Little m Long a

In the interest of being more environmentally friendly, this post contains no less than 98% recycled content.

The Adventurers

Father’s day.

Dad’s all across the country will be heading out to golf courses and ball parks, lakes and rivers, or just to the living room to veg out in the Lazy Boy (well, the lucky ones have Lazy Boys.  My wife has deemed the chair a God-awful eyesore and refuses to allow one in the house.) with a frosty adult beverage sporting that new paisley necktie because–well it’s dad’s day and that’s what dads get to do on their day, right?

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You suck, Santa!!  Seriously, what is wrong with you?

My wife hit me last night.  Hard.  Sucker punched really, for I was sound asleep.  She used a book.  Check that.  She used a Bible.  She said it was a spider and it was coming towards her.  I asked her if it was coming towards her then how is was that she happened to hit me?  She just smiled and rolled back over.  I’ve got a bruise on my leg in the shape of a cross and I’m walking with a slight limp this morning.  I suppose I should be thankful that the “spider” wasn’t crawling near my head–or worse.

That was around 2:30 am.  About an hour later a seal woke me up.  I curly headed seal, crying and feverish.  Said she didn’t feel well.  Maura took her downstairs for some medicine and returned a few minutes later to inform me that she feels better now, oh and she threw up all over the kitchen floor.

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Hanging with Big Dad

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By all indications, Christmas
has passed.  The decorations have been boxed and carted to the attic
where they will remain, ready, until next December when the arduous
process of putting them out will repeat itself.

The tree is down and out of the house.

I should have vacuumed.  We played tag, instead.

The trash was bagged and placed by the door.

I should have taken it to the bins outside.  We played a card game, instead.

Countless chores and tidying were left undone today.  Chores that will be there tomorrow when my kids will not.

It’s been two weeks since they have had school.  They’ve grown.

Well, except for Zella.  She’s still small.  The kid just refuses to
eat.  How her intestines can extract enough waste product from what
actually enters her stomach to form a solid bowel movement is truly a
mystery for the ages.

On the other hand, Zia, my curly-haired little four year old, actually
backed up the toilet with the mother lode she dropped this morning.
Nothing quite says, “Good Morning, Dad” like screams coming from the
bathroom of a terrified little girl watching in horror as the water
level in the commode rises and her six year old brother yells, “Where’s
the plunger!!  Where’s the plunger!!”

I enjoyed the holiday break.  I spent time with my family.  Not nearly enough.  I
think we all benefited from the halting of the hectic grind that
typifies our daily existence.  It was a treat to have the kids ask,
“What day is it today?” and for me to have to actually think about the
answer before giving a reply.

I can recall in times past when I longed for the end of school breaks,
wondering what on Earth could benefit a kid being absent two whole
weeks from his or her studies.  School resumes tomorrow and I’m
counting the days until spring vacation.  I’m missing my kids.  Already.

I stopped making resolutions quite a number of years ago.  I kind of figure it’s going to take me at least a year to get to all of the things my wife has on her list for me so a list of my own seems fairly pointless.

Pin me down for one and I suppose I’ll just respond–family.

The kids went to sleep early
this evening in preparation for the ungodly hour they shall be pulled
from their beds in the morning.  School time routines shall resume.  I
anticipate resistance and I shall be leading the charge.

The days
until Christmas are but a few.  To the opposite extreme, the
excitement level in my children is through the roof.  They are
nearing the uncontrollable, that level of excitement and wild activity
having reached the mind numbing, head throbbing, I can’t take it
anymore levels that makes me long for a lesser holiday.  Like
Arbor Day or Bastille Day.  But it’s Christmas, and I must
persevere.  Endure.

Essentially, we are done.  Cards are out, ornaments are up and the
tree is trimmed.  Last week we put the final touches on our
shopping.  It was the big family excursion to the mall wherein the
kids get to buy for each other.  Mass hysteria and
confusion.  If I said it once, I said it thirty times, “Zoë,
you realize that we are looking for something for Zander, not
you.  Somehow, I just don’t think Zander is going to appreciate a
pair of princess slippers.”

“What about this?” she offered.

“Yeah–no.  He doesn’t want the most adorable tiara in the world,
either.”

OK.  So Zoë still has some shopping to do.

The biggest quest of our shopping extravaganza last week,
however,  was the annual Santa Photo.  My kids absolutely
love the Santa picture.  Always have.  Now, I realize that
there are several, nay, many kids out there that might be a tad
leery of the jolly old elf, but not my kids.  We’ve been going
to the same mall, same Santa, for the past three years.  I think
he’s starting to recognize us.  It’s not a happy recognition–for
him.  I sense a bit of a sigh rather than a ho as he readies
himself for the experience that is Christmas photos with Ed’s kids.

That’s actually not true.  For the most part, my kids are pretty
well behaved and they eagerly and happily rush to Santa’s waiting arms
when their turn arrives.  The biggest problem for us is breaking
up the fights for who gets to go first.

