Ring It In

This is such a strange "holiday" to me -- something that feels so big in some ways, yet once it's over it always feel so inconsequential. I wasn't into parties during my teen years, preferring to earn major bucks while babysitting on this particular Eve (even though I loathed babysitting). I had a regular post -- my former pastor's daughter -- so it was an easy gig those several years.

I miss my college days tremendously, that annual night of fun and hilarity and forgetting myself and my shyness with dear friends at Amy's house, feeling so young and vibrant and energetic and vital ... Memories forged with side-splitting laughter, champagne, and good cheer.

New Year's Eve went downhill after we left those college days behind, married and on our own. We set up our own traditions, but they kept changing every year as did our lives. Nothing stayed the same, but we made do. Then the kids came and we learned some hard lessons. Children do not care if you stay up to be a part of Dick Clark's Rockin' event ... children do not care if you watch some silly ball o' lights drop at the countdown ... children do not care if you choose to stay awake during those dark evening hours. Children will still get up at the crack of dawn, whether you are ready for them or not.

I'm not sure when we last stayed up past midnight; I believe we learned that lesson during Aidan's first year, so simple math will tell you that, since our boy is now 6, it has thus been about 5 years. Holidays haven't been packing as much uummph for me as they used to -- not since we went through our nightmare now two years ago. That took a toll in so many ways -- some levels of which I think I am even now still uncovering. Jacie had to remind me yesterday what Don and I did to celebrate this Eve just last year, so great an impact it apparently had on me.

It's a good tradition to take up, though -- easy and carefree. Last year, Don cooked an elaborate dinner (with my assistance), with oysters and Chateaubriand and chocolate fondant. I do remember it all making some horrific mess that needed to be cleaned up the next day, despite it's deliciousness. This year we'll repeat the scenario, with a little less work involved: shrimp-asparagus-mushroom risotto, with a nice white German Riesling to savor. Forget Dick Clark -- I believe Don procured the latest James Bond flick, which is OK with me. And forget the stroke of midnight -- my children still don't care what hour we finally rest our heads, and I am not willing (or able) to be sleepy-eyed on the morrow.

So, year-end readers, what are your plans for this evening, as the calendar page turns for the last time this year? Do you still ring it with splendor as in your youth, or do you too feel the effects of children's demands early the next morning? Whatever you do, here's to you ... to the evening ... to the final hours of this year ... and may you be richly blessed during the next chapter of your life's tale.

Betwixt the Holidays

My little blog has been on its own version of a holiday break, its owner recuperating from hour upon hour of baking, wrapping, organizing, partying, cleaning, and so on. It's nice to sit here, steaming coffee in front of me, PJ'd kids watching Super Why, side by cute little side under a blanket. It's been a wild, chaotic, fun week for sure.

We had a lovely Christmas at Jim and Michelle's house -- just enough presents to make it fun for the kids, but not too much to make it fall into overkill. On Christmas night, however, I was suddenly slammed with a bad cold/sinus thing which I am still fighting -- bad enough to make me feel like I have balloons inflated in my ears, but not nearly bad enough to warrant hibernation. Life must trudge on.

One of the highlights of this in-between-the-holidays period was the day after Christmas. While most people were still warm in their beds, or shuffling sleepy-eyed about their homes, we were up early (as usual) and were able to do something we never do: we took the kids out to breakfast. A new hip eatery opened up in our town and we've been dying to try it, so with coupon and Christmas tip in hand we piled into the car. I was a bit nervous -- we simply do not ever go out to eat. That's not such a bad thing, really -- think of the savings! -- but it's more due to the fact that Grace can get a little unruly (in an oh-so-cute way!) in public places. She's as cute as the proverbial button, but she's loud, she's rambunctious, she runs, she visits people at other tables, she doesn't sit still. The two times we've tried this in the past have been disasters, so I was a bit leery about this foray into the world of public dining. But to my absolute surprise, she did wonderfully well! She wanted to get dressed up, so she was donned in an adorable lavender corduroy dress adorned with snowmen and multi-colored striped tights. She took along her favorite little purse and pink sunglasses, instinctively knowing she was making her public debut this morning. What a doll ... or a diva.

Breakfast was enjoyable, and afterward we sailed to Ikea to pick up a tall bookcase for the kids' room. I was in my own person Organzing-Nirvana as I once again "re-did" their cramped bedroom, getting rid of an impractical toy box and giant basket of stuffed animals, and using the many new shelves as storage for anything and everything -- books, toys, art supplies, stuffed animals. It completely opened up the room and it looks beautiful. I believe I do get some sort of high from this kind of task.

I do feel a bit blue that Christmas is over. The twinkling lights don't seem to shine with the same spirit and intensity as before. I'm feeling that slight itch to get my house back together already. The red bows and garland seem a bit out of place now. Don already packed away his Christmas vinyl collection and we're now back to familiar standards. And tomorrow we'll be ringing in a new year -- a year of which I already feel pretty ambivalent. I no longer make resolutions or promises or dreams. I'm fighting a fear of the unknown, working my stiff prayers muscles for the uncertainties that lie ahead. The "bad economy" has now come knocking at our door in a way we didn't anticipate, which puts quite a dark blanket over these next few months. The parties are over; it's a testing time. What I need to do is take my own writings to heart:

"Learning a little about life each day. Learning that my dreams and my journey don't always meet. Learning to love it all."

To love it all. To keep fear at bay and reclaim that joy. Is that a resolution I hear? Perhaps. Love came down at Christmas, and no matter what the next days, and months, and 2009 bring that love needs to stay.

Happiness and joy to you, as 2008 draws to a close.
And may you have that Joy of Christmas as the calendar page turns.

"Merry Christmas to All, and to All a Good Night"

I'm not sure who "Santa's Little Helpers" are, but in case they have internet access ...

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

And from our family to yours ...

Merry, merry Christmas.

'Twas the Day Before Christmas ...

'Twas the Day before Christmas, and all through my house is a flurry of activity -- already, at 8:22 a.m. I awoke to frozen rain, the entire outdoors covered in a thin sheet of dark, glossy ice. The kids have been simultaneously loving-and-not-loving each other, each trying to figure out the day's upset to their little routines -- Aidan not being in school, and Grace having to share her territory. At this moment, we've struck gold in the form of beautiful peace: the kids are coloring at their Art Center (cringe! cringe! Markers are out!), the CD from their Kids' Church Christmas program is playing, their little voices singing along ...

All is calm, all is bright ...


For now, at least.

In a moment I'll be getting dressed, skipping the shower for now and saving that for later.

I'll be momentarily ruining the peace with the noisy vacuum, but due to the size of our abode that won't take too long.

Then I will be barracading myself in the kitchen, immersing myself in pumpkin goo and icing and chocolate.

Shifting gears from baking to cooking, later on I'll throw some Vodka Chicken in the crock pot, readying our evening meal early so there will be (relatively) no fuss before our Christmas Eve service.

Late afternoon the flurry continues, as showers will be had, Don will burst through the door after work, dinner will be scarfed, a pre-service rehearsal, then a beautiful candlelight service -- an absolute favorite for me.

