Breaking Ice & Making Nice

From the Mind of Mo, Vol. 2

This afternoon, while driving home from the grocery store, Mo suddenly announced that the brow was raised and the boat was out in the ocean.

"Yes, Mo," I replied, "that's true. Daddy's ship has raised the brow and sailed into the ocean."

"No, Mama," Mo corrected me. "MY ship raised the brow and went out in the ocean."

"Oh," I said. "Your ship?"

"Yes, I have to go work on a ship just like Daddy so I can make lots of money. Then we can buy lots of clothes..." (he paused thoughtfully) "...and new toys..." (another pause) "...and food."

"Mo, that's really nice of you, " I told him. "But if you go out on a ship, I'd really miss you, just like I really miss Daddy."

"Mama, it's okay. I won't be gone long. I'll make lots of money really, really fast."

I couldn't bear to tell him that, despite the many perks, military pay just isn't that great. But before I could decide on a more appropriate answer, he continued.

"Mama, I'm hungry. Can I please have a yogurt when we get home?"

Sure, Mo. You can have any flavor you want, even my favorite French Vanilla Bean. You are the family Sugar Daddy, after all.

Here's a Tip! The Timing in the Rhyming

Here's a Tip:

As you raise a precocious preschooler, I entreat you, do NOT teach your child rhyming and hockey at the same time. If you do, you will inevitably hear the following one day, and hopefully not in a cavernous and quiet public space:

Hockey lockey jockey tockey rockey.

Goal boal roal toal foal.

Stick lick rick mick d***k.

Puck luck tuck suck f***k.

Not my best and brightest parenthood moment, I know. But you can bet I have catalogued this moment in the "stories for teenage embarrassment" category for future use.

A Slight Misunderstanding

We celebrate the entirety of the holiday season at our house, from Thanksgiving through the full 12 days of Christmas, culminating in our annual Three Kings Day Fiesta on the 12th day (the CDR was born in Puerto Rico, so we celebrate the holidays a little American and a little Hispanic).

This means that we listen to a LOT of Christmas music, and we listen to it all the time. As a result, Mo knows the words to several popular Christmas songs - or at least, he thinks he knows the words. Today at lunch, my uninhibited toddler began belting out one of his holiday favorites at the top of his lungs:

"GLOOOOO-OOOO-OOOO-RIA, you make Chelsea's DAY-O!"

Translation: "Gloria, in Excelsis Deo."

I Suck at Christmas

Here's the thing. I love Christmas. I mean, really love it. I consider myself a very creative and thoughtful gift-giver. I never get tired of Christmas music on the radio in December. And I have yet to meet a Christmas cookie that I refused to eat.

But you know what? I suck at Christmas. I mean, really suck at it.

Christmas cards? I printed out my contact list just after Thanksgiving and updated several addresses, most due to new assignments. (When I said "I do" back in '02, I didn't really stop to consider how much time this update process takes for a military family. I had something close to 20 address changes this year.)

The sad reality is that I have yet to purchase cards or write our family update letter, much less take a decent family picture.

Christmas gifts? The little elf inside me was already brainstorming ideas way back when we closed out Christmas '06, bookmarking product pages on websites and in catalogs. I updated my Excel spreadsheet with a new 2007 column and a smattering of initial ideas. I planned to do most of my shopping online, taking advantage of the many coupons and free shipping offers advertised in the 300-plus retail emails I have received this month.

The sad reality is that I have only ordered ONE gift online, and I did it about 15 minutes ago (and $8.95 later to cover expedited shipping).

Christmas decorations? I had sugar plum visions in my head for the magical day that our family would spend choosing and decorating our Christmas tree. We would start the day with a hearty breakfast of homemade Belgian waffles, then bundle up and head out to the tree farm to find our favorite fir. After chopping down and bundling up the tree, we'd sit around the bonfire and enjoy the Ghirardelli hot cocoa that I brought in our thermos. Then we'd go home and set up our tree during the boys' naptime, only to enjoy a Christmas cookie afternoon snack while sharing the fond childhood memories sparked by our favorite family ornaments.

The sad reality is that we crammed the tree farm trip into a late Saturday morning two weekends ago, and only got around to decorating the tree last night while the CDR did a phone survey and I got ready for yoga class. True story.

But you know what? I've come to peace with my Christmas failings. This year, I am going to have myself a selfish, lazy Christmas.

