Ants In My Pants Give Me The Heebie Jeebies

I searched for quite a while in the game aisle, looking for something Micah could play. There were so many choices. But I wanted just the right one. He doesn't always understand directions, so things like Candyland or Trouble would simply allow him to participate but he wouldn't really know why he was doing what he was doing.

Don't Break the Ice and Connect Four seem incredibly easy to understand, but they're still not quite right. I'm pretty sure Micah's goal in Don't Break the Ice would be to crash all the cubes through as fast as he could. While fun, it's not the point of the game. I want a game that he can play correctly, enjoy immensely, and not frustrate the rest of the family while playing it. And I know from watching him play Connect Four on iDevices that his goal is to fill the holes. Patterns and sequences are for losers. Fail.

He'd enjoy Operation immensely, and it would be so good for his fine motor skills, but that falls under the "frustrating the rest of the family" heading. He'd either not care he was buzzing like an alarm clock on hyperdrive, or would enjoy the sound and do it on purpose. Fail again.

And then I saw Ants In The Pants. It's everything I was looking for. The goal is to get the ants in first. There were no turns, no rules, no directions, nothing complicated at all. Flick the ants, fill the pants. That simple. Awesomeness.

So we played, Micah and I, flicking ants toward the large, upright pants. I'm here to testify that it's way harder than one would think. I mean, this is a game for preschoolers. Is the hidden agenda of the game to teach kids that life isn't easy, and pretty much nobody is a winner? Because seriously, you're lucky if one in every forty flicks scores an ant down a pantsleg. The other 39 flicks bounce off the pants and suspenders. And if that was actually the goal, to hit those thin strips, you know it would never happen. Ants fall short of the pants, and overshoot the pants. Ants fly off the table or clear across the room. I'm telling you, those ants have an aversion to jumping into pants. It's frustrating, is what it is.

Micah decided to make his own rules, and every now and again, when he thinks I'm not looking, that boy will just pick up an ant and drop it down a leg.

Maybe I should have gotten Connect Four. At least, in making up new rules, it still would have been fun. And way less frustrating.

Update on the Absenteeism

Wow, that was a stretch of MIAness. I didn't even realize things weren't happening on the blog until I sat down today and thought about it.

We vacationed with the extended family the week before Christmas and had an absolute wonderful time, even though we were at a ski resort without snow. We did get to go tubing that once before what little man-made snow they had melted off. We entertained ourselves in the nearest town, out in the woods, and at the indoor water park. And it was rather relaxing. But I just didn't think to post while we were away, although I did sit up until well past midnight almost nightly reading. Gosh, it's been forever since I've read a good book, and I was able to get through a few. It was heaven.

The last 5 minutes at the water park on the last day, Josh sustained an injury, because apparently teen boys are prone to things like that. We had some x-rays done when we got home to ensure nothing was broken (it wasn't) and I almost fell asleep in the hospital chair. I realized then that I was completely and totally exhausted.

Being up with Micah that one night didn't help with the lack of sleep thing. The boy's Little Sniffle turned on him faster than I've ever seen anything turn. In just over 24 hours he was wavering between croup and lung hacking as an Olympic event, and I sat with him for an hour in a steamy bathroom at 3AM. I now know that one should turn the shower on instead of just the tub's faucet if one is going to sufficiently steam a bathroom. Hey, at 3AM, nobody is at their sharpest. Don't judge.

We medicated Micah religiously and invested in a Vicks thingamijig that you plug in and smells wonderful all night long. (I've always loved the smell of Vicks. And it's even more wonderful since it allows me, er, Micah to sleep all night long.) We did wonders in keeping his chest clear, but at the 2 week mark we figured he should probably be seen by a professional. And Becky was asking for a renewal of her allergy meds, so it seemed like a good time to go.

Turns out, Becky is not only struggling with those dog allergies (it's a shame we have all those dogs in the house), but has the start of bronchitis. Again. If there's a prize for The One Who Is Most Prone To Bronchitis At The Most Random Times, it would be her, hands down.

Micah is incubating the start of an ear infection. All that Vicks does nothing for ears, now does it? But we caught it early so he hasn't been in any pain, which is grand. It's just painful for me to see his nose constantly run, and hear him hack and croup the crud out. Poor kiddo.

