Goodnight My Angel

We had had one of those perfect, fabulous, family days. Got out early. Went to the zoo. Gloriously sunny day. Had lunch. Laughed...a lot. Came home and sat outside while the kids splashed each other at the water table. And then the Attitude arrived. I write Attitude with a capital A not because I am not paying attention to my typing but because this Attitude is by no means small and insignificant. This Attitude rears its big ugly head quite often in our home and takes possession of our sweet, angelic seven year old boy. It started with a "NO SAM!" followed by a "CUT IT OUT EMMA!" There were disciplinary interjections made but alas it ended with a shove to the two year old sister, a shout from the mom, and a banishment to his room.

After some time, I went up for a meeting with the boy and realized that the Attitude had not left the building yet. Later, on my second attempt at reconciliation, I was happy to see that my seven year old, while still sauncy, was back, sans Attitude. We talked about the implications of his mood and actions and made nice. However, slouching back against his brother's bed, he still looked sad. "Why does your face look that way still? What's bothering you?" I asked. His reply was a pointing finger towards a framed copy of the lyrics to Goodnight, My Angel by Billy Joel. I looked at him, perplexed and shrugged. In a wobbly voice he answered, "I read that like two or four times and it made me so happy," and burst into tears. Without a moment's hesitation, I jumped up and pulled him into my arms. He was genuinely sobbing and trying to talk at the same time. "Every...single...sentence...made me...so...happy."

Now if you are unfamiliar with the song here is the Cliff Notes version. It is a lullaby sung from parent to child that assures this child that the parent will always be around, if not physically then spiritually. I have loved the song since I first heard it in college. It has a beautifully haunting quality to it. And once I had children, it took on a whole new meaning.

Once Alex calmed, I asked him if he remembered our story behind the song and why it was hanging in his room. He didn't. So I told him. When he was an infant, he cried...A LOT. I would play all kinds of music for him all of the time in efforts to quiet him. One day, while waiting for someone at a parking lot in Pembroke, this song came on and he just stopped. It completely silenced him. When it ended, he started up again and I couldn't push the back button on the CD player quickly enough. At the first note, he stopped again. After that, this song was played in our home regularly. When he wasn't with us, the CD was left with the babysitter with a note: If he won't stop crying, put on #9 and keep repeating it. This always does the trick. This was common practice (we probably wore the CD out) until the toddler years were upon us and thank God, the crying stopped and Alex became a happy-go-lucky little guy. The song was hanging in his room, but playing it wasn't necessary anymore.
It seems I have entered a new phase with my son. Most times are wonderful: intellectual conversations about politics, history, and space, baseball games, lego creations that impress me every time, endearing proclamations of his love for us, proud moments when he shows us the true goodness that is such a part of him. But then there are the times when the seven year old Attitude starts bubbling to the surface. This is inevitable and unavoidable, I know. However, I feel better knowing now I have a defense against it. Upon its imminent arrival, I will simply scroll down the numerous songs on my IPod, locate Goodnight, My Angel and hit play.

The Great Debate

As a parent, you bear witness to your child's journey through many stages. Some are tough and some are just plain hilarious. One I find hilarious is that of our three year old, Sam, discovering his voice in the family.

My two boys get along pretty well despite their difference in ages (Alex will be 7 in April). Sam, of course, has missed out on many of the typical toddler interests in trying to assimilate to his older brother's hobbies. I think he went from sleeping in a bassinet and drinking from a bottle to battling Star Wars figures and trying to figure out how to transform those pesky Transformer robots. There was no Barney time, Teletubbies, or Blue's Clues. We went from baby to big boy in a rather rapid fashion.

In a lot of ways, this is nice. Because of their common interests, they play together all of the time. But also because of these common interests, there are many arguments. You take two little boys, who are passionate about what they are playing, opinionated and stubborn about just about anything and you are bound to hear some hysterical discussions. There are times when I just want to tear my hair out as they argue about whether or not Commander Cody has actual gloves on (Sam) or that they are just part of his suit (Alex). Or the other one about whether there really is a Clone Trooper named Bill (Sam). Or then there is the constant battle about whether that picture in the magazine is Rex (Sam) or someone else whose name I can't recall at this point (Alex).

Anyway, I try to remind myself that even though these arguments seem pointless to me, they are as important to them as the arguments over whether or not the new economic stimulus bill is going to save us all or not. And now that I have learned to stay out of them, I have been privy to some of the funniest conversations I have ever heard.

For example, one night, as we are driving home, Alex and Sam begin arguing about whether superpowers are real or not. I am not quite sure how this started but it soon became clear that Sam felt very strongly that they were and Alex was arguing in the negative. This went on for some time until Alex said, "Well, you know, Sam, maybe when you get bigger, if you drink a special drink of DNA (Don't ask---I have NO idea where that came from either!) you will have superpowers."

