There's a Happy Feeling Nothing in the Woooorld Can Buy...

I can let a few cats out of the bag now.

After much orchestration, I bought a Wii for the family for Christmas. We had agreed (most emphatically by Husband who is from a Dungeons and Dragons, Intellivision, board game background) to forgo gifts to each other and blow all the dough on a Wii. This was in October.

By mid-December, Wii-less, I was all ready to go out and get some emergency gifts for the kids. Santa was going to be really good to them, as well, but I felt they needed something under the tree.

I had my friend Slowplum doing much of the legwork. She called two people she knew who worked at places that sold Wii consoles. It was her sister-in-law that came through. When the shipment came in to the store she managed, she called Slowplum who called Husband's secretary who helped to track me down and the kids' school secretary got the call and buzzed me over the p.a. system to get my ass down to the office and take Slowplum's call. I left immediately, right in the middle of a bake sale I was helping with, got it and hid it back at the school in the principal's office.

I thought I was going to get a HUGE reaction when it was opened. All I got from Husband was, "Oh. My. God." And then he turned his head to me and said, "That's nice, Jen. Thanks." I stood there, gap-mouthed. Of course, I'm forgetting that Husband is a bit of a milquetoast in the emotions department. He's not one for overt public displays of affection, though he still puts his hand on the small of my back at parties if he's feeling comfortable. Still, everyone is happy. Slowplum and her family are coming over Saturday to indoctrinate us into Wii-world.

We had a good Christmas. Actually, Baby Boy announced to everyone many times that it was the best Christmas ever. He was wide-eyed about everything. We went to Husband's grandmother a few days before and got to see a few aunts, uncles and cousins, too. Gramma is getting quite hunched over and so incredibly intolerant, but she's still on her own and maintains her own home. She's a marvel, really. Mind you, the oldest sibling does a lot to help her out and this particular aunt isn't a well woman. She has breast cancer among a host of other illnesses.

Christmas Day was spent at my grandmother's, another woman approaching 90 and still living at her own home. My uncle lives in the basement and is treated like crap. Mind you, he gives it right back. But the driveway is shoveled, the grass is mowed. My grandmother (with help from my aunts, mother and one of my cousins) makes a hot meal for everyone. That would be around 40 of us. My contribution was a Greek pasta salad and biscotti that Grandma quickly hid for herself. The kids went off to play video games with the basement uncle. Husband hung around his golf buddy who is also my uncle by marriage and only 10 years older than we are. I flitted around, trying to make myself useful in the kitchen, talking to almost everyone, and finally settling down with my cousins, some 22 years younger than I am, with my Taboo game. It was girls vs. boys and the boys defeated us soundly. One cousin brought her boyfriend of three years for the first Christmas. Surprisingly, we didn't scare him off. They recently bought a condo together but it won't be ready until 2009.

Boxing Day is always at my parents'. Mum makes finger food and the kids go hog wild. I love going to my parents' house because I CAN set the kids free and between one of the adults, all kids are well-taken care of.

The other cat left to be set out of the bag is that I can safely say that I'm going to be an auntie again. Baby Sister is about 17 weeks pregnant and everyone is just thrilled. So next Christmas will be just a wee bit different. And I can't wait!

Let's Eat the Lamb of God!

Oh, come let us adore... the gingerbread crêche I made! I really strive to be a cool mum.

And before you tell me it's blasphemous to eat it, remember that I'm Catholic. We eat Jesus at every mass.

Damn My iPod

I was finally getting around to writing my Christmas cards. I was in my spinning class this morning when I realized I only have a week, so I should get at it. I was writing a few, listening to my iPod (including a note to my uncle to let him know that I love him. I'll probably get in shit for it, though). I end up forwarding a lot of songs because they remind me of another time or people from long ago.

"Play That Funky Music White Boy" by Wild Cherry reminds me of my mother-in-law's second husband getting down at my wedding. We lost touch after they divorced, sadly. He was a great guy.

"Planet Claire" by The B-52s reminds me of my roller disco days at Scooter's. I never did a proper shoot-the-duck, though.

"Tonight, Tonight" by The Smashing Pumpkins was the last song I heard before I gave birth for the first time. It also reminds me of riding with Middle Sister to her wedding with me and Baby Sister singing along while the bride probably wanted to puke.

"So. Central Rain" by REM reminds me of this mixed tape a guy made me and, being young and dramatic, I read into it and wondered why he never called.

"Mr. Brightside" by The Killers reminds me of a time long before the song came out...but never mind. Let's leave that one in the past. Too bad. Great song.

