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!

A Very Good Saturday

It doesn't always happen, but I managed to fill today with a little bit of everything. All week long I look forward to the weekend. And as long as the weekend is far away and exists only as a hypothetical, it is perfect. It's full of family, giggles, quality time, crossing chores off my list, and regrouping. But when it actually comes, the weekend is typically far from all of these things. It's usually busy and stressful, or lazy and unproductive. It often involves me choosing between a multitude of things that need my energy and time, including me. 

Working moms always talk about how the weekdays are a constant juggling act. But, sadly, the weekends don't offer much reprieve.

It's hard to be on all the time. It's hard to be organized and jet-fueled all week- packing lunches, dressing children, scooting them out the door, making them dinner, tucking them into bed. And It's hard to be doting, and patient, and present during the weekends- playing games, trips to the park, constantly giving my attention. When the weekends come, I want to check out for a couple hours and do absolutely nothing. But this usually means sacrificing quality time with the boys. This is why weekends are so hard for me. It's a constant battle between recharging my own batteries, giving the kids the attention I am unable to give during the weekdays, and tackling all the chores that have been sneaking onto my ever-growing list. No matter what I choose, there are consequences, even if those consequences are purely emotional or mental.

So basically, as much as I look forward to the weekend, it can be a big pain in the ass. When things compete for my time and energy, I hate to be the one responsible for setting priorities. But if I don't and just do whatever I feel like doing, I end up feeling guilty for wasting my weekend. And on the rare day when things just turn out well, without much effort, it's so rewarding. 

Off-topic: Santa visited my parents' house the other weekend. It was such a special treat to have a private visit by the jolly old man.

Ryan did not quite agree and is still very terrified of the guy.

But Jacob wasted no time collecting his present (he had to name five good things he had done first- it took a while).

Today was one of those days where everything just worked out. I got up and made the kids a nice breakfast. We played games and wrestled. They helped me do some laundry. Then we headed out the door to celebrate my niece's birthday with family.  After the party, we came home and I tucked my precious sleeping Ryan into his bed and snuggled with the big boys on the couch as we settled in to watch the movie Elf. When it was finally time for Jacob to go to bed, I sat on the couch and chilled out with only the glow of the Christmas tree to light the room. 

This beautiful tranquil scene is my favorite part of a long, busy day. There's something soothing and comforting in sharing a darkened room with a tree swathed in strings of yellow lights. 

Lights: House & Zoo

Our Christmas lights aren't the fanciest. But I sure do love pulling into the street in the evening and seeing the glow of our house.

This house is the source of a lot of emotions right now. Mostly bad. I'm trying so hard to love it. But this tiny little sardine can is draining my patience, my tolerance, and my bank account (our sewer drained backed up this weekend-yay for surprise and expensive home repair projects that are becoming way too frequent for this 103 year old house). This house is probably the biggest reason why I am not getting my third baby. It is also why I cannot begin the process of becoming a foster parent (which I feel so strongly called to do). And we're kind of stuck here for the foreseeable future.

Some days, I just want to walk away from it. I literally want to exit the front door and never come back. But I can't.

 So, I wrapped it up in Christmas lights instead.

 

This is our entryway/living room/dining room. The kitchen is behind the wall with the bookshelf. Two other rooms and the bathroom are crammed off to the right. That is my entire house. 

At least it's pretty - when it's not filthy and littered with toys that have no place to go.

Lucky for us, we spend a lot of time outside.

Last Friday evening, we packed up the kids and went on an impromptu trip to Zoo Lights. I was exhausted from working all week but we decided to suck it up. It's just not Christmas without Zoo Lights.

 We saw Mt. Rainier.

Not quite sure how the polar bears migrated to the Pacific Northwest. Maybe they rode on Santa's sleigh?

The kids were bundled up in their finest jackets and whatever other warm accessories we could find.

For some of the displays, I was a teeny bit more excited than the boys, as evidenced in this picture:

My husband pushed the stroller ahead of me and walked way too fast. But I still stopped for a minute or two here and there to play with the shutter speed on my camera, even at the risk of getting lost/separated.

