The Right Idea

So last night Bryon and I decided on an impromptu shopping trip. I wasn't really up for it because, try as I might, I'm a Scrooge. And to top it off, there were two accidents on the tollway that made the typically 15-minute drive to the playplace 60 minutes. The kids would be hungry, it would be late, Bryon and I wouldn't have much time. I was spiralling into one of those completely self-inflicted holiday meltdowns. (Pity the poor drivers in those car accidents. You get the feeling many of us were thinking how dare they inconvenience us on our way to shopping and dining. I wonder how many of us paused to think about how inconvenient a car accident would be at 6 p.m. a few days before Christmas.)

But as Sam and I were inching up the tollway to meet Bryon and the "wee ones," I heard Sam say to no one, "There is joy in my heart."

And that's what it's all about, right.

Joy you can't contain. Joy you have to express. Enjoying whatever time you have. Looking at the decorations along the road, even though you are going 5 mph. Listening to Christmas carols with the windows rolled down and a perfect breeze blowing through the car. Enjoying the crowds and the people and the generous kind spirit that can pervade this time of year if you let it. Enjoying the shopping, the gift-giving, the construction paper Christmas trees and whopperjawed gingerbread houses your kids make from milk cartons. Not fretting that your Christmas cards weren't sent out on time but smiling at what beautiful, healthy kids you have.

So, that is my holiday wish to whoever happens upon this post. Regardless of what you believe or who you believe in, I hope come January 1, you can say that you enjoyed your family, that you drank a cup of cocoa leisurely, that you decorated cookies and watched It's a Wonderful Life and took a nap covered with an obnoxious holiday blanket. That you walked out to get the morning paper in pajamas and slippers and could see your breath but you paused to recognize how marvelously blue the sky was.

And that you do it all with joy in your heart.

Happy Birthday Sam

Today is Sam's 6th birthday. A blogger I like writes monthly letters to her young daughter. This one's for you Sam.

It's hard for me to think of you at any other age than what you are right now - a 6-year-old. You are so sweet to Jake and Abby. I watched you sit across from her on the floor last night, play pattycake and talk baby talk, and it is obvious she loves you very much. I can tell that sometimes you are walking that hard line between acting like a big kid and letting your emotions get the best of you. I don't know if it is because there are 3 of you now, or because you are so sufficient, but I realize you've been lost in the shuffle lately. I had hoped that you and I would be able to spend some one-on-one time together each day, but I don't think I'm using our time wisely. I'm going to work on that. I'm going to be more patient and more interested in your video games and action figures. I won't get frustrated when you lollygag over your homework. I'm not going to let you go to bed without a hug and a kiss and an "I love you." I'm going to appreciate the smart, funny, perceptive kid you are becoming. I hope you'll be patient with me too.

I'm proud of you and I love you and even though I wish I could stop time, I look forward to watching you grow and learn and change. I know I'm supposed to be your mom first and foremost, but I can't wait to be your friend too.

The Pest

I have always tried to enforce table manners with Sam and Jake. I don't ask much - sit forward in your seat, use your fork, ask to be excused, take your plate to the kitchen. But nearly every time Sam sits down to eat, I have to remind him several times to sit in his chair. Otherwise, he's half in, half out, leaning on one toe, resting on one cheek. For some reason this bothers me. It probably wouldn't under normal circumstances, but when you ask 1,460 times ... well, it gets annoying.

Last night at dinner was no exception. After I'd asked him the second time, I tried another approach.

"Sam, why do I have to remind you several times during each meal to sit properly in your seat? It has really become a pet peeve of mine."

"What's a pet peeve?" he asked.

"Well, it's something that may not bother other people but bothers you a lot. And it could be very small. Do you have a pet peeve?" I asked him.

"Jake," he said.

Not the answer I was looking for, but a good answer nonetheless.

S&*#

Lately Sam and Jake really enjoy each other's company. They were walking down the hall together yesterday when Sam put his arm around Jake and said they were just like Han Solo and Chewbacca (or Chockalocka, as Jake calls him).

So it didn't really surprise me when we pulled into the garage last night and Sam was dismayed that Jake wasn't home from school. What did surprise me, however, was how he verbalized it.

"When are those guys gonna be home, for Christ's sake?"

I put my forehead on the steering wheel and thought for a minute before asking one of the most stupid and obvious questions.

"Sam, where have you heard that?"

"You."

Head back on steering wheel. Think. Think. Think.

"Sam, let's both work on not saying that. It's not nice and surely there is something else, something silly, we can say when we are frustrated, okay?"

"OK, I heard you say it. I didn't know it was bad ... Jesus."

Return head to steering wheel.