All I want for santamas

SO.
Dean's daycare provider asked what holiday we celebrate so that she could make sure that they discuss each child's holiday traditions. Aaah. That's sweet.
So?

"We celebrate Santa" I answered easily.

Oh.

So santa came to our house. He brought the children a dollhouse and a workbench (big unwrapped gifts) and many many many more wrapped presents of varying types and enjoyment.

Today when I dropped the kids off at school, the teachers asked Maya what Santa brought her for Christmas. Simple question. Her answer?
"He didn't bring me a train table..."

oh.

"he didn't bring me a scooter either."

Well then.

The teachers gamely tried to find out what he DID bring.

"I don't know..." was her quiet answer as she wandered off to play.

I have to tell you that Santa did in fact bring her a train table. BUT. Santa had not considered how very small our house is. And how very big a train table is...

Santa may have to get over it though.

Maybe the kids will discover the present from Santa that he didn't leave out for them this weekend. Maybe they won't.

What did Santa leave for me?

an iphone!

Not on my list but totally fun!

Thanks santa.

The Bigger they are....

Here is the scene:

Sunday morning. 6:15am! That's right - 6:15am!
I hear "daddy, daddy, daddy" coming from my daughter's room.

daddy is sleeping.

daddy got up at 6:15am on Saturday morning with this same daughter.

so...

I (shiver)get out of our nice warm bed(shiver), pull on some pants(shiver). And stumble across our clothes strewn floor toward the door.

We live on the third floor of a very old home. Our stairwell is small and old.
And wooden. And apparently, very slippery.

I made it down the straight part okay. But. then. It curves.
Well somehow I ended up in our bathroom (which is to the right of the end of our stairs). To be more exact I landed on the floor of our bathroom. With my right foot in my son's potty and my left leg in the hallway.

The sound of me tumbling, cursing and crashing did not bring my husband running.

The very sad and pathetic whimper that I heard and apparently produced, is what did it.

I have a black and blue bruise on my ahem "hip" that I feel when I move, well, anything really. And I am pretty sure my little toe has some permanent damage.

Also this little episode confirms something I have been suspecting for a while now.

I am old.

And I do not just 'rebound' from things of this nature. I have been eating advil like candy and cursing myself for a fool. A big, fat, very old, fool.

And I have to say ouch.

ouch ouch ouch.

Alright I'm done.

Because I made it for you...

So I find that I am seizing opportunities lately to try and instill the values and beliefs that I feel are important. I am working on concepts with my little girl. The challenge is of course trying to speak in ways that she understands about things she has no real idea about...yet. So here is the latest installment.

She offers me her drawing.

"Is it pretty mommy?"

I look at it. And really...it isn't.

Just a lot of different squiggles. BUT.

"do you think it's pretty?" I ask her with a smile.

"what?" is her very confused reply.

So I explain in my "wise mommy" way that my opinion doesn't matter. That what she draws and makes needs only be pretty to her. "That is the great thing about art" I assure her. "only what you think matters because you made it."

And she looks at me with her head tilted. and says...

"But I made it for you."

Well. Then.

"It is beautiful. Thank you sweetheart."

And I wasn't lying. It was beautiful.

Just Because you can...

...doesn't mean you should.

I started using this term when I was talking (judging) women or men that had SQUEEZED into that pair of jeans, pants, top or shorts. Just because you can wear it, doesn't mean you should wear it...

But it carries through to a lot of things. I work on the main line (a very "rich" section of the Philadelphia area). And I have to say that I am appalled. APPALLED at the prices in some of these shops.

And so I have to say:
Just because you can charge $100 for a doll made only of cotton doesn't mean you should.

And

Just because you can pay $100 for a doll made only of cotton doesn't mean you should.

And my follow up question is always: Don't these people have any friends?

Isn't there someone out there to tell them that the big roll squeezing out of their blue jeans is NOT attractive?

This carries through too.

If your friend tells you that you simply MUST get your daughter the $100 cotton baby doll. They are not really your friend. They are simply trying to make you fall for the same scam they fell for.

I can sew a cotton doll with 'mohair' yarn hair for about $12. And I am not buying in bulk...

Okay, I am done venting. But this is one of the primary reasons I will never live on the main line. I do not want to raise my children here. I do not want to create adults in this atmosphere.

I am not sure what made me stand up on this soap box today.

But I have officially stepped back down.

Oh and if you live on the main line... please don't be offended by my tirade. And don't spend $100 on that cotton baby doll!

See what a good friend I am???

Is TV killing marriage?

I found myself in the kitchen thinking about Grey's Anatomy.
I found myself wondering if the writers would ever let the main couple of angst ridden folks get together.

And I started thinking about how all the good shows tank when the main lovers finally do get together.

No wonder we have such a high divorce rate. We are all about the hunt.

And here's the thing. The couple on Grey's? Infinitely cuter to me when they are doing well together. So nice to watch the touching moments of happiness and healthiness.

And I have to say that the best year's of my life have been the six that I have been married to my love.

So I hope Meredith and McDreamy get together. And I hope that they still make good television.

I think my life is interesting enough for prime time. And I don't even have a writing staff...

A rose by any other name

When I was born I was named

Jennifer

When I was first adopted I was named

Aimee-Nichelle

Then I got my name. My real name. My true name.

And I don't like it. Never have really. I am certain that I am nothing like what people expect when they see my name.

In fact for a few years I tried to get everyone to let me go by my middle name. I feel like it suits me more.

While I rarely wonder about my bio parents I do sometimes wonder about their daughter, this Jennifer person.

I also wonder what my life would have been if my mom had decided that Jennifer was a darn good name for me.

Or if my grandma hadn't mispronounced Aimee-Nichelle so horribly that my mom had left me with it.

I am somehow convinced that the name would effect the end person.

Maya told me yesterday that she would like to change her name. When I asked her what she wanted to change it to she told me to choose. I told her I already had.

I chose Maya.

She chose

Bomboogetta

yes, well.

She's still a rose right?

sandcastles

The woman stood at the window. The water ran quietly down into the sink of dirty dishes before her. She wore a slight smile and stared fixedly at the back of the small head in front of her. A young boy sat Indian-style just on the edge of the concrete patio in the back yard. His butt rested on the concrete, his feet in the grass. He wore jeans and a striped T-shirt. A small yellow Labrador sat next to him. It was cloudy and the grass glistened with a recent rain. The sun was emerging through the storm clouds and the small boy sat directly in it’s first weak attempts of light in a gloomy day. His hair glittered with the casting rays. He made no move, nor did the dog at his side. The two just sat and watched the scene before them.

In the small wood framed sandbox the sand danced and swayed in a rhythmical motion that denied any natural cause. The boy sat entranced, an audience to his own show. The woman tried to stir up an emotion and was denied. She moved her stare past the boy and concentrated on the sand. With a blink the dancing column was gone.

Both boy and dog looked back at her. The boy wore a great smile and giggled. This was a common game. He had the bluest eyes that shone brightly in the sun's rays. His auburn hair somehow matched his slightly ruddy complexion. He was quite simply a beautiful child. The aunt smiled looking at him and reached forward to turn off the water so she could go join the pair outside. She glanced down for a moment as she reached for the faucet and when she looked up again, the boy had turned back to the box, tuning her out once more. His small body was rigid with a concentration that spoke against any more pranks. The sand before him rose up once again. In the blink of an eye he had created a castle. In the next moment it was made of stone.

The aunt turned the water back on and continued to wash the pile of dishes in the sink.