A Jen Too Many

I had big plans for Christmas. I ran across this playhouse while goofing off one day, and decided that I would make something like that for my kids. I was going to set it up so that they'd see it first thing Christmas morning.

I was also going to make several pairs of dress-up ballet slippers using scrap material. Also blanket robes for everyone since blankets tend to get dragged off beds when there is TV watching going on. I knew that both of the girls would be having pajama parties at school, so they needed new nightgowns and Youngest Girl Child had asked me to replicate a nightgown from a Christmas storybook that she like (red with white collar and cuffs) so I wanted to make a couple of those. And the girls really do need an organizer of some sort to hang in their room to put all their hair things, play jewelry, Littlest Pet Shop animals, and other small things into.

Yeah. Good intentions / best-laid plans / blah, blah, blah.

Turns out there's a problem with sewing Christmas presents. I'm never alone. The only time I had to put all these wonderful things together was late at night, after I'd finally gotten the little ones to sleep. That was if I didn't have The Boy Child staying up late watching TV, or my sweetheart home on a day off. In other words, I only had about four hours of actual sewing time in any given week. And even then I had to give up some sleep to get those four hours.

The nightgowns got done, because those weren't a surprise, so I could sew them anytime. The blanket robes were made, because they were fairly simple to make (once I figured out how to do it.) The slippers proved to be much more complicated than I had expected. The one pair I managed to make took hours and looked terrible, so I gave up on them. The play house only got as far as prewashing the fabric (which is still sitting in my laundry room, getting in the way.) And now that Christmas is over, I finally have time for the organizers, which will not be a surprise, but which will make me, at least, much happier.

Next year both the girls will be in school all day. I am going to have so much time to get things done. What do you wannna bet I'll still be too tired to accomplish any of it?

My children built a tent in the middle of the living room yesterday and kept themselves busy playing Sick Mommy.

Why, yes, I did get sick for Christmas, thank you for asking.

Since we are all aware that I am not always a rational person, how, you might ask, did I spend my Christmas? Lying in bed, trying to recover? Gagging at the smell of food? Praying at the porcelain throne? Sucking down ginger ale as if it was all that stood between me and imminent death?

Or did I lose my senses entirely and try to make Christmas dinner? Especially since a) my husband came home from work and crashed immediately, never ceasing to snore until the wee hours of December 26, b) I was much too ill to be interested in food, and c) The Boy Child spent Christmas with friends and didn't came home until 10:30 p.m., leaving d) only two small people who are notorious for nibbling at at their food to eat Christmas dinner.

I can sometimes be a little bit obsessive about completing tasks I have assigned myself. Especially when I am not thinking clearly. The fuzzier my head is, the firmer my grasp on previous decisions becomes.

So, I didn't say to my beloved daughters, "Gee, guys, Mommy is sick today, so why don't you pig out on the pies and rolls that I made yesterday instead of having a real dinner tonight?" No, I said, "Don't worry, guys, I'll make it happen anyway." So I spent Christmas staggering from bed to couch to kitchen, gagging over the repulsive scents of honey glazed spiral-sliced ham and garlic-parmesan potatoes. I did have (barely) enough sense not to try to make our traditional Jello Salad of Instant Diabetes, nor did I make the green bean casserole.*

And then, I had to clean it all up. Which just proves that when I am sick, I am also completely insane.**
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*I thought about it, though. In the end, all that stopped me was that I didn't think I could keep standing long enough to stir the jello until it dissolved.

**Especially since only about three bites of mashed potatoes and 2 bites of ham actually happened that night. Although they did thoroughly enjoy the pies and getting to dish up their own Cool Whip. Which would be why there was very little left in the container this morning.

I am reliably informed (by Oldest Girl Child) that Santa will need Rudolph tonight, as it was foggy today.

We have just finished the letters to Santa. The milk and eggnog are waiting on the table, the letters neatly place next to them. Pictures drawn by Youngest Girl Child as presents to Santa are waiting under the tree. Oatmeal has been scattered around the front yard to feed the hungry reindeer.

They are almost too excited to breathe.

It is not quite as intense around here as it usually is, since we already opened most of the presents. Daddy is working tomorrow, leaving around 4 a.m. to get there on time. Opening the presents tonight allowed him to participate in the process. Tomorrow morning, we will all get up very early, so that Daddy can see the girls' reaction to the presents that Santa will bring, and get to read the letter that Santa always leaves them.

It's been a little weird opening our presents so early. There's a definite rhythm, a pattern I expect to Christmas. Having it changed like this has left me feeling off-kilter, almost like it isn't really Christmas at all.

Or maybe I'm just getting old and don't get as excited about Christmas anymore.

