8 Crazy Nights

They say time spent with family is like leftovers--after three days it just goes bad. Sloan and I spent a week in Greensboro with my family. Do the math. No, no--it wasn't that bad. Rather than like leftovers, it was a bit like bad reality television, except no one has being voted off to look forward to. You're just stuck with these people who know all your flaws, cooking and cleaning, sleeping somewhere strange, praying there's wine in the fridge. Or maybe it is like that show that used to be on MTV--The Real World. (Or maybe it is still on MTV. It's been roughly a decade since I've watched MTV.) Do you remember the tag line--"See what happens when people stop being polite and start being real." This sums up my past week. And I'm figuring that for every child under the age of 18, each day is multiplied by 2. So really, using this math, Sloan and I spent 6 days alone with my folks, roughly 8 days with Sloan's parents, brother and sister-in-law and their 3 kids, 10 days with my folks and brother's family of 4 kids, and then 24 days with my folks, brother's family and sister's family of 7 kids. So what is that? A total of 48 days with family. And it's mainly the fact that it is was us, my parents, and my siblings families and the noisy 12 grandchildren running around playing the piano and with every noisy toy on the planet that makes you nuts. Certifiably.

But even if you tally up the days to just be a week on the island, the reality of being with family is skewed. Skewed with a lifetime full of arguments, resentments, disappointments, miscommunication, burnt cranberry apple bakes, messy rooms, missed curfews, missed soccer games, driven under gates, backed into phone poles, lost keys, lost purses, and lost tempers. And it is just so danged hard to remember that since you are not the same person you were living under this roof so many moons ago, more than likely neither are your parents or your siblings. You return home and are treated like you're 12; you resent it. But by the end of the day, you're acting like you're 8. So when you lose your cell phone it becomes the perfect time for your siblings to rehash everything you've ever lost. Certainly the discussion about the vortex that is my (I mean your) life is in loving jest. But eventually, after 10 minutes of frantic walking around the house with the phone dialing my cell straining to see if I could hear my Stevie Wonder ring tone over the cacophony of laughing siblings and screaming children, I yank Sloan into the back hall of my parents' house and yell at him in hushed tones, "I hate this *%3!@ house. I hate my parents and I hate you most of all for bringing me here!"

But the truth is, I don't hate anybody. It's just that my family makes me crazy. I can't seem to remember that my identity is in Christ when I'm with these people. I take it as a personal affront when I make mac and cheese that no one says to me, "My God, Elizabeth. Did you make this mac and cheese? It is as if it were made by the Christ child Himself!"

I get together with my family, the people whom God has given me as a safe haven to be vulnerable with, and I spend most of the time defensive and pissed off. Mainly pissed off that my family isn't perfect. Which means I'm not perfect. And me not being perfect, well that just really gets me fuming. Particularly if you happen to notice. And if you dare to be imperfect near me I just might threaten to never come home again.

But you see, I have to keep coming home. Not because home is where the heart is or any other cheesy sentiment you learned while watching Christmas movies on the Hallmark channel. But because even though going home drives me bonkers--I would not know how to love were it not for these people. God has given them to me and me to them in order that we might know Him and reflect Him better. And sometimes, my childhood home is so full of His reflection that my heart breaks. I'll see my brother loving on Henry, my sister-in-law and Sloan crackin' jokes, my niece dancing like a maniac with her new Ipod, or maybe in the 20th round of Euchre, and for ever so briefly I catch a glimpse of the true meaning of Christmas.

That God took on flesh and entered into the insanity. That He left the peaceful throne room of heaven to be born in a barnfull of stinky animals so that He could live, love, and eventually die for all of our petty self-righteousness. So that one day, we might experience a REAL homecoming.

It just goes to show me that I still don't get what this whole Jesus dying for my sins and reconciling me to God and my fellow man thing is all about. If I did, I'd have a clearer picture of my own need for grace, compassion, and mercy and I'd be slower to declare my parents, siblings, and spouse as the roots of all evil. I'd see them as my allies rather than my enemies. And Jesus' actions would show me that to love someone, I have to go where it is noisy. And get dirty. And forgive. And forgive. And forgive. Until it hurts.

