'Tis the season!

I have felt like a scrooge this year as the holidays fast approach. It's just been a chore to try to muster up any holiday spirit. This is extremely unusual for me, who usually drives myself crazy with Christmas cheer! Yes, I am one of those annoying people who coordinates wrapping paper and spends way too much time tying on bows and curling ribbon, and even goes to the extreme to make my own gift tags. No easy stick-ons for me! Not this year. I have minimal shopping done, have no ideas for what I am getting people on my list, and was thinking of just using gift bags instead of bothering with wrapping paper...the ultimate sacrilege!! So I forced myself to drag out the tree from storage today and lugged up the container of ornaments.





I have realized one thing in doing all of this: decorating a Christmas tree is truly an art! Do you realize this? If you have an artificial, pre-lit tree like me (even though I think real trees are way better), you have to test the lights. Are all of them lighting? Of course most of mine were not lit this year! Just par for the course. My hubby managed to get all of the lights on again minus two full strands that refused to cooperate. This took about an hour or so. And luckily the two strands are both at the bottom of the tree and scattered so they are really not that noticeable.





Then the garland has to be strung. I have trouble with this every year! I always end up having to tighten the garland in order to get it to cover from top to bottom. That means making the really annoying and very inconvenient circle around the tree, which is crammed into the only corner of the family room big enough to house it through the holiday season. I have to make sure there is equal room between layers of garland, otherwise the whole tree looks unbalanced. There is another 30-45 minutes.





The next step is to add the Christmas balls to the tree. I choose to use red each year because I think they ground the tree. Who really cares if the tree is grounded though, right? And my mom passed some Christmas balls on to me as well, so those have to go up after the red balls. This seems very important to make sure that the Christmas balls go up on the tree first. Come to think of it, I remember my mom always doing the same thing. She taught me to use the balls as filler and to tuck them deeper into the branches. Because really, you want people to notice the ornaments, not necessarily the balls on the tree, right?





After the lights have been checked, the garland is up and the Christmas balls are arranged, I can begin hanging my ornaments. I group a lot of mine. Parts of a series get put together, as do all picture ornaments. I have so many of the kids and our family throughout the years that it is fun to keep them close to each other so I can see how much the kids have grown. My favorite ornaments make it toward the top of the tree to avoid little hands, and those that I have less of an attachment to (and would not mind being broken) get hung on lower branches. This part of decorating takes forever, primarily because each ornament is kept in its original box and bubble wrap, etc. I know, I know: OCD! (Are you just now realizing this?)





Any ribbon gets strung on the tree next. This has to be done well so that it does not look like it was an afterthought. The ribbon has to be woven and twisted in between branches and still look natural. Again, just like the garland, there has to be even spacing between each row of ribbon. It just looks better. I actually doubled my ribbon this year. Red and silver. I used more silver and then scattered some red in there.

And to top it all off (literally), is the tree topper: an angel, star, etc. All personal preference. I use an angel. Voila! The tree is trimmed! Or decorated. Or whatever.

Am I the only one who makes setting up the Christmas tree such a process? Other than my mom? Sometimes I wonder. And worry. About myself, I mean. But you know, going through my OCD-driven process is part of Christmas. It actually helped me kick off the Christmas season in a most unscroogy way! I guess it is beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

Rolling with the punches...

Life sure can throw some punches. Some are total knockouts...others just kind of take the wind out of you for a while. And then there are those times when you take the knockout and get the wind knocked out of you all at once. But what is the saying? You gotta roll with the punches? That is all we can do. Roll with them. Learn from them. Gain strength from them. And move forward.

I have found my strength in having Coulby. In having both of my children, actually, but especially in having Coulby. It is very painful to re-live those first few days of his life because I honestly did not think I would live through them. There was so much despair and uncertainty. I went through the motions every day, but felt mostly numb and alone in the world. It did not seem like life as I had known it, and me as I had known myself, would ever exist again. But in the darkest of hours I found my courage and my strength. And as time pressed on, I found that I was living; that I could survive. My experiences with my son have made me a better person. I appreciate the small things in life so much more now. I realize how fragile life truly is, and try with all of my might to find something positive in everything (even when I do not want to).

That does not mean that I never fall anymore. I did just the other day. Coulby seemed just a little "off," drained of energy way too early in the evening, having excessive behavioral issues in school, and just not having much interest in food or drink. All of the warning signs of imminent metabolic danger. After two nights of this, I let myself succumb to the worry and frustration of the situation. I felt the anger boiling up because something might have been about to happen with Coulby that could require hospitalization. I started to doubt my usually keen intuition. All of these things are those which I try to suppress. Because there is no point in allowing them to consume me. My husband and I both agreed that we needed to take the situation in hand and schedule an impromptu visit to Hopkins to make sure everything was looking okay with Coulby and his metabolic health. This was the punch that knocked the wind out of me.

I was already down when I got the knockout punch. My husband's uncle, only 48-years-young, died suddenly. Such a special person taken so young was just too much to bear. It seems that we are never given just one challenge at a time. And sometimes it seems like you will never stand up again. But we learn to do just that...somehow. Maybe not right away, but eventually.

