Elizabeth plays the Angel Gabriel in her preschool class's production of the Christmas story. If you didn't already know that she was being educated by Baptists, the way she punches out the word "JESUS" at the end of her line of dialogue with that unmistakably Baptist inflection leaves no doubt on the matter. I've watched this 1,000 times already. Make sure your volume is all the way up.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Christmas Joy
Some moments of parenting are downright awful. And some are simply.....sublime. Transcendent, even. The 47 seconds of this video are like that. Perfection.
Elizabeth plays the Angel Gabriel in her preschool class's production of the Christmas story. If you didn't already know that she was being educated by Baptists, the way she punches out the word "JESUS" at the end of her line of dialogue with that unmistakably Baptist inflection leaves no doubt on the matter. I've watched this 1,000 times already. Make sure your volume is all the way up.
Elizabeth plays the Angel Gabriel in her preschool class's production of the Christmas story. If you didn't already know that she was being educated by Baptists, the way she punches out the word "JESUS" at the end of her line of dialogue with that unmistakably Baptist inflection leaves no doubt on the matter. I've watched this 1,000 times already. Make sure your volume is all the way up.
Friday, November 15, 2013
23 Weeks
I promise I'm not going to start doing this every week. But I wanted to follow up on last week because things have improved! Thanks so much for your prayers and support! Colin's fluid level was up almost 1 cm, which sounds like not much but it takes him further away from the 'danger zone,' so to speak. And J.J.'s growth has slowed a bit, which is actually a good thing. Now the two babies' growth 'discordance' (this is an important term in the mo-di twin world) is at 14%, which is not great but not bad enough to make the specialists nervous! I still have to go back next week, but if the amniotic fluid and blood flow dopplers look reassuring for the second week in a row, then I can go back to every 2 week ultrasounds, and I'll go back to thinking that maybe I'll be able to carry these babies into the mid-30 week range without some sort of surgical intervention or emergency cesarean. That's what we're going for. Thanks again for taking this crazy journey with me. I really appreciate it.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Lessons from a Seasoned Full-Time Mom
My dear friend Kelly recently joined the ranks of the unemployed! She left a position as an assistant principal to devote herself entirely to the everyday care of her family, a change that is great for me because it means we can see each other a little more often and talk on the phone a lot more often. Kelly is now learning a lot of things about stay at home mom-hood, and I feel it is my duty as a seven year veteran of this gig to show her the ropes.
The other night she called me and asked me to talk her off the ledge about something she was trying to cook. Moms, you've all been there.
Kelly: Sam you have to talk me off the ledge.
Me: What's up?
Kelly: I'm trying to cook a bunch of stuff, and...
Me: Hold it right there. It's Friday night. Rule number one of family cooking: Never, ever, under any circumstances, cook on Friday night. I don't care if Friday night becomes cereal night or frozen pizza night or potato chip night. You are not to fire up the stove or stand in front of the sink, period.
Kelly: Oh you're so right! It's horrible! I'll remember that for next time. But right now, I'm trying to cook a bunch of vegetables.
Me: Vegetables?
Kelly: Well, you see, I joined a vegetable co-op.
Me: Oh, yes, the vegetable co-op phase. Trust me, I've been there. You think it'll be so much cheaper and healthier than buying from the grocery store, and that you'll be eating so many more vegetables, and you'll feel like mother of the year.
Kelly: YES!! It was going to be great!! Only now I've got to cook like three zucchini and a bunch of carrots and some other things or they are all going to go bad and I'll have to throw them away. So, I found a recipe online zucchini carrot fritters and I'm going to make them.
Me: On Friday night.
Kelly: Yep.... Now, the instructions are telling me to grate the zucchini. Do they just mean the skin of the zucchini or the whole thing?
Me: The whole thing. Think of a hashbrown, only instead of potato you're using zucchini and carrots.
Kelly: Uh oh. I already cut the carrots up into little disks. Do you think I can grate the disks?
Me: Please, friend, do not try to grate the disks. Just boil them up soft and save them for Evan's lunch or something. You will grate your finger off if you do that.
Kelly: Okay, got it. Now...the other thing that came in my co-op bin is fennel. I read in a cookbook that you can use both the white and the green parts and the fronds on top.
Me: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD THROW AWAY THE FENNEL! PUT IT IN THE GARBAGE RIGHT NOW. THEN PUT YOUR KIDS TO BED AND PUT ON A MOVIE. YOU ARE NOT LEARNING TO COOK FENNEL TONIGHT. NOT. GONNA. HAPPEN.
Kelly: Oh thank you. Okay. I can do that.
Me: Is it in the garbage?
Kelly: Yes.
Me: You promise?
Kelly: Yes.
Me: Good. Okay. You're getting there.
The other night she called me and asked me to talk her off the ledge about something she was trying to cook. Moms, you've all been there.
Kelly: Sam you have to talk me off the ledge.
