Countdown to Santa Claus

My little angel is manic right now and I am having trouble stringing words together, I’m so distracted. And sleep deprived. Normally, she sleeps late and allows me to do the same, which nicely balances out the weird staying up too late thing I’ve been doing recently, but not since she realized how close to Christmas we are. This morning, just like yesterday, she climbed into my bed to pester me into wakefulness, but I admit I love to cuddle with my baby, always in the back of my mind that soon enough she won’t want to anymore.

Being the pagan that I am, Christmas for us is entirely about the tree, lights, getting together with friends, and lots of fun food. Yesterday we made gingerbread - for making a gingerbread house tomorrow, and also for gingerbread men. We also made dipped chocolates. I loved making dipped chocolates as a child. This year I wanted to make them with M, and she seriously considered what three flavors we would make the centers. She chose raspberry, orange, and peppermint, and we colored them accordingly. She was really pretty good at rolling the fondant into little balls, but of course, lost interest in doing it long before all the balls had been made. That’s the fun of being the Mom. Going to the trouble of planning, arranging, setting up, and creating these projects, so that our kids can engage in something like candy making for a few minutes before wandering off to get into trouble in another part of the house while your hands are covered with chocolate.

The wine bottle got opened early. Outside our window, the snow kept falling all day, the kitchen was warm, the scent of gingerbread and chocolate creating a heady perfume, and Windam Hill was playing on the stereo (what M calls ballet music). She danced around the room in her pink tutu and undershirt for a long time, and then it occurred to her to go outside and play in the snow, in the dark, in her tutu. (She thought to put on a jacket, but didn’t feel she needed pants. Or boots, at first.) By the time was able to trundle her off to bed, we had a kitchen table covered with chocolate candy and cooling gingerbread pieces.

Today we are going over to our friends’ house for more cookie making, then back home to prepare for Santa. M can’t wait to hang her stocking. Tomorrow morning, she has a huge pile of presents to open, but I’m pretty sure I successfully dissuaded her dad from sending her the Zsu Zsu hamsters he thought (not being a real parent) would be a great idea. I have my fingers crossed. Merry Solstice/Christmas/Festivus, everyone!

Brother, Can you spare a tree?

Being unemployed is an interesting experience. The last time I was unemployed for an uncomfortable length of time, it was summer and I had a big landscaping project that took a lot of time and effort. I put in a retaining wall by myself, along with a lot of other things. My mind was occupied, my muscles were tired, and I had something tangible taking shape in front of me. Compared to now, living in a rented townhouse, in the wintertime; I realized again last night how much I miss my garden. I feel so useless right now, and I’m not suited to spending a lot of time watching tv. Sometimes I have moments of real terror and panic as I worry about the future. Despite this, I am trying to keep my concerns to myself at the same time being realistic with my child about some extravagant things we can’t afford.

The holidays are never a good time for me, and although I really love certain aspects of Christmas, overall I dread this season. The last couple of Christmases at my parents’ house, I tried in vain to avoid the Christmas Present Extravaganza that they unleashed on my daughter. My mother never listens to me, but I still tried to make her understand that I didn’t want to instill a materialistic concept of “getting” that heaps of presents would create in her mind. I also knew that as a single parent, I wasn’t going to be able to keep this going and didn’t want to set up unrealistic expectations. My daughter has lots of toys and other things, and her birthday is only 3 months after Christmas. The practice of buying random things just to have an impressive pile of wrapped packages makes me crazy. I wanted to try to make it about fun experiences instead of Stuff, but my mother did what she wanted and Christmas morning the last couple years was unbelievable. Along with the few nice, fun gifts that would have been completely fine, they kept piling on the crap so that she was clearly overwhelmed by the end of the morning, surrounded by piles of stuff that she didn’t even register.

This year, it is just the two of us in our little place, and she won’t be getting piles of stuff, and I tried to prepare her expectations without ruining her anticipation of Christmas. This year she is five, and believes in Santa, and Mommy is unemployed. I’ve tried to keep the conversation generalized, not so much about our own situation, and so we just say that this year, with the economy being so bad, that lots of people are having a more low-key Christmas. I reassured her that Santa will bring her something, and that we will have a Christmas tree.

