The Grinch in Disguise.

This Santa thing is tricky.
The seven year old is beginning to ask questions but for the most part is still a dreamer and believer.

Still, we put a bit more effort in this year.
Separate paper for Santa.
Different gift tags for Santa written in a foreign hand.

Presents well hidden.
Three so well hidden that I can't actually find them!
I have 48 hours so keep your fingers crossed.

Today we did our last trip to the shops.
The girls wanted to pop in and see Santa before he heads out and I had a few last minute things to get.

In one store they had a rack of stocking stuffers. As I looked for a gift for the husband the girls busied themselves there.
I heard a lady say,
"Here you go Sweetie - this is for you."
Mommy radar up - I turn around to see a woman hand the two year old a toy from the rack.
It's cute, it lights up and flashes.
The two year old now believes it's hers.

I decide to wait it out - she'll put it down.
Nope. She is still clinging to it delightedly ten minutes later.

"Time to go" I say "Let's go put that back."

"No it's mine - the lady gave it to me."
I try to explain that the lady was just showing it to her and that it wasn't bought for her.

The tears flow.
The lady in question is still in the store and comes back over.
"I'm sorry, I think I may have caused that." She laments.

To the two year old she says,
"Honey, I need that to put in my son's stocking - can you give it back to me?"
Erm - not helping.

The two year old is now indignant. Why is the lady taking back a gift to give to someone else?
Enter sister of the lady, who states loudly,

"Why did you say that?"
(My question exactly.)
"Now you've told her that parents fill the stocking not Santa!"

The seven year old looks at me.

Are these ladies The Grinch in disguise?
I look around for a spade to hand them so they can dig themselves a bigger hole.
It could be funny - as each thing they say only continues to make the situation worse - but this is serious stuff when you are seven and two.

"Oh Santa leaves our presents under our tree, not in our stockings!"
I say emphatically or perhaps pleadingly.
The seven year nods with what I fear is a look of relief on her face.
There will be questions later.

We need to get out of there before the two crazy ladies start on The Tooth Fairy or Easter Bunny.
I remove the toy from the fierce grip of the two year old and we leave the store in a hail of screaming and tears.
Thankfully two year olds are easily distracted and I am staying home from now until Christmas morning.

Wishing those of you who celebrate it, a wonderfully Happy Christmas!

Dwell With Dignity.

Claudia of Claudia Clobes Interiors is sponsoring a blog mash up to support this inspiring organization - Dwell With Dignity.

The season of over indulgence is upon us and I wanted to find some opportunities to give.
Dwell With Dignity caught my eye.

The challenge was to answer the question,

"My Childhood Bedroom Was...."

Who could resist a trip down memory lane while drawing attention to a good cause?

My Childhood Bedroom was cold.
We had no heating upstairs. In the winter I could snap icicles of the inside of my window.
My sister and I sucked them like popsicles.

It was also pink. And orange. It was the 70's.
I don't have pictures but the wall paper was a lot like this;



Not too bad as a swatch. Now imagine it floor to ceiling on all sides with clashing bedding and curtains.
It was 70's gawdy.

I even had a completely clashing stuffed rhinoceros - not unlike this one - on my bed. Why??



I shared a room with my sister who around age 12 could take it no more.
So we had a room makeover.
All of a sudden we had a pretty room. The headache inducing color clash was gone.
Instead we had contrasting Laura Ashley wallpaper.



It was pretty, sophisticated and girlie.
Then in what could only be described as a Granny Moment, I decided I wanted a rocking chair and china doll for Christmas.
I pictured myself sitting in it - reading.
I think I was old before my years - I should have just got an afghan blanket, some knitting and a membership to AARP and been done with it.



I was nine - I thought it was sophisticated.

If I had to choose between having that rhino or rocking horse now (I have the china doll) I think I'd choose Humphry.
Again, why??
Well, he was very good for a cuddle.

I hope you'll stop by Dwell With Dignity's website.

I also hope you'll stop by my fellow blog mashers.
They all have design websites so you are guaranteed more beauty than you found here.
Still, it was for a good cause.