It is past bedtime already, and we still need to check NORAD to see where Santa is right now.

Merry Christmas to all of you!

You'd be hearing the cries of anguish wherever in the world you might be, except that I am utterly speechless with horror at the latest turn of events in our lives.

We have to find a new pediatrician.

I love our pediatrician. Big fluffy pink hearts luuuv her. She is wonderful. She never treats me like an idiot when I make an appointment based only on two days worth of sore throat complaints and a hunch*. She didn't bawl me out even a little bit when I confessed the girls were behind on their vaccinations and we needed to catch up on, oh, maybe the last two years worth of shots? She makes time to fit us in when I have a wee one who starts showing symptoms of pink eye at 7 p.m. on a Friday night. She is kind, she is patient, she takes time to explain things to me. I adore her. I rave about her to anyone I know who's looking for a pediatrician.

And I can't go there anymore.

*heavy sobbing*

I got a letter from the insurance company today, confirming that Oldest Girl Child and Youngest Girl Child have a new Primary Care Manager as of December 9, 2008.

News to me, since I'd never asked for a new one.

With the pathetic hope that somewhere a computer had screwed up, I called the pediatrician, and was told the office manager would call me back. I called the insurance company, and was told that our pediatrician is no longer part of the network. No-one could tell me why. Did she get tired of dealing with my insurance company? Did they decide she didn't meet their standards? I don't know, and I don't care. I just want her back!

The insurance company's Provider Directory search says that the nearest pediatrician is 14.59 miles from me "as the crow flies" and should take a mere 37 minutes to drive there. Google Maps, realizing that I am not a crow, assures me that the actual distance is 17 miles, all of it on a back road that has taken to putting on airs and calling itself a state highway. I've been to that town, driving that road. That road makes a snake look like a surveyor's line. I was scared to go the speed limit - and that was in the middle of the summer. I wouldn't be caught dead on that road in the winter.

The next closest pediatrician is supposedly 15.3 miles away. Reality: 23.3 miles, on a (real) state highway. Google assumes I will be able to go the legal posted speed limit and estimates 31 minutes to get there. I know there is a) construction on that road and b) it is one of the major routes to the local Big Employer. I estimate closer to an hour, longer at rush hour when traffic has been known to completely stop.

The third, fourth, and fifth options are all in the same practice. They are 16.63 miles away (Google says: 22 miles) but a lot faster to get to, since they are a straight shot up the freeway.**

All the possibilities, including those further down the list, work out about the same - a minimum 30 or 40 minute drive. Our current pediatrician is 7 minutes away. And we like her. She is local. And wonderful. My children get excited to see her even when they are sick. They are good for her when she gives them shots.

But - I can't afford her without insurance and I can't do anything about my insurance, because I found out about this two weeks after open season closed. I can't increase our flexible savings account withdrawals for the same reason, so I can't even afford to use the out-of-network provider option. I have to find a new pediatrician. It's enough to make a woman start swearing.

Oh, and the new PCM the insurance company assigned my children to? My doctor. Not a pediatrician. Also not accepting new patients. Speechless. I am absolutely speechless and reduced to incomprehensible noises.

Gaaaaaahhhh!
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*I was right - it was strep.

**Since we live close to the state line, they are actually out of state for us - not such a big deal, I suppose, but I do try to keep my money local. But that's another post.

I am having what I consider to be a surprisingly successful Christmas this year. Which is surprising because I started the season off with bad news about someone dear to me, and I was as far from the Christmas spirit as I have ever been in my life. Putting up decorations, playing carols, wrapping presents, messing with a tree - the last things I wanted to do. Curling up on my bed and being sad and weepy - very much what I was in the mood for.

Other people in my family (especially the smallish ones) would not have understood that, however, so I did it all anyway, gritting my teeth and feeling sorry for myself. I am now relieved to find, though, that my Christmas spirit has revived a little. I don't do well at faking being cheerful.

Sadly, I have to confess that my definition of Christmas success = "Getting everyone presents that will make them happy." Very shallow, I know. Come on, though - don't you hate having to get a present because it's expected, but you don't have a clue what to get? And you wind up getting something, anything!, to stick in the middle of a bunch of pretty paper, but you know as you're wrapping that it doesn't matter how many bows and ribbons you stick on the outside, or how shiny the paper is, the recipient is still going to give you that Christmas morning grimace that says, "I am disappointed and my feelings are hurt, but I don't want to make you feel bad, so I'm going to pretend I like this ... thing ... you gave me."

No, really, truly, I do love Christmas! I love shiny paper, and yummy smelling trees, and glittery stuff everywhere. I just find presents stressful, especially since Certain Members of my family will never tell me what they would like. If I ask (and I ask every year, in forlorn hope) I just get a shrug and the response, "Oh, whatever you get me will be nice."

