Christmas Bells, Miracles, and Fishies

 

I started to blog about my amazing children and how they saved Christmas at our house, but before I did I read a little story in the newspaper about a farm family from long ago with about twelve children and the mom had to take to the dad to the hospital with a serious illness right at Christmas time. So while they were gone the older children milked the cows and harvested the grains and slopped the hogs and built toys for the little ones and chopped down a tree and made Christmas dinner and fed and bathed the little ones and even sang Christmas carols and told them the Christmas story. And you'll be glad to know Mom and Dad got home just in the nick of time and it was the best Christmas ever.

Kind of deflated my more modern story. But here it goes. Hope it's not too disappointing.

At our house we have one little ten-year-old who is the ultimate when it comes to cheer and festivity. He is trying sooo desperately to cling to the sweet sound of Santa's sleigh bells (if you haven't seen Polar Express please stop what you're doing right now and see it.) We also have a Mom with two problems. First, she's one of most sappy, sentimental people ever and this is her youngest child and she also desperately wants him to keep hearing those bells one last year. But she is also pumped full of these icky drugs that have wreaked havoc with her brain and mind. On Christmas Eve, there were these pumped-up steroid fishy-drugs saying "KEEP MOVING! THAT'S RIGHT! ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER!. DO NOT STOP!" At the same time there were these terribly seductive fishies going, "Come on sweetie, just a little nap. Just come put your head on this little pillow." There was this other fire fishie that kept setting my head ablaze. And finally there were these whacked-out fishies just swimming in circles going "AAAHHHHCCCCHHHH!!" My head was a mess. It would be easier to count the number of times I got out of bed than the times I took a nap, though it's all a blur.

Well, there were no pigs to slop, but those kids of mine cheerfully cleaned the kitchen, did the shopping, took the little guy sledding and helped build a snowman before he became spontaneously combustible, and wrapped presents. I was so proud--even if you couldn't tell by my psyched-out demeanor.

But by evening it became clear that those bells would not be ringing unless Mom took off her crazy hat. I sincerely prayed for a Christmas Miracle, and wouldn't you know, I got it. Other than alternating real hats throughout the day (hard to find just the right 'dressed up but at home all day in a hot kitchen with hot flashes going off bald lady hat') I felt like a regular person clear up until Christmas Evening. And maybe the biggest miracle? I, even I, could TASTE the roast beast! (In case you didn't know, the chemo has taken away my sense of taste for the most part. But Christmas dinner was fabulous! How's that for a miracle?)

We didn't make it out with neighbor gifts and greetings like we usually do, and I was in hiding when most came to my door--but I hope you all had a fabulous holiday!


Proof that there was a snowman:

Santa came!

"The Dude" in his new clothes

Cutest Babe Ever! (Grandma in her workout wig)

Can't add much to this. Ethan at his First Christmas finest!