SAHM I am (14 page)

Hey girls,

I won’t be chatting with you tonight. The kids and I are in Kansas City this week to do some shopping, and for Tom’s company “Holiday” party. (Naturally, we can’t call it a Christmas party!) We’re staying at Tom’s extended-stay suite at the Residence Inn. It has a bedroom with a king-size bed, and a foldout couch in the living room, and a kitchenette with a dining area. I’m most excited about the hot tub and pool just down the hall. I brought the baby monitor so Tom and I can enjoy some alone time after the kids are asleep. But the Internet access is a little too expensive for chatting. So don’t say anything too interesting until I get back!

Love to all,

Dulcie

Dulcie Huckleberry wrote:

Okay, gals, this is our chance! Now we can talk about Dulcie and say all the things we’ve wanted to say, but couldn’t with her around!!! Like, how jealous we are that she’ll be sitting in a relaxing hot tub with her husband in some swanky hotel while we’re sitting in our pj’s at the computer…so NOT fair!

(Love ya, Dulcie…)

Ham

Yeah, like what you’re all getting me for Christmas! :)

Dulcie

Oh, that’s no big surprise…

JUST OUR LOVE AND BLESSINGS! (and maybe an e-mail Christmas card if you’ve been a REALLY good girl…)

However, if you want something more, you could always take a break from that hot tub and go buy yourself something in KC and put our names on it. :)

Merry Christmas!

Brenna

This is not a bad idea! I should suggest it to my parents who think Christmas can’t possibly go on without EVERYONE giving and receiving gifts…to the hundredth generation. Honestly, if Great-aunt Maricella’s cousin Donald doesn’t get a present from us, will it really hurt his feelings? Or will it simply make my mother burst a blood vessel? Nobody ever warns innocent young brides about the HOLIDAY ISSUE. I don’t recall reading about it in any marriage book or our pastor counseling us about it. Why is that, I wonder?

Phyllis

I am so totally with you on holiday issues! Here’s how our annual family debate goes:

Tristan’s “mum” on the phone from England: “Well, dear, have you any plans for the holidays? You know we adore having all of you, and if Tristan can work out the extra time off…”

Me, trying to keep her from getting her hopes up: “I don’t know, Mom. We were sorta planning to stay put this year. We’ve never celebrated Christmas in our own home before. Why don’t you come stay with us?”

“I don’t see how we possibly could, darling. I have a dreadful phobia of flying, you know.”

Me, with a sigh: “Yeah, I know.”

“It always works so nice for you to come here. We scarcely ever have time to see the children as it is. But I suppose you have plans with
your
parents already…”

“Not really.” I can practically recite what’s coming next.

“Well, then! It should work out just fine. You can fly out early the week before, spend two weeks with us, and be home in time for new year’s with your family. After all, they get to see the children
much
more often. My heart just aches to think of it. But this worked perfectly last year.”

And the year before. And the year before that…

So, once again, we will not have the pleasure of spending Christmas in our own house, creating our own family traditions, doing the holidays in our own way. We will be at the mercy of parents who can’t seem to let us experience what they fight so hard every year to keep.

Tristan is maddeningly ambivalent about the whole thing. He says that if I don’t want to go to England, we can stay home. But it’s just not that simple! If we stay home, it’s ME who will get the blame and guilt trips for it for as long as his parents both shall live. Not to mention that the kids—those traitors!—would absolutely mutiny at the idea of skipping the annual trek to England. They think it’s the coolest place in the whole world. When they get home, I spend the next month trying to explain to them why they can’t go around “talking British” in horrific fake accents.

I suppose I’m just being selfish. Especially since Tristan and the kids really enjoy the visit. But I never feel like it’s OUR Christmas. The entire thing belongs to Tristan’s parents, and for some reason, I seem to be the only one who thinks there’s something wrong with that.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me, instead…. Bah, humbug.

Z

Z,

At least your in-laws want you to visit. Jonathan’s parents were so angry that I “ruined” their son’s purity (isn’t that a switch?) that they refused to come to the wedding. They send presents to Julia and Bennet for Christmas and birthdays, but we rarely see them in person. After we got married, they told Jonathan that he and even Julia were
welcome in their home anytime—as long as I stayed home. He told them that if they wanted to see him or the grandchildren, they’d have to accept me, as well. Twenty-one months later, they have yet to accomplish that, so we don’t spend time with them.

