Extreme Christmas House

Once a year we visit Edmundo Rombeiro’s Christmas house. The Griswald house doesn’t hold an electric light to this one. When we drove up to it this year, my son remarked, “Wow, that’s a lot of Christmas lights. Maybe too much!” Out of the mouths of four-year-olds…

Not only is Rombeiro’s house decorated on the outside, but all rooms, save one bedroom, are totally decked out inside as well! My neighbor is Rombeiro’s cousin and she and her husband are there almost every night in December. They need helpers to make sure people don’t touch, or in one case, attack, the decorations.

Early in December she said they had 660 visitors in one night, and that’s not even the rush time. Tour busses, often with seniors, stop by regularly. The family keeps track of the amount of people by how many candy canes they give out each night.

My favorite room is the angel room. Although there are way too many angels to focus on just one, it has a calm and peaceful feeling. My neighbor has seen people enter that room and just begin to weep.

My son’s favorite room, of course, is the train room which we visited twice.

By the end of the visit we are always on sensory overload, but officially in the Christmas spirit.

Happy Winter!

(Photo courtesy of my four-year-old.)

I hope everyone is warm and snug this winter day. Last night my family and I lit candles and a fire for the winter solstice. After the kids went to bed, my husband Mats was a trooper and went along with my little ritual of writing down everything we each want to let go of on pieces of paper, and then burning them in the fire. I learned this from my friend Joyce at her solstice celebrations.

After the "write and burn," we lit new candles and spoke aloud our wishes, desires, and asked for blessings on all our family members. One thing I asked for was "writing miracles." Today, the next day, I got an e-mail from an editor wanting to publish an essay I sent her six months ago!

In other solstice-related news, Mama Donna, one of the people I interviewed for my Whole Life times piece on the solstice, was written about today by the New York Times for her winter solstice celebration in Brooklyn: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/22/nyregion/22solstice.html?_r=1

Happy winter to all, and to all, a bright life!

"P" Words

I’m happy to share that an article I wrote, "Good Day Sunshine" is in this month’s Common Ground magazine. It's about celebrating the Winter Solstice and was a fun topic to research and write about.

When I was working on it though, the fates seemed to be playing with me.

I summarize with the following “P” words:

Procrastination- I was determined to not do this, I wanted to get it done early. My plan, another “P” word, was to submit it to the editor an impressive week ahead of the due date since I already had some of the interviews completed. Thankfully I started early because,

Pinkeye- took hold of our family two weeks before the article was due. That meant laundry, laundry, and more laundry to try to avoid its spread, though spread it did anyway. It also meant both boys were home from school, but on different days as my eldest got it first, then my youngest. So the precious time I had planned to write was suddenly lost. And then of course, I caught it as well!

Potty Training- my youngest decided he was suddenly ready to enter the world of big boy underwear. No more diapers, only colorful briefs with fire trucks or comic heroes would do. We praised him of course, and it worked out since he was home sick and we could run to the potty at any time. But did I mention laundry? I think we’re up to twelve loads (no joke) by this time. Of course other "P" words apply under this topic as well.

Panic- Since a solid stretch of writing wasn't happening during the day, I sat down at the computer at 10:30 p.m., my official muse time. No sooner had my fingers hit the keyboard to put the finishing touches on the article, when my youngest cried out in pain, “Mama, my ear hurts!” Of course he wanted me to be with him, and I wanted to be there. So there I lay, and ultimately slept, asking the gods to help me get my article done the next day.

Publication- in the end I did get it done. Not a week early as I’d planned, but on the contracted date nonetheless. Having a plan to finish early was probably the best thing I could have done.

It was certainly a humbling experience to not have time I could count on, and I'm grateful for my husband who helped during the evenings and weekends so I could escape. But having a challenging time to create this piece ultimately made the final product that much more dear. (Analogy to parenting and childbirth anyone?)

So, back to the topic, do you have plans to celebrate the Winter Solstice?

Trying Not to be Debbie Downer

I’ve been feeling a bit down lately. Suddenly the states of our schools, health care, and the world’s economy have got me singing the blues.

It started when we were rear ended by an uninsured driver on the way to the kids’ school in September. Thankfully we are all OK, the car is fine, and the guy didn’t have to get a call from me (not that his phone was likely working, he said his friend was maybe going to pay the bill that week.)