We're still working out the kinks for our family Christmas traditions, which change a bit each year as the kids get older and their routines and bedtimes change. This year, when we come home from church, they are allowed to select one gift from their stocking to open before bed. Too many gifts will ensure too much excitement, and thus no sleep ... and children with too-little sleep might ensure a not-so-pleasant Christmas day. One small, boring gift should be just enough to satisfy their little selves. And then, hopefully ...

... Sleep in heavenly peace;
Sleep in heavenly peace.

Wishing today a day of peace, of slowing down, of enjoying each moment, big or small.

Laugh Lines: Christmas Edition

I really have to get working on the pork chops and sweet potatoes, but if I didn't take this moment to sit down to record these, I'd lose the moment forever ...

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Grace has been doing amazingly well in the poop department (and I've been delighted at the savings involved with less diapers used!). As I sat her down on her purple seat, she said to me proudly, "Mommy, I know I have to go poopies when I get a headache in my belly."

Clearly anatomy is not her forté ...

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As I was cleaning up the dishes in the kitchen, I overheard my kids' conversation in the living room. Aidan has set up shop on our early 18th century blanket chest as his personal art center (oooh, I fight the cringe daily -- antiques and crayons do not make good bedfellows!!! -- but when space is limited, what are you going to do ...) and this afternoon he sat in his little red chair and commenced his favorite task: coloring.

Meanwhile, Grace -- happy to have her buddy home -- couldn't stop babbling to him, at him ... to his complete and utter annoyance.

"Gra-a-a-ce! I am trying to color! I had a long, hard day and I need some peace and quiet. You are being too distractive!"

Grace replied indignantly, "Oh, no I'm not! I am GRACE!"

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The bickering continued as Grace began to whirl around the living room, dressed in her Cinderella costume. She was making up some song about how beautiful she is (she doesn't lack much in the self-esteem department, apparently) and she came to the verse about her beautiful long brown hair.

Aidan interrupted: "Your hair isn't brown, Grace. It's red."

(Note: It's a little bit of both. Neither of my kids know about "copper" or "auburn.")

That set Grace off into a personal fury. "Yes, it is brown! It's BROWN!"

Aidan, of course, couldn't let it go. "No, it's not. It's red."

Level 2: "NOO! My hair is not red. It's BROWN!"

Aidan: "I'm telling you, Grace, it's not brown. It's red."

Level 3: "AIDAN! You stop this! My hair is BLACK!"

Hmmmmmm .....

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Grace is passionate about singing, and with Christmas at hand a whole new repertoire has been opened up to her. However, she gets hung up on many -- if not most -- of the words of the various carols. (Hey, she's only 3 -- gotta start somewhere!) I have been delighting in listening to her sing her little heart out, completely oblivious to the errors, or simply not caring. This is Grace we're talking about -- if she wants to sing about Rudolph on the "Island of Mit-Whips" (my personal favorite) that's her prerogative. Or how about "Silent Night" ... or rather,

"Oooh, the night ... It is night ... Yes, it's night ... in the night ..."

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The kids had a fun time playing in the snow, except now it has completely iced over. Innocent snowballs are now deadly weapons of ice chunks, and no matter how many times I tell them to keep their aim low, somehow faces and heads end up as targets. Grace is sporting a lovely bump, scratch and bruise combo smack in the middle of her forehead, and if you asked her how she got it she will waste no time in telling you its origin:

"Aidan did it. He threw it at me, and I got hit by a nice bird."

A ... what?

Finally, after several re-tellings of her misadventure, we figured out what she was trying to say. Then she amended her story:

"Aidan did it. I got hit by an iceberg."

So This Amish Guy Walks into a Bar ...

OK -- not a bar. But this Amish guy goes hunting ... with my father-in-law a few weeks ago in Lancaster, PA. My father-in-law and Eli (I'm not kidding) have been friends for many, many years, and there are lot of "insider" Amish stories that we can tell (like the phone in the barn, the car parked in the more "liberal" Mennonite neighbor's barn -- or my personal favorite: the "outhouse" behind the barn, which really serves as a phone booth).

It was a cold day, quite typical for hunting, and my f-in-l and Eli decided to split up for a time. My f-in-l is a hunter by blood, by DNA, by many decades of life-experience -- nothing gets him as excited as sitting still for hours frozen to his deer stand, clutching his shotgun with his fingers stiffened forever by either ice or arthritis. On this particular day, he settled in quite comfortably, the cold not bothering him one bit since his nerve endings were probably already dead.

After a long time of peaceful enjoyment in the woods -- peace and quiet being the next best thing to hunting -- he found himself drifting into that state of euphoria ... or was it hypothermia? No, euphoria -- he loves it. His favorite place on earth, in the still quiet of the forest. Not a crunch, not a crack, not a shuffle, not a sound. Nirvana.

But then, he hears something.

A ringing.

A ringing? In the woods? Wha ---- ?! Who in the world would be calling him in the middle of the woods, the middle of Nowhere, PA, interrupting his precious, sacred moment of heaven on earth??!!

It was his cell phone.

It was Eli.

The Amish guy ... with his cell phone.

Eli was cold and wanted to go home.

Christmas Quiz #4

Oh boy ... so much for wishing for "It's a Wonderful Life" ...

What's your movie?

Your Christmas is Most Like: A Very Brady Christmas

For you, it's all about sharing times with family. Even if you all get a bit cheesy at times.

Apparently We Don't Live on 34th St (Or: There's no miracle here ...)

I've learned an important lesson.

Miracle on 34th St. is about a little girl who has no imagination and does not believe in anything imaginary.

Note: Do not watch this movie with a little boy who has no imagination and does not believe in anything imaginary.

It was a flop, to put it mildly. We had to turn it off after about an hour -- Grace gave up within the first 10 minutes, and I couldn't take any more of Aidan's questioning.

Is that little girl Grandma when she was a little?
No, it's not.
But it looks like Grandma.
Well, it's not.
Are you sure it's not Grandma?
I'm sure. She's just an actress.
Oh ... but she looks like Grandma.
She's not. Her name is Susan.
Oh ... but Grandma's name isn't Susan.


Is that man really Santa Claus?
Well, yes ... I mean, no ... I mean, he thinks he is.
Is there a Santa Claus?
No.
Then why does he say he's Santa Claus?
Because it's part of the movie.
Oh ... but I don't get it.
Can you just pretend that he's Santa?
OK, I guess ... I don't know ...

Now imagine that for an hour.

Aidan, do you want to turn this off and play for a while instead before bed?
Yes. I'm done with this.

Oh, so am I ...

Seasonal Breathlessness ...

... and today, it's not from anticipation or excitement.

It's from exhaustion.

Oh, the things we do in the few days leading up to Christmas! All of the last minute preparations: gifts, food, things forgotten and quickly remembered. Yesterday after church was the rehearsal for the Christmas Eve program, and this year Aidan has a speaking part: Isaiah 9: 2 and 6. I'm proud of my little guy.

