Christmas preparations …

We promised to hang up some decorations today, so the kids got themselves up and dressed and started cleaning the house before we’d crawled out of bed this morning. There was a lot to clean. Too much. So they ran out of steam. But I loved that they tried and that it was of their own inspiration.

The house got cleaned. I was on an efficient adrenalin rush, and it happened.

We put up the tree. You plug it in and it spins and glows fibre-optically. We had it in the attic, and the kids longed to use it rather than cutting down a real tree. So it’s kinda environmentally friendly, right? As long as we don’t turn it on. Then they took turns decorating it. It’s small and sits on a table, doesn’t fit a lot of decorations. There was fighting. So each, in turn, got to take the ornaments off and put them on again. Apple-Apple and I went out to do some gifty shopping (almost done!!!), and we finally bought a creche scene complete with rustic stable at Ten Thousand Villages, and we found a colourful unbreakable wooden 18-piece scene. I’ve been meaning to add this to our pretty minimal Christmas box. And how lovely that the kids can play with the scene and retell the story. Except they spent about 15 minutes screaming at each other over it as soon as Apple-Apple and I got home … SIGH. When I tried to initiate a conversation about the meaning of Christmas (“What is Christmas about …? Don’t worry there’s not a wrong answer …”), Apple-Apple remembered Jesus’s birthday (my little Sunday School darling!), and Albus piped up with “Getting gifts.” “What’s the opposite of that,” I asked, transparently leading the conversation, and he said, with a little sigh, “Giving gifts,” and then brightened up as he cleverly thought of another option, “Not getting gifts is the real opposite!” Okay, yah, you’re right, kiddo, but … Thus ended the chat, though I did get in a bit about sharing and kindness and peace and joy before Apple-Apple started shrieking again about how unfair Life is, et cetera.

Why is it so satisfying, when feeding a baby, to scrape the extra stuff off his chin with a spoon? This morning I said to Kevin, who was spooning the mash into him: “You could feed him another meal with what’s on his chin.” People who are not parents might be grossed out by this thought, however.

You know your housekeeping standards have really fallen when (this could be one in an ongoing series): Your baby has taken to snacking off the kitchen floor.

Read a story in the Globe today about a Fisher-Price talking baby doll that apparently says: “Islam is the light.” Wouldn’t you know, we have this very doll, given to Fooey for her third birthday by her auntie Fi. So, naturally, I turned it on (it’s usually off; it has the unnerving habit, when on, to randomly and mechanically wriggle about like an actual cooing, fussing, gurgling baby, of which we are already in possession). And lo and behold, one of the random babbles does sound eerily like “Islam is the light.” Unless it actually sounds like “God is the light.” Or even “Please turn on/off the light.” Apparently there is an outcry (from whom?) to recall these dolls lest they subliminally convert the innocent. From my unscientific exploration of the subject, I’m not sure to what one might fear conversion. If the doll could subliminally get my kids to turn out their lights at night, I’d keep the button “on.”

Want to capture this moment, right now. Snow falling. We are just home from the library where CJ climbed, crawled, and ripped books off shelves, and the children played on the computers, then got to check out books on their very own library cards–the first I’ve let them do that, not wanting to have extra books and cards to potentially lose; but hey, let’s live recklessly. The kids were beyond thrilled. Walking home, we pretended we were lost in a blizzard in the arctic. Cars were packs of wild wolves. Streets were ice-rivers. Buildings were icebergs. And our house was debatable … was it a tent? An igloo? A house we could buy made of stones? Or one for travelling strangers to shelter in on their way through? In any case, we moved in.

CJ had fallen asleep in the stroller and transferred to his crib despite the shrieks of delight over, “Look, Mama, these strange switches turn on lights!!” Then children sat quietly reading library books and doing mazes together. Peaceful. It’s already starting to fall apart, slightly. They have now moved to the counter and are eating a few snacktime cookies. Albus is about to head out on his second sleepover, ever. I will be putting the others to bed alone tonight, as Kevin is teaching this weekend–both days. That’s okay. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to a weekend alone, but in all honesty, I wasn’t dreading it either. I appreciate having a good excuse not the spend the weekend cooking, baking, cleaning, and doing laundry and other necessaries. Those necessaries will have to wait. Instead, the kids and I get to do projects together, or go on our adventures together.

Shoot, and now it’s totally fallen apart.

Hey, I’m back. As usual, everything happened all at once–children started fighting (over nothing particular as far as I could determine; maybe the sugar made them do it); Albus’s friend arrived to pick him up; CJ started fussing in the monitor. And now all is quiet again. Albus has departed (big boy! but I miss him). The girls are reading together on the couch. CJ stopped fussing and seems to have gone back to sleep. Phew.