Oh Holy Night...wait, no...here we come a'wassailing...

I like a good holiday party. There should be ugly Christmas sweaters and tables overflowing with delicious but messy potluck contributions. Don't forget the beer. And throw in some slightly off-key caroling. Seriously, there is nothing better than hanging out with friends, drinking mulled, warm wine, and occasionally breaking into song. It's been a rough couple of months for me, and even more so for some of my friends, and it was so nice to just come together and laugh and eat and chat. I didn't go too overboard...I made some chili and macaroni and cheese and bought some cookies from Costco and crossed my fingers that our guests would show up with delicious food (which they did). My one special contribution to the the party this year were the luminaries that I lined the sidewalk with. I wasn't sure how they would turn out, because we live on a pretty well lit street. However, you could definitely tell there was a party at our house, and there's something kind of magical about candlelight.

The holiday party tradition started a million years ago when M threw the mother of all college holiday parties and introduced us to wassail (we were skeptical at first. we were definitely keg stand people back then). Up until this year, the holiday party was always fun, and we looked forward to it, but to be honest, the people that we saw at the party were usually the same people we had seen the night before at the bar. (we used to hang out. a lot.) This year, it was an opportunity to actually reconnect with people I hadn't seen in ages. Another change this year was the "baby convention". Our party this year started out with toddlers galore...roaming underfoot, trying to climb the stairs, reaching up onto the table to grab cookies, fighting over sippy cups. It was beautiful and chaotic and joyful. Then, the babies got tired and went home with mamas and papas who wanted to stay, but were secretly glad to be going home and to bed, because that's what parents of one year olds are. Tired most of the time.

Then, there was a second wave of holiday revelry. Grown ups without babes in tow arrived. We put Laurel to bed and drank more wassail and broke out the drums and ukeleles and sang a very long rendition of the Twelve Days of Christmas, and a very muddled version of Happy Christmas War is Over and a very off-key version of White Christmas. And then we drank more wassail and stuffed ourselves with gobi manchurian and savory cheesecake.

I can't wait for next year's holiday party.

You Know When Life Gets a Little Away from You....

....but you are too exhausted to do anything about it, and life turns into a series of exercises in survival? Yesterday Laurel was up at 2:30, and did not go back to sleep until 5:30, which is when, of course, I have to get up. And then teach math to grumpy teenagers.

But today...the most holy of altered teaching schedules..the Two Hour Delay. The roads don't look bad, but it's only 11 degrees outside. I'll be teaching pre-algebra at 9:00 am, a perfectly reasonable time for that subject.

I will enjoy a cup of coffee in a non-travel mug and maybe even eat breakfast.

"Does vinegar kill Christmas trees?" and other pressing problems in our current life....

I accidentally watered the Christmas tree with vinegar this morning. Now we thought we'd be all green and local by going to Construction Junction and getting one from the local farmers, so this was a $50 tree. $53 to be exact. Which I am happy to spend to support local agriculture, but I'd like to enjoy the tree for more than a day without killing it.

While M was fixing the situation, by unscrewing the tree from the stand and dumping out the vinegar water, he discovered that someone, and I'm not naming any names here - but I think we can all guess who- popped the trunk to our car last night, which was parked in the driveway. In icy rain. All night. $#*!

Sleep deprivation can be fatal, did you know that? I had the double whammy of sleep deprivation and insomnia last night when after the 1:30am poop-splosion I could not fall back asleep. I had to watch a whole episode of Secret Life of the American Teenager to distract me from my anxiety. Then before I knew it there was more crying and rocking and fussing and then I woke up at 6:30 nursing Laurel. Oops. (We were supposed to have weaned this week.)

I'm going to have another go at the No Cry Sleep Solution by Elizabeth Pantley. I pulled this book off the shelf last week and in paging through it I can see a lot of her ideas might work better for Laurel now than when I initially read it at the peak of colic.

All I can say is you better pray for a two-hour delay tomorrow for me, because I am not ready to be teaching math to cranky teenagers at 7:00am.

Addendum
M put Laurel down for her morning nap, and I drank a cup of coffee, uninterrupted, and browsed through blog entries over the past year. And my heart dipped and leapt and then settled into contentment as I thought about how utterly, freakin' amazing it was. Thank you, Life.

