The Gift That Keeps on Clucking

Out braving the mall today to get pics with Santa and pick up a few gifts when we asked the kids what they wanted to get their Mema since she's going to be able to spend the holidays with us again this year (yay!). Saia, of course, knew right away. She's very observant, that one. She's gonna be one of those great gift givers. It was just a matter of finding the right one (and no, can't tell you since Mema frequents the blog, too, but, yes, she found exactly what she was looking for).

Chago took a little longer to think about it. "Let me try to picture Mema in my head," he said. And he closed his eyes, trying to remember what Mema liked. What she wore. What she ate. Which inevitably led him to decide that he wanted to get her a rottisiere chicken from Safeway.

NO, NO, NOT YET!

Big day today all the way around.

SAIA

Saia's FINALLY got a loose front tooth.  She's been asking for a year, for crissakes!  Even her little friends at preschool were losing teeth left and right.  And now her kindergarten friends are practically all gummy bears.  But knowing this girl's stubborn streak, it'll probably take her just as long for it to finally come out.  Probably just as well anyway because with inflation being what it is, I'll definitely need a job to support this next milestone.

CHAGO

Chago FINALLY agreed to try the drop-off at school.  It's essentially a safety service provided by volunteer parents who stand out front and help get your kids out of the vehicle and escort them onto the playground to help reduce the parking lot congestion and the consequential near accidents with parents and kids running across the parking lot to beat the morning bell.  It's particularly useful on rainy days or on days we're running especially late.

Anyway...Saia's been wanting to try it out since Day 1.  And she works on him every single day on the way to school.  "Come on, Bubba, you can do it," she'll say.  And he'll toss it around for 20 minutes or so and then back out at the last minute, and she's just crushed every time.  For her, it's a symbol of growing up.  All the big kids go through the drop-off.  Only the little little kids have their parents walking them onto the playground.  For him, it's his worst nightmare: A total stranger reaching into the vehicle and taking him from his mother.

But whether she just finally wore him down (an inherited trait, Amy says), or he was in a particularly good mood because he got to wear his Santa hat to school today, he agreed.  And when the volunteer parent opened his door (because he's closest to the curb), and I thought for certain that he was gonna back out again, and then he unbuckled himself and stood up and kissed me on the cheek and said "Bye, Mom!", I think my heart just about broke.

I don't really think I'm ready for this.  I want my babies back.

Reading in IMAX

Listening to Chago read his word list at the end of his school book last night:

"past...pond...distress...raft..."

When he gets to the exact middle of the page (the words are laid out like a 10 x 10 table ), he gets to the word "if" and stops.

"What's wrong, Bubba? You know that word," I prompt.

He stares and stares, tilting his head a little to the left, and then turns to me and says, "but this word looks strange."

"Strange how?" I ask.

"It looks like it's popping right off of the page," he says.

And when I look closer, and squat down a little, and tilt my head a little to the left, I can kind of see what he's saying.  It's the smallest word in the list, so it's got the most white space surrounding it, which makes it almost appear 3D.  It was actually kind of cool.

And I just envy his ability to see the world like that all the time.

YES, WE DO BLEED RED & GREEN

Under the guise of a reward for a good day at school on Monday, we pulled all of the Christmas boxes out of storage and tore into them like a pack of hungry wolves.  The cinnamon and cloves and anise immediately filled the air.  And glitter, somehow, was magically everywhere.  It was like we were suddenly living in a snowglobe.  And as we pulled out our traditional decorations and giggled over some of the homemade trinkets from years past, the kids started stacking up the Christmas books and movies and CDs in the order they intended to pour through them.  Oh, did I forget to mention that part?  Yes, well, you see, we...well...we hold them hostage -- the stories and songs, not the kids.  

They get boxed back up every year along with any Christmas-themed stuffed animals and don't see the light of day again until the weekend after Thanksgiving (again, just to be clear, not the kids).  We don't tell any of the Christmas stories or even hum a single Christmas song note until the next December either, so it's like opening a giant nitrogen filled santa-in-the-box when the season finally rolls around again.  Christmas literally explodes into our home, erupting from the green and red plastic tubs and filling every nook and cranny of our lives until the tree finally (and much to our dismay) comes down after el Dia de Los Reyes Magos on January 6th. 

The kids, you see, are cursed -- having inherited from me (and I come by it honestly, too) a vigorous (some -- Amy -- might say fanatical) love of all things Christmas.  

The very thought of December peeking right around the corner made what should've been a very long relaxing weekend just drag on and on and on for me.  And at the very moment we changed the calendars on Monday morning, down came the fall leaves and berries wreath, away went the colorful gourds and Indian corn, and gone is all evidence that we actually do NOT live directly on the North Pole.  