Me: What's up?
Kelly: I'm trying to cook a bunch of stuff, and...
Me: Hold it right there. It's Friday night. Rule number one of family cooking: Never, ever, under any circumstances, cook on Friday night. I don't care if Friday night becomes cereal night or frozen pizza night or potato chip night. You are not to fire up the stove or stand in front of the sink, period.
Kelly: Oh you're so right! It's horrible! I'll remember that for next time. But right now, I'm trying to cook a bunch of vegetables.
Me: Vegetables?
Kelly: Well, you see, I joined a vegetable co-op.
Me: Oh, yes, the vegetable co-op phase. Trust me, I've been there. You think it'll be so much cheaper and healthier than buying from the grocery store, and that you'll be eating so many more vegetables, and you'll feel like mother of the year.
Kelly: YES!! It was going to be great!! Only now I've got to cook like three zucchini and a bunch of carrots and some other things or they are all going to go bad and I'll have to throw them away. So, I found a recipe online zucchini carrot fritters and I'm going to make them.
Me: On Friday night.
Kelly: Yep.... Now, the instructions are telling me to grate the zucchini. Do they just mean the skin of the zucchini or the whole thing?
Me: The whole thing. Think of a hashbrown, only instead of potato you're using zucchini and carrots.
Kelly: Uh oh. I already cut the carrots up into little disks. Do you think I can grate the disks?
Me: Please, friend, do not try to grate the disks. Just boil them up soft and save them for Evan's lunch or something. You will grate your finger off if you do that.
Kelly: Okay, got it. Now...the other thing that came in my co-op bin is fennel. I read in a cookbook that you can use both the white and the green parts and the fronds on top.
Me: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD THROW AWAY THE FENNEL! PUT IT IN THE GARBAGE RIGHT NOW. THEN PUT YOUR KIDS TO BED AND PUT ON A MOVIE. YOU ARE NOT LEARNING TO COOK FENNEL TONIGHT. NOT. GONNA. HAPPEN.
Kelly: Oh thank you. Okay. I can do that.
Me: Is it in the garbage?
Kelly: Yes.
Me: You promise?
Kelly: Yes.
Me: Good. Okay. You're getting there.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
22 Weeks and Counting
This post will be a little bit of blog therapy for me. First, the good news: both babies look healthy and are moving well. They passed their 20 week anatomy scan ultrasound with flying colors! Now, the semi-troubling news: Baby A's (Colin's) amniotic fluid is getting close to being too low. Baby B's (J.J.'s) amniotic fluid levels are good, perhaps even a bit on the high side. Amniotic fluid levels are an indication of the amount of nutrients each baby is getting from the placenta, and it appears that Colin may not be getting as much as he should. But the other measurements indicate that 'twin twin transfusion syndrome' (the most dangerous risk with identical twins of this type) is not happening, which is very good news. We have to monitor this situation very closely, however, because the fluid level is not trending in the right direction. So, I'm coming back next week for another ultrasound.
Up to this point I've been having ultrasounds every other week, and now we're up to every week. And I'm only at 22 weeks. Carrying these two babies to 36 or 37 weeks is starting to look less likely to me now. But I hope I'm wrong!
There is absolutely nothing I can do about this, aside from keep eating well and pray. So that's what I'm going to do. And if any of you are so inclined, please say a prayer that these boys do a better job of sharing their placenta nicely so that they can cook all the way to full term.
Thanks all.
Up to this point I've been having ultrasounds every other week, and now we're up to every week. And I'm only at 22 weeks. Carrying these two babies to 36 or 37 weeks is starting to look less likely to me now. But I hope I'm wrong!
There is absolutely nothing I can do about this, aside from keep eating well and pray. So that's what I'm going to do. And if any of you are so inclined, please say a prayer that these boys do a better job of sharing their placenta nicely so that they can cook all the way to full term.
Thanks all.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Making Room
This weekend we said goodbye to the only home our girls have known. They were a little sad, but not too much. I think Brian wins the prize for being the most sentimental in the family, but even he fared well during our goodbye. Let's be honest, though, we're moving 2.1 miles away and staying in the same neighborhood and at the same school. As far as changes go, this one's on the minor end of the spectrum, and it will no doubt be dwarfed by the baby hurricane arriving in February.
By far the saddest part of our departure for me was no longer being within walk-around-the-block distance from our very dear friends, the Iversons. Their boys are like family to my girls, and our families have been making that walk to each other for almost seven years now. Part of me feels like I'm losing a lifeline when I'm about to need one more than ever, but I know they are still only a phone call away, and our friendship has grown far too deep to be derailed by a five minute drive.
After putting the last of our stuff in storage, Brian and I headed to Galveston for a work event. First we dropped the girls at Aunt Suzanne and Uncle Jeremy's, and they were thrilled to see their cousins, as they always are. There is perhaps no better feeling than leaving your kids when you know they are in the best hands, and you can enjoy yourself while you're away.
