The Camaraderie Of Christmas

Let it be known that the Christmas season is not my favorite.  It's not that I particularly dislike the holiday, it's just that it all seems so overwhelming: the jingling bells outside every store entrance, the blasting of Christmas cheer on speakers everywhere, the holiday ads that scream at me to buy more more MORE, the magazines that shout about making this my Best Christmas Ever, the displays of red and green that begin in late September when I am still taking my kids to the beach to enjoy the late summer sun, and the endless pressure of finding the perfect gift.  Something about all of this...extravagance?...over-the-topness?...commercialism? makes my mind feel all fizzled out.  This year has been especially trying because we now have an almost three-year-old, wonderful little soul who tags along on our outings and notices every rendering of Saint Nick, every cardboard cutout of a snowflake, and every single toy that is on display.  There have been shouts of "I waaaant thaaaat!" in a whiny voice, and there have been many, many patient discussions on the grace of giving. 
I don't like taking my kids out into the madness that is Christmas shopping.  I don't like seeing them fall easily, without hesitation or misgiving, into the traps set for them by marketing specialists.  I try to leave them home or with a sitter when I have to shop, but there are certain big box stores that are best visited early in the morning on a Monday, before the crowds gather and the aisles dissolve into chaos.  We made a concise and complete list of items to be purchased, we dressed in layers to avoid the freeze-then-swelter issue of shopping in a hot store on a cold day, and with our brave faces on Harry, Emma, and I set out to shop.  Though the parking lot was filling up as we pulled in, we easily found a good spot next to a cart corral, the secret jackpot of parents with small children everywhere.  I plunked the kids into a cart and then tried to push it toward the store.  It wouldn't budge.  After yesterday's snowfall, the parking lot had a layer of icy slush 3-4 inches deep and the cart wheels were frozen.  After all of the effort it took me just to bundle up my children and get them out the door I was not going to let a little winter get in my way.  I pushed and heaved and shoved that cart through puddles and snowbanks and eventually through the automatic doors of the store, where a wall of heat melted the wheels and blew my hair into a fine mess.  We were in. 
The aisles weren't very busy, and we were able to quickly find the items on our list as we dashed through the store.  It's not a place I like to linger because if it is quiet when you enter there will surely be lines 30 people long when you try to check out, but if it is busy when you enter you'll be able to check out in five minutes.  It's Murphy's Law of Wal Mart.  We had entered at a quiet time, so I had to rush in order to beat the crowd at checkout.  Also, if you pass the toy aisle at a near-run, the kids have less time to beg and point and melt into puddles because I won't buy them anything.  It's a win-win plan.  But just to reassure you that I am not the Scroogiest Mom in town, I did stop at the fish tanks for a good five minutes so my littles could gaze at the fish and frogs, which they adore (once they are slightly older I think we'll be adding a tank to our menagerie) and for the few minutes that we stood still I noticed that I wasn't the only one racing through the store.  There were other moms and dads doing the same thing, with rosy-cheeked, bundled-up babies and toddlers in tow.  We all seemed to know that the one and only way to survive the trip to this particular store was to go as fast as possible.  It was comical to stop and see what I must have looked like only moments before: one hand on the baby, trying to soothe her quietly while calmly addressing the toddler in the basket in an effort to make his little bum adhere to the bottom of his container, my eyes not on my children but scanning the aisles and products for the items on the list, which is gripped by my other hand.  My feet in constant motion, my face flushed with determination. 
Tired of the fish and starting to whine, my kids needed to go.  We started toward the front of the store, walking quickly of course, when suddenly another cart started to cross our path.  I had to stop and pull my cart back to avoid a collision, and as a sharp comment formed in my mind I saw that the driver of the cart was another mom, her cart filled with children, too.  We both stopped, looked at each other's slightly crazed expressions, and laughed out loud.  We joked that we were too short to see over the racks of clothing for oncoming traffic, and we smiled and waved to each other's children.  The exchange lasted only a moment, but laughing had melted, for the moment, the anxiety and frustration that Christmas shopping builds in me and I walked away feeling much better.
The checkout line was empty!  I breezed out of the store and found that the temperature had risen just enough for the ice to melt slightly, and pushing the cart wasn't such a chore.  Kids safely strapped into their car seats, heat on full-blast, we motored out of the parking lot and on to the next stop.  Harry noticed a McDonald's, and I quote: "Mommy, may we please stop at McDonald's and have some lunch and apple juice box?  I have hunger in my belly."  He didn't whine, he didn't cry, and he was delightfully polite about his request, so I pulled in.  Sometimes you really have to choose your battles, and we were a half hour from home, with many stops left on our to-do list. 
As I waited in the drive-thru line for our food I saw a familiar-looking figure leading her children across the snow-strewn parking lot.  Her face wore the shadow of the overwhelmed, but she saw me sitting in my car and smiled and waved as if we were old friends: it was my near-collision pal, the other mom.  I waved back as if she was an old friend, too, and saw some of the fatigue leave her face.  Maybe, just maybe, we all feel slightly edgy and crazed by this season, but I know with absolute certainty that strength can be found in the simplest of human-to-human connections. 