I immediately reset my radio stations to the all-Christmas-music-all-the-time ones that drive Amy absolutely loopy.  We sing Rudolph and Santa Clause is Coming to Town to and from school.  We watch every black-and-white movie we can find and are totally sold by the ABC Family 25 Days of Christmas marketing campaign.  We tape any and all Christmas movie program guides to the fridge, have written our Christmas lists in triplicate, and wear Santa hats, elf hats, and reindeer antlers as part of our everyday attire.

So, you see, you'll understand now why it came as such an utter, and I don't believe it's an overexaggeration to say, terrifying shock to hear our beautiful little girl reach into the DVD pile for a movie last night and holler excitedly at the top of her lungs, "MAMA, PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE CAN WE WATCH THE CORPORATE EXPRESS NOW?!?!?!?"

Well, we always knew he was hard-headed

So, I'm making dinner last night. Amy's watching football. Saia and Chago are wrestling (again!) in the hallway when we hear a huge THUD!  Followed immediately by a piercing screech.  And then a very calm Saia saying, "Mom, Chago's hurt."  (Just amazing when they decide it's time to exaggerate and when to understate.)

But yes, he was hurt. Slammed his head into the corner of the bannister -- just like she did this past summer.  And he ended up with a cut that looked almost exactly like hers, just north by about 3 inches.  I mean, I know they're twins, but come on!

So, we frozen-corned him for 30 minutes on and off.  He stopped crying almost immediately, which surprised us all, but then the second he happened to swipe his hand across his hair and saw the blood on his fingers he burst into fresh squeals and screams.  But we got him all cleaned up and he hardly even had a bump.  The cut was more of a slice than a deep wound.  So, we liquid bandaged him and monitored him for the next 2 hours.  No headaches.  No throbbing.  And he seemed to sleep well, except for a really dreadful dream about his sister -- which, I guess, is to be expected.

And today, he's all back to normal.  His biggest fear, it seems, was whether I was going to have to cut his hair.  (Which I didn't.)

His Story

I know I've posted about this before, and will have to check the archives to confirm, but...

Was singing Rudolph to Chago last night (yes, I know, it was technically still November, but I guess I'm just as excited as they are for the season to begin so I'm just a big softie about these things) and we got to the end of the song - "you'll go down in hiiiisssttttoooory" when Chago says, "Who's story, Mom? Rudolph's?"

"What story, Bubba?"

"HIS!" he says. "Do they mean Rudolph?"

"Oh, no, Papa," I explain. "It's history not HIS story."

"Well then, what's history?" he asks, "because all my life I thought it was HIS story."

"Well, it's all the things that have happened in the past," I begin.

"So," he glances sideways at me with that now familiar look of condescension on his face, "how is that different?"

OUR DANCIN' FOOL!

We just call it "The Dance"

WHAT BLACK FRIDAY MEANS TO ME

This is actually the first Black Friday we've been around for in years.  Last year, we were in Austria.  The year before that, it was Cancun!  In 2005, we made our first trip to the UK.  The year before that we had just moved to California.  And 2003 was our first year with the babies and, of course, with Mema.  :)  But it's the 2002 Black Friday that I remember most fondly.

I was 6 months pregnant then, still working, and nearing my max weight of 209 lbs pretty rapidly.

I'd somehow gotten it into my head that I really wanted to go shopping the day after

 Thanksgiving, and Amy, rarely saying no to me at that point, reluctantly agreed.  So, off we go to the mall where we spent the entire day fending off questions about just how past due I was, whether I was carrying quadruplets, etc, etc, etc.  And despite my actually wearing slip-on sneakers that day (for those of you who can even believe that I owned a pair), and despite the fact that we stopped every other store for a...um...light snack, and despite the fact that Amy was carrying all 10 bags herself, the contractions began setting in around 3pm.

Amy quickly ushered me past the hordes of other shopaholics, struggled to get me into the truck, and got me on the phone with my OB.  And so began the first day of mandatory bedrest, which lasted through the holidays, through a move to another house, into the new year, into their 40th week, and up to their due date.

So, rather than do my part to help stimulate the economy today, I think I'm gonna wrap myself up in the monsters and remember everything it took to get them here.

Anyway...there's always Cyber Monday to shop.

HE'S ADDICTED

Okay, folks, so here's my big recommendation for a great Christmas gifts for the under 9 crowd.  The kids are in love with, like head over heels for, the Magic Tree House series by Mary Pope Osbourne.  The stories are part mystery/part adventure and all centered around a brother (Jack, 8) and sister (Annie, 7) who time-travel via a magic treehouse in their backyard (ala Quantum Leap, for you 80s babies like me!).  

So, yes, very educational -- lots of history, lots of science, lots of literary references, lots of moments of having to use good judgment, lots of sibling behavior lessons, etc.