***
When we arrived in Galveston, we unloaded our bags and took a long breezy walk outside to the hotel lobby. On the way Brian remarked that we ought to have found a better parking space or valet parked the car. To this, I said:
"No way! It's a gorgeous day. I'm enjoying the sea breeze."
"Easy for you to say," said Brian. "You're not carrying anything."
"YOU WANNA RE-THINK THAT LAST SENTENCE, BUDDY?"
***
So, our home may be changing, but the important things never will. Like love, commitment, and pregnant lady attitude.
By far the saddest part of our departure for me was no longer being within walk-around-the-block distance from our very dear friends, the Iversons. Their boys are like family to my girls, and our families have been making that walk to each other for almost seven years now. Part of me feels like I'm losing a lifeline when I'm about to need one more than ever, but I know they are still only a phone call away, and our friendship has grown far too deep to be derailed by a five minute drive.
After putting the last of our stuff in storage, Brian and I headed to Galveston for a work event. First we dropped the girls at Aunt Suzanne and Uncle Jeremy's, and they were thrilled to see their cousins, as they always are. There is perhaps no better feeling than leaving your kids when you know they are in the best hands, and you can enjoy yourself while you're away.
***
When we arrived in Galveston, we unloaded our bags and took a long breezy walk outside to the hotel lobby. On the way Brian remarked that we ought to have found a better parking space or valet parked the car. To this, I said:
"No way! It's a gorgeous day. I'm enjoying the sea breeze."
"Easy for you to say," said Brian. "You're not carrying anything."
"YOU WANNA RE-THINK THAT LAST SENTENCE, BUDDY?"
***
So, our home may be changing, but the important things never will. Like love, commitment, and pregnant lady attitude.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Father of Daughters, Music Critic
In the car, the girls have requested "You Don't Know Your Beautiful" by One Direction on the Ipod. Their dad obliges.
Brian: This song makes me angrier every time I hear it.
Me: It's not great art. That's for sure.
Brian: "The way you smile at the ground...." Yes, your self-consciousness is such a turn on for me. Whatever you do, don't act like you're feeling good about yourself.
Me: The kids like the song because it was played at the pool all summer. I don't think they're paying attention to the lyrics.
Brian: You know, there's a name for guys who are attracted to girls who lack self-confidence.
Me: What's that?
Brian: Date rapists.
Brian: This song makes me angrier every time I hear it.
Me: It's not great art. That's for sure.
Brian: "The way you smile at the ground...." Yes, your self-consciousness is such a turn on for me. Whatever you do, don't act like you're feeling good about yourself.
Me: The kids like the song because it was played at the pool all summer. I don't think they're paying attention to the lyrics.
Brian: You know, there's a name for guys who are attracted to girls who lack self-confidence.
Me: What's that?
Brian: Date rapists.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
God Must've Really Wanted me to Start Blogging Again
I should've known this pregnancy was not going to be like the others when I was watching Dear John on TV one night shortly after taking a positive pregnancy test. Please don't judge me. Brian was out of town; Channing Tatum stars in the movie. Need I say more? Only this time, I didn't just watch Channing Tatum with the movie on mute. I got emotionally invested. Rivers of tears ran down my cheeks from the moment poor Channing deployed to the middle east.
Profoundly out-of-whack hormones is the only explanation for this.
About five or six weeks later, we're in our OB's office. She's a new OB.
(My old OB, who delivered both of our daughters, had in the past year decided that she was done delivering babies. When I went to see her for my annual appointment a few months ago, I mentioned that we were on the fence about having one more. I said, "It's a tough call. You can't do it just because you want a boy. You have to want another girl too." And she joked, "You're not ready to do it until you want twin girls." At least, I thought she was joking. In the event that I decided to have another baby, she referred me to her partner, Dr. Bolt, who is younger than me.)
So Brian and I are in the ultrasound room making preliminary chit chat with Dr. Bolt about my last two deliveries and how this one will probably be "even easier," when we start the ultrasound. Very quickly I see what looks like a fetus on the screen with its little heart going a mile a minute. There is something else right next to it but I somehow block this out. I am focused on this baby and am relieved, as everyone always is at these moments, to see a heartbeat.
After a moment or two of silence Dr. Bolt says, "You know …… there's another baby here." My immediate reaction to this information: to look on the bright side, I didn't pass out, or hyperventilate, or smack Brian across the face for doing this to me, or scream. What I did: Cry. Hard. These were not tears of joy. It had taken me four years to decide I actually wanted one more baby. There was never a thought that there would be more than one more. Ever. And even the thought of just one more was making me more than a little nervous. I'm 35! That's "advanced maternal age!" I've already got a six and a half year old! How do I do this without my mother?
Yes, I cried hard. Even harder than I cried at the Channing Tatum movie.