Some Days It's Just About Survival

It's a good thing I put the cookies away early this morning because had I not they would surely be gone right now.  It was a "Eat a whole bag of cookies and then have a good cry" kind of day.  I think my kids have a hidden stash of caffeinated products somewhere in the house.  At least I am choosing to believe that tonight because the alternative, that they actually have that much energy naturally, leaves me quaking in my slippers. 
I honestly do not think Harry stopped moving for a single second today.  He ran, flailed, jumped, kicked, spun around, stomped his feet, rolled on the floor, drove his trucks, romped through the snow, and went up and down the stairs all day long...he was pleasant about it but there is something exhaustion  inducing about watching small children run about. The energy it would require me to keep up that act for 1/2 hour is not insignificant.  I would expect Harry to be tired right now, but no.  Instead he is romping around his room, enjoying the liberties of being tall enough to reach the light switches. 
Emma was grumpy today, wanting to be held but wiggling out of my arms as I tried to hold her.  After a few close calls in which I almost dropped her on her head, I placed her little feet back on the hardwood and gently told her she'd have to walk.  So she clung to my pants for the next, say, twelve hours and serenaded me with whining. 
Then Brendan came home and chaos ensued, as it does every evening upon his arrival when our two short people are at once overjoyed to see him and demanding he "pay attention to me individually, and please don't you dare look at my sibling or I will scream and tug you away". 
Yes, it is a good thing I did not find the cookies until after the kids were tucked into bed, or at least into their rooms.  When I did find them I only ate three, and I managed to pull it together and not cry.  Crying would be a waste of energy, I think, and I am sure I'll need all the energy I can get for tomorrow's events: Christmas shopping with two toddlers. 

Conversations

The scene: dinner table.  Turkey, potatoes, and corn on the menu. 
Harry:  May I please have more chicken?
Me: We're not having chicken...
Harry:  Oh.  Is it Roosters?

The scene: Morning.  The hour is creeping later and later and still no sign of my boy, who is usually my 6:30am wake-up call.  Finally at 8:45 I go into his room, where he is completely covered up with a stack of blankets.  Mad giggling ensues, coming from the jiggling pile of bedding.
Me: Um, what are you doing?
Harry: I have been hiding all morning, Mama!  You took a long long long time to find me!
Me: How long have you been hiding, Harry?
Harry: Since seven zero zero!
Me: You've been hiding for almost two hours?
Harry: Yes!  I am a really good hider, Mom!

The scene: Bedtime, Harry's room. 
Harry: <long sigh> I have busy day tomorrow.  I go to store, buy some more milk, pick out some cookies, get some bread, find some good snacks, and then come home.  You can help me if you want to.
Me: Do you need me to drive while you run errands?
Harry: No, I can do it.  I just need you to make me hot cocoa after I play outside so I can eat the cookies I buy at the store.
Me: Oh, I'm glad I can help you out, Harry.
Harry: Not really.  I just can't do the stove but I can do everything else all by myself.  But you can help me if you really want to.  I guess.

The scene: Bedtime, Harry's room.  Five minutes after the above conversation.
Harry: Santa is coming soon!  At the pole he has a big BIG flat box for Daddy.  There's tools in it, I just know it. 
Me: Really?  Santa is buying tools for Daddy?
Harry: Yup.  Big BIG tools, in a big BIG box.  And he has a tiny tiny little box for me, with a tiny tiny little truck inside.  And a tiny tiny little box for Emmy, with a surprise inside for her.
Me: What about me?  Does Santa have a gift for Mommy, too?
Harry:  I think so.  It's a big big box, I bet.  But it might be empty.

Accidental Omission

In Early August a regular trip to the mailbox revealed a package from our adoption agency.  Tucked carefully inside were gifts for Emma from her foster family and a letter for us, love arriving via USPS from the other side of the world.  August was a busy month for us, with family vacations and plans for Harry's surgery, and somehow I forgot to post about the gifts here.  I also forgot to send a thank you note...well, I didn't really forget, but in my effort to find the perfect things to send to her foster family I kept putting off the mailing of a package, pictures, and letter, until suddenly it was late November and our adoption agency called to remind me.   I am ashamed that I took so long to acknowledge a gift that was so very appreciated.  I know her foster family sometimes checks in here, so I am going to post a few pictures of Emma wearing her backpack and barrette.  We keep the fan on the dresser in her room where she can play with it, and she enjoys waving it around.
Thank, Mrs. Koo, for keeping in touch with us, for taking the time to send a package for Emma, and for being patient as we fumble through our thanks.  A package is coming your way very, very soon.
 

A few more pictures just to show you how much she has grown: