Holiday Mayhem

Stores the week before Christmas are crazy. My favorite part of going to stores before Christmas is the fact that I'm done Christmas shopping and I can actually choose to go or not. Brilliant!

Isaac's family (well, a lot of them) came down yesterday. Lunch and shopping ensued and as we moved our way through the crowds, I felt no angst. We were simply there to hang out with family while they finished a few errands. Perfect. Shopping at this point in the holiday doesn't bother me. The only thing we picked up on our outing yesterday was Scrabble Slam. So fun! Sammy is in love with it, as well. We played several rounds last night (Lora? I think it should be on the list next game night!) and seems to be the perfect choice when needing a quick Scrabble fix.

Sammy has several words he recognizes on sight (between 6-10 depending on whether he's trying or not). This morning, Isaac went downstairs and Sammy had out the Scrabble Slam cards and had laid four of them down. "SMAY". Look, Daddy! It spells Sammy! It's the first time he's tried to put them together himself to spell something. Maybe reading by Kindergarten isn't such a lofty goal after all...

On a COMPLETELY different note, my sister sent this to me last night. I'm pretty sure we've both already marked off a date night on the calendar for it...

Music for the weekend before Christmas:

(god rest ye merry gentlemen / we three kings, bnl)

Do You Want To Dance With Me

Dances when I was young were weird. I placed so much value on each of them, like my life depended on what did or did not happen there. I was very much in love with a boy and recorded his every word and deed in the back of my journal. I was so certain our future children would be interested to know that on such and such a date we dance twice and what each of those songs were. The first couple of years of dances were the worst. I was awkward and just on the outside of fitting in with the cool crowd. My mom insisted I wear dresses instead of jeans and I just felt...off, but with the promise of something glorious only a 14 year old could conjure up. By the time I was 16, things had gotten better. I was more secure in my who I was, my mom let go of the dress dream and I had a group of great friends. My best friend was a guy, which meant an automatic dancing partner as long as he wasn't dating anyone at the time. Bonus, clearly.

The major thing to happen through those four years of dances, though, wasn't the socialization. It wasn't the primping and preening and getting giggly over boys. It was the introduction to the music that would pave my life's soundtrack. It was there that I was introduced to the things I still listen to. My first blush of Yaz, Scritti Politti, New Order, Depeche Mode, Xymox. It was the gateway for my sister to send me tapes of things my tiny little town had never heard of (School of Fish! The Railway Children!), once she went off to college. It was the impetus for sneaking MTV and VH1 viewings while my parents were gone. It was the secure foundation I needed to know that there was a world beyond the KNFT country my dad always played. A world I wanted to be a part of, to embrace without holding back.

Music is huge in my life. I can feel where I was the first time I heard something. Lyrics can say what I need to say. I know people for whom music means very little (*coughIsaaccough*) and I simply don't understand. How do you tell a story from your life without a glorious soundtrack?

Music from the dances of my youth. Alphaville will always take me back there:

(dance with me, alphaville)

(forever young, alphaville)

The Difference in Fighting

Isaac and I don't fight very often. We've been married long enough and worked through most anything that will cause uproar, but there are a few things that (I do) happen that can still cause the grief. My OCD is a big one, but the truth is that's more of an exasperated argument than a fight. Differences in how things should be done come to mind, as does parenting Sammy, which is still new (and, I guess, each stage will continue to keep it "new") and uncharted and cause for the biggest arguments.

This morning, after the yelling happened, I started thinking about the difference between fights in both of my marriages. The bottom line is that it is just different. When Isaac and I fight, there is rarely yelling (except, clearly, this morning). The fight never lasts long and we usually both realize that we're just tired or cranky or frightened and that is the real root of the issue and make up. But the main difference is that we still respect the other while fighting. We learned long ago to fight fair, not hold grudges and just get to the heart of the issue.

In my first marriage, fighting was a free for all. I worried what would happen when we fought, how long we wouldn't speak, how long he'd leave. I worried what he would do, how he would react and, most prominent in my mind, would this be the fight to end it all. I hated the walking on eggshells and the worry that a fight over a movie could end our marriage (not really, but that was definitely the feeling).

As I ranted and raved this morning I thought of none of this. An hour later, the fight over and mostly forgotten, I thought of all of this. No walking on eggshells. No wondering if Isaac will come home in a worse mood. But, most importantly, no wondering if this fight is the end.

Music for fighting, making up and everything in between:

(live, i alone)

Let It Snow...

We are in day three of a pretty significant snow storm (although we finally didn't get any more new snow overnight). It's made everything quiet and beautiful. (And, as a side note...who knew 34* could be so warm?!) I love snow in December. I love that it makes me slow down and feel wistful. I love that it seems magical. I love the crunch of it. I love sitting on my cedar chest in the front window and just...being. I love it in December so forcefully since I know, come January the love will turn ugly, quickly.