And forgiveness is death.

Death to being first. Death to correcting every little thing. Death to bringing up someone else's flaws when mine are mentioned. Death to my right to be right. Forgiveness doesn't mean that I have to say, "Oh, it's okay you hurt me." It means saying (and believing), "No. It is not okay. But this relationship means more to me than my right to justice. My love for you mandates I bear the pain without spewing it back at you. "

But FYI--it also means that maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't bring up every little thing I've ever lost since I was 5 the next time I lose my cell phone. Maybe you should get off the couch and help me look for it. Maybe.

Only at Gigi and Papa's....

Are you given 2 spoons and a tambourine before breakfast. I'll post pics of his other incidences of "Gigi and Papa spoil me" when I can find the D60's cord. I may have left it in Richmond.

I'm a little Cliff Clavin, I know...

Henry wants to show off his interpretations of two of his favorite tunes... Frosty the Snowman.

Rudolph the Red-nosed reindeer. (He tripped and fell Nestea Plunge style into the driveway. Occupational hazard for a toddler. But he's a trooper as I think I got more upset than he did.)

And this week's Top Chef got me thinking about the carol "The 12 days of Christmas." I'm pretty sure I'd kill my true love if he gave me all that. Do you know how noisy it would be to own 23 birds, 17 women, and 33 men, particularly when 21 of those men are playing musical instruments? And just think about the mess. And the smell. No thank you. Give me the 5 golden rings and call it a day.
But in actuality, to give you a little more than you cared about Christmas trivia, the song represents the 12 days between the birth of Jesus and the traditional celebration of the Wise men's arrival--Epiphany (January 6). It dates back to the 16th century, when I suppose it was commonplace to give your love people as a present. Each day represents a church teaching, not just one songwriter's obsession with fowl. The meanings are as follows:

• 1 True Love refers to God
• 2 Turtle Doves refers to the Old and New Testaments
• 3 French Hens refers to Faith, Hope and Charity, the Theological Virtues
• 4 Calling Birds refers to the Four Gospels and/or the Four Evangelists
• 5 Golden Rings refers to the first Five Books of the Old Testament, the "Pentateuch", which gives the history of man's fall from grace.
• 6 Geese A-laying refers to the six days of creation
• 7 Swans A-swimming refers to the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, the seven sacraments
• 8 Maids A-milking refers to the eight beatitudes
• 9 Ladies Dancing refers to the nine Fruits of the Holy Spirit
• 10 Lords A-leaping refers to the ten commandments
• 11 Pipers Piping refers to the eleven faithful apostles
• 12 Drummers Drumming refers to the twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle's Creed

Donny Osmond, what are you talking about?

Once again, we were listening to the golden sounds of Channel 401, Sounds of the Season. And I have a few questions about Christmas Carols.

1. Why you gotta always make the yuletide gay? Is there not an argument for the yuletide being created gay? Why can't the yuletide be straight? And why is this any of our business?

2. Is there a contractual obligation for all recording artists to record the song "Winter Wonderland"? I've heard versions from everyone from Frank Sinatra to Neil Diamond to the Cocteau Twins. And seriously, who makes a snowman and then decides to make him a preacher? (Parson Brown)

3. All songs about the 8 lb 6 oz baby Jesus and the night he was born. I'm certain that the night of the Christ child's birth was Holy. But Silent? He was born in a barn. No way. And why do song writers feel they need to make Jesus a docile baby? The miracle is that He is fully God and fully man. And babies cry. It's how they communicate to their mommies and I'm pretty certain a new born needs to say to it's Mom, "Hey you! I was warm where I was. And what's this grumbly in my tummy?" and certainly Jesus had to add, "Hey Mary! Could you swaddle me a bit tighter and maybe have the shepherds wash their hands before they adore me?"

4. Quite possibly, the most theologically rich Christmas songs are "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," "O Little Town of Bethlehem," and "Joy to the World." But my all time favorite is still probably "O Holy Night." But I ask you, can you listen to the Little Drummer Boy and not want to chant "Pa Rum Pa Pa Pum?" It gets points for being my childhood favorite and also the favorite of most kids I know.

