That’s what Will has been saying to all of us lately, a seasonal adaptation of the usual “sweet dreams” nighttime routine.
And already, Christmas feels a little like a dream. I both cannot fathom that it is already New Year’s Eve and at the same time, I’m itching to tear down our Christmas tree already like it’s actually a vector for the winter flu. Which, who knows, it could be. I’m told by our pediatrician that the 104 degree “virus” I called her about the week before Christmas was probably the flu, followed by complications thereof for Boxing Day, and so on and so forth until, fast forward to New Year’s Eve, it’s antibiotic cocktails for everyone, yay.
So yes, Christmas came and went in a haze of present-wrapping, cookie-delivering, temperature-taking, tylenol-administering, sheet-washing, gift-giving and general mayhem. But the mayhem makes the magic doesn’t it? Because it takes a hell of a lot of effort for five adults to stay civil and sane while cooped up in a not-huge apartment with two sick kids and so those moments when everyone is feeling the joy all at the same for all the same reasons–those moments really make it all worth it. They are pure magic.
This was the first Christmas Will has really understood and anticipated and Shiloh’s first Christmas ever.
I nearly cried watching Chris’ Dad read The Polar Express to Will for the first time (my italicizing button is just not working, sorry!).
And we logged many hours playing “tree football,” a game Will invented in which all of the adults in the room take turns tossing a soft, stuffed Christmas tree at him.
Shiloh and Will both obsessed over the Christmas tree,
attempting to eat redecorating the tree for days on end.
Babies in Christmas pjs playing with strands of Christmas lights, because, you kind of have to.title=”Shiloh setting up christmas tree-3 by Dani, on Flickr”>
Ditto with the Santa hat shtick.
Will decorated his first plate of Christmas cookies for Santa this year with both sets of grandparents (one set on Skype) oohing and ahhing over his careful work with the icing. He also brought home a slew of Christmas crafts from school that I’m pretty sure will live among our Christmas decorations for years to come.
On Christmas Eve Chris spent 3 hours assembling the play kitchen that Santa brought, but I think he’ll agree with me that the effort has been totally worth the hours the kids have logged already whipping up “breakfast” and handling the mini saute pan like a pro (Will) and flinging the entire contents of the pretend refrigerator on the floor over and over again (Shiloh). Having grown-up thus far with old-fashioned GSO refrigerators, Will does not believe that an in-fridge water dispenser could possibly be a real thing. He says it’s like the juice-pressers at the cafe bars we go to, it’s for making “spremunta”. He answers the kitchen phone saying “Top Chef here, what do you want?”
We had roast beef, latkes and gingerbread for Christmas Eve dinner and homemade Chinese dumplings for Christmas Day. And all of the leftovers from my “cookie diplomacy” efforts with the neighbors. We made Panettone french-toast (Panettone being a Milanese invention it gets passed around like, well, like fruitcake, during the holidays here) and the kids saw their first snow fall. Granted, they were both sick and we didn’t so much play in it as tiredly trudge through it on a particularly ill-timed run to the grocery store but in any case, snow! It didn’t stick but it still felt pretty magical.
And then, suddenly, Christmas was over. Chris’ family was packing their bags for their return flight, the doctor’s office was open again, prescriptions got filled and after a particularly grueling night with the sick, wee ones, we walked into our living room yesterday morning dazed and confused. Where was the houseful of people who needed little more than coffee and oatmeal and fresh towels and who gave so much in the way of stories and games and hugs and adoration? While Chris took the kids to the park yesterday afternoon, I cleaned the house and the silence sounded so very loud.
This morning, for the first time in nearly two months, there were no guests to prepare for, no cookies to be baked, floors to clean, parties to plan for. So we drove to Parma. But the real photos from that will have to wait for another day. I’ve got syringes full of antibiotics to administer and a hot New Year’s Eve date sitting on the couch next to me waiting for me to quit typing and start opening a bottle of wine instead.
Happy New Year!
Oh where to start.
NaiNai came to visit. It was wonderful, amazing really. Where she gets all of her energy I don’t know.
