Christmas Resolutions

If you have ever read this blog around the holidays you know that I sometimes - okay usually - have trouble mustering the holiday spirit. Some years I have put it all out there in an effort to create a hopefully contagious holiday spirit. Tinsel, candles, trees big and small, wreaths on every window, doormats, reindeer antlers, Christmas quilts, carols, carols, carols. Other years I have done next to nothing (always a tree, always) and just waited for the Christmas spirit to greet me.

This year I have chosen a different tack. On December 1, the same day we'll start the countdown on our Advent calendar and anticipate the arrival of General Jolly Apple Snowball (our "elf on the shelf"), I am going to start 25 days of random acts of kindness. That probably doesn't need much explanation, but humor me. My plan is to do something random and kind each day. I don't want it to revolve around money - for the most part anyone can hand a homeless person $5 - although I'm sure some days will.

To be truthful this is a selfish exercise. My hope is that these little acts will help me remember what's important - gratitude, kindness, hospitality, humanity, generosity - and by the end of December maybe I can reflect back on time well spent instead of lamenting my choice of holiday decorations.

Prayers Nonetheless

So Abby has developed the bad habit of saying "Oh my God." I know. In the scheme of things, not an awful thing. When a child says God in a prayer or a hymn, it's precious. When it's said because Ariel lost her crown or the Beast can't find his boots, it's precocious.

She wanted to take a banana muffin in the car this morning and of course, oh my God, she dropped it. I reminded her that we don't say "Oh my God" because God doesn't like it when we use His name that way. We should only say God in prayer or song.

"But I do say God in prayers?" she argued.

"Really? Do you talk to God in your prayers?"

"Yes. I say, 'God, give me a Barbie.'"

Bike On

I can now safely say we made it through last week's Ride Your Bike To School week. And yes, when I say "we" I mean it because Bryon and I biked, walked, jogged, cajoled, encouraged, and begged our way through the week right along with Jake and Sam.

The idea was to have the kids ride to school, get a punch in a card and by week's end, if they had biked four or more days, they got a parade, a prize and root beer float at a nearby restaurant.

Day one was exhilarating. Day two, proud. Day three, "Are we still doing this?" Day four, I was praying that day five would be rained out.

It's not that I don't enjoy biking, or enjoy the kids biking. I actually found it quite fun - it created a palpable buzz at the school. Parents on bikes, kids on bikes, sponsors and volunteers on the corners cheering the kids as they rode by.

But I'm not an aggressive cyclist. I consider it whimsical and romantic. I like to ride a bike in a skirt for Pete's sake. I found this adolescent Tour de France mentally and physically exhausting. For one thing my kids pay no attention to cycling rules. For them it's best when they weave from left to right and coast from sidewalk to street to sidewalk. For them there is no such thing as right of way or heed or stop.

And then there's the backpacks. The backpacks Sam and Jake carry are heavier than anything I carried in college, let alone elementary school. There are folders and library books and permission slips and lunchboxes. One particular day I had Sam's backpack strapped on my back and Jake's messenger bag across my shoulder when it started slipping and swinging. I was desperately trying to maintain my balance (truth be told, I was a little panicked). The way I was steering I must've looked like I was avoiding land mines. "What do you have in here Jake? It's so heavy!"

Turns out he got to take home the class Halloween pumpkin. I was carrying a full-size pumpkin and it was swinging and swaying between my knees like a heavy teat. If it wasn't so funny, it would've been really funny.

Despite the forecast day five was not rained out. We made it to school, punched our fifth punch and Sam and Jake giddily picked out their bike prizes. But the best part - the part that really did make the effort worthwhile - was Friday afternoon when all the kids and parents rode en masse to claim their root beer floats. As we rounded the corner near the restaurant volunteers cheered everyone on.

After a little celebrating, eating and photo opps, it started raining.

An Open Letter To the Jerk Who Stole My Purse

Hello. I hope you enjoyed your early morning shopping spree at Target, Office Max and Best Buy. I hope the items you purchased with my credit card bring joy and pride to you and your family. Had you spent $100 at Kroger, I might feel differently.

I also hope you are enjoying the 300 photos of my family that were on my iPhone. Maybe you've been watching the Bugs Bunny cartoons, funny videos or Wizard of Oz clips I downloaded for Abby.

While you're rummaging around my purse, can you please RSVP to the birthday party invitations that were in there? Or maybe you are too busy reading the copy of The Help I took to Jake's choir practice yesterday.

I'm sure you won't think twice when you throw away the pumpkin drawing Jake made in church yesterday or my insurance card, since it is no use to you. Or my work badge, which of course, I can reorder with a valid driver's license. Oh wait, you have that too.

Thank you you for putting me in such a sour mood. Thank you for my renewed mistrust. I will be sure to look suspiciously at everyone I don't know.

Lastly, I hope you rest well tonight. With your new big screen TV or video games or office supplies. Rest well, knowing that if by some miracle I ever find out who you are, I'm going to punch you in the face.