I haven't been to the old house for more than a second or two in days. Isaac has been taking the car to work and in between patients, he cleared out the rest of our stuff. After Christmas we'll go over and clean and paint and then we'll be all done, just waiting for it to sell. In the meantime, I've put everything away here and we are, for the most part, settled. Penelope and I are are finding a rhythm, slowly. We're discovering that the dwelling isn't what makes a home, but rather the people in it and the spirit surrounding it. I think I always knew that, but it was buried under boxes for awhile.

We've encountered more obstacles that neither of us could have imagined before signing the papers, but we're slowly working through each of them. Each of them is a comedy of errors and a story unto itself. Some days I wonder if we've done the right thing, but that line of thinking is usually shushed by calm and peace in my heart. Usually. Except for the quiet times I get scared that our old house will never sell and that Isaac's business will tank and we'll be living on the streets. Buying a new house during the slow season isn't the smartest of ideas for the mental health of us all! Oh, the day our house sells will be such a burden lifting! So, we're adjusting. And loving being together for the holidays. And trying to read more Christmas stories at night and drink more hot chocolate and generally let go. Just a little more than normal. The snow is quiet. Lately, so is my heart.

Music for a snowy day:

(song for a winter's night, sarah mclachlan)

Random Sammy

*He's so into figuring out the difference between boy / girl things lately. It's amazing what they pick up on that doesn't get taught specifically. He somehow knows the "pink" aisles at the store are for girls. Amazing since I've NEVER taught him a difference in or that certain things were gender specific.

*Early morning conversation:
Me: I'm going to go pee and then I'll turn the tv on for you.
Sammy: Daddy goes pee?
Me: Yes. Do you need to pee?
Sammy: No.
Me: Does Momo need to pee?
Sammy (laughing): No.
Sammy, holding up Momo and doing the "momo" voice: I don't pee, I don't have a penis!

*He's very, VERY, literal. Just like his daddy. Drives me crazy. I often ask him if he's "grown another foot!" since he hasn't yet to have a lull in growth spurts and he always looks down and says, "No. I just have two feet.". I really want to get a joke foot on a stick on of these days and stick it right by him when he looks down...

*He loves music. Especially Here Comes Science by They Might Be Giants. He regularly has music playing in his room, adores Rock Band, plays any of his instruments, but the cutest thing is how he turns ANYTHING into song. He sings all day long. Makes up songs, hums tunes, whatever. He can hear a song once, have the tune down and hum it all day. Of course, whenever Isaac or I sing, he's all "Don't say that, don't say that, don't say that..." while laughing. Goober. He will randomly bust out singing "Give it away, give it away, give it away now" (or any of the versions he's made up: after dinner - "take it away, take it away, take it away now") or "two turn tables and a microphone" which are particular favorites.

*Last night we were reading a Christmas book. This one had different tabs to open for hidden pictures. One of the tabs had a frog building a snow frog. He's been sick all week and has a pretty raspy voice from coughing and was really tired, so he mixed up his letters and said "fro snog" instead of "snow frog". We started laughing and he was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. So, naturally, everything after that moment became a fro snog accompanied by deep, guttural laughing, which is oddly rare for Sammy. He's much more of a fake laugher, but to see him cracking a joke was priceless.

*We are constantly reminded that we don't talk down to him. His vocabulary is a little ridiculous for a three year old. Adult phrasing and sayings and words used correctly. However, when he's frustrated, he's taken to saying "freaking" as in, "I'm done with my freaking dinner". As a mother (since this one's CLEARLY my fault) I'm so proud...and I know Isaac couldn't be happier with this turn of events. /end sarcasm I've decided to just ignore it and try to convey my frustration a different way. Attention will just make it worse. Luckily he doesn't say it often and really, if that's as bad as it gets, I'm ok with it.

*He's very concerned. With everything. He's cautious (just like mommy!) and careful and concerned with everything around him. He knows what to recycle and what to throw out. He knows seeds grow things in the garden. He loves trucks and robots and cars and trains. We spent a good portion of the day yesterday learning how to play with a Slinky. He needs a lot of reassurance. He loves to do anything daddy is doing, especially when it involves tools or a shovel. He's getting excited for Christmas and I'm loving that this is the first year he's recognizing Santa and the season and getting excited about things, even when he asks me 20 times a day if it's time to open presents yet.

*Three is so much better than babyhood. Especially with this crazy little man of mine.


Music for my crazy son:

(jack johnson, rudolph, the red nosed reindeer)