Greatest Christmas Pageant

Every year I have unrealistic expectations about Christmas. I don't know why I don't learn. The elf brings matching Christmas pajamas, and I think that we will have a sweet picture of the boys sitting still, reading the Christmas story and enjoying each other and the spirit of the season. Fast forward to Christmas Eve, The Husband locking both boys in the sun room while he swept the kitchen and calling to them "you're going to be together for the rest of your lives- you might as well learn now!"

Forget the summer solstice, Christmas Eve was the longest day of the year. The Boy asked 100 times when it was going to be Christmas Eve, and I told him 100 times "today is Christmas Eve." Then he'd respond "but when is it going to be NIGHT?" You and me both, buddy. On Christmas Eve Eve he decided that if Christmas is about giving he'd like to get a gift for Santa's elves. WHO can say no to that?  I let The Boy pick out elf presents when we needed to go to CVS. He chose some Monsters, Inc. monsters, which he decided he could play with before the elves came.

The rest of the day vacillated between anticipation and irritation for all involved. We threatened at one point to cancel all of Christmas. We were going to church at 5:00. About 3:30 The Husband asked if we could leave yet. We got the boys ready in their Christmas sweaters in 75 degree rainy weather. Walking outside felt like being in a boy's locker room. This is where I'd want to get a picture, but everyone was whiney. One was sitting in a corner like Little Jack Horner, so that his brother couldn't get his snack. The other was tired and frustrated that you have no power when you're one.

I asked The Boy if he wanted to make a holiday video of him singing a Christmas song. He did, and I placed him strategically in front of the scenic fireplace, the stocking holders spelling out PEACE behind him. But then when I pressed record his song was all about butts and I walked out of the room, a director on strike over an actor being unprofessional.

We went to church and The Boy's class joined the big kids' Christmas pageant to sing This Little Light of Mine. Somehow a 3 year old girl got a hold of the mic, and while all the kids were singing her voice was loudest. Then maybe the other kids realized that she was the songstress, and they all got louder until they were yell-singing I'M GONNA LET IT SHINE all on top of each other.

BeYoYo was thrilled that grandparents were there, and he grunted to be passed back and forth between them. While the congregation sang Silent Night he shreiked and shrilled, and was anything but. I thought to myself it was a good thing that Jesus came as a baby because he would appreciate this. When the pastor was explaining that all are welcome to the communion table, The Boy started to get up and walk toward the front. I told him it wasn't time yet, and he said "but mom, I'm just going to the nativity scene." I shook my head and gave him The Mom Eyes, and he said too loudly "but MOM! The animals here aren't breakable!" Apparently he was planning to go up and play with the nativity scene during the service. It was all very The-Greatest-Christmas-Pageant.

By the time we got to The Husband's grandmother's house BeYoYo had fallen asleep in the car. We woke him up and took him in to eat and play with cousins.The kids played and ran through the house and thoroughly enjoyed each other. They opened gifts and it was loud and chaotic. Kids yelled for parents to open things. Parents yelled "who was this from? Did you tell them thank you?" Kids yelled their thank yous robotically, while searching for the next gift.

Thankfully both boys fell asleep on the way home. We paused to let them tell the elf goodbye and carried them straight to bed. We went soon after. Santa came in the night and left a few gifts for the boys. The Boy was happy, and said "can you believe Santa got me everything I wanted?!" Santa had brought exactly 4 things, and I smiled a mama smile inside knowing that Santa had not brought the hot air balloon or other elaborate things he'd wanted, and he was content all the same. For a minute at least.

The Husband and I got BeYoYo a seat for my bike, and The Boy a 4 wheeler from Craigslist. I figure with the money we saved we can pay for all the urgent care bills we're sure to accrue. We all went outside to play in our pajamas, and neighbors had gotten crazy carts, which they were playing with in the cul-de-sac too. The Boy got mud all over his appliquéd Christmas pajamas while digging for worms, and they are now ruined. I tried SO hard not to let that bother me. Apparently making children come inside to change clothes is not the spirit of the season.

Christmas Day worm

Later on Christmas Day more grandparents came over with more gifts. Aunts and uncles too. The boys got matching spiderman pjs that they immediately put on and left on for almost 36 hours.

