Nipple Tassles Make Christmas Dreams Come True

It seems like I blinked my eyes and wiggled my nose (while wearing a sexy genie outfit of course) and suddenly the Christmas season has arrived. I'm having trouble adjusting to this reality. My brain (and body) still wants to frolick half naked and drunk on a beach instead of having to shake the snow off a Christmas tree and drop on all fours to retrieve the ornaments that plopped into a mound of snow after I tripped on my husband's chainsaw and spilled a box when I went to the shed to begin the festive process of decorating our house.

Merry farking Christmas.

It seems I'm caught with my pants down around my ankles this year when it comes to the season of giving. Normally, my type-A personality has the all the Christmas presents wrapped (in colour coordinating ribbons and bows) and piled neatly under the festively bejeweled tree; the Christmas cards signed, sealed and delivered and some eggnog in the fridge.

The closest I came to that this year is having eggs in the fridge. It's a start.

I'm starting to feel a tad pressured about the approaching holiday. It's not like I've completely abandoned my traditional uptight holiday behaviour. I did manage to squeeze in some gift shopping while I hunted for the elusive golden thong for Boo. I've most of the shopping finished for all my nieces and nephews. This is a big deal as I have a LOT of nieces and nephews. (Our siblings are really productive rabbits in disguise.)

So I have nothing to give my own children. I'm sure Fric and Frac would understand. And magically my wallet will open and be full of hundred dollar bills too.

I haven't even got the traditional mile long wish list from my kids, either. Strange. Seems we're all a little out of sorts this season. Usually they've bunny-eared the Sears Wishbook within an inch of it's life.

As Fric and Frac grow older, I'm finding it progressively harder to fill their stockings with colourful packages gifts. After 11 years of parenting and three kids, it feels like I've bought every conceivable toy known to man kind. (I shudder to think how much lead has been ingested through the years.) I've run out of good (re:affordable) ideas.

Of course, Boo is no help. His idea of a Christmas present for them is a shovel and a wheelbarrow. "That'll keep them busy for the winter. When they're done shovelling snow they can start filling the wheelbarrow with wood for the fireplace." He's so thoughtful.

This year, without a wishlist, I had to resort to something I've tried hard to avoid in the past. I actually asked them what they wanted for Christmas. Big mistake. Their eyes glazed over, drool started trickling out of the corners of their mouths and they rubbed their hands with glee. I swear it.

Suddenly, they were little carnivorous jackals, tripping over each other in their haste to spill their wanton secrets. It was as though I waved the magic wand and they realized what a limited time opportunity this really was. Picture two women fighting over a designer wedding dress for rock bottom prices. That was Fric and Frac, and I was the gown.

"An iPod!"

"A Wii!"

"A laptop with a printer!"

"A cellphone...preferably a Blackberry!"

"Just give me your credit card and your pin code and we'll call it even," I heard one shout.

"I've got dibs on any mutual funds and stocks and bonds," the other called.

As they started to fight over who got the check book, I backed slowly away and grabbed my car keys, while dreaming of the days I could buy Lego and Barbies and be the Christmas hero. I must have jingled my keys accidentally because suddenly the arguing stopped and they honed in on me like a bald eagle on a baby mouse.

"Where are you going?" they asked in unison. "Don't you want to hear the rest of our list?"

"Guys, the only way you are going to get all that crap...crap that I don't even have...is if your father and I win the lottery or I start working in the local dive sporting tassles and polishing their brass pole. So I'm off to search for leprechauns and rainbows and see if I can find a magic money tree."



They looked sheepish for half a millisecond before Fric piped up and offered an apology.

"It's okay Mom. Just because all of friends have cool toys doesn't mean we need them. We can just use theirs." Said with big, begging blue eyes trying to hypnotize me into buying him a PSP handheld system.

"Ya, Mom. It doesn't really bother me that all the kids in my class have cell phones and televisions in their bedrooms. I'm happy with that lamp you bought me for my birthday. It's really neat." Such a sweet conniving daughter I have.

"Besides Mom, we're rich with love. Even if all our friends are rich with money."

I looked at them and their faces so resembling my own and I swear my heart just about expanded out of my chest. Right about the time I lost my mind.

"Sucks being that kid in class, eh?" I offered them while remembering the kid in Mexico who tied a piece of chicken to a string to tease an alligator with. "I feel your pain. I was that kid in my class, too. The one who never had the cool toys or the most expensive clothes. I promised myself I would never let my kids feel that way. I would do anything I could to prevent that for my children. I'm really sorry you feel that way."

Their eyes lit up and I could see the visions of video systems and mp3 players dance above their heads.

"But then I had kids. And I realized it builds character."

You could hear the sighs in unison, timed perfectly with the synchronized eye-rolling.

"Now I'm off to buy you two some socks. If you're lucky, maybe you'll even get some fancy new underwear."

If only it was that easy. After talking to them I'm feeling more pressure than ever about what to buy them. If only I was made of money.

I'll have to ask Santa to fill my stocking with fancy nipple tassles and enrollment in a stripper-cize class so that next year's Christmas is covered.

