Somethingber 24 / Merry Christmas

Yesterday, driving to my mother-in-law's house for Christmas Eve brunch, we had our annual "I can't believe it's Christmas Eve; it doesn't feel like Christmas" discussion. We have it every year, on our way to her house.

And with the weather doing strange 50-degree yo-yos this week -- from temperatures in the 50s to 2 degrees with a -23 windchill, back up to the 50s by Saturday -- it really didn't feel like Christmas.

With the distraction of an uncertain workplace -- and truly, the distraction of the commercial side of Christmas and the "have-to-do" tasks of Christmas -- every year is different and busy and I find myself on December 24 and it doesn't really quite feel like Christmas.

We were saying that, except for a few distinct moments this month, it really just felt like "Somethingber" -- meaning, some nondescript late-in-the-year month that could be September or could be December or anything in between. Somethingber.

But then the magic of Christmas happened. We got dressed up and sat in a candle-lit church. We smiled at friends and sang songs we don't need the missalette to know the words for. We listened to readings that proclaim the birth of Christ.

We headed home in the dark, to a house filled with Christmas music. We put out a plate of cookies. Husband read a story to the girls. I tucked them all snug in their beds. Husband and I sat in the dark with the tree lights glowing and talked in quiet tones about the coming excitement.

And then, at last, it all clicks into place and once again, it feels like Christmas.

We can't believe how fast and ninja-like December 25 gets here every year. But get here it does. I can imagine that those who don't have traditions that they do every year -- or faith or religion, which gives such built-in and rich traditions -- well, maybe it never feels like Christmas to them.

We go to sleep, weary from the preparations and from the year (and by this time of the year, aren't we all ready for a new one?) -- and in the silence of the night, with the coming of another Christmas day, Somethingber passes away and it's December 25. And we celebrate and commemorate and store it all in our hearts for next year.

Does it grow on trees?

Pupzilla just jumped onto Husband's lap with something in her mouth.

He said, "Drop it!" and she spit out a neatly folded dollar bill.

I said, "Listen to me closely, Pupzilla. Do it again. And again. And again."

Oh, if only it were that simple.

Mean Girls

The Princess saw two girls from her old school that she hasn't seen in a while after church tonight. Not a minute into the conversation, one of them decided to tell her that one of The Princess' friends has been telling all of the girls at basketball that, since she switched schools, The Princess is being prissy and a mean girl.

Now, I ask you, Who is the mean girl? Why would you come at someone like that?

I told The Princess, you have to consider several angles here:
1. This girl could be lying. She supposedly quit basketball anyway, so how would she be around to hear the gossip.
2. The girl could be telling the truth. She needs to deal with her friend (and not this other girl) about whether or not her friend has an issue with The Princess.
3. Make sure that things are right with her and don't worry one bit about the girl from church.

I really don't think that The Princess is being a mean girl at school. I figure it's most likely more one of those cases of friends who make new friends and spend time with others and the jealousy and drama that 6th grade creates.

Oh, I know that this is just the beginning. And that I have 2 daughters to guide through the maze and mire of girls and how mean they can be.

I've been mulling the idea of letting The Princess watch the movie "Mean Girls" because it is so spot-on. And while there is swearing and some level of inappropriateness, I think the lesson would be worth it for her to see.

Anything to prevent them from going through half of what I endured.

Mothers really DO know everything

File this in a file close to the "eyes in the back of my head" folder:

I was taking a nap this afternoon, trying desperately to pretend that I'm not getting a cold. I was 1/2 a flight of stairs away from the kitchen.

I heard a rattle, a thud, and something sliding across the kitchen floor.

I yelled downstairs "That sounded an awful lot like candy."

I hear the purposefully-tiny voice that The Dictator uses to stay out of trouble reply: "maybe."

It really was candy, and The Dictator is still in awe of the fact that I knew. Quite frankly, I am in awe of the fact that I knew.

Eyes on the back of my head. Bionic ears. Where's my cape and secret lair??

Merry Christmas from The Princess and The Dictator

Called Out

The Faithful Alligator: Dictator, you cannot eat your meat speared on the fork like that. I will not have you eating like a savage. Cut your meat up. That's embarrassing.

Husband: It is.

The Princess: Yeah, it's embarrassing.



Dictator: Sissy, are you saying that just to fit in????

Absent

My blog has been silent, as my thoughts have been whirling.

For a week, it was hushed conversations in the dark -- discussing plans for Thanksgiving, ideas for Christmas, time to talk uninterrupted.

For the girls, it was talk of travel toothbrushes, Grandma's, and the planned sleepover with their cousin over the extended visit to Pennsylvania.

For me, in particular, it was the 20th class reunion (from HS) -- realizing that no one is as mean or hurtful as they used to be; that it's difficult to make small talk with people you don't quite trust yet, in the midst of a crowded, smoky bar; that I'd be an alcoholic if I had to be a professional reunion attender.

Still, ongoing, it's the unknown job situation for me -- not knowing if I'll have a job come the new year. I'm not really worried so much as just trying to figure out what we'll do if I lose it. How much will insurance through Husband cost? Would it be worth getting Dental? How much would I have to make in order for us to be okay?

All in all, the blog gets lost in the daily life. Oh, and the pressure of thinking up the yearly Christmas letter.