My Real Life

My Grandma was both a librarian and a beautician.

When my Dad was growing up, her shop was in her front room, but by the time I came along, she had her shop in the basement.

When I would spend my summers with them in Ohio, I would sit on the stairs for hours and listen to my Grandma and her customers, who were neighbors, relatives and friends, chat away the afternoon.

I have continued that pattern into adulthood.

When I head out to get my hair done, I sit in the chair and I listen.

I don’t talk, which often baffles the hairdressers for the first five minutes, but then they realize that I invented the comfortable silence and have even thanked me for not forcing them to engage in small talk.

Let’s be honest…my job is talk, talk, talk, and when I am home, I have four children who want to discuss everything with me.

When I get my hair done, I just want to sit and not talk.

And, I don’t need to.

At the salon, there are plenty of other people talking.

Women go to the salon and share their life stories with their hairdressers.

I have heard stories that would make you cry, curl your toes and make you stick your fingers in your ears while you scream “TMI! TMI!”

But, last week, when I went to the salon, because I don’t have my own, special hairdresser that I see every time I go, they assigned me to the new girl, and the new girl’s chair was on the “Men’s Side” of the salon.

It was uncharted territory, for me.

Instead of taking me left, down the long hall of gossip, Joanna took me right, and into the hall of silence.

I mean, serious silence.

This. Was. Going. To. Be. Awesome.

I love peace and quiet.

I was thrilled at the prospect of just sitting and being and enjoying listening to the buzz of the razors, the clip of the scissors, the swish of the broom.

The men in the chairs sat there, staring at their reflections, while the women and men who were attending to their hair snipped and cut in an efficient cone of silence.

I sat down, Joanna asked how much I wanted taken off, I answered, and she started to work.

She leaned me back in the chair and began to scrub my scalp and I realized that, without the constant gossip of my neighbors, I was truly left with my own thoughts.

“How’s my skin?  Are there boogers in my nose?  Is my breath bad?  Does she see all the silver strands in there?  Did I remember to move the clothes from the washer to the dryer?  Can I wait another day before I do some school work or do I need to start when I get home?  Is Lori pregnant with Shane’s baby on Walking Dead?”

So many thoughts that have long been drowned out by the chatter of others at the salon.

Adding to my mental imprisonment was the fact that I was visually imprisoned, as well, because when you get your hair done, you take your glasses off.

Without my glasses, I am legally blind.

So, not only was I not hearing anything, but I couldn’t look at anything, either.

Well, I mean, I could, but I wasn’t going to be able to make any sense of anything my eyes “saw.”

So, I sat and thought and worried and made lists and lived inside my head.

And then, suddenly, I heard it…a woman walking down the aisle, already oversharing a story about her Grandmother falling and breaking her leg on Christmas Day and how the whole family had to change their plans to come home to see her in the hospital and how she and her boyfriend/fiance/husband didn’t get to eat anything all day, so they made sure that someone gave them a whole tray of lasagna to take home with them and they were happy because, seriously, everyone should get to eat a lot on Christmas, and how she was so upset that she had to change her hair appointment so that she could go be at the hospital for her Grandma’s surgery, but that she was happy to be able to be able to fit in before New Year’s Eve because she didn’t want to have to have dark roots at her New Year’s Eve party because she had a friend that would probably have something to say if her roots were dark and…

You get the picture.

And as she spoke, I could feel myself relax, feel my mind begin to empty, my hands begin to unclench…to-do list forgotten, worries gone, self-concern out the window.

Because, as much as I thought I’d like being in the silence of the “Men’s Side,” it turns out that the comfort of the salon, for me, is the chatter of the women who remind me of the days of my childhood, sitting on the basement stairs at my Grandma’s house.

I love the New Year.

I hate the New Year.

So many new possibilities.

So many new ways to fail.

As you read, yesterday, I didn’t do so well with my Twenty Wishes for 2013.

2013 was a year of big change for me, and if I’m honest, while the change was good, it knocked me for a loop and a lot of the things that I enjoy were left by the wayside.

However, I’m feeling like I’m in the groove now, and I am hopeful that I can be more successful with my Twenty Wishes for 2014.

I think it would definitely make for a happier me, and a happier me means a happier everyone around me.

So, here they are…my Twenty Wishes for 2014.

