planning ahead
Posted on: Thursday, July 6, 2017
I had a panic attack the other day about this blog. It used to be such a great way for me to document the little things that we might otherwise forget. I panicked because I had never saved all of the entries anywhere other than here, and if WordPress ever blew up, I’d lose everything. So, I spent a good chunk of time archiving and that meant I read up on some old stories. There are some real gems in there, and it’s inspired me to start writing again. Something for the ages happened today, and I want to make sure I get it all down.
The Babe has been a planner since we met on the day she was born. She just needs to have things sorted out, needs to know what’s happening, needs to be prepared. She’s not especially choosy or obstinate or stubborn about what happens, she just needs to have a plan that she can wrap her mind around and she can take it from there.
She had an appointment for a hair cut today. Nothing special, just routine. She wears her hair long, about down to her mid-back; and she gets it trimmed every 10 weeks or so. She commented today that her hair never seems to grow past a certain point, and it bugs her because she’d like it to be longer. She agreed with our stylist, Ashley, that they would only cut off the bare minimum amount from now on, hoping to keep it healthy while allowing it to grow longer. Good plan.
I asked The Babe how long she wants it to be, and she’s not sure. She doesn’t have a specific length in mind, just knows it’s not long enough. Maybe it should be down to her waist. Reason? “Because when I’m in college, I probably won’t have it cut very often.”
Wait. What?
The Babe is going to be a sophomore in HS this school year, so it’s 3 years yet until she’s in college. That’s point #1. Point #2 would be – what the heck does that have to do with wanting to grow her hair longer now?
Well. The Babe had an explanation. She’s planning ahead.
You see, when she’s in college, she figures she will be on a tight budget and regular visits to the salon won’t make the cut (LOL). Therefore, her hair is likely to get longer while she’s in college – BUT – it probably won’t remain as healthy as she’d like. The ends will eventually fray and split, so at some point she anticipates that she’ll need to have a drastic hair cut to chop off all the unhealthy ends. She figures it will likely be several inches that need to go by the time she will be able to prioritize a hair cut. Since she likes to wear her hair long, losing several inches will be too drastic and she won’t like it. Ergo, she needs to grow it extra long now, so that by the time she needs to have a drastic chop of the bad ends, it will end up at a length she still likes and considers long enough (just much shorter than it was).
Are you following this?
I clarified with her – to make sure I was understanding this correctly… Let’s break this down.
- In 3 years, The Babe will go to college, at which point she figures she’ll be poor.
- She won’t be able to get a hair cut, and the ends will get damaged/split/icky.
- She estimates it will be about 2 years of no haircuts for the situation to get bad enough that she will need to chop off ~6 inches of length.
I said out loud: “What you’re saying is, you need to start growing your hair longer now, because in 5 years, you figure you’ll need to cut 6 inches off; and when that happens, you want your hair to end up being about as long as it is now.”
She agreed. Yes. That’s the plan. That’s what she’s been considering, and that’s why she’d like to start growing her hair out now.
Houston, we have a planner.
The Babe explained that the cycle was likely to repeat until such time as she’s graduated and has a job (which will require extra schooling as it is in the psychology/medical field), so it might be 7 years of not prioritizing salon visits in the budget – she may have 3 or more 2-year cycles of no hair cut then drastic 6 inches cut…
What I’m saying is The Babe has the next 10 years of her hair cuts planned out.
Heaven help us.
thirteen
Posted on: Tuesday, July 4, 2017
The Boy is almost thirteen and a half now. I didn’t write on his birthday, and I feel terrible. No excuses. But here we are and I feel the need to write stuff down.
He’s finished up the 7th grade. Just one more year of middle school to go, and I can’t believe it. He plays the tuba in band. His band teachers asked that he please join the honors band, and he was so excited. The boy does well in school, making As and Bs. When he drifts into C territory, he works to improve and always brings the grade up by the time the grading period ends.