There's always something, though. Some songs even remind me of my loved ones' pasts and I didn't even need to be there with them. Pretty much every song reminds me of something so if I were to take them off the mp3, I'd have nothing there.

Am I the only one who can't listen to a song without associating it?

Alone Again, Naturally

Yet again, I am single-parenting this week. Husband is helping to move his dad into a nursing home out west, yet having to travel about two hours from his brother's home to his dad's old apartment.

He really didn't want to go. I would have done the moving for him but Husband has power of attorney, so there were things needed to be done that only he could do. Seriously, I'm as fit as I ever was; lifting weights now for two years. Moving furniture wouldn't be an outlandish activity for me. Besides, Husband is self-employed. If he doesn't work, he doesn't get paid.

Having him gone, however, brings new opportunities for me and the kids. I'm totally indulging in the kitchen, making stuff that Husband hates. I've got a box of instant mashed potatoes that Daughter would hug if she didn't think she'd get teased. I made baked onion rings. Yeah, they're healthier than the deep-fried ones from Harvey's but, uh, onion rings were dinner. We had ricotta ravioli with ketchup. If you're not one of my sisters, you'll never understand that one, I'll bet. Come to think of it, I think I remember Middle Sister's youngest eating ketchup ravioli once, so the tradition lives on through the branches.

The kids and I went over to Middle Sister's last weekend. The youngest took my hand as soon as I got in. "Auntie Jen, your hair is red. Your lips are red and your hair is red. Your hair is RED!" He kept touching it all afternoon. "So soft!" Apparently, he likes it, unlike my mother and one of Daughter's friends who said I look like a clown. I'd just shrug that one off, but I think the boy is the next Carson Kressley and I've always at least listened to style advice from my gay friends. I'm still liking it, though. I've just gone from black liquid liner to brown to soften things up a bit. However, the retro red lipstick stays.

Husband left just after we had parent-teacher interviews. Daughter's lasted all of about four minutes, and only lasted that long because I had asked the teacher to explain these new diagnostic tests and Daughter's results. "My job would be so easy if I had a whole classroom of (Daughters)," she said.

Middle Child's, on the other hand, lasted about a half-hour. His report card was a sea of A's (except in gym and drama), so academics aren't his problem. It's the fact that he's soooo methodical about everything. He's the last one to get his snowsuit on or off. He's the last one to get his books and pencils ready. He's the last one to hand in a report. And if he's answering a question, he answers it and then somehow segues into another idea that would fascinate him but would lose the rest of the class. Like when he answered that one Catholic sacrament was marriage, he then went on about the break up of the Church during Henry VIII's reign and, oh, let's also talk about his many wives. Or how about when the class had to write a proper letter to the teacher, where everyone else's was "thanks for teaching me", Middle Child's first sentence was, "Have you ever wondered about the dung beetle?" And it ended, "I can tell by your age that you're probably going to retire soon, but you are still good at your job." Thank God his teacher has a great sense of humour.

I think it's subtle.

I dyed my hair with a colour called "electric grape". It came out fairly magenta on my grey but, overall, it has a nice burgundy hue.

Husband asked when I was going to grow up. And my mother is going to hate it.

He Knows If You've Been Bad or Good

Yesterday, I handed out individualized letters from Santa to each kid in Middle Child's class. It was awesome to see their reaction. They're still young enough to totally believe in the guy in red and, for all their acting cool, reading the letters had them wide-eyed with wonder.

The letters had lots of kids swell with pride with all the compliments and embarrassed giggles with the suggestions for improvement. Nothing harsh, they just said stuff like, "eat all your vegetables," "get to bed when your parents tell you," and "please remember to raise your hand if you have something to say in class."

Slowplum's son was a bit baffled when he got to the end of his letter. "Santa wrote something in Spanish. I don't know Spanish!" Actually, it was Portuguese and if you saw the kid, you'd know there's a kitchen rooster in his relative's house. Luckily, I knew it read "merry Christmas and happy new year" in Portuguese and told him. "That's incredible! He knew I was Harry Potter for Halloween AND he knows I'm kind of Portuguese!" What was incredible was watching him and his classmates read and reread their letters.

Middle Child's letter, of course, was most detailed. It went to great pains about how he needs to stop arguing, particularly with his siblings. And when he got home, he bitched about Baby Boy being in his way all the time and bit him on the bum.

Middle Sister once got a lump of coal in her stocking. She was a teenager and it was a bit of a joke (she got her gifts later), but it made a point. Would it be awful if Santa did that to my kids? I know Middle Sister would kill me, but, boy, all the kids would be really freaked out by that.