Most years, no matter how poor I was, I found a way to have a tree, so I am certainly not going to short my daughter when I didn’t deprive myself, and so we set off yesterday to bring one home. I did tell her though, that we might have to go to more than one place because I didn’t want to spend too much money. She is so sweet and perceptive, and I don’t want her feelings to get hurt. I still remember how my little brother would howl if we left a store without buying anything.

I checked online to see where the lots were, although I had seen some cut trees at the grocery store and knew that if it came down to it, we could get one there. Those trees had been leaning there still wrapped up for quite a while though, and I knew what shape they were in. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Plus, the crappy grocery store trees weren’t cheap.

We drove around where I had read that they had a pretty good lot, and it took a while to find it. When we pulled up, we were the only ones there. It was windy and cold outside, and there was a lone woman struggling to tie down a wreath that had blown over. I rolled down my window and asked her what the price range on her trees was. I told her I wanted a little tree, about 4 feet tall. (Even if money were no object, we don’t have a lot of room.) When she came over to the car to talk to me, M piped up from the back seat. “Hi!” she said to the woman, who smiled and said hi back. The woman tells me what a 4 ft tree would cost, and she says she thinks they have a tree in our budget. M announces to her very seriously “We are running low on money.”

I felt a little embarrassed, and I also could tell that the woman probably felt worse than I did. I just laughed a little bit and said to M, that yeah, we were, but it sounded like we’d be able to get a nice tree here. We got out of the car and I couldn’t help but think about how it seemed that we were in an old movie, where I have my kid pretend to be destitute to con the tree seller to give us a good price on a tree. I thought about what we looked like, me with my little blonde haired girl, talking about how we don’t want to spend too much. I’d put what I thought was enough cash in my pocket and we followed her to the trailer to pay. When we went inside the trailer, mostly to get out of the cold, the guys who also worked there were huddled together, and they jumped up a little embarrassed, making room for us. They were young and had genuine smiles, and they looked like they’d been woken up too early on a cold windy day. When the woman told me what the total was with tax, I was short the 28 cents, which I told her as I handed over the bills, intending to walk back to the car for the change. Quickly she said she’d take care of it, and gave M a handful of little candycanes.

The young men cut the end off and wrapped the tree in my tarp, and took my rope and tied the tree to the top of my Rav for me, as I put M in the back seat. They were all very nice to us and wished us a Merry Christmas as we pulled away.

We decorated the tree, with M putting ornaments wherever it suited her, and she was pleased with my ornaments, which have been packed away these past years. She thinks we have a very pretty tree, and danced around happy last night in front of the twinkling lights.

Ah ha moment while watching Arrested Development

When you’ve read this, you will be thinking to yourself, “why?” So, please understand that there were extenuating circumstances and let’s just leave it at that, for now. Okay?

I used to have in my mind Stephen Colbert or Rainn Wilson, or a mutant child of the two of them, but now I have had an epiphany and realize that it is Buster from Arrested Development. This is who my child’s father really is most like. When I heard the actress say the line “people find you odd and alienating,” it made me gasp in recognition. I studied the sweater over the button-down shirt. I looked at the dorky glasses, the high forhead, the receding hairline that makes the non-existent hairstyle look that much worse, and especially the awkward smile and speech patterns. And I knew. My daughter’s father is who they modeled Buster on. They must have followed him around the Cape for a while, studying how he likes to sit alone at a bar and drink PBR and pretend he’s slumming. While he watches boat racing on the TV. Because so many blue collar regular guys closely follow the America’s Cup.

Yes, my poor, poor child is the biological descendent of a person who took for granted his parent’s money and their provision of a good education, squandered it over five years and two schools, finally and barely getting his degree in History, only to spend the next sixteen years in a series of sporadic, menial, dead-end entry level jobs, moving across the country and back, living in crappy cheap apartments, making few friends and fewer impressions, but managing, through some ironic twist of fate, to stop off in Colorado long enough several years ago to impregnate me.

Whenever I consider how his family must feel about him, I think, sardonically, “They must be so proud.” He is now living with them, doing god knows what, and I can only be grateful for the 2023 miles that keep him from being more of a colossal pain in the ass to me than he already is. A master of nothing except being supremely passive aggressive, he recently told me he wants to – over the course of the next few years – acquire the “skills that I can support myself with.”