Daddy tried taking Micah's cold on to minimize the effects for the little guy but it just resulted in yet another dose of antibiotics to clear up the crud in his chest. I've not seen a cold take hold on someone so fast as it did on Sam, and it drug the man down. Literally. I'm kind of afraid to breathe the same air as he does at this point.

Christmas happened despite the fact that our suitcases were still packed and sitting in a corner of our bedrooms, and half of us were on antibiotics. I took grocery inventory, and we had everything we needed to host Christmas dinner for the other side of the family so I put off stocking the fridge and pantry until after the holiday. It wasn't until sometime around 2PM Christmas day that I realized we had no desserts or anything to make them with. Trivialities, really. Who needs another Christmas cookie, even if it's Christmas day?

We had a wonderful Christmas with family, though. Don't assume we were too sick to enjoy it. There was no barfing and no fevers, so we were all joyfully coherent. Bonus.

And that's pretty much the last 2 weeks in a nutshell. A big nut, mind you, but there it is. We vacationed, we got sick, we opened gifts and lacked Christmas cookies, and I read a few good books.

How was your holiday?

I Hope Your Holiday Weekend Has Been As Amazing As Ours Was

One of These Is Not Like the Other

I Will Always Believe There Will Be Something Magical About Nature

Those two are as different as night and day.

She's all uptown, New York City, girly girl, whose idea of enjoying nature is watching it on TV.

He's very much a good ol' country redneck, experiencing the great outdoors in a hands-on fashion, happiest if he's dirty from living life to it's fullest.

It warms my heart to see them finally learn to get along, even so much as beginning to become friends. She traipsed the woods with him today; he walked the mall with her in the evening. And they both had a very good time in each other's world.

And I simply stood back and enjoyed it.

Snow Tubing Isn't For the Weak of Bladder

The family (the whole, extended family) is on vacation this week. When we booked this back in August, we envisioned a ski resort with an indoor water park as a lot of fun, with lots of options for entertaining a gaggle of kids. What we didn't foresee was that, despite the fact that we were building snowmen before Halloween, it's been an unseasonably warm winter season thus far. (I'm not complaining, mind you. At all.) So we are at a ski resort with limited snow. The white slopes are nothing but a paintbrush of color down an otherwise drab brown mountain side. There is zero snow outside the ski paths, because nature has not chosen to snow here. Needless to say, the skiing isn't prime. Which is alright, because we don't ski. (I know what you're thinking. And the answer is "just because we can," alright?)

We do, however, go tubing, Anyone can snow tube, because you don't need special skills to slide down a hill in an inflated rubber ring. Or at least I thought you didn't. I've never been tubing before, despite living within 6 miles of 2 ski resorts. (Again. I KNOW. There is an answer for that, though. I don't do outdoor sports in winter. I lack snow gear of any kind. I KNOW. We live in the snow belt of the state. Let's just stop questioning me, mkay?)

So we were waiting in line at the top of the hill forever, because it was an incredibly slow day on the mountain. The run we were waiting for was the slowest on the hill, too. Some people stopped halfway down and had to be pushed. While it wouldn't be the most exciting ride in the world, it would be an easy run. And that's what I needed to decide if I was going to love an outdoor winter sport or not.

Becky went just before me, and I watched her putz down the mountain at a snail's pace. As I waited my turn, I thought I'd sit in my tube like the other waiters. I eased myself down into the center of it, and my 5'0" stature allowed for my legs to just barely graze the ground in front of me if I stretched to touch. Which I had to, because OH MY WORD, MY TUBE IS STARTING DOWN THE HILL. If you broke the rules, you were asked to "leave the slope quickly and quietly, with no exceptions." One of the rules was that you didn't start until you were told it was clear. It wasn't clear.

I stretched my legs as far as they could to get purchase on the icy slope in front of me. By some miracle, I managed to get myself stopped before going too far, but by now I'm not in the center of the tube but instead laying flat on my back across it, my legs sprawled on either side of it in front of me, barely holding me from slipping down the hill. If I managed to roll off the tube, it would go on down without me. (Busted. Quickly and quietly, I'd be escorted from the slope.) If I tried pushing myself back up, I'd lose what precious little footing I already had and would inevitably take my one and only snow tube ride before being asked to leave. So there I sat, realizing my only chance at getting out of that pickle was asking for help. Loudly.

