Twas The Week Before Christmas

'Twas the week before Christmas when all through the town,

Viruses were threatening to take everyone down. 

The moms had been busy with weeks of preparation, 

Stressing and hoping for the perfect celebration. 

The children were sneezing and dripping with goo, 

Touching doorknobs and handrails and holding hands too. 

Mama in her wisdom declared a new rule: 

No one may bring any germs home from school!

Mom worried, "The family fete will soon be here

Infectious pathogens are what I now fear."

A possible solution-   keep everything clean

Time to institute a mini- quarantine.

When sneezes were heard, "Into your elbow", she cried!

When noses were wiped, "Wash your hands", she would chide!

There was NO sharing of food or drinks with anyone.

Not EVEN mother with daughter or father with son.

"If you're going to get sick", she declared, "quickly do!"

"There's still enough time for the doctor to see you!"

A throat glowing red like famous Rudolf's nose?

A course of antibiotics can quickly fix those.

A stomach that's churning and heaving about?

Hold the bucket very close until it's all out.

With so much to do, Mom was wringing her mittens

If someone got sick she would surely have kittens!

Crossing her fingers, crossing her toes,

Feeling their foreheads, blowing her nose.

Mom was so worried about the celebration

(But  it wouldn't be Christmas without  desperation.)

Mom watched and hoped as the days passed

While everyone (with Lysol spray) she gassed. 

With determination and force of will

She somehow kept all from falling ill. 

On Christmas Eve dawn all arose.

Pale of cheeks and red of nose. 

BUT! No fever to spread to our family so dear!

Christmas is coming- it's almost here!

Whew! So...

The stockings were hung by the chimney with cheer

And our elf's time to depart was soon drawing near. 

Just a few more hours to strive for perfection!

Then all can nosedive into infection!

I heard her whisper as under the covers she nestled 

"Thank goodness I have a whole year to rest-le!"

Merry Christmas to All!


P.S.  One of our unwanted traditions is of holiday illness(es).  (If you have children, I'm sure it's a tradition at your house too!)  Every year, we are biting our nails wondering, "Will our house be safe to host our family?!?"  This year, I was more organized than in past years.  (When I was counting on using every school day to prepare and a child home sick would throw me into a panic!)  But that backfired!  In a new twist, I was the sick one this year!  But, with panic comes adrenaline- a mom's best friend. I hope you all have a Merry Christmas.  (And get some well deserved rest!)

P.P.S.  Here is a picture of a Christmas candy dish at our house- filled with Luden's cough drops!

Waxing Tent?

     I haven't watched Survivor since the first season or two.  But whenever I see the commercials I always wonder:  Do they have a behind the scenes grooming tent? Did you ever wonder that?  
     It seems the girls always wear tiny bikinis as every day clothing.  Making shelters, catching food and competing in eliminations. In tiny bikinis.  With stretching and bending.   I don't see any armpit beards.  Or furry legs.  How do they do that?  We're supposed to believe that these people are "stranded".  But you know the camera people all have nicer places to sleep.  I believe that there is also a waxing tent.  How else could these women stay so smooth?
     Okay, yes, they could have brought razors with them.  But they are always in beach locales.  Have you ever going swimming in the ocean right after shaving?  It's like scratching yourself up and jumping in rubbing alcohol.  How would you shave in the ocean?  Gives me the shivers just thinking about it.
     I imagine there are clauses in the contract guaranteed to make good and pretty TV...

Good TV clause:  You will eat whatever disgusting thing we provide.  
Pretty TV clause:  Women will visit the grooming tent once a week for a full wax, buff and shine. 
Good TV:  You will fight with everyone.  
Pretty TV:  Vote off the older and larger people first.  
Good TV:  Cry and accuse.  
Pretty TV:  One piece bathing suits must be worn not more that 5% of your total time on the island.  
Good TV:  No one will laugh when Jeff P. gets all serious when snuffing a torch.  
Pretty TV: Women will jump up and down a lot during their elimination challenges. Even if the challenges do not involve jumping.  (Pretend you are cold.)

