Mental health holiday suckage

As I've mentioned on this blog, I wasn't diagnosed with a mood disorder until age 30, but I struggled with my mental health from age 10. 

I was always wound tight and now recognize that I had rituals that I did to ease my anxiety (although at the time I thought those were just "weird things" I did). I remember having depressive episodes and thinking about dying starting in middle school. I never seriously thought about committing suicide, but I definitely thought about death a lot. (And still do.)

Unless you've gone through a full-blown breakdown/episode, I don't think you can wrap your head around just how little control you have over your thoughts when things are bad. I have thought about this a lot with the recent suicide of Stephen tWitch Boss who, like so many people, was able to cover and pretend. But why is anyone shocked that a 10 second dance clip, or even a series of them, didn't sum up the entirety of a person's existence? 

When I reflect on the worst parts of my breakdown, I remember the brain fuzz, as if a cloud of static looped around my head and kept things clouded. I knew I was there somewhere inside my brain, but I was lost behind muck. I could not laugh or grin or find anything funny. Communication was hard. My ability to reason was skewed. My brain was sick. 

That was at my worst...but I had been "holding it together" and probably passing for ok for weeks and months before that. I don't know what flipped the switch from this to "unable to function," but it switched and it took me a couple years to get better. 

I cannot imagine all the synapse misfiring that was going on inside the crenelated corners of my brain at that time. Were the brain cells dying or just languishing from depleted chemicals (or maybe too many chemicals)? It is impossible for me to forget just how bad I felt. It was worse and longer-lasting than any physical illness I've experienced thus far. 

Ever since I went through therapy and got on medication, I have made it a point to be open about my mental health issues, even with students. Or maybe, especially with students. We all believe we run the ship, so it is especially devastating to find that you're not the captain or the first mate or even a swab. When experiencing a breakdown/episode, it feels pretty clear that you're maybe a rat somewhere down in the hold. It is a loss of empowerment that is unlike a kidney infection or the development of plantar fasciitis. To lose control of your brain is to lose control of your sense of self and your worth. That was devastating when I had three decades of life behind me and was in a relatively stable phase of life. 

This time of year is especially hard for a lot of people, including me. I absolutely, positively abhor the Christmas holiday season. I hold it together, but I'm cranky and moody and lacking energy. If you could look into my brain, you would see a brown cloud of unease there, similar to what follows Pigpen from the Peanuts gang, except it isn't dirt and dust. It is a sad, hollow mood that permeates everything. 

Why would I feel sad, some might ask. I have a family and my health and a home and a job and so much. I recognize this and am thankful. It isn't ungratefulness that makes the feeling. In some ways, it is that I put myself in the shoes of the people who don't have, who are without, this time of year. The story of Christmas in the manger even makes me terribly sad. That sounds absurd, I know. But this time of year simply makes me sad. Everything feels heavy. 

I guess I write this as a reminder to myself that feeling how I feel is ok. As much as I'd like to "think myself to a better mood," it ain't happening. I go through this every year (although I did have several years of reprieve when the kids were little). Having gone through this, I know it will end; the circle will turn, and I will feel not so glum, not so bleak. 

Until then, I muddle through, like so many people do at this time of year, knowing full well I'm not alone but feeling like the tide of good cheer and festivity is rolling over me and everyone else who can't muster themselves into good tidings. 

The one (and just about only) thing that brings me joy at Christmas

Sometimes, I can get into the spirit of Christmas (light in darkness, hope for the future, the kindness of strangers, etc, etc.), but this year was not one of those times.

I have just felt angry and resentful and frustrated and generally not-too-happy.

However, there is one thing that consistently brings me a bit of happiness during the Christmas season, and that is the ornaments I have bought (or others have bought) for my children.

Of course, there are the baby ornaments, which are sweet, but the ones I like most are the ones that show my children's interests throughout the years and the ones I have purchased for them from vacations and trips we've gone on.

For example, these are the ornaments I got for the boys from our three trips this year: Kennesaw National Battlefield in Atlanta, GA; Washington Park Zoo in Michigan City, IN; and Cape San Blas, FL. They are never excited to get ornaments, but I think they like pulling them out all the years later and remembering our adventures.

These are others...

Sanibel Island, FL

Grand Lake, CO

Rocky Mountain National Park

and Quebec City, where D and I visited for our 20th wedding anniversary.