5. And who tells Ghost stories at Christmas? In "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" the words are "They'll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long long ago." WHAT?!? Is this some tradition that my folks just didn't observe? Is this talking about your great Aunt Pat's beard? Dickens?

42 cents of validation

I just love getting Christmas cards. Like the number of my facebook friends, I see each card as a sign of my worth. The more cards I get, obviously, the more cool I am. I have each card received taped to the windows in our kitchen. Hopefully, I'll be so popular I won't see all of the leaves I've failed to rake in my backyard.

I particularly love the photo cards. So far, I have a tie between my two favorites. One is from a friend who, in addition to the pics of her kids being cute and smiling, has a photo of her son and daughter singing into a microphone. Her 2 year old son is in his pjs and holding the mic, while the 4 year daughter poses quite saucily behind him. I love this photo so much because it gives me a sense of their personalities. My other favorite card is from a friend who is pregnant. The card has three pics on it--one of the ultrasound, one of her and her husband, and one of the cat. This makes me laugh for several reasons. 1. Sloan's reaction. "Awesome. I was waiting for a picture of her uterus." and 2. I wonder if the cat will get equal billing next Christmas or will he, as I suspect, be excluded from the card. Maybe my friend can take a picture that captures what I imagine her reality to be like next year. A picture of her little one tormenting the cat. Or maybe a photo of her trying to coax her son or daughter out of the litter box.

I'm still a bit complacent about our Christmas card. I used the photo from the banner at the top of this blog. In my photo file, I have the photo titled, "hlovelylashes.jpg." It in no way captures Henry's personality. It makes him seem dreamy, contemplative, and lovely. He is lovely. But the only thing he really contemplates is which member of the creche party to dance with next. Were I to capture his personality it would look something more like this...

Or this...

But he is loving dancing to Christmas music. He has 2 new dance moves. He likes to take the baby Jesus out of the manger and then do "fast feet" and then put the baby back in the manger. I tried explaining to Henry that in order to avoid SIDS, we needed to place Jesus on his back. But most of the time, Jesus ends up face down in the manger. Or face down next to a donkey. He also does a move I like to call "Dizzy Sippy." Remember the game "dizzy bat"? Henry likes to dangle his sippy cup from his mouth and twirl around real fast. He does this until inevitably the sippy cup flies across the room and he falls down on his bum. He rolls around laughing, trying to get up to get the sippy, but is too dizzy to stand. I'm usually no help during this because I'm too busy trying not to wet my pants.

But sometimes Henry is tired of the Christmas music. We pretty much have the TV on all the time to Comcast's "Sounds of the Season." In addition to loads of traditional Christmas music, you also get to hear such classics as Faith Hill's "Where is Christmas?" and Melissa Etheridge's "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)". With alternating holiday scenes of close up photos of sugar cookies, snowy trees, and an abandoned sled, Comcast also gives us great holiday trivia such as, "In Ireland, children blacken their faces to go caroling", and "traditionally, the trunk of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is given to the US Equestrian team to use as an obstacle." But angry that the TV was on and yet their were no moving pictures, Henry took things into his own hands. I (foolishly, I know) left Henry alone in the family room to use the bathroom. Upon my return, I heard blaring explosions coming from the family room. I found Henry sitting on the couch, remote control in hand, watching "Back to the Future III." He'd obviously turned the volume all the way up. But I had to hand it to him, it definitely was more interesting to watch than the music channel. And, because I was in desperate need of some cuddles and also because Back to the Future is such a darn good movie, we watched the rest of it. There were only 20 minutes left, but we still got to see a flying train, a car on fire, and some of the worst acting in Elisabeth Shoe's career.

Mr. Glass would love Henry*

A friend commented on how Henry might be the only toddler not afraid of Santa. And it's true. He's never really had that normal "stranger danger" fear. I attribute it to him being taken care of by so many people the first 2 weeks of his life when he was in the NICU. (And also I like to think I have exceptional parenting skills. But we all know that at best I'm an adequate mother.) Henry was neither afraid nor excited to see Santa. What he really wanted was to get at the giant "candies" and lighted Christmas trees at the mall's North Pole. He also wanted to check out the tripod the photo elf was using. And all of the cords surrounding the tripod. It is no wonder that he loves Curious George. They are kindred spirits. And I'm cool with that.

