Hogmanay!

New Years Eve is known as Hogmanay in Scotland. It's the biggest day of the year for a Scot. If you've never spent a Hogmanay in Scotland put it on your bucket list.

It's a sad day for me to be anywhere else but my homeland.
Instead of wallowing I thought I'd do a blog review.

I posted my first blog on January 11th 2009.
This post is my 168th.
At some point today my hit counter will roll over 20,000.
I added the counter after a few months of blogging so it is amazing for me to think that my blog has been viewed this many times.

You have visited me from 43 countries!
When I read the list I was stunned to find readers from as far afield as Iraq, India, South Africa, New Zealand and Trinidad and Tobago.

These pages have been translated into ten languages.
I can only imagine how my flippancy, sarcasm and mix of the Queen's and American English translates at the hands of Google!

I have received 778 comments - without exception they have been supportive, informative or friendly.
I am clearly not being controversial enough! There's a possible resolution for 2010.
It never fails to delight me to get comments. I like to think of you all sitting at computers around the world.

I realize that means that I have achieved my goal. I have found a community that is 24/7. A community that supports me on this confounding journey of parenthood.

I am deeply grateful for this blog and the community it brings into my living room.
I wish you all a happy, healthful and blog filled 2010.

I hope to see you here in the New Year.

It's The Most Wonderful Time...

Ah - the post Christmas melt down.
We experienced it in it's full glory yesterday.

I knew it would come. I hoped it would come on a day the husband was home.
My kids had other plans.
We waved him off to work. They had me fooled. They remained cheerful and co-operative for more than two hours.

The weather was in on it. It was wet and cold. We couldn't play outside on the new scooters. I decided we would go to the library - always a hit - then go for hot chocolate, an obvious home run.

I failed to factor in wardrobe selections. This is when the full on melt happened.
It involved the full floor throw down, thrashing arms and legs (With the quick sideways are you watching check.) I expected this from the baby but this was the six year old.

The tantrum lasted over one hour. ONE HOUR. The baby joined in after about twenty minutes. She really does have to do everything her sister does.

I pulled out every parenting skill (trick) I know.
Cuddles, sympathy, ignoring, joining in, humor, consequences.
It was all pointless - she just needed to get it out.
She needed to get it out in the house, in the car, at the library.

It was exhausting but I made it through.
We came home - I made comfort food for dinner and after a bath and story time -
I got them both to bed.

I deserve overtime for today. I deserve a medal.
I will settle for a hot cup of tea and a foot rub.

Twas The Night Before....

Santa had a narrow escape in our house. He was nearly caught by an overly excited six year old at 1am. Mrs Claus had collapsed into bed after wrapping and assembling for hours. There may also have been a glass or two of Port in the equation.

Santa was just finishing up the stockings (or playing PS3) when down the stairs he heard the creep of little feet.
Santa had brought scooters which were wrapped only by a ribbon and bows, so all would be revealed at a glance.
Luckily the husband is fast on his feet so he intercepted her mid-stairs.

"I'm just going to see if Santa came."

"He didn't yet - so let's go back to bed so he can."

"Well, I'll just check..."

"No you won't."

"Why not?"

As you may imagine - this conversation went on for some time as the six year old tried to move downstairs and the husband tried to move her back towards her bedroom. He prevailed.

Then he woke me up.

"What will we do? She's never going to go back to sleep."

I was thinking about how much I would like a life size cut out of the Grinch for the hallway....
As we discussed our options - I found myself thinking about my parents and their Christmas Eve adventures. It was one of those full circle moments. Where the magic was tangible.

We decided one of us would need to sleep with the six year old to prevent further nocturnal wanderings but as we went in - we found her fast asleep.
We decided to risk it and sleep more comfortably in our own bed. It worked out.
She didn't wake again until 8am. (Now that's a Christmas miracle.)

Watching your child's delight on Christmas morning is a glorious thing. Over the next two hours we opened gifts, ate breakfast, spent some time thinking about others with less than us. It was lovely.

