Secret Santa

I wrote this a couple of years ago but never really shared it with my peeps...thought tonight might be a good time:)

Laying in bed on Christmas Eve, I ran over my “to do” list, checking it once, checking it twice, before finally surrendering to my pillow. I’d crept around the house in the darkness for two hours before finally getting in to bed. I’d feigned sleep the first time I lay down, to get the kids to go to sleep, so I could go back downstairs and play Santa

The gifts, that until today, had been stashed away at friend’s houses and in the attic were now prettily arranged under the tree, the stockings stuffed full with miniature offerings, carved & created in “Santa’s workshop”, were hanging from the mantle. The milk & cookies the kids left out for Santa appeared to have been suitably consumed as were the carrots for the reindeer. Checking over my shoulder and holding my breath to listen for the kids stirring I’d hastily written a little “Thank you” in Santa’s handwriting as I have done every year for the last fifteen years and finally crept back to bed.

Oh the magic of Santa. I remember the feeling I used to get every Christmas Eve as a child when I went to sleep. The wonder of knowing that in the morning there’d be a pillowcase full of toys for me at the end of my bed. Would I hear Santa’s sleigh? The Jingle Bells? I’d be in and out of bed all night searching the sky desperately looking for movement, imagining Santa & the Reindeer flying through the sky and somehow down our non-existent chimney to deliver our gifts. For the last fifteen years and for the most part of my adult life, I’ve been lucky enough to live Christmas through my children. I watch them will themselves excitedly to sleep every Christmas Eve and feel their tingling excitement every Christmas morning.

This year was different though. Now eleven, my daughter, who has clung desperately to her belief of Santa, started to ask questions. She wanted to know if he was real... but didn’t really want to know if he wasn’t. She even wrote him a letter asking for proof, requesting certain items for her stocking; items made at the North Pole and not made in China. (Last year I put a miniature Nutcracker in her stocking “From Santa” but omitted to remove the “Made in China” sticker from the base). I was unsure how to handle the questions and her desperate need for proof, but after much consultation with family and friends, I decided I was in, that I’d buy into my daughters need and help her hold on to the magic of Santa for another year.

I drifted off to sleep thankful that I hadn’t actually been asked out right about the Santa truth, and then there it was, I saw a shadow at the end of my bed. “Mum,” said the shadow, it was my eleven year old child woman, “Can I talk to you?” I lifted the covers and she snuggled in the bed beside me. “What’s up?” I asked tentatively.

Her earnest little face looked up at me in the darkness, her breath warm on my face, “I’m afraid to not believe” she said with a wobbly chin. “I’m afraid to be a grown up and forget the feeling I get on Christmas Eve”.

Not quite an outright “Is he real or not?” but still needy of explanation. Please understand that I have had no problem explaining the facts of life to my children, no subject is taboo in our home, but this one stumped me. To believe or not to believe? To shatter the dream or fuel it? I desperately searched the depths of my over-shopped sleepy mind for an answer. Did I believe? Do I? Do I still need my little one to believe and allow us all to share in the magic of Santa? Heck, yes!

“Baby...I think we should all believe. But let’s be clear on what we believe in. It’s not the gifts, or the reindeer, or the Jingle Bells, but the spirit of Santa and all the good will he brings in to our lives each year”

I guess that was enough of an explanation as she gave me a sleepy little smile and promptly closed her eyes. She gratefully accepted Santa’s offerings the next day, without so much as a sideways glance at me. I’m just glad we’ve got another Christmas with Santa, or at least his spirit, in our home next year.

So very thankful that we all still believe...Merry Christmas!

Trick or Treat!

Dropped Little Red Riding Hood and James Bond at school this morning. I love Halloween but the morning the kids get to wear their costumes to school is somewhat less than enjoyable. I've tried, since they were tiny, to be one of those uber prepared parents who orders costumes online in August but my kids just won't cooperate.

I tried to pin them down early this year on what they wanted to be but the final decision was made yesterday afternoon. The result of such a tardy commitment to a costume had me frantically scouring Burbank's vintage shops until 6pm last night. We did eventually find what we needed but then spent the evening putting it all together.

The biggest challenge this year was James Bond's bow tie. We stupidly bought the kind that is not fixed and needed tying up. After several hours of trying to tie the bloody thing, while watching a demonstration I found on Google, I convinced my seventeen year old that he looked cooler and more like 007 if he had it open around his collar...like he's been on a mission!

Yes, thank you, I am well aware that I will pay dearly one day for my persuasive talents.

Little Red didn't give me too much trouble this year. Except with her hair. We are a family of rod straight hair, so curls have never been my specialty. But Little Red wanted curls so...I threw as many hot curlers as I could at her and hoped for the best. It wasn't pretty. I just don't have that "Texas" gene and although she had some curls she also had rather a lot of straight sections that I'd missed...she'll be wearing her hood all day.