For his birthday this year, I found him a brand new Blue. I paid way too much for it on eBay… but I couldn’t resist. The original Blue is so fragile that The Boy had to put him away years ago… he still has Green on his bed, and honestly, didn’t need a new Blue. He’s kind of old for that. But I spent so much time years ago, faithfully searching for a new Blue, that when I stumbled across one – well, I just had to buy it. A brand new Blue. The Boy opened the box, and looked at the little turtles and smiled. He looked at the big turtle on the opposite side of the blanket, the big turtle who was loved and rubbed so much on the original Blue that he was pretty much gone… The Boy saw that big turtle, smiled, and said “I remember that guy”… It melted my heart. Brand New Blue has been on The Boy’s bed since his birthday. I’m not sure how much of the reason for that is because The Boy is kind and knows I like to see him there, or how much is that The Boy wants him there… but either reason is nice. Green still gets the love now, but Brand New Blue is a nice homage to times past…
The Boy still plays hockey. Still defense. He was invited to attend a D1 hockey camp for boys his age this summer, and is looking forward to it. His past hockey season had some struggles as he figured out how to be assertive and aggressive on the ice, but keep a clean game, listen to his coaches, and still have fun. The older they get, the harder that is; and The Boy hung in there through some tough times.
I could not be more proud of him. He is kind and thoughtful, funny and sarcastic, smart and athletic. He has many friends, and gets along easily with new acquaintances. This year, we were in MN for a tournament and he and I visited the Mall of America with a teammate and his mom. The boys wanted to do the rope course and zip line, so we obliged. The Boy’s teammate is not as adventurous as The Boy. He was much slower and more careful on the rope course, very hesitant as they moved further and further up the course, very cautiously winding his way through. The Boy was not afraid at all, and could easily have wound his way to the tippy top and back again, no problem. But, he was mindful of his friend, and never left a level until his friend had made it, too. He often circled back to encourage his friend and help him plan a better route. It was sweet to see him act with such kindness. It’s just the kind of person he’s turning out to be.
It’s also been a time where he’s becoming more independent… riding his bike to friends’ houses that are a mile or more away, spending the day at Ribfest without an adult to supervise, and building… constantly building or crafting some sort of something out of who know what nonsense and scraps are here in the house. He’s made guns that shoot rubber bands out of Legos. He made a bow and arrow set out of PVC and wooden dowel rods. He’s begun saving up money for things he’d like to have and has slowly turned his room into a haven… computer, speakers mounted on the walls, big monitor, xbox, etc.
Best of all, he still sits by me once in a while to watch a movie. He and I both love The Martian, while Daddy and The Babe laugh at us… The Boy and I could watch that movie over and over again.
He’s tall now, just about as tall as Daddy. His feet are the biggest in this house… his shoes are enormous. He’s thirteen. Unbelievably, in what seems like just a moment… thirteen.
fifteen
Posted on: Tuesday, November 1, 2016
As I wrote the title of this post, the word seems foreign to me. Fifteen. It looks as if it’s spelled wrong. I’m still not sure. The whole concept of fifteen is foreign to me. How is our daughter fifteen? FIFTEEN?
I haven’t written a birthday post in a long time. So much has happened since eleven. Izzy has had ups and downs, good times, and bad. Middle school was rough. Perhaps it’s for the best that it wasn’t documented – although I regret not writing about the positives. Best not to dwell, though – we are at fifteen.
Izzy started High School. She joined the marching band, made the Color Guard squad she was hoping for, and performed pre-game and half-time shows at all of the football games. They went to competitions – they had so much FUN! I’ve never seen Izzy so invested in an activity – she loves it and looks forward to it and has come so far. It’s disappointing that the season is over – but I know next year will be great, too. 5 years ago, I’d have never imagined my daughter in a “school spirit” role – performing at games and pep rallies, but it suits her and she’s so happy with it. She has joined the pep band for the basketball games… It’s an entirely different activity, and she is uncertain how she’ll like it, but it’s another example of Izzy breaking out of her shell. A friend asked Izzy to join with her, thought it would be fun – so Izzy took a shot. That’s new. Old Izzy would have declined and stayed quietly at home. New Izzy is trying new things. I hope she enjoys pep band, I really do.
I’m happy to report that Izzy and I still watch Project Runway every week – still dish on the designers and the clothes – still take votes on who should be let go. We are also still engaged with Survivor, Dance Moms, and Hells Kitchen. Quality programming all around (not quite), but definitely quality time together – looking forward to hanging out each week while the boys are at hockey.
