Merry Whatever to you & yours.
Holiday Meme December 21, 2007
Just because I sort of love these things…
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Wrapping paper with lots of ribbon.
2. Real tree or artificial? I like a real tree better but my bronchia and sinuses prefer an artificial tree.
3. When do you put up the tree? Should be the day after Turkey Day but this year I was a little late.
4. When do you take the tree down? After the New Year unless I am super sick of looking at it.
5. Do you like eggnog? Yes, with Myers Rum & Whipped Cream please.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? Once my Grandma made me a life sized Annie Doll complete with wardrobe and stuffed Sandy Dog.
7. Do you have a nativity scene? I used to have this beautiful hand carved Nativity from Bethlehem – I lost that in my Divorce (As if that fool needs a Nativity scene).
8. Hardest person to buy for? My Husband – He is an Enigma.
9. Easiest person to buy for? Mogo – She rocks. As long as it is wrapped she digs it.
10. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I got a pair of humongous tweezers once from a co-worker. Seriously they were 2 feet long.
11. Mail or email Christmas cards? Mail – Although I need assistance in remembering to actually put them in the mailbox
12. Favorite Christmas Movie? Miracle on 34th Street & Merry Christmas Charlie Brown
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? The week before Christmas.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Miss Manners says that you should never let on that you have re-gifted. I therefore plead the 5th.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Mom’s Egg’s Benedict.
16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? I prefer clear lights and twinkly.
17. Favorite Christmas song Carol of the Bells, Silent Night
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? I have never traveled for Christmas.
19. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeers? Yep
20. Angel on the tree top or a star? Angel – Santa needs someplace to stick the tree, don’t you think?
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? 1 on Christmas Eve – the rest Christmas Day.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? The whole “War on Christmas” thing. That is just weird.
23. What I love most about Christmas? Pretty shiny objects, Christmas cookies, Presents, Family, and Pie.
I Remember What Two was like. December 17, 2007
At two, she was not quite a big girl and not quite a baby. I remember the “Me Do it’s” and the Whys” and words like “Lello” (Yellow) or “Tephalone” (Telephone). I remember sweet cuddles at bedtime and little bits of cut up grapes and hot dogs so she would not choke. I remember that she ate like a little bird and she rarely got any on her. I remember realizing that I was watching her turn into a little person with her own ideas and her own little sense of humor. She was just starting to crack jokes and crack us up. I remember thinking that she was forming in front of us and being in awe of that. Her list of vocabulary words would grow consistently with her. She would sprout up and out, and then up again.. I remember thinking that I wished I had stopped growing on an up cycle and wondering if Mogo will too.
The baby is gone, there is no toddler, and she is big. The curls have all fallen out. Her face looks big. Her words are big, and she has BIG ideas. “Lello” is only uttered when she is trying to be cute. There are a lot more “Why’s” now but the answers are oh so much more complicated and “because” has never sufficed. She is still learning and growing everyday. It seems as if she grows an inch each night. I remember two, it was wonderful and terrible and exciting and exhausting. Such is parenthood.
He’d be two now if not for the whole death thing.
Judging by Mogo at two, this would be the first year that he would have noticed Christmas. Mogo would be telling him all about Santa and the Reindeer. She would remind him to behave and threaten to tell Santa on him to keep him in line and out of her things. She would have shown him just the right amount of jelly beans to put on his Gingerbread house and tell him if he was making a mess. She would have taken over and just done the damn thing for him, I am sure of it. I would have been nice to have four instead of just three.
I imagine a little version of my Old Man. His Polo shirt buttoned all the way up to his chin and little Chuck Taylor’s on his feet. I imagine those big blue eyes with the wickedly thick eyelashes looking up at me. I wonder if he would have been as smart as Mogo is or if he would be loveable but dumb as a rock (Nah, not possible). I wonder if he would have been a bit of a spaz or if he would be calm and cool. Would he have been slapstick funny or sarcastic funny like the rest of the family? Would he have been into dinosaurs, reptiles, cowboys, and Indians like his Dad? Would he be getting a pair of red cowboy boots for Christmas and singing “Rhinestone Cowboy?” (Yeah, you don’t really want to ask).