HELP. I NEED HELP. (Yes, I did.)

Thankfully the lady behind me came to my rescue, because my son, two lanes over, decided to choose that moment to pretend not to know me. ("Geez, you can't take her anywhere, can you?") "Thank you! I didn't want to be escorted quickly and quietly from the mountain." (I tend to joke when I'm mortified.)

So once I was successfully rescued, I patiently waited - standing by my tube - until I got the all clear. When it was my turn to go, I eased myself down into the tube and thought, "this will be a nice slide to the bottom. This is the slow lane, after all.

And then my tube turned itself around and I was facing backward. Well crap. I'd prefer to see when the bumps are coming before I hit them. I am not a daredevil by any stretch of that word, and was not amused by this turn of events. It was about this time that I realized I was going faster than the people before me had. And I was also gaining speed. Quickly. I clenched the handles on that tube so hard my knuckles were sore, and I was so afraid of flipping over and dragging my face on solid packed ice that I was too tense to even wet myself. As I continued gaining speed, I could only think that this is certainly not the experience I thought it would be. At all.

Sam's brother was explaining that it wasn't a slow lane, but bad inner tubes that was causing the drag. See? He pointed back to the hill and said, "That kid is really zipping, and they're in your lane." After I reached the bottom, shot through the rubber mats they have to stop the tubes, and slid about a dozen feet up onto the grass, they realized it wasn't a kid, it was me.

That's when my bladder decided to just get it all over with for the night. No trickling here and there. If I was going to scare it into retention, it'd get even with me in one fell swoop. It was like a pregnant woman's water breaking. And I learned that a pantiliner can only hold so much before it, too, cries UNCLE.

Turns out, I love tubing. But next time, a full pad (or a Depends) will be joining me on the mountain.

That's the Face of Someone Who's About To Go On Vacation for a Week

Style Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

Micah definitely has his own dress style. It's funny, I had two kids like that. It's half the crew. And even funnier, they were both boys. Becky had her own style of dress as well, but she wasn't nearly as adamant about what she wanted as the boys are.

Okay, let me rephrase that. Maybe she just wasn't allowed to be adamant in what she wanted. That girl scared me a bit. As a toddler, and up through her single digit years, she gravitated toward leopard prints, and zebra stripes, and fishnet stockings, and fake nails that were 2" long. If I allowed Becky to be who she wanted to be, she'd have been the first toddler ho in the county. Perhaps I should have gotten her onto Toddlers and Tiaras or something. Maybe that would have satisfied her fashion longings. But I took the easy way out and simply redirected her to more appropriate wear for someone under the age of Still In My House.

Josh was a late talker, being close 2 when he chose to speak to us with any regularity, and one of the first things he wanted to say was what he would and would not wear. It seems that Micah is of the same mind as his older brother. He's got a style, he knows what he wants, and he's kinda proud of who he is. His style is interesting, that's for sure. He layers plaids on plaids, and tops it with a tie. He wears a knit sweater vest with sweatpants. He wears ties with anything, generally over t-shirts.

We have learned that Micah is an old man in a little boy's body. He'll unerringly go for polyester shorts and oxford shirts. And as we were walking through the store the other day, he found the best little old man outfit of all. It was a polyester pant and vest set, with a bright royal blue oxford with a tie. The pants and vest were pinstriped. Bonus. He chose that over a Lightning McQueen shirt, and a Spiderman pajama set, and then - THEN - he chose to put a movie back in lieu of that glorious polyester atrocity.

We did not make that purchase. I know he would have worn it every day to school. Somehow, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. We will, however, be looking for a tiny little suit in that boy's size that is not polyester. We'll support who he is, but he'll just have to compromise a wee bit on his style.

Chains Can Be Rather Amusing

I'm pretty sure I mentioned here before that we are not the parents who put braces on their kids teeth to straighten that slight imperfection. I'm not knocking those who do - each to his own. We just don't have insurance to pay for it, and have better things to spend our money on than a dazzling smile.

