It is impossible not to bite a candy cane. It’s the unofficial Tootsie Pop of Christmas.
No matter how many times you tell them no, they will still ask you every day if they can open “just one present” before Christmas.
Unopened presents make great ramps for monster trucks.
Christmas parties at school are major events in the lives of little kids.
There’s something mesmerizing about the voices of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Our boys haven’t a clue who they are, but their song can play on the radio and every activity in the house will cease, as they huddle around that player, captivated by the sound.
No matter how many Christmas cards you order, it is never enough.
Our kids like to get presents, but they also like to give. Brisco brought me a ball and a strip of wrapping paper last night and asked for help wrapping a ball to leave for Santa. “He might have a dog that can play with it,” he said.
There is no limit to the amount of Christmas candy a child can ingest.
Outdoor lights are a must.
Children have a way of forcing you into enjoying Christmas music.
The oldies are still the best Christmas programs on TV. Honestly, Frosty should really not have “Returned”.
The glaze doesn’t go on Santa’s cookies until after they are baked. (It was a blonde moment. And I had lots of help.)
Counting backwards is easier when you get down to 10.
Jefferson Airplane is alive and well and is now multi-generational, making its way into the hearts of our young via electronic toys. “Free ride…take it easy…” Sing it Brisco.
Children can live on boiled eggs and sugar alone for at least four days…and counting.
You know there really is a circle of life when your son and your husband are both excited about the same present: a midnight blue 1964 Impala, Hot Wheels edition.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Creating memories
It’s official. Our kids have totally fallen in love with Christmas. It’s still 10 days and counting until the Big Man arrives, but they wake every morning like it’s only hours away. “How many days now?” the littlest will ask. “It’s 10,” quips his brother, as they sit around the presents that are slightly over-shaken and disheveled under the tree. With just under two weeks to go, the anticipation of Christmas is really starting to create some memories.
One of the biggest I’d say was the day we put up our tree. Randy and the boys went Christmas tree hunting with some friends out north of town. Several hours, a couple runny noses and a hot cup of coffee later, we had a tree, and two wound up little boys whose excitement for the holiday was going full throttle.
Dad cut back some branches and filled an old paint bucket full of dirt, and we stood up that pseudo-Douglas fir right underneath the dancing bobble heads. It was attractive, at first glance, but those over the age of five would soon agree that turning the flat side to the wall was a lot easier said than done. After a day or so of nakedness, the kids insisted that we dress our tree with lights and ornaments…something other than a pair of paper handcuffs made in Wednesday night Bible class. And so another memory was born.
We dug out the Christmas CD, the one and only that exists in our home, and put on some music to help get us all in the proper mood. The boys thought we needed Christmas cookies to add to the festivities, so we pulled out the rolling pin and whipped up the dough, and after rolling several cups of flour right into the floor, taking a flying sweep up big brother back and ingesting at least a quarter pound of straight flour each, we had approximately two dozen candy cane and snowman Christmas cookies--half of them well-done (sorry Frosty).
I had had about as much holiday cheer as I could handle for one day, and lets face it, an activity like that should have been started mid-morning, so as luck would have it, we called it an evening, with the promise of picking up where we left off the following day. And so we did. The next evening after dinner, we clicked on the Cowboy Christmas crooners and made an attempt at decorating our tree.
Not surprisingly, the calm and orderly strategy I had devised for the proceedings blew up right in my face. For days, they begged and they bothered, they pleaded and they whined, and finally, an evening arrived where we could focus--attempt to create that Hallmark moment. And wouldn’t you know, they were more interested in sword fighting with the wrapping paper tubes or making head dresses from the tinsel than in decorating that tree.
Thus, our evening ended: One string of red lights, a box of old fashioned Christmas balls, a dozen or so store-bought ornaments and what was left of the tinsel--all hanging on our spherically-challenged tree.
I know it wasn’t quite the evening I’d pictured. Certainly not Norman Rockwell’s vision of the perfect holiday gathering. But it was the best we could do for the moment. With kids who’d rather wear their stockings than hang them by the chimney with care, we are clearly not George and Mary Bailey. No, we’re more like Jed and Granny Clampett, with slightly better fashion sense. Just trying to make some kind of happy, holiday memories for our kids. And I guess in a way, we did just that--all with only two pokes from a pine needle, three lost ornament hooks and one broken family heirloom in the process.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
One of the biggest I’d say was the day we put up our tree. Randy and the boys went Christmas tree hunting with some friends out north of town. Several hours, a couple runny noses and a hot cup of coffee later, we had a tree, and two wound up little boys whose excitement for the holiday was going full throttle.
