Twas' Two Nights Before Christmas...

Kent and I at Zoo Lights 12/21/11

Twas' two nights before Christmas when all through the house
Fuzz and Roo were at their dad's so it's quiet as a mouse
The stockings were hung by the fireplace with care
I, of course, hung each and every one up there

The children, I'm sure, were nestled all snug in their beds
even though it's noon, I'm sure they haven't even moved their heads
And I'm on the couch, sipping out of my coffee mug
Gator's spending time chewing on the throw rug

When out in the front there arose such a clatter
Was FedEx finally here--those presents do matter!
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Tripping of course, and into the door I did crash

The sun shining on the newly fallen snow
Silence around me, something new I know
When, what to my wondering eye should appear
Brandon, Marissa, you're both finally here!

With my son as the driver, so lively and quick
in his white Honda--and yes, it's a stick
Marissa looked pale--it was quite the drive
first thing she said was, "Hey mom, I'm alive!"

They got to the porch, brushed the snow off their coats
next unwrapped the scarves from around their throats
They flung off the boots that were strapped to their feet
And, then, as always asked, "Mom, what's there to eat?"

Gates jumped up and down, he was so happy seeing these two
there's no one that loves him like Fuzzy and Roo
And into the kitchen all of us went
Making the cookies was none other than Kent

"Can we open just one?" Riss asked again and again
"Nope, gotta wait," I said with a grin
Her eyes rolled to the ceiling, patience isn't her virtue
Picked up one of the gifts, "But this one, mom's for you!"

"Hey, mom, there's none under here for me," this was B's voice filled with worry
"Well have you been good?" I asked--which is a whole other story
"Crap," he said hoping Santa would forget the swearing in class
Why did his teacher have to be such an ass?

The Christmas lights in the room were all aglow
Gates on his bed, outside falling more snow
We decided to play pool downstairs in the basement apartment
kicking some serious butt--now that's my department

Finally it was time to hit the sack
"Come on mom, just one more rack!"
"Nope, not if you want Santa to arrive"
"Seriously, mom" with a roll of her eyes

"You better believe or he won't deliver"
When suddenly up our spines went a shiver
For we heard something up on the roof
the prancing and pawing of each little hoof

"What the..." began Brandon starting to believe
I felt Marissa's arm holding onto my sleeve
Kent grabbed the nearest thing to attack if need be
One pool stick wouldn't do it, so he decided to take three

He made his way up the stairs, the three of us in tow
I'm not staying in the basement--when we heard a loud bellow
Marissa screamed and Brandon jumped on Kent's back
I grabbed ahold of everyone--were we under attack?

Then bells rang out and we heard a "HO HO HO"
In disbelief we ran to see Santa--we had to know!
Was he real?  Was his story true?
Cookies were eaten, milk was gone too!

The only thing that Santa had decided to leave behind
was a tiny note that wasn't left unsigned
"Get to bed" it said and with those three short words
Fuzz and Roo hustled up the stairs in thirds

And suddenly I was taken back to the nights
when Christmas made my kids' eyes dance with delight
My mom would be Santa calling on the phone to make sure they were good
the kids hanging up and behaving like they should

B never liked sitting on Santa's lap, oh how he cried!
Marissa never minded, just stared at him wide-eyed.
And I took pictures as though they were going out of style
yes, that hasn't changed and won't for quite awhile

They left cookies and milk for Santa--carrots for the reindeer too
I made tracks in the snow, and left bite marks from Santa's whole crew
Too excited to sleep, wanting to wake them out of their beds
Tossing and turning, checking in on their sleeping heads

Finally 4 am would come, I could wait no more
crept not so quietly over to their bedroom door
I shook them a bit then said, "I think Santa came!"
and rubbing their eyes,  "GET UP!" they'd exclaim

Jumped out of their beds and ran over to the tree
"Mommy, what do you think Santa brought me?"
I made the hot chocolate and put the cinnabons in the oven to warm
Soon to witness a perfect wrapping paper storm

One by one we'd hand out each one of the presents to unwrap
There'd be oohing and ahhing, sometimes even a clap
And when every present was opened, and everything was clean
We'd go sledding, or skating, or watch a movie on the screen

Now that they're older, and don't truly believe
Santa decided to pull a trick out of his sleeve
And that's when the noise on the roof went a-clatter
Because it's in the believing that all really does matter

"We're asleep!" I heard a voice yell from their room
And that's when I heard another huge boom!
"Kent is that you?"  I asked in alarm
"No," he replied, "please stop twisting my arm!"

