Happy New Year!

It's 4:15 PM on New Year's Eve, and I'm already in my PJs. How does that happen?

It's true, we have no plans for New Year's Eve. The reality is, I will probably be in bed hours before the ball drops. Last night I asked my husband how it felt to know that his parents would party harder than we would tonight. I can't be too hard on us though, as we've had a pretty big year.

Rewind to New Year's Eve 2007, and I was ready to rock and roll. We had planned to spend the night in, but with all kinds of yummy appetizers, a gigantic bottle of pinot grigio, and maybe some games. I haven't hit the bars on New Year's Eve since 1998, so this was just the kind of night I love. The only problem was, I was cranky and exhausted. After one glass of wine, I was done. I believe that as the clock struck 10, I was climbing into bed. By 10:30, my husband was watching Lord of the Rings on the living room couch, if you call level 10 snoring while scratching himself "watching", and you call the inside of his eyelids "Lord of the Rings".

Two days later, my anticlimactic NYE was explained by the two pink lines on the stick in my hand, and more definitively by the fancier stick that said "Pregnant". That giant bottle of pinot grigio taunted me from our refrigerator shelf until, as an act of mercy, my husband poured it out. More important than the wine, our little Princess Peach was coming.

Now she's here, and it's New Year's once more. Maybe next year my husband and I will be up to hosting or attending something a little more boisterous, but for now we'll settle for an easy night with the kids, and maybe some mimosas with our pancakes in the morning. Maybe I'll watch my favorite NYE show, the episode of Friends where Monica and Ross do The Routine. Oh, and you know I have a glass of pinot grigio on deck!

After all, it's midnight somewhere, even if it's only 8:30 in Vermont. Happy New Year!

Hunger Strike!

After almost four months of 24 hour snuggling, I have finally returned to "the real world", aka my full time job. It had to happen sooner or later, and I was lucky enough to have a fantastic holday season with my family, so I will certainly count my blessings there.

Monday morning was a blur of insanity as the whole family struggled to get out the door at 7:15. Unable to sleep all night, I came downstairs to find that my cat had registered his disapproval of our recent travel schedule all over my son's winter coat. Gross, and a lesson in why you should listen to your mother and hang up your coat. Now we had an emergency load of laundry to deal with on top of everything else. Our 7:15 departure time quickly turned into a 7:30 departure time, ensuring I would be late on my first day back. Perfect.

A three year old has an uncanny way of sensing when his parents are teetering on the verge of complete nervous collapse. In the midst of the rushing madness, periodic wails of "No! I want to do it myself!" filled the air. Coat (freshly washed) on, boots on, hat and gloves on, all with the excruciating sloooowwwwnnnesss of a pre-schooler. Finally ready to go, he collapsed into a puddle of tears as his father lifted him into his car seat rather than letting him climb in himself. Beside him, the baby was strapped peacefully into her own seat, with no idea what was in store for her.

The sweet lady in the infant room at the day care center surely thought I was a lunatic, arriving with an enormous bag of baby supplies, a 2 page list of likes and dislikes, and rambling on a mile a minute about the baby and her daily schedule. The baby grinned sweetly up at me from an unfamiliar bouncy chair as I tried to walk away without tears, a tough thing to do.

Work is work, and even though I made it in late (a huge pet peeve of mine), it was as though I'd never gone. The only difference from my normal workday was the presence of my cell phone on my desk, just begging me to call and check on the baby. After my insane mom routine, I was hesitant to call too early. Instead, I e-mailed my husband and made him call. The news: good nap, happy baby, but she wouldn't eat. Hmmm. We decided to give her a bit more time, and arranged for my husband to stop in and check her around noon.

I waited on pins and needles for his call. When I got it, my heart sank. "I have her, and we're going home. She just won't eat." I begged him to bring her to me at work, not wanting to think about how hungry she would be if she didn't nurse. Poor baby! Before they reached my office, he got her to drink a bottle, so they went home instead.

Today we started the whole routine again (sans cat poop, thank God!). Out the door, day care, work. Finally, the phone call telling us she just won't eat, again. This time, we decided my husband would try to feed her at school, giving her enough sustenance to last until normal pickup time. No good, She was happy and laughing, but completely without interest in the bottle. Home she went with Dad, where she ate just fine.

Right now, my little Ghandi is sitting on my lap, cooing away happily. Will she ever eat at day care? We just don't know. I am holding out hope that she will, but she is a stubborn little thing. She really is like Ghandi, with a peaceful smile and an iron will.

Tomorrow is another day.

Two Christmases, Part Two

Phew! My brother landed safely at midnight on Wednesday, just in time for a quick nap and a 3 hour car ride to our house in VT for the Christmas festivities. After 2 days of fun and celebration, I've established some new rules for next year's Christmas.