I'd downloaded #1-#6 from iTunes onto my iPod a while back for our last vacation and they've listened to them religiously ever since.  Mommy, though, finds the audiobook voice of Annie very creepy (I know, sounds like a potentially juicy therapy session to me, too), but we may have to take a step back from technology on this one and go with the real live paper and ink versions to maintain familial harmony.

So then as luck would have it, while visiting Tia Sonia last week, I came upon books 7 and 8 and quickly snatched them up.  The kids happily devoured them within minutes and are now ready to move on.  Logging onto the website, I was excited to discover that there are at least 37 more that we have to catch up on.  They're pretty easy reading for the kids, and, apparently, there's even a musical (although sadly mostly touring the midwest).  :(

So here are links to the first 8 in the series that we can personally recommend:

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

I love flying.  

I hate -- HATE, HATE, HATE!!!! -- the night before a flight: the stress of leaving my family, writing little notes and sewing sock puppets at 2am (yes, I'll post pics when I get back),sorting through piles of clothes, packing your life into little baggies and too-small compartments, having to actually CHOOSE outfits in advance, which always makes me feel claustrophobic in some way - constraints on my freedom - loss of free choice...

what if I change my mind? 

what if I'm not in that mood? 

and how, in God's name, can I leave any shoes behind?

But then I'm at the airport, and I invariably find it all to be surprisingly calming when I have to travel somewhere by myself (emphasis here).  Something about being alone, though, amongst a sea of strangers, the anonymity of it all, the disconnectedness, feeling free of any social or familial obligations.  I don't know exactly.  

And I tend to feel really confident when I travel -- despite whatever shit I happen to be going through at home because, well, because these people don't know me.  They don't know any of my faults, can't catalogue my insecurities -- hell, I can be whomever I choose to be.  So, I walk around feeling really self-assured and can see in the faces of others that I'm obviously projecting.  But not that bitchiness that I know you're thinking I'm referring to (Elise!).  It's something else, I think.  Because, evidently, I'm very approachable.  

Men and women.  Old and young.   Speaking varying degrees of English and needing assistance.  Everyone seems to think it's okay to talk to me -- that my personal space forcefield has been temporarily disabled -- that I'm at their personal disposal.  And the most surprising part is that I'm uncharacteristically not so annoyed.  

People are always so kind and really helpful to me.  With the lifting of my fashion-sans-function bags into the overhead, and with the changing of seats if I'd prefer the window or aisle that day, and with my always taking up way too much space with all my accoutrements overflowing onto the seat next to me.  

I never end up sitting next to the woman who's coughing up a lung, or just won't shut up about her aching corn-adorned feet, which of course she must reveal during the course of conversation , or the man who drools while his head falls on your shoulder as he naps, or the obsessive networker with no impulse control or ability to self-censor.  I almost never get the annoying child kicking my seat  - and the few times that I have, I've had no problem standing up and turning around to ask him directly to stop when his mother chooses to ignore it (which works like a charm, by the way).

But, for whatever reason, I seem to have pretty good travel karma.  And my faith in humanity, trite as that sounds, is temporarily restored.  Or else it's just that the flight attendants have been especially generous with my vodka tonics these days.

WINGED THINGS

"Mama, I wish I was a bird."

"Why, papa? So you can fly?"

"So I could follow your plane all the way to Massachusetts so you wouldn't be lonely."

SMALL PLEASURES

I know where every single clean restroom is with a purse hanger and/or bag table in the stall within a 5-mile radius of the kids' school.

No, it is not sad! Shut up!

SAIA LIEBOVITZ

Saia's finally found something she seems to be a little excited about!  Gave her my digital one afternoon when she was pouting boredom and instructed her to walk around the backyard and shoot things that she thought were interesting. Here's her first attempt at a "show":  

DAUGHTER DEAREST

"Mama," she says, pointing to the microwave as it begins to beep. "The corn is done."

"Yes, babe, I know," I reassure her. "I've got it."

"Mama," she cries, "the cobbler is going to burn," as she sniffs the air when the peaches begin to drip on the oven element.

"Don't worry, honey," I say. "I'll take care of it."

"Mama," she calls out again, "the pasta is boiling over."

"No, sweetheart," I say through gritted teeth. "It really is just fine. I've got it all under control. Trust me."

And that's when I realize that she doesn't. It why she's always mothering her brother, and contradictory with her Mommy, and all up in my kool-aid (a favorite Amyism). She doesn't trust that any of us can do a better job than she can.

And where most people would say, "Oh, poor baby, what have I done?" I can't help but beam a little on the inside - because on the outside, of course, she's on the verge of her third freaking timeout for smarting off again!!