Well, I'm glad this morning was snowy. My kids are glad too, for different reasons. Snow is white, and pure, and unscathed by nature. Let's try to pretend it's not acid snow for a second. Anyway...I needed this after a day of mayhem yesterday. I needed a pure, fresh start.
I had church in the morning...I sang. People liked it, or they said they did. I always wonder, if they didn't like it, would they tell me? If it was as good as they say, maybe I should pursue the whole singing thing. I had a scratchy throat, I think I have throat cancer, actually....and I wasn't altogether proud of my performance. That was step one.
Step two: I had to get my sister ready for her Madrigals performance, and then attend the performance/dinner with my five-year old. Note: there was to be china on the tables. (Shudder). Turns out the china wasn't my worst enemy...it was the large knife stuck in the loaf of medieval bread that my son found fascinating. He took it out and held it up as if to spear someone...for a second, before I carefully peeled his fingers from around it. Other highlight of madrigals: had to walk approximately 17 miles in heels to and from Gold Lame'. If you don't know Goldie, read previous posts.
Meanwhile, my husband is home with the two little ones, entering survival mode. You see, I did not prepare any lunch for them. Even with a full fridge and a full pantry, if a meal is not created out of the food item options, we will, theoretically, starve. And the earth may actually stop turning. According to my husband. So after my 17 mile hike, in heels, this is what I return home to. Did I mention I still had heels on?
Then step 3: Community Christmas service. Hundreds of people packed like sardines into a church, singing carols. It's pretty. It's also hot. And it's about 20 degrees hotter when you're stressing because your three very vocal children are also in the sanctuary. It's not that they were misbehaving...it is just that they only have one volume: loud. So I led my choir through their Jewish/Slovic/80's Dance Party number, while simply guessing and praying that our piano accompanist could see the white tip of my conductor's baton. I could only see her hair over the lid of the baby grand. It went well, I guess. I have trouble when the piano is on my left. I am deaf in my left ear. Everything sounded very distorted to me, but I'm told it sounded nice.
The stressful part here was just that I had to sit with my children through the rest of the service. They don't sit still for that long. Isaac kept saying (in his one volume) "Can we leave?!" and Gabe was chewing on prayer request forms in the pew. At least it wasn't a hymnal...or a Bible. Ella was a few rows back with my mother. My mother who did not remove the baby's coat, or her own coat for that matter, for the entire service. I imagine they were both roasting. I'm sure of it, actually.
So, this morning's snow is refreshing. A new day. A clean slate. I've thus far had a cup of lovely coffee, made French Breakfast Puffs (mmmm), and studied each of the puffy, beautiful just-woke-up faces of my children. I have not showered yet. Actually, I haven't even changed out of my pajamas. And I am absolutely, definitely, without-a-doubt not wearing heels today.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
A Little Christmas Spirit
I took my kids to McDonald's this morning for breakfast. I do this for two, and only two reasons: there is a Play Place where my boys can run freely and hoot and holler like the apes that they are, and my husband happens to run this particular store with the Play Place. Which means that my kids can do the aforementioned and most of the workers and several of the customers know who they are and don't complain. They actually tell me these boys are cute. They don't live with us.
A customer approached me while we were waiting in line (yes, we wait, like all the rest of the people despite our celebrity status). And I'm kidding about the celebrity status thing. Anyway, this customer was an older woman who promptly told me I am brave for taking my three children to a restaurant by myself. I did my usual half-smile, half-giggle thing that I do to try to make people think it's no big deal when really I'm thinking "I KNOW! This is crazy!" This lady says she had three girls, then three boys, and then two more girls. They are all grown now. My eyes widened and I swallowed hard and told her she was the one who was brave. So, she proceeds to order and pay, and then turns to me and shoves a fistful of cash at my free hand (the other one is holding the infant seat). I was shocked, flooded with thoughts "do I look really poor and awful?" "Does she think I can't pay to feed these kids?" I didn't know what to say, other than to try and politely decline the money. I tried and she said that she really just wanted me to take it and buy the kids breakfast. I didn't know whether to feel humiliated or just to accept it and smile. I chose a little bit of both. Bev, the cashier at the time, just kind of stood there and smiled, observing the whole scenario...and she didn't charge me for my food anyway, which is pretty typical when we go to my husband's store. So I told myself I'd "pay it forward." Suddenly everyone around me became a potential "victim." A scrawny old man in a much-too-thin sweater buying a senior citizen's coffee, I thought, would be the first one I helped. I gave the cashier a couple dollars and told her to give him a breakfast sandwich too. He got his coffee and was handed the sandwich, and he looked confused. The cashier looked at me nervously and then back at him, and a smile broke out over her face and she told him "must be elves that made this for you." He chuckled and took his hot coffee and sandwich to his little table alone. This felt good. As we walked with our tray to the Play Place, my son Isaac asked me if he could have some of the money. I started to tell him no, but then I thought "what the hey"and gave him $3. We were going to Walmart next, he could buy some candy for himself and his brother.
