It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas

My three year old - Q - is nestled all snug in his bed. All of my children are dreaming of sugar plums, I'm sure - or iPods. I'm preparing a book for my father - the last Christmas gift left on the list. When in the next room 'there arose such a clatter' - I sunk in my chair - I knew what was the matter. A tiny young son with a croupy cough, Christmas must be near. Last year, I was very pregnant with our fifth child - A - a daughter born December 27, 2005. I had hoped to have her here for Christmas, but it was not to be. That turned out to be one of the single most providential events of my life, and hers. Last year, everyone in my family (including my children & husband, sisters & spouses or boyfriends, parents, nieces & nephews, everyone, everyone, everyone) got the flu either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. It's not the first time we've been sick for Christmas, although last year's event was the most far reaching. D and I have had children sharing Christmas with us for eleven years. We've seen croup, flu, stomach viruses, you name it. I much prefer the sniffles variety to the stomach variety. I don't think we need to explore that line of thinking any further. This year, "A" kicked off the Christmas illness season a little early. She was feverish and coughing on Wednesday. I should've seen the Christmas Eve coughing coming from at least five days away.
So, now let's try to put this in a positive light. Printing this book is going to take all night. (I've been at it for an hour and 5 1/2 of 24 pages are finished.) Rather than tossing and turning in anticipation of morning when I can finally see what "Santa Baby" brought me, then nodding off only to be awakened by the croupy cough, I can just stay awake. No stumbling into the next room half asleep, NO! I'll be wide awake, (Yeah right. I'm not 17 or even 25 anymore.)
On a truly great note, the quality of these photos is fantastic. This printer can do a borderless print, which makes it just look all the more professional. We have a book binding system which will actually make it truly professional. This is an heirloom I'm staying up to create. These kinds of endeavors are truthfully only possible at night. Why am I willing to see this through? Because first of all, I love my Dad. That is a blog entry all its own for another day. Secondly, my Dad loves this little three year old. My favorite of Q's questions for Grandpa? "Am I big and strong yet? Can I turn on the table saw?"
Q can be a holy terror sometimes. I have considered the possibility that my son may have had a prestigious calling in the courts on high prior to coming to earth in order to claim his corporeal form. Does the phrase 'Angel of Destruction' mean anything to you? Q is good, oh so good, at laying waste. He is so stealthy and throrough. Sometimes I just can't believe the havoc he can wreak in an instant. He is curly headed and solidly built - made for rough and tumble - totally adorable on the kid spectrum. This book I'm putting together is mainly the documentation of his dastardly deeds along side the grins and giggles. No one will appreciate this book more than my Dad. I can hardly wait to see Dad's face when he sees these photos together like this. It is a real gift, and that's why I'm willing to stay awake tonight.
Which brings me back to the croupy cough. I gave Q some tylenol "plus flu" and that seems to have taken care of it. An early morning Christmas gift for Mom. It's only 2 a.m. and I'm nearly almost half done with the printing. A just woke up to keep me company. Gotta go. Merry Christmas.

Internet Christmas

Well, it's early but not too early. My big boys are up and arguing over 'who gets in the shower first' aka "there is no way I'm sharing any of the hot water with YOU." By the time I get them to school, the younger ones will be awake and ready for immediate attention. Q, aged 3 1/2 years, likes to announce his bathroom needs, followed by "Mommy, will you come with me?" Thankfully for both of us, I know that what he is really saying is, "You need to be there so that I don't miss the toilet." I'm generally very pleased to be in attendance. It's much easier than taking care of the aftermath, which usually includes a load of laundry. I asked him one day, "Sweetie, why did you pee on the floor?" To which he very confidently replied, "Because I didn't pee in the potty." Children need tending to, and that is the bottom line.