The next day we were back at the mother-in-law's house for more gifts and cousin play. Then the next day we went to Atlanta to be with my family at my cousin's brand new house- more gifts and cousins and fun and chaos and karaoke. One of my boys bled on one rug, another got red velvet on another. I walked in the kitchen to find The Boy fully outstretched on the island, helping himself to some cookies out of his reach.

Someone this holiday season posted a Brene Brown quote that said "the magic is in the mess." If that's true we're the David Copperfield of the holidays. Deep breaths.

This picture is a little perfect for a quote on messiness, don't you think? 

The holidays are a whirlwind for us. They are busy, they are exhausting, but they are fun. Mostly. Here's our version of Rocking Around the Christmas Tree.

Riding around the cul-de-sac

letting the wind blow through our hair

Who do you want to bet will be

The first to go to urgent care? 

You will get a sinking feeling when you hear

Grandma and Santa bought the same Darth Vader, 

you mixed up the lists this year! 

Rocking around the Christmas Tree

All the cousins having fun

Line them up for the paparazzi

Two elves are better than one

Rocking around the karaoke machine

Which song are you going to sing? 

Which kid just ruined their brand new rug?

And can you pass mama a drink? 

You will get a vicarious hernia when you see

All these gifts the boys were given

Blame the grandparents, don't blame me!

Rocking around the Christmas Tree

We're drowning in Dinotrux

Star Wars, Ninja Turtles, Superman

All the pieces make me want to cuss

Rocking around the Christmas Tree

Our only caroling is about butts

The baby got a remote control dog that poops 

These boys are making me nuts

You will get a nauseous feeling when you hear

Sure it's been more than two days, but can't we just wear our spiderman pjs? 

Somebody remind mama at the next holiday

Toss out the expectations

This is our new old fashion way......

Glory Glory to Ole Georgia

This time of year we reflect on when the crowds cried "Crucify him! Crucify him!" and the man in charge washed his hands of this, telling the people he was only giving them what they wanted. Of course I'm talking about Mark Richt getting fired. It's the end of an era.

Luckily we took The Boy to his first UGA football game a few weeks ago, so he can say he went to a Mark Richt game. We tailgated with friends, he watched college kids toss a ball in the parking lot, he peed in a toilet that features rival mascots in the bowl, he walked around campus in his Super Dawg cape, we talked to friends, saw the Dawg Walk, and ate dinner at Bolton Hall. He even got a waffle with a G in the middle. A kid's dream.

I know that football is frivolous. It seems ridiculous and trite following the terrorist attacks in Paris, and the shootings again last week in California. But I would be lying to you if I said I didn't tear up a little when that boy entered the stadium on his daddy's shoulders. I'd been in that stadium more times than I can count,  with tens of thousands of people laying aside politics, religion, socioeconomic status, race (okay, maybe not so much race), and education to cheer for our team. There are a lot of things wrong with college football, but the sense of community it brings ain't one of them.

The first time I went to a game I think I was nine. Our friends, the Millers, often drove up for the games, and they invited us to join. Their daughters, Bethany and Jennifer, cheered all the cheers and sang all the songs, and I sat there with big eyes asking them to repeat what they were saying and translate for me. Their daddy hooped and hollered and laughed his contagious laugh. I don't remember if we won, but I remember eating frozen lemonade and sitting in the warm sun in the end zone taking it all in. I was hooked. When their daddy died much too young I would cherish the memory of that warm day and his big smile.

From then on I started watching games at home with my dad. He'd turn down the TV volume so we could hear legendary announcer Larry Munson call the plays, as is custom for any dawg fan. I went to games when I could, and in high school I decorated my bedroom in red and black and adorned my walls with news clippings about the players and the games. I only applied to one college: UGA, and Santa brought my acceptance letter on Christmas Eve my senior year.

One of my favorite games ever was when we played Georgia Tech in what must have been my 8th grade year. I think Hines Ward was still playing. I was at my grandparents' house, and my mom and Grandmama were out shopping. My granddad and I sat in the living room watching the nail biter game together for hours. When we won in the final minute, he and I both jumped up and down and yelled for our team. After The Husband and I got married there were a few Saturdays I remember driving the two hours back down to their house to watch football with my granddad again. I wish I'd done it more.