Edisto Island, SC (pirate),

Tiana from Disney, and Sleeping Bear Dunes in Michigan. 

When I haven't been able to find actual ornaments, 

I've made do with magnets that I glue ribbons on. 

The E.T. one was from Universal Studios in FL.

And then there are the ones that show the kids' interests, even if, at the time, they made no sense to me. When G was 2, he loved any kind of car or truck, so the red tractor made sense. When N was 2, she picked out a school bus.

Then there was when N was big into dancing and being a ballerina.

When G was heavy into dinosaurs, I got this one for him. 

By the time the kids are out-on-their-own and have trees, they will have plenty from their childhoods to take with them.

Christmas letter to let everyone know how we are, 2017

Dear family and friends,

Here it is--the 23rd of December, and I am really hoping that I won't have to run to Kroger again until the 26th. Somehow, even though I have fixed a savory egg dish for Christmas morning for nearly 14 years, I somehow managed to forget that I needed ingredients for it. I did manage to order the donuts only two days ago.

I'm not sure my three part-time jobs are supposed to equal a full-time. I mean, in terms of salary, they absolutely do not. When I think about what I end up making per year, it really sometimes doesn't feel like it's worth it. All in the name of "flexibility," I guess.

I'm busy enough to forget all sorts of crap, though.

Of course, I'm gonna blame that stomach bug on December 12th that, technically only lasted three hours, but undid my colon for an additional three days. I had planned to do a whole bunch of stuff that Thursday and Friday of that week but didn't have the energy for it.

I took a graduate class this past fall that added just enough busyness to my life to make me develop a sinus infection and be even bitchier than I normally am. D got really good at fixing frozen pizzas on Thursday nights when I had class.

D and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary in November. We had visited Quebec in May, which we worried would doom us to a divorce before actually hitting our official anniversary date. It was a close call when I mixed cauliflower in with my mashed potatoes a couple days before. You never know what tests a marriage, but according to D, that was it.

D is still driving his 17-year-old Nissan, which has 75,000 miles on it and will dry-rot before it actually hits 100,000 miles. Then there is my car, which we affectionately call, "The Money Pit." She's at 164,000 miles. This year alone the air conditioning and heater died. And did you know cars have more than one catalytic converter?  We learned that the hard way.

D has been at his job for 17 years and vacillates between feeling overwhelmed with work/stress and feeling bored and like he doesn't earn his paycheck. That pretty much sums up how I feel as a mom, except I deserve such a big honking paycheck for what I do, they can't afford me.

We're waiting on both the furnace to blow up and the water heater to die. I'd like to buy some indoor shutters since some of our roman shades no longer raise/lower, but I can't justify the expense right now.

The kids are fine.

N has applied to a high school that will mean more schlepping her around for another few years rather than being able to stick her on a bus. She is playing lacrosse--we're not sure why, but we're glad she's getting exercise. If she would ever practice anything with any regularity, she could probably be really exceptional. But she doesn't, so she isn't.

The boys will have their piano recital in February. M practices piano at least an hour every time he practices, which sounds great except that 50 minutes of it is whining about playing the piano or just sitting at the piano not playing. I am never, ever, ever making that child play another instrument for the rest of his life, which I thought he'd like to hear, except when I say it he cries because he wants to play guitar.

G says the word "dick" too much, and he isn't talking about people named Richard either. He is at that stage where he really needs to start wearing deodorant but mostly doesn't remember. I've taught him to wash his pits in a pinch, which is good advice since I'm doing pretty well to remember to make them shower once a week.

Our cats--Slippers and Skits--are fine. Skits remains skittish. She is the good girl who leaves the Christmas tree alone. Slippers is f*cking psychotic and climbs both trees, squooshing all the limbs down with her fat cat ass.  If her colon doesn't get cinched in ornament ribbon, I'll be shocked. She has nibbled so many ornaments off the trees, it's ridiculous.

I'm finding more and more gray hairs on my head, and my mid-section is starting to develop that menopausal pooch.

I'm sure Christmas and New Years will not live up to the hype that society gives them. The 4th of July continues to be my favorite holiday. Wishing your family.....heck, I don't know what I wish your family. That you get through whatever it is you gotta get through without losing your mind or being insufferable.

Love,
Carrie

As close as I'm ever gonna get to doing Pinterest-y, elf-on-the-shelfy stuff

I mucho disliko Christmas.

