Our story of Christmas Eve

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a present was wrapped especially for the spouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
While the kid freaked if St Nicholas would ever be there.

The kids were worried not snug in their beds,
While visions of lost Santas danced in their heads.
And mamma with her beer all cold in a can,
Had accepted her fate of not sleeping; not a big fan. 

When up in our room there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.
Away from the pile of toys I was midst,
Tore open a storage box and threw up a fist.

The reality of running out of paper and tape was clear,
It's too freaking bad I didn't buy enough this year.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But only one dispenser and eight packing tape spheres.

With a little bit of patience, so rare for this chick,
I knew in a moment I wanted a St Nick.
To come to my house and wrap these presents for me,
I'd be lying if I said I didn't have the thought to flee!

Now toys! now, movies! now, mittens and socks!
On, dolls! On, paints! On clothing with no box!
To the bottom of the tree! to the top of the wall!
Now wrap away! Wrap away! Wrap away all!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard right beside me,
The placement of the final gift under the tree.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
this wretched task was done and it was time to lay down.

My eyes-how they twinkled! My heart oh how merry!
My cheeks were like roses, my nose like a cherry!
I'd like to say it was the Christmas cheer,
but I think we all know - I probably had too much beer.

The pile of presents they were all finally wrapped,
If one more was delivered, the mail man would be slapped.
It wouldn't be pretty if he came by one more time,
I'd probably spend the holiday convicted of a crime.

Back to reality, I thought, did we get everything?
God damn it Alessandro that Elf on the Shelf.
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
How I'm glad we didn't name him Chippy or Fred.

I sprang to my feet, to get my ass to bed,
And thought of how long I'd sleep, those kids I did dread.
But I heard the ball & chain say, ironic & trite,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

Christmas Eve - decoded

Me/ "L, you want to write a letter to Santa?"
Her/ "Um, nah."
Me/ "You don't want to tell him anything?  Thank him for coming?"
Her/ "Well, I would like to tell him I hope he enjoys the cookies."

Maybe you aren't reading it the way she said it - but what freaking five year old says she hopes he enjoys the cookie? She had a slight British accent when she said it. Who IS this kid?

She also needed to ask him about was the chimney situation we have. We have a fireplace in our bedroom and one in our living room. We sound fancy, don't we? Something you should know: neither work which drives.me.bananas. The one in the living room that I stare at on the regular particularly irritates me because not only does it not work, but it's a gas fireplace. And I don't know. I don't understand gas fireplaces (sorry). I don't mind them.  I think people should get what they like, but I like a mess. The smell of wood burning. The real deal. Instead I have a pho fireplace that doesn't even do me right by not taking up space. It's large. In charge. And just for looking at and how could you not see it? It's huge. WHICH I would love, if it would work.

I digress.

We have two fireplaces, which means two chimneys in her head. I didn't really want to get into the fact that they share the same chimney. She was obsessed.

What if he goes in your room? What will you do? Will you be scared? If I hear you scream, what if I forget it could be Santa and I come to your room?? Will he use the stairs to get in the living room? Will he leave the presents in your room? Will he go back up to come back down? What will happen if he goes down the wrong chimney????

She got stuck on it, I was worried (terrified) she wouldn't go to sleep. This was problematic.  I may or may not have been ONE present wrapped. She could hypothesize all night long about how the big man was going to choose the right chimney. If she didn't hush it and go to sleep that bastard wouldn't be able to wrap a single one of those packages. And by that bastard I mean me and the ball&chain. Oh and PS I didn't have one of his gifts wrapped either. And he had many a gift to wrap. MANY. Oye. Oh and the kids. Between Santa, us, the generosity of family.... I anticipating seeing the sun come up. We have been receiving deliveries to our house for weeks. And for weeks, I've been saying "I should start wrapping."

We solved the chimney issue by having her include it in the letter and explain that Santa knows which one to choose. Worst case scenario, (if you don't freaking go to sleep you will have nothing to open. NOTHING I say!) he'll figure out where the tree is. Think about it, not everyone has a chimney- he has to know how to get to the tree? That seemed to satisfy her so we could begin the wrapping process.

Each year, I get made fun of for having too much wrapping paper and a million rolls of tape. Each year, I hear him say "Gee. Hope we have enough paper." Sarcasm is the language of the devil. And this year? I decided - not this year! NO.

It was just hilarious when two gifts in I realized we were out of tape. (Sarcasm may be the language of the devil, but it's mine.)

Good news / bad news:

• We had a ton of packing tape we could use. 
• We had a ton of packing tape we could use. 

It was a crazy pain in the ass, and I feared it would make opening presents take even longer, but it all worked out. We didn't wrap everything and had a few presents out in the open, which really worked out. And of course, I scared up as many gift bags as I could that made sense. I didn't want to take the present opening piece of the morning away, though I considered it. It only took a little under 3 hours but Jingle Bells it was worth. Another magical Christmas, indeed.

The work of an elf is never done.