Must. Kill.

It makes me paranoid enough that I tend to eye them beadily all year long waiting for any hint that might give me a clue as to what they might like. Not that it does me much good. If they do like something, they either go out and buy it for themselves before I can do anything, or it's something so esoteric that I can't remember what it is long enough to find it online. Or it turns out to be several lightyears out of my price range.

It's so much easier buying for small children. The only problem there is restraining myself from getting all the cool! shiny! fun! toys!*

This year, though!! This year I have been amazingly lucky in spotting great possibilities. Also both the girls have gotten old enough to seriously participate in picking out presents, and it turns out Youngest Girl Child has an uncanny, and possibly illegal, talent for figuring out exactly what any given person in the family wants most. I am overjoyed and intend to have her give me lessons as soon as she is old enough to know what lessons are.

This is why you have children - the hope of someday being able to mooch off their talents. It's all so very, very heartwarming.
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*Repeat after me, 200 times: I must not spoil the children. It will lead to life-long difficulties for them. I must be a Mean Mommy. I must impose limits and allow reasonable (but not dangerous!) natural consequences to smack them in the head on a regular basis. No rescuing. No saving. No playing Mother Bountiful. I am not playing with dolls. I am raising future adults. I will teach them to be strong, capable, and independent if it kills me - and it might.

(I was going to comment on my sister's blog, but it started getting long, so I just decided to put it over here.)

Where, Cannwin asks, does her daughter get the long list of name-brand items she is asking Santa for, for Christmas? After all, she points out, "we don't have any channels for her to be brainwashed into certain products with."

You don't need TV, dear sister. She gets it from her friends at school. Trust me on this one. *sigh*

I am getting very tired of constantly saying:

"I know that's what your friend's family does, but our family doesn't do that."

"I'm sorry, but Mommy and Daddy have veto power over Santa's gifts and we won't let him bring you that. I don't care what your friend got for Christmas last year."

"That's wonderful that your friend has Butterscotch. Nevertheless, you can't have Butterscotch. You can't have S'mores, either."

"You are too young for make-up and nail polish. It doesn't matter if that it's OK with your friend's parents. I'm sure that is the best decision for their family. It is not the best decision for our family."

"You are not going to get (merchandise of the week) just because your friend has one. If you get one it will be because you need one. Stop asking!"

The context: Watching a movie that featured a scene of the first Christmas.

Oldest Girl Child: That's Mary. Like Mary had a little lamb.

Mommy: Different Mary.

OGC: Oh.

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The context: While looking at Mommy's scriptures, during Sacrament.

YGC: Is every page important?

Mommy: Yes, dear.

YGC: (Spots a highlighted verse) Look! Someone colored!

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The context: Storytime at the library during a preschool fieldtrip.

The Librarian: ...because he didn't want to get just underwear and socks like last Christmas! (Turns to children) You don't want to get underwear and socks for Christmas either, do you?

YGC: I don't wear underwear!

And all the mothers in the room laughed hysterically while Mommy blushed bright red and tried to think of a way to tactfully rebut her daughter.

When I was a kid in Oregon, my brother and I looked forward every Christmas to The Cinnamon Bear. It would start right after Thanksgiving every year, one 15 minute episode a day, until Christmas Eve.

I loved it. It came on at 7 p.m. every night. I kept an eye on the clock, and if something happened to make us miss the day's episode I screeched the walls down.*

At some point we stopped listening to it. (I'm not sure if the radio station stopped airing it, or my parents got tired of my tantrums.) I never forgot it, though, and wanted to make sure my children also got to listen to it. I tried taping it off the radio, but that was less that 100% successful. A few years (well, OK - several years) later, I looked it up on the internet, but found that it cost a small fortune to get the complete show on CD. And since a small fortune was the last thing I had right then...

But! I just found out it's now in the public domain! If you want to share something special with your children, you can download the entire show at The Cinnamon Bear. (Not the same link as the one above. The first link has more information about the show - the second one has free downloads.)

Here's a quick synopsis of what the story is about: Judy and Jimmy are helping their mother get the Christmas decorations out of the attic, but they can't find the Silver Star for the top of the tree. The Cinnamon Bear helps them de-grow to his size, so that they can go to Maybeland in pursuit of the Crazy-Quilt Dragon, who has stolen the star. Many adventures follow!
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*Much to my parents' joy, I am sure.