My sweet Izzy still struggles a bit, socially. She hesitates to put herself out there or take a risk by “making the first move” in a friendship. She despises drama, which, of course, is a common element of HS girl culture… she tries to avoid the drama at all costs, which means she’s quiet at the lunch table, or declines invitations out — On the one hand, I worry she’s building walls and making it difficult to make friends; on the other hand, I am proud that she just rises above and doesn’t care for the petty BS. After a break of a few years, Izzy is back to seeing the therapist. This was Izzy’s request, and I know it is helping her navigate. I’m encouraged by times like yesterday – apparently the group of girls at the lunch table were all gossiping about their Halloween plans – in which Izzy had not been included. Another girl commented she hadn’t been included either. So, Izzy texted that girl later and asked if they should do something together. Sonia came over to our neighborhood and they trick or treated, watched Corpse Bride, and had a great time. Old Izzy never would have sent that text. New Izzy took the chance. I’m hopeful.
Izzy is still a strong student, still wise in so many ways. She observes. She sees a LOT. She keeps her comments to herself most of the time – but you can be sure when she does speak up, it’s good. It’s usually so sarcastic and funny and spot on. She’s hilarious.
I am enjoying this phase. Izzy is happy, optimistic, quietly confident. Her insecurities in social situations are lessening. She’s sure of herself, but slow to trust others. Cautious. Cautious has been a word that could describe Izzy at every phase of her life so far. She takes her time, is thoughtful – planning for the long term.
I love her more than I can say. She’s a quiet force in a busy household. She is not often the center of attention, and she prefers it that way – but she is present, she is subtle, she is strong, and we’d never be the same without her.
the boy turns nine
Posted on: Thursday, February 28, 2013
- In: me | The Boy
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As I type the title to this post, it strikes me as odd and sad and crazy and odd and sad….
The Boy is nine years old. It happened in a flash, just like all of the cliches and little old women at the grocery store tell you it will. I’ve looked back on past posts in preparation for writing this one… a lot has changed. I feel sad and nostalgic. Sometimes I can’t decide if I am sad about how much the boy has grown, or whether I just miss those times in our lives. Probably both.
I miss being home all the time to always be there for every little thing that happens. I miss going to the zoo. I miss the stroller, even, which probably means I am just lazy and miss when I could load it down with shopping bags rather than carry everything myself. I miss story time before bed. I miss bath time. I miss building with the big mega blocks and blowing bubbles in the sunshine. I know it’s just nostalgia when I say I miss diapers, because I think that just means I miss when you were little… not so much the actual diapers themselves. I miss when Blue was an important part of every outing.
These days you don’t need to hold my hand, much less ride in a stroller. These days you shower, all on your own, it would be weird if I were in the room, much less helping you wash your hair while keeping soap away from your eyes. These days we look throught the Guiness Book of World Records each night rather than read a story together. These days you build elaborate Lego items or create electricity with your Snap Circuits, or rebuild the Seth Thomas clock, or take apart a combination lock. You are so far past the Mega Blocks. I don’t know a thing about your current bathroom habits, and honestly, that’s fine.
Here are some things that I don’t want to forget about you, as you are, just turning nine, right now…
Your hair. You decided last August that you would get your hair trimmed before school started and that would be it until next August. You’ve kept your word. As of now, your hair is long. It’s in your face. Your teacher even mentioned it to me, possibly frustrating you as you work in school. Your hockey teammates all try to copy it. It hangs out of the back of your helmet and everyone notices. It’s seriously cool hair. I don’t know where you got it from, it’s not mine nor your father’s. It’s all yours. All cool. All the time.
Your laugh. You have a great laugh that comes from deep inside your belly. Sometimes you are laughing so hard that you hardly even make a noise. I don’t know which of these is my favorite laugh, they are both contagious.
Your curiosity. You have an innate need to figure things out. You figured out how to make the 100 year old Seth Thomas clock chime, and you’d love it if I could have the clock man repair it so it runs. You took apart a combination lock so you could see how it works when you turn the dial. You figured out the long forgotten combination just by watching it from the inside. You helped Daddy fix the Mini Cooper, showing him what step he was missing in order to make it work, even though he’s the one who watched the You Tube video on the fix, not you. I attended the middle school orientation for your sister, and found myself excited for you that you could take Robotics and Automation when you are in the 8th grade. You will love that.
