Archive for December, 2006
…. the new name of my home formerly known as the house of perpetual remodeling. Decorating eight rooms of my house for Christmas is a labor of joy. Taking it all down and packing it up usually is too. When the kids were small, Pap would load the kids in the car and spend three days at his mother’s while I returned order to the house. As teenagers, my crowd learned to make themselves scarce or be recruited into pack mules. This year, they’ve all gone insane and I’m one piece of tinsel from insuring that I will end my life as a childless widow.
The two grandgirls that live here still have Christmas toys scattered hither and yon that they swear will not fit in their room. Evil Isobelle has finally lost interest in the tree ornaments and favors instead the small pieces of all three doll houses. There are Bratz feet, pony brushes and Tinker Belle herself popping up in every room. As if this isn’t enough mess, Princess decided to sand and restain her bedroom floor and tear out and retexture her ceiling on a whim. The materials for all this work are stacked in the library; the plaster dust is mingling with the regular dust from her room down the stairs to the dining room where she’s set up the circular saw. Her furniture and junk has been relocated to MY bedroom, the hall and stair landing. Pap has cooked enough casseroles and soups to feed a third world country and left the cleaning up for me. The chaos has reached such proportion that my dog won’t even stay inside. He’s curled up on a bench on the porch.
Attacking this problem with a bucket and mop would make more sense than writing about it, but I can’t even do that. On Friday afternoon, Grandgirls Mom and her sister, Michelle, showed up with Juliette and Brendolyn to plead for my babysitting services. My daughter Michelle and her husband are teachers. Those that teach know it isn’t the highest paying job in America, especially when you’re young and trying to raise a family. To make a little extra cash, my son-in-law started a t-shirt business. He makes and sells team shirts out of their home and at tournaments. An ambitious fellow, when he saw how much money he could make at one tournament, he decided to schedule himself into two tournaments every weekend which means Michelle must take care of one of them. Worked fine until she got pregnant, now she can’t carry the press or buckets of shirts…hence, the recruitment of Grandgirl’s Mom. So into the insanity strolls the very busy and sneaky three-year-old and the baby. Brendolyn, who between Christmas and today has decided she has quite a lot to say and isn’t happy unless you’re in her face yakking it up. Like a dog, Brendolyn doesn’t care what you’re saying as long as you say it in a pleasant tone of voice.
I’m not a neat freak, but this kind of disorder gives me eyeball ticks. Somebody send the Health Department, if they’ll condemn it now, I’ll be able to get some sleep before New Year’s Eve.
425 days to freedom…. One year, two months until I’ve completed the term of my day job, finished and mailed the annual report of my last year to the state auditor and strolled home to write full time. Thank you for asking.
Yesterday I opened my e-mail and found the saddest news. Our Town Living, the local newspaper I freelance for, has gone out of business. They just couldn’t generate enough advertising dollars to keep afloat. I’ll miss this paper for more than just the extra money I earned writing for it. OTL was a paper filled with encouraging news and the stories of people making a contribution to our community. It was the first publication that paid me to write. A door has closed for me, but another has opened…
Just after Thanksgiving, I met with a Doctor who was looking for an editor for his children’s book. He definately needed an editor, but the theme of his story is something I have never seen addressed in children’s literature. He worries about copyrights, and I don’t have his permission to even say this much, but since then we have added an artist and a musician and in about three months, I think our team might just have a little something to brag about.
The case of the haunted nutcracker is finally solved! As you know, he sits on an old cabinet in the dining room with a crowd of other nutcrackers and some decorative greenery. He’s supposed to face the table, but turns and looks at the Christmas tree or falls off the cabinet completely several times a day. Okay… once we started packing up the greenery and some of his buddies, I noticed that his stand is not completely flat. Its warped only the tiniest bit, just enough that when you combine the moving air from the ceiling fan that is always running in there, with the movement of his cabinet when people and pets walk by, he starts to rock. Just a little, a jitter really, rather than a rock. While he’s jittering he’s bumping into the other Nutcrackers and greenery which ricochets him into a turn. Scientists would have figured this out long ago and saved me grief. Jeesh, that’s what I get for hanging out with a bunch of writers instead.
426 days to freedom.
This mess is what it looked like AFTER they tidied up. Whew, what a nice Christmas, the grandgirls got everything they wanted (most in duplicate, one set at each grannie’s house…we don’t spoil ’em or anything). I didn’t burn anything this year. Pap was on his best, most jolly, behavior. We forgot the camera through most of the excitement, so I have many pictures of misc. heads with paper flying everywhere. Luckily, this one can’t move around much:
Brendolyn has decided she loves Christmas. Lots of people around to hold her and two new friends!
Juliette (age 3) was on hyper drive by the time we got to opening presents. Her first package happened to be clothes. She tore off the paper and screamed “HOORAY, I GOT A BOX!”