Dr. Bolt told us a lot more information at this appointment, but every word after "there's another baby here" sounded like the voices of the parents in Charlie Brown movies. The nurse had to grab me in the lobby to take me back to do my lab work. Neither Brian nor I had any memory of anyone mentioning blood work, though surely they had told us about it.
"We have to move." "We have to get a minivan." "We have to get a night nurse." This, from me, the heretofore rabidly anti-night nurse mom. That we would get semi-regular babysitting help during the day had already been established when we thought there would only be one more. I had dispensed with the quaint notion that because I had given up my career to raise my kids, I would spend all of my time raising my kids. I want help. I'm done with this "supermom" garbage.
For the next week or so, Brian and I woke up at about 5:00 am in a cold sweat. He'd get out of bed and go sit on the couch with his calculator and our bank statements and figure out how to afford my rather forceful demand for an immediate move to larger digs. I'd just lie there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, reciting a very Catholic meditative prayer: "Lord Jesus, Son of God and Savior, have mercy on me, a sinner." Over and over and over.
We were soon on a plane to Napa, CA for Brian's work, and the improvement in scenery and reprieve from the Houston heat made it seem like maybe we could handle this unexpected scenario after all.
We went back to see Dr. Bolt for another appointment three weeks after the initial reveal. This time I was nervous because I hadn't had any nausea, and very little discomfort. This was a sign that something was very wrong, I had convinced myself. When Dr. Bolt started the ultrasound, I immediately started looking for both babies. Are they both ok? Is the one that measured a little small getting bigger?
They were both there, as big as they were supposed to be, doing somersaults, hearts beating like crazy. And I was happy. Relieved and happy. About each one of these new little lives.
Game on. We're ready.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
On the Night Before Father's Day
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Dueling Easter Photos
We took Easter photos right after the 7:30 Mass. YES we made it to the 7:30 and I DO feel smug about it. It also means we got a seat. (I know I can't be the only girl out there with vivid memories of riding in the backseat of the car on Easter Sunday while her dad drives around the overflowing church parking lot muttering under his breath, "It's [bleeping] Amateur Sunday," and then just drives out.)
Taking photos that early in the morning meant there was not an extra person on hand to snap a full family picture. So, we have dueling photos.
Brian's definitely wins this year. But I'm putting mine up here too because it is Easter after all.
Don't y'all just love the beard? I have to admit, I am a fan.
Taking photos that early in the morning meant there was not an extra person on hand to snap a full family picture. So, we have dueling photos.
Brian's definitely wins this year. But I'm putting mine up here too because it is Easter after all.
Don't y'all just love the beard? I have to admit, I am a fan.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Spring Break
We have friends in high places. Like, at about 9,000 feet above sea level. Crested Butte, Colorado is home to an awesome ski resort, and we have dear old friends with a condo there. And they invited us there for spring break!
On the drive to Colorado, the girls met this horse outside a McDonald's in the panhandle. They insisted we take a picture with it. Ooooookay.
We met The Fredericks in law school, way back when they were just Matt and Megan. Now they're Matt, Megan, Maggie, Katherine, and Connor. The last time we went skiing with Matt way back in 2003, Megan was busy working, and Matt and Brian would spend hours on the back porch drinking beer and playing guitar. This time, they still brought their guitars, but instead of playing Townes Van Zandt and Willie Nelson all night, they provided musical accompaniment for their daughters' original work, entitled, "Daddy's Underpants." It goes like this, "Daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy UNDERPANTS. Daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy UNDERPANTS." You get the idea.
In addition to the nightly entertainment provided by the kids, we also did some skiing and played in the snow. Our kids were as mesmerized by the snow as we knew they would be. It almost made me sad not to live in a place that had real winters. Almost.
The views were spectacular and the activities were unmatched, but the best part of the trip was getting to reconnect with truly great friends and watching our kids play together. It's easy to say "oh yeah the kids got along great," but in this case, it was really remarkably true. I honestly was beginning to wonder if anyone shared Amanda's somewhat unique sense of humor, and guess what? Someone does: Maggie! Amanda and Maggie sparked a true friendship that I know will last a long time.
Here are all the girls waiting for ski school to start:
Making hot chocolate:
Elizabeth and Kat share a stubborn, mischievous streak that makes me worry what trouble the two of them will get into together as teenagers. And Connor also developed a very strong liking for Elizabeth. She pretended not to return his affection, but as soon as we left, she started asking when we were going to see him again.
Thank you to the Fredericks for an unforgettable trip and for getting the band back together again.
On the drive to Colorado, the girls met this horse outside a McDonald's in the panhandle. They insisted we take a picture with it. Ooooookay.
