Looking ahead to Christmas: now we can finally celebrate!

So Advent is almost over, but as most of you know the Christmas season really begins on December 25, as we celebrate the Feast of the Nativity. In the pre-commercialized past, traditional celebrations of Christmas really kicked in as everyone celebrated the twelve days of Christmas from Christmas Day to Epiphany on January 6. That's what the song refers to, obviously. That's also what Shakespeare is talking about in his play, Twelfth Night; in his time Twelfth Night, or Epiphany, was a time of revelry, when everything was topsy-turvy -- like the capers and shenanigans of the play.

In my crowd, we try pretty hard to stick to these old ways. The husband and I host a swingin' party on December 26 every year -- traditionally called Boxing Day in England (for reasons that are explained various ways by various sources).  A couple of days later we will all gather at Mr. and Mrs. K.'s home to sing carols and eat fabulous cookies and drink fabulous wine. We will also play The Name Game, which I have also played in its guise as The Colander Game. Either way, I will do well in this game if I am seated next to The Mother. Not that I am competitive, or planning my strategy already . . . .

On New Year's Eve we go to The Mother and her husband (so is he The Father? I don't think so, but I'm not sure why . . . ) for a black tie swanky soiree. Yes -- I said "black tie," and get this: it's so swanky, the invitation says "white tie optional." Boom.

And finally, on January 3, my whole extended clan of beloveds will meet at my sister's house for our family Christmas celebration, along with a rollicking game of "Dirty Santa." The primo gift last year was an ear wax remover, but I've got a few surprises up my sleeve this year; I think I can top that. This will be our last loving look at the Soldier, who will deploy to Korea on January 7. A brand new graduate of West Point and the field artillery school, he will take all, all the prayers with him when he goes -- please add yours to the pile!

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Again with the looking ahead, the Advent book for today is actually a great story to read on December 26 -- the Feast of Saint Stephen. If you know the carol you know that the good king and his servant boy went out into the cold winter night on the Feast of St. Stephen, "when the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even." This little book tells the story of the carol. It's a sweet one!

Rock the Baby

OK, so I went to Nordstrom today, and on my way to the escalator I walked past this contraption, which completely mesmerized me.  It's a baby rocking machine, and it comes with a speed control and an MP3 connection, so the mommy can play soothing music or white noise or French lessons.  The Nordstrom folks had a white noise recording playing; you can hear it above the jibber-jabber of passers-by if you turn up the volume on the short little video.

My first thought as I gazed at this very pricy baby accessory was: I have lived too long, if I live in a world in which we cannot rock our own babies any more.  But then I thought, now wait.  I used an un-motorized "bouncy seat" with each of my three urchins when they were younger; does that make me a bad mommy, or a good mommy -- or a bad mommy who at least had a chance to rinse a dish or two before she picked up the kid again -- so maybe I was a bad mommy with clean dishes?

This baby rocking machine had me re-thinking all of my life choices.

So then I got to thinking some more. This contraption is kind of like when I put the inconsolable infant sunny girl, strapped into her carseat, on top of the [empty] laundry dryer and turned it on.  The dryer hummed and vibrated, and the sunny girl was temporarily soothed, and I lay down on the cement in front of the dryer, in case the baby sunny girl vibrated off of it.  I figured she would fall on me, which would make me a great mommy -- or at least a martyr, which is the same thing.

It's also kind of like when the infant tall boy would not shut up could not be soothed, so I loaded him and me into my little two-seater Honda CR-X (God, I loved that car), and off we went into the night.  I drove completely around the I-495 beltway that circles Washington, D.C.  That's sixty-four miles. Y'all, I did that more than once, and at the time it felt like a great solution: the tall boy slept in his carseat, I listened to a combination of oldies and talk radio, and no babies were thrown out of any windows.  A win for everyone.

The mommy gig is a tough one; you all know this.  And any help an infant's mom can get as she juggles her baby, her toddler(s), her groceries, her hormones, her laundry,  her intertwined love and angst, and her latte is help she should welcome.  Once, when I was trying very hard to pay for groceries and the newborn girl in charge had had it (she has been in charge since Day One -- believe it), a lovely woman said to me -- as I struggled to gently bouncy-bounce my screaming, hungry infant and find my checkbook and appear as if I was fine with the milk leaking from both of my breasts -- "I don't want to offend you, but would it help if I held your baby?" People, I could have kissed her.  Maybe I did; that whole post-natal era is a bit of a blur.