I dislike the clutter of putting up and then taking down decorations within a month's time.  I dislike abhor the shopping.  I dislike the fretting over whether my children will be satisfied with what Santa brings them.  I dislike the busyness.  I dislike feeling like I have to make every second of the season so special.

As a result of these feelings, I do not engage in any type of Christmas tomfoolery.

Though I wish G didn't have anxiety, at Christmas I am happy for it because he is terrified of the elf-on-the-shelf.  He thinks they are weird and creepy and would throw an absolute duck-fit if I even considered bringing one into our house.

This is a win-win for me because I don't want to spend money on one, and I definitely don't want to have to think up activities for the elf that involve additional clutter and mess-making.  Some moms have gotten to the point where the elf has a broken leg and can't move.  I suspect my rage would somehow land the elf with a butter knife shoved in his gut.

However, this year, G set me a task that I did feel like I needed to address in a somewhat creative way.

He and his siblings wrote letters to Santa, which are answered by our local township/city, but he had included a very specific question in his letter.  The fine folks who respond to the hundreds, and maybe even thousands of letters from kids, do not have the time, money, or patience to answer my son's specific question.

So I did.

Here was his question to Santa:

And here is how Santa responded:

Writing creatively while sitting on my butt....I can do.  

Cat poop=OCD explosion=flooring=money anxiety=Christmas

Our cat, Shanks, is approaching 17 years, but I doubt very seriously that he will last much into 2015.  He is absolute skin and bones, and I can tell it is getting harder for him to climb the steps.  Still, he is spirited enough to jump onto the toilet and then the countertop in the kids' bathroom in the hope of getting to sip water from the faucet.

This week he had an episode of diarrhea in the basement, where we keep him at night.
Now I can handle blood.
I can handle vomit.
I can handle snot.
I can handle pus.
I CANNOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES HANDLE POOP.
Basically, anytime I have to deal with poop, be it human or animal, I fight the urge to douse myself from head to toe in isopropyl alcohol.

My brain cannot get poop out of its network, and our light beige 14-year-old Berber carpet in the basement cannot get poop out of its fibers.  Basically, from here on out anytime I see the basement carpet poop stains from our cat, I'm going to go all heeby-jeeby just thinking about the lingering E. coli.

I had already told D that as soon as (like seconds after) Shanks bit the dust, I was going to get new, darker, less-likely-to-show-every-stain carpet in the basement, but this poop thing has changed the plan.  We're getting laminate tile in the basement.  Like now.

The best thing we ever did in this house is pull up the light beige carpet on the main floor and put in hardwood.  (I'm reading Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry right now, and I'm really thinking life was much better in the days before carpet.  Packed dirt floor or wood planks=wonderful concept.)

So, the good thing is new flooring that will clean easier.

The bad thing is that spending money (especially a sizable chunk of change) always, always puts me in a different kind of anxiety spin.  Even when we have the money to spend.  Even though we live in such a way that we don't have any debt except our house payment.

I always think to myself that we're right-smack-in-the-middle-middle class.  But I recently had to admit to myself that we're upper middle class.  Maybe even rich.

I don't like admitting that.  I don't want to be that.

That sounds idiotic.  I want the security that comes with having savings, that comes with money.  I guess what I mean is that I don't want to lose sight of "there but for the grace of God go I."  I don't want to lose sight of other people's struggle, of those I know who are working poor.  Who work hard but live paycheck to paycheck for a variety of reasons.  

And I think having money, having security, makes you lose sight of other people's struggle.  You take for granted all the things you have, and you're not even away that you are taking it for granted.  You are just used to what you know.  Then, when you have occasion to visit someone who lives very, very differently from you, you are reminded:  "We have so much."

For me, the guilt comes next.  Even though I know that D and I make choices to live as we do, I also am fully aware that we were lucky.  We had functional families, not broken by divorce, which in and of itself, changes the economic dynamic of a person.  We had parents who did everything in their power to support our education: encouraging us, paying for it.  We were given a foundation that automatically gave us a leg up over others.

We didn't have unanticipated pregnancies when we were starting out or health issues or anything beyond our control that can lead to financial problems.

So even though we try to make smart financial choices now, and have been trying to for the past 17 years of our marriage, we had decades of fortune behind us that were often out of our control.