The Dean Files

The Hidden List

Minted Condition

Kimberly Lewis

Santa's Little Helpers.

Santa comes to our house. Each year the husband and I are his helpers.
We get a sitter and head out.

This year it was an EPIC FAIL.

First of all the main toy shop we planned to go to was closed.
Closed at 6pm, two weeks before Christmas.
I was surprised.

So, we went to the big box toy shop instead.
They carried everything we wanted but were out of stock of everything. we. wanted.

I found myself a little tearful.
My vision was of two parents having a festive shopping evening - maybe stopping for a class of wine.

We decided to drive ten miles to our last hope shop.
I had checked their website and it said at least one of the things we wanted was in store.
Nope. No. It wasn't.

So now we are down our babysitting dollars, a half tank of gas, have not had any dinner never mind a festive beverage, I am tearful and disappointed and Santa's sack is empty.

We decided to accept defeat and head home.
I am an advocate of shopping locally, supporting small business and living in the town where you live.

But, in the end, I assisted Santa at 11pm, from the comfort of my couch with a glass of wine and the assistance of Amazon.com.
They had everything on the wish list, shipped it for free and it will be here in two days.

Sometimes being a parent means compromise.

Saved!

My Dad is a Minister. The religious rather than political kind.
Christmas is a big celebration for him.

He was never able to spend Christmas with us until he retired. He had to work!
So it was a momentous year for the seven year old when Grandad decided to fly here for Christmas.
She was four at the time.

Several weeks before the big arrival, we were all out in the car - when someone ran in front of us.
The husband had to brake hard to not hit him.
In his shock he swore. He said the name of a young man, important to all Christians, with an imminent birthday.
He said it loudly.

The four year old said it over and over all the way home.
Sigh.
The next morning she seemed to have forgotten and we didn't hear it from her again. Phew.
I am no fool though. I knew she would be saving it for a public airing.

Weeks went by and Grandad finally arrived. It was very exciting for the four year old. She had many plans for him.
His first morning he was in the living room with the four year old. I was in the half bathroom adjacent.
This is not a private privy - you can hear all the conversation from the living room.

I hear the two words I have been dreading - "Oh Jesus!"
Just in case anybody missed it - she says it again.
"OH JESUS!"

I am dying in the bathroom. My face is scarlet.
I am thinking that my Dad will be horribly offended.
Santa will not come. Christmas will be ruined.

I decide I will just have to go out there and explain and apologize.
I open the door in trepidation.
There is the four year old rocking the baby Jesus from our nativity in her arms...

Water, Water Everywhere.....

You all know the routine. You lovingly pack a lunch everyday and every day it comes back mangled, messy and often barely eaten. So frustrating.
Prior to packing the lunch, you have planned, shopped, cooked and prepared.
The daily lunch box - the arch nemesis of parents.

You may not be surprised that in our house the big issue is not the lunch box.
It's the water bottle.

The seven year old goes to a school that has one day of class a week - outside.
They go up the mountain, to the beach, to Redwood groves.
They study science, play and ponder.
They go in all weathers.

Whether it is ninety degrees or cold and wet - the water bottle comes back full.
I drink about 30oz of water a day - how can she possibly not drink all day?

We have had many 'discussions' about it.
Culminating in me explaining dehydration. Really.
Still, the bottle comes back full.

This last nature day I issued the water bottle with what could only be described as a threat.
If she didn't drink her water, I would ask the Christmas Pixies to skip a day.
(Christmas Pixies - whole separate post.)
All you need to know today is that this is a big incentive for the seven year old to drink up.

The bottle came back empty.
I took one look at her and asked,
"How much did you pour out?"

If only I could have shown you her face.
A look that encompassed shock, surprise, questioning.
'How did she know?'
Then that sweet, little seven year old face crumpled.

What am I supposed to do.
She was so pleased with herself when she handed me the empty bottle - she thought I'd be happy.
I think in her mind it was the perfect solution.

So here we are - no water is being drunk and now the seven year old is paranoid.