I loved that she wanted to be Little Red Riding Hood. During my pregnancy I waned to name her "Piroska" which is Hungarian for Little Red Riding Hood..as you can imagine, she's quite relieved that I didn't! Beyond the pronunciation the explanation of the meaning might have been perplexing for her teachers and peers. We could have shortened it to Piro or Oska????

Anyway, I got them to school on time looking relatively presentable. The traffic was, of course, dreadful as everyone was late from perfecting their costumes. Had to honk one mother who was sat at a green light looking at herself in the rear view mirror.

She unfortunately gave me the finger. Not the most friendly way to start the day. Mind you I probably wouldn't have been feeling very friendly had I poured myself into a sexy batgirl suit at 6am.

I've decided I want a talking car that has phrases like;

"Excuse me but it's green" or

"Your lights aren't on" or

"Your petrol tank is open" or

"Your two year old is dragging along beside the car" or

"I can SEE you looking in the mirror you moron, and yes, you look ridiculous as bat girl!"

Failing that I want an alternate horn; a nice gentle toot when you're just being civil and a honking loud one which actually merits the finger.

Happy Halloween!

All the World's a Stage!

I truly was in denial regarding the way I've been raising my kids. I honestly thought I'd raised them without a bias toward performing. They both took dance classes when they were little, but only because they wanted to (No, really!). I cringed through ballet and tap shoe fittings and reluctantly suffered a recital or two. When they showed interest in other things I thankfully encouraged them to drop the dance classes and pursue other interests.

I thought I'd given them a fair chance at considering other professions.

We're currently deciding on University applications for my seventeen year old boy (terrifying!) and he's adamant that he's majoring in Theater Studies. When he graduates he's going to be an actor. Of course he is, fantastic! My daughter, almost 13, wants to be many things but high on the list is "Broadway Performer" bloody marvelous!

When I asked them how this could possibly have happened seeing as I'd never pushed them to perform, they reminded me of a few of my parenting quirks...

Any time we're planning to leave the house to go do something and time is of the essence I give them a fifteen minute call, a five minute call, and a "Places"

I use five, six, seven, eight, to cue them into action...a lot!

I applaud...a lot!

I've always covered their Halloween costumes in sequins

They can't remember a day that they didn't know what jazz hands were

When I give directions I use stage right and stage left

I've been known to yell "Point your feet" at many a cartwheeling kid

They've spent most of their childhood in Las Vegas and now live five minutes from Hollywood

and...I stretched them as babies...just in case!

What? Doesn't everyone do that?

So yes, I've been in denial all these years, I'd been subliminally moulding my babes for the stage while keeping them off it. Perhaps if I'd dragged them screaming to ballet class they would have run a mile in the other direction?

Either way, they both just seem to be born to perform.

Here we go up another VERY steep and INCREDIBLY narrow stairway!

Seventeen!

Today I'm celebrating seventeen wonderful years of being a Mum. It's near impossible to believe that the greatest privilege of my life was bestowed on me seventeen whole years ago.

When I first held my baby boy in my arms all those moons ago I felt an overwhelming need to protect him until he grew in to a man and could protect himself. We survived the awful, colicky, scary, ridiculously-tiny-human-being months, he is potty trained, he learnt to walk, learnt to talk, swim, read, write, and hold his own on a calculator.

I watched him achieve all of these milestones one by one whilst in the back of my mind seeing the imaginary goalpost that was adulthood. Adulthood, somewhere in the back of my poor bleach infused brain, meant I'd done my bit, mission accomplished!

(How could I possibly have thought that with the nightmares I have given my poor parents as an adult I hear you mutter!)

That was until about six months ago when he started to shave, drive, and actually look in the mirror! Girls started noticing my beautiful boy and the realization struck that he was now in for a whole lifetime of challenges, and I for a relocation of the goalpost.

Adult issues! Oh my, oh no! he was going to have to face all of the things I had (well hopefully not ALL) and I was going to have to stand by and watch. Payback indeed!

Yes, there is no tah dah! et voila! in motherhood the milestones just change, the protective urge stays forever, and there is no goalpost.

Would I change it had I known? Of course not! I cherish that I will always have these two amazing people that I made (OK minimal credit to Tweedle-Dumb) and get to stress about and plan for. My babies, however big they get (6'5" and counting) will always be the absolute joy of my life and the most wonderful thing that I will ever have the honor to create. Please note that I am saying this BEFORE my second privilege turns thirteen, I can only hope I feel the same in four years time!

Ugh! I think I might have added to my "un-coolness" by writing all of that! I'm not sure when my street cred as a "cool" Mum started to dwindle but I'm definitely losing my touch! The other day I cut a pair of old sweatpants down in to shorts and thought I looked pretty darn cool...that was until I picked up my second almost-thirteen-year-old blessing from school, and she growled "What are you wearing? Get back in the car!"