     

Old/Odd Christmas Memories

            In our house, we celebrate Christmas.  (Both the Santa part and the Jesus part.)  It is our favorite time of the year.  For the kids, there is an element of predictability in our celebrating that’s comforting as well as the promise of parties, sweets and, best of all, presents.  For us, there are the warm fuzzy memories of past Christmases with loved ones, recreating aspects of our own youth and creating new traditions of our own.

As with any religious holiday, we have certain things that we do the same way every year.  Sometimes we follow a ritual scripted by our religious beliefs.  For example, Jesus isn’t part of our nativity scene until Christmas morning.  He sleeps in my grandmother’s teacup until he’s born.  (One year, the Wise men started out across the room and journeyed slowly to the scene.  That was my daughter’s idea and too much work for me!)  We also keep our tree up until “Little Christmas”- January 6^th- the day the Wise Men finally reached Jesus.  We read the Christmas story and try to remember that that is why we give and get presents- to celebrate Jesus’ birthday.

Beyond the religious observance, there are certain moments that are Christmas to me.  Memories spring up that I then HAVE to recount to my kids.  In fact, the telling becomes it’s own tradition.  As we look for our tree, I remember trudging through the little Christmas tree business that sprang up on an empty lot near our house.  It was always so exciting to go but then frustrating because my mom wanted to find the perfect tree.  I just wanted to get it home and up.  I loved listening to Christmas records and being together while we unwrapped and remembered each ornaments “story”.  (I still love this part.) This meant Christmas really was coming and felt like our own party. 

It seemed to take forever for my mother to get the perfect tree.  An eternity of trudging up and down aisles and getting covered with sap as we asked, “How about this one?” To be fair to my mother, the entire thing could’ve only taken minutes.  Or maybe it seemed so long because the experience was a carbon copy from year to year and they all added up to one long memory?  I’m not picky on our tree hunt and think that every tree is beautiful once our things are on it but I wonder how my kids would tell it?  Maybe later they will complain about our crooked misshapen trees?

When we get the tree home and into the stand, there are always the adjustment arguments.  My husband lies under the tree while we shout “More to the left.  No, the other left!” That moment is like a time machine to me.  Suddenly I am back in my brown-paneled childhood living room watching my father lie under our tree:  My mother is trying to tell my father which way to adjust it and somehow it’s like they are speaking different languages.  Her instructions don’t match what he does and he always ends up pissed off and cursing!  

While she would hate me telling this and would never understand it, this is one of my favorite Christmas memories! There’s something just so funny about it.  It was so Un-Christmasy and yet so them.  The nostalgia makes me want to goad my husband until the expletives fly so I can feel all warm and fuzzy!  But I resist…

There is another memory that is not so very Christmasy though it starts out that way…  When you’re Italian, Christmas Eve is the big night.  A big fish dinner and boisterous relatives.   When I was little, our Italian wing of the family was smaller so our dinners were low key.  Just my Grandpa and aunt came over.  And I don’t know if there was fish.  There must’ve been but, as a child, I was extremely picky- I may have removed the fish from my mental tableau.  

When I was 10, my grandpa died.  The following Christmas going to the cemetery was added to the Christmas Eve schedule.  In my memory, my aunt would come over early in the day to bring my brother and me to the cemetery.  (Really, this could’ve been anytime in the Christmas season but I remember it as Christmas Eve.  Maybe that’s when my parents did their final prep? Any way…)  We would stop, buy two Christmas pine grave blankets and proceed to my grandparent’s section of the giant cemetery. 

After our visit there, we would go to another section where my grandmother’s family was interred.  While we stood over the grave, my aunt would tell us about how these relatives were never as nice to my aunt and her siblings as they were to the other side of the family.  She would remember aloud some of the spitefulness she remembered.  As a child, I felt righteous anger for her.  And I also felt a bit of, “Ha!  And look who visits you?  Are those rotten other children here? No!”  Making up my own narrative of wickedness to fill in the blanks.  Feeling sorry for my younger-imagined, poor, slighted branch of the family. 

