Santa Photos Gone Wild

I'm sure the whole visiting Santa thing is very puzzling to children. I mean, the guy is supposed to be in the North Pole packing his sleigh full of dolls and nerf guns. Instead, he is hanging out in Fred Meyer, plopping crying children on his lap and laughing his jolly Santa laugh. Simultaneously, he also happens to be at the local mall. And the mall across town. And on the street corner downtown. Why, he even paid a special visit to Grandma's house. To add to the confusion, St. Nicholas stopped by our Church's Christmas festival. He looked more like a fancy priest than a Santa Clause and promptly disrobed in front of all the children when the last tot left his lap.

Luckily, Jacob doesn't think there is anything fishy about seeing Santa wearing a maroon suit and grey beard at Fred Meyer and then seeing him 30 minutes later in a bright red suit and white beard in front of Annie's Pretzels at the mall. Phew. I have one more year to come up with a plausible explanation for that one.

Even though my children have had their fair share of Santa this year, I really wanted to get photos taken at the mall so that I could order a photo ornament for the tree. I have one from last year and I think it might be fun to get a new one each year.

So after work today, I brought the kids home, shoved some snacks down their gullets, pulled out Ryan's nearly-too-small Santa outfit, and shucked them both into the car. By 6:15 we were off to the mall. Yeah, I know. What was I thinking heading to the mall on Christmas Eve eve. I knew there would be a line, but I guess I over-estimated my patience and how quickly the snaking line would move, and under-estimated how many children still needed to visit Santa.

It was insane.

The line nearly wrapped around the entire Santa-set-up and moved at a snail's pace. Ryan wanted to be held nearly the entire time so I spent a good amount of time juggling him and my heavy purse while trying to keep Jacob from causing too much trouble. Five minutes into our adventure, my hand holding Ryan's rump felt sopping wet. I set Ryan down and saw urine literally dripping from my hand. Five beads of urine fell from my hand to the floor. His diaper had gotten twisted and he soaked the entire front of his outfit. I set him down, right in the middle of the freaking line, and changed him on the mall floor. And washed my hand with a baby wipe approximately 5,000 times.

I continued to hold Ryan, clutching his pee-covered Santa body against my own. I prayed that his pee would dry before we reached Santa. Not only would the pee spot not be ideal for the photo, but I would feel kind of horrible setting a pee covered baby on his lap (but if the pee dried and Santa had no idea, then there would be less opportunity for him to judge me).

Catching snowflakes.

As I held a squirming Ryan, Jacob joined a group of three boys who were standing as close to the gate that surrounded Santa land as possible. They were catching fake, falling snowflakes in their hands and tugging at the fake snow that covered the ground. (They were also trying to shake the trumpet-playing reindeer who was standing guard nearby but I am trying to maintain an aura of plausible deniability about that, especially since a chunk of the reindeer's tail mysteriously went missing).

Creepy reindeer playing the piano.

I swear I looked down at my phone for one second (with one hand because the other had a death grip on heavy Ryan who was slowly slipping in the direction of the earth's core- friendly reminder to self: do more lifting at the gym).When I  looked back at Jacob he was holding an empty, smashed soda can and trying to catch falling snowflakes in it. Upon further questioning, I determined that he had found the discarded soda can near the garbage can and was trying to catch enough snow to make a snowball (duh, mom). The good mom that I am, never missing an opportunity to dash the hopeful dreams of a young boy, I jumped right in and totally ruined that fun.

As the clock ticked away and the line moved painfully slowly (literally, my arm was about to fall off), Jacob suddenly announced that he had to go pee. I thought about making him wait, until he grabbed at his crotch and started to do the OMG-dance. I know that dance well. I've utilized it many times. With my hands full of a 25 pound baby, a 25 pound baby's special blanket, and a large purse, I desperately pleaded with the people around me to hold my spot before I grabbed Jacob's hand and walked him quickly to the other end of the mall (where the restrooms were) and back.