And, perhaps, this is one of the reasons why I struggle so with Christmas, with the story of Christmas, of the poor couple coming with virtually nothing into an unknown land, an unanticipated pregnancy, with everything hopeful that such a story could entail....of being cared for by others.

But along with that the knowledge that Christmas has become such a materialistic, consumer-driven, outdoing others, look-at-what-I-got occasion that drives so many people into debt, further into living paycheck-to-paycheck.

This is how my brain operates.  Cat poop leads to all this thinking.  

Christmas a year later--G and his sensory issues

We are 15 days into December 2014, and it is markedly better than last December.

G has been in OT for almost a year.  He has a year's worth of maturity behind him.  He and I did a few months of CBT together last winter and spring.

He isn't crying before school every day, commenting on his coat itching and his sleeves bothering him.  He isn't hitting me.  He isn't a complete wreck of nerves about what gifts may come.

This isn't to say he is "fixed."  We are managing him better.

He knows what gifts he is getting from Mommy & Daddy.  He knows the general category of what he is getting from his Nana/Pa and my brother/sister-in-law (a board game & a video game figure). I had him make a list of 3 items for Santa, and I told him that Santa said he would get all 3 items because they are small.

We've had to take as much of the surprise out of Christmas as we possibly can without ruining it for N and M, who are much, much easier going and happy with whatever they get from anybody.  Who don't get freaked out by the idea of Santa coming into the house.

I have had to let go of whatever I think I am "supposed" to do with him and just modify as I need to.  If peeling the skin off a red pepper means he will eat some red pepper, I will do that.  Eventually, he can peel the skin off himself with a knife.

It hasn't been an easy road, but I like being around my kid more.  I can appreciate all the great things about him better than I could twelve months ago.  He sat this morning for over a half hour putting together a Lego set--completely focused, completely quiet.  He didn't get frustrated, or if he did, he managed and kept at it.  He didn't fall apart.  That is huge.

I am able to accept that he is going to awaken every day at 6:00 and start talking from the instant he gets up.  We started him on melatonin in October, which we give him Sunday through Thursday nights, and that has made a tremendous difference for both him and me.

He is a super, super smart kid.  His IQ test showed him as average or slightly above, but I know from his questions that he is a deep thinker.  On the way to Nana and Pa's house yesterday, he asked about the number infinity (his second go-round on the concept of infinity).  He keeps trying to grasp what it is and how would a person know if they had gotten there.  How many 7-year-old kids know that infinity is a mathematical concept and attempt to grapple with it?

His next question was, "If someone was hanging at the bottom of Earth and let go to float into space, what is the first thing they'd hit?"  He knows that gravity keeps a person on Earth, but he is fascinated by space, by direction, by the lack of direction in space.  He asked whether if someone cut the earth in half at the equator whether the line would be vertical or horizontal.

Driving while being questioned like this seems somewhat more dangerous than being intoxicated.

I am better able to appreciate his sweetness.  He asked if we could buy Santa a special box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and leave it for him on the kitchen table.  When I suggested we just leave him one of the doughnuts that we will eat on Christmas morning (from another bakery), G got teary at the prospect of not being able to do his idea.  "I just want to do something really special for Santa to thank him," he said.  And so Santa will be getting 2 Krispy Kreme doughnuts in a box because I can't crush that instinct to be both sweet and thankful.

G is still maddening.  Persnickety and complex.  The snowfall in November was a nightmare getting him into his winter clothes that first time, but it was better the second time later that day.  He experienced some sensory issues on Halloween, but it wasn't a full-on battle.

Getting a handle on his sensory issues and giving him (and us) tools, with the benefit of time, has made a tremendous and positive difference.

Christmas is not a holiday for minimalists

On a typical Christmas Day I spend the hours wandering around the house searching out clear plastic bins in which to store all the new crap.  Newly opened gifts don't sit under the tree for very long.  By mid-day, preferably, they are put into their new homes.

Christmas is, without a doubt, the bane of minimalists.

This year I have been trying to keep from spending all of Christmas Day in a fit of anxiety.  I have, therefore, spent the entire month in a perplexing state of both buying new stuff (because I have to) and unloading lots of old stuff (because I want to).

If I had my preferences, every adult in both mine and D's families would forego gift-giving.  We would get together to eat, watch the kids open gifts and chat.  And every adult would be limited to giving each child only.1.gift.  But that isn't going to happen, so I go buy stuff for gift exchanges and try to accept that my children will be lost in a pile of stuff from grandparents, aunts, uncles and Santa.

