all may not share my adoration for The Carpenters but TRUST ME. Karen Carpenter has the voice of an angel. And this album gets me all kinds of choked up every year. Play “Christmas Waltz” or “Merry Christmas Darling” or “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” and YOU TRY not to get all melancholy and hold your loved ones close and appreciate the wonder of this season. I dare you. (P.S. Skip the first three tracks. They’re cheezy 70s soft jazz stuff I’m pretty sure her brother did and are totally lame compared with the rest of the album.)
For all around fun, upbeat and jolly tunes – you have to get the Elf Soundtrack. I adore it. I do. It has something of everything. And oh SWOON for Zoey DesChanel’s “Baby It’s Cold Outside”. And Ella Fitzgerald’s “Sleigh Ride”? Perfection. Love it. Burn it. Buy it. Whatever. You gotta have it.
Oh and just as as bonus consideration, I did check out the new Glee Christmas Album. I don’t own it (yet). It seems pretty good though, especially if you are a fan of both the show and holiday music. Some tunes seem a bit over the top but it might be worth adding to your collection.
Ok, so that’s it from me. Here’s hoping the incessant holiday music in the stores doesn’t drive you mad or force you to repel all of it all together. Christmas music always added to the magic as a child. And now sometimes, somehow, music can bring whatever magic there is left in this holiday right back. Enjoy it.
We are back from an exhausting 8 hour 5 day road trip to Atlanta. We stuffed our two boys and two selves and an excessive amount of travel gear into the back of our Kia and made our way up there earlier this week. We arrived at my brother-in-law’s home in a tumble of hugs and booming hellos and screeching children while the dogs leaped all over them. Without a second thought, we immediately piled our everything into such a mountain that it blocked their entrance way. And then, little by little, we spread it all out over their lovely house. Yes, we became that family that came to stay this Thanksgiving holiday.
After we were finished with our hellos, we riled up their dogs some more, overtook a guest room, unpacked our groceries, shoved it all into their space, and put our feet up on the couch.
We kidnapped, over-stimmed and then coughed our collective colds all over their brand new three month old baby boy. And then I talked about how much he was – or wasn’t – like *MY* babies years ago. I exclaimed loudly what *I* did to get the baby to do A, B, or C. And had she tried that yet? Had she??? And then dumped a pile of well-loved hand me downs at her feet.
We exclaimed we would make dinner to “help” and then hassled our family about where this or that was. And didn’t they love our recipe? Of course you do! Yum.
We took the dogs for walks and proceeded to let go of one because I thought letting my seven year old walk one would be a fun, new experience. Both dogs eventually made it home.
We let our kids loose in their backyard where they whacked balls off the siding of their house. And the neighbors’. We tracked boatloads of grass and dirt in and out of the house. We left the door open a lot.
We made noise when the baby slept, particularly when one of our boys would emerge from the bathroom and regularly announce his “work” from the top of the stairs. We praised him back loudly, of course. And flushed with a flourish and sang songs while we washed his hands all while the baby napped.
Although the baby had trouble napping.
We left toothpaste blobs dried to the side of their sink, finished up the TP and used their baby shampoo.
We took over their DVD player and played kids movies whenever the need arose. We plugged ourselves into their wireless connection and distracted ourselves with online obscurities while they tried to talk to us.
We left only once to a playground but then hung out the entire rest of the week, you know, in case they missed us.
We left toys around the house and stacked kids books here and there and left pointy shaped Transformer Happy Meal toys on the floor to be stepped on.
We took pictures constantly and video taped things when least expected. And then posted it all on Facebook without a second thought.
We tried to quiet our fighting wrestling kids with even louder threats of “Do you want a Time Out? DO YOU?!?!?!!!!” We knocked over dog dishes while dragging our children to their laundry room for Time Out where my four year thought pushing flashing washer buttons would be a fine punishment.
We “helped” with Thanksgiving dinner by having no idea how to really cook in any official way. We tasted stuff with our fingers and didn’t always wash our hands before handling most of it. We coughed on all of it too.