That's probably why our kids have the teeth that they do. While we're okay with making our kids suffer through life with less than fakely perfect teeth, we are not down with teeth that need correction because they'll cause medical problems in the future otherwise. Luke had braces at the age of 9. (I also have a problem with braces before all the baby teeth are out, but see above where it was a medical necessity.) (Daggun it.)

We have always been quite proud of Josh's teeth. His actually look like they've gone through the braces ordeal already, but it's just good genetics. We thought that right up until his bi-yearly dental appointment. He was due for x-rays, and that's when things started going a bit sour. Turns out, at the age of 14.5, he never lost his eye teeth. Neither were they loose. And the big teeth had very little intention of going anywhere, as they were quite happy deeply embedded right where they were. And in their happy state, they were sharply angled toward the front of his mouth; certainly not in line to come straight down into holes vacated by pulling the baby teeth. Which we did.

So now Josh has two holes in his smile, and I have a lot of questions. Will those reluctant adult teeth begin to move now that there's room for them? Will they straighten as they come in? And if not, will they push other teeth out of their way? What if they didn't come down?

Thankfully our dentist is fifteen kinds of awesome and answers all of my questions patiently and thoroughly. And in layman's terms as well. Here's the scoop: we'll give those vacancies six month to fill. If they do not, they will have to bring the teeth down manually. How? Good question! (And you know I asked it.) They will drill up to find those teeth, attach a gold chain to them, install braces, anchor the chain to the braces, and pull them right on down.

Being Parent of the Year, I laughed. Out loud. While my son had a needle in his mouth the size of my finger and was gripping the chair in pain. (He was undergoing the extractions as we happily discussed his future.) I laughed, because all I could think was, "It's an episode of Loggers, right there in his mouth." I'm an awesome parent that way.

This is a rather rare procedure, and therefore a cause of some excitement in the dental world. While the dentist was all matter of fact and low key about it, his aid started waxing eloquent on the gold chain and levels of discomfort. While I may be the worst parent ever for laughing at futuristic maybes, I don't want the boy freaked out before he needs to be. (He's a brave one, that boy, but still. It's common sense. You know?) I motioned for her to cut the excited discussion short, and changed the subject by telling Becky why I was laughing.

Turns out, she was laughing herself. She's envisioning her brother with a gold wallet chain thing going on in his mouth. And I fear she's correct. But we've got 6 months, and I have faith that those teeth will straighten and gravity will help them do what they're meant to do naturally. Because otherwise, I'm going to have to pay through the nose for what little bit of merriment we're going to get out of seeing those chains.

josh's teeth - gold chain, hook to and pull them out - either loggers in his mouth or gang wallet chain

The One In Which The Town Makes Me Cry

Micah's class Christmas program was tonight. It was the second grade class, and he's in third grade, but if you try to keep up I'll make this as simple as possible. The elementary has traditionally been kindergarten through 3rd grade. Micah's Life Skills class encompasses all those grades in one class so the kids have the same teacher for 4 years, and most of the same kids as well. (Consistency is huge with kids like Micah.) This year, 3rd graders in the elementary moved up to the middle school, but the 3rd grade Life Skills students were retained in the elementary. Micah, being a 3rd grader in a school that maxes at 2nd grade, now integrates with a 2nd grade class for homeroom, library, lunch/recess, field trips, and other such things. And of course, the Christmas program.

There. That wasn't too bad, was it? (He's also in a different district than his siblings, because our district doesn't have a Life Skills class in the elementary. It's all very confusing.) (And if your head is swimming a little, don't worry. So is mine.)

But hang on, there's more. In an effort to cut costs, two very small elementary schools were consolidated into Micah's school this year. So the largest district in the county is now even larger. It was explained at the program opening that they had to borrow 3 extra sets of risers to accommodate all the kids on stage, and to please be patient with them if things didn't go as smoothly as we hoped. Although they did. The kids did an excellent job of sitting, saying lines, singing, and general all around listening and obeying. Parents of second graders all over the county have a lot to be proud of.