In college The Husband and I went to all the games we could. We got there early and stayed out late, and stood in the student section that smelled like beer and immaturity. We tailgated with friends and yelled to our team. We watched hype videos the week leading up to the game and talked about which players were out due to injury or arrest. When we were planning our wedding we arranged for Larry Munson to record our first announcement as husband and wife. Sadly he had a brain aneurism just before.

So here we were, continuing the next chapter of this tradition, and yes, I teared up. The nostalgia wave rushed over me faster than you can sack a quarterback. I thought of how lucky this boy was, with wonder in his eyes as he asked "could you believe how big it was going to be?" in his daddy's arms. I thought how he doesn't even know how lucky he is, and how many times the same could be said about me. As trivial as football is, it means much more than a score and the men on the field. College football is a glorious tradition that encourages sportsmanship, builds character, instills pride in community, and connects us with generations past. Unless we lose, and then it's just a game. I didn't let The Husband see the tears in my eyes, because he would think it was just about football. 

We found our seats and pointed out the important things in the stadium. The Boy cheered. He sang. He waved his pom poms and generally enjoyed life. 

Then two minutes and ten seconds into the game he said "I'm ready to leave now" in classic four year old style. I let him play on my phone and talked him into staying until half time. I talked up the redcoat band, and that piqued his interest enough for us to trudge through. Then after the opponent's band played exactly one song he said "okay, can we go?" And so we did. 

Trying out his Trump impression? 

All in all it was a great day passing the torch to the next generation of dawg fan. I asked him the next day what his favorite part had been, and he said "getting to eat fruit loops for dinner!" Glory Glory to Ole Cereal. 

Plotting

Sometimes I think my kids have secret meetings where they plot how to mess with me, and prevent me from getting anything done. It's like they're the writers for MTV's Jackass, and it's their job to come up with bizarre stunts that might end in laughter or injury. I can imagine them saying things like "You pull all the knives out of the dishwasher and chase the dog, and when mom gets the knives from you, I'll run as fast as I can into the kitchen and crash/fling myself pelvis-first into the table. That will hurt, so I will cry. When she bends down to check on me, you shriek and babble and fall on top of all of us."

When we're out to eat at a Mexican restaurant, it's "You order a side of rice and a tortilla, beg and beg for your food to hurry up, and then gag when they bring it out and say that you don't like rice or tortillas anymore. I'll throw all my food on the floor, eat dad's food, and when mom takes me to the bathroom to change my diaper I'll secretly bring a serving spoon with me. Then later we can both splash in the trendy water feature. Don't forget to smile and wave at the other diners!"

They execute their plans, too. The other night when I was trying to cook dinner it was "I'll play that game where I see how close I can get between mom and the stove. When she moves, I'll go between her legs and laugh. You dance and chant P-I-Z-Z-A, even though that's not what we're having. Also, score us some pickles while we wait."

Let's just hope they can make a living at this one day. Johnny Knoxville's worth $75 million.

The Art of The Play Date

This week we had a play date at our friend Sarah's house. It's not Say-rah, like my grandmama would say, or Serah, like I would say. It's Sahrah, all airy. She's Brittish and she married a Merican friend of a friend, and they just moved back here from London. Her son and The Boy are a few weeks apart, and she has a daughter a little older than BeYoYo. What could go wrong, right?

admiring a caterpillar 

I realized when we got there BeYoYo only had one shoe. The Boy and The Boy Brit haven't seen each other in over a year. (Last year The Boy told me that The Boy Brit "talks like Harry Potter!") When we pulled up they greeted each other, and then stared at each other kind of like the way dogs smell each other's butts to investigate. After they okayed each other, we all went inside where they explored the myriad of toys that kids have. The Boy thoroughly enjoyed his friend's toys. And also his friend. For awhile The Boy played inside and The Boy Brit played outside. Because they are four and this is how playdates sometimes work. The babies tottled around, generally getting into things and looking precious. The Baby Brit held a toy car and said "cah", and it was the cutest thing in the history of "eva".