1. DON'T TELL THE KIDS THAT UNCLE MATT IS COMING UNTIL HE'S IN THE DRIVEWAY! The hubby and I did too good a job getting our son pumped up for Christmas, and the impending arrival of 2 special visitors: the fat guy in the power-red suit, and, more importantly, UNCLE MATT!! From literally the second he woke up on Christmas Eve to the second Grammy's car pulled into the driveway, the big question was "Is Uncle Matt here yet?" The inevitable series of "not yet", "no" and "almost!" led to a bit of crankiness that frazzled both parent's nerves, and dampened a bit of the Christmas spirit.

2. ONCE YOU TELL SANTA WHAT YOU WANT, YOU CAN'T CHANGE IT! For the last two months, when my son was asked what Santa would bring him, he would promptly and confidently reply "a monster truck!" When sitting on Santa's lap, blind from the multiple flash bulbs, he still squeaked out "Monster truck!" Mommy and Daddy were relieved that Santa was bringing something small enough to fit in our house, fun enough to keep him entertained until the rest of the tree could be opened, and not so crazy expensive that Santa would need to re-budget Christmas. Imagine my surprise when, the night before Christmas Eve, my son informed me that Santa would be bringing him a Hot Wheel like Oliver at school had. Huh? Fortunately, after some additional questioning, I learned that he did not mean a ride-around bike thing, but some of the 99 cent little cars. Specifically, a race car kind. Thank God Santa had already picked some up for his stocking.

3. SHOW GRAMMY THE DICTIONARY DEFINITION OF "SCALED DOWN". After last year's crazy, insane, over-the-top gift giving, my parents kept swearing that this year would be much more scaled down. Yeah right! Although, my dad pointed out that last year's gifts stuck out about a foot radius around the tree, while this year's managed to fit underneath. Well, thanks very much for your crazy generosity, and we'll work on the whole "less is more" thing for 2009.

4. THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS IS THE PERFECT TIME TO PICK UP A WII FIT! Who knew? When my brother told me there were no Wii Fits to be had in the Bay Area, and he planned to pick one up before he went home, I politely refrained from laughing in his face. After all, it's common knowledge that those things are unavailable anywhere. Imagine my surprise when he waltzed into the local GameStop, where he promptly found one. Imagine my continued surprise when my parents went back an hour later and picked one up for themselves. Apparently all of those crazed shoppers were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I just can't believe it's over already.

Pins and Needles

Every year, the news is filled with horror stories that travellers face as they try to make it home for their various holidays. In the past, I've watched the stories with sympathy, but also with the feeling that folks who are attempting some sort of cross-country travel must be nuts. After all, my own relatives are no more than 3 hours away by car, and while traffic and weather stink, there's no way my kids and I will end up huddled under a blanket by baggage claim.

Well, my pity has now turned to empathy, as I anxiously await word that my little brother has boarded his plane in San Francisco. I watch every snippet about the horrible weather delays with new butterflies in my stomach. I have picked up the phone 3 times to call him and tell him to leave plenty of time for check in, but I know he'll be grouchy if I wake him up. Instead, I call my dad with fresh updates about west coast weather conditions, and reminders for him to pass along to my brother when he calls.

We haven't seen my brother in almost a year. He has yet to meet our daughter. I am agonizing that something might keep him from our Christmas. I have plenty to do around the house, but I don't think I'll be able to relax until I know he's in the air. Then my worry will switch to concern about a safe landing.

To everyone out there in the same boat, I feel for you! Let's all keep our fingers crossed that everyone makes it safely.

Two Christmases, Part One

Marriage is more than just the joining of two individuals, it's the blending of multiple families and all their various traditions, for better or for worse. The holidays tend to test the "blending" aspect of any marriage, but in this respect, my husband and I are luckier than most. Rather than trying to split December 25 between our own little family, my parents, and his parents, we choose to celebrate two Christmases. I love that my kids are able to know the traditions of both sides of their family tree. My husband and I can each have Christmas the way we feel it "should" be, without feeling rushed or forced to compromise. I also enjoy seeing the holiday from a different perspective, with traditions that do not exactly mirror what I grew up with.

A short list of fun traditions from Christmas #1:

1. Christmas Eve dinner! My husband's family does a wonderful, traditional meal of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding on Christmas Eve. If you're like I was, and have no idea of what Yorkshire pudding is, don't be scared! It's a thin, eggy, breadlike substance that is tasty, and perfect for ensuring you don't miss a bit of the yummy au jus (mmmm, meat juice!).

2. Matching. The kids got new, identical jammies to wear (pre-washed by MIL!), my sister-in-law and I got coordinated slipper socks. There was even unintentional matching when, unbeknownst to each other, MIL and SIL got me almost identical gift sets from the Body Shop. Fortunately, you can never have too much yummy body wash.

