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By rebecca, December 24, 2011 11:29 am

 MERRY CHRISTMAS!

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By rebecca, December 21, 2011 1:21 am

First it’s bodies hovering and leaping and flopping all around. “Don’t jump over the baby. Don’t jump over the baby. Don’t jump over the baby.” Then it’s nurse the baby, change the baby, cajole the kids into getting dressed. It’s the trial and error process of discovering which of her two or more dozen shirts is the one that Irene will deign to wear today. It’s trying to convince Colum that sitting still and concentrating is actually faster than flinging your body across your bed super hero-style. It’s pulling yesterday’s yoga pants back on and wrapping a spit-stained Moby Wrap over a clean t-shirt.

Then cook the oatmeal, feed the children, change the baby, make the coffee and empty the dishwasher. Check my email and make a phone call. Lunch time! Make some sandwiches, call the kids. Pack Colum’s snack Unpack Colum’s backpack, frantically flip through yesterday’s pile of paperwork, call the kids again. Pack the snack, feed the baby, change the baby, pack the diaper bag. Wipe their faces, wipe their asses, wash their hands. Coats, boots, hats, mitts! Go, go, go! Wash the coffee thermos, pour the coffee, wear the baby. Put on sweater, baby carrier cover, giant-ass coat, baby hat, mommy hat. Zipper all around.

Lock the door, grab my bag, push the stroller, forget my coffee (always!) and start walking. “C’mon, Colum. Let’s go, Colum. Run, run, run. We’re going to be late. Hurry! I mean it. Hurry!” Wait for the light, cross the street, walk under the train tracks and turn the corner. Catch the school bus, wave good-bye, and then start walking. Five miles a day for the sake of my own sanity and well-being.

Walk to my parents house, change the baby, feed the baby, give Irene a snack. Read a story, pick up toys, say good-bye. Boots, coat, hats, mitts. Go, go, go! Sweater, cover, coat, stroller, bag, walk. Unlock the door, hang up coat, take off boots, put socks back on. Start a mother-effing pot roast so the meat won’t spoil.

Sear the meat, chop the onions, celery, carrots. Check the recipe, drain the fat. Feed the girl a snack. Add the stock, find a bay leaf and throw in some herbs. Bring that sucker to a boil. Call my mother-in-law, cover the pot, turn off the stove. Boots, coat, mitts, hat. Go, go, go! Sweater, cover, coat. Run.

Greet the bus, take the backpack, cross the street. “C’mon, let’s go. C’mon. Hurry up. It’s freezing. Let’s move.” Under the tracks and across the street and up the lane and home. Coats, boots, mitts, hats all come off. TV goes on. Turn on the stove, flip the roast, peel the potatoes, pre-heat the oven. Feed the baby. Chop the potatoes, season and roast ‘em. Drag the boy upstairs to change for the Christmas concert. Dress pants, white shirt, sweater vest, check. Dress shoes too small; light up Skechers it is!

Peel the carrots, fill the pot, turn on the stove. Flip the roast. Open the door and greet my mother-in-law.

Serve the kids, grab a bite, change the baby. Send mother-in-law to pick up husband, strap baby into carseat and commence the never-ending car wail. Boots, coats, hats, mitts. Go, go, go! Lock door, open car, strap in kids, forget diaper bag. Drive into a traffic jam, circle the block, go back for diaper bag. Let the car wail continue. Rejoin traffic, circle the church, park way-too-far away. Release the children, carry the carseat and hurry, hurry, hurry.

Deliver Colum to his teacher, file slowly up the steps and finally sit down with my family in a pew. Phew. I did it. Slip my coat off, look down and see yesterday’s yoga pants, a spit-stained Moby Wrap and a not-so-clean-anymore t-shirt. Oops. Well, at least it isn’t my birthday.

Oh crap. It’s my birthday, isn’t it?

I don’t want your pity. I got Starbucks after the concert courtesy my mother and mother-in-law AND I’m getting a Christmas/birthday dinner at my parents on Thursday AND the baby Jesus is more than enough present for all of us. Clearly.

Comments (2)

By rebecca, December 13, 2011 1:32 am

Here’s a fun holiday craft you can try.

First you shape willow branches into the form of a ball. Paint and apply glitter.

Kidding! I got these at Dollarama. I thought it would be fun to hang them on the tree in the front yard since our house is older than dirt and doesn’t have any electricity running to the outside. Not an exterior outlet for Christmas lights. Not even a porch light.

Mary was napping and Ed was washing dishes so Colum, Irene and myself went out to tidy up the front yard and string up the ornaments. It went a little like this:

Me: Okay, Colum, you help rake up these leaves and, Irene, you put them in this yard waste bag. I’ll gather up all the sticks and twigs.

Them: By rake the leaves, you mean open up the lids of those old paint cans you never disposed of properly and roll down the hill into traffic, right?

Me: Wait. What month is it? You can’t rake leaves into yard bags in December! There’s no yard waste pick up in December! This is what I get for never using the front door. Crap, crap, crap. Okay, new plan. Just rake all the leaves into a pile and throw all the sticks and twigs over near the fence while I clear all the leaves from the front steps and sidewalk.

Them: Can we instead fight about whose stick that was and then move all the sticks away from the fence and strew them back all over the front lawn? You know, for kicks. And please let us roll out into traffic again. Please.

Me: No. Stop that. What? No. Fine, whatever.

Somehow, at some point, Colum thought he got the go-ahead to forget about this stupid clean up the front yard business and get on with the decorating the tree business. He brought the ball of twine and the ornaments from the front steps to the base of the tree, but the scissors and pack of ornament hooks were nowhere to be seen — at first. I did, in fact, see them eventually when I put my face right down above the gap in the wooden step. They’re still there if you want to take a look because there’s no way to retrieve them short of dismantling the porch.

I may have lost my cool right then. A wee bit. And Colum may have gone into the house never to return. I felt bad and apologized promptly, but he wanted to warm up anyway. So that left me and Irene. Irene and I. Did you know that threading some twine through a glittery willow ball ornament is a lot more difficult than it seems? We got three or four ornaments hung before she was also too cold to carry on.

New plan! I would fully prep all the ornaments inside and then we would return to the front yard to finish hanging them later. My god those Chinese glitter ball factories don’t mess around. I got glitter all over myself, the table and chair, the children and the floor, naturally. But there was even glitter in Mary’s diaper that night! And then, two days later, there was glitter on a cauliflower I was cutting up for dinner. Kid you not.

Eventually we made our way back outside. Of course, I hadn’t realized that our tree is ten gazillion feet high and I couldn’t actually reach any of the branches. Good thing we never cut down that mini, parasite-like tree growing out from its base. We’d just decorate the spindly branches of the parasitic tree-bush instead and make it all festive-like. Sure.

So that’s what we did.

Well, that looks kind of crappy.