A Sequence of Events

Baby gets sick.
Mommy does laundry.
Baby gets more sick.
More laundry.
Baby is better?
Mommy gets sick.
Baby is fussy.
Daddy has a final project for graduate school.
Mommy gets really sick.
Baby is tired but refuses to sleep.
Mommy and Daddy are really tired.
Daddy stays up all night long working on his project.
Mommy gets really, really sick.
Mommy is up all night long.
Baby is up all night long.
Mommy and Daddy call for backup from Grandma.
Grandma saves the day.
Baby is sick again.
Grandma takes Baby home.
Baby is fussy and doesn't sleep.
Now Grandma is tired.
But Mommy and Daddy get lots of rest.
Mommy takes Baby home.
Yay! It's the weekend. We survived.

Uh oh. Daddy is sick.

When it all goes to...

I want a do-over on this week.

We've had funny noises from the cars and too many meetings at school and Laurel was sick and threw up all over me at the neighborhood holiday potluck. (Quick...what do you do when you and your child are both soaked with vomit and are in the unfortunate position of having walked 1/2 mile from your house in frigid weather?)

Last night it all kind of came to a head when I was stricken with Laurel's stomach bug. M came home ready to work all evening on his final project. However, this was darn near impossible with a sick mommy and a fussy toddler.

I wanted to be left alone, as I slept on the bathroom floor in between some seriously intense puking sessions. There is really nothing more pitiful than sleeping on the bathroom floor, but I was literally too tired and achy to get up and walk 10 feet to my bed.

Laurel, for whatever reason, refused to sleep. M rocked her and fed her and patted her, and still she kept popping up every 20 minutes. She cried in her crib and cried out of her crib. She cried when we held her. We gave up trying to get her to sleep and she wandered around the house, bleary-eyed. We gave her tylenol and rubbed her belly and took her to the window to look at traffic. Nothing worked. Eventually she passed out lying face down on across my knees, gnawing at her hand and whimpering. I think a molar is coming through. (Have I mentioned how much I hate teething?)

M worked on his project until 4:30 in the morning. I started to feel better pretty quickly, although it took me about a half an hour to navigate the relatively simple call-off procedure to get a sub for the next day. Finally, we climbed into bed, bringing still fussy Laurel with us, who inexplicably took off her shirt before settling down next to me. That's weird on a few levels. When did she learn to undress herself?

When we woke up, we knew we needed intervention. The house was trashed and had a funny odor. My mom came to the rescue. She entertained Laurel while I got some rest this morning. Laurel is in much better spirits since she got to see her "Yia Yia". My mom cleaned up the disaster in the kitchen.

At least tomorrow's Friday.

My Fake Christmas List (Part II)

Ironic Christmas Present #2.

There is nothing that needs to be said about this item. Just watch the video.

My Fake Christmas List: A Series

Ironic Christmas Present Idea #1

We technically live in a very nice part of town. Walking distance to shopping, parks, a couple of decent schools. On a bus line. Big houses. Neighborhood organizations. Everything you want in urban living. However, there is a price to be paid for that kind of convenience, and if you can't pay the full price, you can just move to the very, very edge of the nice part of town. Here, you still can enjoy all the convenience, but in addition, have the added excitement of prostitution, drug dealing, and robbery. And you pray for gentrification. And spend a lot of time talking to the 911 dispatchers in the middle of the night.

Most people think you should reserve 911 for true emergencies, things that involve blood or screaming. However, when we had our free security screening from the community liaison police officer, he told us to always call if something seems weird, because 911 call logs are how they determine patrols. I can tell you from experience that getting calls like "There's a man standing on the corner across the street and a dog is barking like crazy at him" tend to annoy the 911 dispatchers. They, and rightly so, get a lot of calls that involve blood and screaming, and don't want the lines to be tied up by the crazy lady who is inexplicably up at all hours of the night calling 911 on people not obviously committing crimes. Nonetheless, they humor me and the police usually show up, shine their bright lights around and occasionally arrest someone. But usually the shady character takes off as soon as the cop car is within sight, and that's all I wanted anyway. Go away.

A Target is already under construction a mile down the road, and I won't need that silly door mat at this time next year, just you wait.

Laurel wants YOU....

Laurel and Sadie

Laurel and Sadie getting to know each other in Charlottesville over Thanksgiving.

Breathe!

I like Fridays. Instead of dashing about the house, cleaning bottles and cooking dinner and tripping over a toddler clinging to my leg, we can just play. Just sit. Just dance to the CD that Sarah made for Laurel for her birthday. Spend a half hour sitting on the great big radiator in the living room staring at cars going by outside.

Laurel's new favorite past-time is to gather random objects from around the house and bring them to me. "Deesh!" she says, as she proudly hands them to me and waits for a reaction.

I won't do anything special tonight. I won't stay up late or hang out with friends or go to a restaurant. I'll watch tv and go to bed early. And not set my alarm for 5:15.

And it will be awesome.