Santa Is Related To The Tooth Fairy

Ah. Christmas morning. The excitement of coming down those stairs in the morning and discovering the wonderland created during the night.

Our kids ooooed and ahhhhed when their eyes beheld Santa's unwrapped gift to each of them. After a few minutes they turned their attention to their Stockings which were bursting with creative toys, unique accessories and tasty goodies.

In reality we could have ended the festivities right there and had happy children, but the morning was just getting started. There was a colossal pile of gifts that extended far beyond the tree and so we began selecting one gift at a time, calling out the recipients name, and all watching intently as they opened their gift and showed off their loot.

Gifts seemed to be selected in random order, Garrett (4), then Grandpa, then Kate (7) then Paige (10) then Mom, etc. After a while Ryan (2) politely asked when it would be his turn. We searched for a few minutes and found a gift with his name which he excitedly opened.

As the morning progressed Ryan kept asking for gifts. At first we told him that his gifts were on the bottom of the pile and we would get to them. Then I started to get a little annoyed at his obsession with wanting to open gifts and not waiting his turn.

4 trash bags later, the neatly wrapped gifts were now piles of stuff arranged by owner. At this point we finally noticed that Ryan didn't really have a pile. Mindy swore she remembered wrapping some gifts for Ryan but...

...about 7pm on that evening I discovered a pile of gifts in my closet hidden behind some dirty clothes.

Ryan's gifts.

The poor guy watched everyone around him opening gifts and had sincerely been wondering when he was going to get one.

So Christmas evening Ryan had his own little gift opening session and all was good.

This is good training because when he gets older and loses a tooth he may have to leave it under his pillow for several nights.

Dissapointed Moms and a Christmas Story

As the oldest of 7 children I quickly became a master at teasing my siblings and goading my parents into losing their temper. While I may not be proud of this talent, I have to admit that I was good at it...damn good.

You see I quickly learned that you must always pay attention to the reactions of those around you to learn their weaknesses. Because once you figure that out you got 'em.

Apparently, a few of my blog readers are uncomfortable with the scientific description of male anatomy. Good to know. I'm gonna file that piece of information away. You never know when that might come in handy.

But in the Christmas spirit of Peace and Goodwill let's move on to other topics.

In spite of my use of crass language, I was asked to give the Christmas Message at the end of our Christmas Program at Church today. Imagine if they only read this blog and knew the real me??

In all seriousness I referred to the following story, which is true: (this is the long version)

_____________________

My first Christmas away from home was spent in the town of Manizales, Colombia, South America. My companion and I lived in a small room in the house of two elderly sisters. Unfortunately, this particular home was infested with bed bugs. Each morning we would awake to find little spots of blood on our clothing and sheets where these little creatures had been feeding during the night. So every morning we would spend a few minutes looking through the blankets to find the bugs and squish them between our fingers.

But blood sucking insects was not what I worried about the most. This town was high in the Andes mountains and very cold. In order to have a warm shower in the morning someone had rigged a heating element to the shower head. This element was heated by electricity and would slightly warm the water as it passed through it. The only problem was the electricity. If you happened to touch the shower head while taking a shower you would receive a terrible shock. Since this was Colombia the shower head was placed at 5' 5" high. I, of course, am 6' 4". As you can imagine I often was jolted wide awake in the morning.

In these less than ideal living conditions Christmas was approaching and we realized we were not going to be receiving any packages from home in time for Christmas. We also didn't have any invitations to spend Christmas with church members since both my companion and I were new to the area and were just getting to know the members. I thought this going to be the worst Christmas of my life. I was terribly homesick for my family and all our traditions of Christmas.

To console myself and to be alone I did about the only thing a missionary could do: I read. I immersed myself in "Jesus the Christ" and the New Testament.

And I had my own Christmas miracle. In that miserable little room, without any of the traditional trappings of Christmas I understood for the first time in my life the true meaning of Christmas. I actually spent time thinking about what the birth of Christ meant to me and why it was so important in the history of the world.

Almost 20 years later I find that I have gotten so busy I hardly have time to think, let alone personally read the story of Jesus. So as I sit beside a cozy fire and gaze at our beautiful Christmas tree and our enormous pile of presents all tied with bows, I miss that difficult time in Colombia when I went looking for the Savior, much like the Shepherds of old, and found him.

Maybe I'll turn off the TV and head up stairs. I think there is a story waiting to be read again.

Merry Christmas to all.

5 Kids

Mindy has a running joke with her friends that she is really the mother of 5: 4 small ones and 1 really tall one.

With so many children running around she has become somewhat of a "kid-whisperer" able to discern inner turmoil and soothe young souls.