And that's when I saw through the window a nose
it was red, and shiny, and brightly glows
"Really?" I asked with disbelief into the night
Kent peering out the window yelled, "I see a red light!"

So off to bed Kent and I scampered on too
and looking out the window we finally knew
Before we caught our breath, he flew out of sight
but we heard him say, "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"

Happy Birthday, Button Head

Tomorrow is my little sister's 39th birthday, so I thought it'd only be fitting to write about her.  I used to call her Button Head--mostly because of her fear of buttons.  How weird is that?  She's still the only person I've ever known to be afraid of buttons.  Literally, she owns none.  Her clothes have zippers, or snaps, or velcro.  No buttons, for the Button Head.

Us in Michigan in 1975--Joelle, Me, Chris, and Melanie

I remember when we were little, playing CHIPS on our bikes.  I was always Ponch and she was John.  We used rocks as our CBs, fighting crime on our Wisconsin dirt road.  When we played Little House on the Prairie, I was Laura and she was Carrie--my older sister would be Ma and my brother would be Pa.  In all actuality, he was only playing to "protect us" from the "bears"--in other words, he wanted to shoot out the windows of our playhouse with his gun.  Which he did.  Yeah.   I'll never forget the time when "Ma" went into the house to bring us all lunch.  She proceeded to grab a suitcase, put four bowls in it, fill the bowls with soup, close the suitcase, then went to carry it out to the playhouse!  Yeah, soup didn't fare so well.  There was the time when the four of us decided we were going to run away from home.  This took place in Green Bay.  After packing all of our stuffed animals (of course we were only going to take what was important), three of us jumped onto the banana seat of my sister's bike, with my little sister on the handle bars.  We took off into the cornfield, not lasting very long on this adventure.  The bees came, we started fighting and made our way home.  There was always something going on with the four of us.  I remember always being jealous of the close relationship between her and my older sister when we were kids.

As teenagers, I remember moving to Rhode Island and taking on a different big sister role.  From the small Wisconsin school to the big city school, there were a lot of changes.  She got picked on all the time.  I remember getting into the faces of many girls--having to intimidate them in order for them to leave her alone.  I remember kids calling us M & M and thinking we were twins, although I'm 2 years and 9 months older than she is.  We look the most alike.   I remember threatening some of the guys that liked her--feeling as though I needed to protect her.  And when my older sister and I were out reeking havoc, the Button Head was more of a homebody--not wanting to go to the clubs. There was still a wild side of her--like the time when my parents took us girls to Mt. Tom for our first skiing trip.  They stuck us all in ski school, which we felt we were above.  After one run down the bunny slope, the three of us said, "Screw this," and headed up the lift.  I remember falling down the entire mountain the first five or so times.  At the top the only way down was a black diamond, but if you took the corner about 100 yards down, you could jump onto a blue--which is what we kept doing.  If you missed the corner, it was one of two choices--1) Black diamond the rest of the way down or 2) Fly off the cliff.  I remember on the 6th time, my little sister eased around the corner with no problem.  She just picked up on skiing immediately.  My older sister was second and wiped out at the corner.  I was the third in line and decided I needed to head straight for my sister, with the hopes of either missing her or hitting her.  Whichever, didn't matter to me, as long as I didn't fly off the cliff or have to fall down the black diamond the entire way down the mountain.  I remember missing my sister and flying off the side of the mountain.  It was as though the world was suddenly in slow motion--boots, skis and poles went flying.  I hung onto the cliff and remember Joelle's head peering over the ledge with her yelling, "ARE YOU DEAD?"  The ski patrol had to "rescue" me and the three of us girls were banned from the mountain.  Not a good day!  haha  My parents wanted to kill us.

One of the cows on her farm--SO cute!

I remember knowing my sister was pregnant before she told us--and when I told my mom she was.  I remember my mom getting all upset with me, then getting the phone call two days later, then mad at me for not telling her sooner.  It wasn't that my sister had told me first, I had just known.  I remember when she moved back to Wisconsin, and despite all of my pleas, never returning back to Rhode Island.  I remember envying her independence--she was so unafraid to venture off on her own.  I remember thinking she had lost her mind when I learned she was going to marry a farmer, and do all the duties on the farm herself.  And watching her milk the cows, help with birthing, stories of her getting kicked--it never fazed her.  There are things she has done that I'd never have the gumption to do.  It's admirable.

