The merry merry has made it’s way back onto the shelf for another year. We had a grand adventure at the compound, and the week flew by too fast. I hate using that phrase, but it’s true. What was worse is that I could feel it going by and couldn’t do much to stop it.
Colin and I braved the airport for an easy trip south and were greeted by those jolliest of elves, gram gram and grandpa. The boy was so excited to see them, and I have a feeling that the feeling was mutual.
It was good to be home (afterall, it’s where the heart is) and I was so pleasantly shocked to find that there was a plate of chocolate frosting-filled graham cracker sandwiches waiting for me. Geez. Make a girl cry right off the bat, mom.
We started the festivities by joining my parents at an “adult” Christmas party at a cousin’s house. Normally, the “kids” those of us in my generation, aren’t allowed. So it was fun to watch my venerable olders get ripped. My resolve to chill on the whole sugar issue for the duration was immediately tested as Colin, who had recently discovered that little things in shiny wrapping are usually chocolate, quickly zeroed in on a bowl of almond rocca that kept him occupied. I think that having one little guy around was fun for the partiers, especially this little guy, who I heard more than once “doesn’t know a stranger.”
Rob joined us on Friday and we were both glad to have Daddy with us again.
On Saturday we had the Heidrick Christmas Party out at the museum. Everybody was there at one point, a rare feat with a family as large as this one. Counting aunts, uncles, kids, grandkids and even a great-grandkid, there are 82 of us with one more baby in progress, and one wedding soon to take place. Damn. That’s a lot of people all added up like that!
We lost sight of Colin immediately, but we caught glimpses of him as he ran with the pack of cousins, sneaking off into corners to suck down Capri Sun drinks like a crack fiend who hit the motherload. Seriously. The kid would climb onto tables and try to suck the dregs out of abandoned juices.
I got to hold the two new babies, both girls, both so preciously cute and small and quiet and innocent. Then I gave them back and chased down my little tornado. Colin even had his first sleep over, staying with Aunt Traci and Uncle Tone and their three boys. Rob and I spared a moment’s wonder of how he was doing as we slept away the morning.
Christmas Eve found us in church of all places, with mom and dad, to enjoy the children’s service at the Methodist Church, which my mom grew up in. She remembered being in the service, and found that time has certainly changed this congregation and it’s traditions. It was a nice service, mostly songs, and Colin hung in for the most part. After that we headed over to Rusty’s for tacos and other goodies, than back to the compound for a long winter’s nap.
Colin is still a bit unaware of the reason for the season, so he wasn’t up at o-dark thirty like his cousins, but he certainly loved the presents! and cousins! and cookies! and fun! and laughing! and running! and hugging, oh the hugging. So much hugs that even our huggy bear seemed sated.
We exchanged our gifts in the usual paper flying frenzy. Among my new stash of treasures I was happy to find not only a TomTom navigation system, but a Cuisienart wand-blender to boot.
We had a fantas-tasty turkey dinner (thanks Russ!) with all the trimmings and I was able to unveil my surprise addition at dessert – a figgy pudding! I’ve always wondered what the heck this is, and thought it would be fun for the kids to sing for their dessert and discover what they were demanding per the song. What is a figgy pudding? It’s a tasty fig-infused steamed cakey loaf. I guess it’s a pudding because it’s steamed in a water bath for two hours. All the kids and most of the adults had a taste. New tradition? Perhaps, depends on who asks for it next year.
The rest of our trip was a lot of relaxing, we took in a movie with the Karren clan and since mom generously gave us the evening out, we took in some Sac-town sushi. Not bad, but we are admittedly spoiled up here in the land o fresh fish.
I took mom into a doctor’s appointment, so I could put a visual to where she spends her treatment days. This trip did a lot to allay several worries that have been circling my heart these past few months. She truly looks great, has a positive attitude and has a lot of wonderful support around her. It’s good to be reminded that although as a child I feel that the relationship of mother/child is paramount, Linda as a woman is also a significant force in other people’s lives in the role of wife, sister and friend. And even though I’m not there in the flesh to help, others are, and are doing so in wonderful ways.
The airport drop-off may have been a bit more tearful than usual, but they were easy tears. As we arrived home after another uneventful flight, with Soss meowing in happiness that we were back and our messy home just as we had left it, Rob and I took a moment under the mistletoe to thank each other for all the gifts, material and otherwise, that we gave and were given this Christmas.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
For Tony
My brother Tony dared me to talk about him on my blog. Foolish man.