In true second child style - the baby got into the present thing with ease. She selected what she would like to open (Uncannily often gifts for her) and was more interested in the gift than the wrapping.

Santa brought me a sewing machine. I have this mental image of me making the kids clothes out of old curtains while singing - Julie Andrews style.
First, I have to read the manual and learn to play the guitar.
I'll keep you posted....

Merry Christmas!

My two sweet girls are tucked up asleep in bed. The tree is bristling with gifts. Next to the chimney is gift wrapped(!) cake and carrots for Santa and his Reindeer.
I am a blessed and grateful woman.
For all those who celebrate - I wish you a wonderful, joy filled Christmas.

Interior Designs.

I have already established that the six year old is not an ideal babysitter.
Five Year Old Sitter.
She's a year older now. A year wiser. A year more responsible. Or not.

The baby is teething. It means disturbed nights. I'm not sure if I've explained to you the extent of the love affair I have with my bed. I am the Tiger Woods of sleep.
I would spend my weekends there if it was an option.
I have two children - so, of course, it's not an option.

For me - sleep deprivation has been my biggest parenting nemesis. I do not like my sleep disturbed, I do not like to sleep less than seven hours. I do not like it Sam I am.

Last night was a particularly hard night. I was up with the baby for several hours.
When the six year old woke - I was just getting back to sleep.
I asked her to go play in her room for a while. As I drifted back off to sleep I heard her talking to the baby. I remember thinking through the haze of falling asleep - did she get the baby out of her crib?

Forty five minutes later I wake with a start. Where is the baby?
I run downstairs. There in the living room are my two girls playing.
Relieved I head into the kitchen to make breakfast.

It's a full hour before I see the couch.
It used to be champagne suede. It now has a swirly design. In red marker pen.
Groan.
I know that this is my fault. I know I can't blame the baby or the six year old.
(Although I might for a few minutes.)

It's actually quite pretty. It matches the design which has coincidentally appeared on the baby's pajamas. After a major caffeine injection and some Googling for stain removal tips I begin the damage repair.

High price for a 45 minute nap.

Cake Walk.

In my never ending quest to create holiday traditions that do not cost a fortune or involve materialism - the six year old and I, make a Christmas cake.

Now I know Christmas cakes have a bad reputation here in the US but to me they are a bite of nostalgia. One mouthful instantly transports me to my Granny's kitchen.
I am not a fan of mixed peel, glace cherries or whole nuts in a cake. Neither was my Granny. Her cake was fruity, sweet and topped with delicious icing.

For years now, I have tried to re-create it. Some years I do better than others.
The six year old loves to ice the cake. Placing two plastic trees, a deer and Santa on the cake make her giddy.

Yesterday we began the four hour process. The six year old reverently dragged her stool into the kitchen and donned her apron. We measured and mixed. Sprayed flour, sugar and egg shell around the kitchen and finally spread the mixture into the pan.

I knew right away that it didn't look right. It just wasn't 'cakey' enough.
We baked it anyway.
So if you like a trip to the dentist as part of your cake eating experience - it was perfect. I'm going to submit it to CakeWrecks.

The six year old had gone to bed and I couldn't stomach her disappointment so I went to the store at 10pm to buy the ingredients for cake number two.
It's in the oven now. It looked a lot better going in. I'm optimistic.

I think we will have a beautiful cake to ice. I think the plastic trees will make a gorgeous winter scene. I think it will have cost close to $100.
Thinking back to my original goal - I may have failed.

Ooops!

Why are my bad parenting moments always in front of an audience?

This week was The Evergreen Spiral at the six year old's school.
It's a truly beautiful event. The children walk through the spiral, light their candle then place it on a log on their way back through the spiral.
There is some beautiful music playing and the mood is 'quiet reverence.'

This in itself is a Christmas Miracle. There are fifty, six to eight year olds. It takes an hour for them all to walk the spiral. It is a truly beautiful moment in the rush and hustle of the holidays.