After our 10 minute detour (and one purchase of a dozen chocolate chip cookies), we arrived safely back in our spots in line only to discover that some kid had unplugged the one cord that powered the entire Santa Land. Santa Land looked like downtown Bremerton, dark, lifeless, and possibly hiding a meth-head around the next corner. It only took 15 minutes for a vigilant mall cop to arrive and PLUG IN THE FREAKING CORD. Seriously? I could have done that. At least that extra 15 minutes gave my children extra time to eat four cookies each. Dinner, bam!

Washing down a cookie dinner

As we neared the finish line, Jacob kept wandering off to a nearby phone kiosk. I promptly told him not to touch ANYTHING. Apparently the air i the mall is very thick and it takes sound 30 seconds to travel 15 feet because he touched approximately ALL the phones before he shoved his hands in his pockets and stomped back to the line. That's when Jacob found another troupe of children to harass and instigated a cotton ball snowball fight. Ryan saw that they were having fun and, for the first time all night, wanted down to play. I was just about to tell Jacob to stop throwing fake, cottony snowballs at the other children when he pitched one right at a Christmas tree and knocked down an ornament.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the kids changed games. But quickly sucked in another tense lung-full of breath when I realized the new game was "let's-kick-each-other-in-the-shins-over-and-over-again." Ryan was the instigator this time. He would go up to Jacob, kick him in the shin and giggle. Jacob would laugh, then kick back. Then Ryan would kick the kid next to Jacob. The kid kicked Ryan back. They were giggling but I new that would be short-lived. I instructed Ryan to stop kicking and his response was to walk over to me and kick me right in the leg. This caused an uproar of laughter from the parents around me but did nothing to discourage Ryan from kicking.

The kicking did not stop. I approached the kids and was about to threaten some major time out when Ryan plowed into Jacob, knocking him and another kid onto Santa's red carpet.  Before I knew what was going on, the three of them were right in the middle of a wild game of pig pile. I stopped them, of course, but not before snapping some incriminating photos.

Right about here is when I wished I had a shirt that said "I'm just the babysitter."

I know it sounds like my boys were horrible, but seriously, they waited in that line for an entire hour, wearing uncomfortable Christmas swag, in the middle of a mall (so many things to touch and places to run), right at bedtime. So considering all that, they did pretty well.

And the pictures....

Well, aside from the creepy, laughing Santa, they turned out pretty good. Forgive the quality, they are pictures of pictures (my download code isn't working).

And from these pictures, you can't even tell that they were causing so much trouble.

Phew, another year in the bag!

The Working Mommy's Lament

The moment I get off work, I experience a mini high. Stepping out of the office and breathing the crisp winter air is as good as any drug. But most of all, I am dying to see my kids.

Sometimes it's easy to be away from the boys 8 hours a day. I fill my mind with information, my time with adult-interaction, and occupy myself by thinking through some challenging legal issues. It's rewarding. It keeps my brain sharp. I feel useful.

Sometimes, it's a little bit harder. I sit in my lumpy desk-chair, which over the years has obviously transformed into a chair for the spinally challenged. I click through e-mails. And I let my mind wander. What are my boys doing right now? I bet they are running around the park playing tag. Or perhaps Ryan did something hilarious, causing Jacob (and thus Ryan) to erupt into a fit of giggles. Maybe they are having quiet time, leaning their heads against their grandma and listening intently to a story. Sometimes, I'd give anything to be there. I'd give anything to be the one to take them to the park, laugh at their antics, or read them that story.

Childhood is to be cherished. But it zips by so quickly. Too short. And I cannot be there for a big portion of it. Life is cruel like that.

So, the moment my time in the office is over, I leap out the door, eager to see the boys. I always imagine that I will arrive at my mom's house and my boys will run excitedly towards me, bowling me over with big hugs. I imagine that we will share  some good quality time before dinner and bed. Maybe we will have time to enjoy the last few moments of daylight at the park. Maybe we will lay on the living room rug, in the very heart of our home, and play a game of Uno or dinosaurs. Or maybe we will sit at the table together and finish a holiday craft. These possibilities all rush through my mind on the drive to pick up the kids. I get so excited that I rush through several stale-yellow lights.

