In the snow they play,
frolicking, jumping, careless
pups looking for fun.

From the eaves they hang,
dripping water and growing
longer each new day.

Restless, she cries out.
I am roused from my sleep
to attend her needs.

A little boy I watch just got a camera for Christmas. He took the above photo, which I found very intriguing, and wanted to share it. Bonus points if you can identify the subject matter.

Christmas Eve haiku,
Because I did not do it
Sunday as usual.

Time spent with The Fam
playing games, eating sweets, and
telling stories.  Sigh.

The holidays are
here, and time to celebrate
what it really means.

The question today is:

When was the last time you stole something? Why haven't you stolen anything since then?

My answer: I must have been about 4 (or however old I was when I was in preschool) and I was playing at a friend's house. Her name was Colette. She had this beautiful wooden doll house that I was envious of. It was completely furnished, and even had this little bookcase with tons of books on it. And they were actual books! Well, without words, but you could open them and flip through the blank pages. There were so many of them, and I really wanted one, so I took one home with me. I don't think I realized what I was doing was wrong, because I remember thinking Colette had so many she wouldn't miss one, and that seemed logical to me.

I was ratted out by a certain older sister. My mother promptly insisted I return the stolen item. This must have been the point when I realized I had erred in a big way, and I was horrified I would have to face Colette and tell her what I had done. I remember crying...a lot...and I even think I begged my mother to not make me do it. She took some pity, because when she drove me over to Colette's house, she let me stay in the car while I watched her return the book to Colette's mother.

This experience scarred me, in a good way, because I'm certain that was the first and last time I stole.

I'm not supposed to eat chocolate. That was a deal I struck with my cardiologist once upon a time. I would abstain from caffeine and chocolate, and in exchange, I would not have to undergo a certain procedure and/or begin medication for a certain heart problem I have. My doctor was shocked that I would be willing to make such a sacrifice. I remember his expression well as he gasped, "You would give up coffee for the rest of your life?" I told him yes, if it meant staying off medication for the rest of my life, or keeping me from undergoing an unnecessary treatment. And so we parted ways. I had to promise, of course, to return should my problem continue or worsen.

Fast forward 5 years: I just finished stuffing Hershey kisses in my mouth.

It's become a daily thing for me, as of late. I'm starting to think that chocolate is actually helping my heart. Sounds like an excuse, right? Well hear me out. I have given up caffeine -- I don't drink coffee, caffeinated teas or beverages, and I stay away from large amounts of chocolate. And my heart has done all right. But, earlier this fall, I was experiencing some symptoms again, and since they weren't the "go to the hospital NOW!" symptoms, I figured it was stress-induced. (We had just moved for the second time in 5 months.)

Then came Halloween, and with it, chocolate. So I ate some. And ate some more. And then had another helping. Time passed and Thanksgiving arrived. I enjoyed some more sweets, some of which was chocolate. The fall season merged into winter and now Christmas is upon us. And everywhere I look, there is chocolate. And I eat some. Not too much, but more than I probably should. But the interesting thing? My heart symptoms have disappeared. The ol' ticker hasn't felt stronger in ages. So now I'm convinced that perhaps a little bit of chocolate is a good thing, medicating me in no way those beta-blockers could have. At any rate, it hasn't made my problem worse. So I'll just a keep on sampling. Merry Christmas to me.

Today I didn't brush my teeth until 2:15 in the afternoon. Gross, I know. It was just one of those days. Sigh.

My older sister is preparing for the arrival of her third child in about a month. And she's nervous, but not about the labor & delivery-- she's looking forward to her two-day "vacation." She's more concerned and worried about what life will be like with 3 little ones in the house. When we talk, I try to reassure her and tell her it's going to be okay, and I'm sure the newest one will be such an easy baby. Besides, what's one more added to the mix of an already chaotic life?

*****************

Last week, early Monday morning, Baby Girl and I went grocery shopping. The store is usually quiet that time of day, so it was easy to notice the other mom there. She had three little girls with her. I could hear them chattering away across the produce section. As I picked out bananas while Baby Girl watched with her quiet wide eyes, I could hear the other mom talking Girls just a minute...let mommy think for a minute, okay? We need some peppers, do you want to get the peppers? I smiled to myself, thankful my little one sits so quietly and patiently as we shop.

I continued on my way through the store, occasionally crossing paths with the other mom and her brood. Each time I could hear her Okay, what else do we need? Let's go get bread. Sophie follow me. I was amused by the girls -- they were cute as a button -- and impressed by the mom. She seemed so calm, so cool, so collected, and only slighly frazzled.