May I work hard to make them happen.

1. Take the family to DisneyWorld. There’s a reason this item was number one in 2013.  I’m leaving it here and making it a non-negotiable.  It’s not the right of every kid to go to DisneyWorld, but I’d love for my kids to get there while they are still kids.  I didn’t get there until my honeymoon.
2. Participate in at least one random act of kindness per week.  Obviously, the hope would be to do more, but I’m human, I’m flawed, and I get wrapped up in my own crap.  I don’t plan on reporting on these, because I think that feels self-serving to be telling you “Hey guys…here’s the nice thing I did today,” so for this, I’ll hold myself accountable, because more than making it a wish for 2014, I want to hold myself accountable for thinking outside myself as a way of life.
3. Get weight down by 15 pounds AND KEEP IT THERE. It’s important.  For my health, for my future.
4. Incorporate more vegetables into the family diet.  Did it last year…think there is still even more room to grow.
5. Make $1,000 by selling on eBay, consignment, etc.  We need to supplement our income, and because of the new job, I’m no longer teaching as many piano lessons.  So, here’s a way to help with that.
6. Blog at least once a week. I know I can’t do it every day, but I do hope to be able to do at least once a week.  Why?  Because I love writing here.  Because I feel better when I ‘get it out.’  Because I feel like I owe you all that…you’ve stuck with me a long time!
7. Make home office neat, organized, and functional.  The office gives me a tic.  Must. Get. It. Under. Control.
8. Read 50 books (and keep track!)  I did this last year, and I really want to continue with it.  I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs.  Reading (and writing) smooths out the rough edges for me.
9. Have one “No Spend Month.”  I want to challenge our family to have one month where we spend no money, other than our once a week grocery shopping, gas and bills.  No charging.  No cash.  No nothing.  Just to prove to ourselves that we can do it.  I’ve been thinking about it, and I think March might be the month for this.  Stay tuned.
10. Have family photo taken.  The most recent one we have is from Tiny’s baptism.  It’s time.
11. Really go through my closet and be ruthless with getting rid of what I don’t wear.  This serves a dual purpose.  Gets rid of the excess, allows me to donate to brighten someone else’s life, and I can sell some of it, as well, and work on two goals at once.
12. Play piano at least once a week. I teach piano lessons, so I am always at the piano, but I rarely carve out the time to play for myself. I went to college as a vocal and piano performance major and I feel like I’m neglecting that part of myself.  This shouldn’t be as hard as it is.  I need to figure it out and make it happen.
13. Only eat out once a week, if at all.  This is one that we did last year and I think is good to keep in the loop.  This year, with my longer work hours, it’s even more tempting to fall back on bad habits.  So, I’m keeping it in the rotation.
14. Write in my journal more often. I only wrote in it three times in 2013, so anything would be an improvement! I think keeping the blog up every day takes it’s place, but they have different purposes and I don’t want to neglect my journal writing.  I want to do this.  No reason I can’t make this happen.
15. Get published, again.  I was published in “I Just Want to Pee Alone” in 2013, and I definitely want to be published in 2014, as well.  Whether in an anthology, a short story, a magazine, a website…don’t care.  It’s important to me.
16. Re-edit my novel.  I’m hopeful to use my writer’s group for this.
17. Shred and pare down all of our files.  Because these are a huge part of the issue with the office.
18. Entertain more.  I enjoy entertaining at our house.  We just don’t ever get around to it.  I’m hoping to remedy that, this year.  This was actually the first New Year’s Eve that we’ve done something in 13 years, and we live in a neighborhood with some really great people, so I think it’s time to capitalize on that and get to entertaining!
19. Spend more time outside.  Because, even though I did well with this, more outside is always better.
20. Making it happen.  I’m a pretty smart woman and a very determined woman.  I let a lot of excuses get in my way in 2013, and I feel like 2014 is the year that I want to make it happen.  What is “it”?  Whatever the heck I decide I want.

One year ago, I came up with twenty wishes for 2013.

They were goals that I hoped to achieve in the year.

Nothing too lofty…all attainable.

Just things that I really, really wanted to do in 2013.

So, I guess it’s time to take stock and see what I did and did not achieve from my list.

1. Take the family to DisneyWorld. We’ve been talking about doing this for quite awhile and just haven’t done it. I want this to be the year.

