December, 2011

Naked Santa, originally uploaded by null photography.

We’ve been off doing a few Christmas related things lately – making Christmas lists, visiting Santa and wrapping gifts to send in the mail to family and friends. Throughout it all, Franklin seems to be a little… cynical.

I don’t know when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. I certainly don’t have a memory of being cynical about the whole thing and wondering why my parents were putting up a charade. I didn’t have friends who broke the news to me or teased me that I still believed. There is a family story that I decided to enlighten my Catechism class one Sunday and made everyone cry. I have no real memory of saying this specifically but I do remember standing up in class and saying something that made my teacher look pretty tired.

But that could have been about anything.

I think there are questions this year though. I think he’s on to us. This evening I pulled out some gift wrap I didn’t know I had and proceeded to wrap a gift for my nephew. Merrily I go, thanking Franklin for picking out such a wonderful gift, passing the tape to Eliza so she could “HELP!” and thanking Solstice that we are now done the Christmas shopping save for my brother’s gift that will not be available until the new year and who lives in Switzerland and so would never get it on time anyway.

As an aside, have you ever tried to mail something to Geneva?
Holy shipping costs, batman! It’s like I’m trying to send Flat Stanley or something.

Anyways, yes. I’m merry and happy and congratulating myself on doing all my window shopping online, comparing prices and making decisions from the comfort of my dining room table, calling ahead, reserving the gift and dashing in and out of the store. This is my perfect way to shop. I would do this for my grocery shopping too if it was at all practical.

But then Franklin takes a closer look at the wrapping paper I’m using. The one I chose last year to only wrap certain gifts with – the gifts from Santa. I forgot about that. In fact, I think I have probably forgotten about that every single year but it only this year that he noticed anything.
And commented.

I had nothing to say but that we have so many kinds of wrapping paper (we don’t) and that it’s always hard to tell one kind from another (it’s not) and that I wasn’t really sure it was the same because wouldn’t that be impossible?!?

Then he gave me a little half smile / half look of confusion.

I am crushed. Not because he’s growing up and will now become one of the cynical “Santa gives more to rich kids” people because, dude, if that’s what you’re spouting then you’re doing Santa all wrong in your house.

I’m crushed because I can see the confusion and I can see him working it all out and I just want the conversation to happen, already! I want to talk about it but I think he should be the one to bring it up first.

I’m also crushed because this is one of many times that he will look at me and think, “Mom, you are either delirious or full of it.”

Yes darling, I usually am both of those things.
And while we are on the topic, don’t believe anyone who tells you they aren’t.

CPR training wreckage, originally uploaded by cerambycidae.

Eliza is getting to an age where she takes chances and pushes her body to limits it might not be ready for – or maybe it is and I’m just not used to seeing scabby knees over and over and over and over again. Whatever the case, there seems to be a few more scrapes and bruises in her life. Ah heck. She’s the second born. I don’t sweat her small stuff.

Eliza, on the other hand… she sweats it. It’s a production.

You see, it doesn’t matter how low key you are. If your child is going to freak out, she’s going to FREAK OUT. All this, “Act like it’s no big deal and they will know it’s nothing to scream about” advice is really? Not all that useful when your child is, how does one put it…. “dramatic”. These things are very likely hard wired.

And now, I am officially absolving myself from any freak-out inflicted drama Franklin may possess. It’s clearly inherited. From his father. Because I am a rock of composure. Don’t “lol” me, sister. A rock, I am.

Anyway…

Eliza seems to have gone past the “I can’t use my limb!!!” dramatics while suffering through a healing bump or scrape however, we now find ourselves in entirely new territory. We can’t touch it, we can’t wash it and we can’t wear pants while she is suffering through the affliction but on top of ALL OF THIS, we have also added to our bedtime reading the Red Cross First Aid Book.

I’m not kidding you. I know this book like the back of my hand. I know the difference between the severity of burns, how to handle frostbite, what to do with a severed limb and how to flush out a foriegn object in the eye.
Hypothermia? I’m your girl.
Need to carry someone out of a burning building? I’ll help you out.
Someone’s unconscious? Give me a call.

A little while ago, the cbc was reporting that ER doctors wanted CPR training to be required in schools.

My first thought was, Baby Boomers.
My second thought was, “I’m totally covered”.

my new home – G6, originally uploaded by Ada I dirtyolive.

I’ve just had a bit of a break. Am I back? Who knows. It’s funny to think that there was a time in my life where I wrote here every day. Now I can go months without giving it a thought – never mind feel guilty.

The garden move, what took up much of my free time and energy, seems to have come to it’s conclusion. We have moved sites and although I still have to transplant my artichoke from my old plot but we are definitely done. In fact, we are so done that there is even someone hired to do the things that took up so much of my time. No, not just my time but others as well. There were a few burnt out gardeners that have been saved by a few wonderful people at the university. Without their support, I think we would be gone. I don’t think there was a lot of fight left in us. At least, this is how I felt.

Without a lot of fight left.
Willing to take anything – even the backyard of someone with a dog and a few requests to “spruce up here and there” in exchange for a side lot to garden in.
Without a fence.
Amongst the deer.
Next to a golf course.

To have a space with so much – a fence, water lines, electricity, two sheds, fig tree moved, planned mowing of surrounding grass agreed upon… there is much more, much more than we could have hoped for that has been arranged, handled and taken care of for us.

So it’s good. I feel like all that weight is lifted. All that worry on how the move would go is gone. We’ve moved. We don’t know how long we will be there but we are there. I’m choosing to leave it at that and be thankful. And move on.

Moving on.