I can't believe it, the boys are safely deposited at school, and the "little kids" as T & C like to call them, are still sleeping. This is frankly unheard of. My guess is that I have than five or ten more minutes at the maximum. That's usually about the amount of time I get to myself at some point during the day. Explain to me how fathers don't understand the complete lack of privacy endured day in and day out by mothers of young children. Thankfully, children do grow up - maybe it's school that teaches them about wanting privacy. At any rate, that seems to be the age that my children would rather die than accidently walk into the bathroom and find me there. The "little kids" love it when I disappear. I swear it's like a treasure hunt. "Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? . . . I found you Mommy!" Yes, you did. Imagine that. There is no privacy, at least not without consequences. Q simply cannot be left alone without the understanding that a mega mess will ensue. And I don't mean a "pick up your toys" kind of mess. I mean the "if mom can't see what I'm doing then whatever I'm doing must be okay" kind of mess.

During this holiday season, I have cleaned up a mess or two like that. I've done most of my shopping online, without paying for shipping on a single order, I might add. It's been fantastic, except that like anything it still takes time. Time spent at home with all of our conveniences, without traveling to any brick and mortar locations. No coats, car seats, or carts - each a potential time waster of huge proportions. I just have to be able to point and click without any prying eyes which can be kind of tricky given the "treasure hunt" mentality of the "little kids". Life is as it is. You work with what you've got. Let me tell you, am I glad that I have got the internet and a few favorite stores with good online selection and free shipping. It has given me a little freedom to breathe and enjoy my family. I certainly didn't expect to have that this season. The lack of rushing, all by itself, has made it a very joyous Christmastime. Thank you Al Gore, for inventing the internet.

Toffee

A few years ago, my friend gave us a plate of Christmas goodies. Okay, now you're thinking - So? What's new? Well, it changed our lives, that's what. She introduced us to homemade toffee. Until then, Heath bars were as close as I had ever been to toffee, and that was in the third grade. I never actually ate any, we were just supposed to sell it for a school fund raiser. Since I couldn't figure out how to SAY it, I found it a hard sell. No one really wanted to purchase "Health bars" from the neighbor kid. But I digress.

Real homemade toffee, ever had any? I promise if you have good toffee, and then you find out how easy it is to make, it is an instant family favorite. Such a pleasure to give to neighbors, because you know they'll love it. I swear it only takes like ten minutes. Okay, it used to take ten minutes. This year, I haven't been able to get a single batch to turn out right. My family is complaining about my butter choice - probably because they heard me mutter in confusion - "I wonder if it's the butter?" Really. What could be so different between two different store brand butters? Honestly, even the imperfect batches taste good - it's just a consistency issue. Too cruchy. Too chewy. Not sticking together at all. It all tastes good. I'm not giving up though. Too much is riding on a good batch. My reputation and a tasty family Christmas tradition is on the line. My eleven year old son holds me nigh unto the angels for the simple fact that I can whip up his favorite treat at any time. When asked what he wanted for his birthday - he said MY OWN BATCH OF TOFFEE. His birthday was two weeks ago.

So you're beginning to see my predicament. There can be no going back. There can be no giving in. The riddle must be solved. I must find the magic key. Maybe I need to stir it less. I suppose it could be the butter. And so we go forward, unflinching in the face of complete failure. There must be toffee for Christmas, or it will be. . .like Christmas before we knew that it only takes like ten minutes to make good homemade toffee. Or something similar.

Marinated Mushrooms

I had a gall bladder attack on June 1st. The worst part of it was the fact that I didn't know what was going on. Chest pain, so intense that I had difficulty breathing. It didn't let up for a good half hour. I started thinking, "I could die." I need to call someone. D wasn't home, so I called to my children. They came running into the room - and started to do exactly what any child would do when confronted with their parent in horrible pain and in need of help. They started to worry that I was going to die. They called D. They called Grandma. No one answered their phone. We were one step from the call to 911. They called Grandma again, and she answered. By the time she got to our house, I was feeling much better. Like I said, I didn't know what to expect. Prior to the attack, I thought that I had been having allergic reactions to MSG - really horrible stomach aches, which I had learned to mitigate with Naproxen. I also cut out prepared food, like anything that came in a box ready to heat from Costco. I'm sure that helped, because I was also avoiding the excess fats that often appear in prepared food. The fact was, however, that the stomach aches didn't disappear. The attack diagnosed my problem with certainty.

