Another Christmas Hit

A hit for mommy,
and also useful for tough kid training

A Real Drummer Now

Nice as a parent
When a Christmas gift is a hit

He's a real drummer now.

What were you before, I asked.
"A pretend drummer," he said.

Holiday Cards

Got a laugh from this recent bit in the Boston Globe - The drama of the ‘Dear friends’ letter - on the loathed and loved ritual of reading the year's accomplishments from friends dear and how do we know them again?  Even though we haven't seen many of those this year.  Maybe it is this phase of life with young kids, that most Holiday cards go out from and arrive for us completely or practically blank, because it is about all you can do to design and order and address and mail them off on or close to on time.  And it is nice enough to see how cute and wow how they've grown and look at how they're holding it all together!  No recounting of milestones and achievements this year from the GL's.  Just three of our favorite snapshots from 2009, assembled by Ashley on tinyprints

PEACE LOVE and JOY to you all this Christmas!

Bad dream

One night not long ago
2:15 AM,
There was a steady, moaning cry from down the hall
And in my slow wake up
I didn't recognize it immediately as James.
I thought it a typical, fleeting, she'll put herself back to sleep cry from Maya
But when I did wake enough to place it,
And plod down the dark and cold hallway
past Scout the Dog, so fast asleep
no BAP BAP BAP of her tail at my approach.
She was OUT!
In the dim moonlight in his room,
I saw James curled into a ball,
out of his covers at the top of his bed,
head down by the lighthouse headboard,
in his red and white striped PJ's
crying
"Did you have a bad dream?" I asked.
"Yes," he said,
tears winding down, and softening, and,
after a fluttery breath or two,
stopping
still.
By the time I rotated the sad little red and white striped ball
Got him back and wrapped again under his covers
And lay down next to him
It was the slow, steady, (congested but still) peaceful sleep.

Finding Boundaries

Sometimes in parenthood,
and maybe in life full stop,
we learn where the boundaries are
by crossing them.
Last week Thursday morning,
even with double socks
and snow pants
and heavy jackets
and wrapped in a fuzzy blanket,
at (by weather.com) 15 degrees F and feels like -3,
it was TOO COLD for the bike trailer,
at least for James.
Maya, as usual, took it all in stride.
And all seemed well, until we dropped her off,
And James insisted,
"I want to go in and see Hannah" (Maya's buddy)
When I said no, and that we had to get him to school,
He got very quiet,
then a few tears,
and by the time I took Maya into Hannah's house and got James and me on the road again,
He was in all out wailing cry,
all the way to school.
So as we passed the few intrepid walkers on their way to the T,
I got those Donna Reed It's a Wonderful Life looks that seemed to say,
"Oh, George, why must you torture the children?"
The tears finally subsided at school.
But as I stripped him down layer after puffy layer, he said, of his snowpants,
"I want to keep these on," .
And Miss Autumn said, "Don't you look cozy!" when puffy pants he bounded, revived into the classroom.
And I thought, "Cozy now."
And during my cold, numb-toes ride in behind the fuzzy ski mask, I turned over different logistical combinations of car, bus, and train
For the days on the other side of the COLD boundary, which is maybe 20?

In the dark

At 16 months
I get plenty of smiles from my little girl
And she calls me and Ashley and James and Scout The Dog
all "Dada!"
There are few memorable times when she could have had Ashley, but definitely chose me.
But these are still few and far enough between I can probably count them on a hand and,
I'm such a sucker,
to just melt I love her so.

One night earlier this month, I was home a little late,
after a detour to the polls for MA's special election to fill Ted Kennedy's seat.
By the time I got home,
Maya was already dazed and confused and rubbing her eyes with the tired.

I swept her up
And, when she didn't squirm and strain for Ashley,
passed her to her mommy for a goodnight hug.
And then she reached back for me,
Her little hand waving and waving
Bye bye
Bye bye
As we went upstairs.

"Pa-sees..." she said,
in her faint, breathless, desperate, it's-all-i-can-do-to-get-the-word-out way.

I found her paci in her crib,
Gave it to her,
along with the treasured green blanket,
and as I lay her on her changing table, and got her- too tired to protest -  into the fuzzy pink footie PJ's she just barely still fits into, I would have put money on her nodding right off.
But then she revived for book, after book, after book, after book

Until I finally cut her off
And stuffed her feet and legs into her hefty pink sleep sack,
pulling her arms through the holes
and zipping her up.
Then we made the rounds of her room to say goodnight to Grams' Bunny
Goodnight to the little Mayans
Goodnight to Aunt Mally's flowers
And when I cut the light -
BOOM!
Her head was on my shoulder.
Unlike James at her age,
who needed swaying and singing, and singing, and singing,
I knew I could set Maya down
And in seconds she'd be out,
And that if I didn't, she might squirm and squirm and squirm until I did (Can't you see I need to sleep?!?)

But the feel of her little arms on my neck
Her head on my shoulder,
I couldn't help but hold and hold and hold her
there in the dark in her room by her crib
just a little more time
just Dada and his girl

One of the things no one prepares you for as a parent
Is the inane songs that get locked in your brain.
Ever since a Saturday before last visit to the Puppet Showplace Theatre in Brookline,
On my way to the office,
Or from the office,
Or at my desk at work,
Or at home, where Ashley, usually having just broken free from the grip of some ditty, says "STEFAN!"
When I, absent mindedly burst into yet another rendition of
Cockadoodle doo
Dee doodle dee
Doodle dee
Doodle dee
DOO!
And James picks up the refrain, LOUD,

And my old rooster says
Cockadoodle doo
Dee doodle dee
Doodle dee
Doodle dee
DOO!
and laughs
and this is now my life.