Your focus. Certainly, you have incredible focus when figuring out all of the items about which you are curious (see previous paragraph); but you have a true focus on your hockey as well. Your coaches have commented on it, your teammates can see it. It is never you who is goofing off in practice. You are paying attention. You are doing the drills. You are working on getting faster, better, stronger, smarter. Your hockey game has improved, and you were already great. This was your last year in Mites. You played the Elite level, won 3rd place in State. You were on the top line, the man they put out there when they couldn’t afford mistakes. I cheered and yelled a LOT. I am looking forward to this year when you are a Squirt. You will do great.
Your personality. It’s fun to watch you with your friends, because you are kind and nice and generous, but you are also you… not getting pushed around, taking turns, being fair. Your 3rd grade teacher told me at conferences that you could so easily be a jerky kind of kid, yet you are not. He says you get good grades, you’re athletic, you try hard and you do well. You could easily be cocky or fall into the vortex of “too cool”, but you don’t. He pointed out that you are also the first one to help someone who is struggling, to take on an “un-fun” task without being asked, to pay attention and follow directions. He was so impressed because usually the ones who are good at stuff without really trying feel like they are cooler or better than everyone, and that you just don’t feel that way. I could have cried, it was such a compliment, and so true. So you.
One of my most favorite things about you, though, is how whenever you walk into a dark room by yourself, or have to go upstairs to take a shower while we’re all downstairs; that you always call out “Mommy? I love you!” as you go. Your Daddy and I laugh every time. It’s like your own little protection ritual…. just in case the boogey man that lives in the dark spaces snatches you away while you are unprotected by yourself in the upstairs of the house… just in case, you want to be sure I know that you love me.
I love you, too, little man…. I love you too.
Happy birthday to the best boy there is.
eleven
Posted on: Sunday, November 4, 2012
I am a few days late with this post. The truth is, sadly, that I almost forgot. I blog so infrequently now that I truly almost let the occasion pass without writing a note to The Babe. This? This makes me sad. Am I really such a busy person that I’d forget to write? Am I that much “not present”? *sigh* But, good news is, this is not about me… and I did remember. This is about The Babe, who just turned 11 years old.
This year has been a year of great accomplishment for The Babe. As I wrote last year, she had been seeing a therapist to help boost her confidence, find her voice, and learn to deal with LIFE. I believe this helped her tremendously, but honestly? I was so relieved when the doctor approached me, suggesting we ease The Babe away from the visits… the things she was learning to deal with, the issues she was having, and how she was handling them were no different than most other young ladies at this age. The Babe had come a long way, and was ready to transition into dealing with things on her own. That happened in May, and I felt good about the decision.
In June, we sent The Babe to summer camp. For a WEEK. On her own. No parents. No close friends. I was worried. Here was my girl who was painfully shy, afraid to swim, a bit socially awkward, timid about trying new things… and she wanted to go. She was excited to go. So she went. And she did AMAZING. The Babe came home an entirely different girl than when she left. She was independent. She made confident choices. She had made friends and she had fun. She handled her fear of the water with grace, and didn’t let it stop her from having a great week. The Babe came home already talking about plans for next year… Summer camp did wonders for her, and the effects have lasted.
The Babe took up tennis over the summer. She continues with her ballet. She has joined the Student Council. She has continued with choir, and she has joined the school band… choosing to learn how to play the french horn. She is involved in so much, she has good friends. She just received straight A’s on her report card.
This year for her birthday was the first year we didn’t get her toys or games or doll clothes or stuffed animals. She got clothes. Like a true “tween”. Her dad and I bought her clothes. Her Gramma Jane took her shopping at the mall. She shopped for earrings with money her auntie sent. Wanting to shop at the mall seems so grown to me. Today she wore the sweater Gramma bought her at the abercrombie store. It’s a red, boxy, kind of slouchy sweater. Gramma got her a grey tank to wear underneath. The Babe paired it with skinny jeans, and she looked so grown up.