But the comment got me thinking. Is my kid odd? Peculiar? Quirky? Or is he just a weirdo? Maybe he just dances to the beat of his own drum. (But isn't that just a polite way of saying "a bit off"?)

I'll let you decide. Here are the latest things Henry does that are "unique".

• Most kids are afraid of the vacuum cleaner. Henry tries to ride it. As I use it. And when he eventually falls off, he pushes the canister around behind me.
• He kisses any pictures he sees of himself.
• He's not a big waver. But he nods at people when they wave to him--as if to say, " 'Sup?"
• He will not dance alone. You must dance with him. And he prefers to dance on the table. (College friends--yes, I know. Like mother, like son.)
• He is manipulative. (No--I know this is not unique to him. But isn't 19 months old a bit young?) Yesterday he didn't want to put on his pants. I said, "Time for pants." He said, "No." "Yes." "No." "You're putting on pants. It's December. Pay no attention to the fact that it's 70 degrees outside." Then he proceeded to start kissing me, saying "No" between each kiss. "Thanks for the kisses, Pickle. But you're still putting on your pants."
• He is an adventurous eater. He loves spicy foods--like the Bang Bang Shrimp from Bonefish grill. Last night he housed on a bowl of chili. He loves Kufta kabobs from the Mediterranean Deli. He loves salmon. And raw onion. And roast beef with horseradish sauce.
• And sometimes, I can never tell if he is saying "thank you" in sign language, blowing me a kiss, or telling me off. Contextually, it's a crap shoot.

*Mr. Glass is a character on Curious George. He's a millionaire who loves all things "unique".

Ho, Ho, Ho

Originally I had planned for Henry to wear his fancy embroidered Christmas church outfit for his Santa photo. But I put it on (a minor miracle as it has real buttons as opposed to snaps and the shirt buttons into the little plaid pants) only to realize that my son sort of looks, well, how do I put this, girly. So I dug out a hand me down Christmas tie. I did not want to immortalize Henry in his Santa photo looking like a sissy-boy.

(Note to self, Henry is now to big for fancy dancy outfits.)

But I mean, how cute is my little drummer boy in his tie? Where did my baby go? I think this is a complete turn around from the stoner look he was rockin' in his vans last year.

Also, what's with the "Season's Greetings" at the bottom of the card. Can't they just say Merry Christmas? Who takes their kids to see Santa that is offended by Christmas? Geesh, people. Michael Scott says it best---"Happy Birthday, Jesus! Sorry your party is so lame..."

Oh Tannenbaum

The prospects of our getting an awesome tree from the baseball team at James River High School being so bright, Henry and Daddy have to wear their shades. Henry has taken to wearing his sunglasses a lot. In the car. In his stroller. In the grocery store. I think it's because he's a drummer now and so he has an image to project and protect.

Over the river and through the woods, to the baseball fields we go!
Henry helps us decorate. Or mainly, he excels at re-decorating. Many ornaments were hung multiple times. Notice the spiderman ornament at his feet. This, and a scooby doo van, are his favorite ornaments and spend more time visiting baby Jesus in Henry's "Little People" Nativity than they do on the tree.

Henry helps Daddy water the tree. But it is during this time that he discovers the joy of splashing in the water in the tree stand.

And then he begins to rearrange the lights.
Henry crawls around to the back of the tree. Sloan, not seeing what Henry had done, literally asked me, "Where's Henry?" Only to hear a "Dee-a-Doo" (Henry's version of "Peek-a-boo") from the back of the tree.

So finally, we had to put the tree in prison. It's for it's own safety. But we do have "open tree" times where Henry can rearrange to his heart's content. But Mommy just can't take having to "parent" so vigilantly for longer than 30 minutes at a time.

Things that Make Me Go Hmmm....