Our family gathered together during our time of loss. And Coulby was seen at Hopkins today. His impromptu visit resulted in an ammonia of 25 (woo hoo!!) and a very reasonable explanation for his behavior. He has been fighting off a virus (at home, mind you...another woo hoo!) and also received the H1N1 vaccine. His already compromised immune system also had to react to the vaccine, and in doing both of these things at once, it caused his body some distress. Not enough to land him in the hospital, but enough to have potentially caused a metabolic crisis. By tonight he was fully charged and had regained some of his appetite. What a relief that was. And yet another reminder to me to stay strong even when I feel like I cannot.

The pain of losing a family member will not subside easily, and in all honesty, I am still in shock. But I will rely on my strength to start to stand up again and slowly accept things the way that they are now. I am glad to have known my husband's uncle and only wish he could have had more time with us here on earth.

You ROCK, mommy!

I am reveling in the fact that my son actually thinks I am cool...for now. I know that very soon I will be old, uncool, out of style, boring, dorky...you get the gist. So when Coulby looked at me the other day and said, "Guess what. You ROCK, mommy!," it made me stop in my tracks to say, with as much surprise as gratitude, "Thanks, Coulby!" Coulby's exclamation surprised me because I did not know he even knew that expression, and rendered me speechless because no one has thought of me that way in F-O-R-E-V-E-R. Those days of being cool seemed to be long gone. And now my son thinks I rock! I will take it while I can.

The ironic part about it all is that I think Coulby rocks! He is such an awesome kid, and I am not just saying that because he is my son. He just rocks. Coulby has endured more, experienced more, suffered more, and overcome more than most kids his age. And he has done it all with grace. And a little bit of attitude. I give him that because, well, he has earned it.

Coulby started kindergarten in August, and as much as I hated seeing him get on the bus to ride into the deep blue germ-infested yonder, I knew he needed that. My stomach got tied up in knots knowing that he would be in school all day this school year, and therefore exposed to a full day's worth of germs instead of only a pre-k 2.5 hours' worth. But Coulby loves school. I mean absolutely loves it! I knew my fears of germs and illness could not, no, would not, get in the way of Coulby's natural progression to the next step in his education. So off he went.

No one knows what it is like to have thoughts of kids coughing without covering their mouths, or sneezing into the open air, or wiping snotty noses with their hands and then touching everything around them, swirling through the brain. Thoughts of colds and flu, especially the hyped-up H1N1 virus. That is what I think about all the time. Protecting Coulby from all of that. Ways that I can teach him to stay clean and healthy. Ways that I can teach him to avoid everyone who appears to be ill. But how can I do that? I mean without putting the poor kid in a bubble?

Despite all of my best efforts to keep germs at bay, Coulby brought home a nasty cold several weeks in to school. He made it through that like a champ. Then on Thursday morning he woke up warm to the touch. His temperature was 101.2 and he complained of a stomach ache. When I told Coulby that he had to stay home from school that day, while masking my worry that kicks in whenever Coulby gets sick, he retracted his complaints of a stomach ache and said he was fine. He actually started crying because I would not let him go to school. That is how much he loves it! (We shall see if that lasts into the next several years when he is bringing home school work and studying for tests.) Coulby seemed to look a little more tired than usual, with puffy red rings under his eyes, but other than that, I would not have known he was sick. He was playing, talking, running around, and still had an appetite. Then I got a call. One of the kids in his class was confirmed to have H1N1. My stomach was suddenly full of butterflies.

My body went into overdrive after that phone call. Calls to the geneticist, calls to the dietitian, Internet searches on symptoms of swine flu...anything that I thought would help us get through this illness at home. And we did! Coulby had a fever for days that only broke yesterday evening, and has maintained his normal energy level during the whole thing. This has been another obstacle overcome, at home, by my brave boy.

And to this I say, "You ROCK, Coulby!"

There is no such thing as easy...

...not in my world. My OCD-laden world. When did things get so complicated? How has planning a 3rd birthday party for my little diva grown so wildly out of control that there is no hope of reigning it in?

My mind works in mysterious ways. I get something in it and ba-da-bing there it is and there it stays. The idea grows and takes on a life of its own until it consumes my every thought and dream. I have to see it through before I can rest easy. And that, my friends, is how I have gotten into planning the party of the century for my baby girl (who is becoming less and less of a baby each and every day...sigh; sniffle).

Caroline is turning 3! 3. Have 3 years really whizzed by already? Whew! Where have I been? I always have such a good time planning for a party. I love to entertain (although being an exceptional hostess is not my strong point) and I LOVE attention to the smallest of details. I think it is the little touches that make a party a failure or a success. If you go all out for a party but chintz out on the cake, for example, people remember how much the cake stunk, not how awesome the party was. If you serve a meal fit for a king but serve it with paper plates and plastic ware, no one remembers how divine the food tasted. So I think you have to decide to go one way or the other. You cannot have both.

