The usual December

We went to Sloan Christmas tree farm again. As usual there was a lot of Christmas cheer and music. People wore their Christmas smiles and there were far too many families wearing matching Christmas hats and sweaters. Many hot dogs were roasted and this year Gramma brought hot chocolate. 

It was hard not to love it.

I'm not sure I needed the hat, the overkill parka and the boots. But you know how we Canadians are at the beginning of the season. P.R.E.P.A.R.E.D.

I love these two. They were born 10 months apart and this year they've totally cemented their Cousin Love for each other.

 I insisted on the biggest, fattest tree on the lot this year. 

It set several questionable events into motion. Right after this picture, Deaglan smacked into that yellow contraption (the one on the right with wheels), bit through his tongue so that blood was spurting out of his mouth like it had released a small bubbling brook. Shaune and I sprang to action like any good parents, holding our foreheads, screaming in horror.

Thank goodness for Gramma Fran, the retired nurse. She (spiritually) smacked some sense into us, tended to our injured boy and set us back onto the right path.

When we got home the tree fell over twice, once almost on  top of little Naveen and broke most of the ornaments we were hanging onto from our first Christmases together over 15 years ago. 

We finally got it to stay up and upright by tying it to the railing.

Needless to say, I've had to confirm several dozen times since, what a good choice I still believe it is, praising it's majestic breadth and size.

And as usual, we threw a birthday party for this  Christmas Eve baby in early December. 

Same place as last year, a few different kids. A lot more action.

 Angry Bird eyebrows and mustaches.

 The birthday boy. Too much adrenaline. Too much energy. Too much cake.

 Cousin Leo. Not ready for the spotlight just yet.

  Calm and steady Gramma Fran.   

 And like we always do, we celebrated Grampa's birthday. 

 It's been the usual, predictable, fun and wonderful December made all better by this little guy - Cousin Leo.

Vacationy knowings

Yesterday, late in the afternoon, in the still hot sun, the kids and I took turns choosing songs on Youtube on the tablet in the backyard. Naveen wanted Baby Beluga even though I thought for sure he’d ask for this one we’ve been forced to listen to again and again upon his insistence. Deaglan couldn’t think of something on his first turn so I suggested this, only because I remembered how it made me feel that first time he told me he LOVED it: Surprised, and then suddenly in love with it because it reminded me of him.

No new thing I chose this.

If there’s any chance I can get them onto Springsteen I take it. This age of no records and tapes, and practically extinct CDs makes it harder to exert any influence. I love the story-ness of an album; I lament these 99 cent moments ITunes offers.

I sipped ice cold Chardonnay while they sucked the juice out of  freezies.

I’m sort of picky about white wine. Not expensive picky. I adhere to two specific criterion: Hot, hot summer days. Glacially cold Australian Chardonnay. I’m slightly more flexible with red. At 42, finally (!), I have accepted that I’m a happy-hour drinker. Through my twenties and half of my thirties, I tried to believe I was something else: Fun and witty at parties. Charming and enduring at bars. Always lively into the night.

None of these things are true about me.

Instead. I know I’ll be asleep before the good shows come on. And more than two drinks on any given night ruins my next morning.  I’m shy. And in most situations I feel I have nothing to offer. I’ll probably never go vegan or start spending more on jeans. I love this song because I know Pink’s onto something even though it’s true, I don’t get her hair. Mascara and eyeliner is my version of putting on my face.

And I tell my little boys all the time that I’m sorry. That it’s okay to cry.  That feeling grumpy is normal.

Not because I’m modern and cool.

I just want to make room for my own imperfections.

 

I had last week off. We celebrated Aunt Pat's birthday. Gramma remembered how much we love that cake from Costco.

 After, we all watched Naveen play his final game of Blastball. Pictures to come.

 We spent some time with my sister and her family in Northern Michigan.

 
I go back to work tomorrow and although I'm sorta ready for it, I'll miss happy hour Youtube videos.

On a Saturday night

On Saturday we visited Aunt Tanis (the oldest of Shaune's three sisters) and Uncle Shawn. We knew Gramma was going to be there. It seemed like a perfect way to spend Mother's Day Eve.



Tanis was away on business around my birthday and so brought out this cake to let me know she hadn't forgotten. She also hosted a lovely dinner and treated us to some delicious wines.

