T-8

For the past few years, ever since our children have been old enough to carry on a conversation, we've received a phone call from Santa - who obtained our telephone number through my sister's husband, Michael.

Tonight, Santa called just as the children were returning from their second Secret Santa drop-off. And his timing couldn't have been better because the children's confidence in Santa's existence has been very shaken since last week, when one of the boys on our children's school bus told them that Santa isn't real.

According to witnesses, William immediately jumped to Santa's defense by saying, "HE IS TOO REAL!" so the boy turned to his mother - THE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL BUS DRIVER - and asked, "Mom, is Santa real?" and his mother - THE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL BUS DRIVER - responded before an entire school bus of elementary-aged children, "No, Santa isn't real."

Well, you might imagine the tailspin that caused for my children and 95% of the faithful Santa believing children on the bus. When I was tucking William in to bed later that night, he was totally perplexed. "How can Santa NOT be real?" he asked, over and over again. "I mean, how do you explain the FULL stockings on Christmas morning if not for Santa?"

"Who eats the cookies and drinks the milk?"

For over a week now, the wheels have been spinning in our seven-year-olds minds. They are suddenly questioning EVERYTHING. "How, exactly, does Santa come down the chimney and how, exactly, do reindeer fly?" Countless times this week, I've been asked ~ point blank ~ by our children if Santa is real. And without hesitation, each and every time I respond, "Santa absolutely IS real. The Spirit of Saint Nicholas is as real as love."

When the phone rang this evening, William answered it and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he heard the "Ho, Ho, Ho ... this is Santa Claus!" on the other end of the line.

We quickly put Santa on speakerphone and everyone gathered around.

He then spoke with each of the children, separately.

He knew that everyone has been sick and that Elizabeth had pneumonia.

"HE KNEW THINGS, MOM! How does he know those things?"

"He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He reads Mommy's blog so be good for goodness sake!"

As soon as he passed the phone to his sisters, William sat down and drafted his third letter to Santa. I thought he was going to write, "Santa, do you know what I want?" again as a reflex, but his focus shifted to an expression of love for Father Christmas. If the words, "I'm sorry I ever doubted your existence" were in my young son's vocabulary, they would have been included.

Christmas isn't just about Santa. Our children know that.

But there is a magic in believing.

A magic that I intend to preserve for as long as possible.

T-9

Tonight, Charlie took William and Carolyn (along with his Den of Cub Scouters) to see a basketball game at a local high school, while I remained home with a recovering Elizabeth and Henry.

The game was scheduled to begin at 5:45, but Charlie was due to arrive at the school at 5:30 for early seating and so the kids could meet all the players. The school is approximately 15 minutes from our house. He stuck a pizza in the oven for the kids at 4:45. When I came home (from a doctor's appointment) at 5:05, the timer for the pizza had just gone off. I opened the oven door and noticed that the pizza needed five more minutes. So I reset the timer ... but Charlie decided that he'd speed up the process and just turn the heat to broil.

A split second later, we heard crying from the hallway. We dash out to see William laying on the floor with blood on his chin. He had been attempting to "ice skate" on our hardwood floors in his socks. His attempt was unsuccessful. I scoop him up and he has a 1/4-inch gaping wound. The kind of wound that might require a trip to the ER to have 2-3 stitches, if it wasn't Friday night and he didn't have somewhere to be in 23 minutes.

Also ... I have medical adhesive and butterfly bandages ... and since my mother is a nurse, my father and two sisters are pharmacists ... my great-grandfather was a Harvard-educated doctor there is enough medical-know-how in my genetic makeup that surely I can mend my son's chin.

This is probably exactly what they'd do at the hospital after we waited for four hours, anyway.

So as I'm retrieving the First Aid supplies while Charlie is consoling our eldest son, Carolyn mentions that she smells something burning. It seems four minutes on broil were approximately three and a half minutes too long and smoke BILLOWED out of the oven when Charlie opened the door. Our kitchen smoke detector went off, followed by our dining room, living room and hallway.