Of course we all want to see our children walk, so the hall is also filled with parents and siblings.
I debated having a sitter for the baby but I wanted her to be a part of it so I decided to take her. She was being a trooper - very quiet, if a little fidgety. After half an hour she is no longer content in our laps. We head to the back of the hall so she can walk around. There are some steps up to the stage. Perfect! She LOVES steps. We ascend and descend waiting for the six year old to take her turn in the spiral.

With one child to go - the baby makes a misstep. She falls off the stage and disappears underneath in a pile of poinsettias. There is that silence before the scream - I wrench my back trying to grab her out of there before the cry.

The entire half of the hall near us is gasping, staring and is turned around in our direction. In my head all I can hear is quiet reverence, quiet reverence.

We make it out of the hall just as the howl is emitted. I am so torn. I'm checking the baby for injury but in my mind I know the six year old is stepping forward for her candle.

Why? We have been there half an hour - why does the fall happen just at THAT moment?
We calm the baby, she seems uninjured, we insert a pacifier and scurry back in.

I am tearful when I see that another child has gone and the six year old is still in her seat.

We didn't miss it. The six year old steps up. She carries her candle with six year old reverence and after lighting it - sets it carefully on a log. Then in a nod to her inner pageant queen - takes her dress in both hands and holds it out to the sides. She then does something that can only be described as sashay back to her seat. That's my girl!

I am still getting emails and calls asking if it's true that my baby fell of the stage at The Spiral. At least everyone in school knows who we are now.
There is no such thing as bad publicity right?

The Ultimate Gift.

Becoming a parent is something that when you want it - is all consuming.
For some it comes easily, for others it's a journey.

My dear friends Michael and Mo are on that journey.
They are hoping to add a child to their family through open adoption.

My own struggles with fertility make me want to do what I can to support their journey.
They were an integral part of my village when the (now) six year old was born. They stepped in for our families abroad. They were the first people to babysit for us when we crawled back into the real world when the six year old was six weeks old.

If you know someone who may be considering placing their child for adoption, please offer them this information:

Email: MichaelandMo@gmail.com
Toll Free #: 1.877.742.7314
Website: MichaelandMo.com

Or they can be contacted through this agency:
Independent Adoption Center.
1.800.877.OPEN (6736)
www.adoptionhelp.org/birthmother

Obviously, I'm biased but any baby would be blessed to join this family.

Thank you!

Santa Baby.

We finally got our pics taken with the Big Guy in Red.
It was a 50:50 affair.

The six year old ran into his arms. They snuggled, sang songs, discussed how much she was growing, how much she loved her gifts from last year and of course her wish list for this year.

When I say list - I really do mean list. My girl is a material girl. She LOVES things. I spend a lot of time thinking about this. Is it my doing? When I was a child, money was an issue. Christmas was always abundant though. I waited all year for toys. Maybe I've set up this expectation in my kid even although she has abundance year long.
Who am I kidding? Let's take the maybe out of that sentence.

So in classic parenting hypocrisy I am now lecturing about how we only ask Santa for three things. Most of my friends draw the line at one. I have a way to go...

The baby is unsure as soon as she sees Santa. She hides behind the husbands legs, clinging.
We try and work up to it. Eventually she is standing next to him holding my hand. I, of course, want the photo op. I warn the photographer and pop the baby on Santa's knees. I'm sure they heard the screams in the North Pole.
We now have the classic pic but a miserable child.

Santa's Elf (seriously - not a desirable job) saves the day.
She hands the girls a candy cane. The furious tears dry up instantly. Hmmm - maybe not so upset after all.

I take a moment to snuggle with Santa myself. He remembers me from when I was a girl.
Which makes the six year old's eyes wide with wonder.
One more golden moment for the list.

We exit smiling. The baby even waves goodbye to Santa.
Mission accomplished.

Best Laid Plans.