I’m starting to notice how The Babe and I enjoy the same things, and in fact, could be friends. We watch Project Runway together and dish about all the designers… who should win, who’s outfit was ugly, who is a diva, who should go home. Last Christmas, we watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” together, and she loved it. We decided to watch it together every year. She and I sat down and watched “The Help” together, which sparked a great conversation about the civil rights movement, and what it means to be equal. We’ve talked a lot this year about the Presidential election, and why Daddy and I believe President Obama is a better choice than Mr. Romney. These have been real conversations… in which she doesn’t just listen, but takes part, expresses her point of view, her disbelief at some ignorant thinking or injustices in the world. The Babe is intelligent and engaging, and I couldn’t be more proud.
Meanwhile, though, I need her to start doing a better job washing her hair and brushing her teeth. My only two complaints at this point. I imagine it’s not much longer until she *really* starts to care about those things without my having to remind her. Perhaps I don’t want to rush into that phase… but we do need to strike a personal hygeine balance, somehow. I’m sure she will someday roll her eyes that I wrote that part down. In fact, I think I can hear her rolling her eyes from here, and she doesn’t even know what I’ve written yet.
I realize that this time is fleeting. Right now, she and I talk about all kinds of stuff. We hang out together, watching movies and TV that we both truly enjoy. We go to the mall together. I’m still an acceptable companion, still pretty cool. It’s not very much longer until she grows a bit more, is out of the house a bit more, has more friends with whom she’ll have more in common, won’t hang with me as often…. but I hope, I truly hope that we don’t lose it entirely. I hope we still talk about Project Runway (or whatever future show we both enjoy), I hope we go to the mall sometimes, even if she buys things that aren’t my style. I hope we always watch “It’s a Wonderful Life”, each and every Christmastime… because it really is a wonderful life…. and The Babe is a big reason why.
I love you, babydoll. Happy Birthday.
eight
Posted on: Tuesday, February 28, 2012
I have been thinking about writing this post for a couple of days now. I can’t seem to articulate what I want to say or how to begin saying it. The Boy turned 8 years old on 25 Feb. E.I.G.H.T.
Last year, I wrote about how grown up The Boy was becoming at his grand old age of 7. I wrote that he was very independent outside of the house, but that in the privacy of our home he was all about snuggling with me…. even when I might not be up for it. I am pleased to announce that not much has changed, and everything has changed, all at the same time.
This year has seen The Boy enter 2nd grade. He’s chipped his 2 front teeth and had to have them bonded. He made a travel team in hockey, and made a lot of new friends as a result. He tries hard at everything he does, even the things that make him uncomfortable, like reading. I am consistently surprised at how seriously he takes his hockey. He knows what stick to get based on how it feels in his hands. He assesses the state of his equipment and will turn down a new, replacement item because the old ones are still good. He knows the game, knows his place in it, and has worked wonderfully within his team. It’s a lot to expect of an 8 year old, and he’s got it down pat. He is very mature about a lot of things…. and then so completely immature about many others… all boy. A dichotomy.
For as mature, independent, and serious as he can be about his hockey, friends, school work… he is one of those boys (like most) who can’t get enough of a good potty joke. Who can be so wildly inappropriate and flash a wicked smile when he’s caught. He’ll crack up at Austin Powers with that great belly laugh of his, and it makes me forget that he probably shouldn’t be watching that movie. Most of it is over his head, I know, but still…
The Boy can also still be quite the little guy, too. As much as he’s growing up and I’m enjoying watching his personality flourish, I can’t say I’m sorry that he’s still a little baby-ish at times. The Boy is afraid of the dark. He will turn on lights, but is most afraid of the dark that’s outside. It’s endearing and frustrating at the same time… turning on a light doesn’t help, and it’s not reasonable to always be next to him all evening long… it causes a bit of drama at times. He would prefer it if someone is upstairs with him while he’s in the shower. He is very uncomfortable up there by himself. He still snuggles right next to me whenever possible, and I still try to remind myself how sorry I will be someday when he stops. Sometimes I am more successful than others.
He is so polite. He prefaces every request to me with “Mommy, when you are done with ___, can you please ____?” It’s hard to say no when he asks so politely, even when I’m in a hurry in the morning and he’s wanting me to make him tea. He can make his own tea, no problem, but still asks me to make it for him. I make the best tea. I am also such a sucker for his every request, I know.