So with all those extra kids, I was rather amazed that I could still hear Micah singing. We have the nasty habit of sitting waaaaaay in the back. I think there was one row behind us, we were that far back. I do this on purpose. Every other parent sits in the front to better see their child, and if I'm part of that crowd, I cannot see over the head in front of me. Being short sometimes has zero advantages. If I'm waaaaaaay in the back, there are generally a few empty seats that I can space myself behind so that I'm guaranteed to see what's going on up at the stage area. I may not be able to hear whispers of "it's your turn!" but I can see facial expressions. If I squint real hard. And I could still hear Micah singing over the throng of second graders, because that boy loves to sing and has a distinct voice.  He kinda makes me proud.

And because the school is awesome, every child has a line. Even my son, who cannot talk. He got to say, "Ho, ho, ho!" (It's a program about Santa, not the other kind of ho. I just thought I'd clarify that point.) Because things are moving along quickly, the audience is quiet and respectful while the kids say their line. If it was a particularly cute or funny line, we would laugh, and the kids would be delighted. But when Micah said his line, the entire auditorium clapped.

That's when the town made me cry.

Really. I sat there with tears streaming down my face. Not because my nonverbal son rocked the HoHoHo (which he did), but because the love and support of this small town that we call home has always been overwhelming to us. There were plenty of people in the audience that knew Micah, and so many more that had no clue who he was. But there were zero sighs, or eyerolls, or huffs of "just get on with it already."

Inclusion and acceptance are words that every parent of a special needs child fights for on a daily basis. It's all we want for our kids. Our kids will never be normal, so if they can at least be treated like  normal people are, it's the best we can hope for. And the parents of second graders in the largest school district in the county have proven tonight that they accept Micah and are more than willing to include him. In fact, they'll cheer him on just like I do every single day.

And I sit here with tears in my eyes again.

Snapshots of our Weekend

Micah had an awesome day on Sunday. First the kids had their Christmas program at church, and four months of practice paid off. They did so well. Micah loves the play since he gets to sing and dance. We were waiting for him to break out The Sprinkler since it's his new favorite dance move, but he stuck with the rehearsed moves instead. He also got to play his guitar during one of the songs, and as far as he was concerned it was his moment to shine. He's waited for a crack on stage with that guitar for years.

I won't point him out. If you look close enough you can find him for yourself.  You know, the kid who didn't get the memo to wear a red shirt. That would be him.

He was also one of the Wise Men. Or Wise Guy, however you want to look at it.

His crown was rather ill fitting, and made him look very I Have Down Syndrome, but that's okay because he does. And he rocks it.

And after church we headed to the Special Olympics Christmas Party, where there was food, and dancing, and Santa Claus. In that order. He broke out The Sprinkler there, because he totally could. And somehow I lack a picture of that, although I did get him in The Worm. (There are few moves that boy doesn't know. Or employ.)

Hey, I didn't say he was good at it. Or maybe he was breakdancing. Nobody may ever know. I do know, however, that he had a fabulous time. Fabulous in ways you can't even imagine. He was in his element, putting on a show for the entire crowd.

And he and Santa are rather tight this year, but since it's still such a new concept to us, Micah was on his lap, collected his loot, and back at our table before we even realized he'd been to see the man in red. (Parents of the Year, we are.) And then? Micah went back for Round 2 with Santa, but only to give him the picture that he colored. Santa has a track record of awesomeness this year. He graciously accepted the picture, thanked Micah, and set it beside him to continue on with the eager line of Olympians waiting their turn. And I don't have pictures of any of this. (See that Parents of the Year note.) But in my defense, I was so busy watching the other Olympians that snapping pictures didn't occur to me much. The Special Olympians are some of my most favorite people in the whole world. There is no inhibition. No embarrassment. No silly egos to get in the way of just being who you are, and loving every second of it.

All in all, it was a very good day for everyone

The Pack

The Lessons We Learned This Week

Micah got off the school van today with tears in his eyes. My boy doesn't cry very often, and when he does it's a big deal. He started crying again as soon as he saw me. Can you say Red Flag? And then my Mommy Senses (like Spidey Senses) kicked into overdrive.