After crying from the shock of getting hit with the kids in the car, I sat with the guy on the curb and had a good old fashioned "talk" with him about personal responsibility (he was probably ten years my senior.) People that passed us on the road later told me they thought it was a married couple having a disagreement.

Once I was done delivering my "mom" lecture though, it was clear he had little money, and a small mark on my bumper seemed trivial in the larger picture.

But it freaked me out that bad things can happen. I believe that there is a higher truth (I avoid using the word reason here) to life’s events, but find it annoying how the lessons are not apparent when they are happening. If I were the Divine Organizer, I would have little asterisks next to life's unpleasant events that you could click on, similar to the Kindle's dictionary function. It would contain a brief synopsis about how, in the long run, this would serve you on the path to becoming a better (or at least wiser) person.

In the first few days after the accident, I tortured myself with “it could have been worse” scenarios. Tip: Don't do this. You just end up feeling badly for others in those situations.

I also found myself unable to blog. I didn’t want to be Debbie Downer.

So, I figured if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I watched a Debbie Downer episode that made me laugh until, well, I didn’t feel so down.

I hope you are feeling chipper today, but in case you are not, I recommend checking out this episode when Debbie meets Disney (and Lohan) and the SNL actors can’t keep a straight face: http://www.buzznet.com/tags/debbiedowner/video/

Happy viewing, and safe driving!

"Once" again...

Two weeks ago I read at the Lit Crawl part of Litquake, San Francisco's literary festival. It was a fun and challenging experience as I had never performed in a bar before. The room was dark with little light for reading (luckily someone had brought a flashlight), the microphone had some issues, and the organizers were stressed because it had started late, and therefore the ones at the end (me included) were running over. But the audience of about 100 people were great, and clapped for us all. I feel I can read anywhere now!

Afterwards a bunch of us Writing Mamas went out for dinner and stayed until the restaurant closed. I rarely get to the city these days, so it was a fun night.

Below is what I read. It's the "Once" piece I posted earlier, but with some new material.

Happy November!

- Kristy


"Once"

My sister recommended the movie “Once.”

It took my husband and me about three months to see it, meanwhile paying Netflix for the privilege of having it sit atop our television. When we finally saw it, I was struck by the movie’s simplicity.

It’s about an aspiring musician with a broken heart trying to start a music career, and a Czech immigrant making her way in Ireland. What touched me were how these two people, who had so little monetarily, were truly living their lives and pursuing their dreams in a simple, yet profound way.

It made me think about how much I have, and how I should try to live life fully in the now, instead of waiting for more. I often think, mostly unconsciously,

ONCE my kids grow up;
ONCE we win the lottery;
ONCE I get paid for doing what I love;
ONCE I have a successful book published;
ONCE I appear on Oprah;
ONCE we live abroad for a year --

THEN, I’ll be happy.

Not so long ago, I wanted to graduate from college, travel, get a job, find love, get married, and have children. I have done all of these things, yet, the credits never rolled with a moving soundtrack in the background when I got what I thought I wanted most.

I always find new things to covet.

I think it’s part of the human experience to yearn for more. As I start to feel the hunger pains for a future different than my present, I pause.

I try to notice one thing that I’m enjoying now.

As I was trying to write the other day, my four year old called out to me from the bathroom. He needed me to wipe. Not necessarily my favorite activity of motherhood, but part of the occupation nonetheless. I was trying to finish my thought, but after his third call, I rushed into the bathroom, feeling a little guilty. He sat there, perched on the toilet with both arms supporting him so he wouldn’t fall in. He looked at me, and said out of the blue, “You’re going to be mine forever and ever.”

That was a nice moment. I try to take these times in, they disappear so quickly.

Perhaps one day I will find contentment in the present; aware that everything I have is already a gift.

THEN, I’ll be happy.

Lost in Translation

My husband speaks Swedish with our boys, but when his parents visit, there are actual adult conversations going on. If what’s being said is one sentence like “Let’s change your diaper” or “Let’s build a train set,” I feel pretty good about my Swedish comprehension because I know what’s being said. When the discussion deviates to emotions, verbs, or anything above a two-year-old’s vocabulary, I become a bit lost.

I don’t like to tell people I attended adult ed night classes for five years to learn Swedish. They might expect something from me. Like being able to understand the language.

