The Christmas Season: All the fixings.

In November, during the calm before the Christmas storm, I always make my lists - cards, meals, baking and presents.  By the time December rolls around, just when I'm feeling completely in control, I realize that I've forgotten all the little things that also have to be scheduled in.  Like....

Peter works in Washington.

Juliana in the Santa Claus parade:

Peter works in Dallas.

The return of the penguins at the Town Christmas Tree Lighting:

Sheldon's public skating every Wednesday night.

Sheldon gets a nasty cold.

Jennifer gets the flu.

Juliana's dance classes have an Open House.

Peter gets Sheldon's nasty cold.

Jennifer gets Peter's nasty cold.

Juliana dresses up like a doll for her School Holiday Concert:

Juliana and I do some baking:

Peter works in Cleveland.

The school has an assembly to sing Christmas songs on the last day of school.  Peter joins the parent/teacher band that plays.  (His Mom and Dad are in town so they find themselves in another school watching their son play the drums.  When they last saw him do that, some 25 years ago, I'm betting they thought that would be the last time!)

Juliana goes Christmas carolling with a local group.

Juliana gets Jennifer's nasty cold.

Plus, between the four of us, we also saw two bands play, two local Christmas productions, had a few Christmas lunches with friends, dental check-ups and haircuts.

Phew.

I think that I speak for all of us when I say how much we are looking forward to a long winter's nap come January...

The Christmas Season: What I learned while getting our tree.

The thing that usually puts me in the spirit of Christmas is picking out our Christmas tree.

It might have been Sheldon's first year that we decided to ditch the artificial and go real.  When we lived in the City we would go to an overpriced lot to pick out our tree and then have it delivered.  Once we moved here, we found a tree farm where we could go out and choose our own tree which Peter would then cut down.

A few years ago, when Peter wasn't able to come with us, I took the kids to the farm and we chose a pre-cut one from them.  It was so easy that we continued that tradition.

This year we decided to go back to cutting down our own tree.  How traditional.  How romantic.  How, sometimes, ridiculous.

This is what I learned.

I learned that all trees look smaller in the forest than they do in your home.

I learned that when you think that you've found the perfect tree, but decide to look for a few more minutes, you should mark the perfect one with a glove or something because you'll never find it when you go back.

I learned that, no matter the age, children are always going to find something to whine/argue about while trying to choose.

I learned that the wagon ride is fun, no matter what your age.

I learned that hot chocolate and marshmallows at a tree farm always tastes the best.

I learned that even though you may only need one for a job, it's nicer when you have help.

I learned that the tree does, truly, make it feel like Christmas.

Overheard.

Juliana has been volunteering in one of the JK classes in her school.  She spends lunch and afternoon recess with them -  playing, cleaning up, helping to get their outdoor clothes on, and running them inside for bathroom breaks.  

She comes home with some great stories about the little ones - especially her new young friend named Julianna.  She also loves to tell me how gross they are when they eat.  In fact, she can't eat some foods anymore because the JK's table manners have turned her right off. 

Last night I was upstairs when she was having a bedtime snack with Sheldon - hot vanilla milk, I think - and I called down to remind them to clean up after themselves.

Then I hear Juliana (who is the queen of leaving her dirty, not-quite-empty glass on the counter) say "oh that's great Sheldon.  I have to rinse the cups of four-year old's every day and now I'm rinsing my 14-year old brother's."

I wish she knew how funny she was.

The Other Side.

Last week, we went to the Festival of Lights in town for the Christmas tree lighting and Santa's visit.  We've gone a few times over the years, all bundled up, ready for some apple cider, cookies, and carol singing.

This year, Juliana's youth service group was invited to participate in the evening's festivities while wearing the penguin costumes that they wore on their Santa Claus parade float a couple of weeks ago.

I made Sheldon come with me so that I'd have someone to stand with.  Yes, that's right, I made him come.  I didn't ask him because I knew he'd say no.  Plus, he really should come and see his sister dance like a penguin.  That's something that every brother should do. :)   The fact is, though, that I ended up wheeling and dealing.  Hot chocolate + I'd drive him to public skating after the fireworks.  He was sold.

And so while I was watching his sister dancing, and I was calling, with the crowd, for Santa, Sheldon was texting his friends.  Completely disinterested.

As the fireworks were set off and Sheldon was still texting, I realized that I was now, officially, on the other side of parenthood.

The side where you stand and enjoy the sounds of all the little voices around you because your own kids think that they are too big for the magic.

And I wondered, where has the time gone?

(December 2004)

Mrs. S___.

Don't get me wrong.  If my kids are happy at school?  That's fantastic.  If they love their teacher?  Perfect.  But I think we may be getting carried away here.

Rewind to last month.

The grade 6 portion of Juliana's class left on a two-night field trip.  Juliana and the rest of the grade 5's were left at school.  The afternoon that they left Juliana called me at work to tell me she was sad.  She called me later, when I was in the middle of a meeting, to tell me that she was really sad and she needed to talk to me about it.  When I got home, 30 minutes later, she was in a full blown meltdown.  

About what, you ask? 

She missed Mrs. S___, her teacher.

I gave her a cuddle and she calmed down.  Ever so slightly.  When I could finally break free from her oh-so-sad grip, I texted Peter, who had been in Pittsburgh since the beginning of the week.

"Holy crap.  Your daughter." was all I wrote.

His response:  "She called me crying because she misses Mrs. S___.  I didn't remind her that I've been gone for three days."

It was an hour later when her tears were finally starting to dry up, and while catching her breath, she said to me:

"Mrs. S___'s daughters are really, really lucky."

"Why?", I ask.

"Because they have her as a mom."

Then just the other morning, Juliana woke up as I was leaving for work, and she told me she had a bad dream.  When I asked her if she wanted to talk to me about it, she said it was scary.  

"I dreamt that Mrs. S___ quit her job."

Mrs. S___.  Dream teacher.  In so many ways.