We met The Fredericks in law school, way back when they were just Matt and Megan. Now they're Matt, Megan, Maggie, Katherine, and Connor. The last time we went skiing with Matt way back in 2003, Megan was busy working, and Matt and Brian would spend hours on the back porch drinking beer and playing guitar. This time, they still brought their guitars, but instead of playing Townes Van Zandt and Willie Nelson all night, they provided musical accompaniment for their daughters' original work, entitled, "Daddy's Underpants." It goes like this, "Daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy UNDERPANTS. Daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy UNDERPANTS." You get the idea.
In addition to the nightly entertainment provided by the kids, we also did some skiing and played in the snow. Our kids were as mesmerized by the snow as we knew they would be. It almost made me sad not to live in a place that had real winters. Almost.
The views were spectacular and the activities were unmatched, but the best part of the trip was getting to reconnect with truly great friends and watching our kids play together. It's easy to say "oh yeah the kids got along great," but in this case, it was really remarkably true. I honestly was beginning to wonder if anyone shared Amanda's somewhat unique sense of humor, and guess what? Someone does: Maggie! Amanda and Maggie sparked a true friendship that I know will last a long time.
Here are all the girls waiting for ski school to start:
Making hot chocolate:
Elizabeth and Kat share a stubborn, mischievous streak that makes me worry what trouble the two of them will get into together as teenagers. And Connor also developed a very strong liking for Elizabeth. She pretended not to return his affection, but as soon as we left, she started asking when we were going to see him again.
Thank you to the Fredericks for an unforgettable trip and for getting the band back together again.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Ins and Outs
While reading Where the Sidewalk Ends with the kids last night, one poem sent them into giggle convulsions even after the fifth consecutive recitation. I wonder if this means we need to do more work on manners or less:
I'M MAKING A LIST
I'm making a list of the things I must say
for politeness,
And goodness and kindness and gentleness,
sweetness and rightness:
Hello
Pardon me
How are you?
Excuse me
Bless you
May I?
Thank you
Goodbye
If you know some that I've forgot,
please stick them in your eye!
Amanda is home from school today. Will cold/flu season please go away? Here's a little video her dad took of her golf swing yesterday. It's coming along!
I'M MAKING A LIST
I'm making a list of the things I must say
for politeness,
And goodness and kindness and gentleness,
sweetness and rightness:
Hello
Pardon me
How are you?
Excuse me
Bless you
May I?
Thank you
Goodbye
If you know some that I've forgot,
please stick them in your eye!
Amanda is home from school today. Will cold/flu season please go away? Here's a little video her dad took of her golf swing yesterday. It's coming along!
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
My Day with Elizabeth
Elizabeth is home from school with a cough, but it hasn't slowed her down much. A small sample of the things she has said today:
"Do pirates wear name tags?"
"Daddy dances hip hop." (This was the first line of a song she wrote.)
"Do you know why I can make my own peanut butter sandwich by myself? Because I'm FOUR!"
"Do pirates wear name tags?"
"Daddy dances hip hop." (This was the first line of a song she wrote.)
"Do you know why I can make my own peanut butter sandwich by myself? Because I'm FOUR!"
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Christmas Gifts
In late November, I sat the girls down with a couple of toy catalogs, safety scissors, glue sticks, and spiral notebooks. "It's time to make a wish book to show Santa, girls. Cut out pictures of what you would like and put them in your notebook, then when you talk to Santa this year you can show him what you want."
The girls went right to work. Several toys caught Amanda's eye. A remote control helicopter, a set of slap bracelet wrist watches, a karaoke machine with a microphone, and a couple of others. She dutifully cut them out and glued them into her wish book. "Amanda, these are great gift ideas, but remember, Santa will probably not bring every single one." "I know, Mom. I really want the remote control helicopter. The rest are nice too, but that's the one I really want." "Okay, remember to tell Santa that."
Elizabeth also combed through the magazines. Page after page she turned without cutting out a single picture. After a while I began to wonder if she would ever cut anything out. Then, finally, she found it. "Oh WOW! A ladybug costume! That's what I want Santa to bring me, Mom!" Elizabeth cut out the picture as fast as her little hands would allow and glued it in the notebook. Then she slammed it shut and handed it to me. "Wait a minute, you're done?" "Yes." "That's the only thing you want?" "Yes. Just that."
After bedtime that evening I grabbed the books and went online to find their gifts. A few clicks and not much money later I was done. Now I was feeling smug about that whole wish book idea. I should write Christmas for Dummies. Who could possibly screw this up?
Soon the gifts started trickling in. Plain brown boxes would show up on our doorstep in the afternoons and before the kids could get too curious I'd declare them to be Brian's, stuff them in his office, and shut the door.
In December Santa made an appearance at the golf club. The girls brought their wish books and showed him what they wanted. Amanda focused in on the remote control helicopter. Elizabeth, of course, wanted that ladybug costume and only that. "I want wings that don't droop," she explained to Santa. "All of my other wings droop in the back and then I can't wear them. My Tinkerbell wings and my fairy wings all droop. The ladybug wings will be stand straight up and be perfect!"
