Sunday, December 18, 2011

Small town Santa vs. Mall Santa



This weekend we decided to take the boys to Medford to visit the "mall" Santa. We took them to see Santa in Etna two weekends ago and that was quite fun. Carter was so giddy standing in line and Miles didn't cry once. All of the local businesses were open and were providing holiday treats. The bank was passing out popcorn and Carter took his from Virginia, then all on his own, turned around and dramatically yelled "Merry Christmas!". It truly warmed your heart to see the boys so happy experiencing a little "hometown" Christmas Cheer. Well, we should have left it at that and totally skipped the "big-town"Christmas.

We knew we were in for trouble when we arrived at the mall to find the line to see Santa was so long that Mall Security was involved. While Bradley took Carter to the bathroom to kill time, I used my communication degree skills to promptly people watch. While observing my counterparts, I also was presented with a price-list for ways to commemorate our trip to see the jolly man. Before I even looked at prices I was aware of the bold letters prohibiting no outside photography. After a few calculations I realized that the only way we would be able to show our kids that we did indeed care enough to put them through this hell, it was going to cost us about $25 bucks. Good thing the line was long enough so that I was able to process these emotions. As we got closer to Santa, Carter was able to see the stuffed animals. At least this year he wasn't running around trying to shoot the big bucks.

While we were within five feet of Santa, Carter (who had been an absolute angel) almost had a meltdown because the autistic child in front of us kept trying to touch him. Carter was okay for the first few minutes, but soon felt his bubble being violated. I appreciate teaching my child about diversity and boundaries, but this kid was a little too much. (He and his three siblings). Anywho, we get up to Santa and he is able to easily get Carter on his lap, but Miles is pretty reluctant. In an effort to make everything okay, the dirty old man offers his lap to me. I promptly decided to sit off to the side, and Miles was happy.

The pictures turned out fine (for 25 bucks they better), except for the fact that I realized I had dressed Miles in shorts instead of pants. Insert Mother of the Year Award here. I guess seeing Santa is all part of the magic of Christmas, but I think next year we will visit Santa and Etna and call it good. We'll leave with our pockets fuller, our children happier, and our boundaries less violated.

In addition to making sure we fill our kids' minds with the commercialism of Christmas, we also made sure to touch on the true meaning of Christmas and the Christmas Story. Carter played an angel in the Christmas pageant (he was so good last year, they asked him to make another cameo appearance), but this year he was upstaged by his younger brother who played baby Jesus. Jesus didn't care much for Mary, and Carter got pissed at another angel who wanted to play with his toys, but I doubt that Mary and Joseph really had that swell of a night in a manger in the freezing cold anyways right?

Monday, December 5, 2011

Daddy Blues

Honestly, lately I feel as if I live for the weekends. However, this weekend was not one I wish to repeat. The fun started early on last week when Bradley was complaining of back pain. Not one to ignore my husband, I simply nodded and showed my "oh, no" face, all whilst still finishing off the nightly tasks. Come Thursday, he simply had turned into a very creaky tin man, and had the attitude to match. I tried to make him a chiropractor appt. for that day, but they couldn't see him until Friday at 3:30. Ah, yes, he will go to the chiropractor and feel better in time to get our Christmas Tree this weekend and hang some lights, Clark Griswold style. We all know what happens when we make plans in the Isbell home. . .

Friday night his back felt much better, but come Saturday morning he was in sheer agony around his neck. Sure he had in fact broken his neck, he spent the ENTIRE day on the couch in a 90 degree angle popping Vicodin I had leftover from giving birth to our youngest. Let me remind you of what Vicodin does to my husband who is already crankier, let's just say it didn't cross my mind to look up the number to 1-800-DIVORCE . Come Saturday night, we were all ready to go to the local tree lighting and had JUST told our two year old that Santa was coming. My husband who was all hopped up on Vicodin agreed to come. No sooner were we ready to go than the power went out. Sh**! Once the two year old was calmed and convinced that Santa would indeed still make an appearance at a later time, we decided to go to Yreka to get some dinner. Once again, the power comes back on, we go to dinner at the Pub, (where someone commented that Bradley looked shell-shocked, no just pain and Vicodin). My parents commented on how bad he looked and called their friend who is a masseuse (yes, my parents have friends like this), to come over the next day. After dinner, Bradley drove us around while we looked at lights. Carter looked at the lights and said things like, "I can't believe my eyes", "Amazing!", and "it's beautiful!".