But by the time I walk through my mom's door, I'm met with a much different scene. Ryan leaps for me (as anticipated) but he clings to my legs, whining and crying. He is over-tired. He is over-stimulated. Jacob, who is usually a good boy all day, starts to act-out the second he sees me. He crosses his arms, pouts his lips, and gives me the stare-down. He puts his shoes on, only after I beg him to do so ten times. He refuses to use the bathroom. He throws his brother's toys. He stomps his feet. He whines for a snack to take "for the road."

I lug the kids, their car seats, and all their crap to my station wagon (no minor task). Ten minutes into the drive home, things aren't going any better. Ryan is repeatedly asking for his "baba" and crying when I cannot conjure one out of thin air in the middle of Highway 3. Jacob declares that he is STARVING and wants MCDONALDS NOW OR ELSE HE WILL DIE. Why is he not consoled by my reassurances that there is a three-day-old piece of pizza waiting for him in the fridge? Spoiled kid.

My dream reunification has been shattered. Things are going downhill fast. I need to turn this frown-mobile around....quickly, before self-pity (mine) sets in. I turn off my favorite news radio station (I'm addicted) and start to sing Christmas songs. To my amazement, Ryan stops crying. Jacob stops whining. By the second round of Jingle Bells, Jacob is even singing a long. When the song ends, Ryan yells, "More! More!" So, it's on to Frosty the Snowman. Then Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Then Santa Baby. I'm clearly running out of songs.

When we get home, everyone is in a better mood. Except me. I'm exhausted. I haul the kids, their bags, my briefcase, and some groceries into the house. I want to curl up in a ball on the rug and pass out. But....damn it. Kids. Quality time. Etc. Etc.

Jacob = world's biggest ham

So I pull out an old craft project that I had put away for a rainy day. We paint. Drill holes (macho points for me!). And plug in. Jacob is amused. Ryan not so much. He does not like the lights. He says they are "hot" and keeps a three feet distance at all times.

Ryan is too close to the lights. He does not like it.

For some reason, I am the only one who thinks this craft is off-the-charts-amazing. Jacob tolerates it and fakes a smile for the camera.

Christmas trees or Mardi-Gras gnome hats?

I warm up the three-day-old pizza and we have dinner (my husband goes to the gym 2-3 times each week and doesn't get home until 8 pm on those nights, which is why he is glaringly absent from this post). Ryan decides to use a toy wrench as a fork. It makes total sense to him. I love this kid.

When dinner is over, I clean the table, do the dishes that have been piling up in the sink for the past couple days (no dishwasher!), and get the kids in their PJs. By this time, I'm running on fumes. My desire to be horizontal is as strong as my will to get the kids in bed. Or not. I fall onto the living room rug and allow myself a five minute power nap...with both eyes open because Ryan found a pair of scissors and I'm too tired to get up right that minute and take them away. Ryan puts the scissors down, comes over to me, straddles my torso, and sits on my back. He bounces a couple times yelling, "giddyup!" Nap time comes to a screeching halt.

Ryan with his most-prized possession.

Somehow. Someway. I manage to get the kids' teeth brushed. We read a story, I sing the world's shortest lullaby, and I tuck them into bed.

snuggles

As I exit their room and close the door, I have mixed feelings. Half of me is jumping up and down (hypothetically only--remember, I'm exhausted) and thrilled to finally collapse on the couch. The other half of me is reluctant and sad. My nightly 2.5 hours with the kids went by way too quickly. When I wake up, my husband and I will have an hour to hustle them back out the door. Then it's back to work to do it all over again.

The time is just too short. My energy levels are just too low. My plate is just too full. Am I giving them enough? This question will never have a satisfactory answer.

Advent: Fun And Reflections

Today started with me wrangling two hyper-active boys and all of their stuff within a three foot long section of pew in Mass. Wedged between an older man and an older woman, I spent an entire hour mostly shushing my two boys, telling Ryan to stop coloring on the pew, answering Jacob's questions about how to spell randomly-selected words, physically restraining Ryan's feet when he insisted on swinging them in every direction, and picking Cheerios off the floor (and trying not to stick my butt in anyone's face in the process). I think I heard (and recited) the Our Father prayer, the rest of the Mass is just a blur.