Dietary issues of some kind, in my opinion, plague just about everyone I know. Circumstances create problems for even the well meaning caretakers of a human body. The problem is that there is just too much to know. You can be doing just fine by anyone's standard, but each body is just a little bit different. The list of things that can irritate a gall bladder is interesting to say the least. Fat is the biggest culprit, but iceberg lettuce is there, too. Everyone says, "I thought salad was supposed to be good for you." Vegetables ARE good for most people. Things that are difficult to digest, like lettuce and broccolli, just aren't nice to ME. In the ER the doctor told me that the hormones involved in childbirth had a lot to do with the onset of gall bladder disease. Hormones, huh? How do you factor hormones into your diet? Now that's a dietary issue if I ever heard one. For a while I couldn't eat much at all. A little broth with crackers. Cantalope was way over the line that first month. It was very easy to limit my choices - digestive distress is something we all like to avoid. I just did what felt good, which wasn't very much. It was very effective in the weight loss arena, although I wouldn't reccomend the scare your pants off diet to anyone.

Just yesterday, I discovered that one of my favorite indulgences of all time is actually no indulgence at all. I was walking down the aisle in Costco and saw something new. Marinated mushrooms! My gall bladder started talking to me. There's one more thing YOU'LL never be able to eat again! Having learned to talk back, I said to my diseased part, "It's not going to hurt to look at the nutrition information." Long pause. . .What?!?. . .No fat of any kind! Not one single gram in the entire jar! These are akin to pickles. Only water, vinegar and spices - and the mushrooms of course. I remember having felt so guilty about my love for the things - 'surely something so delicious and savory HAD to have a lot of fat. They must be marinated in something horribly fattening. But they are so GOOD!' Here's where I admit that I also thought cucumbers with vinegar were also fattening. It only goes to prove one thing. Fifteen year old girls are not good judges of what is good for them. (Note to self, remember to teach children about what IS actually good for them while instructing them in what is NOT good for them.) More than twenty years after my first love affair with marinated mushrooms I'm glad to say, "I'm back babies! I could just eat you up! And I will."

Favorite Vacation Spot

There is no vacation from motherhood, really. Eleven years ago tomorrow my eldest son was born, a beautiful 8 pounds and 6 1/2 ounces of you'll never be alone again. There are babysitters of course, and I am a firm believer in taking breaks. Motherhood, however, doesn't leave you alone. I believe that the heart of someone who has embraced motherhood is forever changed. Your babies are always your babies. As evidence, I cite the fact that my grandmother still speaks to her children in the same tones she used when they were her daily work. The voice of loving concern. She still thinks about her children and their needs even though most of her grandchildren are now parents themselves. Some of that must be habit. As the days of "I'd like to . . ." become rare, mothers become conditioned to thought centered around care giving. Most of my day is comprised of tasks generally understood to be homemaking which I squeeze between "Don't hit your brother" and "Have you cleaned your room?" There are seven permanent residents of this household, all of whom depend on me in some way to get them through the day. It doesn't leave much time for "I'd like to . . . " but I keep trying. We've been under a phenomenal amount of stress during the last six months. Due to the fact that my husband D is a hard-working type, our leave-the-house vacations are infrequent at best. Truthfully, the fact is that a trip with five young children isn't much of a vacation - at least mentally. For now, I'm really happy to light a few candles and sit in a nice hot bath - preferably one lavished with luxurious bath products. Away from the smell of whatever I cooked for dinner. Away from the sound of a washer or dryer - which is probably running. Away from telephone and television. Away from the needs of anything or anyone that has legitimate claim on me. A place to be quiet and hear my own thoughts. Heaven must have blessed my garden tub - it is as close to Maui as I'll be seeing for a while, but it might as well be a lovely suite at a five star hotel. Dip my foot in that water and in no time at all I have started to recognize bits of my former self shining through. I'd like to spend some time alone with D. I'd like to work on the kids' scrapbooks. I'd like to spend some time on the book I started a couple of weeks ago. I need to mend some socks. Hey - some habits are hard to break.