Didn’t happen.

We started to make plans to go in the fall, and then in July, I was promoted to administration and suddenly, everything changed.

So, this will be on the list for 2014, in the number one position and it is a non-negotiable.
2. Get a playset for the backyard. I want the kids to play outside more, and I know my kids and a playset would definitely do it.

Didn’t happen.

We picked one out, were ready to buy and then found out that our backyard has too much of an incline for a playset to go in without having the ground graded first.

So, that is a huge project and the end result is that neither of these things happened.

3. Get weight down by 9 pounds AND KEEP IT THERE. 

Didn’t happen.

In fact, I gained 15 pounds between July and December due to the job change.

Why due to the job change?

Because there is a lot more sitting in administration than there is in teaching.

Tons of work while I’m sitting, but I’m still sitting.

And that’s not good.

4. Incorporate more vegetables into the family diet.

Happened.

Not by a lot, it happened.

5. Make $1,000 by selling on eBay.

Didn’t happen.

I started out like gangbusters, but just didn’t keep up the momentum.

6. Get blog readership to 200 per day average.

Happened, then lost it.

I was doing great.

So great.

And then I got the new job, which meant longer hours, and  a lot of my blogging was done after work but before the kids got home from school.

Now, I get home after the kids do and when they go to bed at night, I crash.

I’m working on a plan to get my writing done because it’s important to me.

7. Make home office neat, organized, and functional.

Hahahahahahaha!!!

I bought a writing desk and THAT is neat and organized and functional, but the rest of the office is not.

My plan was to work on the office over the summer, but the new job came the first week in July and it’s a 12 month job, so no summer hours to work on the home office.

8. Read 50 books (and keep track!)

Yes.

Done.

Read some great books and read some doozies, this year, but as of December 27th (when I’m actually writing this) I have read 55 books this year.

Actually, I’ve read a few more than that, because I know there were a few that I didn’t log.
9. Get pictures hung. We’ve been here a year and a half and haven’t hung up our pictures yet. Drives me nuts.

Done!

It finishes the house and makes me feel good!
10. Have family photo taken.

Nope.

Just didn’t get to it.
11. Really go through my closet and be ruthless with getting rid of what I don’t wear.

No, again.

Although, this week, I’ve been starting to take a look at things and go through them.
12. Play piano at least once a week. I teach piano lessons, so I am always at the piano, but I rarely carve out the time to play for myself. I went to college as a vocal and piano performance major and I feel like I’m neglecting that part of myself.

Big yes for the first half of the year and big no for the second half of the year.
13. Only eat out once a week, if at all.

Yes.

Did well at this.
14. Write in my journal more often. I only wrote in it twice in 2012, so anything would be an improvement! I think keeping the blog up every day takes it’s place, but they have different purposes and I don’t want to neglect my journal writing.

Not even close.

I may have written in my journal a total of three times all year.
15. Really learn about self-publishing to see if it is an option for my novel.

Nope.

Didn’t happen.
16. Re-edit my novel.

Again…no.

Although, I did join a writer’s group and have been writing for them and I’ve been enjoying that immensely.

So, I haven’t gone back to my novel, but I have been doing some other exciting writing, so I kinda feel like that’s a win.
17. Shred and pare down all of our files.

Nope.

Had planned for that for summer.

Didn’t happen.
18. Sell the van.

YES!!!

Sold the van and oh, how sweet it is.
19. Take more pictures.

Can you guess?

First half of the year, pictureful.

Second half of the year, pictureless.
20. Spend more time outside.

Yes…even after the new job switch, when I was home, I was outside, with the kids, which is why most of those other things just never got done.

I made a decision that because I wasn’t going to be home as often, when I was going to be home, I was really going to be present, and in that, I believe I really succeeded.

And you know what, I think that this success makes the rest of the failures seem way less important.

There are homeless people in my town.

There always have been.

It’s a beautiful town with a center called “The Green” and the homeless sit on benches, unnoticed, unobserved.

Not all of our homeless are invisible, however.

When I was a kid, one of the homeless men in town sued the library because they asked him to leave because he was harassing patrons and he smelled bad.

He won, but it was later overturned.

He has gone on to sue the railroad and other organizations throughout the years, sometimes with success and sometimes without.