Oh, except for the part when my son yelled during silent prayer time, "Mommy, are unicorns real?!"
"No. Shhhh."
"WELL I THINK UNICORNS ARE REAL!"
"Please, shhhh!"
"IF JESUS CAN BE REAL, UNICORNS CAN BE REAL!"

During the offering, I handed Ryan an envelope with some money and told him he could put it in the basket. Finally, the basket started to make it's way down the aisle in front of us. As it passed in front of Ryan, he chucked the envelope straight at the basket, nearly grazing the people standing in front of us. And, for the record, just barely missing the basket. The entire pew erupted into stifled laughter. I guess I should have make it more clear to Ryan that he was not supposed to "make a basket."

After Mass, our church celebrated the first Sunday of Advent with a St. Nicholas Festival. The kids got their photos with St. Nick. I made an Advent wreath. We all had cookies for breakfast. Hey, it's better than donuts, right?

Also, this is the note Jacob wrote me during Mass. He wrote "I Love You God" all by himself. I helped with the "St. Joseph."

Then I wrangled all the kids to the grocery store and then the fabric store. At the fabric store, Ryan fell asleep in my arms which made it really tricky to carry fabric up to the counter for cutting. And Jacob knocked over an entire rack of ribbon spools. The lady at the store tried to help him clean up but Jacob insisted on doing it all by himself, which took approximately one million seconds too long.

We got home to discover that my husband had finally purchased the new TV he had been talking about buying for YEARS. He likes to research, and compare, and read reviews, and measure, and research some more. I have a light trigger finger when I go shopping. When I want something (if I decide that I can afford it), I simply BUY IT.

We went from a 32 inch TV to a 51 inch TV. I never really wanted a TV this big. I grew up with a 13 inch TV and I still think that is good enough for anyone. But I have to admit, I like the way the TV fills up the blank space against the wall that used to taunt me every single night. Now the space between the two hangings above the TV taunt me (too far apart in my opinion). But I'm too lazy to move them. We have officially become a 2 TV household. That means, we have one TV per 475 square feet of house. Yikes. Too much.

One tiny living room. One ginormous TV.

My homemade Advent wreath with olive wood candle holders (from Bethlehem)

As if my day wasn't busy enough with shopping and organizing and laundry and making dinner, I decided we should have a family gingerbread house night. I have a fantastic recipe, I can't remember where it came from. But it actually TASTES good (unlike most gingerbread house recipes). And it's super easy.

Gingerbread Cookies/Houses

• 6 cups flour
• 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 4 tsp ground ginger
• 4 tsp cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp cloves
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 12 Tbs butter
• 1 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 2 eggs
• 1 cup molasses
• 1 Tbs water

Mix the dry ingredients. Mix the wet ingredients. Combine, a little at a time, then knead until dough forms a ball. Refrigerate for 2 hours. Roll dough out to 1/4 inch think. Cut out shapes. Bake at 350 for 15-20 minutes.

By the time I made the dough, let is refrigerate, cut out the shapes, cooked them, cooled them, assembled them,and then made the frosting, it was already 8:30 p.m. But Jacob and I had our hearts set on gingerbread houses, so we forged onward.

After years and years of making gingerbread houses that never stayed up, I finally got smart and used a hot glue gun this year. Worked like a charm. It was amazing. Considering that I have never met anyone who actually eats the gingerbread part of the house, I figured this was a safe bet.

Beautiful houses in progress:

Ryan is helping, kinda.

Is he putting candy on or taking it off? We shall never know.

Then he got a little bit sugar drunk. 

Actually, he was practicing his pig sounds when I snapped this shot. But this is how I look when I get drunk.

So proud (and excited to be up past 9:00 p,m,)

All done!

Before bed, Ryan flushed his sugar high out of his body by accessorizing his outfit.

Ryan walked around the house like this for approximately 15 minutes, while playing ball. Except the hanger kept falling off when he would reach down to pick up the ball. This made him a little angry. But he kept putting it right back on.