I didn’t mean to drive a wedge between my husband and his parents, but I am extremely grateful to see that Jonathan understands the meaning of “leave and cleave.” If he had chosen them over me, I don’t think I could have handled it. The way it is now is painful enough.

Phyllis

Dear Scroogies,

Boy, are we a gloomy bunch this week or what? You know…things could always be worse….

Oh, they could, could they? Please, do enlighten us, Ms. Pollyanna. :)

Phyllis

Haven’t you two been reading the SAHM I Am loop this week? You should be thankful you aren’t part of Connie’s or Rosalyn’s family! Good grief—I think a cow headed to the butcher on a rainy day in March has more Christmas spirit than those two. :)

And for your information, Madeline LOVES Pollyanna, so just cool it, okay? :)

Brenna

Hmm…a little touchy this afternoon, aren’t we? :) By the way, do they actually send cows to the butcher in March?

Z

Oh, Brenna, I’m SO sorry. I was not trying to insult Pollyanna. I loved that book as a child, and I do think that a bright
outlook on life is much better than pessimism. You’re right, there are many people much worse off than I, and I should be thanking the Lord instead of griping. Thank you for reminding me.

Love,

Phyllis

Uh, Phyllis…
teasing,
remember? You were going to work on developing that atrophied sense of humor of yours. :)

And Z, yes…they DO.

Love you, too,

Brenna

Hey everyone,

I don’t have a lot of time since I’m just about on my way out the door to go Christmas shopping, but I had to jump in on this one. As most of you know, Tyler is suffering from juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. He’s being such a trouper about it! We had about a foot of snow yesterday, and later all the other kids went out to go sledding.

Had such fun bundling them all up—takes nearly an hour to layer on the sweaters, snow pants, coats, hats, mittens, boots, etc. Then, of course, Cassia decides she has to go potty. So we spend the next five minutes tearing everything off while she does the potty rhumba. When she returns, we go through the whole layering process again. Shane was just about ready to herd them out the door when Evelyn announces she, like big sister, needs to go! By this time, little Audra has lost her mittens, so I take care of Evelyn, and Shane looks for mittens. Finally, an hour and forty-five minutes after we took the first coat off the hanger, the four of them are bustling out the door, and it’s just me and Tyler.

I put on some Christmas music and settled Tyler on the couch with his LeapPad. I didn’t want to leave him all by himself, especially since he was missing the sledding outing, so I sat down in the recliner across from him. And I realized something—I didn’t have a CLUE what to do with myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually sat in that chair for anything other than putting on my shoes or helping the girls comb their hair. It was a very weird feeling.

But then, Tyler looked up from the LeapPad and said, “Mom, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I was sorta thinking—about the arthritis thing and all.”

“Okay…” I figured he wanted to know when he would get well or if he’d be able to do sports again or something.

But he folded his hands under his chin and put his elbows on the LeapPad. “Do you think Grandma’s arthritis hurts as bad as mine?”

Oh, my! I thought I was going to burst into tears right there. But I kept it together and we had a good conversation
about how Grandma’s arthritis was different than his. He decided that when he is better, he wants to visit his grandparents and help Grandma like everyone has been helping him.

Then he asked, “If my legs don’t work so well after I get better, do you think girls will still like me?” He turned a bit red, and sputtered, “Not that I want them to—for a long time.”

I nearly choked. “I think that if you stay as sweet and kind and loving as you are now, there will be lots of girls who will like you very much, no matter how well your legs work.” He gave me this rolling-eyed “Oh, Mom!” sort of look and went back to his LeapPad—but he was smiling.

Can you believe it? I learned yesterday just how much I don’t know about my own son. There’s an entire universe happening inside that head, and I finally got a telescopic glimpse of it. Why did it take nearly nine years and a horrible disease to make it happen?

Anyway, I just wanted to share this with you because I think Rosalyn is right—we do need to simplify our lives, particularly during the holidays. But I don’t think we do that through banning Christmas presents or picketing poor Santa Clauses at the mall. I think we do it by shoving aside all the activities and duties and relaxing in an under-used recliner and waiting for our kids to show us the way to their private worlds. And then staying for as long a visit as they allow.

Okay, with that said, I HAVE to get going, because Cassia has been waiting very patiently for the past twenty minutes for me to finish up here and take her shopping. :)

Cheers,

Jocelyn