Since I have his name for Christmas, I will create a little economy of scale and add this to his stocking and my blog for the price of one.
Tony and I are a year minus six days apart, which means that for six days, we are the same age. This armed me with some great childhood ammo, something I usually lacked against my older siblings. Like the wild animals children are, they sensed I was no threat and circled for the kill most of the time. But for those six glorious days I could taunt, “you aren’t older than me! You can’t boss me!”
In our younger years, we were the Diapered Duo, a formidable team for mom to handle as we communicated our divide and conquer strategies in bottled Morse code to unleash our havoc upon her world. Nothing was safe, such as the underside of our coffee table, which we absolutely covered in crayon. Mom discovered this during some kind of cleaning that took her close enough to the ground to see under the table. [I want to know two things. What was she doing? I never clean well enough to look under my furniture. And why did they get so mad at us? I believe a spoon was involved in the debriefing of that incident. At least we didn’t color on the table. Why didn’t we get praised for the creativity and consideration we showed to the side of the furniture that actually mattered?]
I digress. What I was going toward was that Tony and I were pretty good pals until we entered school, upon which he took the road to coolness, and I chose the nerdy bookish road less traveled. Even though we only had one grade between us, we rarely saw each other at school due to the self-imposed apartheid of the schoolyard. That all changed in middle school.
Thanks to my fondness of all things literary, I was placed in the advanced classes for English and History, which also found me seated only rows away from big bro.
Keep in mind that Tony has always been a gentleman in his fashion. When I for some reason chose to go commando at one of my early birthday party’s, Tony so kindly pointed it out by running around yelling, “Laura isn’t wearing any underwear!” over and over in a singsongy tone. Good thing you weren’t at my 21 run!
No worries, I had my methods for getting revenge. Namely by being the “good” one. Next to Hurricane Tony’s antics, I coasted. Any wrath the parentals had was safely diffused by the time I got around to getting into trouble.
Anyway, as much as he could be a too-cool-for-you pain in my geeky ass, he always had my back. Such as the time he nearly choked a kid for teasing me in class. Thanks bro.
As we moved on through High School, we only had a few classes in common, and I was graced with the unspoken nod as my only acknowledgement in the halls as we passed (and as I was told, lucky to have even that after my social faux pas as a newly fledged freshman yelling “HI TONY!!!” down the hall to his utter dismay).
Tony was in the upper strata of the high school social scene, and this, by default, pulled me up a few rungs by simple inertia. The cool girls were nice to me, to get closer to him or because they were his friends, and the boys, well, I kept them at a distance by my own adolescent wonderment of being taller and wider than most of them, but the threat of Tony was the final nail in the coffin of any hopes I held of dating.
That’s not to say I didn’t have guys that were friends, who were nice to me for who I was in my own right (and not just because I baked a lot of cookies and knew the answers to tests), but there was certainly the brother factor always looming.
Example? Why sure. The only guarantee I ever had of having a date to a dance was when it was girl ask boy (bless you Sadie Hawkins). In my junior year, I asked my crush to the dance and he actually said yes. This boy was a football player and knew Tony well. Can you imagine the bliss that a nerdy girl can find in swaying with the boy she was head over heals in crush with to the dulcet tones of some piece of bad nineties pop? What? Obligated to? Never mind that. Back to the story. To my horror, my horror I tell you, Tony marches up and says to the young swain in his best Major Dad voice, “six inches! I want to see six inches between you at all times!” Thanks bro.
There was kindness in his madness though. The time I got piss drunk (oh, yes, that is a literal term in this instance) at a keg ball game, Tony made sure I was taken away, but not taken home – through intermediaries of course. The hell if he was going to make contact with me in my condition.
I remember catching glimpses here and there of his not quite hidden tender heart. Laying on the floor in front of the stereo, wailing along with Willie about a southern state that shared the name of a girl he wooed.
Then there was the time when he and I were left home alone by my parents, and the alarm of his beloved Camero went off at o-dark thirty. The windy storm may have had something to do with it, but apparently Tony’s multiple viewings of the godfather convinced him that a nefarious element was afoot. So in he barges into my room with a shotgun, telling me to “aim low” if anyone comes through the door. Well, he does protect his own after all.