Most of my pictures of Ryan actually look like this (sans hanger):

Oh yeah, we also made Christmas ornaments. Although, we won't have a tree for another two weeks. Jacob decorated the one on the right. My husband "helped" Ryan decorate the one on the left. My husband spend way too long decorating his ornament and making sure it was just right. I think he has some childhood holiday angst to work out. Or just OCD.

It was a LONG and TIRING day. But my boys brought me so much joy and so many smiles. Sometimes I look at the boys with appreciation and sentiment and think, "Wow, God could have given you to anyone on the planet, but I'm so freaking glad he gave you to me."

Although I'm a born and raised Catholic (and would never chose to be any other religion- I truly love Catholicism) I do struggle a lot with my faith. The beliefs that came so easily to me as a child are so hard to accept as an adult. I feel a lot of skepticism and doubt. I've been unsure of a lot of things lately. I sit in the pew and I try to pray. But I just feel silly. Like an actor. It doesn't feel genuine. 

I'm the epitome of the Doubting Thomas. I have to see and feel to know that something is real. There's a lot about religion that I cannot feel or see, but the warmth and love and community of my church is 100% real. I can feel that, stronger than anything. I'm just holding on, hoping that one day everything will finally click. 

Smiles, Love, and Food

So often, holidays do not live up to expectations. For me, this is usually true of Thanksgiving. We've gone to different places the last couple years and so it just hasn't felt very traditional lately. With so many families to try to include, it has been hard to find our "place."

When we go to other peoples' house, it doesn't always feel right. Everyone is on their best behavior. But my family is loud and crazy. To me, holidays are just not the same when there isn't loudness, people fighting for food, and trying to talk over each other.

Also, somehow the stress of the holidays always results in tension between my husband and I. This is the single biggest holiday killer and has a domino effect on everything else going on that day. But yesterday was perfect in every way.

Yesterday, the kids woke me up at 7:00 am and, after making them a fancy breakfast of crepes stuffed with eggs, chicken meatballs, and cheese (which they totally did not appreciate), I got to work cooking for dinner. I made this sweet potato casserole recipe. This recipe for scalloped potatoes. And my favorite ricotta gnocchi recipe. It was all so amazing!

In total, I spent four hours in the kitchen, sipping a vanilla cappuccino, singing along to the music of Annie, and taste-testing as I cooked. My husband got the kids started on coloring hand turkeys and every other minute, one of the kids would storm into the kitchen, grinning from ear to ear, to proudly show me their art.

I was done cooking by noon and got to putter around the house and hang out with the kids. My sister, whose husband is overseas, came by to join us for Thanksgiving. We hung out and created a very amateur, impromptu Thanksgiving skit for the kids to act out, complete with costumes (nothing Martha Stewart would approve of!) The skit and the costumes came together in less than an hour, thanks to our pathetic creativity, leftover Halloween felt, and a hot glue gun.

It was awesome having my sister there for Thanksgiving since I couldn't be with my parents or other siblings. She helped me bring more chaos and loudness to the Thanksgiving celebration and was my partner in crime for our grand performance. She was also there to snap a rare family photo.

The kids loved that they got to eat olives and grapes for dinner (and only olives and grapes)

Then we had our grand performance. My sister was the narrator. Jacob was the Pilgrim. I had to be the Indian since my nephew (for whom I had designed the part) was not too trilled about the idea. With some coaxing and with the promise of going into the hot tub, we convinced my nephew and niece to be Turkey 1 and Turkey 2. Please note my fantastic turkey costumes on the right:

We only did a couple pre-performance run throughs but Jacob memorized all his lines well and impressed the heck out of me. He just may have a future in theater.

Here we are singing our Turkey Song: "I like big butterballs and I cannot lie."

At the end of the day we all gathered in the living room to chat while the older kids were upstairs playing. Ryan, getting a rare opportunity to have all the adult attention to himself, stood in the middle of the living room entertaining everyone. He kept taking a funny exaggerated stance, pointing his pointer-finger at everyone (including the dogs) and yelling "shoot, shoot!" (something wonderful he learned from his older brother). Then he kept marching around in circles, totally hamming it up, and doing pig impressions until he would make himself laugh too hard to keep going.

