Merry Christmas!

Dearest Bella, Mia, Chance and Indy-


Merry Christmas! And while we greet everyone we know with those two words and sing those words in almost every carol and tack it onto our nightly goodnight hugs, I needed to write it down to give it more emphasis.

Merry Christmas!

It's amazing how two words can hold SO much meaning, so much emotion and so much growth. I've lived to celebrate 38 Christmas holidays and I've cherished the magic of every single one. Christmas, for me, will always be:

Family laughter, red velvet bows and The Sweet Smell of Christmas.

Cabbage Patch Kids, plaid taffeta dresses and Swatch watches.

Black patent leather shoes, egg nog and Johnny Mathis.

My dad in his robe, red poinsetta's and Atari 5200

Midnight mass, Aunt Nor and Fannie May Candies.

Family Fact:My siblings and I used to use a safety pin and prick the bottom of the candies
to see what the filling was without having to bite it. Cream filling was the most coveted!

38 years of Christmas memories come flooding back every year. And I love it, I love reliving my Christmas pasts. Case in point, my mother. Her passion for Christmas could be seen everywhere. Her artificial tree (always with the fake tree mom-why?) was decked out with red bows, white lights and fake white doves that I used to scare the shit out of Gabrielle with. No joke, she was deathly afraid of the fake birds! Every doorway in our house had an evergreen garland arch, white bathroom towels were switched out for the fancy red and gold and the smell of balsam incense that burned from the teeny tabletop log cabin meant that Christmas was here. My parents filled our home with so much love and laughter that it's hard not to forget how meaningful these celebrations were. Except for that one Christmas that will forever go down as the educational Christmas. Speak and Spell Mom, really??!! A laminated world map, too? But really, it's because of their yuletide spirit that I have learned the importance of making these Christmas memories with you, my kiddos.

Tonight we had our 2nd annual Christmas Pajama Jam (here's last years) where each of you got to invite some friends over for a Christmas party and your dad and I watched as suddenly your own Christmas memories were being made.

Chancey, it blew your mind that 30 some kids were hanging out in your house. Your excitement was obvious. You greeted everyone with a Merry Christmas and proudly showed off your "baby brudda" to all who entered. You had a blast--except when you fell off of Bella's bed and cracked your head on the floor. Luckily, you had a house full of girls who tended to your ailment, and let me tell ya, you loved every second of it!

Mia. My mama Mia. My free spirited, enthusiastic little party animal. Tonight, you loved having your own kindergarten friends by your side. Don't get me wrong, you get along great with Bella's friends but tonight I saw how proud you felt that your friends were here. But my absolute favorite part was watching you on the dance floor. With the utmost confidence you danced your tush off all night long. You didn't need anyone dancing by your side-just yourself and the music. And I swear to you Mia, that is one of the BEST qualities to have.

Bella, you are such a fun person to be around and your friends really, really like you. All I could do was smile as you and your gal pals circled around eachother on the dance floor. Especially that one moment when all the girls hoisted you up over their heads as if it was your Bah Mitzvah! Hah! These next couple of years are when friendships become the utmost of importance and I look forward to watching you become someone's best friend--other than Mia, of course.

My little Indy. First of all, THANK YOU. Normally, you are a total and complete Mama's boy and can't stand being away from me for longer than a minute. But tonight you were SO tired that you cuddled in the arms of several different moms and for that I'm grateful. You won't have the memories of this fun night, but luckily you've got 3 awesome siblings to remind you. And yeah, you can get me back for the ridiculous elf hat I made you wear but seriously dude, you looked adorable!

Kids, another chapter was added to your Christmas scrapbook tonight and I hope that one day, you'll all look back on these memories with an even greater sense of appreciation for the lovely life we live.

And when you're really old and your memories are faded, use this as a reminder:




Merry Christmas!