As he was holding his right eye, I zeroed in on that. It wasn't red, it wasn't bloodshot, it wasn't irritated in any way. I held my hand over his left eye and asked him to watch my other hand as I waved it in front of his face. His right eye tracked well, so he wasn't going blind in that eye. (Hey, Mommy Senses don't scoff at the ridiculous.)

Instead of stripping down to his boxers, Micah snuggled with me on the couch, his face flushed, crying. And he kept holding that left eye. I was baffled. I asked him how school was, and he cried. I asked if something happened on the bus, and he cried. I checked his daily take-home folder and there was no note about anything that happened that maybe shouldn't have.

I got him a cold pack for his eye, wrapped in a towel. He gladly held it on his eye for 20 seconds, then stopped crying, tossed the cold pack onto the couch, clapped, took a bow, and went on to play. He was miraculously healed. For three minutes. Then he came back for the cold pack.

Becky and I came to the conclusion that maybe he had a migraine from being overtired. When we get that tired, the pain settles into our eyes. (If you've had this happen, you know the feeling. If you haven't, there's not much explaining it. Just trust me on it.) Micah moped around for an hour, coming back for the cold pack more often than not, and in general trying to be himself but not succeeding very well.

He eventually fell asleep watching TV, and that happens approximately once a year with him. I kinda thought last weekend that he was tired since he spent Saturday in meltdown after meltdown, but then on Sunday when I had plans to make him nap against his will, he couldn't have been better. A model child, he was. And when he's overtired, he just doesn't get over it. He gets worse. Quickly.

So we all learned something this week. I learned that Micah can now control his emotions and outbursts even when he's so overtired that it would throw even the strongest of mothers who have survived years of sleep deprivation over the edge. (I should have seen this coming. He powered his way through a combination of Overtired and Sleepy Drugs to fuss for 3 hours solid on an airplane trip. The boy has some fortitude.) And Micah learned that getting up before dawn, and staying up for hours past your bedtime, playing in the bedroom, will eventually catch up to you no matter how strong you are.

In the future, son, please just try sleeping. We'd all appreciate it. A lot.

Birthday Party Fun

I try to make birthdays special for the kids, mostly by doing little things. We don't go all out celebrating birthdays here, but special touches make things memorable. (The kids may say otherwise someday in a therapy session, declaring that mom just didn't love them enough to have an all expense paid party to the Bahamas for everyone in their grade. Plus a pony as party favors to each kid who showed up.) So for Luke's birthday, I did a few things to make his day special.

First of all, I thought it would be fun for him to get mail, because who doesn't love mail? I asked everyone to mail him a card, even people that wouldn't normally. Just a card, or even a postcard, with a signed name. But the idea was to have him get cards in the mail for a week. And he did. He loved it! (Thanks to everyone who participated!)

Since we haven't decorated the big Christmas tree yet, I figured we'd turn it into a birthday tree for the occasion. (Don't judge. I have 2 decorated. Things take time.) We put all Luke's cards in the tree, then added a few balloons and lollipops. Except that you can't see the lollipops, and they'll turn into the Christmas Pickle. Whoever finds a lollipop is a winner. Of a lollipop. I suspect we'll find lollipops for a few years. Ah, the joys of artificial trees.

(Hey, I didn't say it looked classy. Or even nice.)

Because Luke is the resident artist, we lined the table with strips of paper, so that everyone could draw as they ate his birthday dinner. That would be chicken legs, upon his request. Of all the things an 11 year old boy could ask for, he chose drumsticks. Each to his own, I guess.

We cut mustaches out of construction paper and slipped them over straws. That was probably the most fun we've had around the dinner table in a long time. We'll definitely have to do that again, just for kicks.

And the cake? I made a monster, because he'd love that. And he did. Except that cake pops and I have a longstanding feud. So far the score is Cake Pops: 2, Me: 0. I'd feel worse about the fact that I'm losing to cake, but I get revenge by eating them. So there. I get the last word, and that word is generally YUM. So this monster's eyes weren't exactly how I envisioned things in my head, because the cake slid down the stick and went from cake pop to cake flop. Luke graciously declared it awesome anyway. So did Micah, after sampling it a few times.