Ryan is usually the quiet, overlooked child in a large gathering of people because he is so content and easy going and shy. But he has such a big, lovable personality which he usually reserves just for his parents and grandparents. It was wonderful to see him take a turn in the spotlight.

We got home, tucked the kids right into bed and snuggled on the couch to catch up on our favorite shows (Homeland and Boardwalk Empire). Then we just sat and reflected on the wonderful day and our home full of blessings.

The day was so full of smiles, our hearts full of love, our bellies full of food, and our glasses full of champagne. It was a fantastic day.

A Tribute To Brothers

A relationship between brothers is as complicated as is each brother individually. For the big brother, becoming a brother is a lot like being slapped in the face. Except everyone expects you to enjoy it. 

 The little brother has absolutely no clue what is going on and will never realize the turmoil he has wrought about his sibling. He is born content and accepting of his lot in life. He knows nothing else.

To big brother, little brother is a new thing, like a weird birthday toy. New thing is interesting. Big brother picks up the cues of others to learn how to react to the new thing. Big brother is told to kiss it. Big brother kisses it. Where did this new thing come from? It has tiny fingers. It can yawn but not speak. It's kinda loud. Ok, really loud.

But then the new thing is no longer exciting. Big brother may be a little disappointed. It turns out that little brother does not like to play Thomas the Train. The little brother is kinda boring.

For a while, a lot of the smiles are forced. Except for when the little brother does something hilarious. Like pick his nose or toot. And in something as trivial as a bodily function, a love-seed has gently sprouted.

Big brother and little brother, learn their new roles. And as little brother can do more and more, he once again becomes interesting. There is no milestone more sweet than that first moment big brother sees little brother mimicking him. A light bulb goes off. "He is like me," thinks big brother. A lifelong friendship sprouts  from that tiny love-seed.

This doesn't mean brotherhood is easy.

Sometimes, there will be a struggle to find enthusiasm.

But is does have its rewards. Like companionship. When you have a brother, you will never have to be alone.

There will always be someone to toughen you up.

To walk by your side.

To share the brunt of Mom's latest "ideas."

In your brother, you have someone to keep awake on Christmas Eve. An ear to catch your excited whispers each time you think you hear Santa. 

A brother is someone whose life parallels yours. You start in the same place and collect shared memories. Until the day you each branch off and start new adventures. And then, your brother only shows you what you could be, if only you were different.

He is always there to give you a push.

And wrestle you down when you need it. Sometimes you are on top. Sometimes you are on bottom.

Sometimes, you are just lucky the prank is not on you.

Brothers learn side by side. Each seeing the world from a different angle and opening up the other to new possibilities.

You don't always get it right the first time around. But don't worry. Your brother is there to laugh at you and show you the way. In that order, of course.

Affection often comes in many forms. Sometimes it is reluctant. But always it is there.

In your brother, you have someone to loiter with.

Someone to teach you a lesson in sharing: i.e. that it doesn't always happen.

Someone to party with. To get dressed up with.

Someone to take the spot light when you would rather not.

Someone to share in humiliation.

Someone to squirt water in your face when you need it.

To explore. 

And enjoy the wonders of life.

To laugh with.

To help you create a good thing from a bad situation. 

To teach you the important things. Like golf.

And whatever this is.

And to check you for skid marks before the doctor comes in.

Before you know it, your brother has become an extension of you. Big brother. Little brother. The two are inseparable.

The years that separate you are forgotten.

The experience and knowledge of the bigger brother is exchanged for the adoration and the wonder of the younger.

Where there once was an intruder, there is now a best friend. Because really, is it any fun to eat a Ring Pop alone?

And only your brother would want to play half-naked, teeth brushing, laundry-pillaging pirate games with you.

The blood you share is thicker than the tears that occasionally fall. It is stronger than the stubbornness and selfishness that will no doubt arise. Because despite these things, it binds you. Two rivers, running side by side. With just one source but different destinations.