Off to college and the great Northwest I went, free from the little sister shroud that I struggled with for so long. And don’t tell me I was feeling sorry for myself. You try being the youngest and tell me how good you have it always being compared to someone else.
During those years, and the ones that followed, Tony and I drifted down our own life paths, which diverged pretty dramatically as his neck grew more red, and mine took on a tint of green. I am far from being a crunchy liberal compared to many of my Oregon compatriots, but compared to Tony? Fahgetaboutit. I might as well slap on a few bumper stickers on my car a la “No Blood for Oil!" "Bush lied, people died!" "Have you hugged your tree today?”
I am not a politically charged person, but my damn brother knows how to push my damn buttons and I get damned defensive about things I usually don’t give a damn about. Mom keeps giving the same advice she has for 32 years. "He knows how to get a rise out of you. That’s why he does it."
Yes, I know. And the fact that Tony now works as an environmental conservationist for urban green spaces? Oh yea, that’s some good karmic shit right there for the years of spotted owl abuse he has thrown my way.
So where are we today? After Tony met Traci, and they had their boys, continued evidence of his inner softiness peeps out now and again from under that curmudgeony exterior. Tony loves his boys, and they adore him. He is a hands-on dad, teaching them by doing about all the things he enjoys. We differ in our parenting approaches but I respect his ways and eh, maybe he does the same for me. We have a common ground in that, as parents, it’s our turn to teach our kids all the things that our parents and grandparents taught us, regardless of our methods.
He is a great Uncle, and will undoubtedly teach Colin all kinds of things that I will not want to know about. His boys adore Colin and our little puppy likes to tag along with them around the compound.
As intensely aggravating as it has sometimes been to grow up in his direct wake, I know with an absolute certainty that he has my back, always and unconditionally. That is a gem indeed in light of today’s shifty world. I have his too, whether he knows it or not. I have done what I could, through the years and across the miles, to defend and support and applaud. Maybe not quite so dramatic as choking a classmate, but it’s there.
We’re kind of like the opposite ends of a magnet. On our own, able to reach out and attract and connect to things that matter to us. Put us together, and we’ll never quite manage to meet eye to eye, but will hover around the strong invisible force that is family.
Since I have his name for Christmas, I will create a little economy of scale and add this to his stocking and my blog for the price of one.
Tony and I are a year minus six days apart, which means that for six days, we are the same age. This armed me with some great childhood ammo, something I usually lacked against my older siblings. Like the wild animals children are, they sensed I was no threat and circled for the kill most of the time. But for those six glorious days I could taunt, “you aren’t older than me! You can’t boss me!”
In our younger years, we were the Diapered Duo, a formidable team for mom to handle as we communicated our divide and conquer strategies in bottled Morse code to unleash our havoc upon her world. Nothing was safe, such as the underside of our coffee table, which we absolutely covered in crayon. Mom discovered this during some kind of cleaning that took her close enough to the ground to see under the table. [I want to know two things. What was she doing? I never clean well enough to look under my furniture. And why did they get so mad at us? I believe a spoon was involved in the debriefing of that incident. At least we didn’t color on the table. Why didn’t we get praised for the creativity and consideration we showed to the side of the furniture that actually mattered?]
I digress. What I was going toward was that Tony and I were pretty good pals until we entered school, upon which he took the road to coolness, and I chose the nerdy bookish road less traveled. Even though we only had one grade between us, we rarely saw each other at school due to the self-imposed apartheid of the schoolyard. That all changed in middle school.
Thanks to my fondness of all things literary, I was placed in the advanced classes for English and History, which also found me seated only rows away from big bro.
Keep in mind that Tony has always been a gentleman in his fashion. When I for some reason chose to go commando at one of my early birthday party’s, Tony so kindly pointed it out by running around yelling, “Laura isn’t wearing any underwear!” over and over in a singsongy tone. Good thing you weren’t at my 21 run!
No worries, I had my methods for getting revenge. Namely by being the “good” one. Next to Hurricane Tony’s antics, I coasted. Any wrath the parentals had was safely diffused by the time I got around to getting into trouble.
Anyway, as much as he could be a too-cool-for-you pain in my geeky ass, he always had my back. Such as the time he nearly choked a kid for teasing me in class. Thanks bro.