Dad cut back some branches and filled an old paint bucket full of dirt, and we stood up that pseudo-Douglas fir right underneath the dancing bobble heads. It was attractive, at first glance, but those over the age of five would soon agree that turning the flat side to the wall was a lot easier said than done. After a day or so of nakedness, the kids insisted that we dress our tree with lights and ornaments…something other than a pair of paper handcuffs made in Wednesday night Bible class. And so another memory was born.
We dug out the Christmas CD, the one and only that exists in our home, and put on some music to help get us all in the proper mood. The boys thought we needed Christmas cookies to add to the festivities, so we pulled out the rolling pin and whipped up the dough, and after rolling several cups of flour right into the floor, taking a flying sweep up big brother back and ingesting at least a quarter pound of straight flour each, we had approximately two dozen candy cane and snowman Christmas cookies--half of them well-done (sorry Frosty).
I had had about as much holiday cheer as I could handle for one day, and lets face it, an activity like that should have been started mid-morning, so as luck would have it, we called it an evening, with the promise of picking up where we left off the following day. And so we did. The next evening after dinner, we clicked on the Cowboy Christmas crooners and made an attempt at decorating our tree.
Not surprisingly, the calm and orderly strategy I had devised for the proceedings blew up right in my face. For days, they begged and they bothered, they pleaded and they whined, and finally, an evening arrived where we could focus--attempt to create that Hallmark moment. And wouldn’t you know, they were more interested in sword fighting with the wrapping paper tubes or making head dresses from the tinsel than in decorating that tree.
Thus, our evening ended: One string of red lights, a box of old fashioned Christmas balls, a dozen or so store-bought ornaments and what was left of the tinsel--all hanging on our spherically-challenged tree.
I know it wasn’t quite the evening I’d pictured. Certainly not Norman Rockwell’s vision of the perfect holiday gathering. But it was the best we could do for the moment. With kids who’d rather wear their stockings than hang them by the chimney with care, we are clearly not George and Mary Bailey. No, we’re more like Jed and Granny Clampett, with slightly better fashion sense. Just trying to make some kind of happy, holiday memories for our kids. And I guess in a way, we did just that--all with only two pokes from a pine needle, three lost ornament hooks and one broken family heirloom in the process.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Preparing for Christmas
In the past, preparing for Christmas at our house involved hanging a single strand of lights outside, burning a candle or two inside, and a hectic, last minute dash of shopping and wrapping that would take us late into the early morning-a mere 48 hours before Santa’s big eve. Don’t ask me why; that’s just the way we did it. But this year, our boys seem to have realized that Christmas is coming, and they’ve shown a much greater interest in just how this whole thing works. The result? Someone has had to prepare.
It started when we came home after Thanksgiving to an elaborate display of a winter wonderland right on our very block. Rooftops and trees blinking and glowing with lights helped get our kids exceptionally festive-before the turkey had even been digested. So began our journey toward Christmas.
We dug out decorations that had been boxed and stored for the better part of the last four years, and after knocking off the cobwebs and repeatedly asking, “Why did I keep this?” we had finally salvaged enough holiday décor to make an attempt at a winter wonderland of our own.
I knew if we were to have outdoor lights, I’d have to be in charge, and that was ok by me. So I loaded my handy, industrial-size staple gun and was ready to get to work; however, I didn’t realize until after I’d untangled, tested, stretched out, hooked up and unloaded six strands of lights, two extension cords and a step stool into the front yard that our house is covered in plastic.
I had a moment of reckless whimsy when I thought, “Who cares? Just staple them behind the guttering. He’ll never know.” But that daydream was quickly followed by visions of broken trim pieces dancing in my head. It seemed that this year, outdoor hanging lights were going to have to be something our children admired from afar.
Luckily, I remembered some sound advice I’d once been given: “Put on a festive tablecloth and see how a little can go a long way in making the house seem festive to your kids.” I doubted a red and green table covering was going to satisfy my boys after their anticipation of a re-creation of the famous Griswold residence, but once again, I was pleasantly surprised at the effect it seemed to have. A red candle here and a little tinsel there and we were looking like a page out of Ladies Home Journal.