1. Why is it called "Summer Sausage" if it is mainly sold at Christmas time?

2. What's with the Christmas song "I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus?" At best, a child witnesses her parents in some sort of sexual role play. At worst, it's a song about adultery. Does anyone else have a problem with this?

Little Drummer Boy

Henry has a new favorite past time. The drums. We're talking he sat still on a stool and played the drums for thirty minutes and cried when I took him away to eat dinner at his cousin Anderson's 16th birthday dinner. All night long, if he wasn't strapped in a high chair, he was at the drums. What killed me about all of this was that he was into it. Not giggling and laughing like he is when playing with cars, but I had the sense of watching someone actually perform. He was concentrating. Had he closed his eyes to "feel it"--I would not have been surprised.

Move over Keith Moon.

Even Isabel can join in on her own set. They're thinking of opening a dueling drum bar called "Henry and Isabel's." Ladies drink for free on Tuesday nights.
But the best part, Mom, is that I can watch myself play the drums in the window.

P.S. Please no one tell my parents that Henry likes to play the drums. He does not need a set of drums for Christmas.

The Pickle vs. the Pop (or Hey, Henry, Look this Way!)

So I'm slowly learning how to use the camera. And the software that Nikon "gave me." I say gave loosely considering the price of the camera. The interface is different than Photoshop so it is taking me longer to figure out what each control is and what it does, but I'm slowly getting the hang of it. Were I to read the instructions, things would probably go a little faster.
That being said, how in the heck to I get Henry to cooperate? No matter what dance I do or sound I make, the boy won't look at me or the camera. And forget trying to get him to just sit still and smile. My friend Mollie had the great idea of a giant candy cane lollipop for Christmas card pics. Since our card lists do not overlap, I stole the idea. Cute right? But only if a)you can find the pop, and b)your child doesn't bury the pop. Initially, I could only find a medium sized pop, but it had a Santa on it. Then I went to Cracker Barrel and found a giant Lolly. However, this morning, in between the time it took me to unwrap the giant lolly, put my camera on, and get Henry out of his high chair to go outside for pictures, I lost the lollipop. I thought I'd put it in my back pocket, but it's gone. Seriously. No where to be found. So we took the medium sized lollipop outside. Where Henry proceeded to use it as a phone. So I showed him that you were supposed to lick it. He licked it, then began pretending it was a rake in the leaves. Then he threw it and then covered it with leaves.
I was hoping to get the photo done today so I could take advantage of Ritz' 5 cent developing today, but I think I'm going to have to wait until Sloan returns and I can have someone else helping me wrangle the pickle and the pop.

Henry's Merry Godbrothers

Welcome to the world, Hudson and Will! If Henry were awake he would squeal with delight and probably try to stick his finger in your sweet tiny noses!

I'm so glad you decided to wait to join us outside your Mommy's tummy, although I'm still lamenting y'all not being born on my birthday. I was planning on having a joint 35th/4th birthday party with y'all at Chuck E Cheese's. Maybe we can still share a laser tag party sometime?

And to Shannon, one of Henry's Fairy Godmothers and an original founder of the Henry Marshall Phillips Fan Club and Facebook group, you ROCK!!!! Way to make it past 36 weeks carrying over 12 pounds of baby. No wonder that beach ball you swallowed was so danged big!

I guess Henry will have to find some other blonde cougar to cuddle up to as your lap will now be taken...

Any takers?

Thank you, Ferris

Life moves pretty fast.

If you don't stop and look around once in awhile,

you could miss it.

--Ferris Bueller*

Sloan is out of town until Thursday and he only asked one thing of me while he was gone--"Just enjoy Henry." You see, I've been threatening a full on cleaning smackdown this week in preparation for Christmas decorations. And I am cleaning. Slowly. But I'm also obeying my husband and enjoying Henry. And control of the remote control. Last night I stayed up past midnight painting Henry's Christmas present (a double sided train/car landscape thingy the exact dimensions of our coffee table--I know. It's awesome and I'm smart.) and watching House. Thank you USA for running a House marathon and thank you to whomever invented DVR.