At the same time that I've been shopping, I have been throwing out stuff that is either outright junk or stuff I don't truly love.  Earlier in the month our neighborhood had a bulk pick-up so I tossed baby bed parts that I had thought, "Maybe some day I'll become a carpenter and up-cycle something completely cool."  

After 17 years, we shipped our first Christmas tree to Goodwill.  We bought it for our first married Christmas when we had zero furniture and 3 fewer children.  It was huge, and over time simply didn't fit into the space.  A number of years I didn't even put limbs on the back and held the bottom down with hand-weights to keep it from being quite so huge.  I felt like 17 years was a good run for a tree, so didn't mind spending $100 for a smaller tree.  I also donated tons of Christmas items that had been given to me over the years; things I didn't love.

I've gone through toys and clothes and pulled aside things the kids no longer touch or wear and have them in the basement, ready to be sorted and priced for the spring consignment sales.  This week before the kids are out of school I'll be going through their bedrooms and desks, pulling aside precious items of half-written on paper, rubber bands and other things that qualify as trash in my book.

It is terribly difficult for me to reconcile within myself what Christmas should mean with what Christmas actually is.  My long-standing issues with Christmas date back to my childhood, so I think it is mostly a personality thing, although the materialism of the holiday worsens every year.

I think I've decided that my favorite holiday is the 4th of July.  No gifts.  No madness of grocery shopping for pumpkin-oriented items and stuffing.  No overabundance of candy and rabbits and plastic eggs.

Simply getting together, eating, playing outside.  The only downside is the humidity. 

I remember when underwear for Christmas was a horrible gift

When I was a kid, we had a next-door neighbor whom we called Nana.  I remember she would buy us Christmas presents every year.  I also remember the feeling of disappointment because she would buy us underwear.  No kid wants underwear for Christmas.  From anyone. Under any circumstances.

And now, I think fondly on the underwear from Nana because I would LOVE to get undergarments for Christmas.  Like a new, well-fitting bra.

They say adults lose their ability to feel joy or magic, but I disagree. I simply think the things they find joyous and magical change.  Like underwear.  Or a new dishwasher when theirs doesn't work anymore.

D's family does a Christmas gift exchange every year so, for any of them who might have my name and might read this blog and might need this information, here are some suggestions of things I could use:

1. a new bra, which no one will buy me (so a gift card to Victoria's Secret or anyplace that sells nice bras would be fantastic so I could apply it toward a new bra.  I haven't purchased a nice bra for myself since pre-nursing....so almost 11 years ago.)

2. tall socks (the older I get, the colder I get, so I wear tall socks all winter long.  Including to bed.)

That's it.

I did order myself some new Old Navy long-sleeve t-shirts because most of mine are stained, have holes or are stretched out (and have a new life in my pajama drawer).  I called my mom (who, like me, abhors shopping) and said, "Want to give me some of these shirts for Christmas?"

As soon as the weather turned cold, I bought myself some new house slippers because my previous pair, which N had given me before M was born so I'd have something nice for the hospital, were falling apart.

All of this discussion of practical, boring Christmas desires reminds me of why I am such a terrible shopper.  I am so practical that it sucks the fun out of shopping.  I always think, "Is this useful?" rather than, "Is this a great gift?"

For example, one of the best presents I got for Christmas one year was a pair of rain boots.  I would have eventually bought myself some, but I would have stewed over the purchase because rain boots, while not a luxury item, aren't necessities either.  But I use my rain boots a lot.

The only time when "Is this useful" and "Is this a great gift" coincide is when I buy teacher presents.  I always, always buy gift cards, and I try to buy to locally owned restaurants or find out where the teachers get their hair done.

Ok, I have really bored myself to death by writing this post.  I just better stop.  

One hell of a week

I've had stressful weeks, but last week was as close to 2004-level anxiety (as in breakdown) as I've experienced.  Eating to survive.  Poor sleep.  And a viral respiratory infection for good measure.

There was the window installation which ran into a kink on Tuesday morning, when I was at M's preschool Christmas party.  Apparently, the lintel at the front of the house that holds up the brick wasn't installed properly.  When the windows guys took out the old dining room window, the lintel fell.  Off.  Completely.  Not good.  And so began my limited appetite.

So I had to call a mason.  For $500, he said he could fix it the next day (Wednesday) at 9:00.