As we moved on through High School, we only had a few classes in common, and I was graced with the unspoken nod as my only acknowledgement in the halls as we passed (and as I was told, lucky to have even that after my social faux pas as a newly fledged freshman yelling “HI TONY!!!” down the hall to his utter dismay).
Tony was in the upper strata of the high school social scene, and this, by default, pulled me up a few rungs by simple inertia. The cool girls were nice to me, to get closer to him or because they were his friends, and the boys, well, I kept them at a distance by my own adolescent wonderment of being taller and wider than most of them, but the threat of Tony was the final nail in the coffin of any hopes I held of dating.
That’s not to say I didn’t have guys that were friends, who were nice to me for who I was in my own right (and not just because I baked a lot of cookies and knew the answers to tests), but there was certainly the brother factor always looming.
Example? Why sure. The only guarantee I ever had of having a date to a dance was when it was girl ask boy (bless you Sadie Hawkins). In my junior year, I asked my crush to the dance and he actually said yes. This boy was a football player and knew Tony well. Can you imagine the bliss that a nerdy girl can find in swaying with the boy she was head over heals in crush with to the dulcet tones of some piece of bad nineties pop? What? Obligated to? Never mind that. Back to the story. To my horror, my horror I tell you, Tony marches up and says to the young swain in his best Major Dad voice, “six inches! I want to see six inches between you at all times!” Thanks bro.
There was kindness in his madness though. The time I got piss drunk (oh, yes, that is a literal term in this instance) at a keg ball game, Tony made sure I was taken away, but not taken home – through intermediaries of course. The hell if he was going to make contact with me in my condition.
I remember catching glimpses here and there of his not quite hidden tender heart. Laying on the floor in front of the stereo, wailing along with Willie about a southern state that shared the name of a girl he wooed.
Then there was the time when he and I were left home alone by my parents, and the alarm of his beloved Camero went off at o-dark thirty. The windy storm may have had something to do with it, but apparently Tony’s multiple viewings of the godfather convinced him that a nefarious element was afoot. So in he barges into my room with a shotgun, telling me to “aim low” if anyone comes through the door. Well, he does protect his own after all.
Off to college and the great Northwest I went, free from the little sister shroud that I struggled with for so long. And don’t tell me I was feeling sorry for myself. You try being the youngest and tell me how good you have it always being compared to someone else.
During those years, and the ones that followed, Tony and I drifted down our own life paths, which diverged pretty dramatically as his neck grew more red, and mine took on a tint of green. I am far from being a crunchy liberal compared to many of my Oregon compatriots, but compared to Tony? Fahgetaboutit. I might as well slap on a few bumper stickers on my car a la “No Blood for Oil!" "Bush lied, people died!" "Have you hugged your tree today?”
I am not a politically charged person, but my damn brother knows how to push my damn buttons and I get damned defensive about things I usually don’t give a damn about. Mom keeps giving the same advice she has for 32 years. "He knows how to get a rise out of you. That’s why he does it."
Yes, I know. And the fact that Tony now works as an environmental conservationist for urban green spaces? Oh yea, that’s some good karmic shit right there for the years of spotted owl abuse he has thrown my way.
So where are we today? After Tony met Traci, and they had their boys, continued evidence of his inner softiness peeps out now and again from under that curmudgeony exterior. Tony loves his boys, and they adore him. He is a hands-on dad, teaching them by doing about all the things he enjoys. We differ in our parenting approaches but I respect his ways and eh, maybe he does the same for me. We have a common ground in that, as parents, it’s our turn to teach our kids all the things that our parents and grandparents taught us, regardless of our methods.
He is a great Uncle, and will undoubtedly teach Colin all kinds of things that I will not want to know about. His boys adore Colin and our little puppy likes to tag along with them around the compound.
As intensely aggravating as it has sometimes been to grow up in his direct wake, I know with an absolute certainty that he has my back, always and unconditionally. That is a gem indeed in light of today’s shifty world. I have his too, whether he knows it or not. I have done what I could, through the years and across the miles, to defend and support and applaud. Maybe not quite so dramatic as choking a classmate, but it’s there.
We’re kind of like the opposite ends of a magnet. On our own, able to reach out and attract and connect to things that matter to us. Put us together, and we’ll never quite manage to meet eye to eye, but will hover around the strong invisible force that is family.
So, Merry Christmas my big brother. I certainly wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for you.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Mama, I'm comin home.