Today's tasks were unreal: laundry, grocery shopping (not my normal day, but there's no way I'm going on Christmas Eve Morn), dishes, cleaning up after Grace's trail of toys, ice chopping, poop patrol in the yard, gathering a few last-minute gifts, and then ... Christmas Cookies.

I like to bake, but man -- it can indeed be tiring! I made a double batch of butter cookies, lovingly written in my grandmother's script. I love seeing tidbits of relatives gone, like a recipe in a familiar hand. Tray after tray of cookies came and went from the gaping, steaming oven-cave, sprinkled with red and green. These cookies have destinations of their own: a small tin to his teacher, teacher's aid, and his new friend Mr. Bill the Bus Driver. He wrote the little tags himself, in his cute boy-scrawl, curlicues now decorating the ends of his letters. The rest I wrapped up, ready for Christmas Day dessert (among the resulting items from Round 2 of Baking on Wednesday ... sometime ...)

I am wiped. This is the first time I've placed my butt on a chair pretty much all day. As soon as I hit "publish post," I'm popping something in the oven for our dinner and I plan on relaxing for the rest of the night. Tonight I'm pulling out the kids' favorite card: Family Movie Night. I can't handle a normal dinner round the table. We rarely do this -- dine before the tube -- so it's an extraordinary treat for the kids. I'm planning on Miracle on 34th Street -- for selfish reasons I haven't seen it in decades, and I hope the boisterous ones don't protest. I doubt they've even seen a black and white movie ...

Don's in Lancaster at the moment, visiting his very ill mother in the hospital. Her bout with the flu a few days ago turned into something potentially fatal, and for a day or two we thought our Christmas would bring about a funeral. Thankfully, though, she's turned a corner and is doing well. It's going to be a long road to recovery but she should get there. Don had to take the day off for the long trip to PA, but I'm glad he had the chance to go. He won't be home until much later tonight, which is partly why I'm breaking out the DVD, since I'm flying solo for the time being.

Time to raid the food stores and then pay a delightful visit to St. Nick ...

Nothing to do with Christmas, but ...

Even Clubfoot Moms have to have a little fun in a support group. Snagged this from our online board today and got quite a chuckle. Sorry if the font is a bit too enormous for this blog -- I don't have the time to re-type the whole thing, what with dishes to wash and groceries to put away and laundry to do and lunch to make and Christmas cookies to bake for Mr. Bill the Bus Driver ...

Several men are in the locker room of a golf club. A cell phone on a bench rings and a man engages the hands-free speaker function and begins to talk. Everyone else in the room stops to listen.

MAN: Hello

WOMAN: Honey, it's me. Are you at the club?

MAN: Yes

WOMAN: 'I am at the mall now and found this beautiful leather coat. It's only $1,500. Is it OK if I buy it?

MAN: Sure, go ahead if you like it that much.

WOMAN: I also stopped by the Mercedes dealership and saw the new 2008 models. I saw one I really liked.

MAN: How much?

WOMAN: $125,000

MAN: OK, but for that price I want it with all the options.

WOMAN: Great! Oh, and one more thing...the house I wanted last year is back on the market. They're asking $2,050,000 for it.

MAN: Well, then go ahead and give them an offer of $1,850,000. They will probably take it. If not, we can go the extra $200,000 because it's really a pretty good price.

WOMAN: OK. I'll see you later! I love you so much!

MAN: Bye! I love you, too.

The man hangs up. The other men in the locker room are staring at him in astonishment, mouths agape.

He turns and asks: Anyone know who this phone belongs to?

A Sweet Milestone Moment (for both Boy and Mom)

As a parent, I am well versed in my children's milestone moments -- the first time standing up, the first word, the first steps, and so on. There are physical milestones that are measured on an emotional level by the proud parents as well as a technical level by the pediatrician. And now as my kids are getting older, what I'm discovering is that there are "social milestones" as well ... and my dear boy reached one a few days ago: his first phone call from a friend.

Aidan has talked on the phone before, to Don or Grandma and once to his cousin, but it's not often. He never really liked it -- perhaps because, in a way, a sightless conversation involves a bit of imagination, really, something he's a little short of at times.

Ever since Aidan started school and began riding the bus for the first time, he quickly established a "bus buddy," a little boy named Alex who is a few years older than Aidan. The draw was obvious -- Alex has a DS and plays it every day, and for Aidan that's like the proverbial fly in the buttermilk (or however the saying goes). Any gadget will hook Aidan in immediately, and thus Alex and Aidan became fast friends.

On Thursday Aidan came off the bus literally beaming, a wrapped Christmas gift held tightly in one hand. Throughout the day he had received a couple of Christmas cards from classmates, a candy cane, and several items from his "reading buddy" -- a 4th grader who reads to Aidan once a week. The best thing of all was this wrapped gift, which Aidan (surprisingly) wanted to save until he got home. Alex, it turned out, was equally excited and was dying to know what was in the package. His last words to Aidan when he got off the bus: "I'll call you later!"

After dinner the phone rang. We didn't recognize the name on caller ID yet answered it anyway. Someone was calling for ... Aidan! We called him to the phone, and his little face lit up with a bright smile. "Hi, Alex!" He then proceeded to tell his new little friend all about the gift -- a pen with a tiny LED screen and joystick, producing a miniature baseball game.

His first phone call from a peer, a bus buddy, a friend. No grown-ups involved, no parent calling ahead to set up the conversation -- a true one-on-one engagement. A big social milestone for my boy.

Oh, what will come next ...

Our First Winter Wonderland

We had our first snowfall yesterday, as promised by the forecasters, and it was a good one. I'm not sure how many inches we finally received (any local readers know the answer to that?) but it was a worthy result. It began while the kids and I were at therapy, and it really picked up speed when it was time to leave -- of course. The roads were fine, although try telling that to the panicked drivers. Driving 10 miles an hour on a major highway is ridiculous, especially when at that point the snow wasn't even quite sticking on the road. We made it home tired and frustrated after a too-long journey.

I spent the afternoon shoveling while my dad managed his snow plow, and at that point, as soon as we ventured outdoors, the lovely white fluff turned into heavy sleet (My Friend Murphy seems to have a hand now in the weather). Nasty. I was soaked by the time I came indoors, and still had to get ready for the Christmas party for Don's company. After a wonderful evening, we arrived home to one of my major winter peeves -- someone parked in our spot. Now, our neighborhood is very crowded, and with muti-family homes sporting multiple cars, you can imagine that parking is always an issue. I have to fight this selfish sense of entitlement every once in a while -- we're one of the oldest and original families in the neighborhood, we've parked in this same spot for generations, etc. I spent a great deal of time and energy shoveling that spot, only to find some obnoxious trespasser claiming squatter's rights. That car -- unknown to me; someone's guest perhaps -- is still there this morning. Peeved indeed.

This morning we awoke to another inch or so on the ground, but this time it was stiff and frozen. The kids begged to go outside and play, so for the next 20 minutes (at least) we began the task of layering and bundling. First Grace, then Aidan, then myself. I was a bit tired after all that clothes-wrangling, and the idea of shoveling thick sheets of frozen sleet-snow didn't seem quite as appealing as it did a half hour earlier.