So my conclusion? Rock your babies the best way you can.  You are a great mom. You were a great mom.  You will be a great mom.  Being a mamma -- especially a new mamma -- is hard as shit. We deserve all the help we can get.  And in the middle of that "what am I doing?" moment, don't let anyone (including a snobby Nordstrom shopper) make you feel bad.

We're not rocket scientists. We're better -- we make rocket scientists.

My advent calendar is like my life: always running a little bit behind.

Here's our pretty tree from a couple of years ago -- after the gifts had been opened.

Well, so let me share a list of all the things I have not done yet during this Advent season:

• decorate the Christmas tree with all my lovely ornaments, each of which has special meaning to me, but which I may or may not be able to find currently
• put lights on the Christmas tree
• acquire the Christmas tree
• bake any sort of scrumptious Christmas-y treat
• put twinkly Christmas lights up outside my home to welcome family, friends, and maybe a wassailing stranger or two
• wrap any Christmas gifts for my family and friends
• purchase any Christmas gifts for my family and friends
• hunt down the Christmas stockings and stocking hangers
• write a hilarious, not-too-braggy, chock-full-of-pictures Christmas newsletter to include with my Christmas cards
• mail any Christmas cards
• purchase, craft, or recycle any Christmas cards

My Christmas angst level is high, y'all.

It feels like I say this every year. But -- I am always able to slide into the pew in time to sing carols before Midnight Mass, and somehow the little baby Jesus is always able to celebrate another birthday.

And I have also realized that Santa has my back; it's just that I need to learn how to recognize his elves when they are all around me.  Somehow the treats get made (the sunny girl is my go-to baker); the presents get purchased (come here, Amazon-dot-com, so I can kiss you on the lips) -- and wrapped by Coleen and by the girl in charge (who has a system, of course). The Boy Scouts come through every year, with a tree, and greenery, and luminaria to welcome those wassailers and friends.  My family's Christmas mornings are always wonderful, and our Christmas Day is mellow (we all lazily read our newest books), and we continue our festive season the very next day with a kick-ass Boxing Day party.

So -- get thee behind me, Christmas angst!

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And here -- with no angst! -- is a "catch-up" batch of wintery and Christmas-y books for Advent:

DECEMBER 14:

  

Twelve Kinds of Ice, by Ellen Bryan Obed, is a nostalgic and old-fashioned seeming book about the different kinds of ice one family experiences as winter progresses.  From a delicate skim of ice on a pail to true skating ice, the narrator and her sister find a way to find joy and anticipation and fun.  The delicate and precise illustrations by Barbara McClintock match the tone of the writing -- the book evokes all the different feelings of winter.  I'm so glad to have found this book!


DECEMBER 15:

Kevin Crossley-Holland wrote a trilogy of books that re-tell the King Arthur story that the tall boy loved when he was younger, so I was curious to see how he "re-tells" the Nativity story.  His book -- How Many Miles to Bethlehem? -- is wonderful.  The language is sometimes whimsical and sometimes sweeping and majestic, as Crossley-Holland narrates the story through the voices of the various participants and observers.  And the artwork!  Oh my goodness, it's so gorgeous!


DECEMBER 16:

In A Perfect Day, Carin Berger creates a snowy world using collages made of ledger paper brushed with paint; the texture and depth in the illustrations seem to be a way of representing the unique quality of the light on snow.  The story of the children who emerge from their homes to play together is told very simply, but the pictures give the story a richness that will have young readers and pre-readers poring over the book themselves for hours.


DECEMBER 17:


A storybook called The Nativity seems pretty straightforward, and the reader might assume that it will take a reverent tone when it describes this most important of all births.  And the story is absolutely told with a serious voice -- taken from the King James version of the Bible.  But the illustrations by Julie Vivas are just the slightest bit kooky, so that everyone will delight in looking at the pictures.  Mary's belly is really, really big; the angel Gabriel has bright red hair, shimmery wings, and big work boots.  It's hilarious! I just wish, wish, wish I had been able to share this book with the urchins when they were little -- but I am happy that my sister's small boys will get to enjoy it (guess what they're getting for Christmas?!)

Before the thankful season gets away from me . . . .

 

I let an important anniversary get away from me this fall, but I know you are all with me as I savor the fact that it has been over a year since the tall boy has had an encounter with a hospital emergency staff, or a cardio-thoracic surgeon, or an interventional radiologist.

This fall, instead of taking this picture . . .

 

. . .  the husband and I met the tall boy and Her for a birthday celebration and took this glamour shot.  Way more fun in every way -- believe it.

Talk about Thanksgiving!

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The Advent Calendar book for today is perfect as we enter into the season of snow -- or at least the season of hoping for a few white flakes!

