Christmas 2009

I now wish sincerely that I had hunkered down and posted the montage of delightful pictures of sweet, happy smiling children along with a detailed explanation of the day from the freshly baked cinnamon scones to the final taste of turkey on Christmas night.  Had I realized that unreasonably early exhaustion was in fact a precursor to illness, I might have forged ahead with that post.  Sadly, I didn't and now it is almost a week later that I must diligently recall the day in detail:  we came (downstairs), we saw (the tree), and we opened (the gifts). 

Not quite so realistic you say?  How about this instead….despite my dreams of sugar plums dancing in my head, I did not make it to bed until quite late on Christmas Eve.  If it was late for me, then some of you were probably up having your first cup of Starbucks (or your morning drink of choice) on the east coast.  Thankfully, I have ways of keeping my kids in bed or at least upstairs until I can wake up enough to operate the coffee maker after padding downstairs in my video-approved jammies.

Our traditions sometimes change based on location, but one part that is a constant is the opening of 'the stocks' first.  This year we actually hung our stockings by the chimney as we finally all had stocking holders.  Last year, if you recall, they were hung on the railing with care.  Frankly, it was more sturdy what with the pine, the frames and the stocking holders fighting for space on the mantel, but we made it work.  I loved the look of the pewter nestled into the pine swags that were gently decorated with white lights and it truly a beautiful glow at night.  Worth knocking the phone over each and every time we reached for Kelsey's stocking.

When the stockings are opened, the candy and cuties are scattered, and the Nicholas is smeared with Ghirardhelli chocolate, it is time for the first annual Christmas scones.  To be quite honest, I had only attempted them once before…on Christmas Eve.  The recipe was divine and the biscuits had to be some of the best I have ever tasted (sorry, but they were good!), and Caitlin insisted they be repeated for Christmas morning.  There are no Scrooges in this house, so I measured, poured, cut in, blended, kneaded, formed, cut, and placed 8 doughy triangles on the baking sheet.  Eighteen minutes later, the first floor was filled with a heavenly scent, and fortified, we headed for the tree.

Even with the downsizing, it was still somewhat of a spectacle.  Nicholas did not know what to make of it all, and would have been happy playing with his new Skuut bike all morning.  However, his father can be, well, pushy, to say the least, with presents, and insisted we tear on through.  The girls had no problem, though we did have to slow down so I could keep track.  (Insert loud and annoying conversation about the necessity of keeping track so that one can write thank you notes.) 

Sue me. Call me old-fashioned, but both my mother and my grandmothers would be, well you know what, if they thought my kids might not write them.  They might be late. They might be short. They might be mostly pictures (which I find cute, and require as much or more effort), however, they will be written.

We forged ahead through wooden toys galore, books, jammies, a new robe for Cait (thankfully, my ESP led me to not make an identical last minute purchase), a boat load of gift cards (which are always very much appreciated), cooking items (mmm, Le Creuset), movies (Food, Inc., anyone?), books (Julia Child & David Sedaris…could I be more giddy?), and drum roll…DRUM ROLL…a phone for Cait.

And a hush fell over the crowd….I know, I KNOW. I believe in independent, self-directed children who are not reliant on technology, and do not think kids need cell phones.  However, I need my phone back.  I need the ringing of the phone on my one night out per month to be the babysitter asking about bedtime or reporting an actual emergency, NOT Cait's friend calling to chat.  Now, I may have nipped that issue in the bud when I clearly indicated to said friend (when she called in the middle of our last night out) that Peter and I were out on a date.  I could hear the well-restrained, "Oooh, gross!" from miles away.  I am fairly sure she is still very wigged out from that statement, and might never call my cell phone again. However, one can't be too careful*.

So, yes, Cait has a phone.  She was probably going to get one next year anyway, due to the changes in our lifestyle, and we figured what better time than the present.  She is actually quite restrained, and made it clear to her friends it is for emergencies only.  I am guessing HER emergencies, since while she can make calls quite well, answering them is not yet her forte.