Charlie is running through the house, pulling smoke detectors off the ceiling and flinging open all the windows. As he hastily moves from one room to the next, he steps on the puppy, who someone had let out of his kennel. The puppy runs in to the kitchen and pees on the floor as Henry starts screaming that water is coming OUT of the toilet. As in, overflowing the rim. All because our children are capable of producing such mass that that they clog the toilet.

Frequently.

From William's injury to the scorched pizza to the puppy incident to the toilet overflowing, less than three minutes had lapsed. And the only reason I'm jotting this story down, is to memorialize the crazy that often reigns in our house.

Charlie and the kids gobble down burnt pizza and fresh fruit before shoving off to the basketball game, while Elizabeth, Henry and I stayed in our warm house and crafted gingerbread men.

The children made these last year and they were so adorable, I wanted to try and re-create them. If we make this an annual tradition, we'll soon have enough to make a gingerbread man garland that we can string across doorways.

To make them, just take brown butcher paper and trace the image of a gingerbread man. Cut out the image and using it as a template, cut out the second gingerbread man. Use markers, paint, glue, glitter and pom-poms to decorate.

Staple the two images together, while adding crumpled tissue paper (last year we used crushed paper towels) between the two pieces in order to give the gingerbread man a more "full" look.

I love (love! love! love! love!) children's art.

T-10

We went back to the doctor today and our sweet Elizabeth was diagnosed with pneumonia. The doctor has bumped up her medication and is also requiring nebulizer treatments, every four hours. Fortunately, we already own a nebulizer because of my pneumonia bout earlier in the year. There's no question, our 16-months in Virginia have been challenging, from a health perspective. At this moment, Charlie's only talked about returning to what he calls, "Pneumonia-Free California" 25 times today. I thought for sure there would have been a FOR SALE sign up in the yard.

The current tally is four cases of bronchitis, three cases of sinusitis, two ear infections, one case of pneumonia and a Partridge in a Pear Tree. As such, this is what I'll be administering for the next week and a half to the children...

(Oops. I think we cleared the pharmacy out of amoxicillin.)

I'll be out of work for the rest of the year and my laser-beam focus is on restoring this family to good health. Today, in between running back and forth to follow-up doctor appointments and the pharmacy, and dragging my juicer out of storage, I stopped by Starbucks to pick up Christmas presents for all the children's teachers. I'd wanted to do something more personal and crafty, but in the end, convenience won out. And who doesn't love Starbucks?

We settled on these cool mugs and a gift card to fill the mugs up...

Here's Henry giving his present to his beloved preschool teacher. She is kind and patient and artsy and pretty ... and she even smells nice. She is everything a preschool teacher should be and more. Henry didn't go to school today, but when he heard that I was dropping past, he insisted on coming along. I snapped the photo just as he was launching in to one of his coughing fits.

Please note how he is coughing in to his elbow.

We're nothing if not conscientious.

T-11

Our family has been gripped with sickness. Within the past week, for the first time in our family's history, all of us have had visits to the doctor and all of us are on antibiotics.

Alas, the Christmas Spirit is strong ... even in the sick bay!

Despite the crazed hand-washing and Purelling and Lysoling and vitamin-taking and humidifying, with three first graders and one preschooler, we reside in a petri dish of germs. We've been battling one thing after another since before Halloween, but it has exploded in the month of December. The sore throats and the headaches and the stuffy noses and the coughing.

All I want for Christmas is for Santa to take away the phlegm.

Every time I catch a cold (e.g., bronchitis, sinusitis, complainalotitis), I'm convinced it's the worst one I've ever had. But maybe they really are getting worse? Are viruses stronger now than they were 30 years ago? And if so, will they continue to strengthen with time? Will my grandchildren pick up a cold and be incapacitated for six-months?

Louie is the only one in our family who isn't sick. Although he can't whip up a batch of Jell-O, we're trying to teach him how to fetch us boxes of Kleenex. He's shown in the picture, below, wearing a Santa hat like a blanket. One of the kids stuck this on him, and he quickly collapsed in to a two-hour nap.

To his left and right are little black stuffed animal dogs that the children have donated to him. These are his favorite toys (along with our socks, hats, gloves, mittens, little fingers or anything for that matter that he can get his teeth on in the two seconds we're not looking at him), probably because they remind him of his litter mates. Although he's nearly doubled his size in the past three weeks, sometimes when I look in his crate, I can't immediately tell which one is him. And sometimes, I'm just in sheer disbelief.

