Choir concert; Santa visit

Paris and Athena performed at their school's choir concert. If you look closely, you can see Paris by the microphone saying his speaking part. (Yes, I need a better camera. We looked at some better ones at Costco, but it was time consuming, and I suddenly realized that we had been in Costco for 2 hours--which meant (1) we were spending too much money and (2) we needed to get home and pick up Paris, who was playing at a friends. We let Paris take the cell phone with him to his friends' and I called on the way to let him know we'd be picking him up soon. When he didn't answer I was slightly annoyed. Turns out, he didn't answer because he had accidently dropped the cell phone in the toilet, and it was no longer working--why, oh, why didn't we buy insurance for their phone?!--But Brian salvaged it by putting the phone in a bag of rice--it draws all the water out--who knew?) Anyway, it was a nice little concert, and Paris and Athena did a great job. Athena sang with the descant(sp?) group (they sang the song in a higher key). Just as an aside--apparently, it's PC to sing songs about Hannukah--but not ANY songs that have to do with the birth of Christ, just sleigh bells and Christmas shopping.

On Saturday, we went to Camden and saw Santa. Yes, Camden. I know that that can be a scary part of town, but Tritan was doing a youth service project at the branch building in Camden--he helped out in one of the craft rooms and so we took Paulie and the rest there. It beats the mall, anyhow. They had a nice set-up with crafts, Santa, and breakfast.

How to be the best Mom...

It's a week into December and the kids are wondering when the Christmas tree is going to go up. So you unload it from the box and put it half-way up, just to whet their appetite. They ask, "When are we going to finish putting up the tree?" while you are sweeping the kitchen floor. "I don't know," you reply. " I need to mop this floor. Do you see these drops of chocolate milk, and the spots under the counter? Someone has to mop this up." Suddenly, you have volunteers to mop the floor. Calmly finish making dinner while they mop.

"When are we going to put up the tree?" they ask while you switch over the laundry. "I don't know. I have to finish this laundry." Suddenly, you have volunteers to fold the laundry. Take this moment to clean up dinner.

"When are we going to put up the tree?" they ask, as you lie on the couch, hands over your eyes. "I don't know. I'm so tired--I was up late while you went to a church party." Suddenly, they are very quiet for a blessed half hour.

So you get up and you finish putting up the tree an hour and a half before their bedtime. You call them in and they come in running, as excited as if it is Christmas morning. You pull out the ornaments, and they put them on. You ask them why they think there are lights on the tree, and they say "It's like hope." "It's like all the families in the world." "To keep you warm." and you say "That's a great idea" each time. You ask them what they think Mrs. Claus does while Santa is delivering toys and they say, "She sits in a chair and waits", "She makes hot cocoa for him to come home to", and "She makes out with the elves." Then you find a Santa hat and Paris goes upstairs and Santa comes back downstairs, and tells you that the tree looks good.

They ask why we aren't drinking egg nog like we always do when we decorate the tree and you remind them that we don't even have milk in the house since their father is working out of town over the weekend and he is the designated errand-runner, especially when it is freezing and raining/snowing out (the sky couldn't make up his mind). And the kids will all assure you that no egg nog is needed.

At last, the angel is put on top the tree, ornament density is rearranged, and the tree is proclaimed Finished. Now all the kids will hug you and tell you that you are the Best Mom Ever. And Thank You So Much for the tree.

I Love Christmas.

Dad learns a lesson from Huckleberry Finn

Why is it there are some chores, like hanging Christmas lights and cleaning gutters, strapped to the roof with a rope--or putting together IKEA furniture that the kids will do willingly, excitedly--and others like taking out the trash or unloading the dishwasher that I have to practically beg them to do?

Now we are 6!

I can't believe Apollo is 6. He is madly eating vegetables lately in an effort to outgrow Paris--and I have to say I think it may be working. He is a good 4 inches taller than last year. He wants to be tall so badly, to be big ("Only 3 more birthdays til I'm 10"--creative counting, so he can be older than Paris too). I feel guilty sometimes because I am secretly glad he is still light enough and small enough to carry downstairs in the morning, and lift him off the ground in a bear hug when he comes barreling out of the bus at the end of the day. It's not that I want a baby--oh, heavens, no--it's just that I always knew he was our last, and I want to savor every last drop.

When I had Apollo, 3 years after Paris, I had every intention of rocking him to sleep by the window, gazing down at the street, watching the other children play in the yard. For some reason, I thought 3 years was an eternity between kids--perhaps because the other 3 were all 18 months apart--and I thought I would have all the time in the world to bask in his baby goodness. But I forgot about preschool schedules, and half-day kindergarten, and ballet lessons, and soccer practices, and poor Apollo was rocked to sleep by the car everyday, not by me. Add YW President into the equation and it was Daddy, not me, that took care of him most nights.

Still, my blue-eyed boy, you are loved and cherished

for a face that can write a book with one look

for the quiet perseverance of coloring a page, background and all

for your hugs and your kisses

and yes, even your tears and your growls,

for your insistence for laughter and games,

for eating your vegetables with relish,

for sleeping without blankets,

and hating underwear,

for hiding cereal

and sneaking fruit snacks,

for your passion for parties,

and your ability to hold a grudge.

From the streak of blond in your hair,

to your ears, just a little too big,

to blue eyes and bright smiles,

to your tiny hands tucked into mine,

to your lightning fast legs riddled with bruises,

to your tiniest toes--

I breathe you in,

and taste marshmallows and sunshine.

Happy birthday, Apollo.

Thanks Grandma Pat!

Thanks Aunt Alyssa!

Thanks Grandma Linda!