T'was the Morning After Christmas

I truly hope everyone had a Christmas like mine.

I walked into the kitchen and saw my older son in front of the advent calendar making the gingerbread girl and gingerbread boy kiss.  He was even making the kissy sound.  It was quite a change from the usual noises that come out of his mouth; they sound a lot more life-threatening.  When I asked what he was doing, he turned around fast enough to leave his face behind, and blushed.  I knew he was a softy under all his battles and weapons.

At one point in the day, I had forgotten to take a present with us to the Grandparent's house and I had to drive back home to get it.  I was alone for the first time in two days.  Cranking up the Christmas music, I sang along until "Little Drummer Boy" came on.  I turned the radio off in disgust.  Does anyone actually like that song?

In the quiet of the car, I immediately thought of the morning we'd had of unwrapping presents and watching the kids hug each other in thanks for the gifts they bought each other.  I admit it, I cried.  I was just so grateful for the Season, for our bounty.  I mean, even though I joke about our apartment being tiny, I really can't complain.  We have carpet.  And central heating.  And beds.  And food.  And kissing gingerbread people. And family.  And regular income.  And Truth.  And knowledge.  And so, so much more.

Life is very good.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

In honor of my 100th post, I thought I should address a serious matter.  Maybe it's just me, but I think Christmas decorations this year are a little tipsy.

There are the non-conformists, which should be mentioned first at every party.  You know what I'm talking about.  The lights on someone's house are all staid and stationary, except for one grouping that is flashing like it's Mardi Gras.  Or a set of lights that is set on the slowest setting, so it looks like they're taking really long blinks right before falling asleep.  Or blinking like a drunk trying to think.  

But the non-conformist lights are the norm.  This year I've noted a couple other indications that Santa is a little too free with the party punch.

Close to my house there's one sorta like this:

Festive right?  Except for the fact that the two reindeer are totally wasted.  Santa's ready to go, but the deer can't even stand up straight.  They list to the right, like a shipwreck.  Every night.  Dude Santa!  Ease up on the Christmas cheer.

Some friends of ours put up some great animated decorations like this:

Imagine three of these in a row, and the heads are supposed to move up and down at the neck.  Except only the middle one moves.   I couldn't help but think the middle one has been stuck there by the others, smelling the backside of the guy in front of him every night for the entire season.  When I got out of my car, I could almost hear the other two reindeer yukking it up.

To be fair, Santa can't take care of every thing.  Especially not at moments like this:

Two questions:  Why is Santa bathing in someone's front yard?  And two, why does that reindeer look so interested?  

Someone's going on the naughty list.

Happy Holidays!

Holla

We're in the dojong for my son's belt test.  The matted floor has about eight kids kneeling on it for the test in front of their teacher.  The black ceiling is tall enough that we could tip the building on its side and have the same floor space.  Parents of the students have found seats on the side of the mats.

My son is ready for battle in his dobok and yellow belt.  That orange belt is calling his name, and it's all but his.  Just have to pass the test.

I settle myself into one of the remaining faux-leather chairs and admire the general cuteness of my youngest child.

The teacher holds up his hands for quiet and the place deadens.  Then my kid opens his mouth and says in a volume he usually reserves for yelling at his older siblings, "My mom has diabetes."

The teacher smiles.  The parents around me chuckle.  I melt into the bottom of my seat, pasting a smile on my reddened cheeks.

So, my question is this:  When is it okay to start beating your children?

Oh Thanksgiving Tree! O Thanksgiving Tree!

Every year my family has a Thanksgiving tradition.  We gather around the kitchen table and cut out paper leaves.  I stick a few naked sticks into a vase and give everyone a pencil.  My husband usually mans the tape.  Then, we each write down as many things as we have leaves of what we're thankful for.

This year, our twigs look more like they have flame colored feathers stuck to them than leaves.  And we have some duplicates.  Like food and lasagna, clothes and shirts, fizzy drinks and soda.  But for the most part, the kids do a great job of writing things they're truly thankful for.

Yes, I'm on there.

But so is everyone else.

The best part of the activity was hearing my kids in the bathroom, with their mouths full of toothpaste, still talking about the things they're grateful for that they didn't have enough leaves for.

I guess I don't need to mention what my favorite blessings are but I'll give you a hint.  Their names are written next to mine on our tree.

Reduce, Reuse...

My grandmother used to reuse tinfoil.  She'd wash out plastic ziploc bags and use them over and over.  If you ate off a plastic fork at her house, you could be sure it wasn't new.

I find myself doing many of the same things.  My kids love those foons you get at Costco with their free samples (or as my niece calls them sree samples) so when the kids hold on to them until we get home, I wash and reuse.

I make homemade bread.  It seems silly to me to use new ziploc bags every time I make bread, so I dust out the crumbs and use them again.

My husband has been heard to call me a hippie because I use cloth bags at the grocery store, but why would I need MORE plastic grocery bags?  Does ANYONE need more of those?

I prefer making homemade treats to buying them pre-wrapped and processed.  True, it's less expensive that way, and healthier, but every time I throw away a plastic wrapper I have a twinge of guilt.

Aside from the idea of global warming or air so polluted you can swim through it, I like to take care of things I'm in charge of.  Don't you?  I mean, I clean my car (occasionally), and wash my clothes, and make sure my kids go to the doctor and dentist.  It's my job.  Just like doing what we can to be good stewards over the Earth.

I guess I could say that long before her time, Grandma was environmentally conscious.

Either that, or she was cheap.

She was probably cheap. I mean, I couldn't have come by my tightfisted ways without help.

Sleepyhead

Early afternoon sunlight splashed golden puddles on the couch, turning the brown to rust.  The house was remarkably quiet.  My kindergartner and my niece sat beside me in a sunlight puddle listening to me read.  It was a riveting story about a tin soldier. (Who probably didn't have rivets, but wore a brave red jacket and loved a paper ballerina.)

The sunshine warmed our little group and I found myself sinking lower into the cushions of my comfortable couch.

I turned the page.  Now the soldier was drifting down an underground river with worrisome-looking floaties on a boat made of paper.  My son and niece were enthralled.  It was so quiet.

My blinks got a little bit longer, but my mouth still said the words printed on the page.  I snuggled a little deeper.

Page turn.  The tin man was swallowed by a fish, but he never lost heart.

My blinks got longer.  I was now forced to pause the flow of my words occasionally when my eyes couldn't immediately pick up where they'd left off, or the darkness of the blink lasted slightly too long.

During one of these mini-naps I heard "solid packed dirt" come out of my mouth.  When my eyes opened, I looked for the words I'd said so I could continue the story that had us all spellbound.  It took a while for me to realize those words weren't on the page.  What the H?

Where had they come from?  Did I have a mini-dream to go with my mini-nap?

"Mom, keep reading!"

With leg bouncing to keep awake, and only two more nods, I finished the story as steadfastly as my tin soldier, before flopping over and letting my eyes stay closed.

Sweet, sweet, sw... zzzzzz

FInd Cows

My husband created a commercial all by his lonesome.  Wanna see?

tagsmyth

I tried to embed the video in this post, but evidently I'm embedding impaired.  Or maybe vimeo is.  Yeah, we'll go with vimeo.

You really should link through.  He's pretty talented.

This is a short film my husband created/directed while we lived in NZ.  I was able to embed it, so that should entice you to watch it.

Wanna see another one?

Yeah.  It's vimeo.