Amazingly enough, this year went off without a hitch.
Almost.  The kids had pretty much settled on their requests and
with little variance would repeat the same answers any time that they
were queried.  Zia and Zoë wanted American Girl dolls, Zander
a red truck, Zane a football holder and kicking net and Zella, well Zella wants to
be Superman.  Easy enough.

I got a tad bit worried when Zoë started hemming and hawing about
her doll request instead indicating that she wanted a
puppy.  A real live puppy.  “But Zoë, you have a
puppy.  His name is Rusty.”

“Rusty is Zane’s dog.  And he’s not a puppy, Dad.  He’s more
like a bear!”  This is true.  Rusty is quite large, about one
fifty and he does kind of resemble a polar bear.  But he is a dog none-the-less and another one we do not need.

She would take the issue up with Santa despite my pleas to the contrary.  I was doomed.
Zoë patiently waited for her brothers and sisters to have their
turns with Santa.  She then boldly stepped up an onto Santa’s lap
and stated, “I want a puppy!”

Then Santa, without batting an eyelash or hesitating in the least let
out a “Ho, ho, ho!” and proceeded to explain to my little girl his hard
and fast rule about live animals in the sleigh.  I overheard talk
of reindeer, cows, no room, food, messy.  Something about how Rudolph
got jealous because he was doing all of the work while the puppy got a
joy ride.  The longer he talked, the longer Zoë’s face
drew.  She was crushed!

And then, just as quickly and skillfully, Santa redirected my little
Zoë.  In his warm and loving manner her asked if she understood and as she nodded yes,  he asked again what she might like for
Christmas.  “Well, I do want an American Girl doll.”

And with a “Ho, Ho, Ho,” a hug and a  “now that’s more like it,”
the smile returned to her face and her Christmas spirit was restored.  As was my faith in a guy named Claus.

Thanks, Santa.  I owe you one.

Santa 2008
Zoe and Santa Zane and Santa ZIa and Santa Zella and Santa Zander and Santa

Apparently, it only takes about a year for me to completely forget just about the most excruciatingly painful of all experiences.  I vowed after last year that I would not do this again, yet here I am.

I don’t know why.  Maybe it’s the ultimate test of will power, of endurance.  Maybe it’s the ultimate testament of my stupidity.  There has got to be an easier way to do a podcast, but I haven’t found it.  If you know how–please share.

Either way, I’ve given it a go and here is the result.  It’s the Second Annual Zoë’s Dad Christmas Podcast.  I’ve added a few new albums to my list this year and they do get some play, but without fail, these songs always make their way onto my playlist.  Truth of the matter is, they never leave.

Jazz greats and classic crooners.  Now that’s Christmas.

The Playlist:
1.  Smooth Jazz Christmas Overture       Dave Koz and Friends
2.  The First Noel                                      Nat King Cole
3.  O Tannenbaum                                      Stanley Clarke, George Duke,
Everette Happ
4.  Christmas Waltz                                   The Brecker Brothers
5.  Sweet Little Jesus Boy                        Andy Williams
6.  What Child is This                                 Chic Corea
7.  Baby It’s Cold Outside                        Dean Martin
8.  Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer        Perry Como
9.  Santa Claus is Coming to Town              Frank Sinatra
10.  Have Yourself a Merry Little…            Tony Bennett
11.  The Christmas Song/White Christmas  Bing Crosby/Frank Sinatra

It’s easy to become so totally absorbed in the holiday season that we lose focus, the ability to just step back for a minute or two and ask ourselves why are we doing all of this?  Bows, ribbons, packages, cards, lights, trees, family get togethers, Christmas carols and music programs…….Really?  What’s our motivation?  What’s it all about?

Thank you, Linus Van Pelt.

God Bless and Merry Christmas to you and yours from me and mine.
Here’s to a year of promise, prosperity and peace.

(Originally posted 12/24/2007.  Regardless of the hectic and trying nature that is the Holiday Season, I shall never tire of this classic.  I appreciate each year the focus Charlie Brown provides me.  The simplicity is warming, reassuring and just what I need when it seems that the season is slipping from my control.)

Why does it seem that there is never a direct correlation to the number of Christmas Cards I mail each year to the number of Christmas Cards I receive?  Seriously!  What is up with at least sixty percent of the people on my card list?!

I can understand a few non-reciprocating recipients.  I mean, I don’t really expect to receive a Christmas Card from the Pope or the Dali Lama, those guys are fairly busy.  I get that.  (Maybe a thanks or blessing would be nice.)  But good grief!  What is up with the other sixty percent of lamos who can’t seem to find the time to throw a stamp on a card and say Happy Holidays?

I painstakingly keep my address files up to date throughout the year, noting new or changed addresses should I hear of or receive any correspondence during the course of the year.  I get fewer than 3 returned cards each year for a bad address.  (There was that one year I got the whole batch back.  But that was my fault.  I forgot to put stamps on them.)  My point here is that I know the cards are reaching their appropriate destinations.