We trudged outside, the kids frantic with glee. I was a bit surprised at how long they lasted, but very pleased. Last year, Grace was just too young to really "get it," repeatedly pulling off her mittens and then screaming with that burning ice pain enveloping her little hands. She hated it. And Aidan isn't what you'd ever call an outdoorsy type, often giving up after a short while. This time, however, they hung in there for quite a while and had loads of fun in the snow. They played ice cream shop for a time, dishing out ice cream and snow cones and having a jolly time. I was listening very intently at that activity, for the first mention of a "lemon ice" would send me running a frantic interception ...

Even good old Jack came out to romp in the snow, puppy-like, long velvety ears flapping in the cold breeze

Grace was content simply to roll in the snow

Aidan found great joy in a quick slide down into a big pile of softness

As I was finishing up the last of the shoveling, the inevitable happened ... and I wasn't prepared for it one bit. As I was walking up our front steps, shovel in hand, here comes my little girl, rosy-cheeked and warmly cocooned, with a certain look on her face.

"Mommy ... Mommy ... I have to poop!"

My eyes widened; I believe I panicked a bit. Oh my gosh! Now?! Are you sure?! Yes, she certainly was. OK, I said ... RUN!

She was dripping with snow and ice; our boots were wet. The finicky part of me screamed internally: Get that wet stuff of before you go in the house! I foresaw puddles I would have to clean up; more work for me to do. But I didn't want to take that risk; I wasn't sure how certain I was of Grace's powers of retention. Forget the puddles -- I picked her up like a football and ran into the bathroom.

Now what ... she was bundled so tightly, so completely, and her face was beginning to look even more strained. I unzipped, I tugged, I pulled ... finally I freed enough of her top half and plopped her on the seat. There! Phew. While she sat, I finished the task of unwrapping the rest of her until she was free.

We finished out the morning with hot chocolate and homemade Christmas cookies. The kids were warm, happy, and rosy. A perfect ending to a perfect first foray into our Winter Wonderland.

Snow's A-Coming (or, so "they" say ...)

Looks like the first snow storm of the season is on the way, threatening to arrive within the hour ... or thereabouts. From various reports (i.e. hyped-up media which loves to spread panic) we're due to get anywhere from 3 to 12 inches of powder. Gotta love that range, eh? Welcome to NJ where the weather cannot seem to be predicted accurately.

Whatever -- something is coming. We got the call early this morning (5:40 a.m., thank you very much) saying that school is canceled. The kiddies got up at 6:30 a.m. anyway despite my best (er, I mean, cranky) efforts to get them to go back to sleep. What kid doesn't want to sleep in on a snow day??!! This kid does, that's for sure. Too bad that bit o' DNA is dying with me.

Our therapy session is still on today -- so far, at least. Don -- Mr. "I Grew Up in the Poconos" -- keeps telling me I'll be fine, I can drive in drifts, we have all-wheel-drive, etc. I don't mind driving in it -- I'm a pretty good driver. It's the crazy speed demons in the other lanes that freak me out.

Tonight is Don's Christmas party for his work, something I've been looking forward to for weeks. I will be sorely bummed if it's canceled, although George -- Don's boss and host of said party -- said the shin-dig will go on despite the weather. They have a beautiful home, excellent catering service, I get to dress up which I so rarely do ... no, I do not want to miss this.

It's in the air ... I can feel it. It's beautiful.

"Dog Malfunction" (Or: Guess I'm just a kid on the inside)

I'm sorry ... I think at times I must be 8 years old on the inside. I came across this video on a blog that I follow from time to time (a columnist from a local paper) and I can't stop laughing.

I have yet to figure out why this totally made my morning ... but it did.

Dog Malfunction

Christmas Shopping: Mission Completed

I'm a little amazed with myself -- my Christmas shopping is over! Thanks to some donations from a dear friend, plus some overtime, we were able to get a few nice presents for our family -- something that makes me feel really good inside. And, what made it even better, was that I only had to hit two stores while keeping my sanity (fairly) intact!

I did the bulk of my gift-hunting in Target last week, and while it was a bit frustrating at times (out of the 500 pairs of jeans in the men's department, not a single pair was in Don's size) I nonetheless captured about 80% of what I wanted. Not bad.

Yesterday I zipped out to Walmart in the hopes of finishing up that final 20% ... and I'm happy to say it was a successful trip! Everyone is now finished, stockings and all. And not a dime of it went outside of the overtime offering that we had saved up. Talk about a tight budget, but a good one. That felt like a small victory in and of itself.

I have to say, though, that Walmart greatly displeased me. When we lived in PA, we had a wonderful Walmart right down the road from our house which I visited frequently. I loved that store -- I always found everything I wanted, and the prices were very low. A perfect combination.

I think something must have changed in the Walmart World -- either that, or it's been too, too long since I've been shopping (that, indeed, is true). The prices were anything but low -- $4 for a single pair of socks? A pack of 3, maybe, but not just one. No thanks. Or ... is this just the reality of living in NJ? Could be.

Yet more annoying was the availability of items -- or the lack thereof. A few very specific things were on my list, so I went online to check store availability -- just to make sure the journey wouldn't be a wasted one. Everything I wanted was declared "In Stock." Excellent! However, when I got to the store, nothing was there. Not a thing. The super cool light saber with lights and sound, only $2 more than the cheap-o plastic version, wasn't there, despite its promise. The 12" cast iron skillet for Chef Don wasn't there. And so on, and so on. Thankfully I either found adequate alternatives or else just chalked it up to, "Sorry -- not getting anything this year." But still ... it was quite a nuisance.

But I think the biggest annoyance of all came as I was searching for a much-needed belt. My jaw dropped to the floor as I saw what they were doing: the higher you go in size, the more expensive the item. Can you believe it??!! I was stunned. A belt sized XSS, which would fit around my thigh on a good day, was an affordable price. But start climbing up the size ladder, and you're adding on a dollar per size. I was beyond disgusted -- or is that just how shopping is nowadays? Either that's a great incentive to lose weight and save money in the bargain, or it's just plain wrong. No wonder I love my thrift store.

I'm glad my shopping is finished, annoyances and all. And this morning we woke up to our first "Christmas Snow," as my kids have been calling it. It's all falling into place. Next comes the fun part -- seeing the shining faces gazing on the wrapped gifts. That part is contagious.

Christmas Quiz #3 (Can you tell we're getting closer?)

Hmmm ... Love, love, love the puppy but ... what's up with the state of the stocking? A little too naughty, perhaps?

So ... how nice have you been? Or do you have your own bit o' naughty streak?

Your Christmas Stocking Will Be Filled With a Puppy

Well - one cute, soft, cuddly puppy... And a very soiled Christmas stocking.

What Will Be In Your Christmas Stocking?

Christmas Giving: Play the Game

I don't know about you, but I've always loved memory games. Well, here's a game you can play - and donate $1 toward the Susan G. Komen Foundation in their efforts to fight breast cancer.

It's inspiring, fun, easy ... and rewarding.

Click HERE for some Christmas Giving.