DID WE REALLY ADOPT A TINY PUPPY?

FOR KEEPS?!

Oy.

T-12

Charlie came home tonight with one of our favorite holiday treats.

And thus, the Christmas season really began.

Ho? Ho? Ho?

NO!

Joe! Joe! Joe!

Okay.

That picture isn't entirely accurate...

However!

Two of the boxes are earmarked for the Christmas party at Henry's preschool.

Of course Charlie didn't buy three boxes of Joe-Joe's for our family. My husband and I are highly concerned with good nutrition for ourselves and our children.

As evidenced by my young son who is eating an organic apple the size of a softball.

T-13

Before I dive in to this post, I need to give a quick overview of our neighborhood Secret Santa Process....

1) All of the children who live in the neighborhood who would like to participate are eligible. The participating family of the child needs to provide the child's name, likes and any food allergies to the Secret Santa Coordinator.

2) The Secret Santa Coordinator randomly assigns each child to a Secret Santa. The assignments are dropped off by the second week of December.

3) The Secret Santa is responsible for buying (or making) two smaller gifts and one large gift. The total cost of the gifts should not exceed $20.00.

4) Over the course of ~10 days, the Secret Santa shall drop off the two smaller gifts, on two different days, preferably at night. Those gifts should ideally be deposited directly before the door and the doorbell shall be rung. The Secret Santa must then HUSTLE as fast as they can in to the darkness before their identity is revealed.

5) The third larger gift is to be given at a "reveal" party, typically held on the last day of school before the school vacation.

Our Secret Santa assignments were delivered this past Thursday. By Friday, someone had dropped off the first gift for Henry. William's present was delivered on Saturday and Elizabeth's present was delivered on Sunday.

Carolyn was so upset that everyone's present has been delivered except for hers. She was crying tears of grief when I pulled her aside and said, "Listen, last year when everyone else was receiving fun presents, Elizabeth's Secret Santa dropped off her first gift (in our mailbox) two days before the reveal party. The second gift was dropped off (also in our mailbox) one day before the reveal party. And then, at the reveal party - Elizabeth received a toy that broke before we even walked out the door."

Carolyn wiped away tears and said, "That's SO sad!" But then she shook her head and said, "No! Don't you remember? Elizabeth received that little pink race car and SHE LOVED IT!!!"

''Yes,'' I admitted. ''But that was because after three of our four children had received two presents and Elizabeth had received none, Daddy and I were feeling badly that Elizabeth's Secret Santa was not participating, so Daddy sneaked away from dinner one night, left that present which I'd bought earlier in the day, rang the doorbell, and ran back before Elizabeth even noticed that he'd been gone."

(Edited to add: if you partake in a similar Secret Santa exchange, it's helpful to have a gift or two laying in wait just in case your Secret Santa defers their deliveries until the end of the event. This is particularly necessary if you have other children who are receiving presents on time and one child that feels completely left out. While the real joy in this event is the secrecy of giving, at this age - our children really enjoy the receiving part, too.)

For their first drop tonight, the kids dressed from head-to-toe in black. While I stayed home with Henry who was feeling ill, Charlie drove the kids around the neighborhood. He said it was absolutely hilarious because they acted like a bunch of little Marines. For each of the four houses that they delivered to, the kids would jump out of the car - zig zag run up to the house - ring the doorbell and then dive under bushes and belly crawl their way back to the car.

They're totally in to it.

As of tonight, they're referring to themselves as "Alpha Team, GO, GO, GO!"

T-14

Last year, when the children were in Kindergarten, William made his very first best friend.

Or rather, his very first real best friend. They met on the first day of school and immediately connected when they discovered that they both had an obsession for dinosaurs. William talked about his new friend incessantly. Over breakfast, he'd have a story to share ... as soon as he'd get off the bus, he'd have another. Over dinner, during bath time, when I'd tuck him in to bed.

All he talked about was his best friend.

It took a few months before we were able to connect the boys for a play date. Once we did, we learned from his mother that his family would be moving to New Jersey in early January. It was a very sad moment for all of us. But over the past 11 months, William and his friend have written letters to each other and talked on the phone. They've communicated via Skype, and today, they reconnected in Washington, DC.