I didn’t really think about that as being a tradition but I guess it did become stitched into my Christmases.  Years and years later, after my own mother died, I took my little daughter to the cemetery before Christmas to do the grave blanket thing.  And I decided to make the drive to my grandparent’s cemetery to visit them as well.  At the florist, I purchased a grave blanket and impulsively threw in a smaller decoration.  We visited my grandpa and I told my daughter wonderful stories about him.  When leaving, we drove around the cemetery a bit until I found something familiar looking.  After some searching on foot.  I found my great-relatives.  I gave them the smaller decoration (spitefully?) and then proceeded to tell my daughter how mean they were to my family!  I realized how funny the whole thing was and couldn’t wait to get home and call my aunt in Florida.  “You’d be proud! I visited them BUT made sure to tell of their meanness! And only left a tiny decoration!” It was crazy!

So if there is a lesson in this, I guess it would be that you never know which memories will stick.  We all try so hard to make the holidays perfect for our families.  We try to make new and special memories for them to treasure and always remember.  BUT, sometimes those aren’t the memories that stick!  I do have other wonderful memories of the holidays from when I was young.  One year we made popcorn strings for the birds.  One year I got to play Mary in a church nativity scene. But those memories are more shadowy.  The things that unintentionally happened every year?  Those are the ones that really stuck. 

So while we parents try to package up beautiful, childhood memories for our children to take on their life journey’s, be prepared for the hitchhikers.  Years from now, we’ll be remembering our beautiful version of Christmas and our children will swear it never happened.  They will only remember (once!) that the raccoons got into the cannolis.  (Who left the garage open?)   Or they’ll remember their dad and me sparring over Christmas Eve feast preparations.  Or the year someone little threw up.  But I guess that’s ok.  I treasure my weird memories and they will too…

Children As Exercise Motivation (TMI warning)

           

            Oh, there are lots of good reasons to exercise and I try to remember them as I am dragging myself out the door to go to the gym.  (And again as I am trying to pry my hand off of the car door handle so I can go inside.)  It’s good for me.  It will help keep me healthy.  And young.  And I am modeling a good lifestyle for my kids.  Really, there are lots of ways to use your kids as motivation...

            I am dreading the day when my kids look at a picture of me and say, “Look how young you were!”  (I mean they can do that now with pictures of me when I was 10.  But I’m dreading hearing it when the “me” in the picture is 40!  I’m scared of a time when 40 is young!!) I started going to the gym because I am trying to stay young and healthy and a full part of my kids lives.  Now and later.  I want to know my grandchildren.  (I am planning very far ahead!)

            It would be nice if going to the gym got me all toned too.  But, since I am lazy, I don’t push myself hard enough for that. [Sigh] I need a bigger motivation.  Like… giant guys with whips guarding the doors and not letting me leave.  It doesn’t mean I would exercise harder but I would be running around in circles and climbing the walls trying to escape.  I would be exercising inadvertently. 

            Really, the best motivation is my children.  But not in the ways you think.  I should bring my children to the gym to stand around me and shout out some of the things they’ve said to me over the years:

            “Your belly is so squishy!”  (Said happily so I guess it’s comfy.  Good, because they did it to me.)

            “Your arms are so wobbly!” (Said in a “Huh, look at that” kind of way.)

            “Look how far I can put my finger in your belly button.” (Said with awe and, to be fair to me, she was pushing pretty hard!)

            And, the best one- to laugh at (not to hear) which is why I am sharing it with you!  The one that I should write on a Post-It and stick to the treadmill and stare at for exercise inspiration happened when I was putting on tights.  If you are a female (or a female impersonator), you know that you have to do a bunch of side-to-side bending, tugging and smoothing to get them right.  As I was bending to my side, my youngest walked into my room and saw my back to her and started laughing.  When I asked “What?” She replied, “It looks like you have gills!” 

            I guess it could be my new mantra…  I could chant “gills, gills, gills” to myself while I am watching the clock at the gym.  It would be the opposite of the relaxing, yoga “Ohm”.  It could agitate me and give me more adrenaline….