One of her observations has been the direct correlation between Garrett's (4) destructive behavior and the amount of one-on-one time he gets with her. Calm, idyllic days are spent when he is held close and doted on by Mom. And when he is ignored she pays the piper.

So it came as no surprise to Mindy when the other night I began to pout about the lack of attention I was getting from her and how it was affecting my general well being. Instantly my dour attitude and Christmas Grinchiness became perfectly clear to her. I was suffering from Garrett's same "lack-of-Mindy" ailment.

So in between organizing neighbor gifts, concocting interesting appetizers for holiday parties, making sure each kid had just the right mix of gifts, teaching Relief Society lessons, and the general burden of putting on the perfect Christmas for our family, Mindy had to find some time to make sure I didn't throw a tantrum and disrupt the festivities.

I noticed the same tactics used on Garrett worked like magic on me.

Within 24 hours I was a happy little boy.

Life is good when Mom's can juggle 5 million things at once. Which reaffirms my gratitude for being born with a penis.

A Little More Yang

Even though I blog, wear pink ties and manscape I am still the Butch one in our relationship. I am the Yin to Mindy's Yang.

Yin and Yang is supposed to be "the Unity of Opposites". But lately Mindy's Yang has been kicking my Yin.


This imbalance is evident during moments of crisis in our home. When feelings get hurt, or an arm gets bit, or heaven forbid I use the word NO with one of the kids they all respond in exactly the same way: They either scream or wail for Mommy.

While I am good for killing spiders or fixing a bike it seems I can't compete with the soothing arms of a woman. Of course it doesn't hurt that Mindy likes to use the word YES disproportionately to my favorite word, NO.

Now I am not looking to upset the cosmic balance or anything but every once in a while I wouldn't mind being the one looked to for a little reassurance or comfort. It gets a little disconcerting when I'm outside playing with the kids and anytime someone falls down they run right past my outstretched arms looking for Mom.

In fact is has gotten so bad that when I tell one of the kids no, they threaten me: "I'm gonna tell Mom on you" and off they go.

Maybe all those years of asking them to show me the blood, or insisting that their fall off the trampoline didn't really didn't hurt, or telling them NO they can't microwave their ice cream has taken it's toll.

So the question is how do I get more Yang in my life. It seems no matter how many Romantic Comedies I watch I'm not getting any more empathetic.

The other alternative is to toughen Mindy up. That would bring the balance back for the kids but I'm guessing I wouldn't be seeing any Yang for quite some time.

O' Tanenbaum

Over the past several weeks the kids have been looking forward to our annual trek to get our Christmas tree.

Each of the kids waxed eloquent about the blissful experience of selecting a tree. The sights, the smells, etc. Even Ryan (2) who can't remember last year, followed the lead of his siblings and talked a good game.

With all this excitement from the kids I also started to look forward to getting the tree and kicking off the holiday season in our home.

But there was a Grinch around the house: Mindy.

Every time the topic of the tree came up, she would direct her comments my way and inform me, once again, about all the merits of a fake Christmas tree.

Sacrilege I said. Just listen to the little ones. How could we break with a tradition that meant so much to them?

So last Saturday finally arrived and we headed off to the same nursery we have visited the last 6 years. And just to show Mindy how wrong she was I vowed this would be the best Christmas Tree outing yet.

Yeah.

The kids fought the whole way. As soon as we arrived everyone had to go the bathroom. It started to rain. Garrett (4) and Ryan (2) started jumping in puddles. I picked out the perfect tree to which Mindy said "too big and too expensive". Paige (10) and I pleaded our case but Mindy stayed firm that we must select a smaller tree. Paige goes into hysterics convinced her entire Christmas will be ruined by this "tiny tree". Garrett starts loudly complaining "can't we just get one and go home".

I finally agree to the "mini-tree" and pay a whopping, California price.

The kids fight and scream all the way home to which we respond in a proper Christmas Spirit: EVERY ONE ON TIME OUT NOW!

While the kids sulk in their room Mindy and I get the tree up.

Darn it - the tree is the perfect size. Mindy is gracious and holds her tongue - she's used to being right.

Several hours later after stringing what seems to be endless lights and vacuuming up piles and piles of pine needles my will is finally broken.

I blurt out "OK you win. To hell with tradition we will look for a fake tree after Christmas"

She better hurry before my infamous memory fades. It won't be too long and I will be convinced that our little family skipped along, holding hands, and harmonizing Christmas carols as we were divinely led to the perfect tree.

Which if I forget about 95% of the experience it really is the perfect tree.