We laid around. We slept in. Or we were the first ones up making the most noise. We dirtied dishes, we forgot to do dishes. We ate. We ate their stuff. We drank. We left glasses around the house. We used and did not replace.
We assumed their casa was our casa.
And then we packed up with more noise and chaos and searching and upending and dumping and screams of “I don’t want to go!!!” We emptied their pantry of whatever we brought and stole things like plastic spoons and maybe even one of their Cheeze-it boxes.
We took more pictures.
We hugged and squealed and coughed all over that wonderful baby as we said our good-byes. We hugged some more and stuffed ourselves back into the car and waved and even teared up a little and lamented the whole way home how much we wished Atlanta wasn’t as far away.
Because we love our family. And really wish we could do that so much more often.
Cheers to family for being family and letting family just be this way. Nothing could be more wonderful.
Well somehow it’s Christmas time. According to the department stores decorating in mid-October, the local town center overwrought with glitz and garland and the neighbors down the street with their lights carefully strung – it’s Christmas-time.
With snow.
IN FLORIDA.
Don’t get me wrong. My kids love that it’s already here. But I can’t avoid the questions. What about Thanksgiving? Has everyone forgotten Thanksgiving? Where are the turkey decorations? Where are the pilgrims characters and walking cornucopias dancing in our town center? Why aren’t we blasting off fireworks over the whole concept of “family” and “giving thanks”?
Yeah well I can’t quite explain to my kiddos that a cart filled with sweet potatoes and marshmallows just won’t ring up the same way a shopping cart full of Hasbro toys and Wii games will.
So joy to the world! Raise Santa up on the Cherry Picker and get that town center blazing with an inconceivable abundance of holly and jolly! It’s Christmas-time, weeeeee!!!
Shoot, it seems Thanksgiving has simply become some quiet carbo-loading pre-game for Black Friday. The sales! The deals! Get in line NOW! (They are. At Best Buy. And they got free Ipads for lining up already.) Damn though , why wait? Drop that turkey leg Grandpa Fred, Toys R Us opens at 10pm Thanksgiving night! FOR 24 HOURS!!! BAH!!!!! GO GO GO!!!!!!!
Still as disappointed as my kids are (kind of) in the lack of Thanksgiving fra-la-la-la, they sure did love that icky soap sud stuff snow sprinkling down on them the other night. Christmas magic. I mean who can’t get enough of that? RIGHT? That was, of course, before the fireworks were launched above the three story Christmas tree while Santa ducked for cover from his slightly too high vantage point.
But I spotted them. I did. The turkey protesters. While in the minority, they were there. They understood the value of a good mashed potato and can-shaped blob of cranberry sauce. THEY GET IT.
This holiday isn’t over yet people, I don’t care what Target told you. We have a boatload of Turkey to gobble, potatoes to consume and frazzled, fantastic family to share it with.
So I’m on Spring Break with these two awesome guys. Super cute. Am totally psyched. They are all over me too. And we’ve gone to the beach and watched movies and I swear they are so crazy adorable.
So lucky right?
Yeah when they aren’t fighting over Easter candy and chasing each other around with baseball bats or pulling apart every piece of board game paraphernalia and spreading it all over their bedroom floor.
I’m on spring break with my kids. And I do love it because I MISS them when they are at school. And I am loving the break from the two hours of school commute too. And they are kind of sort’ve even sleeping in! (Sure they are taking for-ev-er to get to bed, but sleeping IN! That’s huge!)
However. I am sure you’ll be shocked to hear that I can not get a THING done.
Even as I write this I am hearing:
“It’s my turn on the computer!!!”
“I’m hungry.” “I’m hungry too!!!” “Waffles!” “Yeah me too!”
“Why does he always get HIS show on.”
“I don’t like my toys anymore…”
The natives are far beyond restless. I need to go do something with them. NOW. And I want to do something with them. But much to many people surprises, I do actually have a few responsibilities towards things other than my children. So balancing it this week will simply be a flat out joke.
As if I’m the only mother trying to figure this out. It’s fine. I’ll get stuff done. It will happen.
“Where’s my waffle!!!”
It will.