Because I've been battling a virus for the past couple of weeks and was feeling totally depleted after our full-day jaunt yesterday, and just thinking about all the things that I have (need?) to accomplish between now and the end of the year puts me in coma, Charlie took William and Carolyn in to DC.

They visited the boys' mecca: the "dinosaur museum" (aka: Natural History Museum), and then dropped by the National Christmas Tree which Charlie said was the saddest looking tree he'd ever seen (is it trapped in a net?!) ...

... to hear the (older) Girl Scouts sing Christmas carols.

Meanwhile, I stayed home with Henry and Elizabeth and recharged my batteries. We cleaned the bathrooms, dusted, vacuumed, made dinner, wrapped a few presents and worked with Louie on his fetching skills. Then, we painted our toenails and took a nap.

Recharge, approximately 50% complete.

The other 50% will require a two-week vacation.

Which thankfully, begins next week.

T-15

This morning, by the Grace of God and vast amounts of coffee, we were able to get ourselves and our four children up - dressed - and out of the house by 7 AM.

The purpose of our early morning departure was to drive to Arlington National Cemetery where, aside the Boy Scouts and several thousand volunteers....

We would lay 85,000 wreaths on the graves of men and women who have served in the Armed Forces for the United States of America.

It is almost beyond comprehension to take in the tidy rows of marble headstones, for almost as far as the eye can see. When we paused and read the dates, so many died so young. And despite when they died, last year or several decades ago, my heart broke for their mothers and those that they left behind.

We wandered up and down rows, taking a moment to say a prayer of thanks before laying our wreaths. When we had one wreath left, we made our way over to an area where only a few wreaths had been laid. As we were laying our last wreath on the grave of a man who died in his early 20's, a man walked up and asked, "Is this your family?"

"No, it's not," I told him. He stood silent for a moment and then pointed to a hill and said, "My father's marker is over there." He went on to tell us that this area where we were standing was for those soldiers whose bodies had never been recovered.

His dad had disappeared in 1961, near Vietnam. He was a pilot and his plane crashed in to the ocean. His co-pilot's marker was right next to his father's. When his dad died, he left behind a young wife and two sons. He was two-years-old at the time. His brother was three.

Three days after his father's plane went down, they found his navigator floating in the ocean. He was still alive. Earlier this year, fifty years after his dad perished, he and his brother flew to California to meet the navigator. He was in his seventies and was preparing to move away in less than two weeks. It was an emotional miracle that they had been able to find him - exactly when they did. Two weeks later, his number would have been disconnected.

Our children stood listening to this story, a story which Charlie and I both believe the man really needed to tell. And a story which Charlie and I both really needed to hear that would allow us to make a personal connection with a solider's sacrifice. As the man wished us a Merry Christmas and walked back towards his car, I surveyed the cemetery and felt a sense of loss, gratitude and patriotism. Although our children didn't fully grasp the sacrifice that this man's father had made for his country ... one day they will. And if they don't understand the personal stories for each soldier, they may find commonalities with these strangers which I believe, will endear them.

Participating in events such as this will ensure that they are immersed in remembering and giving thanks.

As parents, it is our job to lead them by the hand ... but also by the heart.

T-16

When I was ten-years-old, my mother and I went out to a restaurant for dinner and I remember the horror I felt when I realized that I had forgotten Frosty was on television that very same night and I was missing it. When I was a child, Costco didn't exist and you couldn't just swing by the store and pick up an assorted pack of Christmas movies on Blu-Ray.

You miss that one annual airing and you're out of luck.

To prevent that feeling of utter despair, as an adult, I own almost every Christmas movie imaginable, and yet whenever I catch one on television, I almost always have to watch. There's something magical about seeing a Christmas movie on TV.

Especially the cartoons.

For example, when Rudolph, Yukon Cornelius and Hermey are face to face with the Abominable Snow Monster and the scene cuts to a commercial ... you're on pins and needles wondering if they'll escape. Just how fast can you run down the hall, use the restroom, and get back to see what happens to Clarice?!

Even though she makes it out alive, year after year - it is heart pounding excitement!

