Patience

Oh to be 5 again.

Not really.

But oh to be 5, and have the pre-holiday excitement coursing through my veins. The mere thought of the magic of Santa just electrifying my very existence. The anticipation, the sweets, the holiday shows, the no-school, the travel -- the HOLIDAYISNESS OF LIFE. It's almost too much to take in.

Greta is completely beside herself with holiday glee. At least once a day she announces how "totally excited she is" (yup, totally) "I just can't STAND it anymore".

Oh to be 5 again.

When each day is a new surprise, each moment a fresh endeavor, each holiday a new creation, and each night cozy and peaceful.

Oh.

The Countdown is On

It's just that time of year. I'm glad this past week is over. The last week before a holiday break and -- whew -- we're all wiped out. We did manage to eek out a snow day in there, because somewhere in the county a rural road had a patch of ice. Oh well. Here's a quick update of the kiddos:

Hadley: happy as usual, though has given up sleeping. I was literally up 7 times with her last night. Not for long, but up is up.

Clara: enjoys singing. Her speciality so far? "Jesus loves me so you better not shout you better not cry...". It's going to be a new crossover classic.

Greta: is all about Santa. Our neighbor brought the kids each a gift today that "Santa" delivered to his house early. As Greta carried around the princess Barbie dolls, because heaven forbid she actually PLAY with them, she declared: "these toys smell JUST like Santa's elves!" I admit I had to take a whiff, thoroughly intrigued as to what smell that was. Turns out, plastic. Must've been a Chinese elf. (Get it? Toys, made in China.... Just wanted to make sure every knew I wasn't making a racial slur or anything.)

A post for the middle child.

You better watch out...

you better not cry...

you better not pout!

I'm telling you why!

Santa Claus is coming to town!

To My 4 month old

I need to freeze you, just the way you are.

To stop time from changing one fold of skin,

one bat of an eye,

one smell.

I need a magic memory to guarantee

that I will never forget

the softness of you cheeks

the grasp of your fingers

or the scent of your milky breath.

I need a photograph of every

moment you wake up

and the first thing you do

is acknowledge both of our existences

with a smile that moves your entire

head and makes your eyes change shape.

I need to jump into your eyes

to swim around and see what just

what you are looking at.

I need to know what you feel in your heart,

just as you know my heart

even better than I do,

for you lived so close to it for so long

and always will no matter

how far away you may be.

I need you as you are now,

but I need to watch you grow as well

to do your big things

and live your life

and make new skin, and new smiles, and new smells.

They might not always be as pleasant as they are now,

but I will love them because they

will be yours.

ahhh that life...

...sometimes it tickles you with a feather.



...other days it hits you like a pillow.



...other days it's like a pie in the face.



And then,

there are those days.

You know what I'm talking about.


When life leans back

takes a big swing

and hits you with a ton of bricks

and says

'figure your way out of this one. Unscathed. You have 10 minutes.'



I have recently embraced Nestles semi-sweet chocolate chunks. Originally meant to accent cookies which will be teacher gifts, they have become my partner in crime this week fighting their way against the bricks life is hurtling, one load at a time. They're not holding up their end of the bargain though, and seem to be doing nothing but making my pants tight, my teeth fuzzy, and now I have to go to the store for this one ingredient.

POW!

Look out for those bricks!

Thanks for Asking!

So, what's new with you? Not much here.

I love saying that, because then it inevitably (wow it took me a long time for my fingers to dance out that word correctly) means I will come up with a ridiculous amount of useless stuff to share with you.

It snowed! Yup, real quarter-sized snowflakes. We of course ran outside to dance in the snowflakes, which were mixed in with some rain drops weighted down with slush so we ended up a tad wet. But all in all, it snowed and it was great. I know so far the girls will never experience real snow. I laugh at school as I regale teachers with stories of kids wearing snowpants and snow boots to school and having to actual budget time in the day to dress and undress at recess time. Here we're lucky if everyone wears a coat. AND, it snowed, and it didn't even thunder 10 days ago. Because that's what happens you know. If it thunders in the winter time, it will snow in 10 days. Guaranteed. (I'll admit it, it's possible. I've seen it.)