Finally at about 5:30 pm on Christmas Eve it occurred to me that maybe I ought to open the brown boxes in Brian's office and check and see that everything I ordered had arrived. Remote control helicopter, check. Slap bracelet watches, check. Karaoke microphone, check. Ladybug costume.... here it is. Leggings, check, shirt, check, antennae, check, tutu, check, wings.... wings.... where the f*&> are the wings?
With suddenly sweaty palms I started throwing things around the office. Finding nothing, I checked the website and saw the dreaded words "wings sold separately" and knew for sure -- I had ruined Christmas for my almost four year old. The first year that she is in the Christmas 'sweet spot,' as they say, where she is old enough to revel in the magic of Santa, she was not going to get what she wanted.
Not willing to concede defeat, I started a desperate search for wings on Christmas Eve. But we had to leave for dinner in 30 minutes! What was I going to do? I made us stop at Target on the way to dinner. No wings. All through dinner while the relatives were asking Elizabeth, "Are you excited that Santa is coming tonight!?" I was getting a knot in my stomach picturing my daughter crying on Christmas morning because I was lazy and stupid! What kind of idiot mom doesn't check the boxes until Christmas freaking Eve?
We left dinner early so Brian could put the kids to bed while I sped out to Wal-Mart to try to find wings. I called Kelly on the way to see if she had any wings I could put under my tree. No luck there.
Meanwhile back at home Brian told the girls to put on their pajamas, brush their teeth, and then come get him so he could read them some books. He was opening a bottle of wine when he realized that they had never come to get him. Perplexed, he crept into Elizabeth's room to check on her. She hadn't fallen asleep yet and admonished him in a whisper, "Dad, I didn't say anything, but you are still making noise out there. You have to go to bed or Santa won't come!"
After driving around the empty Wal-Mart parking lot and realizing it was closed, I conceded defeat. My thoughts drifted to Santa and all the things that bug me about that whole aspect of Christmas. Why do we focus so much energy on getting our kids to believe in some guy who doesn't exist? Someday we're going to confirm their doubts about Santa and tell them, no, Santa doesn't exist. Yes, we told you lots of lies about that. But not about Jesus. He is real. Santa, not real; Jesus, real. Get it?
And then I had a Christmas epiphany! I was forgetting the immeasurable benefit of this bearded mythical Santa Claus fellow. It was HIS fault these wings weren't going to show up! I hadn't screwed up anything! Santa did it! No wonder parents have put up with this Santa thing for so long -- he is the ultimate fall guy!
So I asked Brian to write a note from Santa and put it in the mailbox:
Dear Elizabeth, I am so proud of you for being a good girl this year. Your wings fell out of the sled but they will be here in a few days. Ho-Ho-Ho. Love, Santa
We sealed the envelope and stuck it in the mailbox. Then Brian, ever the voice of reason, observed, "You know, she is still only 3 and a half. She is easily distracted. When she notices the wings aren't there, why don't we just quickly say, that's okay, we can get you some wings, and distract her onto other things. She'll probably be fine."
"Brian, you know Elizabeth. She is not the laid-back child in the family. You know this. She will NOT be fine."
"Look, we've got our bases covered here. The letter is in the mailbox, but we should only give it to her if the distraction technique doesn't work."
"Okay. I guess that's our best shot."
Luckily things with the remote control helicopter were going much better. We got it charged up, and Brian gave it a few test flights until I stopped him.
"Brian, I swear if you break that thing before Christmas morning, I do not know what I will do to you but it won't be pretty. I've already ruined one kid's Christmas, let's not do it to both of them."
"Okay, okay," he said, and put down the new toy.
The kids woke up before sunrise the next morning. Amanda first, then her little sister. We all went to the living room together to see what Santa had brought. "My remote control helicopter!" shouted Amanda with delight. "My ladybug costume!" shouted Elizabeth, and immediately started taking off her pajamas so she could put it on. She got it all the way on and opened up a few awesome golf gifts from her dad before going to check herself out in the mirror.
While looking at her reflection she remarked calmly, "Mom, Santa forgot my wings."
Sticking to our game plan, I breezily responded, smile glued on my face, "Oh, don't worry about that, Elizabeth, we can get you some wings. Now let me take your picture."
"Okay!" she said, and smiled.
And that was that. She was already over it.
It was a Christmas miracle. Our youngest child, who I had already lovingly decided was the diva of our family, was no diva at all. She was a total delight, actually. I nearly cried, but knowing how she absorbs other peoples' emotions like a sponge, I held back, and instead laughed and smiled along with her.
Amanda was still trying to get the hang of her new toy. Brian had her practice with the controller before actually letting her fly it. After a few turns with the controller, it was time to go to Joan's house, so we loaded up the helicopter and went over there. After a morning filled with lots more wonderful gifts, Amanda wanted to practice with her helicopter some more. Brian and Ward gave it a test run and it worked fine. But then, it didn't. It stopped flying. Amanda held the controller and tried to make the helicopter rise into the air, but it didn't go anywhere. They tried to fix it all afternoon with no success.