Tonight, Charlie and I are pouring ourselves some eggnog and cuddling up with another of our favorite Christmas movies.

Last week, I discovered that my Girl-Scout co-leader also considers this to be one of her absolute favorite movies of all time. Which means our relationship has ascended to a whole new level and we now sign off all of our e-mails with a different NLCV quote. Here's an excerpt from our e-mail string this week:

I'll pick up the glitter and be at your house by 5:15.

"Save the neck for me!"

Sounds great. Could you also grab some glue sticks?

"If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn't be more surprised than I am right now."

OK. By the way, what day are we going to the Fire Station?

"Did you bring a saw?"

Let's plan for Wednesday the 21st.

"What's that sound? You hear it? It's a funny squeaky sound."

You'd have to see the movie to understand those lines. But you'd probably have to watch it 20 times or more to think it's as deliriously funny as we think it is.

SQUIRREL!

T-17

One of my favorite Christmas books is "The Gift of the Magi."

(And not just because it is written by O.Henry.)

(Which makes me think of O'Henry's.)

(And you know how I love O'Henry's.)

(And Henry.)

I truly appreciate the story of Delia and Jim, a young married couple who are so in love, that they sold their most prized possessions to buy a Christmas present for each other. But once they unwrapped their gifts, they were both wrought with despair when they realized that because of what they had sacrificed, they would not be able to use the gifts which had been carefully chosen for them. Their story is a tribute to unselfish love.

As the children were enthralled looking at all of the beautiful illustrations, I remembered that Charlie had inherited a pocket watch, much like the pocket watch that Jim had owned in the story. So I brought it out for the children to examine.

From what I understand, this watch belonged to Charlie's great Uncle, Henry Charles, and it had been passed to Charlie's father - who has since, passed it on to his son. This watch, which I estimate to be at least 80 years old, still has a beautiful tick and keeps perfect time.

It even has a clasp.

Six years ago, today, my dear friend Julie Maggi left us. The similarity of my friend's name to that of the Magi, the wise men, is not lost on me. I think of my sweet friend often and I think of the abbreviated time that she had on earth and yet, the wonderful, loving gifts that she brought to those who knew her.

Tonight, I shuffled children in to bed after yet another long day. As I was tucking William in with Forest, I was thinking of all the things I needed to accomplish before I turned in for the night. In that moment, I was feeling hurried and borderline impatient because I wanted to get on with what I needed to do. But I caught sight of the pocket watch sitting on my boys' dresser and as I picked it up, I could hear the seconds ticking past. Instead of it alarming me to the fact that I still had a litany of activities to complete before my own bedtime, I thought of the time that is ticking past (so fast!) in my (and my children's) life.

Time I'll never get back.

This alarmed me in a whole different way.

So with that perspective, I flushed my now insignificant to-do list from my mind and sat down on the edge of my son's bed and smiled as he told me stories. I scratched his back and rubbed his blond hair and savored that awesomely perfect moment. And then I did the same with his brother. And sisters. And father.

This Christmas season … and every day for that matter … I need to do a better job remaining cognizant of the time that we have available to us. Time really is the best gift that we have ever received.

And the best gift that we have to give.

T-18

The children sat down and wrote letters to Santa, today.

William wrote:

Deer Santa:

I want a Harry Pottr costume and a Capaain America costume and sam toy. Any cind of toy. Love, William.

Translation:

Dear Santa, (or maybe it really was deer, as in reindeer?)

I want a Harry Potter costume and a Captain America costume and some toys. Any kind of toys. Love, William

Some toys. Any kind of toys. I love that. He has a very open mind as to what those toys might be. But he is very prescriptive on the types of costumes that he'd like to receive. Thank goodness for the internet! In years past, I'm not sure where Santa would find a Harry Potter and/or Captain America costume in December.

Elizabeth with the (initial) help of her father wrote,

Dear Santa,

I have been a good girl this year and I would have I wit a dohas wif brbeze di wotd pises cis i ned i wot qises texe piwo ta hug. Love, Elizabeth

Translation:

Dear Santa,

I have been a good girl this year and I would like to have a doll house with Barbies and the little pieces. I also want a dressmaker and I want to give you a hug. Love, Elizabeth

When she read this to me my initial thought of, "How sweet!" conflicted with my secondary thought of, "OH NO. The Barbie house with the LITTLE PIECES?! Please! Not the LITTLE PIECES!" My vacuum loves little pieces! Yummy, yum, yum!