Of course Christmas isn’t all about the decorating. Apparently, our boys will be expecting presents.
“Mom, I want one of those green things that are about this big, and they are fun and they make noise?” He delivered this statement in the form of a question, which lead me to believe he had little clue about the toy for which he was asking.
Enquiring minds wanted to know: “Uh, ok. What does it do?”
“It makes noise.”
“Is it a race car?”
“Nope.”
“Is it a monster truck?”
“Nope.”
Something green that does nothing but make noise? Yeah, I’ll put that at the top of my shopping list.
“Maybe you could just ask Santa,” I suggested. And so the moment at which my kids started contemplating Santa Claus was born.
“Mama, where does Santa live?”
“He lives at the North Pole.”
“What does he do?”
“He makes toys for kids.”
“All by himself?”
“Oh no. He has lots of helpers.”
I could see from the look of contemplation on their faces that this might be enough to keep them thinking for a few days. And so it was. However, not long after, I gained yet another insight into just how this Christmas idea was taking shape in the minds of my children.
I knew Cooper would probably be working on a letter to Santa at school, but he hadn’t said anything about it. So I asked, “Cooper, what do you want for Christmas?” He thought for a moment, and then he said, “I want six Reece’s.” He paused, and then, “But I’ll take three Reece’s and one Skittle.”
I thought to myself, “Hmm, this limiting of their chocolate thing is really gonna pay off!” Just to make sure, I said, “Is that really all you want?” He paused again for a moment and then began, “Well, really you don’t have to get me anything cause Santa will just bring it.” I liked the way he was thinking…save Momma the trouble (and the money) and let good ole Santa do all the work. Of course there’s just one slight problem with this plan…
I continued to pry. “Cooper, did you ask Santa to bring you what you want for Christmas?”
“Yes,” he replied.
I knew we had not yet seen Santa this year, so I was curious as to just how he had asked.
“When did you do that?” I questioned.
“When I was sitting in the chair watching TV.”
Whoa. Hold up, there Rudolph. We seem to have a problem. “Honey, Santa’s not like God. He can’t hear us when we talk to him. Did you write a letter at school?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Well, Mrs. Johnson probably put those in the mailbox and sent them straight to Santa’s house. I bet you’re covered.”
As for Brisco, it seems a letter attached to Cooper’s, that simply read, “Ditto” would have been the easiest way out. He finally decided on six Skittles, a hat, presents-with nothing in particular in them-and a bag of dirt. I bet ole Santa can handle that.
This year, with 17 days till impact, we are more prepared than ever. Decorations are up, tree is lit, and presents are wrapped. We are as on the ball as we’ve ever been this early in the season and it makes a mother proud to have her to-do list dwindle so quickly. And as we enjoy these last few weeks before the big day, it is clear that from decorations to presents to thoughts of Santa, a little Christmas preparation has gone a long way to making two little boys wonderfully excited about Christmas…even without a single light on display.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
It started when we came home after Thanksgiving to an elaborate display of a winter wonderland right on our very block. Rooftops and trees blinking and glowing with lights helped get our kids exceptionally festive-before the turkey had even been digested. So began our journey toward Christmas.
We dug out decorations that had been boxed and stored for the better part of the last four years, and after knocking off the cobwebs and repeatedly asking, “Why did I keep this?” we had finally salvaged enough holiday décor to make an attempt at a winter wonderland of our own.
I knew if we were to have outdoor lights, I’d have to be in charge, and that was ok by me. So I loaded my handy, industrial-size staple gun and was ready to get to work; however, I didn’t realize until after I’d untangled, tested, stretched out, hooked up and unloaded six strands of lights, two extension cords and a step stool into the front yard that our house is covered in plastic.
I had a moment of reckless whimsy when I thought, “Who cares? Just staple them behind the guttering. He’ll never know.” But that daydream was quickly followed by visions of broken trim pieces dancing in my head. It seemed that this year, outdoor hanging lights were going to have to be something our children admired from afar.
Luckily, I remembered some sound advice I’d once been given: “Put on a festive tablecloth and see how a little can go a long way in making the house seem festive to your kids.” I doubted a red and green table covering was going to satisfy my boys after their anticipation of a re-creation of the famous Griswold residence, but once again, I was pleasantly surprised at the effect it seemed to have. A red candle here and a little tinsel there and we were looking like a page out of Ladies Home Journal.