There was a long pause from his three year old opponent. I think both Alex and I felt that Alex had done it. He had satisfied both sides with his theory. Until Sam piped up with, "I don't drink DNA, Alex. I drink apple juice." And that was that. Another victory for the three year old debator.

Bubbilicious

Aahhh...school vacation week....Eleven days of just being mom. My only duties were to my children and husband and we could do all of the things that we never have time to do normally. No schedules, take out all of the messy arts and crafts things more often, visit museums, playdates.....That's what they used to consist of. However, these weeks, once sacred, are turning out to be more trying than balancing my family and professional lives.

The steady demise began last April. Our then 2 year old, Sam, came down with the stomach bug so badly that he couldn't even move off of the couch. He wouldn't talk, walk or even smile. For a worrying mommy this was just excruciating. I spent the week with my stomach in knots, not due to these invasive little germs but to my nerves. Luckily, no one else caught it and by the end of vacation, he was back to normal.

Fast forward eight months and we are at the glorious, magic-filled Christmas vacation. We thankfully celebrated our holidays in a healthy way but soon after, all three children and mom came down with fevers and colds. There went that week.

And now here we are at February. A wonderful span of days where there are no holiday to-dos and lots of fun to be had. Wouldn't you know that Friday night around 7:30, Sam wasn't looking so good. We were up until 2 am with the bucket. Fighting the germs off with bleach and hope that this wouldn't last long. It has now been seven days...the bucket is confidently put away but in the interim, our 19 month old, Emma, caught it, both parents fell very ill, and our oldest, Alex, has a fever and cold. Oh and who can forget the trip to the doctor's with the instigator (Sam) because he also has a raging ear infection.

However, my point to this piece is not to simply bemoan my ill fortune (pun INTENDED). You see, through all of this, my husband Glen wins the best man alive award. (He deserves this for many reasons but this is the most recent one.) Glen saved the day like the superhero he is.

Being stuck in the house when you are expecting to have this fun-filled week really wears on vacation spirit. Not that we had huge plans for the week but anything is better than being stuck in for an interminably long time because your family is sick. While picking up our meds and other get well supplies, Glen bought two items that made all of the sickness and vacation disappointment disappear (even if it was for a short time): new paints and brushes and a bubble machine.

On Wednesday when we were all medicated and feeling a little better, we had a grand old time playing Picasso. To clean off our creativity, all three children got in the tub where the fun they deserved finally began thanks to the clever invention of the bubble machine.

The vacation fun I was looking for had finally arrived, packaged in various sized opalescent orbs. As the soapy spheres spiraled their way down to the children's reach, their faces lit up with unadulterated joy. Happiness was found in bubbles stuck to arms, legs, heads, and hands. At one point, we had "bubble beehives" growing on the tub wall. We had thirty minutes of laughter, silliness, and good old vacation memories all thanks to the age old practice of bubble blowing.

So as Alex's friends arrive back at school sharing their vacation adventures of playdates, museum trips, and trips to far off places, he will be able to put a big smile on his face and tell them about his magical bubbles that cured us all!

Moral of this entry: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF BUBBLES

Take a Moment...

In this fast-paced, technology-driven, economically flat-lined world, it is reassuring to know that one thing remains constant: Christmas. I know, I know, many of you are reading that line thinking, what could be more stressful and economically crippling than Christmas?? I am very aware of the distress this holiday can put on many of us but I am asking that for five minutes, take a moment to reflect on the wonder of it all.

Our world is governed by that next best thing...the next best PC, the next best Mp3 player, the next best relationship....whatever it may be, we are all looking toward something instead of directly at what is within our reach. Christmas, as crazy as the shopping and preparing can be, brings us all back a peg. For the 25 days in December leading up to this day, we are all either in the moment or brought back to a magical past. We may be purchasing those "next best things" to place beneath our trees, but when it comes to the spirit of the season, we are surrounded by sounds, images and feelings that have been with many of us for most of our lives.

The day after Thanksgiving, two local radio stations began their Christmas marathons. They played Christmas music all day long. You don't get too many new Christmas songs. The songs are classics, sung by some of the greatest singers of our time. I sing these songs with my children in the car and we never tire of them. Although I did hear a new one the other day, I believe by Jack Johnson, that was quite good. Even new however, it still had the same central themes: peace, love, joy, magic.

Stringing the lights...we all hate to do it, but we all do it, don't we? Lights have jazzed up a bit in recent years but they are basically the same. And we all still enjoy seeing them through the streets. You would think, after all of these years, that would get old. But those lights still stir some emotions for many of us, especially children. My children LOVE the lights...the gaudier the better.

If you do have children, what did you read to them tonight? I pulled out our copy of The Night Before Christmas and my own personal childhood favorite, The Santa Claus Book (I think it was the little puppy that got me.). How far do these stories date back? I looked at the inside cover of The Santa Claus Book to find it is 3 years older than I and Clement C. Moore's beloved poem was published in 1882. When I rifle through our baskets of holiday books, many of the stories are classics. Sure we have a couple of Maisys and some Little Critters but all of them revolve around the magic of this special night.