Okay, so sometime around midnight on Saturday, I had fallen asleep on the couch, and Bradley attempted to go into our hottub to relieve his pain. This was after I had found him hunched over his dresser crying. Anywho, he goes into the hot tub (naked - we do have some privacy), I fall asleep on the couch, and he finds himself stranded in the hot tub and not able to get out. Luckily, he hears our newly retired neighbor out telling his dog to take a "poo-poo". Out of sheer determination to not have to seek help from our older neighbor, while being naked, and slightly "broken", Bradley miraculously manages to get out of the hot tub. He then comes in, wakes me up, and repeats the story, to which I start laughing, which makes him laugh, and then double over in pain.

Sometime around noon the next day an elderly gentlemen, wearing late 1980's NorthFace gear, and with a European accent, (whom we have NEVER met before), comes over and gives Bradley the best/worst massage of his entire life for two hours. Bradley feels better, the gentlemen leaves, and then all hell breaks loose. Apparently, having a massage can make the toxins in your body move around. Well, now Bradley is toxic. He's felt as if he has had the flu all day and has eaten nothing. We're hoping that he feels better by tomorrow.

In the meantime, Miles has been booked for Baby Jesus, in the church pageant, and I may have to forgo our "Griswold Family Christmas Tree" by going down to the local tree-lot. Yes, Fort Jones has one of those now. But the good news is that by next weekend, perhaps I'll be ready to be a "weekend warrior" again.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Pee-Pee for Two



You know there's nowhere for your day to go but up when it starts by getting pissed on. This week at 4:30 am I started my day with a warm stream of pee from Mr. Miles. (Yes, our seven month old shares some of his sleep-time with us, but Carter did the same thing and now sleeps on his own.) Anyways, after I finished changing Miles, and getting him to go back to sleep, while laying out on the coach, my running-alarm went off. I never heard it and Bradley turned it off. Somewhere in there Carter decided to tag-team us and Bradley (who by the way had put his back out and was hopped up on Vicodin), one-leg Charlied it up the stairs, and somehow packed our 40 pound two-year old back down. Although none of us, besides the gimped up father, were in our respective sleeping arrangements we were all dozing quite wonderfully in dreamland, until I was awakened by a knocking at the door. Yes, it was a school-day, and yes, I normally leave at 7:25, but no, this was my mother waking us all up at 7:30 am. I don't know what I looked like that day, I probably scared all of my 4th graders, but I still managed to make it to school by 8 am and wasn't so frazzled that I maimed any ten year olds.

In other news, Carter is seemingly completely potty-trained. I'd like to say that this new-found skill has left us with huge amounts of wiggle-room in our budget, but sadly our dog getting run over by a car last month has triggered a rather larger contribution to our local vet's office. (Which coincidentally is our neighbor). Yes, Carter even wakes up in the middle of the night to tell us he has to pee. He has pooped on the potty for over a year because of some constipation issues (TMI?), but due to the diligent efforts of our wonderful "Eileeny", he has mastered the art of the potty. In fact, he is quite the self-motivator on the potty. Lately he has been really into Bob the Builder and last weekend I could hear him singing to himself, "Can we pee-pee? YES. WE. CAN!". Those of you who know the usual lyrics of Bob and his crew, can appreciate this comment.

Onto other words of wisdom, last weekend I held a baby shower for my good friend and Bradley took Carter on a solo-trip to Medford. Bradley and his friend Steve have been brewing up a batch of "Apple Pie", in Bradley's man-cave and they needed some sort of auto-siphonor from the elusive land of "Black Bird". I truly wanted to experience Carter's first trip to this eclectic store, home to the rightfully titled "Black Bird", but alas didn't make it. Bradley shared that upon entering the store, Carter proclaimed with sheer delight, "Oh, holy Dollars!". I think this comment either points to my fascination with our ever-shrinking budget, or my lack of commitment to the church. Either way, he's a boy after his daddy's heart, a lover of a manly man's store.

As you approach this holiday season, may you live it through the eyes of a two-year old, or an infant. Sheer happiness and anticipation, maybe a few "holy dollars" too. But in the wise words of my own father, I guess maybe it is better to be "pissed off", than "pissed on".