Happy St. Nick's day! We don't do St. Nick around these parts, except at school where the children leave their shoes in the hall and get a candy cane. Molly, being preshus, can't have your run-of-the-mill candy cane, so with an uncharacteristic burst of foresight, I sent in special candy canes. They happen to be full size where as the other children get a mini. Ha-ha! Take that corn syrup tolerant folks!
On her way out the door, Charlotte gave me a knowing smile and said sweet-as-you-please, "I know." This was a huge leap from a few weeks ago when, after Molly lost her first tooth, I had the Tooth Fairy talk with Charlotte. She was not happy. She said she felt like we lied to her and, if you know Charlotte, this is as good as betrayal.
Now, I have always woven into our Santa stories that Saint Nicholas lends his name to those who want to do good for others in secret. I had hoped it would make that particular talk easier. So, of course, I pulled from that to explain that sometimes growing up is scary and fairytales often help children understand the world around them. Parents want their kids to understand that while growing up can hurt (pulled teeth), there's always a gift that comes with it. She was grudgingly mollified. This made me nervous for the Santa reveal that was sure to come shortly after the Tooth Fairy. But apparently she at least knows the Saint Nicholas deal is the grown ups, so I wonder if she's willfully hanging on to Santa for one last hurrah.
Molly has a second wiggly tooth. I would like to yank that sucker out before it gets all gross and sticky-outy. She is not having it. The other day someone opened the door on her face, and I sadly checked to see if it knocked out her tooth before I comforted her. I'm the worst.
Mae is progressing and not progressing. Therapy is fine, but home life is chaos. I've been in my Christmas Get It All Done mode, so that leaves little time for practice. I feel guilty, but I know myself, if I don't get my To Do list accomplished, I'm grouchy. It's Advent, that won't fly. I have found that motherhood is often a lifestyle of prioritizing all the most important things. So, I thank God everyday that my husband folds laundry and my kids get paid a nickle for every chore they do. Things are getting done, except lots of therapy. (BTW, Molly and Paul only get a penny and only if I don't have to nag them. They are very poor, but Kate and Charlotte are very motivated. Soon, I may be poor.)
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Um, the cardinal of Chicago is coming with the bishop to say mass at our parish next week. I do not wish to bring the littles, but Scott is making me. Anyone know any speedy novenas for your kids not to embarrass you at mass? What about me not embarrassing myself? We are currently hosting a Flat Stanley, whom has been our guest for waaaayyy too long because of my slackeritis. I so want to get a photo of Flat Stanley with the cardinal and bishop. I mean, only Pope Francis would make that Flat Stanley project cooler.I'm running out of Quick Takes. Actually, the cat just hissed at Mae, who deserved it because she's almost two and the cat is smart. But here's a few nuggets regarding faculty Christmas gifts from me to you: Alcohol. Even if your teacher doesn't drink, she can bring it to a party as a hostess gift. I didn't get all the teachers alcohol, but that is because I found something super cute that I hope none of the other moms are doing, but if they are, it's cool and returnable.
Here's another tip: Wrap all your presents as you buy them. Makes life so much easier. While you are wrapping, give your baby some scraps to rip, and call it therapy. I'm here to help, yo.
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| Knocking the books off the shelf and climbing on the table also equals therapy. And parental negligence. |
My final Quick Take is a big thank you to all the good people I've run into these days. Tuesday I went to Starbucks because I didn't have time for breakfast and we bought a huge Nissan NV3500 that I was afraid to go through the drive through with. (Starbucks has an egg white wrap that I like.) I walked out carrying coffee, water, my wrap and Mae when a younger-than-me man asked if he could help and took my breakfast out of my hands before I could answer. He then called me super mom as I plopped Mae in her seat four stories up, and wished me a great day. Now this was a tiny little exchange that took all of 45 seconds, but it mattered. Contrast that with the black Corvette that has crossed double yellow lines to pass me on two different occasions only to hit the same school zone and not actually go any faster, and you can understand why I hound my kids about being kind. Not nice. Nice is just vanilla not being a jerk stuff. (It would be nice if Corvette would stop passing me like a ninja.) Be kind. Help someone pick up their keys, or crayons, or carry their project. Complement the librarian. Tell the kid who constantly annoys you to have a great weekend. I think the hustle of the holiday season is a great time to just find little ways to make someone else feel cared for.
For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!