Uncle Shawn - that's his hand with the lighter there - had to relight the candles three times to give everyone a turn. The front part of the cake, the side closest to me, was rendered inedible by the fourth blowing. I might have been hit with some of the "air" Naveen was using to blow out the candles.

Gramma, Aunt Chrissy and Aunt Tanis.

Shaune made this chocolate mousse cake. Gramma had made it a few years ago for my 40th birthday and he stole the recipe and has made it a few times since. It's gorgeous. He posted the recipe to his blog here.

Naveen was captivated by some of Uncle Shawn's wood carving collection, especially this guy who he referred to as the "Chweif" (Chief). He told us that the Chweif didn't look too happy. All throughout the evening, the Chweif preoccupied his thoughts so that nobody thought it right to leave without getting some photos of the two of them.

Uncle Shawn promised that in his will, the Chweif would be left to Naveen.

I take none of it lightly

You people.

You lovely, kind people. The things you said in your comments on that last post. Well, words can’t explain how much those things mean to me.

Thank you.

And to my Facebook friends: the ones who always comment on my posts (Frank I’m talking to you), the ones who send me private messages to let me know that something I wrote struck a chord or just that they liked it, and the ones I see in real life in the halls at work who stop to tell me they read one of my posts; to all of you, thank you. Thank you!

You should know I take none of it lightly.

I was feeling good about this and  about life in general despite the fact that we seem to have entered phase two of winter around here, the opposite of Indian summer, when I realized I forgot to tell you that in a few short days, Shaune will once again be a homemaker. Then I realized that I forgot to tell you that he got another temporary teaching job in the first place.  The technical term for which is long term occasional or LTO if you’re in the business.

Yup, lucky for us, once again someone needed surgery.

Last year he replaced a teacher who was having his elbow operated on. It gave him six months of work. Yay bum elbow! And then this past September he got a call to step in because another teacher needed his shoulder fixed. Greedily, my first thought was, that other shoulder isn't going to fix itself.

Maybe you’re thinking we should be taking a long hard look at the obvious. Elbow replaced? Shoulder surgery? What kind of work has Shaune gotten himself into? Will he one day come home and tell me they need to operate on his thumbs? Replace his forearm? We have thought of that and it’s hard to say for sure so we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.  Besides, on most days I remember to tell him to be careful.

But it is hopeful that in the two years since graduating from teacher’s college, an industry everyone thought he was crazy to get into because of all the budget cuts our province has been making, he’s worked steadily at least half of each year.

He’s developed really good relationships with two principals and many, many teachers. Just last night a group of lady hospitality teachers took him out for dinner to celebrate the end of his LTO and to let him know how sad they were that he was leaving. They’d all told him on different occasions how much they liked working with him. A few said they appreciated that he always came over to their classrooms to say hi or discuss a lesson plan.

He was hesitant at first about going, just him and five ladies, some who are close enough in age to be his mother, but in the end he went and I think, had a good time. I heard him come in around ten so it couldn’t have been all talk about grandkids and gardening. Although, if they had discussed gardening for any length of time, they would have had his undivided attention.

He’s a food nerd on all levels.

Now he’ll go back on the supply list; take substitute teaching gigs whenever he gets calls. But more importantly I’ll have gained a Nanny. A handy, handsome nanny who does windows! Oh sweet, sweet unemployment. If last year is any indication, he’ll take the kids to their respective places. Every morning (!)

He’ll pick them up. 

Every afternoon (!)

He’ll have the house clean and dinner ready.

Every day (!!)

And if that isn’t enough to make me want to increase my pay scale to make this situation permanent, he’ll tackle another big project in the realm of home improvement. I’ve thought it through and already have come up with an itemized list in descending order of importance. It’s been just short of impossible to not fantasize about coming home to brand new curb appeal. I stay up late imagining the possibilities for the upstairs bathroom.

Obviously, and not to mention ideally, we need him to be gainfully employed. I mean it isn’t right that I’m over the moon at the thought of him being available should the school or daycare call because one of the kids is sick. Or that I'm practically giddy because now I could seriously consider doing one of the morning classes at the gym. It's not right.

Right?

And finally, we can get back to eating like this. These are all dishes he's made in the past when the only kitchen he cooked in was ours.

No apologies

The other day at pick-up time, Naveen’s preschool teacher asked me if he’d ratted her out yet. When I looked confused she explained that on a few occasions during disciplinary moments, he’d looked saucily into her eyes and said “You (are) mean Jennathea. I’m gonna tell my mommy on you!”

