Things About This Christmas

This is a weird Christmas. It's weird for a lot of reasons, and maybe some that I can't even really explain, but mostly it's weird because it's like three days away and I am not entirely sure what I am doing.

The kids have this Christmas with their dad. It's his turn, and although I am relinquishing them to him, I am doing it grudgingly. Even though on my Christmases with them I whisk them away to the coast and their dad doesn't get to see them at all, I still kind of expect to have them for at least PART of the holiday when they are rightfully his. Because, after all, I am the MOM. But this year, with raised eyebrows and pointed statements, he did insist on his right to keep them the whole time. So I am relatively kidless, which is strange. Christmas without kids is something that I have never experienced. Ever. When I got married, my baby sister was 5, so there have ALWAYS been kids. And now my sister has kids that I can borrow, or show up and crash their Christmas, which I am sure I will do, but as much as I complain about my kids, Christmas without them just plain blows. In fact, most things without them pretty much suck.

Sometimes I am so busy just surviving life with four+ kids that I forget that it is LIFE. And without them it is not. Not that the quiet times when they go away for a few hours isn't a divine intervention into my unraveling sanity, but when they're really gone, it's just... weird.

I realize - no, wait. I have had it pointed out to me, by one of my very astute and possibly bitter children, that I complain about them a lot. "write horrible things about us" was the exact phrase she used. And it made me sad, because really, I never meant to. The "horrible" things are also quite often the funny things to me, and the best way to keep it from being a festering wound that ends unattractively for all of us, I tend to vent in my blog. But I have to remember to vent about the good things. Like Aspen spontaneously scrubbing out the dog water dish when she discovered green algae floating in it. Or Natalee decorating the dogs for the holidays. Or Halle driving to pick up Natalee's friend in what is quite possibly the first errand that one of my children has run for me. HALLELUJAH! Here are the perks of semi-grown children! Driver's licenses! Other good things are when MacKenzie overcomes her will of iron and her pride (both gifts that I bequeathed to her) and tells me she's sorry. And then works on things. And when When quits blaming Aspen for messing things up and voluntarily cleans up Dagny's most recent "accident". These are the good things. Singing the wrong lyrics to pop songs together and playing out soap opera scenarios with the vintage Christmas Candle Angels. Drinking cream soda out of my wine glasses and actually being into old musicals and black and white movies. All these things are good. They are wins. They mean that not only are my children alive so far, they are even COOL. My kids know who Bono is and can categorize Frank Sinatra's musical catalog according to his singing age. They will gladly watch football, hockey, Jimmy Stewart and Peter Paul and Mary. They are quick witted and hilarious. They are independent and curious. They are brave and intelligent. All of them. Even When and my other daughter Amanda. Almost all of them will eat almost anything with minimal complaining, and will try new things. They do their own laundry, and 75% of them even put it away, which is more than I can say.

But back to Christmas. And how weird it is. Because Christmas is Family. And Family is Kids. And Kids are gone. So it's weird. And my sister and her family have Christmas stuff with their other side, and I will probably end up with my adopted kids at the Middlesworths, and it will probably be fine. And fun. But still, weird.

Things That Are (Not) Sacred

We've had this talk before. The one where I remind the children that the fancy, expensive shampoo is mine, and that they are to use the bulk stuff I buy specifically for them. If they want fancy, expensive shampoo then it is up to them to buy their own. We have had the same talk about razors. About bath towels. About makeup. Over and Over and Over again. Which is why it was no surprise to me that when I took a shower yesterday, after cleaning three Persian cat's worth of hair out of the drain, that I was fighting to squeeze the very.last.drops of my fancy, expensive shampoo out of a bottle that had been half full only two days ago. I have few remaining vanities. I get that I am old. And I don't have a  whole lot going for me anymore. But my hair. Which of course is ONLY successful based on the procurement of fancy, expensive shampoo. And when it is gone, along with the money, which was swallowed alive in a comedy of errors we will call Accidental Miscalculation, I am relegated to using the cheap, bulk shampoo, which happens to be Dove right now. I HATE the smell of Dove shampoo. Shampoo is all about the smell, as much as Megan Trainor is about the Bass, shampoo is about the smell. I can't stand Dove. The kids don't mind it, so I get it FOR THEM. But even then, I only get it when I am wandering Walmart (God Forbid) in a feverish state, and I can't smell from the head cold that will certainly kill me before the day is out, so I get the Biggest, Cheapest Bottle of whatever isn't Suave. But next time I am getting Suave. Because since it is readily apparent that I cannot have fancy, expensive shampoo of my own to use, and I refuse to use Dove, and even if I can't smell the flavors, Suave has to be better than what we've got now.

Don't even let me start on the razors.

And the makeup.

and All of The Things.

All of these frustrations are really just opportunities for me to grow, and learn, and become a better person. By not killing any of my children. And discovering new talents.

Yesterday we had our third monthly toilet flooding. This one was the best so far. With swirling poop water standing two inches deep all the way to the back corner of my bedroom, where I was carefully squirreling away the Christmas Presents. By the time I responded to an expletive laced text from Nattie who unwittingly started the flood while I was over at the neighbors, the damage was irreversible. I didn't cry. Well, not til later. Curiously, we had just rolled up our sleeves and embarked on a sugar cookie decorating adventure over at the neighbor's, when I got the text. Two months ago it was pumpkin carving. Apparently even attempts at Holiday Traditions are not sacred to the fates. I think I might ban the use of the toilet for a 24 hour period around such undertakings. Gingerbread houses are on Tuesday. DECORATORS BE WARNED! Maybe I will dig an outhouse before then. Or, as suggested by the many witnesses of this repeat catastrophe, put a drain in the hallway. So I guess I will be hanging out on ehow.com for awhile this morning, educating myself on the nuances of floor drain installation. See! Learning and growing!

In the meantime, between load of poop-infested laundry today, I will be salvaging the few Christmas presents that I was able to get together this year, and write apologetic notes for the poop streaks that may or may not be included in the packaging. Because I care. Happy Holidays. (don't worry DC, your care package escaped unscathed...)

This morning is one of the coldest ones we have had lately, which meant it was absolutely the perfect time for the pellet stove to throw a hissy fit and quit working. Motivated by numb hands, I quickly tore the beast apart and jerry-rigged a solution, so now the stove is reluctantly cranking it out. I wonder how in the world single moms survived before the advent of google, and do-it-yourself videos about ignitor replacement, and without really helpful brother-in-laws. I was able to convince the pellet stove it could get by just fine with what looks like the scarred remnants of a amputated finger for an ignitor remaining. Clearly this is an issue that will need to be addressed more thoroughly in the near future. Probably when the temperatures are at least sub-zero. I am looking forward to that little do-it-myself lesson.

The good news in all of this is that the head cold that seemed determined to take me out has finally subsided, and I can move ahead with fixing All Of the Broken Things without feeling like I just want to crawl under a rock and die. Being mentally functional is somewhat important today as I have PILES of writing that Must Be Done in addition to the poop laundry and masking of Christmas Gift Poop.

So if you need me, I will be over here, on my computer with the rubber gloves on, googling ignitor replacement and drain installation while I am folding towels and writing about the Grand Army of the Republic and locally crafted beer. And I am really sorry if my hair smells like Dove.

 MERRY CHRISTMAS!!