But I’m just here to explain myself. Because, seriously, I’ve got a ton to post about including an AMAZING give away coming up. Amazing, I swear. You all will be entering like crazy people.
Because it has something to do with what I am typing on right now.
But.
“Did you know that Hillop Park was built in 1903 and the New York Yankees used to play there and then they turned that into the Polo Grounds?”
Holy distraction, people.
“Mommy!!! There are ghosties in my bed! And I’ve gotta hole in my pama-jas and my coins keep falling out!!!!!!!!!!!! MOMMY!!!!!”
(I’m just typing what I’m hearing. I swear to you.)
“A cockroach just climbed out of the baby book! MOM!!!!”
Why are they in the baby books? What the hell are cockroaches doing in there?? EW!
I gotta go. But will be back.
Think giveaway. AN AWESOME GIVEAWAY. Soon. As soon as I can get a handle on all this crazy wild Spring Break fun.
(Cue circus music, toss me some juggling balls and slap a red nose on my face.)
We are two months past Christmas and in the meantime, my six year old has been losing teeth and growing them back in faster than I can start weeping “I remember when you were just a drooling, teething, gumming mess!” And thanks to all the pasteled cardboard bunnies decking the halls of my local Target, I have been reminded that Easter is right around the corner. So what does this mean?
A whole lot of lying to my kid.
Why?
Because within a span of a few months, I will have told my kid that yes, one more mysterious magical being will creep into our home and leave him things.
Santa.
How does he get in? The air vents? Why can’t we hear him? Do you promise he doesn’t come into my room?
The Tooth Fairy.
How big is she? Is she like Tinkerbell? Can she fly? How does she carry all this money and what does she do with all the teeth?
The Easter Bunny.
Does he lay these eggs? Does he like to eat plastic grass? Where does he come from? Why do I get jelly beans? What would the Tooth Fairy say?
And I come up with fascinating, complex responses to each of his questions. This year, I even managed to have the Tooth Fairy be in cahoots with Santa. If he does a good job brushing his teeth, she’ll let Santa know. His eyes were wide, considering all of this, hoping his rep remained in good standing for all of these magical home invaders.
And yet, those wondrous tales I weave? Lies. All of them.
Here I am trying to teach my six year old facts about the world. At school, he learns about gravity, liquids, solids, what floats, what sinks, where his nation’s capitol is and that Abraham Lincoln was our the 16th president. He helps me bake and bring his dishes back to the sink. He is learning responsibility and asks me questions about current events on the news. He is learning and processing and showing brief glimmers of (…I can hardly bare to consider it…) adulthood.
And then here I come along and throw in fat men squeezing into vents in our house (no “stranger danger” to worry about hon, I promise) and fairies flitting about dropping change and bunnies hopping through our home with an odd fetish for plastic grass.
It just feels a little… off.
But I try to back up and think of the six year old world I experienced some 30 odd years prior. I remember gleefully celebrating everything magical, fantastical and far from realistic. As fast as I learned about how serious and strange our world actually was, the hope of magic and fairies and gifts being left in the dead of night if I was a good girl absolutely appealed.
Because at six years old, magic still makes a lot of sense. Santa is about as real as some guy named Abraham Lincoln anyway. So let’s go with it.
But the guilt remains. I can’t help but feel like I’m lying. As much as he seems to enjoy these silly traditions…
Ok, wait. I’m lying again. He went through a faze at about 4 years old when the concept of some strange man coming into our home on Christmas Eve seemed more frightening than any spook left behind from Halloween. I promised he didn’t have to sit on his knee. I promised he wouldn’t go into his room. I promised that I was right down the hall. Yay for Christmas, isn’t this fun?
That has since passed. But during it all, I could not help but question why I had to shove this strange myth down his throat. Believe in Santa, damn it. After all, I believed – so YOU must too! Like some screwy rite of passage, you better be good for goodness sake.
And what will happen when my six year old learns about my litany of lies after all these years? Because what is all of this for? So that he can grasp onto some hope of magic only to have it dashed? I worry he will be so disappointed. Because he is wound deep into the tradition of it all now. He adores it all and takes it very seriously. I cringe a little while he solemnly places carrots for our reindeer in our driveway, making sure they are well fed for all their work. And then runs his pajama-ed feet back inside to find NORAD online and track Santa’s progress.
