opposite day

In the eerie quiet of a house with three simultaneously-sleeping children while the elder lad is at school, I have an opportunity of unknown length to ruminate on the events that transpired yesterday, which included a trip to Target, a fun outing with a family we are getting to know from the elder lad's school, and a gathering of moms from the Kindergarten class (hence the napping children today, for which I am most grateful).

The trouble is, amidst the many highs and lows of the day, what stands out is what's missing:

Coffee filters. We have none.

At this point in the narrative, my dear friend Simply's jaw likely drops in horror as she's reading.  Today her eldest lad turns 16, and while I hate the thought of marring this day with such a disturbing notion as a house without coffee filters, I know she'll laugh knowing I typed "draw jops" first and thought it looked normal the first eight or 10 times I read through what I'd written.  Sorry to put a damper on your Mama Day, Simply. Love you and your lad!

In spite of reminding myself not to forget the filters as I unloaded the bambini into the cold shopping cart and trucked inside as fast as I could *and* having taken a picture of the exact ones we needed to fit our drip coffee maker, I neglected to write the item on my shopping list, and here is where it all goes downhill.

By the time the 22-month-old lass had fallen asleep sitting up in the seat of the shopping cart (first child of mine to ever do such a thing outside of my sling or the "baby bucket" car seat) and I had had some near misses with the shopping cart and the heels of my three year old lad who insisted on walking "with" me *and* I had nabbed some slacks that I thought I could wear to the moms' gathering that evening (wrong), the coffee filters had fallen out of that primacy of place that is the single driving thought propelling me through Target (well, that and "must get this finished *as soon as possible*").

This doesn't mean, however, that we got nothing. Quite the contrary. We got a gift for the birthday party the elder lad is invited to tomorrow that the younger lad would love to go to as well but for which the whole siblings-invited issue is rather murky; a Lego truck Christmas gift that will be a surprise to only one lad (as the other discovered it after he escaped from the cart); the afore-mentioned ill-fitting slacks; sundry dairy items (including a ridiculous amount of yogurt); some molasses for another batch of our most recent cookie success -- chocolate ginger with chocolate chips (among other things) -- for our new friends; and the list goes on...

except for coffee filters
(and contact lens solution, which *was* on the list but overlooked somehow)

So while I may feel like bellowing this deeply-rued fact, I am instead going to employ a tactic I ought to use more often with my bambini: I'm going to whisper.

We have no coffee filters.

This explains a lot.

special day every day

The younger lad had his "Special Day" on one of the family Advent calendars yesterday.   There were tasty chocolate ginger cookies to devour, a cousin visiting from Chicago to play with, and a new bouncy ball to cause trouble.  We went to school Mass and got a wave from the elder lad.  'Twas a full day.

This morning we went to check and see whose "day" it now is.  After we had announced who we'll be keeping in our thoughts and prayers today, the lad said "but please still pray for me."

We assured him we do every day.

company

My cousin is visiting from Chicago as she interviews for her internship and residency years following graduation from medical school this coming spring.  The bambini took to her instantly, chattering and showing her around, and telling her random things.  Her love for children is evident in the way she converses and plays with them.  She's a young lady of many talents, great intelligence, much warmth and great compassion.  What a delight to have such pleasant company. 

(not so) secret santa

me, conducting an impromptu poll: "What do you think Daddy might like for Christmas?"

lass: "green!"
younger lad: "a green ax!"
elder lad: "a green remote-controlled hot rod!"

We may or may not have looked for these things as we shopped for the children whose gifts we signed up to procure from our parish's Angel Tree as part of our St. Nicholas Day festivities.

This alms-giving aspect of the feast day is equally as important as (if not more so than) the treats our bambini found by their shoes on the hearth this morning (fresh crayons, clementines, and small squares of chocolate wrapped in gold paper).  That's why I chose to go through with the shopping after school (i.e. approaching Happy Hour) and in spite of the chill in the air.  

We are humbled by the tremendous blessings God continues to lavish upon us.  It is our honor and duty to share these with those less fortunate than ourselves, and to teach our bambini to tend to the needs of others  that go unmet.  It involves learning we don't always get what we want when we want it, but God always provides for our needs.

Case in point: a green remote-controlled hot rod...

on the list

Fresh off the surprise of the covert Christmas light maneuver, the elder lad eyed me suspiciously as I jotted something down on a piece of paper above his eye line.

"What are you writing?" he wanted to know.
"Something on my shopping list."

"What?"
"A card for Grannie's Christmas gift."

"What else is on the list?"
I read it to him, then ask if he has something to add.

"Yes."  he said soberly.
"What?" I asked.

"Keys for [my brother] and me." (the ones that are painted in the school colors of our alma mater and said school's arch rival they spotted on a trip to the hardware store with their daddy yesterday for extension cords.  Presently they fancy themselves janitors with big wads of keys.)

"Oh.  Those go on the Lowe's list.  You'll have to talk to Daddy about that.  He keeps that list."
Skunked again...

drumroll, please

There were no shooting icicles or sleeves stapled to gutters, but still I couldn't help but think of Clark Griswold in the 1989 movie Christmas Vacation as my beloved (whose motto for such endeavors is "safety first") scaled a gargantuan ladder to hang Christmas lights on the exterior of our house today.  The elder lad has long been lobbying for lights, but this is the first year for us to hang them outdoors.

It was meant to be a surprise for the bambini, but when the elder lad spotted his father on the ladder out the front door, the lad knew something was up.  "Did you guys plan this?" he wanted to know.  When I answered in the affirmative, the look on his face read "whoa.  I wonder what else they talk about when I'm not around?"  If you only knew...

However disappointed the younger lad may have been to miss out on the ladder scaling fun (as climbing really is his favorite pastime), he and his brother were happy to help flip the switch when the moment was right.  They and their "sissies" were delighted to see the little lights twinkling, and no nuclear generators were necessary to supply electricity to the surrounding houses because of our festive but not ablaze light display (as in the movie I called to mind). 

It was a fitting if freezing activity to usher in the second week of Advent, building upon the preparations and decorations we began rolling out last weekend.   As we prepare to welcome Jesus, the Light of the World, I will always remember the expressions of glee emanating from the bambini as they took in the beautiful light.

drive like mom

My dad drove me to school most of the time.  It was a special time for the two of us, triggered in my memory by hearing renditions of "Zippity Doo Dah" and other such ditties.  He and I have logged a lot of miles together, not just to and from school, but back and forth to Chicago lots and lots of times over the years. 

Sometimes we needed to make haste in the direction of our destination (which was usually not too far from our starting point, my hometown being small-ish and all).  At such times I am reported to have suggested he "drive like Mom."  That meant... with purpose (or something like that).  Nothing illegal or aggressive.  Just determined. 

My mom, you see, is a self-proclaimed gearhead and likes to get where she's going.  It's part of her charm.  We love her for it.

That's how I drove this morning when my beloved had to catch an early flight for a business meeting, which meant I needed to get our elder lad to kindergarten.  Four bambini plus Mama tripping over each other to get out the door at sunrise for the forty minute commute equals some fantastic feats of daring and silliness (such as Mama donning a sweater with a pretty butterfly -- a noticeable departure from my usual solid-color selections -- and declaring with great fanfare that it is "Fresh Contact Day" for Mama!!!), but we did it.  We made it to school on time.