Twas Two Days Before Christmas ....

and nothing went right.

December 23 found me hopping back and forth between Sissy who was using the sewing machine to make a fleece hat for her Daddy, and Peanut, who was using the mixer to make cookies. I have these lapses in judgement, see, that result in my daughters simultaneously using two different powerful electric machines semi-independently.

Fortunately, no injuries occurred. However, while I was helping Sissy, Peanut inadvertently quadrupled the salt that went into the cookies, as I found out when I helped myself to a big bite of dough (oh come on, you do it too). Then when Sissy finished the hat, we found that it was too small for HER, let alone her Daddy.

So we were batting 0 for 2 when my father came by and offered to take the girls to the mall with him. They were just going to pick up a box for my mother's gift, he said. I should have known better.

They were gone two hours and when they returned my father told me something was wrong with Sissy.

"She says she feels like she's going to throw up", he said.
"I think she needs to see a doctor", he said.
"She needs some bloodwork done", he said.

She really did look terrible -- weak-eyed, pasty complexion. She had recently had a stomach virus but I thought she was over it. I was starting to worry.

Then I asked them about their trip to the mall.

It seems they started out with a giant soft pretzel and a strawberry Dutch ice. Then they went straight to the rock wall which Sissy climbed and rapelled down four times. Because you know, there's nothing like the feeling of rapid descension on a full stomach. THEN they went to the big inflatable bouncy room where they spent some time jumping around, whipping those stomach contents up like a KitchenAid on 10. THEN on their way out they stopped at the motorized kiddie cars (the ones Peanut was too grown up for in my last post). There they gradually slowed the batter in the stomach to a milder stirring speed. It was on the way home that Sissy started feeling sick.

I guess periodic lapses in judgment are hereditary.

I wanted to grab my father by the shoulders and say, "Who are you and what have you done with the man who raised me? I know you're not him, because you're nothing like him. He knew the meaning of the word "No". In fact, he often followed the word "No" with the words "It'll give you a bellyache"."

Instead, I just said, "Do you think maybe all that motion might be what upset her stomach?"
He was gracious enough to allow room for that theory.

My Dad - most of the time, he's exactly what he appears to be... a mild-mannered 72 year-old man. But when he's with his granddaughters, he's a 9 year-old kid. Who has a license to drive. And money in his pocket.

So the cookies, the hat, and the trip to the mall were all a bust.

There was a bright side though. It would have been even worse if all that stuff had happened on Christmas Eve.

Christmas Season Extended

I've always loved the day after Christmas. The madness that has been slowly building to a nerve-snapping crescendo over the last couple of weeks suddenly screeches to a halt.

The kids have new stuff that hasn't yet bored them. Supper is just a matter of reheating delicious leftovers . Everything mellows out around here and I really, finally take time to reflect on the birth of my Saviour.

As far as gift-giving and family meals, we were done by noon today. I had started a playlist of Christmas songs on Tuesday, and this afternoon I was in the mood for more Christmas music so I added some more songs to the list. And because I want to stretch the holidays out, I'm leaving the list up here until January.

These are all songs I love, and by the way, I do happen to like some Christmas songs that aren't sacred...... I would have included Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You" because I can't hear it and NOT sing along no matter where I am, but it would have seemed a little out of place. Much more appropriate here are her beautifully soulful "Silent Night", and blood-pumping "Jesus - Oh What A Wonderful Child".

In some cases, artists I dig meet up with longstanding favorite songs of mine (see Styx and Third Day).

Since the first time I ever heard it, there has been no other "Little Drummer Boy" but Bob Seger for me. Such a sweet story, I had to include it for sentimental reasons. I wish it was based on fact.

The Faith Hill song is new to me this year. If you haven't heard it, give it a listen. It's so simply and profoundly true.

A baby changed everything. Hallelujah!

Well, The Jig Is Up Folks

I can't say I didn't see it coming. Last year Peanut expressed doubt that a man could make reindeer fly and deliver toys to all the children in the world in one night.

We pretended we didn't hear her.

Then on Christmas morning, their "Santa" gifts were clearly and professionally labeled "To: Sissy or Peanut From: Santa ". That way, each girl knew which gifts were hers, and there was no suspiciously familiar handwriting on the tags.
Yes, Santa was feeling pret-tee clever. That new labelmaker she had received from her parents on Christmas Eve was already proving itself useful. And the kids had been so busy opening THEIR gifts from the grandparents that they didn't even pay attention to the gifts everyone else got. Or so Santa thought. Until, on Christmas morning, Sissy casually observed that their gift tags from Santa looked a lot like they had been printed with Mommy's new labelmaker.

These kids today. They never fail to amaze Santa.

Anyway, the subject was dropped for the next eleven months. Then, a few weeks ago, out of the blue, Peanut asked me point -blank: "Is Santa really you?" After stalling for a few seconds, I decided a direct question deserved a direct answer, and confessed. She and Sissy both laughed, but it was ambivalent laughter, and hearing it made me die just a little.

It's really kind of a relief that they know, since we've struggled with the Santa issue in the past, as I've blogged about before.
But it's also another sign that my babies are growing up, and that realization always kills me.

Like tonight in the mall when we walked by the coin operated kiddie cars and and Peanut laughed as she remembered how she used to liked to ride them "when she was little". It's been less than a year since the last time she begged me to stop and let her ride. Tonight I thought of the many times I said "no" because I was in too big a hurry, or just didn't feel like digging around for fifty cents. And I died just a little.

Lately, it seems my most desperate prayer is "Lord, please slow it down. Please don't let them keep growing up so fast. "

But it's unavoidable. And so, in our house 2008 will be the year we officially stopped believing in Santa Claus.

Deep down I know it's a good thing. But I'm still dyin'.