Tomorrow Colin and I fly south to the compound, ready to be ensconced in family joy. Rob will delay the joy by a day, and come in Friday. By Saturday, we will be ready to be unensconced. I kid, I kid. Sort of. No really, I’m joking! mostly
This will be our first trip using Southwest Airlines new unfamily friendly boarding policy under which families can no longer preboard. Apparently people didn’t like families whisking up at the last minute to board first. I say these people deserve to have a toddler stand in line with them for an hour and see how they feel about it then. I will put my theory to the test bright and early tomorrow. Here Colin, have another cookie.
As I’ve been packing I realize that I’m nervous in a way I rarely am to travel home. And not because I’ll be traveling *twitch* alone *twitch* with a *twitch* two-year *twitch* old.
This will be the first time I will see my mom since she has started chemo. The family grapevine is, as always, proliferating, so I know that she’s "looking great." And we’ve gone done the C-road with her before (albeit not with chemo) so that's not it either.
But that doesn’t stop me from feeling somewhat like I do when I’m faced with an unknown social environment. What do I say? Do I act nonchalant? “So, cancer is treating you well I see!” Do I compliment and risk it backhanding? “Boy, that wig looks better than you’re real hair!” Do I overcompensate on the confidence? "Cancer, scmancer." Do I let the emotions pour forth? “Wah! This sucks. You can’t have cancer. Not fair.”
The most likely scenario is that I’ll be so hopped up on caffeine goofballs that she will tune me out anyway. Because, you see, I babble when I’m riding the Starbucks High and when I fly, I tend to overindulge on the Lattes. And Mom thinks I'm a sloppy drunk (and has told me so. honesty, thy name is mooty), so she probably thinks I'm a raving lunatic whilst on caffeine.
The good thing about mom is that she’s mom. And if I say something stupid, she still has to love me. Plus, I’ll have the diplomat that is Colin with me. Colin can diffuse an awkward situation pretty easily. He just goes up to someone, stranger or not, and huuuuuugggssss. I've tried the hugging. I just get weird looks. And the strangers don't like it much either.
See you on the Southern Side!
This will be our first trip using Southwest Airlines new unfamily friendly boarding policy under which families can no longer preboard. Apparently people didn’t like families whisking up at the last minute to board first. I say these people deserve to have a toddler stand in line with them for an hour and see how they feel about it then. I will put my theory to the test bright and early tomorrow. Here Colin, have another cookie.
As I’ve been packing I realize that I’m nervous in a way I rarely am to travel home. And not because I’ll be traveling *twitch* alone *twitch* with a *twitch* two-year *twitch* old.
This will be the first time I will see my mom since she has started chemo. The family grapevine is, as always, proliferating, so I know that she’s "looking great." And we’ve gone done the C-road with her before (albeit not with chemo) so that's not it either.
But that doesn’t stop me from feeling somewhat like I do when I’m faced with an unknown social environment. What do I say? Do I act nonchalant? “So, cancer is treating you well I see!” Do I compliment and risk it backhanding? “Boy, that wig looks better than you’re real hair!” Do I overcompensate on the confidence? "Cancer, scmancer." Do I let the emotions pour forth? “Wah! This sucks. You can’t have cancer. Not fair.”
The most likely scenario is that I’ll be so hopped up on caffeine goofballs that she will tune me out anyway. Because, you see, I babble when I’m riding the Starbucks High and when I fly, I tend to overindulge on the Lattes. And Mom thinks I'm a sloppy drunk (and has told me so. honesty, thy name is mooty), so she probably thinks I'm a raving lunatic whilst on caffeine.
The good thing about mom is that she’s mom. And if I say something stupid, she still has to love me. Plus, I’ll have the diplomat that is Colin with me. Colin can diffuse an awkward situation pretty easily. He just goes up to someone, stranger or not, and huuuuuugggssss. I've tried the hugging. I just get weird looks. And the strangers don't like it much either.
See you on the Southern Side!
Friday, December 14, 2007
Go Go Gadget, Tragic
We think that the ghost of Inspector Gadget (do da do do do dooo do) is haunting our house. Either that or tall boy has developed an impossibly long reach. We’re finding evidence of Go Go Gadgetness all over the freaking house.
Go Go Gadget Arms! Christmas ornaments from the middle of the tree, which is on a table, all over the living room.
Go Go Gadget Arms! Socks from the dresser that is a foot or more away from the crib, all over the room after nap time.