I also learned that a $2 cake decorating tube will give you exactly what you paid for. A hot mess all over the kitchen, in the color of green frosting. It's good to have a backup of quality.

And the very best idea I had for his birthday just didn't happen. I wanted to kidnap him from school mid-afternoon to catch a matinee at the movie theater, and was getting ready to head out the door when Sam reminded me that he'd probably miss something important at school, like handing out the treats he took in for his special day. Those would be the treats I was up until midnight making because I'm an idiot and couldn't just bake cookies for him. No, I had to make chocolate covered chocolate chip cookie truffle balls instead. And there was no way those things were not going to be passed out after spending a few hours waiting for them to harden in the freezer. Twice. So instead, I took Luke (and Micah, because he insisted, even though he was clueless on where we were going) to the movies after our birthday dinner. I just want to go on record as saying that The Muppets were awesome. As was Luke's birthday. At least according to Luke.

Santa Crossed a Line

I have scoffed at the idea of the Elf on a Shelf in past years. The idea that Santa is watching the kids daily is enough to freak them out, but telling the kids that an elf is spying on them and reporting back to Santa will make a kid swear off Christmas forever.

I am, however, chuckling at the antics I've seen families put that elf up to. It also baffles me. It's expected for an elf to be sneaky and mischievous, but he'll tattle to Santa if the kids do the same? Double standard much? And have you seen the elf? It reminds me of something that could be called Chuckie's younger sibling. I'll admit that it scares me. A lot.

So we've not jumped on the Elf on the Shelf boat that's been floating around. But this year I changed my mind. What? I'm a woman, and have that choice. I also have the right to change the rules if that elf is in my house.

So here are the rules for my house:

1. I am using a Santa that I had in the crates of stored Christmas, because I refuse to spend money on an elf that we don't have.

2. I did not tell the kids that this elf was Santa's snitch, nor that it had anything to do with Santa at all. Except the obvious fact that it is a Santa.

3. The only purpose of this elf/Santa/whatever is to provide comic relief for me while giving the kids a scavenger hunt of sorts in the morning. Where is that Santa now, and what's he up to?

And of course, the teens are in on the placing of it, because they're not about to be in on the super fun end of being excited about finding it. Come to think of it, the newly minted 11 year old is also more on the placing end than the finding end. While fun to see where it shows up in the morning, he's also quick to suggest places to put it the next day "for Micah's sake."

So pretty much, I'm hiding this Santa for Micah. And Micah is clueless about the whole thing. Which means that I'm doing all this to entertain myself. I think I need a hobby.

To clue Micah in to finding a Santa, I placed him with Woody on the first day. They sat in the undecorated tree. He was quickly found (as was intended). Day 2 found Santa typing on the keyboard, with Woody watching from the computer chair. Success on Day 2. Day 3 found Santa in the fridge, incubating an egg. Wouldn't you know that was the first morning in 3 months that Micah didn't ask for an egg sandwich? And because I had to point it out, Micah was none too amused to see it there. Day 4 found Santa driving a pink Barbie car, with Woody pinned underneath. I know it sounds morbid, but this is the stuff that Micah enacts a thousand times a day all on his own. I figured he'd be highly amused. He sat on the coffee table, playing his iPod, completely ignoring the car at his feet. But I knew from where he placed himself in the living room that he was very well aware, but chose not to play along with my shenanigans.

That car sat there all day atop Woody, with Santa behind the wheel. When Micah came home, he eventually dismantled the scene to play with Woody. And I saw him pushing the car around the kitchen, with Santa still driving. The last I saw that car, it was driven quite forcefully down the basement steps. Thankfully Sam remembered this after Micah was in bed, because I couldn't find the Santa anywhere.

There was no pink car at the bottom of the basement steps. And Santa was MIA. I searched the basement to no avail. I opened the door into the workshop side, and the car was there, behind the door. Santa was not. Santa was nowhere to be found. Day 5 was the day Santa was kidnapped by Micah for running Woody down. It was a full 24 hours before Santa was found, locked in a spare dog crate in the basement.

I'm guessing I crossed a line with Santa. I now fear for my life in the event that I tick Micah off someday. The boy wanders much in the night. I sleep through a lot. It's not a good combination.

