Home Alone

While The Short One and I have been home alone today, and the taller boys in our family have been shooting birds from the sky in West Texas, we have viewed "Bedtime Stories" and watched "Home Alone." I am currently seeing things largely thru the eyes of a 6-year-old.
If I was typing on my newly-acquired Facebook page, I'd tell you "Katy is ... remarking on the complex simplicities of childhood." (Children. They need so much that is really so little.)
1. Snow
2. Ice cream (Those roly plastic soccer balls you toss around that hold ice and 1/2 and 1/2, HOLY COW, really WORK!)
3. Tic Tacs
4. Cheese pizza
5. Christmas
6. A soft blanket
7. All the lights on
8. Family
7. Mom
Otherwise, those children. They make that loud, hand-holding screamy face. And Mom can feel it from miles away.
I like it better this way.
Just me and him.
Laughing.
With ice cream and blankets.

Christmas Gift Spoiler ... MAMA, DO NOT READ!!

Edited 12/27 to add: Those two songs that were questionable on Mama's CD ... the one about "Hushing" that I thought was Til Tuesday and the one about "every man woman and child" and all the Vampire bidness were WRONG. My musician uncle set us straight by assigning the Hush Hush song to Deep Purple. ANd the Let's Work Together song to Canned Heat. Canned Heat?? Who knew??

***

Each year around Thanksgiving, Mama hands me a piece of note paper scratched and scrawled w/ song titles and lyrics. "Have [The Tall One] make this for me," she says. "And it's all I want for Christmas. That's IT!" Every year she collects the songs from the radio, restaurant and department store song loops and we burn those songs onto a CD and give it a clever title and "album" picture. Every year, I'm afraid I'm going to lose the list. And, each year, The Tall One sits at the computer too late at night and cusses at Napster and iTunes for making a shitty product that won't convert or burn or upload. And, then, somehow, we end up w/ a CD to add to Mama's listening collection. A collection w/ which she evacuated Galveston this fall.
She also evacuated w/ this year's list. (The Bible. The family tree. All prescription medicines. And her Christmas CD song list. Oh, and my birthday card. TELL me she's not prepared!!)
So, I've had the list for ... awhile.
"Oh, CRAP, we gotta make Mama's music," I remembered last night.
And, I have to say ... "MAMA, this mix was one of the best!"
Some of the tunes were self-explanatory. "Imagine." (The one that The Tall One DARED to say was performed better by David Archuleta on American Idol last season than John Lennon EVER. I think BOTH versions are excessively depressing.) "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me." (I still know every lyric to that song because I practiced it as a kid, pre-karaoke days, w/ a 45 record on my juke box stereo, just KNOWING I could appear on Star Search if anyone heard me.) A Vince Gill number. Joe Dee Messina. (That was me and my boys' naptime dancin' music. Nothing could put 'em out on my shoulder faster than a two-step around the kitchen to "I'm Alright.")
But, last night as I was slogging thru the third vampire/werewolf book that I'm not loving as much as the first two, The Tall One called me into the office "because I can't quite read what your mom is writing here."
"OH, hmmm, those are lyrics. Not song titles. OK. Here, she means that song by Daniel Powter. I know ... YOU don't like it, but we do ... OK, HERE where she says 'Hush Hush' that's VOICES CARRY by Til Tuesday ... "
"HOW DOES YOUR MOTHER KNOW ABOUT TIL TUESDAY??"
"She loved me AND my music."
We were really stuck on a couple of lyric groups. "The Way You Look Tonight" was self-explanatory. As were any of the ABBA tunes. (Somebody BETTER get me Mamma Mia for Christmas!) But, we had to do some pretty intense lyric searches to come up w/ songs I don't even think she intended. We even discussed putting Incubus Sukkubus on her CD for FUN because it seemed to jive w/ the lyrics "get together ... every man woman and child."
"Mama, since when did you develop a liking for the SUKKUBUS? WHAT?? That's NOT the one you meant, you say? You wanted the one from Forrest Gump and not the vampire-loving bloodsucking ... oh, OK."
We elected to put The Youngbloods version on her CD instead. The version about "smile on your brother." Not EXACTLY right, but close. (Funny ... from vampire-themed music to The YoungBLOODS!)
But, TONIGHT, when The Tall One tested the CD. And I was battling the wrapping-paper demons and the boys were skiing on my sofa cushions across the dirty floor and no one in the house had on pants but me ... the first notes of Ricky Martin began blaring from the den. And while The Tall One likely wanted to wretch in the nearest flower pot, The Ones Big and Short and I danced until we sweated. All the way thru La Vida Loca and that's a LOCA long song. The Tall One joined us for a little Raspberry Beret. To Ace of Bass. The Lettermen. And a little Summer Lovin' from Grease.
"We just gotta dance when Grandmommy gets here," The Short One said. "But I get to dance w/ HER!"
We will.
And we all promise to wear our pants.

