Christmas begins

Thankful Friday

Tuesday, December 23, bedtime

Me: Santa Claus is NOT coming to our house if it's a big mess. Really. Tomorrow you're all going to help me clean up, right? Because I mean it, if it's messy NO SANTA.

Kids: We'll help!

Wednesday, December 24, 4:30 a.m.
I hear Taavi crying and I roll out of bed to see what's wrong. He's climbing the stairs to our room, sobbing.

Me: What's the matter, baby?

Taavi: I fell off the sink.

Me: You fell off the sink?

Taavi: I was puttin' the medicine away.

Me: What? Why were you --- you didn't take medicine by yourself did you?

Taavi: No, I was just puttin' it away.

Me: Taavi, why were you touching the medicine? Do you feel sick?

Taavi: No, I was just puttin' it away in the cabinet.

Me: Taavi, you didn't drink some medicine did you?

Taavi: No, I was just puttin' it away cause I was cleanin' up. I need to clean up.

I tossed him into bed between me and Hugh. It took me a while to convince him that we could sleep until it was light out and THEN clean up, still in plenty of time for Santa. He threw his little arm around my neck and his eyes fluttered, fluttered, shut... and then he slept past 9 a.m.

Wednesday, December 24, early afternoon
Target -- a lot of dollars. Trader Joe's -- 50 bucks. Eli, Kai and Taavi making cookie dough all by themselves while I run around getting everything ready for our Christmas Eve party? Priceless!

Wednesday, December 24, Christmas Eve
It's cold outside but the house is toasty warm because it's full of people. Our favorite people: family and dearest friends. Having almost everyone there makes me miss the ones who are not: John and his family in San Diego, Laura and Jordan in Massachusetts, and Dad, of course. But as we eat and drink and talk and sing, this feeling that they should be with us is palpable. We're not a whole family without them, but still we are raucous and merry and grateful for one another. It occurs to me that this combination of family togetherness and missing means they are with us, in a way. We carry them with us on days like this, Dad especially.

When Hugh plays "Blue Christmas," though, Mom has to leave the room because it makes her too, too sad. She walks away, directionless, headed simply away. She ends up in a corner of the kitchen, staring at our pantry shelves. I follow to make sure she's adequately distracted. We talk about the crazy amount of pasta on our shelves (Costco), and the peanut butter, covering up the song with words, words, words. It's good that she can't hear the lyrics and I think the sadness is abated. But still we know why we're there and so Dad is with us then, too.

The people with young kids are leaving, and things are winding down. It's going on 10 p.m. and I should be shooing everyone else out because there's much work to be done (not just a ton of wrapping but the re-cleaning, because as you know Santa will not come to our house if it's a mess), but Hugh is still playing the guitar and people are singing along, and I want to hold everyone close for as long as I can.

Thursday, December 25, 3:00 a.m.
My work is finally done, and I'm rewarded with one of my very favorite Christmas pleasures: a moment of sitting in the dark, still living room, looking at the lights on the tree and smelling the pine and listening. Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse. I sit, and I take in the quiet and I marvel at the energy the room is holding in check until the morning. At last I climb the stairs and flop into bed, asleep before my head hits the pillow.


Christmas Morning, 7:30 a.m.
I am deeply, deeply asleep when I first sense that someone is there. I cannot open my eyes but I mumble something.

Disembodied Voice: ---Christmas! Mummy, it's Christmas!

I grumble and groan.

Disembodied Voice: It's morning!

I open my eyes, just a slit. I see Kai wide awake and dancey and bright. I can't help but smile.

Me: Merry Christmas, sweetie. Come snuggle with me.

And she does, and I am thanking god that my kids are not early risers, because I know early rising children get up unspeakably early on Christmas. The next hour is a blur of half-sleep, Kai bubbling over with excitement, joined by Taavi and Eli at some point, and all of them clamoring with growing urgency for us to get up. When even Caiman has joined the effort I drag myself out of bed; Caiman gallantly offers to make coffee, and I splash my face with water.

And this is another tiny bit of Christmas I love: the moment I sit down on the couch and take my first sip of coffee, when the big pile of presents under the tree is still neat and pretty and the kids are waiting for the okay to delve into their stockings. This Christmas Cath and Rae have joined us, bringing fresh-baked nissu because they are the best girls in the world. My mug is nice and warm; I cradle it in both hands, and finally take that first sip. "Okay," I say, and the kids take to their stockings, and so it begins.

Hope everyone celebrating Christmas had a very merry one, as we did. We are now a little bit fatter, awash in new kids' books, looking forward to guitar lessons (Hugh & Eli) and drum lessons (Caiman) and busy playing Apples to Apples and Monopoly (world version, with credit cards instead of play money). Oh, and playing with RC mini laser battle helicopters (Chris, you can come over and play anytime). Heading to Twain Harte for snow fun on Monday -- if I don't post from there then Happy New Year, all!

Nick update: Consider this an after-Christmas special deal: you, yes YOU, can be THE person to put us over the $10k goal. Because check out the Goal-o-Meter! Do it, and let me know in the comments that you've done it, and I will send you a very special prize!