Of course Christmas isn’t all about the decorating. Apparently, our boys will be expecting presents.
“Mom, I want one of those green things that are about this big, and they are fun and they make noise?” He delivered this statement in the form of a question, which lead me to believe he had little clue about the toy for which he was asking.
Enquiring minds wanted to know: “Uh, ok. What does it do?”
“It makes noise.”
“Is it a race car?”
“Nope.”
“Is it a monster truck?”
“Nope.”
Something green that does nothing but make noise? Yeah, I’ll put that at the top of my shopping list.
“Maybe you could just ask Santa,” I suggested. And so the moment at which my kids started contemplating Santa Claus was born.
“Mama, where does Santa live?”
“He lives at the North Pole.”
“What does he do?”
“He makes toys for kids.”
“All by himself?”
“Oh no. He has lots of helpers.”
I could see from the look of contemplation on their faces that this might be enough to keep them thinking for a few days. And so it was. However, not long after, I gained yet another insight into just how this Christmas idea was taking shape in the minds of my children.
I knew Cooper would probably be working on a letter to Santa at school, but he hadn’t said anything about it. So I asked, “Cooper, what do you want for Christmas?” He thought for a moment, and then he said, “I want six Reece’s.” He paused, and then, “But I’ll take three Reece’s and one Skittle.”
I thought to myself, “Hmm, this limiting of their chocolate thing is really gonna pay off!” Just to make sure, I said, “Is that really all you want?” He paused again for a moment and then began, “Well, really you don’t have to get me anything cause Santa will just bring it.” I liked the way he was thinking…save Momma the trouble (and the money) and let good ole Santa do all the work. Of course there’s just one slight problem with this plan…
I continued to pry. “Cooper, did you ask Santa to bring you what you want for Christmas?”
“Yes,” he replied.
I knew we had not yet seen Santa this year, so I was curious as to just how he had asked.
“When did you do that?” I questioned.
“When I was sitting in the chair watching TV.”
Whoa. Hold up, there Rudolph. We seem to have a problem. “Honey, Santa’s not like God. He can’t hear us when we talk to him. Did you write a letter at school?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Well, Mrs. Johnson probably put those in the mailbox and sent them straight to Santa’s house. I bet you’re covered.”
As for Brisco, it seems a letter attached to Cooper’s, that simply read, “Ditto” would have been the easiest way out. He finally decided on six Skittles, a hat, presents-with nothing in particular in them-and a bag of dirt. I bet ole Santa can handle that.
This year, with 17 days till impact, we are more prepared than ever. Decorations are up, tree is lit, and presents are wrapped. We are as on the ball as we’ve ever been this early in the season and it makes a mother proud to have her to-do list dwindle so quickly. And as we enjoy these last few weeks before the big day, it is clear that from decorations to presents to thoughts of Santa, a little Christmas preparation has gone a long way to making two little boys wonderfully excited about Christmas…even without a single light on display.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Sunny with a chance of drama
There’s really nothing better than 70 degree weather on Thanksgiving. Forget that packing heavy coats takes up too much room and that we always seem to lose at least one mitten and that there is no end to blowing snotty noses when it’s the typical, turkey-day forecast. I simply hate to be cold. But the weather was no issue this Thanksgiving holiday. It was beautiful and sunny and perfect for a weekend outdoors.
The boys were packed and ready to leave by dawn. Nothing could contain their excitement about playing ball with their cousins, taking rides on Uncle Glendon’s barrel train, and the anticipation of spending the next three days at Granma and Granddaddy’s. From trampolines and tire swings to nature hikes and mud pies, there’s nothing these two boys enjoy more than the warm sun, a cool breeze and a chance to embark on a new adventure with their friends.
We spent Thanksgiving day at Mamaw and Papaw’s with the other 27-grands and 18-great-grandkids. The boys never seem to get enough of the creek and the milk barn and the newly-discovered rows of round bales they spent hours jumping over and across, and unfortunately falling through.
It seemed like a fun game. The older cousins were really good at it, and even Cooper was managing to make it across, despite my gasp at his every leap. I wanted to object, and in fact I tried, but it’s no fun being the overprotective, scaredy-mom who puts a damper on all the fun, new games. So I acquiesced…and the drama ensued.