The light technicians recreated the Tacoma-Narrows bridge.

And a creepy tiger.

Ryan looks so handsome in this picture. I love that guy.

And this guy is simply hilarious although not so easy to wrangle away from any item that might be used as a playground. I present, Jacob the hermit crab:

The next picture was taken especially for Ryan. Jacob has a small stuffed shark that is most beloved by both boys. In fact, they fight over it constantly. Most mornings I wake up to the sound of Ryan yelling, "Sharky! Sharky! My Sharky!" I can usually get a sense for how the day is going to do based upon Jacob's response. (If he shares, then we are usually in for a good day.) I

Ryan was very excited to see a real-life shark.

Jacob was just excited to be set loose at the zoo. He must be doing a happy dance here.

One final pose before everyone (including me) got crabby.

Everyone Is Either Screaming Or Crying: It Must Be Christmas!

My husband is many things. He is a good man. He works hard. He's very responsible. But he's not exactly the leader of the fun parade (I'm not even sure he is IN the fun parade).

He is very frugal, which automatically takes a lot of "fun" things off the table (helicopter tours of Seattle, owning a pony, spending a week on a dude ranch learning how to be a cowboy, hanging out in a hotel for a week just because I love hotels). He is also a liberal, which takes even MORE fun things off the table (gun fights, sky-diving with George W., growing a chin-strap beard, Nascar, ATV races, and, in fact, anything that uses any environmental resources at all- we have a three sheet of toilet-paper-per-pee bathroom rule.). And, I' conservative. So at least we will always have fun political debates where we call each other names and accuse each other of trying to ruin the country.

So you can just imagine that our holidays are ton of fun.

First step is usually acquiring a Christmas tree. It's usually cold. There's a lot of walking involved. Then there is the (mostly) friendly annual tree debate (fir or noble). And then we are off to `schlep the kids around a gigantic forest full of weird strangers wielding handsaws. This time Jacob wanted nothing but to run and hide in the trees. Ryan hates anything to do with Christmas (lights, Santa, etc) so I can only imagine that his refusal to nap on the car ride over is due to some philosophically opposition to Christmas trees. He cried and begged to be held the entire trip. These things are exactly why doing things "as a family" makes my husband crabby and twitchy. And then there's me: determined that everyone is going to have fun damnit and make some good family memories.

"Look at all these trees!" I exclaimed. "Isn't this fun!?" As I said that, Ryan was clinging to my body screaming his eyes out and my husband was yelling at Jacob to put down the handsaw or else he would single-handedly cancel Christmas for the next five years which set Jacob into a giant tantrum. At that exact moment, a stranger approached. Seeing the camera slung over my arm, he asked if we would like him to snap a family photo.

"No." My husband immediately snapped.
"Yes please!" I returned.
I always win.

My boys, pretending to have fun. Very good fakers.

Also: go Seahwaks!

Jumping.

Quality Control checking to make sure Dad is doing a good job.

Dad needed a little break.

Somehow, we all survived. With a tree in tow. And all children and fingers accounted for.

As the tree was getting set up in it's stand, my next task was to tackle the Christmas lights, for both the house and the tree. When it comes to Christmas lights....well, it never comes to Christmas lights. At least, not so long as my husband is concerned. In the six years we have been married, I've had to do the Christmas lights every year or go without them. This isn't bad, except for one thing: me. I kind of suck. I'm lazy. I take short cuts. I'm much more inclined to throw away a strand of lights than try to find the culprit-burned-out bulb. In fact, I'm SO lazy that this year I finally bought an outlet timer so that I don't have to go outside and walk the two feet necessary to unplug the lights at night (we can't leave them on all night because....see above about my husband being a frugal liberal).

But still....the lights got done. I only got three splinters in my finger and dropped the f-bomb two times.

