You know how some words are so much fun to say that they almost taste good? As I mentioned before, Em's a big fan of "marmalade." I prefer marmalade's first cousin "marshmallow," along with "levitate" and "wheedle" (which might not be a real word, but it's part of my family's vocabulary...that's another post).
Well, when you have kids, some phrases are just as fun: "Let's go have ice cream," "You're staying at Grandma's all weekend," and "It's a beautiful day; go play outside" all come to mind. Others, though, are not quite as attractive. You know, the ones you have to say because you are a parent..."Stop hitting your sister," "Yes, you have to eat that," "How long can it possibly take to poop?" and, of course, "Because I said so."
Like 99 percent of the parents on the planet, I too, swore at my mom (sorry, Mom) under my breath when she would say those words. What a stupid thing to say, I thought. I will never say those words to my kid. Ever. Yeah, right.
I am most likely to say those words when I am asleep. Matt is always asking me "why?" in the middle of the night. (Seriously??? You want to know why NOW?) I have no patience for anything in the middle of the night (how did I ever get through the first year of motherhood? I have no idea), least of all explaining why. Our conversations go like this:
"Mom, I had a bad dream."
"Uhggg."
"Momma, momma. I had a bad dream."
"It's okay. Go back to bed."
"I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"My BAD dream."
"Go back to bed."
"But momma, I'm scared."
"It's okay. Now go."
"Can I sleep with you?"
"Absolutely not. Go."
"Why, Mom?"
"Go."
"But momma, why?"
"Because I said so."
And he's gone.
Now, you might think I'm a horrible person because I'm not more loving at 3 a.m., but in my defense, this does happen on a regular basis, and this is a tearless conversation (how scared could he be, right?). Also, my husband is lying next to me with ear plugs in JUST SO he can't hear the conversation. Compared to him, I'm a saint...right?
I'm trying to think of a replacement phrase, something I can say instead of "because I said so." Somehow, "If you keep doing that, your face will stick that way" just doesn't seem as satisfying. Or as effective.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Do You Believe?
I'm just now getting around to reflecting on the Christmas season.. so if you are DONE with Christmas (and so many people are right now), feel free to put off reading this until next November.
I always have mixed emotions around Christmas. On one hand, I am giddy. Some days I feel like I'm ten years old again...I anticipate the giving and receiving of gifts, the Hallmark moments with loved ones, and the food, ah the glorious food, that everyone (but me) is so good at preparing. On the other hand, I don't always feel the love. The Hallmark moments can turn in to "All in the Family" moments in a flash; the gifts bring refrains of "what WAS she thinking?" and the food, well, we all know what happens because of the food.
The one constant for the past eight years has been the wonder and the glory of the big man himself. While maybe I should be talking about Jesus, I'm not. I'm talking about Santa Claus.
Santa Claus has changed my husband's and my life. Pre-2000 Christmases were, of course, B.S. (Before Santa). The two of us went through the motions, but the pained look on my husband's face as we visited family always told me that he was coping and little else. B.S. Christmases were, well, B.S.
Then came Emily. On her first Christmas (she was nine months old), we bought her a Red Rider wagon and sat on the couch drinking coffee and wishing her awake. When she finally woke up, we showered her with gifts and, like every other nine month old, she played with the paper and boxes. But it was the beginning of the magic.
Fast forward through another baby (poor Matt, he always gets the short version of the story) and 8 years into the future. This past Christmas, Emily was eight years and 9 months old, and Ryan and I dared to speak the fear that was in our hearts... Will this be THE year?
We waited for the inevitable. We were poised with the words, "Don't ruin it for your brother!" As Christmas approached, I thought maybe we were losing her. She wouldn't sit on Santa's lap. She wouldn't write a letter to northpole.com. (Santa's high-tech, right?) And then, four days before Christmas, we received a call.
Our savior (in the form of our fabulous, second-to-none, small-town mailman) called and offered to visit our house dressed as Santa. He just happened to show up the Sunday before Christmas while both sides of the family were visiting. Even though he drove up in his Ford Taurus, Em bought it, chips, dip and all. She had that look of wonder on her face that made me feel all fuzzy. He brought them a gift, sat and talked for a while, then went on his way. It was probably the best moment of my 2007.
And so Christmas 2007 was saved. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.... Santa showed up, ate the cookies, fed the carrots to his reindeer, and left the presents, just like we knew he would. The kids woke up bright and early to find everything they ever wanted (or as Matt likes to say "just what I ever wanted") waiting for them. It was glorious.
The grey cloud above all of this, I'm sure you realize, is Christmas 2008 or ...the inevitable. How long will the magic last? And without it, will Christmas go back to being just B.S.? Maybe it will be P.S...post Santa, like an afterthought in the memory that will be our kids' childhood. Whatever it is, or whenever it is, I'd like to put it off as long as I possibly can.