Barf. Barf happens. And it happened. I ignored the all too familiar (as in daily) "mom I have a stomachache", because frankly it was 2:30 in the morning and it's the same song and dance. Same crap different day. Only today clearly was different, because only seconds later and a fountain of vomit was mere inches from my ear decorating the floor between my nightstand and bed. I will hold off on the rest of this story which involves a strong desire for PopTarts and shopping, going to school, going home, and otherwise doing just fine. Suffice it to say that after the party Hadley wanted to throw dancing and talking and laughing for 2 hours during the night, then trying to come down from the high of dealing with a vomiting child, I was a bit behind on my sleep quota for the night.

Incidentally -- for those of you suddenly remembering "the Christmas Sickness" of, what was it -- '08? -- I am hoping that this completely runs it course before our big visit. So far we haven't had any recaps of the overnight entertainment. We'll keep you posted before you arm us all with Lysol and face masks, put us in a room with windows and view us like zoo creatures. Santa, keep your gloves on and don't eat the cookies we left for you! I kid, I kid.

I am done with Christmas shopping with the exception of two quick gifts, of which I will not mention here lest the gift givers be spoiled.

It is cold here. REALLY REALLY COLD. As in, a high of upper 30's with a windchill below that. COLD PEOPLE. And...shhh...but I think...

I'm turning southern.

No, I don't say ya'll, speak with a twang, or eat grits.

But I sort of...

maybe don't really prefer...

the cold.

EEEEGADS. What happened to me? I used to roll in winter. I used to live for winter. I used to -- sidenote, I just had to rewrite this sentence because I spelled used "use". oh my -- I used to look forward to my layers and layers of coats and scarves and sweaters and mittens. And now....I'd simply prefer something between 62 and 70. Enough for various layers depending upon chosen activity. Whether this comes with age, with climate, or simply the factor that bundling 3 little people in said layers, making sure hats, scarves and any other wintery implements make it to and from school each day could be a new Olympic sport, I don't know. But I do know that Saturday is going to be 54 degrees, of which I will savor before Monday's high of 29. At least I'm getting good use of my winter gear this year!

Winter Wonderland!

It's raining, it's sleeting, it's snowing!

Scat!

Dear Neighborhood Cat,

Thank you so much for putting us on your visiting schedule! It is so kind of you to come to our house several times a week. You seem like a real cutie pie, though because you come so late at night, I don't get a good look at you. Since we're on the subject of late at night, perhaps you could...er...um...change that a bit. See, we people like to sleep when it's dark. Especially in this house. Rarely will you see our lights on past 9:30. PM. Of course, perhaps that's why you like our house.

I'm assuming you were originally drawn here by our own precious feline. But therein lies the problem. You see, our sweet furry niblet is an indoor cat. This might surprise you, being the cat-about-town you seem to be. But she prefers it that way. She went out. Once. And does not wish to repeat that experience. She also tends to be a wee bit, shall we say,

territorial.

Meaning, she doesn't really like other cats -- or animals for that matter -- to tread upon her existence. She growls at delivery trucks. And the mailman. She's not one to befriend strangers, and strange -- make that unknown -- cats top that list.

Sooo, that brings us to your visits. We always know when you are here peeking in our window, because it is like Tasmanian Devil meets Chubacca as far as the most heinous sound ringing through our rafters. I know you hear it. It's directed at you ya' know. The caterwaul. The scream. The first few times it just about sent us through the walls and left us shaking in our bedsheets. Now we're more used to it, we know it's just you visiting, but it's still not a pleasant way to be woken from slumber, if there is a pleasant way at all.

So I'm going to have to ask that you take us off your nightly stroll. I've put paper on the windows so you can't see in, and our one and only can't see you. That helps, but just when I take the paper down thinking you have forgotten us, there you go showing up again. So I am going to have to appeal to you for help. I'm sure you're great. I caught a glimpse of you trotting away once, you look well-fed thus you must be well-loved. I'll spread the word, if you just find somewhere else to visit.

Please.

And thank you.