It was a long string of herding BeYoYo back in one room or out of another,  putting my hand up to block him from hitting someone with a toy, and making him get down from standing on a table. We'd let the older kids work out their differences, then intervene when it was getting too heated or help to fix a Batman. In the midst of all of this Sahrah and I tried to catch up with each other. "He took a new job....... no, stay in here......as a project manager......oh, look at this.......and he's liking it, as far as I can tell......help me understand what you need.....yes, that is a cah...... Have you been out lately?.....I really like the way you're sharing....." This is a social dance that only parents appreciate.

When the boys starting getting a little irritated with each other Sahrah intervened and said "would you all like a snack? We have some fig bahs if you'd like" and they nearly peed themselves with excitement. The Boy had no idea what a fig bar was, but he couldn't wait. Then when Sahrah produced them The Boy took one, looked at it, and then said to her "these are called fig newtons." I reminded him that The Boy Brit and his family were from London and that we say some things differently. Sahrah told us that The Boy Brit had picked up the term "super awesome" since they'd moved back. I didn't even know that was an American term. It reminded me of one New Year's Eve years ago when I was over served and kept telling Sahrah "say some more words!" Then she'd say loo or lift, and I would bask in her Brittishness.

BeYoYo went to the edge of the play room and made poop face, and soon we could smell the results. So I excused us and changed the foulness. We returned and resumed the social dance of kid, baby, adult talk.

After we'd been there awhile there was some altercation about a train and ALL of the hell broke loose. The Boy lost it. I'm talking screaming, running to another room, thrashing about like a banshee. The Boy Brit just looked at him. The babies continued their babying. I excused myself and went to The Boy and talked to him in THE CALM FIRM VOICE, which was useless. He was so lost in the flood of emotion about the injustice of not getting a train at the exact moment he wanted it that he could not even hear my words. The Boy Brit kindly and calmly tried to offer him a train, but of course that was all wrong, because how dare he offer The Boy exactly what he'd asked for, because four year olds are crazy. I told The Boy that if he did not stop with his fit we would have to leave. And he did not stop with his fit, so we had to leave.

I scooped him up and carried him right out to the car. Over my shoulder I told Sahrah I'd be right back for BeYoYo. I put The Boy in the car, and he was now even madder about our abrupt exit. He screamed "Noooooo! I don't wike you! You're not my mommy anymore!" I told him calmly it was not my job to make him like me.

I went back in and got BeYoYo and his one shoe, and feigned cleaning up a few toys. I apologized to Sahrah about The Boy's behavior and our leaving. Because she is lovely, she said "Oh, don't be sill-aye. This was us just last week." (Really I'm only interested in being friends with people like this, and if you are right now reading this in shock and/or disgust, please do not invite us over for a play date. Because even if my kids are angels chances are you and I may not hit it off). The Boy Brit came outside with us to tell The Boy goodbye, but who can be bothered with the frivolity of salutations when all the injustices of the world have been heaped upon you?

After we left The Boy began to calm down, and when we got home The Husband was cooking dinner. The Boy had to go straight to time out, and seemed generally disappointed in the events of the afternoon. When he came out of time out he asked for me to cut him some cantaloupe. "I'd love to" I said, "but I can't, because I'm not your mommy anymore." This was also my response when he asked for milk and asked for me to put him to bed. PS- Though it may remind him not to say that again, it does nothing to de-escalate a situation. The Husband took over for the night and I went to take a bath. There I texted Sahrah and said "I'm exhausted. He was asleep before 7pm. How do you feel about being in a blog?"

We should get together for a playdate again sometime soon. Except next time let's leave the kids at home. It'll be super awesome.

Our Week In Videos

I take a lot of videos and pictures of my kids. Most of them are bad and get deleted, but some are not, and those might make it to instagram. This week seemed like I took more than usual, so you're having getting a look in the video vault that was our week.

Sunday
Sunday we did the Jimmy Kimmel prank of telling The Boy we ate all his Halloween candy.

Monday they played in puddles.

Here are each of their reactions to being muddy for a little while:

Tuesday
Tuesday BeYoYo got tubes put in. He's fine. This was him at pre-op.

and then this was later that afternoon when we needed to get out of the house, and went to Target. 

Wednesday I didn't get any video (I KNOW, what kind of parent AM I?), so you'll have to settle for this action shot of BeYoYo trying to put all the toilet paper in the toilet.

Thursday
This was their bath in the morning, when The Boy asked to make a silly movie. This was BEFORE The Boy went to Wild Intelligence and got gross, and BeYoYo fell in the mud when we went to pick him up.