I always have mixed emotions around Christmas. On one hand, I am giddy. Some days I feel like I'm ten years old again...I anticipate the giving and receiving of gifts, the Hallmark moments with loved ones, and the food, ah the glorious food, that everyone (but me) is so good at preparing. On the other hand, I don't always feel the love. The Hallmark moments can turn in to "All in the Family" moments in a flash; the gifts bring refrains of "what WAS she thinking?" and the food, well, we all know what happens because of the food.
The one constant for the past eight years has been the wonder and the glory of the big man himself. While maybe I should be talking about Jesus, I'm not. I'm talking about Santa Claus.
Santa Claus has changed my husband's and my life. Pre-2000 Christmases were, of course, B.S. (Before Santa). The two of us went through the motions, but the pained look on my husband's face as we visited family always told me that he was coping and little else. B.S. Christmases were, well, B.S.
Then came Emily. On her first Christmas (she was nine months old), we bought her a Red Rider wagon and sat on the couch drinking coffee and wishing her awake. When she finally woke up, we showered her with gifts and, like every other nine month old, she played with the paper and boxes. But it was the beginning of the magic.
Fast forward through another baby (poor Matt, he always gets the short version of the story) and 8 years into the future. This past Christmas, Emily was eight years and 9 months old, and Ryan and I dared to speak the fear that was in our hearts... Will this be THE year?
We waited for the inevitable. We were poised with the words, "Don't ruin it for your brother!" As Christmas approached, I thought maybe we were losing her. She wouldn't sit on Santa's lap. She wouldn't write a letter to northpole.com. (Santa's high-tech, right?) And then, four days before Christmas, we received a call.
Our savior (in the form of our fabulous, second-to-none, small-town mailman) called and offered to visit our house dressed as Santa. He just happened to show up the Sunday before Christmas while both sides of the family were visiting. Even though he drove up in his Ford Taurus, Em bought it, chips, dip and all. She had that look of wonder on her face that made me feel all fuzzy. He brought them a gift, sat and talked for a while, then went on his way. It was probably the best moment of my 2007.
And so Christmas 2007 was saved. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.... Santa showed up, ate the cookies, fed the carrots to his reindeer, and left the presents, just like we knew he would. The kids woke up bright and early to find everything they ever wanted (or as Matt likes to say "just what I ever wanted") waiting for them. It was glorious.
The grey cloud above all of this, I'm sure you realize, is Christmas 2008 or ...the inevitable. How long will the magic last? And without it, will Christmas go back to being just B.S.? Maybe it will be P.S...post Santa, like an afterthought in the memory that will be our kids' childhood. Whatever it is, or whenever it is, I'd like to put it off as long as I possibly can.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Resolutions
Ah, January. The month for resolutions, new beginnings, do-overs. Yeah, right. The cynic in me believes that resolutions are just another advertising ploy...
"Get organized!" (Translation: buy storage containers--which do not, by the way, organize for you the junk you can't throw away. I've tried that. Now I have junk I can't throw away sitting next to empty boxes in my basement.)
"Lose weight!" (Translation: join gyms! Buy exercise equipment! Buy special diet food with no calories or taste! Buy new running shoes! I have to admit, I buy into this resolution from time to time. I teach fitness classes and like to encourage people to improve their health. But resolutions about weight loss and dieting usually set people up to fail. In the end, overall health is about lifestyle changes.)
"Help others!" (Translation: Give money so that you can feel better about the triple, half-caf, non-fat, sugar-free vanilla latte you spend $5 for daily. But the bottom line is I can't even help myself.)
So...in spite of all my cynicism, I have a resolution. I resolve to post to my blog three times each week. Will I be able to keep it? Well, the way I figure, no one is making money off of my success or failure, so my cynical side is at peace. If I am able, the question becomes "will anyone read it?"
"Get organized!" (Translation: buy storage containers--which do not, by the way, organize for you the junk you can't throw away. I've tried that. Now I have junk I can't throw away sitting next to empty boxes in my basement.)
"Lose weight!" (Translation: join gyms! Buy exercise equipment! Buy special diet food with no calories or taste! Buy new running shoes! I have to admit, I buy into this resolution from time to time. I teach fitness classes and like to encourage people to improve their health. But resolutions about weight loss and dieting usually set people up to fail. In the end, overall health is about lifestyle changes.)
"Help others!" (Translation: Give money so that you can feel better about the triple, half-caf, non-fat, sugar-free vanilla latte you spend $5 for daily. But the bottom line is I can't even help myself.)
So...in spite of all my cynicism, I have a resolution. I resolve to post to my blog three times each week. Will I be able to keep it? Well, the way I figure, no one is making money off of my success or failure, so my cynical side is at peace. If I am able, the question becomes "will anyone read it?"
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