As I may have mentioned before - I'm frugal.
So when I saw that the local mall was offering free Santa photos I knew that we would not be going to the other mall with highly overpriced pics with the man in red.

It tickled me to think we would be denying that particular Santa our glorious presence this year, as last year he told me off in front of the six year old for snapping a pic on my cell phone.
It took all my restraint not to start a lecture about the spirit of Christmas and what Santa is supposed to symbolize.

So, I dress the baby in her new dress - OMG sooo cute. (Sorry, Cali girl took over there for a moment.) I then carefully packed a coordinating outfit for the six year old who was at school.

We set off to pick up the six year old and informed her of our mission. Much excitement ensued as we slipped into the bathroom to change.

Now I may not know everything there is to know about parenting but I have been around the block a few times.
I spent time preparing the six year old for the possibility that Santa might be off feeding his reindeer (taking a break) or have left for his workshop for the day.

She solemnly tells me that she understands and knows that if he's not there we'll go back and see him later.

Guess what - he's not there. He's supposed to be there - it's advertised that he will be but he's not.
So there we stand, me chewing my lip at the sight of my two sweet girls all dressed up looking at a big empty chair.
"Oh my goodness" I say "I bet Santa has gone to make your American Girl Doll Bed."

The six year old perks up at this idea and I quickly throw in the idea of hot chocolate to complete the diversion.
So we're sitting in the cafe, complete with yummy hot chocolate AND a sugar cookie chatting away about our day and I'm feeling pretty good about the way things worked out when the six year old says,
"Mummy can I tell you something?"
"Yes love..."
"It's just that I'm so disappointed about Santa."
Her face crumples and I feel that hot pain in my chest that is motherhood.

I have two choices. The other mall with capitalist Santa is ten minutes away or there's a toy shop next door. Either way my wallet will be taking the hit.
What's a mom to do?
We have a rule - we don't buy toys when Santa is coming.
I also have principals - Santa should be not for profit.

I am going to leave it up to you to guess whether I dropped my principals or my dollars....



To those who are celebrating Hanukkah today - I wish a wonderful time for you and yours.

Seasons.

Tis the Season - for another Guest Blogger!
Thank you to Carolyn for this very amusing contribution.
It's always good to know that I'm not the only mother who LOVES the school year.
I think she may have a million dollar business idea with her unique take on an Advent Calendar.
Enjoy.........


Where I grew up in New Jersey, spring was heralded by crocuses poking through the last snowfall. Raising my kids in California, visual cues from nature don’t change much seasonally, and springtime just means a last chance to mend our tardy ways and get to school on time. Tip: keeping essentials like shoes, coats, medication, etc. in the car at all times helps reduce the need to double back home.

Summer and the living is easier. Frequent trips to the pool assure that the kids are regularly cleaned. Popcorn and watermelon is a valid dinner option. Schedules are packed with swimming, bike riding, camp, etc. At least that’s the deal on the first day of summer vacation, before the kids realize that just hanging out a home is a possibility. That’s when I start making a back-to-school advent calendar for myself.

I actually took the kids to the park this past fall to throw a football around – such a picturesque family scene! But around our house, fall days are mostly about trying to break the bad sleep/wake/tv habits of summer. For the kids too. On the fridge is a photo of the saddest looking children on the first day of school (the camera didn’t capture the relieved and giddy photographer).

Winter. That’s when my kids learn to pronounce Hammacher Schlemmer, and try to avoid clumsy hair trims before school holiday performances, because there’s no time to fit in a trip to the barber. My son knows when I say his bangs are looking like Eddie Munster’s that he should hide the scissors and run.

And though I always manage to take a holiday photo of all of us, and sometimes even buy holiday cards to accompany the photo, I never get to sending most of them.
With my good intentions in mind - I wish you peace in the coming year (a fight-free car trip with the kids totally counts).

Oh Christmas Tree!

What is it about magical moments? They are often when we are not the great parents we aim to be.