But in addition to loving my craft time, I'm loving my little man. Today, I didn't rush him across the gym parking lot like I usually do. I don't know why I rush him. We're just going home. And at home there are chores to do. But I just let Henry take the lead (ok, as much of the lead as you can take while still holding your Mommy's hand). We strolled down the ramp then came back up the steps twice. We shook people's hands and waved at people. We pulled up grass, stuck our heads through each of the empty "U's" at both bike racks, hugged trees, picked up rocks and sticks, watched people start their cars, watched people pull out, touched headlights, and even sat down and played with the velcro on our shoes a couple of times. (And by we, I'm mainly meaning Henry. My shoes have laces.) It was probably the best 15 minutes I've spent in days.

So maybe I oughtta listen to Sloan more. Seems like I've said this before...


*In college, I wrote a paper comparing Ferris Bueller to Benjamin Franklin as sorts of colloquial spokesmen for their respective generations. I got a "B" with the following comment--"Elizabeth, it is a shame you are an A student who is content to receive a B. Perhaps your next paper, in addition to being well written and humorous, will actually pertain to American literature." My next paper was on Emerson and Walt Whitman. My thesis was that these two men did not think the university system could accurately measure my worth so what does my grade really matter?

Ashton Kutcher's Got Nothing on Me...

For my birthday/Christmas/Valentine's Day/Mother's Day present, Sloan got me a new fancy dancy camera--a Nikon D60. It pretty much rocks, except for that I'm still don't quite know how to work it. The last time I took a photography class it was with actual film. It is not so much the photography part I'm worried about, it is actually what the heck are all of these buttons and levers for. And when should I put on the extra lens that the salesman said would be great for when Henry is in a play? And what the heck is this software that came with it. I wish I had Photoshop--of course, the Photoshop courses I took in Art School out in Colorado were for Photoshop 6. I think they're on version 47 now or something.

But here are a few of my favorite pics from Thanksgiving. Nothing has been done to them, seeing as I can't even figure out how to crop them. The manual says I'm supposed to be able to do this "in camera". Yeah right. Thank God it came with free passes to photog classes at "Ritz Camera University."

The J boys enjoying their bottles.

Why everyone at a little get together of my high school friends kept saying, "My, Henry sure is busy."

The naked chef. Watch out Jamie Oliver.

Henry's cousin, Gigi.

Henry loves playing in Gigi and Papa's giant tub.

All dressed up to go out for Mommy's birthday.

(Note the scratch on his face from my wedding ring.)

This Charmed Life

I spend a lot of time complaining...

I don't get to sleep in anymore. My kitchen floor needs mopping. I hate cooking and apparently I signed up for KP duty in sharpie. My hair is about an inch too short. The rain makes it a pain to get to the gym. I want to lose weight but I also want to eat my entire birthday cake by myself. I feel guilty that I'm half way to eating the cake by myself (it's my grandma's chocolate chip pound cake)! I wish Henry would sit down once in awhile. And maybe learn to change his own diaper. And brush his own teeth. And put himself to bed. My husband travels a lot. I want a baby. Specifically a pink one. Lots of my friends are pregnant. My 43 year old sister is pregnant. With her 8th kid and for some strange reason, she won't promise to give me the baby if it is a girl.

But then, God blesses me with reality. The weekend before Thanksgiving I went to a fabulous wedding. The wedding was so awesome it took 2 states to contain it--Pennsylvania and Delaware. While hanging out at our friend's house before the wedding, my friend's father asked me a question that I haven't been asked since my senior year in college.

Dr. C: So, Elizabeth. What are your dreams? Your long term aspirations?
EJ: Huh?
Dr. C: Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
(Long pause)
EJ: Well, I guess more of the same.
Dr. C: Really?
EJ: Yeah. I like my life. So just more of the same.
Dr. C: Hmm.
EJ: And maybe to have a maid come once a week to clean my bathrooms.

I'm very thankful for Dr. C's pointed, albeit awkward question because it made me realize, that when it comes down to it--I've got everything I need. Actually, I've got everything I want. I'm content.

It's a new feeling for me. Contentment. Maybe I'm growing up. I am 31 now. Seems like it's about time....