Who's The Boss?

The Pearl Necklace

It's no secret that Neville and I don't buy each other gifts.  When we met we were both poor, struggling college students.  I never had extra money in college.  And if I did have extra money it went to something more exciting than buying Neville a present. Like going out to 99 Bottles to drink with my friends so that we could get our plaque on the wall for trying all 99 Bottles of Beer that are sold there.  And let me tell you, there are some nasty beers that had to be drunk in order to accomplish that high honor.

Anyways, Neville and I remained gift-less for years.  As I got to know my closed-book partner, I realized it was a very good thing that we didn't exchange gifts.  Neville is the kind of guy that would buy you a vacuum for Christmas and then totally not understand why you were upset that he bought you a vacuum for Christmas.  If gift giving a way to show love, no one would ever think that Neville loved them.  He's not a gift giver.

Since Darius was two, we started the tradition of Christmas Stockings.  I buy favorite candy, small trinkets, and new underwear.  Because everyone knows that's it practically bad luck to not get new socks or underwear in your Christmas stocking. For three years, I've filled Neville's stocking with new socks, or new undershirts, or new tightie whities.  For three years, I've search for his favorite gummy candies and bought a classic movie that he loves. 

And for three years, I've had to the same for myself.  Because Neville isn't a gift giver.  Because most moms have to fill their own stockings on Christmas.  Because if I didn't put something in my stocking then my stocking would be empty on Christmas morning.

I found his stash

I don’t know what made me think to question him that Sunday afternoon.  I was trying to be a helpful mom when I went into his room.  Ya-ya would be picking him up any minute for a sleepover and the kid still hadn’t packed a change of clothes.  When I walked into his room, he wasn’t to be seen.  I thought maybe he slipped out to help his dad in the backyard.  But then I heard rumbling from the closet.

My first thought was that he was trying to pull out his kiddie suitcase from the bottom of the closet.  Which would have been damn near impossible considering the closet door on that side was still shut.  During the week, Darius had tried to balance on a box to get something from an out-of-reach shelf in his closet, only to have the box collapsed and Darius to fall down with it.  I thought maybe he was up to some monkey business. 

I called to him “What are you doing in there?”

I expected a response along the lines of “trying to reach a sweatshirt,” or “getting my suitcase,” or “looking for my superman gloves.” But when he responded with “nothing” I knew that something was up.

Winter break plus no childcare equals HELP!!

It is day one of my son’s school Winter Break. He’s a kindergartner and thinks that getting two whole weeks of during Christmas is a gift from God. I, as a full-time working momma, realize that if God had anything to do with it then he’s one masochistic son of a bitch.

When my son was in preschool, he always had the week between Christmas and New Year’s off. The school used that week to not only give the teachers a much needed break but also to use the time to perform maintenance. One week a year was easy to manage. I’d take a couple of days off, my spouse would take a couple, and a Grandparent would always step in when needed.

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It doesn't matter how good you've been, you're not getting it kid

When I attended his class Holiday Party, I moved around the room to see all the work displayed from floor to ceiling.  There were glittery poinsettias, construction paper dreidels, and reindeer’s antlers made from their own hands.  And tucked away into the far side of the room, where most parents still hadn’t ventured, was handwritten letters to Santa.  All of the letters started the same way, “Dear Santa, I’ve been a very good boy/girl.”  I’m guessing the teachers gave the children some examples of what to write next.  Some said they were nice to their little brother or sister.  Some said they picked up their toys. Others said they listened to their parents. But that was the end of the similarity.  What came after was the wish list. After all, one doesn’t write to Santa to ask for World Peace. It’s all about the toys.

I was getting quite a chuckle from the list of toys requested by the class. There were dolls, what I think was supposed to be a zhu zhu pet, superheroes, and even a request for a new bike.  But then I came to my son’s paper.  Darius wrote, clear as day, “I want a DS.” As in a Nintendo DS. 

It shouldn’t surprise me that he went big this year with the list.  After all, Santa has always brought him what he wanted. But those wants then weren’t as expensive as the wants of today.  Then it was a football helmet or a Lego Star Wars set.  It wasn’t a toy that costs over $150. This year he had originally told me that he was asking Santa for Bakugans.  And you know Santa already finished his shopping and bought those darn plastic thingamabobs and has them well hidden at the top of the closet waiting for Christmas morning. Santa isn’t buying a DS.  No way in hell.

Sure, there’s a lucky 5 year old in his class who already owns a DS.  One whose mother lets him play the darned thing before school, much to the horror of the rest of the moms who’d rather see our active boys run off some energy on the playground than huddled on the bench watching James play his DS.  We already have the educational version of a DS – the Leapster. Wouldn’t you know, Santa has also brought a new Star Wars Leapster game for his stocking. 

I know lots of people, adults included, who are the lucky owners of a Nintendo DS.  In fact, I have a new DS game wrapped under the tree for my 13 year old godson.  He received the gift of the DS last year when he was twelve; a far more appropriate age for a handheld toy that is easily break-able, lose-able, and steal-able.  There’s a lot of responsibility that comes with a DS.  Responsibility that I’m sure my 5 year old cannot achieve.  At least not without me constantly keeping track of the thing.  And frankly, I have enough to keep track of already.