I remember our first trip to Disneyland. It's supposed to be the happiest place on earth but I saw more kids getting shouted at there than I have ever seen anywhere else before. Too many hot, tired parents trying to keep track of their child in a sea of kids.

Bedtime - I want it to be a snuggly, peaceful time. I want to read a great book with my girls and have them drift off into a peaceful sleep.
More often the scenario involves me getting irritated at the amount of times I have to tell the six year old to get into her PJ's, clean her teeth or put her clothes away.
By the time we get to the story I'm frazzled and she's fed up.

So this weekend we went to get our Christmas Tree. A magical moment guaranteed. I never had real trees as a kid. We had a very spindly silver tinsel one for years. We upgraded to a flashy plastic one when I was about eight. It was top of the range at the time but was made of hard plastic and some of the 'needles' melted onto the lights.
Can we say fire hazard?

A real tree seems luxurious to me. It smells soooo good. It's just so Christmassy.
Going to the lot fills me with holiday cheer. They are just such festive places.
We actually do a tour. One with Santa and popcorn but pricey trees. One that has every type of tree there is - including flocked. I will admit that we are here simply to take pictures.
Then we head to the bargain lot - well it is in my culture to be frugal.

This is where the trouble starts. The baby doesn't seem to like it.
Maybe she feels lost in the woods. Maybe she's not the frugal type. She does only come up to the bottom boughs of most trees. She only wants to be in Daddy's arms.

The six year old has strong opinions this year. She wants an eight foot tree - at a minimum. Explaining tree to ceiling height ratios to an excited six year old doesn't necessarily yield understanding.

The husband tries his "let's get a cute little tree this year" speech. He tries this every year. It falls on three sets of deaf ears. OK maybe the baby would be happy with a small tree but I'm claiming her for my team.

I find my perfect tree. The six year old thinks it's too small. The baby thinks she'd like to go home and the husband would happily join her.
Where is the magic? Where is the fun family moment picking our perfect tree?

I saw us running around the lot, playing hide and seek between the trees. All agreeing on our perfect tree then singing carols all the way home.

Instead with the tree (six year olds choice of course) on top of the car the kids are now cold and cranky.
Determined - we make a stop for milkshakes. Bound to cheer everyone up.
Works perfectly for the six year old. The baby however just pours hers all over herself. Sigh.

Once the tree is up, lit and decorated. We are all returned to happy. We put on some festive music and sing along. I'll take this as the golden moment.
Now for bedtime.....

Nutcracker.

You know you're a mom when you are seated in an darkened auditorium waiting for a performance to start at 9.15 in the morning. More so if the auditorium is filled with fidgeting, giggling children who could not stay still or quiet if Santa's appearance depended on it.

I am a chaperone for the six year old's class trip to see The Nutcracker.
They are excited.
They have ridden on the school bus to get here - a fabulous adventure in itself.
The lights dim and the music starts. The wonder begins.

The 20 or so rows in front of us are occupied by pre-schoolers who are now asking, almost in unison,
"What is happening?"
"Why did they turn the lights out?"
"When does it start?"

It starts now. There is a collective gasp as the curtains swish back and the cast enters.
There's a real dog!
The dog causes several minutes of conversation as to whether or not it is actually a real dog. What will happen if it pees on the stage and who it belongs to.
I chew my tongue.

For the next 30 minutes the children are rapt. It is bright, exciting, colorful.
There are mice, soldiers, a magician and girls in pretty dresses. Something for everyone.

Just as the squirming becomes intense - intermission arrives.
"Do you like it?" I ask one of the boys sitting next to me.
"Yes!" he says "But there's too much dancing."
"It's a ballet" I say.
"Yes - with too much dancing."
Hmmmm.

We begin the bathroom trips. Taking 14 children to a three cubicle bathroom reminds me of shopping in the holiday sales. It is chaotic but we all manage to 'go' and get back in our seats before the curtain lifts again.