Cannot. Speak.

When I regain my voice. And am able to distinguish shapes of letters on my keyboard. I, too, will say "Thanks, Ladies." And I deeply hope you know who you are. That I've told you.

What's that you say about my most IMPORTANT job?

*** Updated to add that one of my BEST PARTS of this holiday has been watching The Short One and the attention he has given to holiday "baking." We are baking nothing from scratch but he is using such detail in decorating sugar cookies. And dipping EVERYTHING in almond bark. "Cheese might be good. I'll try it first, Mommy." Sprinkles just so. Icing, "right here and ONLY here, Mommy."

*** OF THE WORST PARTS OF TODAY? Dropping an $8.12 bottle of raspberry chipotle sauce, that I purchased w/ the sole intent of using 1 TABLESPOON of it in salad dressing, in the driveway this morning. ONE TABLESPOON. I did grab a slab of cream cheese on which to slather the rest, but the sauce became wedged between my car door and the seat. And I'm usually so careful about that. But I was probably sidetracked by some sort of mommy guilt. And SMASH. DAMMIT!! I said it LOUD. And it was much too early for such language. The boys say it looks like I killed something in the driveway. And when I unloaded the milk into the fridge? Found a whole HALF bottle of that damn sauce already there. DAMMIT!! Otherwise I'd give you my cream cheese.

***

It's been a good day. A good day right up until my LEAST FAVORITE time of day. I was one of those moms who did not adore my baby's bath time. If it was at night. Unless I bathed them in the morning when I was fresh and they weren't. But, really? What good did that do, because sure as you can say "squeaky clean," Baby Boy was spitting up breast milk and oatmeal or, oh my diapers, and all that wet work was for nothing. By, bath time, I'm so OVER the day. Because post-bath there's yet more reading and multiplication tables ("that you should've known LAST YEAR!") and arguments and general unhappiness because ... we're all unhappy and ready for bed. This is when I should be able to pull myself up and act my age, because, well, I'm the MOM. But, there's a dirty kitchen waiting and projects to finish and doors to lock and coffee to make, and ugh! I just get so tired of TALKING.
So, I wish I could make the really WORST part of my day the BEST part of my day. And I'm going to work on that.
I just find it so hard to divide my time. I want to have time to talk to one (about the FANTASTIC moment we had today giving that sweet, and rather handsome beneath the wind burn, homeless man and his girlfriend a coat and socks and soap and a little bit of money and don't tell me I'm not supposed to do that because he mighta bought something to keep him warm even if he drank it!), but the other keeps calling. I really want to connect w/ one but the other needs water ... a kiss ... something wiped.
This is something I really need to work on. The patience. And the not accusing The Short One of LYING on his homework. (Does that REALLY matter that much? In first grade?)
Because I am deeply blessed and healthy and not FREEZING tonight when I very well could be. (It's COLD. Like Connecticut cold. In Texas.) I need to read more Christmas books.
Because we're warm and safe. And I've GOT to appreciate that more than I do.
I'm going to work on this. I HAVE to.
That's it. Thanks for listening.

Maybe one day I'll Twitter and won't have to bother you w/ these short blog posts.

Tonight is the fullest full moon of the year. (And I'm reading books about vampires and werewolves. Eek.) We're not usually "moon" people, or astrology/astronomy people at all, but even the littlest person in our family said what we were all likely thinking while we stood in the driveway staring at him (Mr. Moon) tonight.
"I wonder what he'd look like over the beach."
Well, now, so do I. (He'd be gorgeous.)
Oh. And, man, we're glad it's Friday.

Stand WAY back is all I can say.

