The Countdown

The goal: Live, love, laugh and have fun.

Since last I posted life has been frantic, festive and fun.

The frantic part can best be portrayed by the evening the Christmas tree went up, or down depending on the moment. My dear well-meaning hubby began the event with the purchase of a tree earlier in the day. Armed with the knowledge he was nearly out the door on a 3 day business trip, he began the arduous task of putting up the tree within the last hour he was to spend at home. I was amazed at how much easier of a time he had than I had experienced the previous year. The tree went in the stand with no need for sizing, standing erect and tall on his first attempt. In his search for the tree stand he pulled all the boxes of decorations out of the basement, and upon the time of his departure the house looked like a disaster zone.

I hesitantly asked his intentions, "were you meaning to leave ALL that there?". I was greeted with a grunt and nod while a look of "do I need to do everything" crossed his face.

Letting it go, I turned back to my work and left him to his last minute fuss and trouble before departure. Once he left, knowing the rest was my job, I thought I should begin...

Meanwhile my over-anxious 7 year old was digging through boxes and hanging things anywhere he felt appropriate. Within minutes 2 year old joined the fray after his afternoon sleep. He darted immediately to the fireplace and pulled down the stocking hung precariously on the 'snow globe' decoration, needless to say it hit the floor sending shards of glass and sparkly 'snow water' in all directions. His next targets were the beautiful and shiny Christmas balls which he quickly smacked together sending glass, again; in all directions.

Knowing I needed to get this tree decorated, and fast, so I could get the glass off the floor from amidst strewn decorations and strings of mini-lights I frantically began to wrap the tree with the lights. As I neared completion I plugged the string in to see where I missed to find half the lights weren't working. Meanwhile the kid's frenzy continued...

Recognizing I needed to turn to my last resort; removing the lights, I could feel my temperature rising. Not that I was getting warm, not in the real sense. My italian blood was filling me with rage, the kind of rage that leads to historic histrionic fits our family knows as 'KLM's'. Named after the KLM airline that carried my grandfather to Italy many years ago, mostly because of the massive fit the lengthy, cramped and uncomfortable flight caused, mere mention of these three letters has significant meaning within the family. Bearing witness to a KLM is like observing the eruption of a volcano, it begins with low unintelligible grumbling, followed by squirming and groaning and ends with remarkable amounts of spewing 'lava' -- and then a surreal and eerie calm, through which no-one dares to move, never mind breathe...

Working hard to 'hold in' the impending lavaflow, I began to breathe slowly and count to ten while my 7-year-old called, "Mom, look..., mom, (Two.... Three... Four...), "mom... mom... mom... (Five... Six...). Just then, it happened; the straw that broke the camel's back fell, or; really, it was the tree that fell. That tree that went up so easily came crashing down, missing 2-year-old by a hair as he continued to destroy decorations.

Groaning and grumbling commenced, followed by screaming and arm flailing. Both children stared with mouths agape, and then quickly scurried away. Finally, the calm. With tears streaming down my cheeks and anger burning in my belly, I continued the task.

Where were the christmas carols on the stereo? Where were the family hugs and hot chocolate? Why weren't we singing? Sheepish and filled with remorse, I went to find my children. I gave them each a hug and apologized. "I'm sorry mommy lost it..."

In spite of a rough beginning, our Christmas journey continued along with very few additional bumps. Mostly we laughed and shared. My 7-year-old got a note from Santa and was proud to find out Santa thought he'd been a 'good boy'. We played games and enjoyed each other. I wonder which part of Christmas my kids will remember most clearly in the upcoming years, my Christmas KLM, or the happy times that followed? Unfortunately, I think I know...

Too Busy Living

The goal: Live, Love Laugh and have Fun!

I am proud to say that I've been too busy living over the past couple of weeks to write. I did try to write last week, I completed my submission and went to post, only to find my connection lost and all my work lost. Although I had lots of great things to say, I decided, it wasn't worth repeating the task.

To wrap up my post of last week, I attended a great cookie exchange hosted by a good friend. I met up with a number of her friends who were moms like me and we had one of those re-affirming life conversations about our crazy kids. I left realizing we all have the same worries and challenges. Why are we always so worried about 'doing it right'? As well, I was armed with enough baking to carry me through the Christmas season -- what a treat!

My two year old has crossed the threshold, he officially became two in early November, and, true to form, threw his first massive temper tantrum this month. Furious and inconsolable he thrashed around the floor rejecting every attempt I made to remedy the situation. Finally I gave up. I carried the thrashing boy to his room as he viciously grabbed me by the hair and boxed my ears. I put him in the crib and closed the door. Standing outside the door with a sick feeling inside, and a tear trailing down my cheek, I waited for the tantrum to subside. Finally it did. After a few more minutes I tentatively creeped in with a weak, 'hello, my baby..', to my surprise I was greeted with a meek and loving hug -- and a much improved disposition. There've been a few more, and the same approach has served as a remedy. Do I have this licked? I sure hope so.

Well, in my part of the world winter made itself known. Through the weekend we saw 8 inches of snow and blowing cold temperatures dipping to -25 degrees. If I were a skier, I might be happy. If I were nostalgic, I might be thankful for a white Christmas. All I can think about is the extra effort coping with the normal stuff will take. I should have done my Christmas shopping last week!

Something interesting to me. A boy I grew up with has found his life calling in a somewhat unusual way. As we were all finding our way in the world we came to know that he had begun to work towards becoming a funeral director. We always knew him as an energetic smart aleck, who was always somewhere near the local trouble. At the time we talked about how this was something we considered to be 'out of character'. Since that time he has completed his studies and opened a funeral home in my hometown. Our family has had the unfortunate experience of seeing him many times through the past two years, each time I was touched by the care that he had put into the service, and the empathy he displayed throughout. Mom called yesterday to let me know she had attended a candlelight vigil he hosted for the families of all the people he had helped to lay to rest. The local church was overflowing. Everyone was touched as pictures of their loved ones passed across a video screen. Tears flowed freely. In the back of the church my friend worked hard to control his emotions as his mom's cheerful and lively face flashed by. His pain was not missed by all the people he consoled through the years -- everyone understood how hard this was. God blessed this young man with a gift none of us saw in him. His strength and compassion have now blessed the lives of many, through some of the darkest days of their lives. He is an inspiration.

Until next time.