But, while he may be the most “famous” of our homeless, he’s not the person who most people speak of.

That honor goes to Marianne.

When I was a kid, everyone called Marianne “The Dirt Lady” or “The Mud Lady.”

Since I was a child, Marianne has walked the streets of my town, covered in self-tanner, heavy makeup, with white-out on her teeth to make them pretty.

The New York times even had a piece on Marianne in 1998.

Marianne has good days and bad days.

When I was in my early twenties, I was substitute teaching, but I also worked in a card store on the Green.

Marianne would come in and would fix her hair and makeup while looking in her reflection in our flower cases.

Some days she would come in, do her business and leave.

Other days, she would walk around the store, loudly ranting, yelling at me, yelling at the customers, until the boss would gently and quietly ask her to leave.

She always left without issue.

Everyone who lives in my town knows Marianne.

However, most of the people in my town have never spoken to her.

The police look out for her, as do the shop owners and small business people.

But, the majority of the residents register her presence and then move on, rendering her as invisible as the next homeless person that they have stepped around or over or by, without a second glance.

This morning, my Dad was preaching at our church.

Our church is located on the Green.

He asked me if I would come and do the prayers and the readings for him.

He doesn’t ask this often, careful not to abuse the fact that he knows I’ll say yes, and so I was happy to do so.

The service began, and I sat, up, behind the pulpit, as my Dad preached.

I’m not sure at what point Marianne entered the building, but when I got up to say the prayer for the offering, there she was, sitting in the back of the church, bags at her feet, head down, resting or praying or listening, or just being in the warm, dry, quiet of the church.

The service continued, and when it was over, my Dad and I made our way to the back of the church, as the organist played the last piece of the morning.

People began to join us in the back of the church, shaking hands, saying good morning, catching up about their Christmas celebrations, and just sharing in some fellowship.

My attention was on the people filing past my Dad and I, at the door.

At one point, someone was speaking with my Dad about something that was clearly confidential, and so I turned my head to observe the crowd.

And there, I found Marianne, in the middle of it all, happily chatting with one of the parishoners who was asking her about how she was doing and talking with her about life in town.

Another woman came over to Marianne and invited her to the refreshment table and gave her some donuts and juice, and then also began to converse with her, as if she were simply another member of the church that was standing there in her Sunday best without shoe polish in her hair and every piece of clothing that she owned on her body or in the garbage bags at her feet.

People wished her a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and asked if there was anything she needed.

People walked by and said hello, and touched her on the arm, on the shoulder, on the hand.

They touched her, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since she had felt the warmth of a human touch, given out of kindness and compassion, with no ulterior motive other than to provide comfort.

By the time everyone began to empty the back of the church, I walked to the table to get some water and Marianne was gathering her bags.

The woman behind the refreshment table said to her “Marianne, are you sure you don’t want to take some of these with you?” and Marianne said “No, thank you…I’m fine now” and she waved goodbye, and we waved and said goodbye back and she left.

I got my own coat and purse, said goodbye to my Dad and stepped out into the rainy morning.

—-

When my Dad preaches, he often ends the service by saying “Go now, and spread the good news, and if the world is not ready to hear the good news…then change the world.”

I’m the first to admit, my relationship with religion is shaky, and so, to me, “good news” can mean a variety of different things.

This morning, for me, the good news is the evidence of human kindness that I am so often searching for and not often finding.

And so I am sharing with you, this good news.

And in doing so, I am hoping, so desperately, that I am able to be the change I wish to see in the world.

I’ve documented, here, many times, the fact that I am the only child of two only children.

That, often left to my own devices, my imagination ran wild and I kept myself busy with stories in my head, books in my hands, and a pen at my fingertips.

People will say, “It must be very different for you to have four kids,” and they are right.  I have no frame of reference for so very many of the things that come with having more than one child, but I’ve learned as I’ve gone, and I’m still figuring it out with each new experience.

People will also say “How wonderful for you to have married into such a big family!” and they are absolutely right.  However, I’m not sure anyone can really understand exactly how different it is, unless they’ve been there.

Christmas is the perfect example.

When I was a kid, I’d wake up on Christmas and I’d have to wait until my Grandparents came over before we could open presents.  They lived a few towns away and weren’t early risers, so presents weren’t really opened until around 11 or 12, and that’s only if my Dad wasn’t preaching that morning.  If my Dad had to preach, presents were dealt with in the afternoon.