A Feast Fit For A ... DOG

Something quite rare happened, two events not unusual in and of themselves, but coupled together made for quite a creative afternoon: at the very same time, we ran out of money ... and dog food.

So -- this afternoon I had to get quite creative when it came to feeding my always-starving pooch, while waiting for a replenishing check to clear. I know what not to feed a dog -- chocolate, eggs, raw meat, raisins -- so I thought back to Jack's puppy days when we faced a similar dilemma ...

At just a few months old, Jack came down with a horrible case of colitis after being fed peanuts and black forest cake by a relative at Thanksgiving. Because of Jack's very young age, and the severity of the case, the vet warned us that this might be a chronic condition for our sweet baby beagle. Thankfully, he only had a few bouts throughout his lifetime, thanks to our over-zealous attempt at keeping all "people food" away from him -- or, at least as much as we possibly could (a little tough to do once the kiddies came along).

Our vet told us that if colitis struck again, we should feed him rice and boiled chicken. Well, forget that ... chicken is not an inexpensive item for us adults, let alone a dog! Then I met another vet in the practice, who completely understood where I was coming from -- forget fresh chicken; just use baby food! Now that was a fantastic -- and cheap -- idea! So when those bouts hit, we used whatever we had on hand -- baby food chicken, chicken and veggies, or just a veggie mix. Whatever -- it all worked, and Jack loved it.

So what to do today ... Well, I had rice, but we are out of the baby food stage. I was loathe to thaw out a chicken breast just for my dog ... there's got to be something else. I raided my cupboards, and sure enough -- one last, forgotten jar of baby food. No chicken -- just a tantalizing mixture of sweet potatoes and carrots, but why not. Jack can be a vegetarian for one meal. A sacrilege for a beagle, of all breeds, but it will just have to do.

I set about mixing up his feast, throwing in a crushed dog biscuit -- kind of like the icing on the cake, doggie-style -- and sure enough ... within seconds his bowl was spotless and shining, not a grain of rice left behind.

Not bad. Kind of made me a little nauseous, but at least my dog is happy.

Actors in Our Midst (Or: Are these really MY children?!)

I remember being in various Sunday School presentations around Christmas, especially since my dad was the S.S. Superintendent for many, many years. As much as I adore Christmas, any kind of performance is certainly not my forte. I remember feeling the need to vomit with a one-liner in front of the entire congregation (and we were a big church, with many, many eyes ...), or my little hands shaking before we had to sing "Ring the Bells" to Mrs. Jager's quaky direction and my grandma on piano. I've gotten over those fears now, having been in many choirs in my adult years and the shakes are gone. But the memories remain.

Yesterday was our church's Sunday School Christmas program (or Kids' Church, as we call it here) and Aidan was beyond excited when he came home with his "assignment" -- four songs and a line to say. But then there's little Grace ... who cannot stand to be excluded from anything. She had practiced the songs with her big brother, she had attended the rehearsal ... so of course she had every intention of being a part of Sunday's event, even though she is only 3 and too young for Kids' Church. Thankfully Brenda, the Kids' Church director, and Jacie, who directed the music, were OK with it. Phew -- crisis and meltdown averted.

The kids were herded off to a room before the service started, and Don and I took our seats close to the front -- close enough to make a quick grab for Grace should she decide to break out into her own song-and-dance. Then, it began. The little kids processed in, some smiling broadly, some quite serious. It was then that my own memories poured in, and while my hands didn't shake, I did feel the nerves -- a transference of some kind, I'm sure, for my kids certainly had no problem whatsoever being in the public eye. There walked Aidan, tall and confident, a small smile across his face, calm and happy yet serious with his usual determination. Grace trotted -- literally -- next to him, absolutely in her glory. She was smiling, overjoyed, looking so cute in her bright red jumper with the small green Christmas tree on the front. You could see so clearly that this was her moment.

And then it happened. As the kids walked up to the risers, Aidan took his place, and somehow another little girl got out of line and stood next to Aidan ... stood in Grace's spot. Grace didn't know what to do -- someone had stolen her place! So she did what she does best ... she freaked. Loudly.

"HEY! That's my place! I want to stand next to Aidan! Waaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!"

Mouth open wide, tears spilling, absolute fury on her face. My fingers immediately went to my mouth, ready to start biting those nails. My stomach turned. Oh no!!! People started laughing ... attention was being drawn to my kids ... to me ... But thank goodness the kids resolved the problem themselves. Aidan turned toward the little girl next to him, asked her to move, which she did. Grace scooted over to Aidan, nose Rudolph-red, eyes shining with residual tears, a little smile. Victory for her. I sighed deeply as my heart resumed its normal rhythm. That was a close one.

I'm happy to say that the rest of the program went on without the proverbial hitch -- at least as far as my kids were concerned. In fact, it was downright enjoyable for me, my eyes glued to my precious little ones. I was so proud of them! They sing beautifully, and loudly, Aidan possessing his daddy's natural projection, his little voice carrying oh-so-effortlessly across the sanctuary. I was thrilled to see him so comfortable, so at ease, so confident -- so not me -- not a single nerve twitching. He enjoyed himself immensely.

And then Grace ... my little girl, keeping up with "the big boys." She exceeded my expectations a hundred-fold. She sang so sweetly, so loudly, also having no trouble with projection. Her eyes were bright, her head held high, belting out the carols that she just learned the day before. She stood in her spot, no dancing, no dress lifting, no nose picking. And the final number -- "Go, Tell it On the Mountain" -- was a winner. She looked around at the congregation, taking it all in ... and then she started clapping, perfect rhythm, inviting the crowd to join in. She smiled widely, watching how people reacted to her. She got her first taste of it -- and I know there's no going back. She ate it up and kept on clapping. She's a natural worship leader, it seems!

I am truly in awe of my children ... how they are "flesh of my flesh," yet so incredibly unique, so different from me in so many ways. I love the fact that they can do things that I can't -- or that I can, but with some difficulty and strain. I love their confidence, their lack of fear or any inhibition that I had felt at their age. They possess every one of Daddy's acting/performance gene (and thankfully, my sense of rhythm!!), something that I lack. What in the world does God have in store for them?

It was a gift for me to watch them shine yesterday.

Some Christmas Kiddie Humor

My kids have been in a "rare mood," as my mom (or grandma?) would say -- meaning ... well, I'm not quite sure what that means, but they have been so witty, so funny, and in such great moods that we've all been benefiting from it.

I for one have been relishing all of the funny comments and witticisms that have been pouring forth, and I can't keep up with them all. Some I've managed to capture here, but others have been so in-the-moment that they've already slipped by. Yet there were two winners yesterday that I couldn't let go. Thankfully I had a piece of paper nearby.

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We tape up all of our Christmas cards on our kitchen door, creating a festive collage of sorts. Don received one in the mail from his seminary alma mater, a beautiful card with a photograph of Canterbury Cathedral on the front. As we were eating our meal, Aidan looked at all of our cards and spied the new one. Grace, too, saw it for the first time, and both kids said the same thing ... sort of ...

Aidan: "Hey! Is that Disney World?"
Grace: "Hey! Is that Kidney World?"

