Christmas Joy

Do you remember your favorite Christmas ornament from your childhood?  That one piece that you could not wait for your mom to unwrap or pull out of the storage box?  Do you remember decorating the tree as a kid and all the stories that went with every ornament you carefully placed on the tree?  That one was from Aunt Joan. . . Mom got you that when she went to San Francisco. . . You made that one in first grade . . . That was from your first Christmas . . .

All these tacky pieces, dripping with globs of glue and glitter, handmade crafts and special mementos of trips near and far.  Bright vivid colors, pieces you loved to hold, memories you would cherish.

My favorite decoartion didn't go on the tree.  It was this centerpiece-thing that Mom would put on the coffee table.  It had three felt reindeer covered in gold glitter and it was tacky.  I'm talking Carol Brady-1970's-tacky.  But I loved this piece.  I played with it so much that those damn reindeer were bald by the time I hit middle school.  Dad would crank up a fire, Mom would attack the Christmas tree with a vengeance, and I would just sit at the coffee table and play with this silly centerpiece.  And not once, not a single time, would Mom ask me to leave it alone.  She would let me have my fun, sweep up the glitter remnants when I was done, and softly smile while humming some John Denver holiday tune.

I am the complete opposite.  I am the annal retentive holiday decorator.  No one, and I mean no one, gets near my tree.  All the decorations have a certain place and when it comes to holiday illumination, I am the queen.  Pete picks out the tree and leaves the rest to me.  The kids don't dare come within a four foot radius of the tree until every light is in its place.  They know this, and they stay back.  Until this year.

Thomas pulled out an ornament Mom had given him on her last Christmas with us and I just melted.  I stopped in my tracks and I remembered that damn gold reindeer centerpiece.  I stepped away from the tree and let the kids do the rest.  They had a blast - chatting about the ornaments, which ones they loved, how they remembered certain ones, hanging them all haphazard on the tree.  I sat on the couch, watched with a heavy but very happy heart, and wished Mom could see this.  Wished more than anything that I could play with that silly reindeer centerpiece.  Wished more than anything I had an ounce of Mom's patience during each and every day.

Cherish the small moments, relish the big ones, and celebrate everything in between.  Merry Christmas from me and Mimi!

Christmas Cookies

2/3 cup shortening
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg
3 Tbsp milk
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups flour

Icing:
5 Tbsp butter, softened
3 1/2 cups confectioner sugar
6 Tbsp milk
1 tsp vanilla
pinch of salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Mix shortening and sugar together.  Stir in egg, milk then vanilla.  Add flour a little at a time.  Wrap in wax paper and chill.  Roll out on floured surface and cut with cutters.  Bake on greased cookie sheet for 10 minutes until done but not brown.

Icing:
Mix all ingredients adding mile last (a little at a time).  Separate and color with food coloring.

Going Bananas!

Looking back, I realize what a gift it was to be with my mom while she was dying.  It was hard as hell to watch her slip away and, as I've said before, the last few hours of her life were brutal. However, I had all these really special moments, hanging out by her bedside, chatting about all things random.  I got to ask her a lot of questions, get her advice, calm her nerves about leaving my dad and the six of us.  But I forgot to ask her one question, a question that plagues me every single day - "how the hell did you raise six kids without ever raising your voice?"

It's true.  Mom was not a yeller.  Can you believe that?  I feel as if I spend 80% of my day yelling my head off at my kids.  As if, somehow, by raising the decibel level and pitch of my voice they are going to listen to me.  I'm a smart person, graduate degree and all, yet I still can't get through a day without losing my cool and yelling at my kids somehow expecting that, miraculously, this one time they will listen.  Isn't the definition of insanity repeating the same action and expecting a different outcome?  That proves it - I'm insane.

Don't get me wrong.  It's not like we don't have wonderful, calm, "Rockwellian" moments in this household. But there are so many times when I just completely lose my cool and yell, and yell, and yell . .. and get ignored by the three Lilliputians who are clearly running this insane asylum.  So how did Mom do it?  How did she manage to get all six of us out the door, fed, cleaned, clothed, homeworked without raising her voice.  I mean we had family dinners every single night, home cooked meal on the table, all six of us sitting there (invariably talking over each other so it wasn't a quiet meal) and mom didn't have to yell to get us to the table.  Yell to turn off the TV.  Yell to clean up the toys in the basement.  Yell to get us out the door.

I would like one morning in my household where my boys actually get their socks, shoes and jackets on without me raising my voice.  One football practice carpool where we aren't rushing out the door, football pads trailing behind us, helmet bouncing on the ground, me yelling "Get IN the car!"  One afternoon where homework just gets done, no nagging required.

In one of my recent running chats with Mom, I asked her advice (note: see above comment about my insanity).  How did she manage to keep the level of chaos in our house manageable?  How did she do it without yelling?  Well, it's pretty clear.  Just stop yelling.  Take it one step at a time.  Start getting the kids ready 10 minutes earlier and give yourself some wiggle room.  Touch them on the shoulder so you command their attention instead of yelling from two rooms over.  All these things I know, I just have a hard time putting them into practice.  Let's face it, it is far easier to sit on my duff in the kitchen typing this blog and screaming for the kids to come for dinner, then to get up, walk into the family room and ask them in a civilized tone.  

As Pete continues to tell me, don't make everything an issue.  He truly is the voice of reason in this household, although he is the voice that gets to shower every morning, go off to a cool job on Wall Street, travel and eat at really nice restaurants; so while I respect his opinion, I'm not always sure if we share the same reality.  That said he is right: stop making every little thing an issue.  But, when this is all I do all day long, everything seems like an issue to me.

So, I'm going to try and take it down a notch.  Apply all the things I learn in yoga and relax.  Who cares if they are a few minutes late for school?  Why do they have to do homework right when I tell them?  Let the kids have some control over how the day is structured, and maybe they will do a better job listening next time.  And, stop yelling.

Since I have come to the conclusion that I am going bananas, today I made banana cake for the kids and they loved it.  Thomas helped me mash the bananas, Regan and Jack fought over who would lick the beaters, and I didn't yell at anyone.  Not making everything an issue, just like Pete.  One day at a time, just like Mimi.

Banana Cake

1/2 cup butter
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
2 bananas (ripe)
1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1 cup powdered sugar
1/2 cup chopped walnuts (optional)
milk as needed

Preheat oven to 350.

Cream butter, sugar, eggs and bananas.  Combine flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda.  Mix into creamed mixture.  Spread batter into a 9x13 baking pan.  Bake for 45 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.

Mix powdered sugar, chopped walnuts and enough milk to make an icing.  Spread over warm cake and serve at room temperature.