Austin's team in 2008

When her youngest son was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes, she jumped in wholeheartedly.  She gave him shots every day (now he's on the pump), changed the family's diet, and did things that just amaze me.  She raises money for the cause, and walks with her family every year.  Here I'm afraid when a kid coughs and she's so unafraid.  Once again, it's just admirable.  Seriously, admirable.

And when I think of my little sister, I miss her terribly.  I miss our jokes, our laughter, our discussions.  I miss the way our family just is when she's around--when her entire family's around.  This past summer, when we went to Wisconsin for the first nephew graduation, on our last day we stood in her family room going through her shoes.  The girl has a serious shoe collection--makes mine look meek in comparison.  When the time had come to say our good-byes, I looked over at my little sister, who had started to cry.  Immediately, my older sister and I started crying and ran over to hug her.  And we stood there, hugging and crying, already missing each other.

Fun moment in May 2011--Amanda, Joelle, Me, Melanie,  and Austin (in front) all holding Mikey!

So know, little sister, that you're always missed.  You're always thought of.  You're always loved.  Happy birthday, Button Head!

Peace.

Last week I swore was going to be a great week with my kids come hell or high water.  And it was.  I can't express enough how wonderful the ENTIRE week was!  There was no bickering, no fighting, no talking back.  On the way to school, nobody complained about who was going to sit in the front or about the Christmas music playing on the radio.  It was peaceful.  

Times such as last week remind me of the joys of parenting--because, truth be told, there are often times where the bombs keep going off and I have no clue as to what to do.  During these times, not only do I feel like the worst parent ever, but I find myself constantly shaking my head in disgust and wondering WTF?  

But not last week.  Last week my daughter didn't push me away when I embraced her--so I found myself wanting to hug her constantly.  And I loved it.  I loved that she opened up and talked to me--something my teenaged daughter doesn't always do.  It's just not cool, ya' know? Last week, my son didn't pester his sister.  He wanted to hang out with her, shoot pool with her, and with Kent and I.  I loved it.  I loved that he wanted to be around us--something that's not all that cool, ya' know?  I loved that tucking them in at night was like it was when they were little--with backs being scratched, songs being sung, and hugs all-around.  I loved it.  Times like last week make me sad that my babies have grown up so fast.  I want to bottle those times and tuck them away in a place that is safe.  A place where change can't and won't happen.

I loved that they BEHAVED at Kent's party.  That there was no bickering, arguing, or wanting to leave. I loved that whether we were watching T.V., a movie, eating dinner--whatever the case may be, there was peace.  Ahh...peace.  There's nothing like it in the world.

They'll be home soon--on Saturday, Christmas Eve.  I'm excited because for the first time in years, I'll have Christmas Eve, Christmas day, and New Year's with them.  No sharing this year because their dad is going out of town.  Two weeks of bliss.  Oh, am I ever optimistic!  And while those two weeks may not all be filled with the peace that I love, I know it's there.  I know it's possible.

My two goofy kids!  I love them so much!

A Little Christmas Miracle...

There's nothing more heart-wrenching than to see someone you know and appreciate hurting.  I hate seeing anyone suffer.  Yesterday one of my co-workers shared with me that another co-worker was in a bit of a jam--and really struggling with what he wanted to do and what would have to be done.  His mom, who is 93-years-young, is sick and lives in Nevada.  With money tight, there was no way he'd be able to afford a last minute plane ticket to Vegas.  His heart desperately wanted to be by his mom's side, but his wallet was telling him his choice wouldn't be ruled by his heart.  As he struggled with finding justifications as to why he couldn't go, anyone close to him could see the pain the decision was causing.

This isn't just anyone I work with either.  This is the guy who is always there for everyone.  When the windows in my classroom decided to let in the monsoon that was happening outside, he's the one I called--who by the way not only came immediately to help me move all my books off the shelves and save student work, but who also came bearing towels and buckets.  This happened not once, but two years in a row.  When I had my first puker last year--who, by the way, decided to hurl all over the desks, the floor, one recycle trash can, and all over the hallway--who came running to my aid?  Yup, same guy.  And he doesn't just help me out with the big things--when my pencil sharpener went kaput, or my bookshelf was falling apart, or I needed the "wall" between SS and LA closed off, or if the bulbs in the lights were out--and if a million other things went wrong, there was always that go-to guy to call.  And he always came to help me out, with a smile, chit-chat about our dogs (who are both Dutch Shepherds), and a kind word to go with it.  And he's not just this way with me--he's like this to our entire staff.