When I came inside, it was time for the best part- decorating the tree! I clearly instructed Jacob not to put any ornaments on the three until I got the lights and the ribbon on first. I only had to remind him of this one instruction fifteen times, each time I caught him trying to place a rebellious frosted pinecone into the no-trespassing Area 51 of the un-ribboned and un-lighted tree. One lengthy time out later, and I set him loose to decorate to his heart's content. Ryan is still not a fan of the tree. He thinks the lights are "hot" and screamed in response to each of my attempts to get him to put an ornament on the tree.

By the time the tree was decorated, five ornaments had been broken. Good thing 70% of our ornaments are homemade salt dough forged into pathetic renditions of angel, reindeer, and stocking shapes.

As I hung up the stockings and set up the nativities and Christmas candles, the boys tackled the sacred tradition of "Sweep Up All The Rogue Pine Needles." And we embarked on a nearly month-long journey of trying to share our tiny home with a Christmas tree. Even without a giant Christmas tree in the middle of our living room/entrance/dining room, our 950 sq. ft. house with it's four residents and all of their crap greatly resembles a can of sardines. With the Christmas tree, taking up every precious inch of extra floor space, it's.....um....cozy. Cozy is simply code for "it's so crammed in our house, we have to step outside whenever we need to take in a breath." That may be a slight exaggeration. But not by much.

After 70% of the needles (I gave up on the rest) were swept up, we were finally done (except for the five empty rubbermaid buckets marked "X-mas" which will probably litter the house for the next three weeks, instead of finding their rightful place in the creepy basement). I made some hot coa-coa so that we could sit in the living room and enjoy the results of our hard work.

We leaned back, side-by-side, gripping our mugs and staring happily at the glowing tree, which was in steep competition with the glow eminating from my husband's violent computer game just four feet away. We watched the twinkling lights in short-lived peace, which was only occasionally interrupted by the sound of blood and guts splattering the screen nearby. A smile spread across my face as I finally got to enjoy the wonder of Christmas through the eyes of my young boys.

And then Jacob spilled his hot coa-coa in my lap and began to cry. Ryan screamed repeatedly, "Mess! Mess! Mess! Mess!"  My husband looked away from his virtual fist-fight just long enough to yell, "Jacob, clean that up! No more hot chocolate for the rest of your life!"

Ahhhh, the magic of the holidays.

Joining The Ranks Of The Saps: Elf On The Shelf and The Wonder Of Childhood

Short version of long story: I gave in and bought a damn Elf on the Shelf.

When I first heard about Elf on the Shelf, I was adamant that I would never own one. The thing is creepy as hell. And when Elf on the Shelf ideas started to flood my Pinterest page, I only hated it even more. I didn't want to be subjected to millions of photos of creepy smiling elf dolls doing ridiculous things. I swore Elf on the Shelf was a big conspiracy established by toy corporations to drive up holiday sales. And, I must admit, I thought all the parents who were going along on this ridiculous game were just a bunch of saps. Big, old saps.

Then...it happened. My first parental encounter with Keeping Up. Keeping Up is a phenomenon whereby your children, who are otherwise perfectly content and happy to play with cardboard boxes, are suddenly placed in dangerously close contact with a foreign object (usually a toy) and instantly infected by the must-haves. Your child did not even know this thing existed yesterday. And now it consumes his every thought.

I'm not a fan of Keeping Up. I couldn't give a crap that my children don't have the latest in technological toys, the most advanced educational tools, or the latest fashions. I'm proud to buy my sons' pants at Goodwill (and every time a hole magically appears in the knee, I feel righteously vindicated in doing so). Jacob's favorite toy is a $3 used transformer that he stumbled upon at Goodwill. I don't want my children to instantly have everything they ever happen to want. Just because Tommy has it, doesn't mean they need to have it.

I felt that my parental ethics in this regard were strong. That I could withstand hurricanes of 1,000 pathetic whines for days on end without budging.....But I forgot one little thing. When it comes to the task of keeping the wonder of childhood fantasies alive, I'm a big fat dum-dum sucker. I'd go miles in a snowstorm out of my way to keep Christmas magic alive for my children. Because childhood is a self-contained, fragile snow globe landscape perched on a ledge. Childhood is a wondrous land of innocence, naivete, imagination, suspended disbelief. It's a time when the whole world is a play land for discovery. Where evilness is incomprehensible. Where acceptance is unbounded. Where possibilities are free flowing. Adults look at the world and we see flaws. A snapshot of the world through a child's eyes is magnified, beautified, and brightened three-fold. But this world only stays alive so long as it is kept apart, untainted, untouched.