So, apparently, I have given this a little too much thought. Truth is I am not talking about Aidan here. I am not talking about the sweet boy with the extra pinky and the missing organs that I held & cried over. I am talking about a dream. His little body was not able to make it to birth let alone to two years old. The numerous problems inside that seemingly perfect body would have never allowed it. If he had been allowed to live, he would have never made it to two. Perhaps it was a kindness from the Universe that it happened the way it did. Perhaps I should be grateful. I’m not grateful though. I like the dream better and I wish I could see him at two.
Actually written 12/14/07 December 16, 2007
Santa & His Elves.
Santa was never a big deal at my house growing up. It was just sort of understood that the presents came and the unwrapped ones were from Santa and the wrapped ones were from the Parental Units. My Dad told us things like “If you don’t believe, you won’t receive.” and since I always believed the presents would show up, I always got them. I don’t think I really cared about weather the fat man actually came down the chimney. I don’t think I ever left him cookies & milk (Ma, feel free to correct me if I am mistaken on that one). I know that I always sort of thought the Santa was a feeling. The warm and fuzzy feeling that Christmas gave you. Santa was the pretty lights and the Garbage Can sort of Christmas tree with everything piled on it including a pound of tinsel. Santa was the smell of cookies coming from Moms kitchen and watching “Miracle on 34th Street” on a chilly Sunday afternoon bundled up on the couch.
Oh, I think I must have sat on Santa’s lap although there is no photographic evidence of that. The response to questions about how he could be in so many places at once was that “Santa needed lots of helpers.” I accepted it all at face value and whether or not I was being lied to was not really of any importance. I don’t have any sad story of the day I realized that Santa was really Mom. I knew she hid presents in the Wine Cellar and occasionally helped myself to a little peak. Santa just was not the big deal at my house, until now.
Mogo is preoccupied with Santa. The kids at school are all talking about Santa. She has sat on Santa’s lap this year (and did not cry once). She insisted on writing Santa a letter to ask for a Hello Kitty CD Player “just incase he was not paying attention when she told him.” Get this; the 5 year old does not want to have to listen to Mom & Dads music in the car. She is 5 going on 13. All she talks about lately is Santa. How is Santa going to get in? Why did Santa neglect to buy her a Baby Carriage last year? Yada, Yada, Yada. My attempts to down play the Santa stuff have gone by the wayside. The girl is obsessed. We have not helped. Since her recent obsession, we have been using the Santa story for our own personal gains. When she is misbehaving, I have been known to pretend to call Santa to tell on her. I don’t know what I will do after Christmas is over but for now, Santa is my Ace in the hole. I know this will not end well. It is starting to feel like lying. I am not sure how cool I am with that. I don’t want Mogo to have a “Santa Devastation” story. I want her to be able to be a kid and enjoy the magic that is Christmas and knowing Mogo, if I told her that it was all just a great myth and fun to pretend, I would break that magic thing she has going on. That would be a shame.
Mogo is really big on rules. Lying is against the rules. I am putting myself in time out.
Actually Written 12/11/07 December 16, 2007
Ahhh the Ballet.
I love the ballet. I used to dance once upon a time and wish that I had never given it up. I loose myself in the music and can almost imagine that I am up there pirouette-ing my little heart out. Mogo is a hambone like her Mom and wants to take dance lessons so bad she can taste it. She makes up her awkward 5 year old dances any time she has some space and has to occupy herself. She is always dancing and twirling and having ants in her pants. So, since Mogo loves dancing, she loves pretty music, and she can sit through a 2 hour movie quietly for 2.5 hours I decided it was time to take her to go see the Nutcracker. Well, we did. She loved it.
Can I just tell you that fulfilling the Mommy fantasy of taking my daughter to the ballet was thrilling while being sort of excruciating at the same time. Don’t get me wrong. I loved watching her watch it. Her eyes were lit up. She was swaying with the music. She was mesmerized by the dancing and she was very talkative while she was mesmerized. I had this sweet little girl whispering her Nutcracker play-by-play loudly through out the whole performance. Now, you need to understand, in the scheme of things she was really well behaved. Other children were wailing and yelling out. Mogo worked hard to keep her voice low but from my seat? It sounded a little like this…
“Has it started yet? Why are we in the darkness? It’s dark. Oh Mommy she is just so pretty who is that? Mommy, who’s that guy? Is he a bad guy? What is she doing? What is she doing now? Is she sleeping? Oh she is on her toes! I wanna dance on my toes Mommy. Does that hurt? So pretty, look at the pretty skirts Mama. What is that supposed to be? Is that a mouse? That doesn’t really look like a mouse. Why did she fall down? Was she supposed to do that? Did she get owies Mom? I bet she’s sad. Ooh pretty colors. I wanna dance the ballet. I want to go help them dance Mama. Can I go up there now please??? Please Mommy I wanna dance on the stage too. Is it snowing now? Is it still day time outside Mama? I have to go to the bathroom. Can I have some popcorn? Mommy this is long. I really like it but it is really looong. Is it over yet? Is that why we are clapping? Can we get something to eat after this Mom, I am hungry…
And so it went for 2 hours. When she wasn’t telling me all about it and asking a bazillion questions she was fidgeting in her seat, changing positions for optimum viewing, hugging my arm at blood pressure cuff strength, and of course taking multiple potty breaks. Thank god we went to the matinee. Needless to say Mogo wants to be a Ballerina and dance classes start in January.