All my love,


Mommy

The Calm Before The Sh** Storm

Sheesh, the last 24 hours have been a major whirlwind. You see, I just got back from the Mother of the Year Gala where I was awarded Top Honors. It was so AWESOME, beyond anything I've ever imagined. You guys, I felt so great, I looked fabulous, I even got a shiny medal and a standing ovation--I know, right?!!.  The kicker? As my name was called there was a 20 piece orchestra led by none other than Neil Diamond and instead of singing Sweet Caroline, he sang Sweet Gina-ah. 
Wah. Wah. Waaah.

I was about to deliver the best acceptance speech ever, with a perfect combination of witty humor and heartwarming truth, when I was slapped awake by my sweet, weak, sick little baby Indy and was reminded why that trophy was ALL MINE, imaginary or not.

Indy began a fever Saturday night and continued all day Sunday. Whenever my kids have a fever I give it a couple days to see if they can work it out on their own before I take them to the doctor. I don't willingly give antibiotics if I don't absolutely have to and when Monday rolled around and the fever reducer was only mildly helping him, I took him in. Sure enough, ear infection.

 There's something so sad and yet so unbelievably rewarding for me whenever I tend to my sick children. Who doesn't want their mama when they're feeling crummy? It's these moments, while awful for them, remind me how much I'm needed.  These past few days Indy's been so weak--saving all his strength to cling tightly on me, my embrace being the only thing to bring him any peace. It's heartbreaking, really.

He and I were snuggled in the bed together late into the night and despite me turning him on his back every so often, he'd flip over to his stomach--his absolute favorite sleep position. I rubbed his warm back and watched the moonlight and silence take over the room. I thought about how I am everything to this little boy. Everything. And while yes, Eugene and I have an indestructible love for one another and always will, this is different. Eugene doesn't need me the way this beautiful gift of mine does. Suddenly Indy began stirring and I thought maybe it was my back rubs that frustrated him since he tried to reach around and move my hand away (at least that's what I thought he was doing.) He tossed and turned and began hitting around in the darkness until his hand finally found mine and struggled until our fingers interlocked into our perfect little puzzle. Immediately he calmed himself, tucked our conjoined hands under his body and quietly went to sleep.

Instantly my heart swelled, tears surfaced and the beauty of it took over. This is motherhood--right here in the darkness, tired and weak, this is what it's about.

My hand!  All that he wanted was my hand to comfort him.

I tell ya, I couldn't have been happier anywhere else and in any other moment than I was right there in my bed with Indy. I fell sound asleep with a smile on my face.

Several hours later around 3:30 AM I was woken by Indy's crying. Crap--his fever struck again, poor baby. I rolled outta bed, turned on the light and hooked him up with a fever reducer. I checked his diaper and sure enough there was a little poop so with one sleepy eye open, I stumbled over to grab another diaper and robotically began changing him. I yawned. I swayed. I yawned again. I was thankful it would be a quick job but I tried not to think too much as I didn't want to fully wake up and then dammit, I dropped the wipes on the floor. Which you'll soon come to know was the WORST POSSIBLE CASE OF  BUTTERFINGERS IN THE HISTORY OF EVER. As I grabbed them from the floor, steadied my balance and began ascending upright, I was startled by the sound of a cork popping. And then in what can only be described as a vicious paintball attack, I was assaulted with hot, wet, flying shit, everywhere. I stood in utter disbelief with my mouth gaping open, which coincidentally, DIDN'T HELP THE SITUATION. Are you kidding me right now? Ever play Angry Birds? Well, ya know that one bird that launches into mid-air and if you hit it at the right apex it splits up into like, three or four birds? THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT HIS SHIT DID! It started, I suspect, as one solid unit and then suddenly and inexplicably multiplied and velociraptored me from every angle! And to boot, it's antibiotic poop---have you ever dealt with medicated feces? IT'S FUCKING DISGUSTING!!! All over the sheet and all over me! I mean, movies couldn't have staged a better scene than what had just unfolded--the timing was that perfect.

Automatically I smiled, and the hilarity of it all took over. I take it all back, this is motherhood--right here in the wee hours, alone and resilient, covered in shit, this is what it's all about.

Now about that trophy?