On a recent visit, my mother-in-law and eldest son Lucas were having a fun time playing hide and seek in our house. The noise of their laughter played in the background while I savored a rare moment of daytime book reading (The Italian Affair if you must know.) When Lucas jumped out and found my mother-in-law, she gasped and exclaimed, “Du hittade mej!” (My translation: “You hit me!”)

She seemed shocked.

I was also shocked, that was not something my son normally did. Now, I hadn’t seen it happen of course, but I heard what my mother-in-law had said. She didn’t seem to be reacting much, so I marched in there and told Lucas in a stern voice that it is not OK to hit Farmor.

Everyone stopped and looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

It was then that I conveniently remembered that “hittade” means found, not hit. She had been feigning surprise saying, “You found me!”

I apologized to Lucas who looked more confused than anything else. In fact, I think he was amused that Mommy had made a minor fool of herself.

No major harm done, I humbly accepted my lesson: when translating on my own, it’s probably best to fact-check before reprimanding. Actually, that might be a good lesson regardless of the language being spoken.

Now when the kids get older and it come to Swedish curse words, well, I’ll be blissfully clueless.

Wanna Ride?

After a local community meeting, a fellow member asked if I could give her a ride home. As we walked to the car, we spoke mama stats: she had two boys, five and eight years old. I belong to the boy club as well, ages two and four.

I always feel a bond with other mothers of boys. I asked how the five and eight-year-old stage is. The prognosis was good. I like it when people with kids older than mine say it gets better. I dislike those people that tell you it's still hard, just different. I don't mind if you lie to me, just tell me it gets better and easier, please!

As we get to my car, she says, "Cute!" as I have a butterfly pasted on the butt of the car. But as I look in the passenger seat, I realize there is a few days' worth accumulation of definitely not cute stuff. I know she's a mom, so I remind myself not to worry too much, but I tell her it's going to take a while to clear the seat so she can actually sit on it, hopefully finding a place for her feet as well.

I take off the first layer - everything we needed for a dinner at our favorite Thai food restaurant that night. A cooler-type bag of supplemental dinner options for the kids, two jackets of mine, one for each of the kids. I throw them into the back. The next layer was from my art class the day prior -- paper bags laid out to protect the seats from wet paint and a box of art supplies. They find their spot, sitting in the empty car seats in the back.

I'm finally down to the final layer. This was from three days prior when I got to my son's preschool in the morning and realized it was freezing cold and wet, and my son was in a short-sleeved shirt. This fact should have been noticed before we left the house, but somehow escaped my mommy radar until that moment. So I emptied the diaper bag, which had been recently organized, and pulled out all the extra clothes until I found a long-sleeved shirt for him to wear, pulling it over his head and finished dressing him in the parking lot.

As I tossed back the tighty whities (thankfully clean, these were from the spare clothes) of my four-year-old, along with unused diapers, jeans, shirts, and socks, she said honestly, "I guess you don't drive with other people very often."

I laughed. "Only my kids."

Top 10 Signs You Need to Attend Book-Buying Anonymous (BBA)

10. Every time you see an author talk, you promise yourself you will not buy their book. Even if the book is about worm cultivation in Zimbabwe, you walk away with a signed book.

9. When life finds you down, you turn to book buying. (Note: this is different than book reading, which you have little time for.) But who can resist buying Money, and the Law of Attraction on a day when the stock market dips over 700 points?

8. You borrow books on CD from the library, but then buy the same books in print so you can highlight your favorite quotes. Example: Anne Lamott’s Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith.

7. You promise yourself to use the library more, but can’t wait for others to get their fix before getting yours.

6. You spread out your book purchases between different stores so that there is not an obvious large charge on the credit card to alert your spouse.

5. Sometimes you pay cash to reduce the paper trail even further.

4. You confess your addiction to the people working at bookstores as you know their answer will be an enabling message of, “There could be worse addictions,” or “I have the same one, that’s why I work here!”

3. You refuse to do the math of how long it would take to actually read all the unread books you own. (In recovery terminology, this is called Denial with a capital “D.”)

2. When your mom comes to visit, she firmly tells you that you can’t buy any more books until you have more bookcases.

1. You buy more bookcases.


* Disclaimer: this blog was written hypothetically. This in no way resembles me, my family, or anyone I’ve ever known. The local chapter of BBA meets Sunday evenings in the multi-purpose room of the All Saints Lutheran Church. Bring cookies.