I don’t even have a title for this one. December 5, 2007
By chance, I came across a blogging community that I had not bothered to look for before. I found myself on one of the “deadbaby blogs” today. There was this woman, she is my age and she recently lost her son. Her story and her words could be mine. Yep, I picked that scab today. I read and read until I was in tears. Reading her words, makes me see how far I have come. I remember those feelings that the world should come to a halt because mine certainly had. I felt hopeless and broken. I remember brief periods of laughter followed by guilt for forgetting about him for even a second. The physical ache of my arms being empty.
2 years ago today, I was in this womans shoes. I was having her thoughts. It is strange to see your craziest thoughts written on someone else’s blog. I still think of him every day but it is fleeting. He is never far from my mind but he does not consume it. I can live again. My heart still aches, and on occasion I still go in to the “Aidan box” to smell his blood stained cap. I think I have sniffed the sweet baby smell right out of it.
If she were to read this, she might think I am being trite when I say that it indeed gets different. I am not sure it really ever gets better but it definately gets different. I can do different.
I am all cookied out December 3, 2007
This is what I have been up to this weekend.
Photo by Brother Aaron
Now, I did not make as many cookies as my Mom did but I certainly made a butt-load of cookies. As I informed my Mom, I helped out of love for her and not for any great love of baking. We started on Thursday night (I think she started on Wednesday) and she stopped baking at 12:00 p.m. on Sunday. That is a lie, she planned to stop at noon and then her husband asked where the shortbread was and gave a frown when she responded that she had not made any. So she threw in a huge batch of Almond shortbread to boot. (Moms almond shortbread is to die for).
This one is my fav of the year – Pumpkin Chocolate Chip
Photo by Brother Aaron
The Cookie Party is a Scripps Ranch tradition dating back to 1989(ish) and as long as I can remember half of the community and the local Fire Department have attended to consume copious quantities of sugary goodness. This is not your run-of-the-mill sort of cookie party. There is no cookie exchange, no requirement to put in any effort at all. This is not a party where you are expected to bake anything when you get there, you simply show up at the loosely scheduled time and you consume large quantities of scrumptious cookies and booze (or egg nog, apple cider, or all of the above) and help yourself to a huge care package on your way out the door. The cookie party is always held on the first Sunday of December; which has always seemed rather silly to me. I don’t know why anyone would host a party where the premise is cookies & booze on a work night but I did not get a vote on that decision so I attend, I partake in the revelry, and I keep my bitching to a minimum.
After all that work, I am tired and the thought of anything remotely resembling a cookie sounds repulsive to me right now (that is why I have had 3 more cookies this morning, right?). A good time was had by all. As usual, there was standing room only and I drank entirely too much boozy egg nog. Mogo got to bed way after her usual bedtime and woke up cranky as could be. I saw a bunch of Mom’s friends that I have not seen since last year’s cookie party. I could not tell you who most of them were but they know me, and background on me that I would rather they all forget. I recognize their faces though and their children have grown up before my eyes over the years. They all greet me and mine with hugs and well wishes and the occasional unwanted pat on the behind. Some invite their extended family, visiting relatives and closest friends because my Mom has a reputation for opening her door to anyone who knocks. It may be rude but I don’t think my Mom would have it any other way. Of course, it is always too crowded and too loud and it makes my Old Man crazy to be surrounded by so many people at various stages of drunkenness; but man is it ever fun. I look forward to it every year. And every year my Mom swears it will be the last. This year, I think she might actually mean it. What I want to know is, what the hell is she going to do next year when there is no cookie party scheduled but ½ the community shows up on her doorstep anyways?
I think she’s screwed.