Did I mention that he’s almost forty?

*sigh*

Lately, his shenanigans have been getting me down. There is no personality disorder I find more tedious and aggravating to deal with than passive aggressiveness. It is no accident that my mother is a master of this game, as well. To have two of them in my life, simultaneously, both of whom have a stake in my daughter’s life… well, it’s no wonder I drink. Please be gentle with me. I know where I went wrong.

Staying Entertained

My daughter never stops talking. Or singing. In this moment, she informed me, she is Angiella, the movie star. (I’d have said Drama Queen, but she wouldn’t appreciate that.)

We’ve had a (long) interesting week. We haven’t gotten outside nearly as much as I wanted, due to stubborn refusal on her part. I hate to make everything into a fight, so I’ve read and watched movies. I saw Angels & Demons, which I liked. (Tom Hanks had better hair in this one) I explored the free offerings of my tv service. I finished several books. Yesterday, bored out of my skull, we went to Belmar to see a movie in a theater. This isn’t something we do very often, since most of the dreck that passes for children’s movies hardly warrants shelling out $15, and a lot of the kids’ movies have elements that she finds scary.

It was cold yesterday, so I debated whether to head out, but cabin fever won. Belmar is fairly new and one of those modern efforts that I approve of in concept: a walkable outdoor shopping area mixed with housing and other multi-use facilities, so that if you lived in one of the apartments or lofts , you could conceivably do so without needing to drive. Yesterday they had the iceskating rink at capacity, and we watched that as long as we could, but it was really bloody cold for idle spectating. I have yet to happen to be over there when it’s been nice out, as I usually don’t think of heading to “the mall” – even a reimagined one – on a beautiful day. But every time I’ve been there since we moved back, I’ve thought that I really wanted to come back when the weather was nicer and explore.

When we got to the theater, M changed her mind to icecream for her treat, rather than popcorn. The bored, slow-moving young women behind the counter seemed to think our request for service was barely tolerable, but the very fat black one offered to scoop the icecream. Unfortunately, her intentions were not matched by skill or savvy. She struggled to fill a scoop with what I could see was properly softened ice cream. The problem was that she thought she should get it all in one pass, so she mashed a blob of the pink peppermint glop for a few minutes before she managed to get an enormous ball of it into the small paper cup, creating an over-flowing, messy and unwieldy arrangement that she proudly thrust at us across the counter. I find it painful to watch someone go through something like this, especially as I've worked in food service and so many things are going through my mind, like the pathetic lack of training any of these jobs offer.  As the movie was due to begin, I didn’t want to take up a lot of time trying to get a more appropriate serving, which I suspected would be difficult and quite possibly futile. So I grabbed a big handful of paper napkins, wrapped the mess in some of them and kept the rest for cleanup, and we headed for the hallway to find our theater.

We found good seats, and I was glad to see that we’d gotten in early enough that the lights were still on, and yet missed the advertising portion of the pre-movie blitz, and only had to endure the (incredibly loud) previews. I got M settled with her dripping disaster, and we watched Fantastic Mr. Fox. Not being familiar with the book, I was a little surprised by the style of the film – stop-motion animation – and was rather distracted by it. I also didn’t really like the story very much. I found it interesting that George Clooney – whom normally I would watch/listen to with great enjoyment – seemed to be doing a parody of himself. Meryl Streep seemed to be wasted in her role. So I spent the movie trying to contain the icecream mess and comforting M during the few “scary parts.”

Afterward we both really wanted to walk around Belmar, and I seriously thought about how nice it would be to sit in the sun at one of the little restaurant outdoor patios, but it was just too cold, and we wimped out and headed back to the car.   Of course, today was much warmer, so we walked in the greenbelt.    Tomorrow is a school day. Yay!

I'm going to need naps...

I'm not a Martha Stewart-style mom.  I don't plan ahead lots of educational, creative, and labor intensive activities for my child.  I don't spend hours scouring catalogs and websites for handcrafted wooden retro toys or elaborate million-pieced kits we can assemble together.  I never bought one single Baby Einstein CD.