That is why the state of childhood is so fragile. External forces are always at play, trying to shatter this pure snowglobish world. And where these external forces do not succeed, internal ones eventually will. As the child grows and sees more of the world, new forces spring forth. Doubt. Skepticism. Disbelief. Scrutiny. The need for logic at any price. These things will eventually bring the whole globe down, shattered and broken.

The short, rare years of early childhood: I would preserve them for my children at all cost. Even if it means perpetuating a ridiculous ritual.

This week my son was introduced to Elf on the Shelf through his friend. My first reaction was to hold my ground and not give in to this newly fabricated "tradition." But as we drove away from the friend's house, my son recounted for me the tale of the Elf on the Shelf. As he did so, his voice carried the distinct and rare elements of amazement and belief. He told me all about his friend's Elf in the same tone and manner that I would use to tell the first person I saw about an incredible encounter with a purple genie riding a unicorn.

Despite his recountings, I was still unconvinced, until Jacob asked, in a sincere and sweet voice, "Mommy, why did Santa send an elf to Tommy's house and not to my house? Will he send one to me?"

And as much as the good parent in me so desperately wanted to quash any notion in my son's brain that the very fact that his friends have something is a perfectly justifiable reason for him to have one also, I just couldn't come out and say "no." "No, Santa will not send you an elf." I just couldn't do it. Instead, I reveled in the fact that he was so innocent and untainted by the reality of life that he actually had the ability to believe, and with so much passion. I wanted to encourage that. I wanted to keep that little piece of magic alive for him.

I realize that all these lies about Santa and the Easter Bunny and now the damn Elf on the Shelf are probably just contributing to the darkness of reality that a child faces when he leaves his childhood behind. I understand that we as parents may be adding to the harshness of adulthood by manipulating these gullible little minds and allowing them to think grandiose thoughts about reality that, in fact, are not true at all. But, looking back on my own childhood and the grandness of the snow globe world in which I lived, I truly believe that it is all worth it. While Santa and the Easter Bunny and magic may not be real, these happy myths leave little imprints on us that we carry well into adulthood. Even if we stop believing as adults, we hopefully carry with us an important lesson on the power of perspective and how perspective influences happiness.

Most people look fondly and happily on their childhoods. It often seems like childhood is a much simpler and happier time compared to the adult drudgery we live in today. And yet, even though WE have grown, the world is still the same. There is hope that if we can just change our adult perspective, the happiness of our childhood may return, if just in minute amounts. There is ever the possibility that if we can adopt a childlike perspective, the world could be a little brighter for us.

And THIS my friends, right or wrong, is why I gave in to a felt doll with a creepy, painted plastic face.

Elfy's grand entrance.

Year In Review: 2013 Family Christmas Letter

This has been an exciting, amazing, and very busy year for the P family! It’s such a blessing to look back and reflect on all the activities of the year. We have tried our best to capture our favorite adventures and stories from 2013 to share with our friends and family.

We are celebrating our seventh year living in downtown Bremerton. We are also celebrating our first year without a drive-by shooting, serial killings, or meth lab. We had awesome weather this summer, which made it unbearable to be in our house. This forced us outside to actually meet our neighbors. Turns out, our neighbors are mostly normal and pleasant, but we still stay away from the apartment complex that lights up like a Christmas tree on the sex-offender map. And thanks to the neighborhood effort to pick up all the used hypodermic needles in the alley, the kids can finally ride their bikes!  