We both arrived at the checkout lanes at the same time. As I unloaded my groceries she instructed her children Sophie, the bathroom is straight ahead. No, Stella, stay here with mommy. Sophie go straight ahead...it's okay, I'll wait right here. Stella, mommy said to stay here.

As I headed out to the parking lot, I looked down at Baby Girl, and stroked her soft chubby cheek with my hand. I was glad I only had one cherub with me...it made the shopping so much easier. And I thought about my older sister, and thought, maybe she's right. Maybe more than one or two kids is crazy.

But then, as I loaded the car with my groceries and tucked Baby Girl into her carseat, I noticed the other mom a few cars down, also loading her groceries and kids. I realized, hey, she's got it pretty together. We shopped the whole store at the same pace, reached the checkout lanes at the same time, and we are loading our cars together.

As I think back on this, I realize we were at the store before 8:30 AM on a Monday morning. And that's not type-o: A mother of three was organized enough to have the little ones dressed, fed, and out the door and running errands before 8:30 AM. This mom proves that it can be done, that life with 3 kids isn't all that chaotic. And to my older sister, I think this shows there is hope!

Envelope glue makes
icky flavor in my mouth;
Christmas cards are done.

Laundry piled up
in the basket sits, waiting
to be put away.

Holiday baking,
decorating, and shopping
are done.  Time to rest.

Time for another question:

Would you accept $10,000 to shave your head and continue your normal activities sans hat or wig without explaining the reason for your haircut?

My answer: Uh, yeah. For two reasons.

1. It would solve my hair problems -- I don't like my hair and every day I wonder what I should do about it.

2. It would increase my savings account. Who wouldn't want practically free money???

Besides, it's just hair. It would grow back. But I do wonder what looks I would get -- the curious stares from strangers, the shock from people who've known me a long time. I'm sure there would be an emotional toll, too. Maybe doing so would make me appreciate my hair even more. And my savings account.

Twice in the past month I have forgotten to rinse conditioner out of my hair before the leaving the shower. The first time I was completely dressed and going about my business when I began to suspect something was amiss. Husband concurred that my hair smelled "conditioner-ey." I rinsed my hair in the kitchen sink. The second time I only made it as far as toweling off, so I was able to jump back in the shower to rinse it out. Lesson learned? Yep...no more conditioner.

It's interesting...traditions, that is. I like them. I like to participate in them, and I like to swap "tradition stories" with others. But I've never really thought much about them and how they affect me emotionally. Until now. Now that I'm a mother, I see so many things in a different way, often in a more emotional way. Take, for example, Christmas ornaments.

At some point my mother had decided that she wanted to make it a Christmas tradition to give me, and each of my sisters, an ornament every year after we married. I think it may be her way to keep us connected during the holidays, even though we are spread out across the country now.

So every year since I've been married, my mother has purchased for me a keepsake ornament from Hallmark. They are round globes with a depiction of some sort and the year printed on them. Last year Hallmark did not produce these ornaments, and my mother searched high and low to find a suitable replacement ornament. It's not Hallmark, but it is a globe and it does have the year printed on it. It will do.

I had always sort of taken these ornaments for granted, not thinking too much about them. I did look forward each year to opening the tell-tale box to see what "this year's ornament" looked like. Then I would hang it on the tree, and forget about it. But then last year, when I received a non-Hallmark ornament, I was disappointed. And not so much because it wasn't Hallmark (I did like what my mom gave me), but because it affected our tradition. The tradition has been "a Hallmark ornament every year."

So now, as I look at my decorated Christmas tree, I see several Hallmark ornaments -- all identical in size & shape, and the general message -- representing each year I've been married. And then there's last year's ornament. A reminder that traditions change over time. The participants may grow up or grow old or move away, the props may become damaged or lost or lose their nostalgic feel, or the desire to be involved in the tradition may diminish. But with all these changes, one thing remains constant: the value of a tradition.

Deep down inside, we all want to hold onto what's nearest and dearest to us -- our family and our memories. Tradition ties both of those together, often making both stronger. So while the tradition may be eating pizza on Christmas Eve or attending a candlelight church service or giving a simple Christmas ornament, it's still important. It brings family together through the years.

As Christmas approaches this year, I look forward to receiving the annual ornament from my mom. I don't really care if it's Hallmark, bought from a bazaar, or homemade. What I care is that my mother is giving it to me, just as she has for the past 8 years, and will continue to do so -- I'm sure -- for many more to come.