I read to my daughter.  I take her walking and hiking with me.  I take her on vacations with me.  We cook together.  I buy the good crayons, a variety of papers to work with, and her watercolor paints are the real deal.  Basically, I include her in the stuff I like to do.  When it comes to play - real Fischer-Price kind of play - I provide her the stuff and the space and then she's kind of on her own.
It bores me silly to sit on the floor and be "directed" by a young kid, told what to say, and what I'm supposed to do with the toys.  She has been in daycare and preschool and now kindergarten, all her life, surrounded and supported by the best, most enthusiastic and warm, caring, involved caregivers I could find.  Because I not only know what I'm not great at, I also know that I don't have to personally provide everything she needs, even if it is my responsibility to coordinate it.

Our school district is taking this coming week off.  We are going to be together 24/7 until the 30th.  I am already tired just thinking about it.  I really, really hope the weather is mild, because I am going to need to get out of the house a lot.  There are a few places I would like to explore.  I don't like crowds and I am adverse to being bombarded with Christmas music and over the top decorations, so shopping will be minimal, and there's nothing we really need.
I would love to haunt the museums and galleries, but with the whole district off, I'm sure these will be crowded. 

It will be great to shut off the alarm for a week.  Neither of us is good in the morning, and I won't miss peeling the mattress off her back.  But the Daily Show is also taking the week off, and I can't help but feel rather abandoned.  My needs are simple and few; is it so wrong to expect a little backup?

If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes

We have a saying in Colorado: If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes.  While it doesn't change THAT rapidly, it does change pretty fast.  Which is actually something I really like about this area; there are definite seasons, there is drama and beauty in the natural environment, and it isn't boring. 
I had been watching the forecast, so I knew this storm was coming, and so yesterday - Saturday - M and I geared up and went for a walk in the greenbelt.  It was getting colder and at only about 1 pm it was already getting dark with the cloudcover.  While we were out it started to snow, but I got these pictures first:

One of several bridges that cross the creek that names our greenbelt.  Some of the prairie dogs were scurrying about, no doubt stocking their pantries before getting snowed in.

This morning, it looks like this outside:

By later in the week, it is supposed to be back in the mid 50s, clear and sunny again.  I love Colorado!

Patterns

Our brains have a certain affinity for patterns; some more than others. My brain really likes symmetry and right angles, balance, and proportion. Unfortunately, somehow that led to a tolerance for behaviors that were unacceptable, only because they fit a pattern. I have suffered for that adaptability to pattern.

In my still-new kitchen, I keep reaching for a drawer that isn’t there – I am so conditioned to expect the silverware drawer to be opposite the wall that my brain just goes there. For almost twenty years, the drawers were in the same place, and now – after four years of not cooking and not spending much time in a kitchen at all – I keep turning around and reaching for something that only exists in memory. It is kind of frustrating. Because these simple daily tasks are done in such an automatic way; we don’t really think about making coffee or needing a spoon, and so it isn’t thought out – it just fires on its own. And I’m misfiring all over the place.

I’ve been looking for a job. That challenges the patterns all over again. What led me to this job or that in the past? Didn’t it have a lot to do with what was going on in the world or the community at the time? I remember job hunting before and after 9/11. The “Tech Bubble” had just burst, and then the business community was in the midst of such turmoil. I took a job that represented a 50% pay cut, but was relieved to get it. Now, I am trying to explain that “career decision” in interviews. I am used to being put to use where ever and how ever I am needed. I see what needs to be done and I do it. I am great in an emergency – I have a guaranteed seat in a lifeboat. I kick into high gear and I get a job done. I have fabulous first aid skills and I don’t cry or freak out until it is all over.

It is only after the smoke has cleared that I can begin to consider whether this was a situation that I wanted to be in. I have been on this planet almost a half century and I find that I have spent an inordinate amount of that time cleaning up after other people’s messes. I have a pattern of coming on to a new job while they are in the throws of some major upheaval, or takeover, or crisis. They need someone who can think on their feet, be “self motivated”, and endure trial by fire.

I don’t think I ever signed up to be that girl. It just happened. And frankly, I’m getting quite tired of it. It means that I never get any mentoring or training. I don’t get to contemplate my direction. I haven’t had the luxury of finding where my true aptitude lies. Other than triage.

I am feeling like I want to stop being so malleable and maybe be more open to what suits me instead of what I can do for them. Because I know first hand that a lot of people really like being taken care of. And it is high time I knew what that felt like, too.