Wednesday morning I took G for a visit with our family doc to get a referral for occupational therapy.  When I returned at close to 10:00 am, there was no mason.  And there was a mix-up in the window company's scheduling so they had to leave before the mason showed up (which he did, although very late).  The plan was to fix the lintel and finish the windows today, Christmas Eve.

That Wednesday night continued the limited appetite along with aches and absolute feelings of exhaustion.

Thursday and Friday I felt pretty punk and tried not to do much, but I had M all day both days,   Thursday afternoon was our meeting with a psychologist with G, and Friday was class parties.  G was a tantruming mess every day of the week except Friday.  

My head congestion eased up a bit this weekend, although I am still not 100%.  I'm doing only what I have to do and trying to sit, read and rest as much as possible.

Night crawler Christmas

I don't remember too many of my childhood Christmases, but one that does stand out in my mind is what I refer to as "Night Crawler Christmas."

I don't know how old I was, probably 9 or 10.  I don't know what I received as Christmas gifts.  I don't even really remember that it rained a lot that year.

What I do remember is my dad, my younger brother and I walking the streets of our neighborhood with buckets in hand, picking up some of the thousands of worms that sought relief from the over-saturated ground by crawling onto the roads.

The neighborhood in which we lived didn't have curbs as we do in our neighborhood now.  Drainage wasn't as engineered so the worms didn't have to do as much work to get to the pavement.  The roadways were absolutely covered with worms.

I don't remember what we did with the worms, whether dad saved them for future fishing excursions or if we dumped them in the grass once we had finished trolling the neighborhood.  But I can clearly see us meandering the empty streets, my brother and I excited with every wiggler we delicately lifted from the concrete.

As a mom, I worry that my children will remember every little thing I do or they experience, specifically all the things I fuck up in my job as mother.  The times I yell and am not especially nice.

So memories like this are soothing in that they are a nice reminder of how much I don't recall of my childhood.  I don't remember all the times my parents lost their tempers with me or did things that I thought were completely unjust and mean (although now I understand those decisions were likely completely reasonable and justified).   I don't remember every unpleasant experience that life threw at my childhood self.

My memories of childhood are dim, feathery shadows with the occasional clear outline of true remembrance, like the night crawler Christmas.  I remember the oddities of my childhood experience, the unusual, the unplanned.

Probably most people's memories work like this, or perhaps this is one of the blessings of the OCD brain.

My Advent struggle (thinking on Mary)

For someone who doesn't feel particularly religious/spiritual, I find myself thinking such things often.

As I've been struggling through these weeks of December, with my usual Christmas bahhumbug-ness coupled with home improvement disasters and the emotional roller-coaster of G and his current issues, I have thought to what a shitty time Mary must have had.

There was that pesky angel visitation.
There was the donkey ride at 9 months.
The birth-giving in a stable instead of an inn.
The getting the hell outta town and into Egypt.
And the son who didn't exactly do as "normal" Jewish boys did.

Maybe that is the point of Advent for me.  Perhaps because of my personality, my own limitations in the joy category, my anxiety, I'm not going to be one to savor the anticipation, the waiting on the king.  Maybe I need to look to Advent as my understanding of the struggle, the difficulties inherent in the king coming.

I know that I've learned much more from struggle in my life than from any easy roads on which I've traveled.  I have lived the experience of a breakdown being a breakthrough, and so I need to look to these weeks of discomfort, of fear, of bone-tiredness, as the difficult path that will eventually, at some point, lead me to greater compassion, greater understanding, and hopefully greater fulfillment.  

At this time of year, I think on the sacrifice of Mary who, after the event, is pushed into the background but is assuredly the backbone of the story.

Christmas 2012

The kids had their end of year parties on Dec 20th.  I did my usual story reading to the preschool masses.

I was game master for N's class.  We played reindeer games.  

We had a good Christmas.  The kids got entirely too much stuff, but strangely I haven't gone mad with organizational obsessing.  My Christmas decorations are still up, and I can't get motivated to take them down.  Strange.

New Avenger pjs.  Thrilling, eh?

Twas the night before Christmas and all the through the house, big sister was in her headgear reading to her brothers.  And momma loved it.  

The spoils on Christmas day....

This might be one of my favorite photos ever.  G is so, so excited!