He is going to eat us into the poor house someday. He can eat and eat and eat… growing boy and all. He has 2 servings of oatmeal in the morning. TWO! He will eat 4 tacos. He will eat 2 cheeseburgers. He will eat an enormous bowl of pasta, or 2 full bowls of Mac and Cheese. It’s amazing, and he’s still so little. I will someday not be able to afford to feed him.
He’s the best one. I tell him sometimes, and he always smiles. I hope he believes me. Because I’ve seen my share of little boys, especially now that he’s older and doing more things around other kids. I wouldn’t trade The Boy for the world. If I were allowed a do-over, I’d choose him every time… even knowing how he didn’t leave my side until he was 3, how he used to have 10 time outs a day, how he’d lay in the drive way and cry if I had to leave, how he’d just simply wear me out… Or perhaps especially knowing those things, and how they’ve led him to be the polite, funny, charming, crazy, energetic boy that he is today.
I love you, little man. Thanks for making my life bright… and thanks for calling down the stairs to me every so often… “Mommy? I love you…” it melts my heart every time.
christmas day
Posted on: Sunday, December 25, 2011
- In: JYC | me
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Well, I’d consider today a success by really any measure.
Daddy and I heard The Kiddos get up at 5:20am. They are such good Kiddos, for sure, as they kept themselves busy playing with a few toys they had gotten from the family on Christmas Eve. The Boy woke us up at 6:30am, on the dot, as per our previous agreement. It didn’t take long to open the presents, as there really were just a few from Santa. The Babe got the Marie Grace doll from American Girl along with some accessories; and The Boy got the drum kit he’s always wanted.
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- I think he played a sum total of 7 hours today
We ate cinnamon rolls for breakfast, played Battleship, played with dolls, played the drums… and then I had am unexpected nap. Just zonked out on the chair while The Boy played drums. I must have been very tired… because it’s very loud when he plays the drums. And my goodness, he played ALL.DAY.LONG.
I think he played a sum total of 7 hours today
The grandparents showed up around 1:30pm, and we started the party all over again…. snacks, and eggnog, and home-made lasagne. We didn’t eat until 5:00pm!
All told, it was a wonderful day with my lovely family. Merry Christmas everyone!
- In: JYC | me
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There are many reasons that I love Christmas. I love the music, the lights, the festive atmosphere, the way people seem to be more patient even though the stores are more crowded. Just this morning while I was at the crowded grocery, a woman almost bumped me with her cart. She apologized, I smiled and said it was no problem, and then she wished me a Merry Christmas. It was just a nice exchange. But I think the reason I really love Christmas is that something always surprises me. I have an example to share, but it needs some background.
There is a perception in my extended family that my husband does not care for our niece and nephew. Try as I might to explain that it’s not the case, the perception is there, it’s rooted in something that likely did happen, and so it’s hard to persuade people to believe otherwise. Well, as I’ve mentioned, this year we are on quite the budget. My nephew asked for a Big Game Hunter video game for his Wii. The 2012 version is crazy expensive. Way, way, way out of my budget. So, feeling badly about myself and my situation, I purchased an earlier version of the game on Amazon which was more in my budget. Now, this is a shooting game, and you can also purchase the gun kit for the Wii-motes to fit into, so it actually seems like you are “shooting” at the screen. I couldn’t tell if you needed the gun to play, or if it was just a nice to have. I really, really wanted to buy it, but I didn’t have the money in my budget. I decided that I would look at the game when it arrived, see what it needed, and decide from there. It turns out, you can play the game with the wii-mote and the nunchuck, so I sadly decided that the game itself would have to do. I hoped my nephew would still like it. Bad enough I couldn’t get him the most up to date version of the game, but then to not get him the gun piece, too. I felt really low. But, it couldn’t be helped, so I put it out of my mind.