I remember when I was a student teacher and some solid advice I received from my mentor was the top three list of who to be nicest to in the building:

1. Custodians
2. Security
3. Admin

And they were so right.  If you were an ass, forget about it.  Those were the top three--and he made the number one slot.  And while I've always been kind, and consider him one of my friends, I've had to ask myself the question--was I just being nice in case I needed something in return?  How crappy is that?  I mean seriously, other than the yearly Christmas cards and treats, when have I ever done anything to demonstrate my appreciation and friendship towards him?

So hearing about his struggling really left an ache in my heart.  Something needed to be done and fast.  Tomorrow's the last day before break.  There was literally a 24-hour window to make something happen.

Luckily, I work in a building filled with people who not only have generous hearts, but are generous with their wallets as well.  Even when the wallets aren't so full.  After all we are teachers, there's not a lot of green floating around.  We get paid once a month, on the 20th, so right now is the homestretch for most people's bank account.  The whole "Only five more days, let's make it stretch" mentality is going on for most.  But you'd never know it as my good friend and I traveled around the school, telling our co-workers about his dilemma.  There were some who got misty-eyed with the thoughts of him not being able to be with his mom; there were some who immediately opened their wallets and donated, and others who joined in to help collect.  Regardless of who we talked to, one thing remained the same--he meant something to every single person in the building.  Every single person.

To meet someone who impacts the lives of EVERYONE around them is not a norm.  As I heard people tell me their stories of how he's helped them or tell me how much they love him or how much he does for them all the time, it made me realize the power of human kindness and of karma.  Yes, I do believe in what comes around goes around.  And for the past few years he'd been going around for everyone, and now it was our turn to come around for him.

With the clock winding down, our staff raised over $450.00 for him.  This would be able to pay for his plane ticket and a car rental (thanks to our travel guru in counseling!).  After tucking the funds safely into a card purchased by another, I sought out one of my students.  I heard he was nestled in his office, so sent my student to seek him out.  Upon entering his office, my student said, "Go to Vegas," handed him the envelope, and walked away.

With a stunned expression, I'm only guessing here, he opened the envelope.  Later on when I met up with him in the counseling office, the tears in his eyes were filled with gratitude and relief.  Our wonderful, kind, and giving staff was able to make sure this man who does so much for all of us would be able to tend to his mother.

And this was the best little Christmas miracle to be a part of.  I'm so thankful to work with people, who at a moment's notice, take care of each other.  Definitely what Christmas is all about.

Mom, I Have a VERY Important Question For You!

Yesterday as I was driving my kids home from school, some interesting tidbits of information was spewing forth from their mouths.  It started with gossip about a girl who's pregnant and continuing to have unprotected sex.  About teachers they can't stand, and how their day went.  When out of the blue my son says, "Mom I have a VERY important question for you."  I'm thinking to myself, "Oh lord, what in the world is this child going to be asking me?"  I braced myself for the question and continued driving on down the road.

"Okay, what's the question?"

"Do you want to be buried or cremated when you die?  This is really important for me to know mom," he asked with complete seriousness in his voice.

When I got over the shock of the question, I answered as honestly as I could.  "Well, I want to be cremated."  As my son continued with where my ashes would be (above his mantle in an urn with a light shining on it to signify Heaven--not by the fire below, which would be hell), I'm thinking to myself, "Where the heck did this question come from?"  I also let him know that if he ever stepped out of line that I would haunt his butt, so he'd better behave.  That comment was met with laughter from both of my kids--along with a "Yeah, right, Mom."

And while the conversations aren't the most comfortable to be having with my children, I am happy to know that my wishes are of importance to them.  Well, at least some of them!  =)

Forget the Cougar--This Mom's a Lioness

Yesterday was interesting, to say the least.  I've never had the problem of not being busy, and yesterday was no exception.  I would be heading over to my son's high school and having a bit of a visit--three weeks ago he decided to tell the teacher that it "was bullshit" in regards to a group assignment.  Some of his partners were absent during the work time, there's wasn't complete, and there'd be no extension.  Because his mouth decided to spew words of indecency to an adult, a lack of respect was shown, and he was unable to handle himself in a fashion that is acceptable, I've been the keeper of his phone for the last three weeks.  And will remain so until deemed fit.

Being my son is NOT in junior high--a junior, yes--I wanted to figure out this power struggle that was happening between Brandon and this foreign adult.  I felt like the mama lion--protective, ready to pounce on any intruder.