Amanda had gotten a remote control helicopter from Santa and it broke before she could fly it.
So she tells me, "Mom, my helicopter broke. I didn't get a chance to fly it." That damn Santa was 0-2 at the Brantley house this year. I should write a nasty letter to the North Pole.
"What a bummer," I commiserated. The gift she had focused nearly all of her energy on had disappointed her, but she did not let it ruin her Christmas. Not even close. She just picked herself up and moved on. Another Christmas miracle.
After that latest disappointment, I started feeling feverish. I excused myself and headed back home to take a nap. On the way home my heart ached so badly to be able to call my mom and tell her all about my screw-up with the lady bug wings and the helicopter and the note from Santa and my strategy session with Brian and the pigs-in-blankets I made that morning just like she used to and how Caroline just got engaged to a wonderful man and Brian and I were going to Vegas for New Year's and she should hear Elizabeth sing "My Favorite Things" and Amanda can read now and we hung the Christmas quilt she made in the living room and....everything else.
But I couldn't. So I did the next best thing and called my sister and cried. My phone call woke her up from a nap, which made me laugh through my tears because Suzanne has always had to take a nap on Christmas. If she doesn't have a nap, she cries. It's just too much for her. And for me too, apparently.
But we survived another one. Not just survived, actually, but thrived, with a little help from fall guy Santa and a couple of Christmas miracles named Amanda and Elizabeth. Gifts, indeed.
The girls went right to work. Several toys caught Amanda's eye. A remote control helicopter, a set of slap bracelet wrist watches, a karaoke machine with a microphone, and a couple of others. She dutifully cut them out and glued them into her wish book. "Amanda, these are great gift ideas, but remember, Santa will probably not bring every single one." "I know, Mom. I really want the remote control helicopter. The rest are nice too, but that's the one I really want." "Okay, remember to tell Santa that."
Elizabeth also combed through the magazines. Page after page she turned without cutting out a single picture. After a while I began to wonder if she would ever cut anything out. Then, finally, she found it. "Oh WOW! A ladybug costume! That's what I want Santa to bring me, Mom!" Elizabeth cut out the picture as fast as her little hands would allow and glued it in the notebook. Then she slammed it shut and handed it to me. "Wait a minute, you're done?" "Yes." "That's the only thing you want?" "Yes. Just that."
After bedtime that evening I grabbed the books and went online to find their gifts. A few clicks and not much money later I was done. Now I was feeling smug about that whole wish book idea. I should write Christmas for Dummies. Who could possibly screw this up?
Soon the gifts started trickling in. Plain brown boxes would show up on our doorstep in the afternoons and before the kids could get too curious I'd declare them to be Brian's, stuff them in his office, and shut the door.
In December Santa made an appearance at the golf club. The girls brought their wish books and showed him what they wanted. Amanda focused in on the remote control helicopter. Elizabeth, of course, wanted that ladybug costume and only that. "I want wings that don't droop," she explained to Santa. "All of my other wings droop in the back and then I can't wear them. My Tinkerbell wings and my fairy wings all droop. The ladybug wings will be stand straight up and be perfect!"
Finally at about 5:30 pm on Christmas Eve it occurred to me that maybe I ought to open the brown boxes in Brian's office and check and see that everything I ordered had arrived. Remote control helicopter, check. Slap bracelet watches, check. Karaoke microphone, check. Ladybug costume.... here it is. Leggings, check, shirt, check, antennae, check, tutu, check, wings.... wings.... where the f*&> are the wings?
With suddenly sweaty palms I started throwing things around the office. Finding nothing, I checked the website and saw the dreaded words "wings sold separately" and knew for sure -- I had ruined Christmas for my almost four year old. The first year that she is in the Christmas 'sweet spot,' as they say, where she is old enough to revel in the magic of Santa, she was not going to get what she wanted.
Not willing to concede defeat, I started a desperate search for wings on Christmas Eve. But we had to leave for dinner in 30 minutes! What was I going to do? I made us stop at Target on the way to dinner. No wings. All through dinner while the relatives were asking Elizabeth, "Are you excited that Santa is coming tonight!?" I was getting a knot in my stomach picturing my daughter crying on Christmas morning because I was lazy and stupid! What kind of idiot mom doesn't check the boxes until Christmas freaking Eve?
We left dinner early so Brian could put the kids to bed while I sped out to Wal-Mart to try to find wings. I called Kelly on the way to see if she had any wings I could put under my tree. No luck there.
Meanwhile back at home Brian told the girls to put on their pajamas, brush their teeth, and then come get him so he could read them some books. He was opening a bottle of wine when he realized that they had never come to get him. Perplexed, he crept into Elizabeth's room to check on her. She hadn't fallen asleep yet and admonished him in a whisper, "Dad, I didn't say anything, but you are still making noise out there. You have to go to bed or Santa won't come!"