I started thinking about what I was going to do to ring in Caroline's 3rd year of life months ago, although no light bulbs came on until about a week ago. Passing thoughts of Caroline's upcoming birthday would come and go and then BAM! I got it! The idea that I have obsessed over since it came to me. I love gardening. Caroline loves to be outside; to play in the dirt, plant, find bugs. Why not combine our interests and have a garden party? Something girly for her that would include a focus on my most prized flowerbeds and gardens. Yeah, what a fantastic idea, if I do say so myself.

Ideas started small, but the more I thought about things and researched on-line garden party ideas, the more elaborate they became. Then my mom, another artistic mind, started giving me ideas that appealed to me. Before I knew it I had a list about a mile long of ideas and things that I would need to pull them off.

So what is the big deal? This always happens. I jump in with both feet and submerge myself. EVERY. TIME. Then I get overwhelmed until I feel a full-blown panic attack coming on. And I say I will scale down the next time. But I cannot help myself. I think I am just one of those people who loves to do it all, who wants to do it all, who complains about doing it all, and then does it all again! The end result is usually as close to my imagination's expectations as possible and I am always glad that I put forth just a little more effort.

So I have been spending each day doing something to plan and execute this garden party that I can visualize in my mind, and I only hope i can pull it off. I know my hubby is thinking I am insane, and my mom thinks I need to get a life, but believe it or not, I am excited about it. I only pray that we will have a good turn-out. That there will be plenty of guests able to enjoy the fruits of my labor; the creation of an idea that grew into an obsession.

There's no manual?

Okay God, I need some reassurance that I am doing this right. Because I often feel like I am failing miserably. Where are the instructions? How do I do this whole parenting thing?


I want to raise my kids to grow into respectable adults with good morals and a solid sense of self. To be comfortable with who they are. To accept their weaknesses and accentuate their strengths. Probably all of the same hopes that every parent has for their children. But I wonder if I am doing everything that I can to do help them move toward these hopes for their future. What if all of the mistakes that I am making far outweigh the things I do right? What kind of a man and woman would my children become then?

I think it is human nature to question our parenting "skills," if you want to call them that. I cringe when I think of all of the times I have lost my temper or not paid enough attention, or let my children down. All of these failures come flooding back to me when I feel scrutinized by others. Most of the time when I go out and about with the kids, they are pretty well behaved. I mean, there is always the usual whining for something that catches their eye, or the "I've had enough" antsiness (is that a word??) when I have lingered too long. But for the most part I do not have the kids that are running rampant through the store, picking up everything they see, throwing tantrums when they do not get what they want...you know the kind I am talking about. We have all experienced that.

But the other day as I was shopping for a birthday present, I had the kids with me and they were starting to get bored. I knew I only had a limited amount of shopping time and it was almost up. (I should really set a timer next time.) We went down an aisle where there were a bunch of feather boas hanging and the kids zeroed right in on them. What fun! I let them each pick a color and wrapped them around their necks. Coulby was adorned in blue feathers and Caroline in pink. They were so proud of themselves and I thought it was adorable. They were giggling with each other and happily showing their boas off to an invisible audience as they walked to the aisle right across from me. I had them in plain view, only a few steps away. I was admiring their delight at something so simple when an employee, who apparently did not find it so endearing, walked right up to them and asked them for their boas. Immediately defensive, I walked--more like marched--over and held my hand out to take the confiscated boas from the woman. She gave me this stern tsk-tsk look as she stiffly handed me the boas. I was so taken by her obvious disapproval of my children's shrieks of delight and fashion show, and my mind quickly transitioned into the mommy overdrive that is ferociously protective of her kids. I wanted to say something and my mouth would not form the words. Nothing came out. I used my face instead to send her my message. Literally the epitome of "if looks could kill." I knew my words would not have conveyed my emotions nearly as well. I hung the boas up again, knowing that if I had bought them as planned I would always be reminded of the woman's contempt. Silly, I know, but I just could not bring myself to buy them after that.

When my blood had stopped boiling, I felt the tears stinging behind my eyes. I let that woman get to me; make me doubt my parenting. I do not know why, because not a moment before I had stood my ground with confidence. When I really thought about it later, I think my ego was bruised. Because someone disapproved of what I was allowing my children to do. We all have an ego, and I try not to let mine get in my way, but like I said before, we all question our parenting. It takes just one scrutiny to allow that uncertainty to bubble to the surface, and in that moment, our defenses are down and we are vulnerable. Our ego is vulnerable.

I shrugged this off as another learning experience. It was a reminder that we all do things differently, and some people are more prone to judging than others. The woman in the store was not right. She was not wrong. She was looking at things through her own eyes. And how she sees the world, and the world of parenting, is obviously not going to be the same way that I see things. Since Coulby was born, I have looked at a lot of things differently. I see the blessings in my life, and feel grateful for the smallest of accomplishments my children make. I know that each of thier days, and mine, could have been so different. And I allow my kids to experience all they can because they can. Even if it is just the simplest of things, like feeling feathers tickle their necks as they strut around wearing boas. How grand!