And here's after. I didn't get a shot of BeYoYo, because he was muddy and crying and signing all done and buckling him in is like trying to get an octopus in a car seat. 

Friday
In the spirit of blogging transparency, I have to tell you that this video is not actually from today. It's from last week, and I haven't gotten any pics or videos from today. But the day is still young. Here's BeYoYo dancing. Every time he goes up on his tip toes he thinks he's jumping.

Halloween '15

We kind of love Halloween. My boys are all about dressing up in general, and I love anything where I get to be creative. And The Husband loves anything where he gets to be outside. Plus, candy. What's not to love? The other day we were at Hobby Lobby, and The Boy saw a Halloween display and screamed out "Mom! This is going to be SO great!"

About the first of September The Boy declared he wanted to be a dragon this year, after reading a Berenstein Bears Halloween book 3 dozen times. Sold. BeYoYo is too young to have an opinion, so obviously we decided he should be a knight. We found The Boy's dragon costume at a thrift store, and he was specific about wanting a dragon mask, so I set out to make one. I confirmed that he wanted to move forward with this commitment, and he said he did.

The last time I did paper maché was in Señor Shuler's Spanish class in high school, when I made a piñata for FLEW week and it collapsed into itself the night before it was due and my mom let me go to school late so I could try to fix it but it was beyond repair and I had to get up in front of the class and present a sad, dented in piñata bear and I got a C. Not that I'm still carrying that trauma around or anything. But I set out to redeem myself. We layered, we let dry, we layered, we let dry, we layered, we let dry. We painted and decorated. The Boy was all about it, and we worked toward getting it just the way he wanted. 

                                                

Ta da! Dragon mask complete. And awesome, if I do say so myself. And he was proud of it, which of course, is also most important. 

And then we went back to the thrift store, and he found the mask that ACTUALLY goes with his dragon costume, and he said "THAT! I want to wear THAT instead!" Sure, buddy. Okay. Fine. I could hear paper maché laughing and taunting me in my head. 

Also I made his wings, and I made Beyoyo's knight costume even thought I can't sew even a little. The dragon wings are made using this tutorial, except where she sewed it I just said a little prayer. And also I didn't use a pattern, because that seemed kind of complicated and exact, and clearly I am not into those types of things. For Beyoyo's costume I bought sequin fabric and laid one of his shirts on top. I cut all around the shirt, then I folded it onto the shirt and used fabric tape to hold it all together. The tunic is made from fleece, and the knight's emblem is cut from something my mama found at goodwill, and also held on with fabric tape. Obviously. And maybe one arm is a little longer than the other. And the pants didn't make it to Halloween night. 

I figured if his tunic didn't make it he could go as a disco star. 

On Halloween night, The Husband cooked his famous BBQ for our cul-de-sac crowd, and rigged up a trailer hayride complete with candy corn lights to pull behind his truck. The Boy was beside himself, and ran with the neighbors and their friends in circles. BeYoYo tried to keep up, but some neighbors returned him to me, saying "he keeps trying to be goalie!" 

                                               

He lasted 47 seconds with his strawberry friend before signing "all done"

The Boy's pumpkin was half filled before we even left, because he raided our neighbor's stash.

We trick or treated.  A dozen kids were on the trailer, and a half dozen parents walked behind. They ran from house to house, and we shouted after them to say thank you. At one house, they handed The Boy a sucker and he handed it back, saying "I don't wike that." Maybe we're still working on the halloween etiquette. I sat with BeYoYo on the hay ride, and he would sign all done, so I would get off and let him walk. Then the kids would run to a house, and he would try to follow. Crunch crunch crunch in the leaves. By the time he got to the sidewalk, all the kids would be back on the hayride, and I would take him back too. He'd climb back on to be with them, and we'd start off. Then he'd sign all done. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. He walked about a hundred miles before we were done.

Between every house The Boy would ask me to open some of his candy for him. I asked him if he ever ate dinner, and he replied that he had had candy for dinner. Happy Halloween, indeed.  The mask we made didn't make it, the pants I made didn't make it, but both kids were happy and laughed with delight. 

And if you're wondering, the paper maché mask was not a total loss:

                                                          Take that, FLEW week.