Mamaw got the kids ornaments.  M's ornament (from Etsy) was much smaller than my MIL thought it would be.  When he opened the box he said, "Oooo, a wittle baby toy!"  

I'm a little tired of Christmas break....these past 9 days have been mostly alright, but I've only gone a little ape on G for whining and being an aggravating pest.  The hardest part of this time of year is the inability to go outside due to the cold which leaves us with not much to do because I refuse to go places where everyone else is.  Like the mall.

On the 21st I took all 3 kids to see Hotel Transylvania at the discount movie, and today I took N and G to a local paint spot to create our own canvas paintings.  Otherwise, I've been wading through a sea of toys.  

I've finished two children's novels, The Magician's Elephant by Kate DiCamillo and The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick, and am making extremely slow progress through Ann Patchet's Bel Canto.  Grown up books are so.much.work.  

I have worked out 3 days this week, thanks to D who knows I need a little bit of time away so as not to lose it completely.  

Geez, this is boring.  Just like Christmas break. 

What haven't we done this Christmas season?

I'm not saying I'm ready for Christmas to be over, but we sure have packed a whole lot of stuff into the month.

There was the tree decorating.....

(which we actually had to do twice on the basement tree since it fell over, which is a story unto itself.)

The Christmas t-shirt making....

The gingerbread house making...... 

(N did hers at school)

The wearing of the Christmas shirts to a family party....

The meeting with friends for lunch, an ornament exchange and cookie decorating.....

The performing of Christmas music in Ensemble.....

The baking of Christmas cookies....

(By g*d, my sons WILL know how to bake/cook!)

Yesterday we had the school celebrations, the photos of which are still hanging out on the camera.  And there is more to come.
I hope I have enough energy reserves for it.

This is what happens when Target doesn't have Christmas shirts

To be fair, Target did have shirts for girls.  But no boy shirts....not even in the baby/toddler section.  What's up with that?

So rather than drive all over creation in search of shirts or spend entirely too much money at a boutique-type store, I bought $3 t-shirts and fabric paint at Michaels.  And then I went all Pinterest-y on my children.

Here's the thing about Pinterest and these "awesome mom" blogs about all the cool, neat stuff they do with their kids---art projects and whatnot.  You never, ever hear the back story.  Sure, the projects turn out adorable, but we all know wonder mom did her fair share of cussing and at least one of the kids will likely require therapy for some of the comments mom made under her breath about the child's lack of creativity or wonky printing skills.

So my back story is this:  This t-shirt idea sounded like something that might keep my kids from fighting for a good half-hour.  But it didn't.  G and M don't have the patience or skill for anything beyond making the handprint (although G did write the Hs on his shirt).  N was better able to help, although she started some paint color experimenting that I had to clean up.  Suffice it to say, I spent the better part of my afternoon dorking around with these shirts while the kids were off doing whatever it is they were doing.  (I was, after all, too busy with the shirts to pay any attention.)

 G's expression pretty much sums up what doing any kind of crafy/artsy project is like in this house.

N's shirt

G's shirt (He did all the Hs on his Ho-Ho-Ho)

M's shirt

These are some little ornaments I made with G's help one afternoon.

Christmas letters to Santa, 2012

N wrote her letter to Santa on Nov 25.

Dear Santa,

Here is a list of things i would like for Christmas.

1. One Direction everything (cd, shirt)

2. Monster High dolls

3. Cute clothes from a random store

4. Cute earrings (sterling silver)

5. Wipeout xbox360-Kinect

6. Brave movie-Disney

7. Barbie clothes (dresses, pants, etc)

8. Taylor Swift new cd-Red

9. a new sketch pad

10. art supplies

11. Stardoll doll

12. cute shoes (size 5)

13. some new coloring books

14. polly pockets

15. some cool stocking stuffers

Please try to get some of these things for me.  Also, try to get other things that i might like.

Love,

N

Yesterday, I took dictation for G, although he wrote the words "Santa" and his name at the closing of the note.

Dear Santa,

For Christmas I want Wreck-it-Ralph Smashers and Hulk Smashers and 3 Wreck-it-Ralph action figures and I want an Imaginext rocketship with an alien, a human, and costumes for them to wear and a space house for them to go inside.

And I also want Haunted House Legos.  And I want the Kinect Avengers game and Sonic Transform.  And I wan the Sonic sitting down game.  And THAT'S IT!!

I've been good and a little bit wrestlingly.

G