Wow!

As you grow up, Christmas kind of grows up with you.

Even between the ages of our kids, from one to five years old, there are different interpretations of what the season and culminating special day means.

For Margaret it was largely about putting on fancy dresses and shoes this year. She wanted to decorate herself with the ribbons from packages, play with the box instead of what was inside, and eat a lot of cookies.


Bobby just really wanted to open his presents. And as the door bell rang with yet another package day after day, it got more difficult for him to contain his excitement.

On perhaps the fifth day of Advent, Bobby opened just about all of his Advent Calendar windows hoping that Christmas Day would come a little sooner. So I was pleased when I learned that he was learning the virtue of patience at school. He brought home an image of St. Monica, patron saint of patience, colored in every shade of the rainbow, a little closer to 'in the lines' than his last work of art. After work, I would reinforce what he had learned - that it's about patiently waiting, being a good boy, and don't you dare open that present!

At three, I can imagine how hard it would be to neglect presents with your name, tins filled with freshly baked cookies, bowls filled with chocolates, and events on the calendar that all came with instructions to wait ... just a little bit longer.

When Christmas morning finally came, Bobby was in absolute heaven. Trains, trucks, cars, and planes zoomed around the house with pure joy emanating from our little boy who had practiced patience so well.



Mary, at five, started cataloging and cementing our family's traditions.

Unlike Bobby, she opened one window of her Advent Calendar at a time and even offered him her chocolate each morning because, 'aw, you don't have one again.' (I should have said, don't feel sorry for him Mary, he ate fifteen chocolates one morning when we were all sleeping. But I liked her spirit of empathy and generosity.)

She loved all the events we had planned leading up to Christmas. Decorating our house and tree, remembering where ornaments originated and where they should be placed. Seeing Santa, and this year, writing her own letter. Dancing in her Winter recital, baking Christmas cookies (and eating them), going downtown to the Nutcracker, and having Tea with our good friend Charles on Christmas Eve and getting a big iced cookie from him, because that's a tradition mom.

She excelled at being a good little girl and she would frequently check her behavior rating with me. 'Did I get an A+ today, mama?' She helped me with chores, set the table on Christmas Eve, cleaned, wrapped presents, and excelled at being one step ahead of me. I told her she got an A++.

And true to his word, Santa delivered to our very good girl on Christmas Day.



At 36, as the magic maker, Christmas isn't effortless. With the time off from work, I booked doctor and dentist appointments for me and the kids, preparing not only for a happy new year, but a healthy one.

Ear infections - healed.
Measles and mumps - vaccinated.
Skin cancer - negative.
One kid - cavity free
Other kid - in the process of becoming cavity free.
Mommy - I hate my dentist so I postponed the appointment.
Back issue - medicated.

I also volunteered for Bobby's classroom Christmas party, hosted a play date, did mountains of latent laundry, organized closets overflowing with crap, shopped and wrapped. Cooked and baked. Rushed and reeled. Trimmed and tucked in. Stayed up too late and woke up too early.

On the 26th, Peter asked me if I had a good Christmas. I said yes, of course. But I really didn't have the right words - the expectations of elaborate, remarkable, momentous. I still don't. Instead, I have been thinking about the vocabulary that Margaret has developed over the past two weeks - words that I think Christmas  brought out of her.

Mama and Dada. Bubba and Mar Mar.

Up.

More.

Kiss and hug.

Peeeeease. Peeeeease. Peeeeease.

Cheeeeeeese.

Shhhhhhhhhhhh.

Cookie.

Tanks.

Woo, woo, woo, ha, ha, ha (dog sounds)

Wow.

Whoa.

Wow!

Whoa! 
WOW!

WHOA!

She says Wow! so well now. And it's just the right word for a Christmas that was super wow.

Lo.
 

Routine

After Mary and her kindergarten class graced us with the cutest little Thanksgiving concert ...

After we raked leaves ...

After we played in winter's early arrival ...

After we flew to Pittsburgh and rode up the Incline ...

After we played with cousins and shopped with Nana ...

After we carved the Turkey and mashed the potatoes with Opa

After I finished the 1,000 piece Civil War puzzle and we saw two train exhibits ... 

After we flew back to Chicago and then waited an hour and forty five minutes for an Uber to take us home from O'Hare.
Bobby got pink eye.
Then Mary got pink eye.
Then Bobby got a double ear infection.
Then Mary got the single version.
Then Mommy threw up all night long.
Then Mary threw up all night long.
Then Bobby, Daddy and Margaret came along for the ride.
Then Bobby's ear infection didn't heal and he had to go on a different medication portioned in a tonic bottle straight out of a turn of the century pharmacy. Oh and he might get an allergic reaction, so here's some Benadryl. 
Then Margaret got an ear infection. And with it, the runs.
Then I flew to Seattle, loopy and malnourished from not eating in several days, and left Peter and Eva with three kids and a window sill lined with meds and syringes. 

This week, we faced more sickness than health. And I kept thinking to myself, will we make it through?

In times like these I worry a little. I wonder if our household was built strong enough. I question whether I'm a good enough mom. I pray that Peter can handle it all. And I anxiously look forward to when things will just go back to normal - to the routine - to the days I can manage and control.

On my long plane rides to and from Seattle, I thought a lot about our routine. The known, the anticipated, the schedule I've tried to create. And then in actuality, how non-routine our life has become.

Every day seems to bring a new challenge. A missed train and a changed plan. A late meeting and a new logistic. Mama's gone, Daddy's in charge. The nanny's sick, so are the reserves, it's a snow day, trains are down, Mama's working from home, or trying to, Bobby just eat your lunch, take your medicine, you too, no you can't have another chocolate, no Santa is not coming tonight, no you can't watch a show, yes you have to take your nap, everyone please stop fighting, oops I was not on mute. Muting.