We had a good laugh and I made sure she knew that I fully expected her to correct him in whatever way they espoused at the daycare and also that he did nothing but rave about how much he loved her to all of us at home.

I have to tell you though, as worrisome as it might seem that my two year old has little to no respect for  authority, I was secretly delighted that he’d stood up to her when he felt he’d been wronged.

Maybe it had something to do with spending most of my childhood afraid of the grown-ups around me.

And Thursday after work when I was finally in comfy pants, a glass of wine in hand, I flat-out refused to play with Deaglan. I told him I’d had a long day and needed to sit and enjoy my drink.  I suggested he either watch TV or play with his brother.

I felt no guilt whatsoever.

Before you go patting me on the back don’t forget that my almost five year old still sleeps in our bed and my preschooler almost always has his hands in my shirt, the aftermath of nursing him until his second birthday. Last week when we had some neighbors over for a Christmas drink, when the wine had loosened us all up a bit, one of the ladies asked in the kindest way possible if Naveen was pinching my chest.

“Yes,” I shrugged. “After I stopped nursing Deaglan, he took to putting one of his hands into my armpit for comfort. In fact he still does it sometimes. This guy,” I pulled Naveen’s hand out of my blouse for the hundredth time, “seems to prefer my bosom.” We all laughed.

What can you do?

Yesterday Shaune transformed our kitchen into a photo studio to get some shots for our Christmas card.  As the photographer's assistant  it was my job to get these two knuckleheads to stand still. 
To stand against the back-drop. 
To stand together. 
To smile.

I hate being the photographer's assistant!

I started out with some idle threats. "If you guys don't stand still and smile, there will be no dessert after dinner!" Their non-cooperation told me that promising something so far into the future (it was only noon) was doing me no good. 

 I smartened up, took some candy out of the freezer and dangled it in front of them. "You can each have some of this if you smile and stand still,"  I promised.

They perked up a bit.

The smiles weren't what I wanted so I used the one trick I knew would work like a charm. I hated to encourage it but I was desperate. "Naveen," I sniffed the air, "did Deaglan toot?" 

And just like that I got all these beautiful smiles. 

Of course Naveen felt the need to demonstrate the tooting.

And Deaglan ruined at least a hundred great shots with this creepy little smile. 

Sweet reindeer sweaters courtesy of Aunt Laura last Christmas.

Internal dialogue

I’ve been trying to get my Christmas stuff done in the evenings. It’s taken its toll on our nightly routine. Usually I read to both kids each night, but for the last week or so, I’ve scurried them to bed with just a kiss and cuddle. It’s done me no good because even though I’ve been able to check off my to-do list, the guilt has left me feeling unaccomplished.

My mind has conjured up all sorts of images to provoke me:
Scenario one: My teenage kids in remedial classes because they haven’t caught onto reading
Scenario two: Deaglan and Naveen - members of an illiterate delinquent gang.

Whipping myself this way mentally is so easy and effective. But this time I fought back. I started in the basement:

It’s not like I’m shooting heroin, I reasoned. Imagine the repercussions of that.

But my mind would have no part of this, Oh give me a break, you’ve never even smoked pot, that’s a ridiculous argument.

Okay, I countered, it’s not like I’m leaving them each evening to hang out at the casino, gambling the mortgage away.

Listen lightweight, my mind reproved, you wouldn’t know your way around a blackjack table even with a guided tour; just admit that you’re a failure as a mother, you’re selfish and put your own needs before your kids’.

I changed tactics then.

No, you listen to me, I demanded, I am doing the best I can with the time I have. Stop bullying me.

You have gray hair and a flabby stomach and-----

Hush!

Silence.

____________________________________

Shaune took 183 pictures of the kids for our Christmas card. Most of them turned out like this. In an effort to get the kids to cooperate, I'm ashamed to admit I was spitting out things like:

Deaglan smile and look at Daddy and you can have chocolate!

Deaglan! Look at Daddy and stand beside your brother, or you'll get a time out!

Deaglan, stay there, we're not finished yet, stop making that face! Okay that's it, I'm gonna let Santa know to skip our house!!

There were only three usable photos. We went with this one. And yes, that's a medicine dropper Naveen's got in his mouth.
 
You have to pick your battles.