************

Suddenly, I have a huge desire to take Baby Girl by the hand and lead her into a Christmas craft bazaar and help her pick out an ornament. And I want to do this every year with her. So that when she leaves home, and she is celebrating her first Christmas in her own space, she will have a boxful of ornaments to decorate her tree. And maybe, as she hangs each of those ornaments, she will think about me, the same way I think about my mother as I hang my ornaments.

Sitting in a midst
On the floor of our office.
Time to wrap the gifts.

Hair hangs in her eyes;
She needs a haircut badly.
Or is she emo?

Lazy flakes swirl down,
Mimicking my mood today.
Little accomplished.

I debated a long time last night about whether I should post my previous night's dream or not. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about me.

I would never, ever, EVER, ride in a stagecoach.

**************************

Seriously, I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about me. I didn't even know what hashish is -- other than the fact that it's a drug of some sort -- I had to look it up on the internet!! I think the reason I was dreaming about drugs is because I've been reading a novel about a drug cartel based in Spain. And I think The Rock made it into my dream because of an ad I saw in Cigar Aficionado that I flipped through right before I went to bed. And I promise you (Mom), I have never rolled a joint --- but that's probably obvious since I was using toilet paper!

But I debated still. On the one hand, I don't want to offend anyone, or have anyone think that my post was stupid, or wonder why I was dreaming about drugs. But then on the other hand, I don't want to censor myself -- this is my blog, after all. I can write what I want here, and my audience isn't captive. Besides, it was a dream...how am I to control what I dream?

So, at the risk of being chastised and at the chance to push myself a little further, I decided to post it.

And immediately afterwards I created this post, to explain a possibly controversial subject. Am I making too much of this?

Nevertheless, wasn't it funny? The Rock? In a stagecoach? With toilet paper? How much more random can that get?

Last night I dreamed the following:

i was in a stagecoach sitting on one side when The Rock got in and sat across from me and i pulled some toilet paper off the toilet paper roll next to me and i started rolling a joint and we called is hashish but it really looked more like scrambled eggs.

Sometimes, when I've opened the refrigerator door, Baby Girl will crawl over all excited and want to look inside at the contents. Because this occupies her and entertains her so well, I will leave the door open for her and go about my other business in the kitchen. She will happily look in the fridge, pointing and babbling away (don't worry...she doesn't go in the fridge). But then the guilt of wasting electricity sets in and I pry her away from the crisper drawer, and shut the door.

It's been a while since I've done a question, so here we go:

While parking late at night, you slightly scrape the side of a Porsche. You are certain no one else is aware of what happened. The damage is minor and would not be covered by insurance. Would you leave a note?

My answer: Yes. Even though the damage is minor and would not be covered by insurance, it would be rude to not leave a note. I have (hypothetically) damaged someone else's property, and while I may perceive it to be minor, it may be a big deal to them. Most likely, the owner would be more upset about it happening and no one 'fessing up to it, than the actual damage.

This happened to Husband and I once, when we lived in an apartment complex. A neighbor hit the front end of our parked car, felt like it was no big deal, and went into his apartment. Another neighbor witnessed this happening, noted the driver did not report the damage, and so that neighbor called the police. The police showed up and made the driver leave us a note. A few days later we actually spoke with the driver and he told us everything that happened, and he apologized in person. The damage was hardly perceivable, so it didn't bother us a bit. But, we were glad to learn that we had some neighbors watching out for us.

Besides, I had a bad experience once where I was in a vehicle that caused some damage to a parked motorcycle. The driver of the car I was in fled the scene*. But then the motorcyclist chased us down, following us for over twenty miles in rural western Montana where there was no cell service. Believe me when I tell you this, it was not good times. It all ended fine, but we were white-knuckled for a while. Moral of the story: Leave a note. It makes the other driver a little less unhappy.

*And to clarify, I was not the one who decided to leave the scene.

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Shove, bend, scoop, lift, fling.
These words repeat in my mind,
as I shovel snow.

Christmas shopping is
complete. Now I wait until
packages arrive.

Deck the halls with boughs
of fake garland, purchased at
the Super Walmart.

*********

And, in honor of our first big snow, I now present a song*:

Snow is falling, snow is falling.
To the ground, to the ground.
Drifts are piling up now, drifts are piling up now.
Time to shovel, time to shovel.

*to the tune of Where is Thumbkin?