We are in love w/ almond bark in our house right now. Except that Wikipedia mention of "vegetable fats" makes it sound a little bit nasty now that I think about it. So, I won't think about it.
I won't think that broccoli juices are at all involved in the fanciness of our chocolate-covered pretzels and peanut butter crackers.
"We are so fancy," I kept telling my Ones Big and Short. "Look at us w/ our fancy chocolate treats with the white chocolate drizzle and sprinkles. FANCY, I say."
"Mom, please stop saying 'fancy' or people are gonna think we're GIRLS."
So, stay back or we GIRLS just might sling some bark on you.
And our dog has been KNOWN to lick!

You know what to do.

Since I'm so frequently being told on the phone that I sound "so professional." Or like a recording. Or like a secretary. Or like my answering machine. OR, after my "Hello," I just get that long pause before my caller says, "Oh, it's really you. I was waiting for the beep." And, frankly, I'm sick of it. From now on, it's RING RING, "WHATTHEHELLDOYAWANTMERRYCHRISTMAS?" So, SINCE all of THAT, you can just PRETEND this is a recording telling you that I'll be back as soon as he's BITTEN her already. He just HAS to bite her! (He does, right? NOOOO. NOOO. NOOOOO. Don't tell me.) And once that's done, I'll also wrap presents and mail Christmas cards and make a grocery list and COOK and bake and stuff stockings and depart this immortal literary state and become HUMAN again.

But, he does? Bite her? Doesn't he?

Nooooooo. Really.

Don't.

BEEP.

Thank you, Mr. Postman!!

I think I've mentioned several times how The Short One is the very best holiday helper. Yes? I thought so. That boy will CARVE a pumpkin. STRING some lights. CREATE a holy, holiday mess. But, he will stick right with you til the bitter end of all that holy, happy decorating because JESUS we're happy it's time to drag it all out again, right? RIGHT??

THE HOLIDAYS HAVE BLOWN UP AT OUR HOUSE.

There are years when I think, "Oh, I'll not put out that freakish looking camel collection this year." Or, "That Santa has really seen better days and his fur is wonky, so in the box he'll stay." But, if The Short One catches sight of the gotch-eyed camel, that camel is GOING on the mantel. So, in short, THE HOLIDAYS HAVE BLOWN UP AT OUR HOUSE.

And just when I think I can't hang another ornament, can't possibly STAND all the cheer or that inordinantly bad Charlie Brown Christmas music, it's done. Everything is hung, strung and plugged. And the empty boxes go back to the attic. It somehow alllll comes together. And it's magical.

Same thing happens w/ Christmas correspondence. I fret for a bit on letters and photos and printing. And then somehow those precious little boy faces appear on photo paper. The letter "theme" HITS me from somewhere out there among the bad mall music and those LOTION PEOPLE. And I buy stamps. (How I DO love stamps.) Mail. And it's done. And magical.

But, THEN! THEN!! I receive my first Christmas card. And very surely the trip to the mailbox becomes less than routine. And then one day there are two cards. And then three. And then A PICTURE! And then ... oh, be still my heart, A CHRISTMAS LETTER!! (Because those are my very best.) And then my mailbox becomes a daily treasure chest of all "my people." Once a year, I find precious friends and family hiding in my mailbox. Some, I hear from more than once a year. Maybe on a birthday? MYYYYY birthday? But, SOME hide out til Christmas and then sneak up on me. THANK YOU for doing that. For taking the time to write and stamp and mail. For sending me your kids and pets and straight A's and family vacations and smiles and tears and poses w/ Santa. Thank you for sneaking up on me. It's a gift. It really is.

And it's magical.

Good day, Mama.

When you fire up your new computer for the first time ever today, I thought you might head over here to the blog that took a nap during all of November while others were posting furiously and daily. So here's a gratuitous grandbaby shot complete with "cookie face" and baby fatness. (If those were panties, I'd crop, but who doesn't love a good baby diaper shot?) She still smells like cookies, but now with a hint of sweet potato and pear around the ears and neckline. And the top of that baby head? Still all vanilla and sugar and sweet baking goodies.

WELCOME BACK TO THE INTERNET GRANDMOMMY!! WE'VE MISSED YOU!!

Many "thankful" posts to post. In good time.