There is a lot of literature on the importance of routine for children and families. How kids excel with it. And parents often go to extremes to maintain the integrity and security of their hard wired schedules. Personally, I tend to blame myself for not mastering and maintaining a regimen in our household as well as others. If only it were tighter ... would they eat better, act better, do things without me asking again and again and again?

At the same time, my company has placed significant value on resiliency. At the end of this tumultuous year, we will be evaluated in large part by our adaptability. Employees who were able to navigate the 'change' while remaining highly productive will fair well, the others will flounder. 

So with all the routine everyone preaches, how is anyone supposed to learn resiliency? At school? Not likely. At least, it was never part of my curriculum. But back in the day, I did learn it home.

As much as they could, my parents created a routine for us. However, like Peter and I, they managed a two income household with its share of pivots and changed plans. I had all different kinds of babysitters and care givers growing up - many unique personalities and management styles that I had to win over. I was the first one at school and the last one picked up on multiple occasions - I became adept at calling 1-800 Collect and twiddling my thumbs. When my dad wasn't home, my mom would make something - so I learned to cook at a pretty young age. We all chipped in. We acted like a team - everyone covering for someone when we were a man down. There were evenings when I could tell that a secretary's absence, another on-call night, another week in West Virginia, or a loss of a child at the hospital got the better of our household. I would sit on the steps listening and worrying about the dialogue. But I went to bed knowing there was a strong enough foundation - that love would always mend the emotions in the kitchen.

Which takes me to the most important part of the routine. The must haves in any given day that make a changed plan more manageable. Instead of asking myself did everyone check the boxes? I think the most important things to ask are ... 

Did we give out enough hugs?
Did we say we were sorry, when we needed to be?
Did we do our best at school or at work?
Did we reach out to someone who needed a hand?
Did we say a pray or two or ten?
Did we tell Eva, thank you (a million times over!)? 
Did we tell our kids just how special they are?
And did I tell Peter, how much I love him?

And with that, I will keep telling myself that the combination of routine and resiliency will give our kids a leg up in the end.

After a long week, we woke up on Saturday morning and bought our Christmas tree. We decorated it, hung our wreath, strung our lights, and put the finishing touches over our fireplace. It's officially the Christmas season, but I have one more thank you to share.

Thank you, Mom and Dad. Not only for all the love and support. But for showing me how to keep a household together despite the times when it feels a little fragile.

Lo.     

In Costume

Growing up, there were a few select years that I had 'good' costumes. I aged out of the legit and into the hand spun around the age of 8 as I recall.

Two of our 'good' costumes were the less fluffy predecessors of Pottery Barn's dress your kid like stuffed animal get ups currently marketed in their catalogs. We had a mouse and a bunny. Small and medium respectively. The third and designated large costume was a witch - a forgiving black mu-mu, complete with cape, black hat, and green mask. My siblings and I took turns being rodents and then graduating to witch; my brother got a pass and the permission to buy a Skeletor costume at that point.

After that, we were left to our own devices. To the 'costume box' in the attic. 

It was a long rectangular white box, typically used in law firms for file storage. By the time I was ten, the box was overflowing with stuff. By the time I was in high school, one box had expanded to two or three. I honestly don't know how we collected most of the random clothes, props and parts that were in these boxes. Some were remnants of Dance costumes. But most - straw hats, silk Asian influenced pajamas, little house on the prairie style dresses, flannel shirts, masquerade ball masks, old sheets - seemingly sprouted from thin air. 

Out of that box, I became a farmer, Madonna, a burlesque version of Minnie Mouse, a Chinese person (cringing with embarrassment), and a butcher. My brother was the pig. 

I never saw the costume box as a way to express my inner creativity as perhaps my sister did - she was always much better at the charade than I. Instead it stressed me out. So I welcomed college. The dawn of trick or treat-less, costume-less, anxiety-less Halloweens. Until I met a girl named Meredith.

She was the girl that owned Halloween growing up. Her family, equipped with hand sewn, embellished, embossed, themed costumes won Trick or Treating every year. And she brought that ownership to Notre Dame with her.

Every year, she made me and the rest of our friends dress up with her. Everyone had to participate, no questions asked. One year we were all super heroes. Another year, the cast of Zoolander. Our senior year, her mom made sashes with personalized badges for each of us so we could be Girl Scout Troop 702. I always moderately hated having to dress up, longing for the more flattering clothes left behind in my closet. But my friends loved it, and I loved my friends, so on went the costumes.

The other weekend, a couple days past Halloween, Troop 702 reunited down in Austin, Texas for a girls weekend.

A couple days late wouldn't have stopped Meredith from celebrating Halloween with her girlfriends back in college, so it didn't stop her in Texas either. Cue the 1980's neon night theme.

There's actually a little more to this story. I might have just suggested the theme. I might have come completely unprepared. Meredith might have made me wear lacy hot pink sleeves with matching head band. We might have all gotten a little out of, or perhaps for some of us back in character. And I might have just been laughing so hard that my face is blurry in just about all of the pictures of me. 

Except this one.

Like any really great friends though, they rub off on you. With this particular group of friends, I've learned to take myself less seriously. I've learned to let the unflattering fly. I've learned that laughter is the best medicine. I've learned that Moms can and deserve to have their own dance parties. And I've learned to love Halloween. Especially the costumes.

Especially the ones that I don't have to make for my kids. Thank you, Amazon.  

    

Lo.