Happy 11th, Luke

We're so proud of you, and who you're growing up to become.

But It's So, So....

Micah is a wise man in the church play. This means that he needed a costume to wear. No problem. I had blue fabric, and gold fabric, and fun trim ribbon, and gold star flecked tulle. It was going to look regal.

On Friday evening, just the little boys were home with me. Luke, being a kinda responsible tween, took himself to bed at his bedtime. Micah, however, has no such compliant tendencies when it involves him being vertical, still, and closing his eyes. And since I was busy sewing something regal, I didn't have the time to make him become vertical nor close his eyes. He sat in the sewing room and played.

But the boy is observant. And astute. Plus, when I held the robe up to him to be sure it was the right length, he kinda figured out that it was for him. And suddenly, he became terribly interested in what I was making, wanting to try it on every step of the way.

When it was finished, he was quite thrilled. It was a dress. For him. And it made him very happy indeed. He was loathe to take it off, but it was now time to make him go to bed, and the robe needed bagged for the play the next day.

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

At the nursing home, the kids were doing a full dress rehearsal for the residents, debuting even before their big production for their parents week before Christmas. Luke was super excited, and went over his lines again and again to be sure he had them down pat. Micah was excited because Luke was excited.

I pulled his royal gown out of the bag, and Micah's life ended. Think Teenager Having His Parents Come Lunch With Them At School kind of life ending. There was no way Micah was wearing that THING. Thankfully, I'm still somewhat bigger than he is, and I'm the mom. He put it on. And then asked to take it off.

No, you need to wear it for the play. See? The other kings are wearing their robes, too.

But he motioned to take it off, and raised his arms over his head to make things easier for me. And when I said, No, you need to wear it for the play, he told me in no uncertain terms that it was completely mortifying to be seen in. In fact, he wasn't going to be seen in it because he wasn't going to be in the play if he had to wear it. And we argued back and forth, making no headway on either side.

The play started, and Micah was sulking on a chair in the wings. One of the play staff tried coaxing him to go participate, but he was not going to be seen in That Embarrassing Thing. So I stepped in and reminded Micah that I was the mom, and that he needed to obey, and his job right now was to be in the play. I had little faith in that speech because Mr. I'm Too Stubborn For My Own Good kinda does his own thing regardless of what the consequences are. It was in my favor that the play was striking up an upbeat rendition of a Christmas song. It involved dance moves. Micah loves singing, and dancing, and chose that moment to get involved in the play. I certainly didn't win that battle, in case you're wondering.

The kids sang and talked and acted their way through the production, and after Micah's big shining moment as a Wise Man, one of the play staff helped the boys remove their robes. Micah looked over at me to be sure I saw him sans robe. But that wasn't enough. He had to walk off the stage and come show me that he was now in street clothes. Non-embarrassing ones at that. HE WON. And then he went back to finish the play, because he loves plays.

That kid will be the reason I someday end up with gray hair.

I Moved It, Alright

Micah's bus comes very early, because his school thought it would be fun to start very early this year. And because Murphy likes to rear his ugly head, this is the year that Micah has taken to sleeping in on occasion. These occasions, of course, always happen between Monday and Friday, but never on those days if it's a school holiday. Sometimes I wake him on the occasion that he sleeps in, and sometimes I do not. The "do not" days generally have something to do with whether or not I'll be in town that morning. I'm coming to realize that I'm in town a shocking number of mornings.

Since I had a 9AM doctor's appointment, and Micah was still sleeping at the time I needed to wake him for school, I chose to just let him sleep. I waved his van driver on, got a shower, and Micah and I had breakfast together before we headed out the door.

I ran back to the house for Micah's hat and gloves because our 50 degree weather turned into snow overnight and I figured he'd appreciate those items for recess. And then I ran back to the house again for the keys, because apparently it wasn't my morning to be organized.

It also wasn't my morning to be the classy mom at the bus drop, because as I was walking Micah in to the school to sign him in for tardiness, I realized that during one of my trips back into the house, Micah slipped a Happy Meal version of King Julian in my purse. He was happily, and quite loudly, declaring to everyone that he liked to move it, move it as I walked into the school office. Those toys should really come with a Break Me Now button.