This morning, my husband asked me where that issue landed, and I explained that we had not bought the gun. He looked concerned… “it’s so much more fun with the gun…”, and I was a bit exasperated, because I would have bought the gun. I wanted to buy the gun. But I did not have the money, and what did he want me to do? Well, it turns out that my husband had a decent night at work last night, earning a few more dollars in tips than he expected. So, at 10:30 am on Christmas Eve, while I am home getting things ready for this evening, my husband is out braving the crowds just because he wants our nephew to have the gun, too. My husband hates crowds, but he wants to make it a Merry Christmas for our nephew. It was one of the sweetest things I’ve seen him do in recent days, and it’s what I love about Christmas.
believe
Posted on: Friday, December 23, 2011
I don’t remember when it was that I realized the truth about Santa. I won’t say he’s not real, because I’m one of those sappy people who will tell you that Santa is very real; he lives in every kind thought and good deed we do (especially during the holidays). But let’s be honest, he’s not exactly “real”, he doesn’t exist the way he’s described in all the kids movies. So, when was it that I knew? I honestly don’t recall. Maybe that’s because it was more of a transition of thought which took place over the course of a few years. Who knows? But I see it with The Babe.
I think this might be the last year The Babe really believes in the fairy tale, Disney special, made-for-TV kind of Santa that we sell to the kids from their birth. I know she accidentally saw an email her Gramma Laura sent me about what Gramma was bringing for her this year…. and the thing is, that something is related to the same something that Santa had planned to bring. I’m afraid it may have been clear, and The Babe may have put it together. Of course, I’m such a dork that, even in emails between adults, I usually say something like “Well, Santa is planning on bringing _____”. So maybe, just maybe, The Babe just thinks I know ahead of time what Santa will bring (that is, if she even put two and two together, which is still unclear to me). Regardless, I know she will be very happy with what Santa brings, as it’s exactly what she wants this year.
The Boy, on the other hand, still fervently believes. Bless his little heart. This year is the first year we did not go see Santa at the mall. I have no idea why we didn’t go… we just didn’t. Nobody mentioned it at all until today, and even then, it was a passing comment from The Boy. He said: “I’m going to write Fred a note so he can bring it to Santa and tell him what I want since we didn’t get to tell him in person this year.” That made me sad for 30 seconds until I realized that The Boy didn’t seem to be upset about this, it was just a fact. We had, in fact, not seen Santa; and he was just devising a Plan B as to how to make sure Santa got word on what he wants.
The Boy's letter to Fred: 23 December, 2011
It’s likely hard to read in the photo…. so here it is, direct from the page: “Dear Fread, This Is my Crismas List frour Sata. Can you tack ths with you today. I want A drum set and I don’t rieally care what alls I get. I get resepect from you! Thats Aall I want. Tank you. From Nick DeMarte. P.s I bleav in you Sata! 🙂 ”
I feel so lucky this year to have such beautiful, thoughtful, wonderful children.
Thank you, Santa Claus… I believe in you!
unexpected
Posted on: Thursday, December 22, 2011
- In: JYC | me
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Sometimes, the Christmas season comes and goes with everything going along the same as it always has. Sometimes, as nice as the season may be, it’s a bit predictable. For example…. It’s very predictable for me to freak out on December 1 when I haven’t got all the gifts planned out. It’s predictable that I will buy as much as I can online. It’s predicatble that I will stress over the Christmas card, but it will somehow always make it out OK. You get the idea. These things are all part of the season, and it wouldn’t be the same without them. So, while every year is nice, they pretty much go as expected.
Last night, I had a little unexpected gem from The Boy. He’s a thoughtful little fella in a lot of ways, but one thing he’s never really cared for, or given much thought to, is school. He goes, he does well, his teachers have always said he’s good in class and have had nice things to say; but he hasn’t really seemed very engaged or like he really cares one way or another.
We were at the outdoor mall last night, waiting for a Christmas light show to begin. It was cold out, so we bided our time in the Hallmark store, looking at all kinds of nonsense, just keeping warm. We were all wandering all over, sometimes together, sometimes one would wander off, but always within ear shot. I noticed The Boy was missing, and I found him on the floor in front of the retirement cards. I watched him for a moment as he patiently opened up a card, read it, put it back, opened another, read it, put it back… I walked up to him and asked what he was doing, and he responded : “I’m trying to find a card to give to my teacher for Christmas.” Bless his little heart. Not only was he *reading* cards (gasp!), but it was because he wanted to do something nice for his teacher….
We had to run off to the light show, but we stopped and browsed the Christmas cards on the way back to the car. He wanted to give her a small gift, too, “something she can have forever and always remember him”…. She must be doing something right.
So, this is my little tale of the unexpected this Christmas season…
the babe, the boy, and me 