Snow, a Caldecott Honor Book by Uri Shulevitz, is a great picture book that perfectly captures the excitement a child feels upon seeing a first snowflake . . . and then a second, and a third.  Shulevitz portrays the frustration and faith of one little boy who longs for snow.  Gorgeous!

Gradu-palooza -- the girl version!

So the girl in charge graduated from high school last weekend.  

 I feel old.  I ask you -- does this look like the face of someone who is ready to step out into the wide world? 

No?  OK -- how about this?

I know, right?

 [ The festive bow was after the fact, and I say -- too bad.  ]

While the mortarboard hat does make a definite statement, I think the bow shows way more fashion flair.  Call me crazy.

We partied it up for our girl, with balloons and party platters, and grandparents and aunts and godparents. 

My friend Saskia made this beautiful cake, which tasted even better than it looked, and strictly followed the girl in charge's instructions:  chocolate, with a side of chocolate, filled with chocolate and frosted with chocolate.  Please.

The bestie was there to make the day perfect.  It wouldn't be a celebration without her and her mom -- they make any party more fun!

So, yeah!  My girl in charge is already making her lists and organizing her minions as she prepares to leave for Emory University in the fall, but we're not going to talk about that because I can only absorb so many of these  moments when my life swings on a hinge and everything changes.  I don't really understand how parents make it through life without sobbing every day.

But we do.

Happy birthday, adored one!

So this sweet sunny girl celebrated another birthday last week -- she's fifteen now, y'all.  My heart . . . .

The husband and I asked her what she wanted for her birthday, and she said, "I want to spend the day with the tall boy."  That's it.  No agenda, no jewels or ducks or tickets to a wildly inappropriate rock concert.  Just -- could the tall boy come down and spend the day with her?  My heart . . . .

Well, sweet sunny girl, we said -- what about a special meal? The grandparents will take you out to eat tomorrow, but what about your actual big day?  "Pot roast!" she said.  "And chocolate cake.  But don't worry -- I can make my own cake.  I did it last year, and I'm a much better cook now."

My heart, y'all . . . .  And no.  She did not have to make her own cake; her dad made a fabulous triple-layer cake for her.  This year.  Last year, I am humiliated to report, she really did make her own cake.  And it was delicious.

So the tall boy arranged a great day for her that involved Smithsonian museums and a fun restaurant for lunch, plus meeting his roommate and saying hi to HER.  And no parents, because she's that cool and mature.  Look, y'all.

She had a great day, my sunny girl -- whose Facebook is in French, and who sings like a lark, and whose style savvy means that she looks good in anything, and whose friends think she is all that and a slice of peach pie.  

It's just so true -- I am the luckiest mom.

Sister love

Here are my beautiful girl urchins,beautifully lit by the television. I adore these two chicks so much, and I find it such a cool trick of genetics that I gave birth to two people who in many ways could not be more different. One is logical, literal, and organized -- while the other is creative and poetic, with a lovably goofy sense of humor.

The girl in charge is a terrific time manager, and guards her precious free moments zealously. Among the many things I admire about her is her embrace of the afternoon nap. I'm not kidding; this girl has always known when she's had enough.

True story: Last January, she starred in her high school's One-Act Play, which is a district-level competition, and she rocked it totally. After every school performed, all the performers were manic in their adrenaline-fueled excitement, so while they waited for the judges to return and give out awards, one hundred high school drama geeks stormed the stage and spontaneously started playing improv games. Well, the girl in charge was right in there with them, pretending to be an angst-filled cactus or whatever -- until she was done. Just . . . done. She politely excused herself and went to an empty classroom to take a nap. The best part is -- she planned for the nap! She brought a pillow and a blanket with her and staged them in the empty classroom. Do you see what I'm dealing with here, people?!

In contrast, the sunny girl wants to cram everything into every day. She is always trying to figure out how to add one more dance class or club or movie date into her schedule. And nap? Please -- she would skip sleep all together if it were biologically possible.

Actually, when the sunny girl is approaching the end of a hectic day, she gets a little frenzied -- hurrying, hurrying, hurrying to get everything in. I have seen her literally spinning around in circles as she tries to prioritize all the things she wants to accomplish, before her dad and I loom menacingly, glaring meaningfully at our watches and saying, "What time do you need to get up tomorrow, sunny girl?" We have plans to go see a swanky play at the Kennedy Center, and the sunny girl is so looking forward to it. But when I told her she would need to miss a dance class so that we can get to the theater on time, her face fell two stories: "Can't I at least go to half the class? Can I change clothes at the theater? Can we skip dinner?" It's classic sunny girl: "I don't want to miss a thing!"