Here's what I won't do: I won't add handwritten notes to my Christmas cards, and I won't feel bad that they don't arrive in mailboxes before 2008. I won't stress about buying all the gifts before Christmas, but will instead take advantage of the post-holiday sales just in time for our family visits to Oregon and Illinois in late December and mid-January, respectively. And I won't worry about the dozens of pine needles that Kel likely shoved into his mouth or the 27 ornaments that Mo hung in one small section of our tree's bottom branches (but I will redistribute a few of them when he's asleep because my passion for equitable ornament distribution is difficult to overcome).

Here's what I will do: I will make batch after batch of Christmas cookies, if only to watch the identical facial expressions on the CDR and Mo as they roll out the dough together. I will take my children to the mall and leave with not one shopping bag, if only to watch the CDR crawling around after Kel in the play area. I will take my family out to as many local holiday events as possible, because there is nothing better than watching live toy soldiers drum out "Jingle Bells" as my toddler dances to the beat, my baby gazes at the twinkling lights overhead, and my husband wraps his arms around me.

We have only 156 days in 2008 to spend together with the CDR, and I'm not willing to waste many of those days away from him. Call it selfish, if you must. Call it lazy, if you dare. But I call it "Christine's Christmas Gift to Herself." And the best part? I don't even have to worry about writing a thank-you card.

So Much for Yoga

In the past few weeks, I have made a concerted effort to leave the house after dinner on Mondays and Wednesdays for yoga class at the YMCA. With Christmas just two weeks away, I was tempted tonight to stay home and check another item off my holiday to-do list. But my husband, who is a very generous and somewhat masochistic man (hello, he voluntarily takes on bathtime for both boys all by his lonesome),strongly suggested that I go to class tonight. "It's important for you to have time away, and we'll be fine," he reminded me. "You should go."

As it was already 6:55 and class begins promptly at 7:30, I ran upstairs and threw on some yoga wear. I had already come downstairs to grab my coat and purse when I realized that I was still wearing my engagement/wedding rings (I don't usually wear them during yoga practice because they bug me; don't know why, they just bug me). Instead of running upstairs, I decided to save time and put my rings on the kitchen island before heading out the door. I slid the rings off my finger and reached toward the countertop.

Then my life slid into Matrix-like slow motion. Somehow I lost my grip on the engagement ring and stared, horrified and immobile, as it bounced off the tile floor and slipped perfectly between the slats of the heating vent. Clang, clatter, clatter, clang, clink... Silence. My ring was gone.

"HUSBAND! I NEED YOU!" I screamed down toward the family room. Thinking I must have sliced off a finger or something, the CDR came rushing up the stairs with Baby Kel in his arms. "What happened?" he demanded. I pointed at the heating vent, held out the hand that still contained my lonely little wedding band, and then began to cry. "I lost my ring," I blubbered repeatedly. "I lost my ring!"

In true XO fashion, the CDR took calm control of the situation. He put Kel in his Exersaucer, then hugged me tight and whispered, "It will be okay. I need you to be calm. It will be okay. I will find the ring."

I went into the living room to retrieve the Kleenex box as my husband collected his arsenal of rescue tools. Flashlight? Check. Pressed powder compact with adjustable mirror? Check. Tongs to hold said compact? Check. We moved the island far enough away from the vent that we could crouch on either side of the opening, then set to work. I used the tongs to slowly lower the compact mirror into the vent as the CDR peered down inside with the flashlight. I rotated the mirror from side to side and held my breath.

"Wait! Turn it back to the left!" called the CDR excitedly. "I think I see it!" I turned the mirror as requested.

"No, I was wrong," he sighed. "That's not it."

I knelt back and felt the tears begin again their steady descent from eye to chin. I couldn't believe how calm the CDR was about the situation. This ring isn't just special to me. It's a part of his family history. The diamond and setting of my engagement ring originally belonged to the CDR's maternal great-grandmother. It was an anniversary gift, and it had been passed down to him from his grandparents.

By now, both children knew that something was not right with the world. When Mo came upstairs and saw me crying, he immediately went into comfort mode. "Don't worry, Mama," he assured me as he patted my arm. "Daddy will find the ring. And if you need to take a little rest, you can go lay on your bed."

"Thanks, love," I replied as I walked over to retrieve a mightily fussy Kel from the Exersaucer. I sat down in the living room and pulled the laptop over to begin my Internet research on how to retrieve a lost engagement ring from a forced-air heating system.

Meanwhile, the CDR had disappeared to the downstairs family room, clattering about in the crawlspace. He came back upstairs and the house became eerily quiet.

Then my life slid into Matrix-like slow motion again, as my dear husband rounded the corner and knelt before me, reaching for my left hand. I wept tears of relief and joy as he slipped that beautiful diamond back onto my finger. "This is for you," he whispered. "I love you."

"Now," he continued gently, "will you please, please stop crying?"