As we sat down to eat, he said "Mom, I saw that you bought that man's sandwich. He looked really happy." I told him I thought so too. He then said "I know there's lots of people everywhere that would be happy to have someone buy them stuff." Again, I agreed with the child. He then suggested that we buy a little toy at Walmart and put it in one of the Toys for Tots boxes on the way out, and I thought it would be a wonderful idea. I was very proud of him...considering he is usually belly-aching about getting something for himself before we even leave for the store.
We did just as he suggested. The boys decided on a Transformer toy and we took it to the checkout with our groceries. As I pulled the rest of the money out of my wallet, I decided to see just how far my son's charity stretched today, and I said "Do you want to use the money I gave you, too?" He looked at me, perplexed. He scrunched his eyebrow, just one of them, and said "No, mom, but I am gonna do something good with it, just wait." I scrunched my eyebrow back at him and nodded my head.
As we walked out of the store, we dropped our toy in the box. Isaac started digging in his pocket. "No, buddy," I said, "you don't put money in the box."
"I'm not, Mom, hold on."
He ran ahead of me, and just as I started to scream at him for taking off without me, I saw what he was doing. He headed straight for the Salvation Army Bell Ringer, a big bearded man. I hurried forward and heard this child's words spoken softly but crystal clear: "I have $3 to put in your bucket to help someone who needs it. Have a Merry Christmas. God bless you." I couldn't believe my ears. It was the single-most precious moment I've ever experienced with this child, who is normally boisterous and loud, and has an ongoing, year round list of things he wants for himself. But today, I'd like to think he was moved by the Christmas spirit...and I'm sure I'll never forget it.
A customer approached me while we were waiting in line (yes, we wait, like all the rest of the people despite our celebrity status). And I'm kidding about the celebrity status thing. Anyway, this customer was an older woman who promptly told me I am brave for taking my three children to a restaurant by myself. I did my usual half-smile, half-giggle thing that I do to try to make people think it's no big deal when really I'm thinking "I KNOW! This is crazy!" This lady says she had three girls, then three boys, and then two more girls. They are all grown now. My eyes widened and I swallowed hard and told her she was the one who was brave. So, she proceeds to order and pay, and then turns to me and shoves a fistful of cash at my free hand (the other one is holding the infant seat). I was shocked, flooded with thoughts "do I look really poor and awful?" "Does she think I can't pay to feed these kids?" I didn't know what to say, other than to try and politely decline the money. I tried and she said that she really just wanted me to take it and buy the kids breakfast. I didn't know whether to feel humiliated or just to accept it and smile. I chose a little bit of both. Bev, the cashier at the time, just kind of stood there and smiled, observing the whole scenario...and she didn't charge me for my food anyway, which is pretty typical when we go to my husband's store. So I told myself I'd "pay it forward." Suddenly everyone around me became a potential "victim." A scrawny old man in a much-too-thin sweater buying a senior citizen's coffee, I thought, would be the first one I helped. I gave the cashier a couple dollars and told her to give him a breakfast sandwich too. He got his coffee and was handed the sandwich, and he looked confused. The cashier looked at me nervously and then back at him, and a smile broke out over her face and she told him "must be elves that made this for you." He chuckled and took his hot coffee and sandwich to his little table alone. This felt good. As we walked with our tray to the Play Place, my son Isaac asked me if he could have some of the money. I started to tell him no, but then I thought "what the hey"and gave him $3. We were going to Walmart next, he could buy some candy for himself and his brother.
As we sat down to eat, he said "Mom, I saw that you bought that man's sandwich. He looked really happy." I told him I thought so too. He then said "I know there's lots of people everywhere that would be happy to have someone buy them stuff." Again, I agreed with the child. He then suggested that we buy a little toy at Walmart and put it in one of the Toys for Tots boxes on the way out, and I thought it would be a wonderful idea. I was very proud of him...considering he is usually belly-aching about getting something for himself before we even leave for the store.
We did just as he suggested. The boys decided on a Transformer toy and we took it to the checkout with our groceries. As I pulled the rest of the money out of my wallet, I decided to see just how far my son's charity stretched today, and I said "Do you want to use the money I gave you, too?" He looked at me, perplexed. He scrunched his eyebrow, just one of them, and said "No, mom, but I am gonna do something good with it, just wait." I scrunched my eyebrow back at him and nodded my head.
As we walked out of the store, we dropped our toy in the box. Isaac started digging in his pocket. "No, buddy," I said, "you don't put money in the box."