See I've been watching the Big Cat series on the National Geographic channel--amazing stories.  Especially the way the producers are able to personify these cats to the point where I'm crying for the little babies and praying for their safety.  My husband found these tears to be amusing...not so much to me.  These lionesses are incredible--willing to risk life and limb for their cubs.  This instinct is so profound, that even when the little cub instigated an attack and was in the wrong, the mother was still ready to defend and protect.

I often feel this way about my own children, who are not perfect by any means.  Seriously, who is?  Certainly not me.  Regardless of their downfalls, I'm still there--ready to pounce, ready to defend, ready to protect.

After sitting in the class, and realizing there was no need for my defenses to be on such a high alert, I also came to the realization sometimes protection is not warranted, not needed.  There comes a time when the mama needs to step back and let her baby become that adult.  Giving them the opportunity to take the bull by the horns and basically grow the hell up.  So that's what I'm doing, difficult as it may be.  I'm putting my defense mechanisms away, and hoping my cubs will be able to survive the wild.

The Beauty a Moment Can Bring

Fuzz and Roo in the Dog House

My husband has been watching me struggling with parenting over the last couple of weeks.  His children are now in their 20s--grown and off on their own.  While he's dealt with his fair share of issues over the years, I appreciate the way he's there to support me versus lecture me--or even worse step in and override my parenting decisions.  He's seen me frustrated, angry, in a state of utter confusion, and also on the brink of insanity.  I've heard the definition of insanity leave his lips on more than one occasion--doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

After spending the week at their dad's, my daughter would be coming home at 5 pm and I'd be picking my son up at work at 9 pm.  There was still a bit of looming drama in the air, as all of the past week's antics were handled via mobile phone.  Upon her arrival, with the one month's grounding in place, she immediately tailed it up into her room.  The welcoming was brief--not the usual.

It was in this moment that I had a choice to make.  And those of you that have children and are divorce understand the guilt that coincides with it.  Sometimes out of guilt I find myself pacifying my children rather than parenting them.  I'm not proud of this, it's simply the truth.  The quick to forgiveness--before the punishment has been fully delivered--or the ending the grounding early--because they'd been good for an entire 24 hours.  Growing up in a home where the iron rod was ruler, I remember being alone in my room.  I remember the horrible thoughts that would go through my mind.  I remember being angry and wishing for a bit of comfort.  And there are parts of me that don't want to inflict that pain onto my children.  Moments where I forgot how tough parenting also allowed me, as the child, to learn there were consequences for my actions.  Why in the world would anyone change their behavior if not tied to a consequence?  A real consequence that would be seen through until the end.  

A great day at Sea World in San Diego

And with these thoughts in the forefront of my mind, I changed my behavior.  I walked into my daughter's room, where she was still sulking.  She was expecting a battle, and believe me her armor was prepared.  But there'd be no battle today.  Instead, I sat next to her and told her of my concerns and of my love for her.  I didn't hound her or even stay.  I let her know I'd be there to talk whenever she was ready--be it tonight, tomorrow or next week.  And then I left her alone.

Now for those of you that don't know me, leaving her alone in her room is like putting candy in front of a baby and saying "Don't touch it!"  My husband could sense the anxiousness and would periodically take my hand or give me words of encouragement.  I couldn't expect different results if I didn't make some changes.  An hour later I could hear my name being called--with an invitation to talk.  And we did, calmly.  She was able to truly understand her punishment and, because I showed her dignity and grace with the delivery, I feel she has a better idea of what I meant when I told her to accept her grounding with dignity and grace.  

Being silly on the beach--I love their sense of humor!

We spent the next hour sitting at the kitchen table--with her doing her French homework and teaching me how to speak.  I was horrid at speaking French!  We laughed at my mispronunciations and had fun--doing homework.  She decided to come with me to pick up her brother.  The moments spent driving to the store reminded me of how incredibly lovely my daughter can be.  Her excitement when talking of the things that bring her joy or the seriousness when asking me questions about a boy she loves bring about a sense of pride inside of me.  I think of my mom's quote from a week ago--and I cherish every moment of this car ride.   

When I see my son, he's his goofy self--sneaking to the parked car, tapping on my window, and scaring the bejesus out of me.  They chat the entire way home, without fighting, without arguing, without making me want to jump out of the car.  It's a beautiful moment.  A beautiful car ride.  A beautiful reminder of the wonders of my children.  This is going to be a beautiful week!

My beautiful children--all dressed up for Homecoming 2011