There are people on my list, people I have worked with, gone to school with, even family for Christ’s sake, that have been getting cards from me for well over ten years now.  I get nothing.  Notta.  Zilch.  Squat.  Not a how do you do or anything.  Why is that?

Is it just me or has anyone else felt the disparity?

Last night I had the great pleasure of listening to 100 first and second graders sing Christmas carols to me.  The term sing is used very loosely here as if you have ever had the pleasure of exposing your ears to 100 first and second graders singing you no doubt know that there are only say, 20-30 of said 100 first and second graders that are in fact capable of making a joyful noise.  The others–yeah, noise!

But it was as joyful as joyful can be especially coupled with the pride you’re no doubt beaming knowing that of the 100 first and second graders singing you can claim 2 of them, those two of course, a part of the smaller set of 20-30 who are actually making a joyful noise.  Of course.  That pride intermittently mixed with absolute frustration as you are attempting to capture the moment on film from the back of a very crowded church all the while attempting to corral three very fidgety siblings who “can’t see” as they have told you no less than sixty times in the past thirteen and a half minutes.

All said and done it was a pretty good evening to be me.  Zoë and Zane had their big Christmas Concert last night and it went swimmingly well.  I was very proud of them both.  And, as we had to get cleaned up for the occasion, it made for a pretty good opportunity to get some nice pictures of the kids.  Or so I thought…..

Hey, Where’s Zoë?

Zia, Zander.  Look at Me.  Zia, Put your hand down.

Don’t Wave.  Zia, Hand Down!

Guys, Please!  Zander.  Don’t Do it Zia…

Please Look at Me!!  Guys.  Guys!!!

Oh, Good Lord!!

Well.  I tried.

If you show me yours…..

Merry Christmas 2008

The thing I find funny about Zella singing this song, is every time she omits the part about being bad or good.  It’s almost as if she believes that it’s not possible to be so bad that Santa would not still pay you a visit.

Other observations to save you time:

• She just woke up so her hair has not been brushed.  (Truth be told–it probably wasn’t brushed yesterday either.)
• Yes, she’s wearing Cars Pajamas.  Short sleeved and it was 20 something outside this morning.  She insisted on wearing her brother’s pjs last night.  She would not be denied.
• Zander wanted to sing along and I do have them both on another video, but he kept messing up the words.  Every time he did, Zella would hit him.  (Goes back to that bad thing.)

Enjoy!

I want to believe.  In anything.  I want to blindly accept that there is mystery and wonderment and that by simply trusting it to be so I will be enriched.  I want to know that my trust, my faith is not for naught.  I want to expose emotion without fear of embarrassment or consequence.  I want to get excited about sparkly lights and candy canes.

Invariably, I tend to get caught up in everything that the holiday season is not.  Each year I tell myself that I will do better.  Be better.  And each year I find myself re-applying failed formulas expecting new and wondrous results.  I’ll tell myself, “not this year!” only to be disappointed with…well, me.

I’m supposed to be the leader, the responsible one, charged with imparting knowledge and wisdom to my children.  The thing is, no one has ever explained that to them.  Good thing.  For they are pretty damn good teachers in their own right.

This year, I want to see Christmas the way my kids do.

I don’t know if it’s the colder weather and more time spent inside.  Maybe it’s anticipation of the holidays.   I can’t place it, but something is making my kids crazier than ever.  (Hard to imagine, I know.)  In turn my nerves are shot and my tolerance levels have been severely depleted.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  They won’t listen to me anymore.  Maybe they’ll listen to the Big Man.  This is scheduled to arrive in the mail today.

Dear Children

(Zoë, Zane. Zia, Zander and Zella),

Ho, Ho, Ho! And Greetings from the North Pole. Christmas will soon be here!

My elves are busy in the workshop making toys for all the good little boys and girls.  Rudolph and his team are training hard for the big night. Mrs. Claus has been baking all sorts of cookies, cakes and candy. Our little village here at the North Pole is bustling with energy and excitement. Christmas is a truly special time.

I have been busy preparing my list and after checking it (twice) I noticed something very disturbing. It seems that you children have NOT been nice. In fact, the word from my elf scout team is that you all have been very, very bad! There has been quite a bit of crying (Miss Zia and Miss Zella…you too, Master Zander) some pouting (Master Zane) yelling and arguing (all of you children) and generally naughty behavior all the way around. And Miss Zoë, all I can say is I’m shocked and very disappointed!  You know better, young lady.

Now, children. While your recent behavior certainly qualifies you all for a spot on the naughty list, there is still a chance for you to do better. It won’t be easy, but then nothing worthwhile ever is. You children have just 31 days to show Mrs. Claus and me that you are worthy of a spot on the nice list.

I know you can do it! Listen to your mom and dad. Help them with chores around the house, clean your rooms and pick up your toys. Do your homework and practice your piano.  Those carols are sounding really nice.  And please, stop the fighting, whining and arguing.

I so enjoy stopping at your house each Christmas. Your dad makes the best cookies and I love the eggnog you leave for me. I would surely hate to miss that this year.

Your pal,

Santa

I’ll let you know how it turns out.