So yesterday, I broke the news to my son.  I told him that I saw his very nice letter to Santa.  And that I read it.  And that while getting a DS would be very exciting, that Santa wouldn’t be bringing it into our house for Christmas.  Mom wouldn’t allow it because it isn’t an appropriate gift for his age.  And that when he’s 10 we can discuss it again. He seemed a little disappointed until I told him that I was sure that Santa would be bringing some special presents for my good boy.  His eyes brightened, his smiled widened, and he shouted,

“Like an Xbox 360?!?!”

Original post for the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog

Saving grace

On Sunday, Darius and I attended a wonderfully Christmas-y celebration at the Church of my Youth.  My Grandma, Uncle, and Aunts still attend the church. This particular Church is known for its spectacular music.  If there was an Olympics for competitive Choirs, I'm sure this church would be in the running for a medal.

The music was great.  There was a singing John McCain look-a-like, although I'm guessing the conservative church didn't plan it that way.  And I'm not sure they thought it was quite as funny as I did. Darius had a grand old time listening to the music and watching all the performances that went along with it.  For a moment, it made me desire being back in the church. 

I love God.  I am a child of God. And so is my son. And so is different-religion-believing Neville.  We are all God's children.  I love church music. I love singing praises to God.  I love the worship and flood of emotion that comes in singing His name.

If church was just about community and praising God, we'd go every week.  But it's not. And no matter how progressive a Church appears, I haven't found one that embraces my feminist, liberal thinking to make me feel like I am a part of that community.  Forget about my different-religion-believing spouse.  He's doomed.

His first performance

Yes, I cried the whole way through it. Yes, I'm lame. Yes, I'm a proud mom.

Ms., Miss, or Mrs?

Even though we are not legally married, my partner and I often refer to each other as husband or wife. We never correct new friends or co-workers when they assume that a couple with a child and a mortgage payment would be a legally married couple. For all intentions and purposes, we are married. We just chose to not get legally married.

As a career woman, those who assume that we are married don't think twice about me having my "maiden name." And that's okay. I don't mind when people assume we are married. I don't mind being called a wife. I love Neville as a wife loves her husband.

But there is one part of this whole "married, but unmarried" lifestyle that I never considered. What will I choose to be called as a mother?

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Third grade

In third grade, I learned how to make Wonton Soup, aced timed tests for multiplication tables, and was very mean to a boy named Jason who said he liked me.  I often jumped rope with my friends during recess, ate the same lunch nearly every day (peanut butter sandwich, granny smith apple, grape juice), and was allowed to wear earrings for the first time in a school photo. 

I had two teachers in third grade.  I loved Mrs. Godmoore.  She was lovely.  Everything a third grade teacher should be: kind but firm, loving but still distant, encouraging but disciplined.  In third grade, I would have done anything for Mrs. Godmoore.  Then there was her teaching partner, Mrs. Weiner.  I hated Mrs. Weiner.  She was evil.  Everything a third grade teacher shouldn’t be.  She humiliated children, yelled a lot, and never seemed pleased.  I often thought that Mrs. Weiner hated children. I could never understand why someone who hated children would choose to be around them all day long.

There's No Place like Home for the Holidays Cardstore Twitter Party!

The holiday season is upon us! You've survived Thanksgiving, Black Friday, and Cyber Monday.  Or, if you're anything like me, you hid during the shopping weekend because it's just too crazy to shop.  The pressure to find the perfect gift for everyone on your list is just too much to handle! Getting ready for the holidays is like completing an Ironman Triathlon. There's preparing your holiday card list, sending out invites for holiday gatherings, getting your house in tip-top shape, tree decorating, cookie baking, fudge making, and eggnog drinking.  Whew, I'm wiped out just writing about it.

If you're feeling a stressed out and could use a few tips on how to make this holiday season memorable without having to up your blood pressure meds, let Cardstore's experts help you get a few things checked off of your list during our "There's No Place like Home for the Holidays Cardstore Twitter Party!" Cozy up to your computer, make that Irish Coffee a double, and get ready to breathe a collective sigh of relief with fellow moms!

Have you been naughty or nice?

I'll give you one guess who Darius is talking with on the phone.

The nice folks over at Santa Speaking sent me a code for a free call with Santa.   The cutest part, besides seeing my boys face light up, was getting a CD recording of the call.  Although most of what Darius said was "Good," "Yup,"  and "Ummmm."

We are big Santa believers in this house.  While I don't go overboard with the talks of Santa,  I do use Santa in my parenting toolkit.

Like when Darius asked for yet another Star Wars Legos set for Christmas.  The kid already has five sets. One morning I told him that, while he was sleeping, Santa called and told me that he has enough legos so to ask for something different this year.  The kid didn't even question it.

I had 14 people over for Thanksgiving and all I have to show for it is this stinking cold

Of all the holidays, Thanksgiving is my favorite.  For one, I love the essence of Thanksgiving.  Getting together with your family to celebrate your blessings.  Laboring in the kitchen to make comfort food from the Harvest.  It's an awesome holiday if you ask me. 

But the real reason I love Thanksgiving is that is it the only holiday that we have at our house.  With both of us having divorced parents and extended family who live locally, Christmas is a holiday filled with lots of carpooling.  Easter is always with Nana and the Church of the Everlasting Egg Hunt.  Mother's Day has yet to be the day where I get a day off and has morphed into just another Sunday.

So when we bought this little house three years ago, I put my foot down to travelling on Thanksgiving.  Every year, we invite all of our family and some of our very special friends.  Whoever can make it will come.  There is no formality to the day other than the fact that I pull out my nicest china.