Bumblebee Sweet Potato

I just realized that I never posted my annual holiday photos. So consider this your early New Year’s present! Have a wonderful evening, and I’ll be back in the New Year.

I’ve come to the realization that my kids are never going to be the kind of kids who spontaneously play with strangers.

We’ve been to a bunch of public play areas in the past week, and while my kids will sometimes play with each other, they invariably respond to offers to play from strange children with bafflement and silence. A few days ago, we were at a place with a big (fake) grocery store inside. On several occasions, one little boy there tried to get the Potato to engage with him in a game of pretend bakery, and the Potato just stared at him until he walked away.

The Bee is less likely, at this point, to just walk away from a strange kid. She will, when asked to play, say no. But she very rarely is willing to engage in imaginary games with kids she’s never met before.

It makes me a little sad to see this, because it always makes me wonder why, if these kids are having fun, my kids aren’t willing to join in. I know that part of it, for the Potato, is that he’s always watching his sister to see what she’s going to do–and copying her every move (that is, when he’s not thwarting it). I know that, for the Bee, her own imagination is a compelling place, and she’s sometimes loathe to go to a less-successful game of pretend.

But I also think it has something to do with me and landisdad, and the way that we interact with other adults in public. My mom is one of those people who will engage in conversation with anyone—the supermarket cashier, the postal clerk, other people in a line that’s too long—and I have so many memories (both childhood and adult) of wincing and thinking, “now why on earth is she telling him that?”

If I’m in a line, and someone tries to talk to me, I’m always doing the “look through you as if you’re a window*” thing, especially if what they’re doing is complaining about the service at the particular establishment we’re frequenting. I thought of this comparison recently, when the kids and I were in line at the post office, and a guy tried to strike up a conversation with me about a) his surprise that there were lines at the post office after Christmas was over and b) his conviction that every other post office except the one we were in was not crowded at the moment.

I kind of muttered something at him, and looked at the kids (who were, handily for me, climbing on something they weren’t supposed to, thus giving me an excuse to stop talking to him and start talking to them). He moved on to another victim (the woman in front), and I breathed a sigh of relief.

But I did wonder–do my kids think anyone who talks to them in public is crazy, even if it’s another kid, the way that I thought my mom was crazy for talking to complete strangers in public?

*apologies to Marisha Pessi

We got back from NYC last night–landisdad had to work today–and I’m happy to say that this year’s Christmas with landisdad’s mom was MUCH better than last year’s (even though last year’s included an amazing Caribbean vacation).

We got to see a variety of gallery shows while we were in NY, including a hole dug in a floor (prompting landisdad to wish that we had thought of this, when we had our basement finished) and a show in which work by my MIL appeared. And then there was the santa-making chocolate factory.

Now, I will confess that I read the online review of the hole in the floor before we went. But boy, did I wish that I’d read the santa review too! Because I wasn’t really prepared to have to explain the purpose of a butt plug to either of my children at their tender ages.

Fortunately, the kids both didn’t seem to notice the giant words “Butt Plug” on every box. Seriously, do you know how much a four-year-old boy likes the word ‘butt?’ Do you think I could ever have gotten him out of there? Their main complaint was that the free samples were all dark chocolate, and they prefer milk.

I also got to make my annual pilgrimage to Kate’s Paperie to buy my calendar for next year. At this point, I don’t even know if I’m going to keep using a paper calendar–I’m so addicted to Google Calendar, and its shiny, multi-colored, printable and daily update-ability. But I have to have an excuse to go to Kate’s, at least once a year. I managed to keep the financial damage to a minimum, but it was only through a great deal of restraint.

On Christmas Eve, we got to see the NY City Ballet production of The Nutcracker, which the Bee has been wanting to see since her great-grandmother sent her a DVD of it when she was about 3. The Bee sat on the edge of her seat for almost the entire performance. Before the show, we weren’t sure how the Potato would deal with it, so we agreed that landisdad would take him home early, if necessary. But I’m happy to report that, despite having a brief moment of cranky near the end of Act I, he chowed down on some M & Ms during intermission, then fell asleep curled up in his seat during Act II.