3. Decorations. My mother-in-law has a bunch of artwork/decoration for the holiday made by my husband and his sister that she puts up every year. It's fun to compare the Santas made by my husband to those made by his older, and infinitely neater, sister.

4. Rounds. Every year my sister tallies everyone's individual gift count, and comes up with a plan to make sure the pacing of gift opening is fair for everyone (i.e. no one finishes too early, then has to sit and watch). Each "round" starts with my SIL handing out gifts to everyone, then opening in order of age, youngest to oldest. This year, rounds started at about 6 AM, and continued, off and on, until 4 PM, with lunch, naps, and snow removal breaks.

5. The Busy Construction Site. This is a toy that my husband used to play with- and love! My MIL found a new one for my son, and asked my husband to assemble it on Christmas Eve. When she brought it out, my husband was incredibly touched and excited. I think it brought back a lot of fun memories he looked forward to sharing with our son.

6. Gramma Hennie's Envelope. Every year, my husband's grandmother in Minnesota sends cards with money for each member of the family. This year, each card had an extra surprise, lots of memorabilia from his grandfather, who passed away when my husband was very young. It was neat to see and read more about him, as he is still dearly missed by his family. She also included some adorable pics of my husband and his sister when they were just little peanuts.

7. Gramma Cindy's Wine Punch. I mention this because it gave my SIL a Christmas morning surprise, as it was being stored in a regular (not see-through) OJ carton. I learned to give the OJ carton the sniff test before pouring, unless I wanted to receive a true wakeup.

All in all, it was a spectacular Christmas, unhurried and lots of fun. The crazy winter weather had us snowed in an extra day, so we had plenty of time to relax and enjoy each other. Now we're back in equally snowy Vermont, gearing up for Christmas #2, at home.

Is It Tomorrow Yet?

It is clearly one of those days. I've got to get the family ready for a 3 hour car trip, prepare a bag for my daughter's day care test run, and mentally get myself together for my first post-baby staff meeting at work. It's no wonder that I spent a full two minutes in the shower with the conditioner bottle in hand, trying to remember if I did or did not shampoo already.

I stepped out to find the baby crying downstairs, and the dog barking upstairs. Fortunately, I had prepped my clothes in advance. Unfortunately, I left them downstairs. Ran downstairs in my towel, only to find that instead of barking at a squirrel, or snow, my dog was barking at the propane truck in the driveway, and the man filling the tank outside my bathroom window. Of course!

Why oh why did the baby pick this morning to get up a full hour earlier than normal, in time to be a total crankmonster right before we need to leave? Why oh why did I have to pump right before my crankmonster decided she was hungry?

I really wish days like this came with a warning label.

Okay, Who Brought The Handcuffs?

Last weekend, we travelled back to NH for my family's annual Christmas gathering. My Grammy has 4 kids, including my dad, and all of those kids have 20 kids (including my brother and me), and all of those kids have 17 kids (so far!). It's a little bit chaotic, even without everyone attending, but my grandmother loves to have her family together.

Part of the tradition is a Yankee Swap for the adults. My family is...loud, to say the least, and the swap can get a bit rowdy. Popular gifts this year were a digital keychain frame, a copy of Dark Knight, and, as always, alcohol and scratch tickets. There was one gift under the tree that puzzled everyone: a box containing a kazoo, a harmonica, a rubber chicken, and a pair of handcuffs.

Of course, the immediate reaction was a lot of jokes (choking the chicken, yadda yadda yadda). Pretty funny, until my mom stuck my poor grandmother with the gift (it's definitely a take-no-prisoners kind of swap). Grammy turned the box over to the older great grandkids (who promptly started cuffing each other to various chairs and tables), and was left with no gift. Kind of a bummer.

Shortly after, speculation started. Who brought the handcuffs? Of course, all eyes turned to my jokester cousin Todd, who immediately denied involvement. No one stepped up to claim responsibility. Hmmm.

Not long after the swap, my three year old reached the peak of his sugared up, cracked out frenzy (gingerbread decorating had quickly degenerated into frosting and candy snarfing by the younger great-grandkids). Looking around at the little girls in their beautiful Christmas dresses screaming and tackling each other, my husband and I decided to take our leave. You know it's time to go when there's only one kid in the room NOT bouncing off the walls, and that's cause he's handcuffed to a chair.

After we left, the speculation about the handcuffs continued, which is understandable. What's not understandable is that my family decided that my husband and I have a "funky sense of humor", and determined that we brought the handcuffs. Huh? Now, we do have a funky sense of humor, but please! I can read a room!

After many vehement denials, and 2 days of mystery, my name was cleared when the oldest of the great grandkids stepped up and claimed responsibility. He's 11, and this year was his first time participating in the grown-up swap. Aha!

I am vindicated.