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Aidan received a small wooden Nativity set after the Kids' Church program yesterday, as did all of the kids ... except Grace. She was none to pleased with that exclusion, but thankfully Aidan has a big heart and usually doesn't mind sharing with his sister. He let her hold it in the car on the way home, but made sure he set her straight with his list of instructions. After informing her what she can, and cannot, do with the set, he left the most important thing for last:

"Now, Grace, you must listen to me. This is very important. You may not put the Baby Jesus in your mouth!"

Oh, how funny that sounded ...

Not Your Mother's Christmas Carol

Tomorrow is the kids' Christmas Program at our church, of which Aidan has a part. Four songs will be sung, as well as a segment involving an acrostic spelling out the word "Christmas." Aidan holds the first letter, C: "C - Caesar Augustus. Caesar Augustus, ruler of the Roman Empire, ordered a census." I am so glad he doesn't possess any of my shy genes. Nor does Grace, for that matter.

This morning the kids were practicing the songs, two of which Aidan already knew. I think Grace possess some nifty musical gene, having heard the songs for the first time and within a few minutes had them memorized. Pretty cool. However, at one point she decided to do a little of her famous improv, and out popped a version of "Go, Tell It On the Mountain" which is probably quite accurate ...

Go, tell it on the mountain,
Over the hills and everywhere.
Go, tell it on the mountain,
THAT JESUS LOVES HIS MOM!

Sooner or Later ...

So much for channeling the spirit of Kerri Walsh of yesterday's post, Kinesio-tape-wearer-extraordinaire ...

Within mere hours of being taped up, Grace proceeded to do the ... expected:

She tore it all off.

She proudly showed Grandma and Grandpa her taped foot and leg earlier in the afternoon. And when Daddy came home, she declared, "Oh, Daddy! You're home! Hug me! Now look at my boo-boo!"

She lifted her pant leg, flexed her foot ... and then began to pull.

There it was, most of it anyway, literally dangling by the proverbial thread from the small piece still securely fasted to the side of her leg. Don proceeded to reapply it, but then stopped after I yelled, "Noooooo! There's a certain way to do it!" Neither he nor I knew which muscles or areas to target -- that's not something I want to even guess at.

OK, said Don. If you can't fix it, then get rid of it. He then grabbed the dangling tape ... and ripped.

Grace screamed. He didn't know -- nor did he give me a chance to explain -- that you cannot simply rip it off like a band-aid. You have to pull ever-so-slowly, even doing so in the bath or using oil or some other kind of lubricant to slowly and gently ease it off the skin. Never, ever rip.

Poor kid. The remaining tape was stuck fast. I took some scissors, but Grace screamed some more as I approached her: "No! Don't cut me! Don't cut off my leg!" Where does she come up with this stuf ...

Now the dangling tape is gone, and what's left is just that small strip still adhered to her leg. I guess it can't hurt to leave it there -- a least that very, very small section of muscle will be helped. Maybe.

Ugh. Guess we lost Round One on this one.

PT Progress Report

Well, Little Miss Grace has had two weeks of physical therapy under her belt now, and we're thrilled to report that there's been significant improvement so far! I'm taking the therapist's word on that, however -- I don't see much a change with my naked eye, but they seem to know what they're doing, and saying. On Tuesdays and Fridays at 10:00 a.m., we head over to the hospital for "exercises," as Grace refers to her sessions, and today was the first good day that we've had.

Grace had been a fairly difficult patient -- at least for me as I watched her inattention, lack of focus, jumping instead of sitting, running after a toy instead of climbing the ladder. I found myself repeatedly apologizing to the therapists, but they brushed it off, apparently quite used to this kind of behavior. It just killed me to watch her at times, wondering why she wouldn't listen, why she wouldn't focus, why she wouldn't do what she was told. It's costs a tremendous amount of money, and it's for her own good! Yeah ... like a 3 year old cares about that.

We see two therapists, and I prefer the woman we have on Friday (could it be because her name is Sue?). Her approach is very different than the other therapist -- she's calm, laid-back, soft-spoken. Grace seems to respond well to her. And today I was blown away at how well she did, only a few times displaying her inattentiveness, jetting off suddenly to grab a ball rather than squish her foot in soap. Only a few times today; progress!

Today Grace was strategically strapped with Kinesio tape -- what Kerri Walsh wore on her shoulder during the summer Olympics. It's very cool -- somehow, this stretchy strip of band-aid type material works with the muscles, either relaxing them or stimulating/manipulating them where necessary. Now, Grace has three finger-like strips on the bottom of her foot, relaxing those muscles which naturally want to constrict and curl like a claw. Then a thick, long strip runs down the entire length of her lower leg, bending below the ankle, in an attempt to interact with those muscles to pull the foot up and out, counteracting its tendency to allow the foot to curve inward. Very cool stuff. I just hope Grace tolerates this for the next 3 days, and then further taping after that.

So yes, progress is being made! Although "Miss Sue" told me today that she should probably stay away from ballet (she's not built like a ballerina anyway, so that won't be a problem) and she won't be able to wear high-heeled shoes. Now THAT will be a problem, for Grace is a girly-girl through and through. She loves shoes. Well, who knows ... if Kristi Yamaguchi can wear stilettos while competing on Dancing with the Stars, then I'm sure Grace will be OK ...

Off to lunch now, and then to put one worked-out little girl to bed. And hopefully Mommy too.

Christmas Quiz #2

Another day ... another holiday quiz. Couldn't resist, really -- plus, I had to make up for the other day's self-esteem buster! This one is much, much better ... And the funny thing is, I do have more than one Christmas Tree ornament on my Christmas Tree! Fitting ...

Share your results, and maybe if we put all of ourselves together we'd have one stellar Christmas tree!

You Are a Tree

You love every part of the holidays, down to the candy canes and stockings. And you're goofy enough to put a Christmas tree ornament on your tree!

What Christmas Ornament Are You?

A Thousand Words, Holiday Edition (Or: "Have a Cup of Cheer")

What's in HER sippy cup?!

(I'll have what she's having, thanks)

Innocent Joy Lost (Or: Grace's Perspective is Forever Skewed)

Due to the fact that Grace must wear her brace while she sleeps, she therefore is not able to sleep under sheets or blankets. You're just asking for trouble -- and a sleepless night -- if you try to cover her up for warmth, for the gadget on her feet would get tangled up in no time. So to keep her snuggly on these cold winter nights, Grace wears multiple layers under her thick fleece sleeper, looking like one of those cruciform-shaped kids stuffed into their snowsuits.

One such sleeper in her wardrobe is adorable -- feet cut off to accommodate the brace; soft white and covered with multi-colored Christmas stockings. But to our jaded daughter, whose life-experiences with clubfoot set her apart in some ways, there's nothing cute about it.

This morning, as I stripped her down for her bath, peeling her onion-like of all of her layers, she picked up the discarded sleeper on the floor and examined it.

"Mommy," she said with a thoughtfully furrowed brow, "Why are there casts all over this sleeper?"