Go Go Gadget Arms! $10 baggie of hand harvested Portuguese sea salt spilled all over the floor. Why do I have a $10 baggie of hand harvested Portuguese sea salt? That is entirely beside the point. Back to the story.
Go Go Gadget Arms! Cups from the middle of the counter snatched, filled with water at the fridge and spilled all over the floor.
Go Go Gadget Arms! Every light in the house turned on.
Go Go Gadget is running rampant in the house. Santa, please bring me a Go Go Gadget ratchet set so I can disconnect those telescoping limbs.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Zoo la la
I've always wanted to be able to buy some kind of exclusive access to a cool place that is normally crowded beyond comfort. You know, like you see in auctions “VIP access for you and your friends to whiz bang alley!!” in the sections you can't afford to be looking at.
Little did I know that such luxury was already in hand in the form of our Zoo membership card, generously gifted to us by Oma and Opa. Today is the last day of Daycare Donna’s vacation, and I’m home with the little man. The sun is shining, the air is chilly and the Colin is cabin-fevered. So I decided to head us on up to zoo hill for a little fresh air.
Normally the zoo is blood pressure spikingly crowded with families! having! fun!
Today, wow. So much more my speed. Go figure, the Zoo is not a top destination in 40 degree weather. We felt like we owned the place as we walked all alone down the main paths, got right up to the fence or glass to wave to sea lions, tigers, warty pigs, oh my! I exchanged rueful grins with the few other POTs (parents of toddlers) we encountered, pushing their own bundled up bums around the park.
The highlight? We wandered up to the elephant viewing platform and discovered that we were directly above one of the zookeepers and Pachy (one of Portland’s asian elephants). The keeper heard Colin saying Hi to Pachy, and he got Pachy to put his trunk up and wave to Colin with his front foot!
Zoo Membership, $100.00
Hot Chocolate, $3.00
Snacks, $5.00
Having an elephant wave to my boy…priceless
Little did I know that such luxury was already in hand in the form of our Zoo membership card, generously gifted to us by Oma and Opa. Today is the last day of Daycare Donna’s vacation, and I’m home with the little man. The sun is shining, the air is chilly and the Colin is cabin-fevered. So I decided to head us on up to zoo hill for a little fresh air.
Normally the zoo is blood pressure spikingly crowded with families! having! fun!
Today, wow. So much more my speed. Go figure, the Zoo is not a top destination in 40 degree weather. We felt like we owned the place as we walked all alone down the main paths, got right up to the fence or glass to wave to sea lions, tigers, warty pigs, oh my! I exchanged rueful grins with the few other POTs (parents of toddlers) we encountered, pushing their own bundled up bums around the park.
The highlight? We wandered up to the elephant viewing platform and discovered that we were directly above one of the zookeepers and Pachy (one of Portland’s asian elephants). The keeper heard Colin saying Hi to Pachy, and he got Pachy to put his trunk up and wave to Colin with his front foot!
Zoo Membership, $100.00
Hot Chocolate, $3.00
Snacks, $5.00
Having an elephant wave to my boy…priceless
Sunday, December 09, 2007
A tree huntin we will go
Up into the wild Oregon hills we go,Searchin for a tree not too high nor too low.
The mighty bumble is dressed for the chill
As we tromp up that great muddy hill.
He pauses and points, and lets out a shout,
That's the one, our tree no doubt.
We haul our find on down to the car,
and head back into the wild burbs afar.
The adventure was grand, no matter the silly tree prices
Good thing we remembered the camera, the op is priceless.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Deck the halls with boughs of…urrk
Oh what a night. As expected, I tucked the boy into bed and had a good time decking our halls with boughs of various Christmas paraphernalia. Tucked myself in and drifted off.
About midnight I was wakened by Colin’s frantic crying, not the usual “I’ve lost my covers” cry, so I went in to find the poor guy lying in a puddle of yack. Colin has only had one stomach bug, so barfing isn’t very familiar to him – especially in the middle of sleep. He had the what the hell look on his face as I surveyed the damage. I did a quick change out of pillowcase, sheet and wiped down Frog as best I could (the gingerbread stuffy will need a little more help) and tucked him back in. Yes, Colin, I agree. It was “uck.”
