Thanks for the Christmas Memory

Whenever we go to mass en masse, for other congregants, there is instant entertainment. No matter how disciplined one might be in focusing on the celebration itself, nine children of assorted ages have a way of creating unintentional distraction.

Christmas day was just such an experience. We were in the cry room at Saint John's, having force marched the kids after opening a present a piece to get dressed for Christmas mass 8:30.

It was 7:45.

Because we were pressed for time, we opted for the Parish closest to home, rather than our normal Church There was a cry room which provided excellent cover and sound proofing for the squirmy set. We took up two rows.

Other people came to the children's room to avoid the scruitiny of coming late on December 25th. Our kids were actually quite good given their own desire to be home diving through the wrapping paper discovering hidden treasures. My 20 month old played peekaboo with the family behind us and took every opportunity to point out every "baby" that she spotted in the room.

The four year old and three year old began a minor battle of wills over the mini chairs for kids and who should have the blue and who should have the red seat.

We got to the offeratory and my three year old darling cupie doll began to talk.

She explained to her brother behind her for reasons which will soon be obvious, "It's not right to pick your nose. Mom says it's wrong to pick your nose. You can't pick your nose. You can't pick your nose. You can't pick your nose." She did a little dance and song, "That's the rule, you can't pick your nose. It's wrong. It's wrong to pick your nose."

The two women who were across from us lost composure.
Merry Christmas.

P.S. Sorry I didn't post Sunday, I was feeling sick.

Christmas Ham is Served

The following piece ran in the Island Park News, December 19, 2008

Leftovers are seldom an issue at my home, except at Christmas when my husband in a fit of gastronomic nostalgia, always wants to serve ham. I don’t mind traditions, but there are some logistical issues with this one. 1) My husband buys a very large piece of meat. 2) Our children don’t like ham.

Christmas day is never the issue. Emotionally softened by the glow of the day and the pile of freshly acquired loot, the kids are willing to indulge their father by trying his favorite Yuletide meal. Knowing that there is fresh pumpkin or apple pie waiting for dessert probably helps too. The next day, leftover ham served with eggs will still get eaten. By day three, some of the older ones still consent to consume ham sandwiches if I serve them with chips. Day four, sounds of open revolt are beginning to be heard when dinner is served.

Seeking to avoid a revolution over Virginia ham, my beloved husband proposed playing a board game our daughter received for Christmas during dinner. The kids were keen to play. Setting out the game “Operation,” their father explained the “special” meal time rules.

Everyone had to play. Everyone was served a plate of pasta with the now offending Christmas ham mixed amongst the Fettuccini noodles. If you took on a job in the Operation game and touched the sides, not only would you lose your turn, you had to eat a bite of ham. If you refused to take a job, you had to eat two bites of ham. If you got the ham bone out successfully, you were exonerated from eating anymore of the ham at this meal and could move straight to pie. If you won the game, you could opt out of ham for the remaining duration of the ham’s existence.

The next day, when I offered to play operation, my daughter said, “How much ham do I have to eat?” Kids were offering to do chores to avoid the other white meat. By day six, positive reinforcement in the form of cold hard cash was insufficient to guarantee compliant consumption. A week into eating, it was no longer worth the emotional effort for any sentient adult to consider serving ham to a non ham eater.

Day twelve, the UPS truck pulled up. A large package had come from our family’s gift exchange with a note that said, “Sorry this is late. Merry Christmas! Love…” from one of those fancy gift mail food order catalogs.

“This special Virginia Ham was sent to you…” I read.

I called my husband. “Oh man, we’ve been eating ham for weeks.” He said. The kids grinned. Over the phone, my beloved heard the sounds of ham induce karma from his daughter. “Hey Dad, let’s play Operation.”

Maryland is for Crabs

My mom sends Christmas Pajamas every year. Sometimes she worries that P.J’s aren’t the most exciting gift to get at Christmas, but they are seriously looked forward to every year by everyone.

This year, it was a Lobster motif. The pants had lobsters on a navy background. They were fun. The younger ones had those onsies with footies. After three days of wearing the lobster pajamas, I declared the sleepware needed a break, and a wash!

Getting dressed for bed, my three year old daughter was visibly upset. She marched up to me in her substitute night gown for the evening with a dark frowny face. “I Want My Crabs!” she snapped.