It's worthy to note: Elizabeth is very artistic and has been asking me for a dressmaker (bodice? mannequin?) for several months. She is clearly more interested in the needle and thread than her mother, who just last night was busted trying to staple Girl Scout patches to her daughter's uniforms. That Charlie. Just because he is so prolific with Badge Magic he thinks everyone should be. What a Boy Scout.

Carolyn wrote,

Dear Santa,

I hop you hab a grat fol. I want a frey fauz and a tokin bune thos foh wut I want for Chrisstmas. Love, Grace

Translation:

Dear Santa,

I hope you had a great fall. I want funny friends and a talking bunny. That's what I want for Christmas. Love, Grace

My daughter is so thoughtful to wish that Santa had a great fall. As for her letter, I want funny friends, too. Assuming they are actual funny friends, as in people, and not stuffed animals because we have over a million in our house and don't need any more. With the stuffed animal overpopulation issue, we could definitely skip the talking bunny, which I assume is also a stuffed animal. That talks. As it is, my children talk so much - they never stop talking, not even in their sleep. Now, we've added to the mix an adorable yapping and spontaneously leaking puppy.

So here's my letter to Santa.

Dear Santa,

Please bring me some ear plugs. Also, I'd appreciate some new covers for my steam mop that I'm using ALL THE TIME to clean up puppy spills. It might be helpful if you could bring us some little tiny puppy boots and a tiny puppy coat because Louie doesn't like the cold so he holds his pee-pee and poo-poo until he is inside the house. On his warm cozy bed. Santa, it's not even winter yet and our new dog doesn't like to go outside. I'm very concerned for what the next 16 weeks might be like. If you have any tranquilizers laying around, please throw those in the bag. Alternatively, an abundance of wine and chocolate will suffice. Love, Jenny

Sorry. This post is to document our children's letters to Santa, not my crazy rantings.

Tonight before bed, William drafted another letter.

Dear Santa,

Do you know what I want for Christmas? I want a Harry Potter costume and sum toys. Love, William!

Translation:

Santa? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS?

Listen up …. I've told you TWICE.

T-19

Many years ago, my grandmother claims that she saw a person who was collecting Christmas donations for the Salvation Army, open the red bucket and place the contents directly in to their wallet.

Well, you might imagine the impact this had on my family!

Stealing donations which had been provided for the needy is as sinful as skimming money off the collection basket in church!

My grandmother's observation had a real impact on her daughter. Over the years, every single time we've walked together past a Salvation Army Christmastime donation stand, my mother will whisper, "Did you know that Nana saw someone open the red bucket and put the donations directly IN their wallet?!"

Now, I prefer to give the Salvation Army the benefit of the doubt and expect that this organization has very robust control measures in place to ensure that any donations which are provided by the public are in fact routed to a cause other than buying a six pack of beer and cigs for the guy ringing the bell. Based upon my expectation, the distrust of the Salvation Army's Christmas donation drive does not extend beyond two generations in my family. Because while my mother will clutch her purse a little tighter, I'll dig in to my pockets for whatever spare change I have available. And for the past few days, whenever we go to the grocery store, the great-grandchildren of Nana Coleman will dig in to their piggy banks for money that they can also donate.

It's a really good thing the Tooth Fairy paid off her IOU's to Carolyn last week or we'd be in trouble.

T-20

The first year Charlie and I were married, we bought a Lionel electric train for Christmas.

I love electric trains, especially the kind with a light on the front of a smoking locomotive, and believe they are the perfect addition to the base of a Christmas tree. Every year, we'll take our train out of the storage boxes and set it up on the tracks. And every year, after a very short period of time lapses, we recognize that our children (named Henry) are still too young to have this kind of "toy" within their reach. But much like we can now have glass ornaments on our tree, soon enough, I know we'll also be able to leave our train out for more than 10 minutes.

If I remember correctly, last year it was only five.