And then, finally, it was Christmas. Too much food, lots of new books, and of course, chocolate (though of the Buche Noel, not bizarrely-molded, variety). The kids even let us sleep till 6:30!

We’re off to my MIL’s for Christmas in the City That Never Sleeps.

Have a wonderful holiday, everyone. May you enjoy calm children who are grateful for what they have.

I can’t tell if this phenomenon is more prevalent this year, or if it’s just bothering me more, but I’m getting really tired of the advertising that is permeating the airwaves this holiday season. The particular strain that is most annoying to me right now are the ads along the lines of ‘don’t forget yourself when you’re doing your holiday shopping.’

Whether it’s accruing points with your bank or credit card miles, we seem to have come to a place as a society where it’s okay to spend at least as much time thinking about what you want to buy yourself for Christmas as you spend thinking about what to give other people as gifts. And while it’s endearing when a five-year-old sits on Santa’s lap and outlines her wishlist, it’s extraordinarily unattractive in a fifty-year-old.

I’m equally annoyed by the ads that poke fun of the gifts that other people give you, along the lines of, “so Uncle Myron got you another neon hula dancing lamp,” and then encourage you to spoil yourself, since the people who are important in your life are totally inadequate as gift-givers. Why even bother exchanging gifts with that worthless old Uncle Myron, since he’s clearly a crazy old coot?

Have I ever gotten a Christmas gift that I didn’t like? Of course. But it seems ungracious to me to point that out to the giver, who was, after all, trying to do something nice for me.

I’m trying to figure out how to write about this without getting all Fox News, “War on Christmas”-like. It’s okay with me if people want to celebrate Christmas in more secular and inclusive ways, it’s just that I object to the fact that it seems like more and more, the point of this holiday is to celebrate your own greed, and the greed of your family members, particularly your children.

I’m no expert, but it doesn’t seem to me as if that’s the right message for any holiday to be sending.

I spent a good deal of this evening trying to figure out how to make a wreath with candles a la Saint Lucia. Yes, I’ve reached that parenting milestone–the elementary school holiday play.

The Bee’s class is doing a production of “Winter Holidays from Around the World,” and she’s playing the Swedish kid at Christmas.

White robe-like garment?  check

Red sash? check

Tray of buns and coffee to deliver to her parents? check (hey, maybe there’s something to this whole tradition!)

But how on earth do the Swedes (who actually use lighted candles–we don’t have to go that far) get the candles to balance without toppling over?

I’m curious, if there are any Swedish readers out there, how this works. I’m also assuming that you don’t use twist ties and paper clips for your children.

The Potato has been expressing a lot of anxiety about going to bed lately. Nearly every night, before he goes to sleep, he tells me or landisdad that he’s worried about having bad dreams. He’s also been coming into bed with us in the middle of every night, which is getting a little crowded.

I’m not sure what it is going on with him that’s causing such anxiety. We’re not on the cusp of any big transition, although it feels like he’s worried about something beyond the normal hustle and bustle of life in preschool.

I wish I had a better strategy for dealing with it. We had a talk tonight about how he could try to chase away the bad dreams with good ones, but hell, I’m almost 40 and I haven’t figured out how to do that yet. Is it really likely that my four-and-a-half year old can?

There’s something about the human psyche that needs to come out in sleep. I just wish it didn’t happen to my kids. I’m looking for suggestions about how to deal with bad dreams. Any takers?

Bee: “This is all your fault! If you didn’t pay taxes, then there wouldn’t be any teachers, and then I wouldn’t have cursive homework!”

*alternate title: “Why We’re Moving to Canada, #65″

Do men get as much spam related to ‘female trouble’ as I get spam advertising V*agra?

Why do I receive so many offers for pills that will ‘increase my penis’ size in my work email account? Do spammers just assume that anyone who works is a man?