All of it is still so believable.
He believes because the barometer of all that is real and safe and ok – that would be yours truly, Mommy - said so.
Gawd, I am such a liar.
But there have been times where I have hinted that the magic isn’t there. I have forgotten to fill the advent calendar only to have him ask me to fill it, but could I do it when he’s not looking? He wants that candy to magically appear. And I have left the tooth fairy writing paper out, and the pen I used. He overlooks it. Maybe he didn’t connect the dots – or maybe he doesn’t want to.
I think I was close to ten years old before I was 100% sure there was no Santa. I held on for as long as I possibly could. I kept the faith, thinking the non-believers were totally losing out while I stubbornly bought into every last drop of Christmas magic. I knew that Santa and the Eater Bunny’s handwriting looked an awful lot like my parents. But I didn’t care. There were a lot of things we couldn’t explain, let’s just believe the magic is real.
And I think I still have to.
I need create magic for as long as he wants it. Because there is something special about believing. It fosters wonder and hope and possibility in their imaginations. If there is a tooth fairy hovering over my head, slipping change under my pillow, well anything seems possible, right?
Yeah.
Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed how I rationalize my lies. Yes, saying there is a Santa means my child will have a fantastic imagination. Awesome.
But I will continue with these traditions and routines. They are woven into our culture. Watching them believe brings us back to a time when we believed. And that feels ok and fun and, who cares, everyone enjoys it. So I’m ok with that.
But when my six year old puts it together that my handwriting is the same as Santa’s and the Tooth Fairy’s and the Easter Bunny’s, when he comes home telling me what they are all insisting on the playground, when he mourns the fact that all of this magic is just, you’ve got to be kidding me, his mom… well. I’ll be back on here. Oozing with guilt and parental self doubt.
Until then, I am wondering if the Easter Bunny should leave a new toothbrush too – a little something from his “cuz” the Tooth Fairy. With all of those anticipated jelly bellies, the Easter Bunny might need to encourage a little dental care too. Yep, let’s weave some guilt into my tale of lies. It just might work.
Because how else would a blogger give a Valentine but through words, online, for all the world to see?
But I think it is about as close as I’ll get to any sort of rooftop where I can somehow yell (to all who might care to listen) that I adore my husband.
Because I do.
Because I think about who we were 13 years ago, when we first met, with all the time in the world to discover and adore the other’s idiosyncrasies. I think about how we find each other now, in fleeting moments, while caught up in the minutiae of our own groundhog days running parallel. I devour those moments and then wait. They always happen again, once the dust settles and the kids are put to bed. And then I think about us in days ahead, dizzy from time gone by, readjusting our identities as parents and partners.
You and I, we’re not tied to the ground
Not falling but rising, like rolling around
Joy is boiled down to it purest form on those days when we both have two bumping, leaping boys besides us. Days we make some variation of adventure happen on an hour long hike or a picnic at a playground. Our days at the beach, digging trenches and crunching sand in our potato chips. These are those days that we’ll hold tight, and retell, and laugh out loud about how our boys were ever that small and wanting and new.
Oh, and when the kids are old enough
We’re gonna teach them to fly
Someday it will be just us again. And we will come back together, without two cracker hungry children whining in between, and miss this painfully same everydayness. And look at each other like, “oh yeah, us.”
We can always look back on what we did
All those memories of you and me baby
But right now it’s you and me forever girl
And you know we could do better than anything that we did
I want to remember us from before and find all that wonderful novelty. I want to hold on to these regular moments before they fall away entirely revealing two young men eating everything in our refrigerator before vanishing into their own lives. I want to look forward to adventures that don’t require kids menus or car seats or getting back to our room by 8pm.
You and me together, we could do anything, Baby
You and me together, yes, yes.
What an incredible gift to share history with another, to share children with another, to share a future with another. I adore you husband of mine. And I can’t wait to spend a couple hours out alone tonight - time together – you and me, baby.
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