An hour later – the cry came again. The damage was worse this time (did I mention we had beets for dinner? yep. beets.) so again came a sheet change, new jammies, and a wipe down. I have to say, Colin must be the kindest tyrannical toddler. As I was moving things around, leaning over the crib bars, he grabbed my head and said thank you mama, patting my arm. I tell ya, it sure took the sting out of the stinky mess we were in.
After that, the calls came about every half hour or so – less mess as the night grinded on, but still dispensing some TLC and tucking back in. And to add insult to injury, every time I made my way back to bed, Soss had moved in for the kill. Taking over my only warm spot in the bed. After the last call, about 4am, I was a little ruder about displacing the furball from my pillow and apparently he wasn’t too pleased.
Just as I was drifting off, I hear the distinctive erk. erk. erk. of a cat revving up for business next to my head as Soss decided to join the barfy fun. I got my hand under his mouth just in time to save my sheets, but not my dignity as I disposed of my handful of cat yack into the toilet and scrubbed the hell out of my hands. Feline revenge is sweet, eh?
After a few hours of sleep, Colin was up and ready to go for the day, apparently no worse the wear after the long night. Then the calls started. Rob’s parents are coming in to watch the boy while Donna is on vacation. The snow that didn’t happen here did happen in Washington. Bob may be delayed starting out from Ellensburg. So plan B is activated – we will pick Nancy up at the airport where she is flying in from LA. Okay. No problem. Next call. Rob is snowed in at our friend’s home in Snoqualmie (starts with sno, appropriate, eh?) and isn’t sure when he will be able to head home. Greeeaaat.
Anyone else? Are you sure? It’s not even noon yet so if someone has some yarf to sell, apparently I’m buying! Because really, at this point all I can do is say what the eff and laugh.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Tis the season
Rob is off to Seattle for the annual Bike Show pilgrimage and I’m at home with the bumble, stuck inside on a snow-ishly cold day, trying to ignore the background drama of a cabin fevered two-year old who wants! daddy! more than he wants anything to do with me. I have the Christmas boxes down ready to unpack, tonight after the house elf is safely tucked away in bed.
I’m listening to Josh Groban’s Noel and feeling the sentiments of the season rise in my heart and into my head, turning into new revelations of thankfulness and switching on comforting memories of season’s past.
Christmas is here.
It’s time to pop in the Alabama Christmas album and bawl my head off. There is nothing like an old-school country Christmas song (two, specifically) to turn one into a sobbing, snot dripping mess, especially fun in traffic where everyone can see.
Homecoming Christmas
A glowin' fire and fallin' snow, they spark a memory
I’m listening to Josh Groban’s Noel and feeling the sentiments of the season rise in my heart and into my head, turning into new revelations of thankfulness and switching on comforting memories of season’s past.
Christmas is here.
It’s time to pop in the Alabama Christmas album and bawl my head off. There is nothing like an old-school country Christmas song (two, specifically) to turn one into a sobbing, snot dripping mess, especially fun in traffic where everyone can see.
Homecoming Christmas
A glowin' fire and fallin' snow, they spark a memory
Stockings hangin', mistletoe, presents beneath a tree
A happy boy wakin' up to toys, lookin' so surprised
And wondering how Santa knew just when I closed my eyes
It's a Homecoming Christmas, goin' back to where it all began
Homecoming Christmas, I wanna be there once again
Memories do sweet and strong and I've been done too long
It's Christmas time and I'm comin' home
I can see the Christmas tree and feel the warm fireplace
Handmade decorations, homemade pies and cakes
Family all together with so much love to share
A special time and I can't wait, can't wait to be there
It's a Homecoming Christmas, goin' back to where it all began
Homecoming Christmas, I wanna be there once again
Memories do sweet and strong and I've been done too long
It's Christmas time and I'm comin' home
Christmas Memories
Christmas Memories
There's a blanket of snow coverin' up the old road to the house where I was raised
Through the window I see the lights on the tree and a glow from the old fireplace
Though it all looks the same so much as changed from the way it used to be
Christmas memories of happy years gone by
They come back to me and keep me warm inside
Still those Christmas memories make me cry
Now the stockings are filled; the house is still and the kids are dreamin' away
There's that old easy chair, me and Daddy sat there waitin' for Santa's sleigh
Now Daddy's gone but we carry on 'cause the little ones will need...
Christmas memories of happy years gone by
They come back to me and keep me warm inside
Oh they mean so much to me
Those Christmas memories make me cry
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