When my grandparents got there, my Mom pulled out the tray of assorted danishes and pastries, and they drank coffee and chatted while I wolfed down my danish and sat, waiting for them to finish.

When they were finally ready, I’d distribute the gifts to the people to whom they belonged and we would, in a very orderly fashion, open our gifts.

Dad would open a gift.

Mom would open a gift.

Grandma would open a gift.

Grandpa would open a gift.

I’d open a gift.

Dad would open a gift.

Mom would open a gift.

Grandma would open a gift.

Grandpa would open a gift.

And on and on and on.

When we were done, the adults would begin chatting again and I’d start reading.

Eventually, my grandparents would leave and I’d keep reading, and my parents would join me, in front of the fireplace, in the living room, with their new books, and they’d read too.

We’d read and restoke the fire and read and read and read, and the house would be silent.

One…or two…or all of us…would doze in and out, throughout the day, and then we’d wake up and keep reading.

By the end of the day, my Mom and I would have finished at least two of the books we got for Christmas and my Dad would be halfway done with one of his.

Dad snoozed a little more than Mom and I did.

And that was Christmas.

Don’t get me wrong…I actually loved it.

It was what I knew and it was warm and cozy and comfortable.

Christmas today is a little different.

Yesterday, Monkey in the Middle woke up at 3:15.  I know this because I heard him get out of bed, go down the stairs, then nothing for about 5 minutes, then he came back upstairs, directly to my side of the bed to let me know that Santa had come.

I mumbled, “Oh, that’s so exciting!  Go back to bed,” and he padded off to his sister’s room, where he and his sister and brother were having a Christmas Eve sleepover and heard him tell them the same story.

Five minutes later, he arrived, back in my room, crying.

“Monkey Girl said I’ve ruined Christmas!” he sobbed.

“Huh?  How?”

“She said that because I went downstairs and saw some of the things sticking out of the stockings and told them that I’ve ruined the whole thing.”

“She’s 12.  Don’t sweat it.  Go back to bed.”

“No, I don’t want to snuggle with someone who said I ruined Christmas.  Can I sleep here?”

So, Mr. Knees and Elbows crawled into bed with Real Man and I and as I tried to go back to sleep, he flipped and flopped, completely unable to go back to sleep, thinking about the presents he had seen under the tree.

Which meant that I was unable to go back to sleep.

Around 6, he asked “When can we wake you guys up?” and I said “7:00” and  he went back to his sister’s room and the three of them whispered, all sins forgiven, for an hour.

At 7, on the nose, all three of them came in, to my side of the bed, as always, and said “It’s time!!!” and so Real Man and I got out of bed while the big kids grabbed Tiny, and down we headed.

They went through their stockings, opened their presents, cheered, exclaimed, clapped and said many thanks for what they got.

Real Man and Monkey in the Middle went to begin assembling MitM’s new bubble hockey (minus the bubble) game, Baby started working on his Dr. Who Lego set, Monkey Girl began playing her new DS game, and Tiny played with his US map puzzle, while I began trying to erase all evidence of our Christmas together as I prepared for Christmas: Part Deux – My Parents.

The morning went on with the assembly of the hockey game taking a full two hours, but everything was cleaned up, and my Mother showed up at noon, armed with presents.

My father, who had to preach because some things never change, was supposed to meet her here around 12:15, but the church custodian was ill, so my Dad had to stay after and do all the clean up after the service, including the washing of all of the communion glasses.

If you aren’t Presbyterian, you may not know that our communion consists of drinking out of little, tiny glasses…one per customer.  The Christmas Day service is well attended.  My Dad didn’t show up here until 1:20.

Once again, there was present opening, thanks given, and then the boys went to hide their most precious gifts, (Hess trucks and hockey game) so they wouldn’t be damaged in Christmas: Part Three – The Cousins.

Around 2, my in-laws started arriving.  By 3:15, there were 27 of us in the house.

There was eating, laughing, talking, arguing (because there are 16 grandchildren and it’s bound to happen), making up, and just relaxing.

We sat and ate lasagna and meat sauce and salad and bread and cookies and pie and chocolate and drank wine and beer and soda and cider and just were together.