Casts, indeed.
My poor girl -- I know it's not a big deal, really, but these moments are bittersweet for me, as her mom.
Funny, because she's so incredibly cute.
But a little sad too, because her first thought isn't of holiday fun, innocence, festivities, and Christmas stockings.
Her default is what she has had to endure -- what makes up her life.

But she's Grace ... my Grace ... and I adore her ... casts (or stockings?) and all.

Laugh Lines for the Week

Usually reserved for Fridays, I had to get these Laugh Lines down before they escaped my too-crowded brain. There's only so much room in there, you know ...

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Aidan has been fascinated with leopards, ever since he was given a small cuddly beany-baby-ish one from Miss Pam last weekend -- a gift which he absolutely loves. Funny for him, since he's never been a big stuffed animal fan. We've been on the internet, searching for all-things-leopard; we've read books and looked at pictures. We even spent about 20 minutes perusing sound bites, comparing how the Big Cats roar or purr. His thirst for leopard knowledge is thus far insatiable.

This morning at the breakfast table, he was reading a book called "Wild Cats" about -- you guessed it: not only leopards, but tigers and lions and other ferocious felines. He has determined that his new little stuffed friend, named Spotty, is -- very specifically -- a clouded leopard. He zeroed in on that particular page and informed us all about clouded leopards.

Now, Aidan is quite gifted in the reading department, yet every once in a while he trips up on a foreign word. This morning, we got a winner. As he looked at the map, he told us where clouded leopards come from:

"Mommy, Daddy, listen to this: clouded leopards come from the town of Isaiah."

See if you can figure out its country of origin. :) I personally think "Isaiah" is a great vacation spot ...

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Continuing with the theme of leopards and the aforementioned book, Aidan took this morning's breakfast table gathering as a great teaching opportunity for his little sister. He closed the book and pointed to the cover.

"See, Grace? This book is called Wild Cats. They're wild ... and don't forget -- they're cats!"

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My kids' favorite holiday song is -- oddly enough -- Frosty the Snowman. At least I think it is. They sing it all the time. But the funny thing is, neither child can figure out the words. Ever since Aidan was two years old, if not younger, he sang his little heart out, always messing up the part about what exactly Frosty is: "Frosty the Snowman, is a jolly, happy soul ..." as the song informs. We never bothered to correct him because it was just kind of cute how he sang it in his own way.

The odd thing is -- and I wonder if this is genetic -- Grace too cannot sing this correctly. What is it with this song? This morning -- after their great discussion of wild cats -- they shifted gears completely and began to sing Christmas songs, starting with their favorite snowman. Grace began:

"Frosty the Snowman, is a jolly happy snow, With a com-com pipe and a huh-huh nose ..."

Aidan interjected immediately, lest his sister go too far astray with the lyrics:

"Noooo, Grace! That's not right at all! You have to sing it correctly, like this: 'Frosty the Snowman, is a jolly happy SOAK!' Got it?!"

Oh, yes, we got it ...
I hope Frosty understands.

What Kind of Crappy Christmas Gift Are You? (Or: early morning blues can be kinda funny...)

In the good-hearted fun of this festive season, I thought I'd throw out a little holiday quiz for a morning chuckle. The title of this one caught my eye immediately: "What kind of crappy Christmas gift are you?" and I couldn't resist.

I think I should have resisted.

I'm not sure how I feel about this one. I've been laughing for the past for minutes, but ...

Geez!

Give it a try -- and post a comment with your results! Misery loves company, right? Maybe I won't feel so bad.

You Are a Losing Lottery Ticket!

Full of hope and promise. But in the end, a cheap letdown.

What Crappy Christmas Gift Are You?

A Swim in the Gene Pool

I thought the techno-geek gene had bypassed my beautiful daughter ...



Apparently, I was wrong.

How cute is this moment of bonding, though ...
Grace even shows an added bit o' flair, as she shows of her dexterity by using her ... toes ...

The Great Unveiling

We have now completed our new tradition -- the 2nd Annual Mystery Tree and it's Great Unveiling!

OK ... so I have two choices here: I can be a "glass half-full" kind of girl, or go the other route of the "glass half-empty." As I went to bed last night, I still wasn't sure how I was viewing that glass.

Glass Half-Empty:
- Don't EVER do "tree night" when your husband is tired and cranky.

- Don't EVER let your husband talk you out of putting on a CD rather than a record ... even though you know better; even though you know that the kids will be crazy with excitement and will jump around, which you know causes the record to skip; even though you know that when the record skips your already tired and cranky husband will really be pushed over the edge ...

- Don't EVER do "tree night" only a half hour before bedtime (although that couldn't be helped, since your tired and cranky husband came home late from work due to unexpected overtime, which was the root cause of all this tiredness and crankiness).

- Don't EVER look at The Mystery Tree's girth ... because there isn't any ...

Glass Half-Full:
- It's a tree! It's a tree!

- It was only $20!

- OK, so it's a bit on the skinny side ... at least it was bigger and better than the other 4 that were in the lot

- It's a tree! It's a tree!

- It smells great and it looks really pretty with all the lights.

OK -- I guess that glass it looking pretty good. It was fun, it was easy, it was inexpensive ... and if Charlie Brown could love his little wilted friend, then I can wholeheartedly embrace our tree-on-a-diet.

Seriously, though, it was fun, it was a mystery, and our house does look beautiful.

2nd Annual Mystery Tree!

Last year was our first Christmas in this apartment, and we unwittingly started a new tradition -- at least, for the time being. We call it The Mystery Tree -- the acquisition of a pre-wrapped Christmas tree rather than spending hours in the numbing cold searching for just the right one. Last year, this came about in an unintended way -- Don was on his way home from work, it was terribly cold, it was a late hour, dinner still needed to be eaten, he was in a sour mood from the lateness and the cold and the hunger. He swung by Home Depot, only to be faced by a long, snaking line of tree shoppers holding their trees this way and that, is it tall enough, fat enough, straight enough, tilt it to the left, no no no, to the right a bit ... The hunger and the cold and the late hour pushed his buttons as he pushed by the picky shoppers, grabbed a wrapped tree, paid the $20, and rushed home.

And as it turned out, it was gorgeous.

So ... let's continue the tradition, we said! Let's just forgo the agonies of finding the perfect tree amidst hundreds of other conifer hunters, keep our fingers and toes intact, and just have fun with it. If it's a beautiful tree, then we scored. If it's not, well ... it's all part of the fun, right?

Well, that's just what we did yesterday. After spending the weekend in PA visiting friends and family, we stopped by Home Depot on the way home. The wind was relentless, piercing through our thick coats with icy daggers. The kids stayed warm in the car, watching a DVD of The Magic School Bus, oblivious to our activity and state of freezing shock. Don said he had a bit of a problem -- there were only about 5 trees left, 4 of which were only 4 feet tall. The last one -- a six-footer -- looked a little ... well, thin ... but he grabbed it. What choice did he have? It's all part of the fun ... right?

So tonight's the night -- the big unveiling of The Mystery Tree. Here is it, photo above, all mummified on the front porch, looking a bit emaciated in its wrappings. Place your bets here, festive readers -- another winner this year, or a clone of Charlie Brown's sad little tree?