5 days later, we celebrated Thanksgiving. Twice. Our little Euro kitchen produced 49 biscuits, 18 Parker House rolls, 4 pies, 1 turkey, 2 batches of life-changing spicy hazelnut sweet potatoes, green beans, truffle-spiked mushrooms, lots and lots of salad and a batch of cinnamon rolls. We celebrated on Thursday with some American colleagues and again on the following Sunday with the best group of Brits, Irish, New Zealanders, Italians and Germans I could have asked for. And we felt thankful. Really thankful.
36 hours and many dishes later, friends from Delhi came to visit for a week, Will and his best buddy reunited. We ate too much gelato, danced to “Pani Pani” and oohed and ahhed over every single Christmas tree between here and Lake Como. Shiloh came down with a massive ear infection and cut a tooth in the same week. So, you know, we were well-rested the whole time.
We’ve collected leaves and fed ducks in the park, played, written letters to Santa, water-colored, flooded bathrooms, scrubbed kitchen floors, chased Shiloh away from Christmas tree lights approximately 546 times, paid more than I ever thought possible for a 4 foot tall Christmas tree,. We’ve wrapped presents, made gumbo, fudge, gingerbread and at least 6 batches of Christmas cookies. We’ve hosted dinner dates, hosted playdates, watched Will decorate his first real, live Christmas tree, and laughed at Shiloh and Will wrestling in their Christmas pajamas. Will has sung Jingle Bells and Oh Christmas Tree for us approximately 326 times. We’ve walked like a gajillion miles. We’ve been introduced to the first version of eggnog we actually like (it’s Panamanian). We finally got our car and I’ve driven it exactly once (and was cut off by a Lamborghini for the first time in my life while doing so).
Shiloh stands up on her own and cruises around holding onto me with just one finger. Will knows how to ride a scooter and crack the eggs for our traditional weekend pancake batter. The stocking are hung, there are fresh pine boughs and candles all over our living room. Chris’ family arrived yesterday for the holidays which obviously coincided with both kids running 104 degree fevers for three days straight and Shiloh cutting another tooth. In theory, I’ll have the Christmas shopping for the family, the cousins, the neighbors, the portanaio, the school, the office, etc, etc done by..the 25th? Screw Christmas cards this year. We’re aiming for St. Patrick’s Day instead.
I am exhausted. My kids aren’t nappers, not even when they are really sick so there’s not a lot of downtime in our days. I thought by now, I’d have dusted off my nascent photography business or maybe even hired a babysitter. I thought by now I’d be speaking Italian. Instead, most days, I’m in the weeds, doing battle with dirty diapers and play-dough, hauling 30 pounds of groceries and 50 pounds of children from our neighborhood market upstairs to our kitchen counter.
I’m often surrounded by fellow stay-at-home mothers who don’t spend as much time with their children as I do, they have babysitters and nannies and time on the weekends that they spend away from their husbands and children. And while I try to take a very “to each her own” approach to other people’s parenting, there are plenty of days when I wonder if I should be more like these other mothers. Will my children really be better people for me being with them every single moment of their lives?
After all, my mother worked for all but two years of my childhood. I know for a fact my babysitters weren’t always the greatest. And still, my mother and I are incredibly close and always have been. Do my kids really need as much of me as I give them? Are they really going to benefit from all of the hours I’m here when I could be working or at least sneaking out to get a decent haircut instead of hacking away at my split ends in front of our bathroom mirror?
Definitely I need some balance. I miss working, I miss sleeping, I will someday hire a babysitter. I will someday go back to an office. I will do so many of the things that I cannot fathom getting time or head space to do right now.
But today I found a battered Thomas the Train paperback that Will used to make me read to him first thing in the morning, every single morning in Delhi. At the time, it sometimes felt like torture as I’d read and dream I was eating breakfast instead. Now I’m lucky if I get a minute of morning snuggles from my energetic little boy.
And I’m beginning to realize that so much of the time I spend with them, the hugs and kisses and snuggles I give are not really for them, they are for me and for the future me who will long for these days when every hurt can be cured with a kiss and every problem solved with a hug. I will long for these days when the sweetness of our breakfast conversations fuel me through the morning and the bedtime snuggles cap off our days more perfectly than even the best glass of Italian Barolo. These kids, they really do grow up so astonishingly fast.
I’ve been an absentee blogger these past few weeks obviously, but I do miss it and I think I’ll be around this space with hopefully a more functional website and more frequent posts in the new year. Until then, if I don’t make it back onto the site before the end of the year, Merry Everything and Happy New Year.