At some point, my father-in-law gives out presents to the kids.  He tries to do it in age order, but that never quite works out and it’s like a mosh pit of wrapping paper and sweaty little bodies squealing with delight, hugging Grandpa, and trading toys and playing with everyone else’s stuff.

At one point, I looked over at my father and his eyes were wide with wonder at the sheer…activity…of it all, but his eyes were wide above a broad smile at the evidence of love and familiarity in the room.

So, Christmas today is very different from the Christmas of my childhood, and as I said, it is the best example of the differences between my childhood and the childhood of Real Man, for whom yesterday was his typical childhood Christmas.

And while I remember those Christmases of my youth very fondly, and admit to escaping to sit on my bed, yesterday, for a minute or two just to get my head together while everyone cavorted in the kitchen below, I’m so happy that this is the experience that my children get to have.

To be in the presence of such love…such big, big love…and to get to grow up completely surrounded by family at every turn…that’s Christmas and it’s so, so good.

When my daughter was 5, she took a ballet class.

All of her little friends were taking dance classes and she was desperate to take one, too.

I wasn’t convinced this was going to be something that really “stuck” so rather than sign her up at a dance school, I found a $45 beginning ballet class at our local community school.

We went out and bought the required pink leotard, tights and slippers, and my little girl was beside herself with excitement in the days leading up to her first class.

We walked into the studio and there were about eleven other little girls, clutching the legs of their mothers who were chatting with each other.

When everyone was there, the teacher said it was time to begin, and so everyone pried their ballerinas from their legs and the moms went to the hallway to wait while the girls went to sit in a circle in the middle of the floor.

I had brought a book to read, so I sat on the floor and began to read.

The rest of the moms crowded around the door, anxiously, looking through the small, square window.

“Oh my Gooooodness!  They are SOOOOOO adorable!”

“Look at Cassie!  Good girl with that plie!”

“I can’t believe how fast Sara can pirouette! Did she learn that from you?”

I sat there, alternately reading my book and listening to their chatter, and eventually, my curiosity got the best of me.

I stood up and brushed off my pants, imagining what I would see when I looked through the window.

My girl, clearly, would be the star of the show.

I was sure she was plie-ing and pirouetting with the best of ’em, and that her ballet positions were putting every other little girl to shame.

As I neared the windows, the mothers parted like the Red Sea with looks that I couldn’t quite identify.

I was pretty sure it was jealousy.

Then, I peeked through the window.

There they all were.  Matching tutus and leotards.  A sea of pink fluff.

Every girl diligently followed the moves that the teacher was demonstrating in the front of the room, concentrating hard on the movements.

I smiled and searched for my girl.

I couldn’t find her.

Huh?

I began to stand on my tiptoes to get a better angle, and looked this way and that, trying to locate my ballerina.

One of the other mothers finally took pity on me and whispered, “In the back.”

And there, in the back of the room, was my girl.

Blissfully staring at herself in the floor to ceiling mirror.

Not paying a lick of attention to what the teacher and the other girls were doing.

Dancing to the music inside her own head, with her own moves, in her own way.

My cheeks flamed with embarrassment, and I was just about to raise my hand and tap on the window to get her attention when she spun.

And as she spun, I saw that look on her face.

The look of utter joy and happiness.

And I left my hand at my side and began to smile myself.

Because that was MY girl.

That was my girl who always did everything in her own way, according to her own rules.

Why had I thought, for even a moment, that dance class was going to be any different?

I brought her back every single week, and every single week, I watched as she started class with the other girls and went through the exercises, and then, her attention would be caught by her own, magical reflection, and off she would go to dance her own dance of joy.

My little girl is 12 now and she has learned that, sometimes, to get by, you have to dance like the others.

But  for the things that matters, she still does it all in her own way, and really doesn’t care to be like everyone else.

Yes, she struggles, sometimes, to love herself the way that we love her, but that’s just being human.

She isn’t a non-conformist…she just doesn’t feel the need to follow the trend, to do what’s cool, to say “Oh, me too,” when really, it isn’t her at all.

I love her so fiercely, and I hope that she always sees and does things her own way.

Because even though it may not be what everyone else is doing, her way is incredible.

This week’s twisted mix tape assignment was to post about your favorite Christmas music.

No small task for this girl, because I love Christmas music.

Love. It.