But as these two totally fabulous and totally different girls have grown up, a totally cool thing has happened along the way: they totally dig each other. And in a weird way, they complement each other perfectly. While the sunny girl is quick to crack with the jokes, the girl in charge is her biggest fan -- laughing like a hyena at the sunny girl's antics. If you know the girl in charge you'll understand that this is a miracle; the girl in charge is more of a Mona Lisa smile kind of person -- it takes some work to crack her up. And as the sunny girl has started high school, she has really turned to her big sister for advice and guidance.

They bond over "Doctor Who" and "A Very Potter Musical;" the girl in charge defends her sister's right to the front seat, even when another senior is in the car; they roll their eyes at their mother's failings as a housekeeper. And I am not even kidding when I say that any mention of a tyrannosaurus rex makes them weep -- weep -- with laughter.

Sisters are so cool.

Happy birthday, adored one!

So the girl in charge turned 17 last week while we were at the beach, which makes me very angsty because it's all going too damned fast but let's not dwell or I'll cry.

Well, here's the thing -- as some of you may know, the girl in charge shares a birthday with Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom and J.K. Rowling. This is huge, people -- especially for a girl who always has a Harry Potter book in rotation, can recite whole passages from each of the seven books verbatim, and kills, kills I'm telling you, at any kind of Potterish trivia game. I mean, just don't even try to beat her. We have used up three hard-backed copies of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, no lie -- literally read them to pieces. In this picture, my girl is saving our seats for the fabulous midnight premiere of the last Harry Potter movie; bet you can't guess what she's reading!

So in the middle of a summer like this one, when you can't trip over a log without finding a photo of Daniel Radcliffe underneath it, the girl in charge was in Harry Potter heaven. And for her birthday, I might have gone just a wee bit overboard on the Harry Potter loot. She got Harry Potter Legos (Hagrid's Hut and the Knight Bus -- way cool!).

She got a Harry Potter wand that lights up when you say "lumos!" (and give it a little shake and make sure a battery is in there somewhere) and a Harry Potter sticker book (which one might think was aimed at the younger Harry Potter fans but one would be wrong, wrong, wrong, mother! because for the girl in charge and her friends -- seniors in high school, remember -- the only thing as cool as Harry Potter stickers would be a Doctor Who coffee mug or a "Tangled" poster, both of which are currently on the girl in charge's Christmas wish list).

She also got a Harry Potter poster book, and I take great glee in reporting that the soldier, who reported back to West Point less than a week later, begged -- begged -- for the Hermione poster, and the girl in charge gave it to him and told me that it was the first time the soldier had ever hugged her.

I do hope this magically wonderful girl (who could have been The Chosen One) realizes how much she is cherished and adored; the world is full of busy-ness and hustle-bustle, and we all move way too fast and talk too much, and fill our heads with worries that don't really mean anything. I feel like every day that slips by is another lost opportunity to make sure my beautiful girl knows: I am the luckiest mom.

Get the adoption papers ready . . . .

So here we are in beautiful Sandbridge, Virginia, spending another week with our beloved un-family. The tall boy is feeling pretty lucky because the Department of Justice released him from his cubicle for a little while. We're feeling pretty lucky to have him with us too -- we missed him while we were in Nag's Head in June!

I know it's Thursday already, and I kept meaning to tell you something pithy and meaningful every day about how much fun we're having, and how delicious the food has been, and how much I love spending time with these people. But seriously -- every time I considered whether to sit down and write, or lie back down on the sofa or beach chair or recliner or bed and read another hundred pages, guess which one I did? I could lie to you and say I was out there boogie-boarding or kayaking or going for an early morning bike ride -- but no.

And I'm telling you -- pretty soon I will have to stop calling them my un-family; I am considering all kinds of nefarious plots to get myself officially related to them. Most of these involve legal adoption or arranged marriage (sorry, tall boy -- you just thought you were in charge of your own destiny), so give me some time.

Check out our week:

The girl in charge and I picked the sunny girl up at camp on our way to the beach. While we were traveling it became necessary to try on Princess Kate hats.

Angel girl . . . .

Taboo seems to be the chosen game of the week . . . .

Not me on the sea kayak -- I took the picture from my beach chair before I sank back into my book.

Not me on the boogie-board either -- but look at this dude go!

My birthday dinner!

Dear ones . . . .

The husband and an un-brother -- getting that birthday cake ready!

This one is helping me get the adoption papers ready . . . .

And she is working with me on the arranged marriage angle. I'm telling you -- the two of us really, really want to be related to each other. It will happen.

And just a reminder -- I know I keep saying it, but it really is true: I am the luckiest mom.