Christmas season is also a huge cartoon time. We have been watching a Christmas movie just about each night (thanks to my wonderful father who has taped so many for our enjoyment). Every Christmas movie we have watched is one of the classic Rankin/Bass productions of my childhood. My children are transfixed by them, just like my husband and I were as kids. I savor these moments together. I am surrounded by my youngest and oldest, each on one side, as close as they can get. Their blankets and stuffed animals in their arms. My middle guy isn't one for cuddling during a movie, he needs to be on his feet to make a quick exit in case of anything remotely frightful. And my husband provides the occasional meant for me humorous quip. These movies couldn't be more different from the wacky, ADHD inducing cartoons my son watches on Saturday mornings. They are gentle, calm, and full of song. And yet they still speak to this generation. This generation which is so used to battling with cards and creatures and technology-led entertainment. This generation still believes.

Santa. They still believe in Santa. He is as real to them as he was to me. We left him cake, milk and carrots for his reindeer (9 carrots to be exact--Alex was very fastidious about how many there were--of course one of the carrots was bitten and then spit back out on the plate by Sam, but they're reindeer, I am sure they won't mind.). Alex wrote a very well mannered note for Mr. and Mrs. C. explaining these snacks (even the bite) and giving his thanks. Santa Claus has endured IPods and IPhones, PCs and satellite radio. I expect he will endure TVs transformation to digital (as long as he gets a cable converter box that the networks are peddling continuously). In fact he even brings these things to our older children. Wow. He must have one hell of a PR team.

So, Christmas has prevailed. It's survived the good, bad and ugly in our world. And even though it can be stressful, I would like to think that it brings a kind of innocence to us all. It helps us remember what we have and what we came from. That said, I am going to watch It's a Wonderful Life (circa 1946) while my husband and I fill stockings and stack presents under the tree. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

Baby Boycott

My recently turned three year old has decided to boycott everything baby. "I am NOT a baby. I'm a wegular tid." (translation: regular kid) Today, after stopping in at my mom and dad's house to rescue Emma's "Boo-Boo" from his night away from his Emmy (Truth be told, I think I missed that little blue monkey more than she did.), my mom sent me off with "Bye, baby! See you tomorrow!" I wave and start to pull away when from the backseat I hear, "NANA! My mom is NOT a baby!! She's a dirl!" (translation: girl) So indignant for such a little bab--sorry--kid. I laughed out loud and tried to explain to him that I will always be Nana's baby, no matter how old or big I get. I looked in the rearview mirror, caught the crossed arms, furrowed brow. He wasn't buying it. Take two..."Sam, just like no matter how big you get, you will always be my baby in my heart." Obviously, those child psych classes I took in college didn't have a syllabus bullet on toddler negotiations, either that or I had skipped that class. "MOM! I am donna drow up and be a big fireman, NOT a baby!" (You may be getting that many of Sam's consonants are not mastered...for instance g's usually sound like d's. That noted, translations are no longer necessary.) Glutton for punishment, I went in for take three: "Sam, even when you are a big, brave fireman, saving people from their burning homes and rescuing cats from trees, you will still be my baby because I will always remember." The conversation came to an abrupt end with "I'm donna punish you, mom. That's it--do in time out!" Welcome to life with a three year old.

Humbling Holidays

Here comes yet another holiday season. Here at the Gracia house we are actually getting festive earlier than usual. Tree's up, lights are on. Even drove through towns looking at lights and listening to Christmas music this evening (while fleeing one more uninterested realtor and buyer). The boys and I baked enough sugar cookies to feed Glen's office, a friend's family of 7, and our own brood. Glen and I have everything ready to go on Amazon. Just one click and Santa's parcels are on their way. Thank God for internet shopping. Honestly, what do people get out of the hustle bustle, lack of parking, and crying, tired children at the mall?? I am looking forward to going out to pick up a couple of things and truly enjoying the decorations, mall Santas, and music without the plethora of bags and lines--everything in moderation as they say.

My holiday goal....to accomplish it with as little stress and as much joy as possible. I want to sit back with cups of cocoa, look at the tree and read Christmas stories to our three darlings without our minds running. Everyday is taken up with so many responsibilities. Laundry to fold when my 3 year old looks at me with his serious blue eyes to ask, "Mommy, can you play with me?" Or a dishwasher to empty when my 6 year old wants one more hug. And then the little princess of the house parks herself on my lap, book in hand, fully understanding that yes, she does get attention pretty easily. (She doesn't leave many opportunities available to eschew her advances.) Our little ones are growing too fast and I just want to take this holiday season slowly, bask in the glow of the multi-colored lights and watch them enjoy each magical moment. I want to find myself more often than not, saying yes to their requests. Not for the toys but for the time. Twenty years from now, the gifts will be long forgotten, but the time spent cuddling, reading, playing castle, transformers, or kitchen dancing will live on in my adult children's minds. That is my gift to them this year.