Jazz and Bri, at 7 & almost 9, were way too cool to actually yell about great presents…until they opened the boxes with Bella Dance and Bella Cheer in them. They went totally ballistic. That was a gift from their mother, I’m so proud of her.
Santa has come, delivered the loot, ate the cookies, watered the reindeer and gone. It’s nearly two in the morning, and while I know there will be three spunky little ladies hurtling down the stairs in just a few hours, I just can’t sleep.
Part of my insomnia is just my love of Christmas. By this time tomorrow it will be over. I’ll start to notice that there’s dust on the Nutcrackers. The candles will be burned down to stubs. The tree, once adorned with colorful packages, will be nothing more than a cat ravaged pine hunkering over a single broken bulb.
A sliver of my insomnia is caused by the fear that I have or will miss something. I won’t hear the gasps of surprise and shining eyes when the grandgirls first see what Santa brought. I might have forgotten to make something on tomorrow’s menu that must be chilled overnight.
I can’t sleep because it was a fun Christmas Eve. From goofing in the kitchen while we ruined not one, but two batches of fudge to an intense conversation regarding whether the note from Santa could be done on the computer (“Santa would have a laptop…duh!” Princess concluded), it was fun to make Christmas with two of my girls, one of which, just last year, was my lost child.
I can’t sleep because once again, I have a lost child. The loss of my son on this holiday weighs more heavily on my heart than the loss of my girl ever did. We missed her with the frantic intensity you feel when a child has wandered away from you in the grocery store. Hysterical, and scared, but comforted by the thought that you’ll find her and she is just as scared and desperate to find you. My son has rejected us. Has found the family so inconsequential that he’d rather spend the day alone, than drive the hour it takes to get home. I don’t understand, I’m worried about him.
Tomorrow, I’ll laugh and talk and play and eat with the children and grandchildren who want to be with me. But tonight my mind is on my lonely lost son who went away to college four years ago, and just can’t seem to find his way back home.
The grandgirls are off to their assorted deadbeat Dads for the night. The presents are wrapped, the meetings are over, and the kitchen resembles a well stocked bakery. My grown kids have departed for the movies, sadly, without my son who is determined to steal his own joy…though he now claims it’s “work” that keeps him in the City. Pap is shopping and the house is mine. No better opportunity to say Thank You, to everyone who’s shared their life with me this year through this crazy medium of blogging.
Thank you for reminding me that the world is just a tiny place filled with human beings much like me, all doing their best to carve out a life. Thank you for your support when my days were bad, and for making me laugh with your comments and posts. Thank you for sharing your opinions on many topics and proving that people can agree to disagree and still remain friends.
I wish you health and happiness in the coming New Year. And I look forward to walking vicariously with you as we all grow and change for twelve more months. Merry Christmas everybody! Play us out Santa….
(If I wasn’t technologically challenged, this guy would be serenading you with Joy to the World from his bagpipes. Some of you may be very glad I have a technological infirmity…)
My friend, Clay Guy, is remodeling a house on Main Street that used to be occupied by two single girls. Last weekend another friend of ours who happens to have a full white beard, was doing some work on the roof, diligently watched by the small boy next door. As he was coming down the ladder at the end of the day he heard the little boy talking to his mother:
“Momma, what did those girls next door do?” he asked.
“Do? What makes you think they “did” something?”
“Well, Santa’s been on the roof all day sealing up their chimney!”
The Zanesville Community Theaters Angel Tree Project beat last years record! More toys for kids who wouldn’t have any without their help. The show was really nice, even (especially) without me. It is the theater’s tradition to include a nativity scene in every Angel Tree production. Since this year’s show was totally a musical, Mary, Joseph and the baby came out during a series of nativity related songs. It was choreographed so beautifully. A simple tableau of young parents in traditional nativity garb, totally focused on their newborn baby, oblivious to the choirs of contemporary people in jeans and sweaters singing and moving around them. Towards the end of this scene, it was the teenagers who were singing. Mary made eye contact with the girls closest to her for the first time and then gently handed one of them the baby, who handed it to another, each of them rocking and cuddling this newborn king. What a simple, powerful way to illustrate the timeless message of a savior’s birth. Bravo ZCT!
Speaking of Nativity Scenes. I’ve always owned one and when my kids were small we used to assign each of them a character. Their wise man, shepherd, angel, whatever…would start in the middle of the table on December 1st, for every day they were good, their character moved closer to the creche on the window, when they were bad, they moved backwards away from the manger scene. The goal was to be in place to see the baby Jesus on Christmas Eve. The girls loved this tradition and would kill themselves being good to move their character. My son…well there’s another story. We had to discontinue the tradition when he was six and he’d misbehaved so much that his character had back stepped its way to the neighbors by Christmas Eve.