Now is the part the six year old has been waiting for - the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. She enters - this time the gasp is from all the girls. She is gorgeous. A vision of tulle and sparkles. Her partner enters to do the lifts. He looks to be about sixteen. He is wearing white ballet tights.

"MUM! I can see his penis!"
I would like to tell you this was whispered but we all know it wasn't.
She's right - you can see it. In great detail.
The little boys in the row behind are discussing it to.
"That's his penis right there."
"I know."
"I think they have padding."

I think so too.

By this point there is not an adult in the vicinity who is not bent over trying not to laugh out loud. Our shoulders are heaving as we try to control our giggles.
Thankfully the woman with lots children hidden under her skirt enters the stage giving us all a reason to laugh out loud.

Finally the show ends and we exit into broad daylight. It is 11.15am. I need coffee.
The children board the bus and are gone.
I wonder which part of the show they will be discussing on the way back to school....

Mirroring.

Over six years of parenting I have learned that it's not so much what I say but what I do that counts. Darn.
That makes the whole tricky journey trickier - to say the least.

My girls are watching everything I do. The baby wants to copy everything. Note to self - must stop removing my wedgie in public.
Luckily she's still young enough that she can't repeat my verbal transgressions. No such luck with the six year old.

The husband and I have made the classic slip ups. It's easy to blurt out a less than sociable word when someone cuts you off in traffic. The fact that the kids are not in your direct view makes you forget they are back there. oh dear.

Luckily the six year old is very motivated by rewards so I managed to convince her not to repeat my 'bad choice' word. So far so good.
Not so with my actions.

Yesterday the six year old had a friend over. It was getting near to the time for her friend to leave so I asked them to pick up the room. The friend did some professional level stalling. The six year old got frustrated. I could hear the edge in her voice so I went to intervene.
I arrive at the door to see the six year old in a bold stance, her finger is pointed firmly at her friend as she says,
"PICK IT UP. What is it that YOU. DON'T. UNDERSTAND?"
As she says this the hips sway, the finger wags and she leans in closer to get her finger closer to her friends face.

Yikes. I see myself in that manoeuvre.
Of course I don't want her to talk to her friends that way so we have a chat about friendly words. I feel like a complete hypocrite.
Since it's my actions that seem to count I am planning a Martha Stewart/Julie Andrews scenario for dinner. Frilly apron, a sweet smile, an encouraging song and maybe even cupcakes.

Getaway.

Did you miss me?
We had a last minute opportunity to go away. We took it.
'Going away" is an interesting term.
In my mind it implies a change. Something different.
With kids you just transfer your mountainous workload to a different venue.
Oh but what a venue it was!

Sweet friends offered us the spare room in their holiday rental.
The 'spare room' came with the most gorgeous views of hills and vineyards.
It also came with an endless pool, a hot tub, a brick fire pit, an outdoor eating area with heaters, a bocce ball court - I could go on.

It was heaven. Tranquil (aside from two toddlers, a six year old and a dog) and the perfect antidote to holiday melancholy.
We were however happy to have holiday leftovers!

The girls have never shared a room before but I'd been thinking it might be time to move the baby in with the six year old so this was the perfect trial.
We took them up to bed at the same time. The husband thought this would mean they would never got to sleep. I was so smug when they were both asleep within 10 minutes.

It all went beautifully until 11pm. The six year old woke up looking for water.
She woke the baby. For the next two hours while we (tried) to play boardgames downstairs, my girls played their own games upstairs.
Every so often we would hear squeals of laughter. The husband and I played good cop, bad cop - to no avail.

Eventually I went to bed so they would. They did.
The upside was they didn't wake up until 8.30am.

Watching my girls run carefree in such a glorious setting was so lovely.
Is there anything better than watching your kids have the time of their lives?

When we got home the six year old wanted to write her letter to Santa.
You will not be surprised to hear it now includes a pool and a puppy.
I'm off to get a lottery ticket.....