Wait and See

I never wanted kids. I never played with dolls and dreamed of having my own little minions to one day boss around and mold into personal slaves love and cherish. I never dreamed of white picket fences, home baked cookies, pigtails and cute little outfits.

I never gave parenting much thought at all. Up until the moment I murdered a rabbit peed on a stick and faced the reality of looming motherhood, I never figured I was cut from the maternal cloth so many of my friends seemed to be made from.

Until that moment, the moment the little stick showed it's plus sign, it never dawned on me what having children would, could bring to my life. I never understood the blessing of children. I just saw snotty noses, dirty diapers and stressed out moms. I didn't see that as a future I could embrace.

Some where between my own babies caterwauling, snotty noses and dirty diapers, I discovered the joys of parenthood. The sweet coos of a sleeping baby, the robust giggles of a toddler and the gap tooth grins of my kids charmed me into thinking I could do this. I could be a mom. And like it.

Then Bug was born and the rules were changed. There were no late nights nursing a sweet infant back to sleep. It was all about hospitalizations and doctors and medical procedures. It was about scary diagnoses, impossible hopes and fighting fears.

When other moms were rousing themselves for late night feedings and rocking their babes back to sleep, I was stumbling in the dark, stubbing my toes and trying to figure out which monitor was shrilling it's alarm in the wee hours, warning me of Bug's imminent doom.

While other moms dealt with sore nipples or dirty bottles, I was trying to lift my kid out of his specialized high chair or his crib without trying to yank out his gastric feeding tube.

As other moms struggled with solid foods or temper tantrums, I was juggling a medication schedule that would give any nurse a headache and trying to keep my other two kids from hiding the plastic syringes in the couch cushions.

While other moms worried their toddlers weren't playing nice with others or were being bullied on the playground by an obnoxious sand-thrower, I was trying to get other parents and children to simply see and acknowledge my child. Other moms worried about preschool, princesses and television programs. I struggled to fit the damn wheelchair in the back of my car, remember his speech equipment, his splints and wonder if I was going to be on time to pick up the other two children after a day at the hospital.

It was trial by fire and more than once I felt the burn.

Yet I would sell my soul to the devil himself to have one more minute to experience that flame.

In a blink, it was over. And there were two stunned little kids who didn't understand why their brother was no longer banging cupboards in the wee hours of the morn, no longer there to play choo-choo with them.

I'm was left with hard questions and no answers. Just tears, enough to fill an ocean.

As time passes, that ocean gets deeper. And yet, every morning the sun still rises, the clouds still part and the waves from our ocean of loss no longer threaten to topple us over. Instead, they mostly bathe us with the warm memories of a life that was filled with love and joy.

With the adoption looming, and the possibility of a new brother or sister to love, we are all reminded of the little boy absent from our home, yet never from our hearts or our minds. I've found myself explaining to family and friends, again, why we want to walk this path once more.

Why would we want to put our hearts on the line for a child who may never be normal, or healthy or even grow up. Why would we want to wrestle with hospitilizations, medications, therapies and social frustrations.

I nod my head and agree that it's easy not to be able to see past the frustrations and scariness of a disabled child. But, I remind them, it is impossible to forget the joy those children shine with and spread to all who come into contact with them.

Bug made sure of that.

And so will our next child.

That's what I tell people when they ask why we want to adopt such a needy child.

Just wait until you meet him or her. Then you will know.

I´m a Little Pink.

After a scary flight where I spent most of my time vomiting in the cabin toilet and crossing my legs praying to the Porcelain God my stomach wouldn´t explode and stink out the whole plane we finally landed in Mexico.

It was probably not a moment too soon. The passengers on board who were stuck with me and my stinky bowels were ready to form a mob and lynch me. Apparently, flying across several countries while trapped in a small tin can with poor ventilation and some twit suffering with the stomach flu is not most passengers idea of a good time.

I´ll file that away as useful knowledge for the flight back home. And invest in some Bepto-Bismol at the airport.

Having never spent this much time trapped with my husband, I was a tad worried we would fight and squabble and this trip would ultimately be the end of our marriage.

I´ve been pleasantly surprised to learn we still like each other after all these years of marriage.

 Especially after one or two tequilas and a full body sunburn.

After watching Boo play soccer and volleyball yesterday while I sat on a chair and read a book  played referree, I was struck by just how much I love this man I´ve saddled myself to for the long haul.

Everywhere we go, he attracts children. They adore him, whether they are locals or tourists. If they are under the age of 12 and under six feet tall, they find my husband and adore him as though he is some little known rockstar.

I had forgot this about him. Or perhaps I never knew this at all and this is something new to him, to us.  But when I see the gentle smile on his face as he happily organises the throng of gathering children to play some game while other adults just walk by and are grateful it is him and not them, I´m reminded once again of just how lucky I really am.

He really does have the patience of a saint and a heart of gold.

All of this plus he hunts down toilet paper for me on an airplane.

Really. Could I get any luckier?