It’s certainly no secret that if ever there’s an inch to be given, Brisco will find it, and find it he did…quite literally, between two, 6-foot hay bales, with his size eleven feet. It was quite a shock, seeing him leap from mound to mound, only to fall just short of the other side, his body sliding down the rounded edge, arms over his head, flailing about for something to hold on to. It was at precisely that moment that he panicked.
The boy was fine, safely suspended between two bundles of hay. But he certainly couldn’t be convinced of that fact. I, of course, knew just how he was feeling. Panicking is usually my job. I’m good at it, and it comes naturally where my kids are concerned. So when Brisco started screaming and kicking and crying real tears, I could empathize. “I can’t move! I can’t get out! Mom! Help me! I’m stuck! Come get me! Please, Mama! Where are you?!” On and on he went.
Squealing. Like a little girl.
If I hadn’t been able to see that he was safe, I’d have thought surely he was being eaten by a starving, mad cow. But he wasn’t. He was only locked in place, arms strapped to his sides, unable to wiggle free from two gigantic bales of hay. Must have been 12 seconds of pure torture for the poor boy to have been held in one place for so long.
I rescued him from his itchy strait jacket, scolding and cuddling him at the same time. But apparently this trauma would only last about a minute and a half before he wiggled out of my over-protective grasp and was off petting calves, pitching gourds and laughing and playing with baby Jenna.
It seems no matter where we travel or what the occasion, there’s always an adventure that lies in store. It’s fun and crazy and hilarious and maddening all at the same time. Most days I can’t even imagine what I did with all my time before these two little tornadoes came along. But one thing’s for sure: day or night, rain or shine, life with these boys is always sunny…with a chance of drama.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
The boys were packed and ready to leave by dawn. Nothing could contain their excitement about playing ball with their cousins, taking rides on Uncle Glendon’s barrel train, and the anticipation of spending the next three days at Granma and Granddaddy’s. From trampolines and tire swings to nature hikes and mud pies, there’s nothing these two boys enjoy more than the warm sun, a cool breeze and a chance to embark on a new adventure with their friends.
We spent Thanksgiving day at Mamaw and Papaw’s with the other 27-grands and 18-great-grandkids. The boys never seem to get enough of the creek and the milk barn and the newly-discovered rows of round bales they spent hours jumping over and across, and unfortunately falling through.
It seemed like a fun game. The older cousins were really good at it, and even Cooper was managing to make it across, despite my gasp at his every leap. I wanted to object, and in fact I tried, but it’s no fun being the overprotective, scaredy-mom who puts a damper on all the fun, new games. So I acquiesced…and the drama ensued.
It’s certainly no secret that if ever there’s an inch to be given, Brisco will find it, and find it he did…quite literally, between two, 6-foot hay bales, with his size eleven feet. It was quite a shock, seeing him leap from mound to mound, only to fall just short of the other side, his body sliding down the rounded edge, arms over his head, flailing about for something to hold on to. It was at precisely that moment that he panicked.
The boy was fine, safely suspended between two bundles of hay. But he certainly couldn’t be convinced of that fact. I, of course, knew just how he was feeling. Panicking is usually my job. I’m good at it, and it comes naturally where my kids are concerned. So when Brisco started screaming and kicking and crying real tears, I could empathize. “I can’t move! I can’t get out! Mom! Help me! I’m stuck! Come get me! Please, Mama! Where are you?!” On and on he went.
Squealing. Like a little girl.
If I hadn’t been able to see that he was safe, I’d have thought surely he was being eaten by a starving, mad cow. But he wasn’t. He was only locked in place, arms strapped to his sides, unable to wiggle free from two gigantic bales of hay. Must have been 12 seconds of pure torture for the poor boy to have been held in one place for so long.
I rescued him from his itchy strait jacket, scolding and cuddling him at the same time. But apparently this trauma would only last about a minute and a half before he wiggled out of my over-protective grasp and was off petting calves, pitching gourds and laughing and playing with baby Jenna.
It seems no matter where we travel or what the occasion, there’s always an adventure that lies in store. It’s fun and crazy and hilarious and maddening all at the same time. Most days I can’t even imagine what I did with all my time before these two little tornadoes came along. But one thing’s for sure: day or night, rain or shine, life with these boys is always sunny…with a chance of drama.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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