I can't be that bad, my kids will still choose to hang with me over their friends (as long as I don't wear those shorts of course) and I still get to listen to their stories about the parts of their day that I don't share in. My giant seventeen year old boy still hugs and kisses me and I'm pretty sure he always will. My beautiful tween girl still lets me put together an outfit for her every now and then...

Seventeen years! The absolute best of my life despite a few trials and tribulations along the way, because I have been privileged to create, mould, protect, share, and above all love, as only a mother can. Everyone will tell you to cherish the years when your children are children, I'm not gonna tell you anything different, it's flown by, but they will always be my babies.

Thanks for picking me baby!

Puce Green

So I just watched "The Day The Earth Stood Still" with the wonderful Keanu Reeves, well not really WITH him, I watched it with my son, and Mister Reeves graciously starred in the film as an alien on a mission.

How did this movie not send the world running for a compost bin, banning oil fueled vehicles for good, and making fabric shopping bags mandatory?

*Spoiler alert-in the next paragraph I'm going to tell you enough about the movie that you will probably not be sitting on the edge of your seat if you watch it yourself*

In a nutshell, the movie depicts Keanu as an alien sent to earth from a sister planet to save the earth from human destruction; the only way he can do this is to remove all human life. As human beings are faced with imminent eviction they beg to be given a final chance to change their ways and make amends. Interesting how when on the brink of disaster human nature is to eventually...change.

So terrified was I by the prospect of an alien intervention (although if they all arrive in Keanu Reeves like bodies it might be one heck of a way to go) that I removed all unused plugs from their sockets, put everything on a power strip, researched composting, and vowed to make "plastic" a naughty word in my house.

I already drive a fuel efficient vehicle and watch the lights and stuff but I'm also going to put a bucket in my shower (They do this down under in the land of Oz and use the water on the garden instead of letting it run down the plughole) and start composting.

Composting has come a long way, it's no longer a stinky heap of rotting leftovers at the end of the garden, there's now a far less pongy and quite attractive method available in most hardware stores.

So why am I blogging about this? Because I want us to start talking about this and holding each other accountable ...just in case the aliens come!

If, like me, you'd like to do a little bit more to avoid your children and grand-children being raised in outer space by little green men (hmm, wonder why they're green?) visit some of these sites and get some green action of your own!

www.groovygreen.com

www.earth911.com

www.paystolivegreen.com

http://green.yhoo.com

Codswallop!

I think someone is having us on with this 3D nonsense. Do they really expect us to believe that with all the technology available today, we have to wear those silly glasses to see 3D movies?

I took the kids to see a movie in 3D this week and one set of glasses wasn't working so I had to dash out to the grumpy glasses-passer-outer and switch them for another pair (that's another thing...what is wrong with movie theatre employees???). It dawned on me when I snuck back in to the theatre that everyone was sat there looking like a bunch of brainwashed clones with silly red goggles on.

Not only are the goggles horrendously uncomfortable but the tickets to see the movie now include "goggle rental" and cost anywhere from $4-$8 more! We're being conned!

I didn't mind so much when I got to leave the cinema with the glasses stashed in my bag, even though they're of no use at home, I felt I'd at least got something for my money. Now though, you're either required to hand them in for recycling or get given the heavier more re-usable versions.

The new model of 3D glasses is heavy enough to break the bridge of one's nose...if you've had a nose job they'd be completely insufferable. And they're ugly...no more romance at the movies! Above all, watching 3D movies makes me nauseous; all that motion and things jumping out at you from the screen, so far I've left every 3D movie I've seen with a blinking headache!

Now we're apparently in for 3D TV at home...I am NOT wearing those damn glasses in my own home, I'll end up breaking my neck as I trip over the real 3D dogs that I won't be able to see in 3D cos I've got stupid 3D goggles on!

Love, love, love

I tried so hard not to let it happen to me again. But I'm obsessed! I didn't want to feel this way about someone again, but he's made himself indispensable in my life and I feel like I can no longer live without him...I think I've fallen in love!

He has a lovely open face surrounded by steel gray, and I've never trusted a guy like this before...his name is Mac, and he's the apple of my eye.

OK so you guessed...my Dad bought him for me for my birthday and so he gives me his undivided attention whenever I need him...he's my Mac...Book Pro.

Everyone should have a Mac in their life; it will change the way you communicate with the rest of the world and eliminate any prior frustration you may have felt with technology. So simple and reliable is my companion that I feel quite the silicone specialist now.

Mac has not left my side since he arrived in his beautifully designed pristine box, and has yet to fail me. I don't know how I ever managed without him! I remember my baby sister had a Mac of her own when she came to visit and I was shocked at how protective she was of her constant companion, but now that I have a Mac in my own life I can completely understand her possessiveness.

I spend more time with my Mac each day than with anyone else and I trust him implicitly to keep my secrets. He owns a lovely little camera that he lets me use frequently to keep up with my family and can keep going for over six hours!

I am a self proclaimed anorak and I plan to spend my life with Mac...divorce is quite simply out of the question in this relationship!