Ryan is now 19 months old. It has been a real treat to watch him grow. In April, we celebrated his first birthday. His favorite part of the party was when the guests left and he had all the empty cardboard boxes to himself. Ryan is talking a lot now. When we go out driving he likes to point out cars, busses, trucks, and homeless people. He still thinks trucks are busses and he still thinks his Grandpa Roger is a homeless person but we are working on it. You know how nutritionists say that it’s healthy to eat a colorful diet? Well, Ryan must have taken this to heart because he ate approximately 50% of a Crayola crayon box (it appears that he prefers primary colors). Ryan has also shown a penchant for mixed media art when earlier this year, he removed his own diaper and finger painted with its contents. We recently discovered that Ryan is suffering from an incurable condition known as "Toddler." The symptoms include going from sickeningly sweet to punch-your-older-brother-in-the-face in less than 60 seconds. We think it’s hereditary and that he gets it from his mom. 

Jacob turned 5 years old in September. We celebrated his birthday in our newly planted backyard with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle themed birthday party. We hired a karate instructor to teach the kids some karate moves. The instructor also brought katanas (swords), nunchucks (nunchucks), a bow (staff), and sais (three-pointed thingys) and demonstrated how to use them. Kids, weapons, and sugar turned out to be a pretty awesome combo. I don’t know about Jacob, but Ryan sure learned a lot of karate (Jacob is still suffering from his nunchuck wounds -- the doctors are hopeful he will be able to see in time for Christmas). This year Jacob has shown us his sassy side. He has threatened to run away from home several times. Unfortunately he has never made good on that promise (Husband says this is another characteristic passed down from Mom). Jacob has really been developing his interests, which as of late, include stuffed animals and art. We think he will combine these two interests and become a taxidermist when he grows up (free living room decor for life!).

Husband has been on tour with his band a lot this year. They play in exotic locations like Lakewood and Silverdale. They play for free now but we have high hopes that someday people will stop mistaking them for musician beggars. Husband completed our backyard remodel project this year. We now have a level back yard, with grass, and a nice, tall cedar fence. It’s pretty. And it keeps our neighbors from looking in our windows, which has helped minimize the surprise visits from the protective services.  

CP started her dream job working as an attorney for the local county. She has already won a trial.....well, a trial membership of “Honest Lawyer” which was cancelled after its first issue due to lack of content. CP is also trying out a new parenting technique called “outsourcing.” It's amazing how much internet surfing you can do when people in foreign countries parent for you. (Mom #5 is on Skype with Jacob as we speak, probably telling him to brush his teeth or grounding him or something). 

Let’s see, some other highlights? Well, June was a pretty exciting month. We earned a 60 cent fuel discount from Safeway and our Subaru hit 250,000 miles. More recently, in October, we learned that children can, in fact, live off of hotdogs and Cheezits for an entire month. Don’t worry, we squirted some Ranch on their plates to make sure they got their daily dose of dairy. And this Christmas we are looking forward to Jacob breaking the Guiness World Record for most consecutive times singing “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.” He is also looking forward to singing that song at Aunt Diane’s March wedding (if we can arrange a flash mob with the Muppets (shhhh, don’t tell Aunt Diane, it’s her wedding present from us). 

So, that pretty much wraps up our year. We look forward to keeping in touch with everyone in 2014 (preferably over Facebook so that we can tweet, pin, and text all at the same time). We wish your family lots of love this Christmas season, many blessings throughout the New Year, and a never-ending supply of adventure!

Love,

The P Family

Christmas Bitch

Everyone loves holiday traditions, me included. But I feel like Pinterest and Facebook have kind of taken the fun out of them. Now, EVERYTHING has to be a tradition. There's an ongoing and concerted effort to turn everything into a "tradition" and to make everything "special." Parents are in a race to see who can be the most obnoxiously "cute" (and by cute, I mean "I just swallowed some throw-up") during the holiday season. Everything is so barfing kitschy.

Sorry, I drank bitch juice earlier today.

Example 1: kids nowadays can't have just any kind of advent calendars, they have to have fancy ones. A tree made out of 25 boxes full of goodies. Elaborate garlands with pockets filled with treats for every day before Christmas. It only makes sense in American that you would get a new toy everyday to prepare for and celebrate the one day where you are showered with gifts. Cause, you know how it is. It's just so hard to be inundated with all the objects of our desire on Christmas morning that we need 25 days in advance to warm up and get used to the feeling of extreme material bliss overload. 