However, the music I love isn’t always so mainstream, but that’s okay, because if there is any time of year that is about tradition, it’s this one.

My first choice is my Fred Waring and the Pennsylvanians The Sounds of Christmas Album.

It was produced in the 1950’s and my parents pulled out the record every single holiday season.

I know every word to every song on the album and love it so very much.

I was only able to find one of the songs on YouTube, so here is “Ring Those Christmas Bells” by Fred Waring and the Pennsylvanians:

One of my favorite holiday CD’s that I bought when Real Man and I were first married is the Rosie O’Donnell Christmas Album.

I know, I know…Rosie O’Donnell isn’t for everyone.

But, this album, I just loved.

It has two of my favorite Christmas songs on it.

The first is a duet between Rosie O’Donnell and…wait for it…Elmo.

The version on the CD is better, but here is a YouTube version of the duet:

The second song from the CD that is one of my CHristmas favorites is Billy Porter singing “O Holy Night” which is one of my favorite Christmas songs no matter who is singing it, but when he sings it, and oh my God, when he gets to the end…goosebumps.

The next Christmas song that I love is “Christmas Wrapping” by the Waitresses.

Can’t help but sing along, even though they aren’t the best singers and it’s more of a “talking” song than a real singing song.

My final song for today (although there are more Christmas songs that I certainly love) is “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” by Karen Carpenter.

Sung by anyone else and the song is “Eh” for me, but as I’ve said before, Karen Carpenter’s voice was just pure smoothness and I’d listen to her sing the ABC’s with a longing sigh.

So, have YOURSELF a merry little holiday season and enjoy the sweet sounds of Karen Carpenter.

I know, I know…

I’m a little late.

Everyone else is far beyond Thanksgiving and well into the Christmas season by today.

People have actually been trampled to death at Black Friday sales, people have spent thousands at home ordering deals online, trees are up, and even I posted about how the Christmas music has begun to play at our house.

But, today, I’d like to backtrack a little and talk about Thanksgiving.

We had Thanksgiving at one of my brother-in-laws’s homes this year.

They were gracious enough to open up their home to us, and please note that when I say “us” I mean 24 of us who came to spend the holiday with the five of them.

It was lovely.

Truly lovely.

We talked, we laughed, we ate, we talked and laughed some more.

Even all of the kids got along, and that is no small feat, considering that of the 29 people who were there, 14 of them were 15 years old or under, all the way down to Tiny, who is 2.

Tiny made himself at home with his cousin’s toys:

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Baby made himself at home on his aunt and uncle’s furniture:

I made myself at home by stuffing myself silly.

Real Man and his Dad, the original Real Man showed up in matching clothes…a glimpse of the future for me, perhaps:

It was just a truly perfect celebration.

Then, because eight hours together on Thanksgiving wasn’t quite enough, we joined together the next day, in the bitter cold and snow flurries for a bit of family football in a local park.

Although, not everyone was into the game:

When I was a teenager, I was so sure that I was going to live far away from where I grew up.

Yet, there is just something about spending time like this with your family that makes you glad you never left.

Do we all get along and see eye to eye all the time?

Of course not.

But it’s okay.

Because at the end of the day, we love and appreciate each other and that’s the whole point.

Thanksgiving is over and it’s that time of year again.

The excitement level is rising and you can just feel the electricity in the air.

The best example I have of this, in our home, is that this is happening again.

It started at dinner the other night, and now, it’s in full effect, almost every day.

So, please go here and rewatch this video from last year.

Because they make my heart sing and put me in the spirit like nothing else.

…my kids are all so different.

It’s always obvious to me how different they are, but this morning, as they got out of bed, I felt like I had a perfect visual example of how different they are.

During the day, Monkey in the Middle never stops moving.

Literally.

Never. Stops. Moving.

And yet…

This is what his bed looked like when I woke him this morning.  He slid right out and left it looking as though no one had even slept in it.

Monkey Girl is a pretty sedentary kids.  Her interests are reading books, doing homework, and playing on the computer.

And yet…

This is what HER bed looked like when she woke up this morning.

Like a tornado dropped her right in the middle of Oz this morning.

And, finally, Baby Monkey.

A variety of interests, sometimes moving, sometimes still, but always sweet.

Here’s what I found when he woke up this morning.

Just right…