Christmas Countdown

A few posts ago, I mentioned one of our favorite piece of Christmas ... art, shall we say. I received some fun comments about your own special pieces -- I'm sure almost everyone, at least those who celebrate this holiday, have their own special items or collections that they enjoy.

Another focal point in our home is what we use to count down the days leading up to Christmas, beginning on the first day of December. It's an Advent Calendar of a special sort, dear to my heart and fun for the kids. I had one growing up and it always meant a lot to me. Many years ago, my mom had made one that we used when we were kids, made of felt with 24 little pockets stuffed with individual "ornaments" also made of felt and beads and sequins -- a drum, a rocking horse, a stocking, and so on. Every year it hangs on their dining room door, and now my kids enjoy putting up each little item, wondering what will come next.

I always wanted a similar "calendar" for our own family tradition and looked high and low for just the right one ... yet it remained elusive. One was far too expensive; another was just too big; still another was covered with Santa and his reindeer (kind of defeats the purpose for Advent). Then, a few years ago, after my grandmother died, I received one of the most precious gifts of my life. My sister-in-law Michelle made the most beautiful Advent calendar I had ever seen -- perfect because it was made by her out of love, and adorned by something that belonged to my grandmother: buttons.

We call it The Button Tree, for in the cute little felt bag holds 25 of Grandma's buttons. The painted tree is covered with 25 little nails, and each morning the kids take turns putting one button on that day's nail. Soon, as the tree fills, it looks as if it's covered in ornaments -- little buttons from my Grandma's button jar. I can't tell you how much I love this. And my kids do, too.


Do you have your own way of counting down the days until Christmas? Do you have a calendar -- purchased or homemade -- or a box or something unique of your own? How do you spend these days with your family?

"... Lay Down His Sweet Head"

OK, look ... everything has Christmas relevance these days!

Talking about head rests, though -- and yes, my boy's sweet head which will not lay down when he snoozes in the car. It flops. He flops -- chin bouncing from his chest to his shoulder, body slumped in some awkward pose. He sits in one of those backless booster seats, which ensures that his body will indeed slide and shift every which way when attempting to sleep. Grace, too, has a problem despite the fact that she's in a mammoth of a booster seat. Despite the high back, there's still plenty of room for her head to swing from side to side. On our last trip home from Dr. Wonder in PA, she woke up screaming, her neck so sore and stiff from its unnatural position. Poor kids.

So, before I shell out some precious bucks, I'm looking for some input. I know a large percentage of my readership is made up of parents, which by definition means you have kids, and these kids most likely snooze from time to time in the car, which means you probably have faced a similar situation as the one we find ourselves in during every road trip. Has anyone ever used one of those horseshoe-shaped head rests for those precious flopping noggins? The kid-market has quite a corner, making cutesy ones out of animal shapes (which Grace would rather play with, I'm sure, than sleep on) ... but do they work?

Looking for some feedback and solutions, my friends. This trip to PA (for friends and family, not medical this time around) is already a bust, as we leave in one hour with no head supports involved. But we do have to see Dr. Wonder next month, so ... whaddya think? Gimmick? Or worth every penny?

Christmas Bummery

Several weeks ago, a member of our church passed away, far too early and in a very sad way. He was one of those "pillars" you hear about, and rightfully deemed as such. I didn't know him well, having only been a member there less than two years, but in that time he (and his wife) certainly made a mark on our lives. Don and I went to the funeral home and stood in the very, very long line awaiting our turn to talk to the family. I really loathe these events -- no matter how many times I hear, "he's in a better place," it's still just so darned sad. But nevertheless, we went -- we wanted to go.

When we finally entered the room, having stood in the hallway for quite sometime, we saw a man from our church standing in the back. Just standing. We talked a bit to him while waiting; he was just so, so sad. He told us that the man who had died had been his best friend. They had been friends for over 60 years, having met their first day of school when they were four years old. They'd been best friends ever since. He was mourning far more than just a friend; it was much, much more than that.

That really struck me -- over 60 years! He said to me, with tears in his eyes, that not everyone gets that kind of a gift, a friend like that in your life. And then I took a look inward -- I too have that gift. I do have that kind of a friend. While I haven't been on this planet for 60 years, I have been blessed with a friendship that has been around for over half that time. We often take those things for granted, but it really put it in perspective for me.

Unlike these two men, who lived in nearby towns, attended the same church, and saw each other regularly for over 6 decades, I unfortunately don't have that kind of "icing on the cake" with my own lifetime-friend, Luanne. We too met around the age of 4, if not earlier. We have the decades going, for sure, but not the proximity. While I reside on the east coast, she lives in the midwest. We only see each other once a year -- occasionally twice -- when she comes back "home" to visit her parents; we email and talk on the phone occasionally. While it's not my ideal situation, it'll have to do. And it does.

Long distance relationships aren't easy; they take a lot of work to maintain, to enrich, to nourish, to keep. Yet somehow, when you reach the point of the decades-mark, it's not so difficult. I'm thankful for that. And the bright spot, always, for us, is Christmas -- the time of year when she comes home. Ever since we both parted ways for college, a tradition began -- both of us returning to our roots for the holidays, meeting at a local diner for breakfast sometime during the Christmas vacation. We continued that tradition when we got married, she taking her husband home, and I taking mine. The four of us, then, got our regular booth in the diner each and every year, catching up and relishing each other's company. When the kids came -- three for her, two for me -- we left them behind with their respective Grandmas and Grandpas. This is our time, a rare and treasured gift to ourselves -- "No Kids Allowed." For close to 15 years, this had been our tradition.

Last year things changed a bit, and it jerked both of us, that unnerving feeling when something so old, so comfortable has to change out of necessity. We weren't visiting for the holidays anymore; we lived here. Don was no longer serving as a priest, no longer possessing vacation time. He was a regular working joe, with hardly any vacation days to use. That meant no diner, no breakfast, no tradition. It was unsettling, in a way. But we made do -- Luanne, a fabulous baker, whipped up some festive treats and walked the half-block to our house with her husband one evening, after the kids went to bed. Thankfully -- and expectedly -- that feeling of unsettling quickly dissipated. A friendship like ours, so old and so seasoned, can handle a little change. The four of us had a beautiful evening. It's OK to start new traditions with old friends.

This year, though, I got a jolt that I didn't expect, one that's rocking my Christmas world a little bit. Last week Luanne emailed me, saying that for the very first time in her entire life she will not be coming home for Christmas. For the first time in over 30 years, we will not be spending Christmas together. Instead, she -- and her entire family -- will be traveling to the Dominican Republic to spend the holidays with her sister and her family. A wonderful opportunity, of course -- but oh! The jolt!

It's funny how you get so settled into things -- into traditions, into expected ways of doing things. It's funny how a change in those traditions -- which had become rock-solid institution-like over the years -- can really rock you ... at least for a little while. I don't begrudge her the trip one bit -- it will be wonderful for her to see her sister. It's just a little ... strange.

30-plus years and counting ...
I will miss my friend this year.
Dearly.