Oh and advent calendars are not enough anymore. If you're any kind of cool, you'll have a creepy looking elf friend that comes to visit. Every night while you are sleeping, he will come to life and manipulate all kinds of random items in your home. What the hell? The magic of a fat man in a red suit traveling all over the world in a single night in a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer that stops at every single home so that said fat man can slide his huge belly down the chimney and leave a butt-load of presents for all the girls and boys ISN'T ENOUGH MAGIC FOR US? Also, how many times have I asked for a cleaning elf? If I don't get a cleaning elf, there is no way in hell my kids get a mess-making elf. 

And we can't just send regular Christmas cards anymore. If you send a regular ol' Christmas card without a cutesy and clever picture of your family being beautiful or amazing, then you can just expect right now that your plain ol' Christmas card will end up in the bottom of the Christmas card pile. Right behind the picture of Aunt May's dog Snuffy wearing a Santa hat and a perfectly poised, professional picture of the five Smith girls wearing matching Christmas dresses and smiling in unison (without any food on their clothes from the chocolate they DIDN'T eat, without shave marks in their hair from the time they DIDN'T give themselves haircuts, and without pants that are a half an inch too short because their mom actually is put-together enough to keep them properly clothed). 

The crazy thing is, Parents have ruined Christmas. RUINED. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day aren't special anymore. Why? Because every single day leading up to Christmas is a barfing holiday. We celebrate Thanksgiving by shopping for Christmas. Stores don't have sales anymore. They have "celebrations." We are in such a frenzy to do our long list of special "traditions," that Christmas is just way too much work. Every year we have to make Christmas even more mind-blowing than it was the year before. We have to celebrate everything, to the utmost fullest of our capabilities. 

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE Christmas. And the LEGITIMATE traditions that go along with it: Christmas trees, stockings, gingerbread houses, Christmas music (or whatever you grew up with in your family). I love them all. Every family (used to) have their own little ways to celebrate the holidays and make them special. There used to actually be MEANING behind these traditions. We did them because our parents did them. We did them because they were part of our culture or heritage. 

Now, we have commodified and commercialized the very concept of tradition. Parents are so quick to take up any tradition that they hear about, regardless of whether there is any meaning behind it. Adopting slews and slews of traditions purely for tradition-sake in an attempt to bring our children every possible ounce of hype totally strips away all the meaning. 

"Tradition" is now just an idea that corporations sell to susceptible parents who have embarked on the inevitable journey of keeping up with the Joneses. And the result of clamoring to be just as celebratory as our neighbors is that we all end up being exactly the same. We all do the same new commercialized traditions and buy all the same products necessary to carry out said traditions. If, in the unlikely chance that a person comes up with a clever and original idea, it is instantly commodified and marketed to all the other parents in a way that makes them feel inadequate if they do not follow suit. Everyone is out-celebrating everyone else. The result of all of this: Christmas has become so cluttered with hype that is has effectively been watered down. 

So what's a parent to do? I don't know. How about traditions that have a purpose? How about focusing on teaching our kids how to give rather than receive. Let's teach them to do things for other people rather than training them to expect more and more each year. In an effort to do this, I made a different kind of advent calendar this year. I took one of those garlands with 25 pockets and inside each one I put a slip of paper. Each slip has written on it an extra chore or task for my sons to do. Instead of getting new candies and toys each day before Christmas, they are going to do one thing extra. They are going to give. But not just things or objects. They are going to give their time, effort, and talent. That beats the barfing hell out of a stupid elf that does a different variation of meaningless crap every single night.

Maybe I'm being a little melodramatic. Maybe I've been sitting in the same room too long, inadvertently breathing my own recycled fumes and eating way too many processed, snowman shaped Ho-Hos. Or maybe I'm simply the Bitch Who Stole Christmas?

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.