Dear Santa,

My little sister wants me to write to you. I hope you don't mind; I know I'm asking for some very unusual items, but honestly, I find that the older I get, the harder it is to think of things I want to receive as presents.*

Here's my list:

1) A magic wand that will clean my house with one wave of my hand. Especially under the furniture, because stooping down to clean is getting problematic. It's not the stooping that's the problem - it's the getting up again later.

2) While we're at it, how about a little tiny amount - just the littlest, teeniest, bit - of water from the Fountain of Youth? Just a teaspoon or so. I don't want to be a teenager again. I'd just like to stand up from the floor without creaking too much.

3) Some of that water would go over well for my husband as well. If you give it to me, Santa, then I could give it to him, and it would be our little secret where it really came from, OK?**

4) Can you lay your hands on some spare wisdom? I don't know what happened. I was supposed to have a lot of it by this stage of my life, but it seems to have gotten lost in transit. I have way too many situations where I don't have a clue, especially with my children, so anything you can get me would be a big help.

5) Could that magic wand also make my children fall asleep 5 minutes after being put to bed? If that's not asking too much? And maybe keep them safe whenever they're out of my sight, too?

Thanks, Santa. I know you probably don't have any of this one hand, but hey, if my daughter can ask for Butterscotch, I can ask for something equally impossible, right? You won't mind. Right?

Jen
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*Usually because anything I might have put on a list I've already gone and bought for myself.

**I ask this because you wouldn't believe how difficult it is to buy for that man - you'd be giving me a really great present if you could help me get the perfect present for him.

I ran across this, here, and though it was a great idea.

Open the nearest book to page 56. Write out the fifth sentence on that page, and also the next two to five sentences. The closest book, not your favorite or the most intellectual.

Little sister, I'm tagging you!

All the children sat looking at Pippi, who lay flat on the floor, drawing to her heart's content.

"But, Pippi," said the teacher impatiently, "why in the world aren't you drawing on your paper?"

"I filled that long ago. There isn't room enough for my whole horse on that little snip of a paper," said Pippi. "Just now I'm working on his front legs, but when I get to his tail I guess I'll have to go out in the hall."

From Pippi Longstocking, by Astrid Lindgren. Left on the desk by the computer last Monday when I got home from reading to Oldest Girl Child's class. It's just as well, I suppose. It doesn't have quite the cool factor of Glory Road, but it's infinitely better than the Illustrated Young Reader's Dictionary, which also needs to be put away.

Ooh, ooh!! Guess what?! We returned the Scholastic books order form yesterday, and there were books for me in the order! Woohoo! Specifically the Chronicles of Narnia box set, which I have wanted for lo, these many years, and never been able to justify the expense. But this was pretty cheap - compared to what it normally is - so I splurged and treated myself.

Besides it helps out the teacher, so that's a good thing. Right? Of course it is! I'm doing a service to the community by buying more books - helping the school, helping the kids, helping the publishing industry. I'm not an out of control book fiend. I'm patriotic!

It hit me last night, that we (as in the parental units) have gotten sucked into a routine every night at dinner.

1) We all sit down to dinner
2) Youngest Girl Child looks at what dinner is and announces, "I don't like that!"
3) The Parental Units try several strategies: a) Ignoring her; b) Telling her she has to have one No Thank You bite; c) Bargaining that if she will have just one tiny nibble of dinner, just the minutest portion, barely an atom on the tip of her fork, then she can leave the dinner table and watch some TV before bed
4) Half an hour after dinner YGC says that she is hungry and heads to the kitchen for a snack.*

Wow. This is so incredibly not good. And it just snuck up on us, too. It's kind of funny. This is one of those situations that before I had children, I would have said I would never do. Though, honestly, I usually don't do things like this. At least I don't think I do. Of course, now I'm wondering what else I haven't noticed I'm doing.

It's amazing how much harder parenting gets once you have actual children around!
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*In my defense, I'd like to point out that the snacks she eats are usually pretty healthy: apples, carrots, celery, whole grain bread, string cheese.

We finished off the last of the pie the other night, except for Youngest Girl Child's last piece of pumpkin pie. She didn't want to eat it right then, but she was worried that someone else might see it, assume it was unclaimed, and eat it before she got back to it.*

Not sure what to do about this dire possibility, she and Oldest Girl Child put their heads together and came up with what seemed like a sure-fire solution. They put it on a plate and hid it.

Unfortunately, they hid it in the cupboard next to the sink, the one where I store my big mixing bowls and empty storage containers.

They told me about their brilliant idea late in the afternoon yesterday, when the pie had been in there about 24 hours. I quickly retrieved it only to find that (as I had feared) the lack of refrigeration had not done it any good. As YGC said, "Look, Mommy! It's fluffy!"

Yes, it was. Very fluffy indeed.
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*This is not an unwarranted fear. It has happened before.