"I'm not, Mom, hold on."
He ran ahead of me, and just as I started to scream at him for taking off without me, I saw what he was doing. He headed straight for the Salvation Army Bell Ringer, a big bearded man. I hurried forward and heard this child's words spoken softly but crystal clear: "I have $3 to put in your bucket to help someone who needs it. Have a Merry Christmas. God bless you." I couldn't believe my ears. It was the single-most precious moment I've ever experienced with this child, who is normally boisterous and loud, and has an ongoing, year round list of things he wants for himself. But today, I'd like to think he was moved by the Christmas spirit...and I'm sure I'll never forget it.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Gettin' Done Up
I hadn't gotten a haircut since 2 weeks before Ella was born, so that puts us somewhere in the begining of September. As a former salon junkie, I know this is an unacceptable amount of time. Well, that's relative, I guess. When I was a junkie, I could justify 2 or 3 or 5 trips a month for root touch-ups (I was highlighted), nail repairs, bang trims or an eyebrow hair gone awry. Then kid number one came....and the addiction slowed a bit. Once a month would have to do. It's expensive. Kid two came. Holy moly, did they raise their prices?! $45 for a haircut and 2 hours in a chair...while my kids are probably killing the babysitter....every six weeks would have to do. Now, kid number 3. Sorry, I mean children. I'm not raising billy goats. Although some days it would be debatable. Anyway, Ella arrived, and like I said, I had just gotten my salon fix a few weeks prior. I noticed just the other day, and she's over 2 months old, mind you, that my ends were a little fuzzy and some greys were poking through my dark brown. Upon closer examination, I also noticed my eyebrows were moving in together and my hair that was once called "shimmering mocha" was more of a dull cardboard brown. Well, and I noticed the crows feet and lines on my forehead when I contorted my face different ways, and the fleeting thought of Botox entered my head. But notice I said fleeting. Let's be real, here. So, I called my salon and signed myself up for the "Glam Shape Up Package." What could remedy my situation better than that?
So I headed in to the beauty parlor this morning, after painstakingly choosing an outfit that did not involve fleece or elastic waistbands. And then, the process of plucking, waxing, "glazing" (a new hair term I learned), texturizing and general self-confidence building procedures commenced. My dear gay friend, affectionately, my "Will" showed up too, and got highlights alongside me, while we discussed the things that are making us feel old and ugly. I confessed I want lipo for Christmas. He confessed he is thinking of going to Chicago for hair transplants. I watched people come in and out....the "regulars" who didn't need 2 plus hours to get beautified. Just a touch up here or there, like I used to be. I watched a woman next to me tell her stylist all about her daughter needing braces. I studied her mouth as she said the word "braces"...she stretched her lips out all dramatically. I forced myself not to imitate her, although I pictured how I'd do it in my head. I listened to another stylist as she told her client all about how Christmas wasn't her holiday to have her kids, so she and her live-in boyfriend would be going to Cabo for a week. I looked hard to see if she looked bothered by the fact that she wouldn't have her kids...but she didn't.
I pulled out my pocketbook and grimaced when the stylist finally delivered the news of my bill. And I went home, not out to some posh lunch spot for a $9 half-sandwich and a sparkling water. I went home to my kids, where no one really noticed that my eyebrows broke up and my hair was shinier than a Christmas bulb.
And I put on my sweatpants.
So I headed in to the beauty parlor this morning, after painstakingly choosing an outfit that did not involve fleece or elastic waistbands. And then, the process of plucking, waxing, "glazing" (a new hair term I learned), texturizing and general self-confidence building procedures commenced. My dear gay friend, affectionately, my "Will" showed up too, and got highlights alongside me, while we discussed the things that are making us feel old and ugly. I confessed I want lipo for Christmas. He confessed he is thinking of going to Chicago for hair transplants. I watched people come in and out....the "regulars" who didn't need 2 plus hours to get beautified. Just a touch up here or there, like I used to be. I watched a woman next to me tell her stylist all about her daughter needing braces. I studied her mouth as she said the word "braces"...she stretched her lips out all dramatically. I forced myself not to imitate her, although I pictured how I'd do it in my head. I listened to another stylist as she told her client all about how Christmas wasn't her holiday to have her kids, so she and her live-in boyfriend would be going to Cabo for a week. I looked hard to see if she looked bothered by the fact that she wouldn't have her kids...but she didn't.
I pulled out my pocketbook and grimaced when the stylist finally delivered the news of my bill. And I went home, not out to some posh lunch spot for a $9 half-sandwich and a sparkling water. I went home to my kids, where no one really noticed that my eyebrows broke up and my hair was shinier than a Christmas bulb.
And I put on my sweatpants.
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