After driving around the empty Wal-Mart parking lot and realizing it was closed, I conceded defeat. My thoughts drifted to Santa and all the things that bug me about that whole aspect of Christmas. Why do we focus so much energy on getting our kids to believe in some guy who doesn't exist? Someday we're going to confirm their doubts about Santa and tell them, no, Santa doesn't exist. Yes, we told you lots of lies about that. But not about Jesus. He is real. Santa, not real; Jesus, real. Get it?
And then I had a Christmas epiphany! I was forgetting the immeasurable benefit of this bearded mythical Santa Claus fellow. It was HIS fault these wings weren't going to show up! I hadn't screwed up anything! Santa did it! No wonder parents have put up with this Santa thing for so long -- he is the ultimate fall guy!
So I asked Brian to write a note from Santa and put it in the mailbox:
Dear Elizabeth, I am so proud of you for being a good girl this year. Your wings fell out of the sled but they will be here in a few days. Ho-Ho-Ho. Love, Santa
We sealed the envelope and stuck it in the mailbox. Then Brian, ever the voice of reason, observed, "You know, she is still only 3 and a half. She is easily distracted. When she notices the wings aren't there, why don't we just quickly say, that's okay, we can get you some wings, and distract her onto other things. She'll probably be fine."
"Brian, you know Elizabeth. She is not the laid-back child in the family. You know this. She will NOT be fine."
"Look, we've got our bases covered here. The letter is in the mailbox, but we should only give it to her if the distraction technique doesn't work."
"Okay. I guess that's our best shot."
Luckily things with the remote control helicopter were going much better. We got it charged up, and Brian gave it a few test flights until I stopped him.
"Brian, I swear if you break that thing before Christmas morning, I do not know what I will do to you but it won't be pretty. I've already ruined one kid's Christmas, let's not do it to both of them."
"Okay, okay," he said, and put down the new toy.
The kids woke up before sunrise the next morning. Amanda first, then her little sister. We all went to the living room together to see what Santa had brought. "My remote control helicopter!" shouted Amanda with delight. "My ladybug costume!" shouted Elizabeth, and immediately started taking off her pajamas so she could put it on. She got it all the way on and opened up a few awesome golf gifts from her dad before going to check herself out in the mirror.
While looking at her reflection she remarked calmly, "Mom, Santa forgot my wings."
Sticking to our game plan, I breezily responded, smile glued on my face, "Oh, don't worry about that, Elizabeth, we can get you some wings. Now let me take your picture."
"Okay!" she said, and smiled.
And that was that. She was already over it.
It was a Christmas miracle. Our youngest child, who I had already lovingly decided was the diva of our family, was no diva at all. She was a total delight, actually. I nearly cried, but knowing how she absorbs other peoples' emotions like a sponge, I held back, and instead laughed and smiled along with her.
Amanda was still trying to get the hang of her new toy. Brian had her practice with the controller before actually letting her fly it. After a few turns with the controller, it was time to go to Joan's house, so we loaded up the helicopter and went over there. After a morning filled with lots more wonderful gifts, Amanda wanted to practice with her helicopter some more. Brian and Ward gave it a test run and it worked fine. But then, it didn't. It stopped flying. Amanda held the controller and tried to make the helicopter rise into the air, but it didn't go anywhere. They tried to fix it all afternoon with no success.
Amanda had gotten a remote control helicopter from Santa and it broke before she could fly it.
So she tells me, "Mom, my helicopter broke. I didn't get a chance to fly it." That damn Santa was 0-2 at the Brantley house this year. I should write a nasty letter to the North Pole.
"What a bummer," I commiserated. The gift she had focused nearly all of her energy on had disappointed her, but she did not let it ruin her Christmas. Not even close. She just picked herself up and moved on. Another Christmas miracle.
After that latest disappointment, I started feeling feverish. I excused myself and headed back home to take a nap. On the way home my heart ached so badly to be able to call my mom and tell her all about my screw-up with the lady bug wings and the helicopter and the note from Santa and my strategy session with Brian and the pigs-in-blankets I made that morning just like she used to and how Caroline just got engaged to a wonderful man and Brian and I were going to Vegas for New Year's and she should hear Elizabeth sing "My Favorite Things" and Amanda can read now and we hung the Christmas quilt she made in the living room and....everything else.
But I couldn't. So I did the next best thing and called my sister and cried. My phone call woke her up from a nap, which made me laugh through my tears because Suzanne has always had to take a nap on Christmas. If she doesn't have a nap, she cries. It's just too much for her. And for me too, apparently.
But we survived another one. Not just survived, actually, but thrived, with a little help from fall guy Santa and a couple of Christmas miracles named Amanda and Elizabeth. Gifts, indeed.
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