The very night Santa could say he was "done" with the Guarro girls, this happened.

Her: "Daddy, I've been dreaming things. But I can't tell you, because I want my wish to come true."
Him: "Well, that's not really how it works. Are you talking about a birthday wish? Those you keep to yourself, but you can tell me other wishes."
Me (in my head): "For the love of all things good & jolly what in the what is she going to want now?"
Her: "Well, I've been dreaming about my list for Santa. But I can't say it, otherwise they won't come true."
Him (begins the con on our 5 year old): "L, that's really not how it works - we already sent our letter to Santa and you already told him what you wanted when you met him. If you want to change something, you kinda have to say it out loud so he gets the message? He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake...  he doesn't reads minds."
Her: "Ok, well - you know how I said I wanted a Mérida doll?"
Him: "Yes."
Me (in my head): "SON OF A CANDY CANE. We have 3 Mérida dolls in our possession. Two we bought when we were out because we didn't know if the next place would have the version you wanted. We bought a safety and then found the one you wanted. A third just came in the mail; sent as a gift. You best say you want more than one Mérida doll, because we got'em."
Her: "Well, I don't want a Mérida doll anymore."
Me (in my head): "Of fa la la course."
Him: "Why? Would you be disappointed if Santa already packed up a doll for you? Why don't you want one now?"
Her: "Well, I don't want a doll. I want a stuffed animal Mérida, not a doll."
Him: "Hmmm... honestly, L. I don't know if stuffed animal princesses exist. I don't know if princesses are made into stuffed animals or just dolls."

Her (in her sassiest most serious tone): "Daddy. They are elves, they can make anything!"

Me: (immediately on the Internet finding out if a stuffed Mérida exists. It does. The shipping required, but not guaranteed, due to timing would cost almost $30. There is also a Disney store, 40 minutes away.): "Of course."

While a mother's love can't be measured it should certainly say something that I found my way to the Disney Store that night. I got the plush Mérida. And maybe her horse and three brother bears. If she doesn't freak out when she realizes Santa heard her new & improved Christmas wish, I'm invoicing her for gas.

When you don't know what to say...

you point in the direction of people who have the words you wish you could articulate.

On returning back to "normal" - Brenna (Suburban Snapshots) hits the nail on head, as usual: The Slow Return to Our New Normal.

On why I'm not talking to the kid about Sandy Hook. Why I don't want to talk about it, to anyone - Catherine (Her Bad Mother) creepily in my head and better than I could ever construct : Why I'm Not Talking To My Kids About Sandy Hook.

Trying to laugh again, Allison (Motherhood, WTF) points to those who will let you get your giggle on: Gotta Laugh.

That's all I've got.

Cute ass Christmasry has been happening all around me, and I'm present in those moments. 100%. But when I sit down, here, I'm not here. I'm empty. I'm going to get back into our new normal, but not quite today. Soon.

Unimaginable.

There is no question when a life is taken, at any age, it is sad.  That's not even the word.  Something like that, but worse. And harder.

But these children?

I was entrenched into a workday when news hit of this tragedy, this unimaginable horror in Sandy Hook, Connecticut. Blissfully, unaware. I came downstairs a little after lunch to learn about a school shooting. Terrible. Awful. Another. Why?

But then, but then I learned it's a class of kindergarten children, a first grade class? Babies. Babies like my baby.

I almost can't process this. I almost wish I couldn't. I want to be angrier, but I'm just too sad. Heavy hearted, in a way that I would describe as unimaginable, but how can I? My babies are here with me. To be a parent, to lose your baby at anytime, it's unimaginable.  That's not even the word.  Something like that, but worse. And harder.  But like this? Senseless. That's not even the word. Something like that, but worse. And harder.

I don't want to watch the news. But I need to watch. I need to know why. Not that why will make sense. Not that there is a reason or explanation. What was the catalyst? Not that it would even matter, but that's where my head is at.  My youngest is napping as I type this and my oldest is at the gym with her daddy. And during this time of quiet there are lists of things I should be doing, and of all the things in the background I choose this horrifying coverage. I'm almost unable but to take in anything else, because I need to know the how and why.  Which is ridiculous. That's not even the word. Something like that, but worse. And harder.

And do we talk to L about this? Of course not, my gut, heart & head scream to me. But what if she asks me about it. What if someone else in her class has a parent that didn't shield her from this. What then?

Side note, as I looked for the answer: I found Cool Mom Picks collected some online resources on talking to your kids (or not).

I don't know how this doesn't change a person, however far, far on the outside I sit. Every moment right now, seems like a reminder. When my baby comes home she's a reminder. I'm reminded to keep this community, and all those parents beyond this moment who have lost a child, in my heart. And as heavy as my heart truly is, there is this massive conflict I feel. Because I am bursting with overwhelming joy.  I'm reminded to be thankful. She's a blessing, she can come home. And I will continue to hold on to that, everyday - forever more.  She'll be coming home.  The alternative is unimaginable. That's not even the word. Something like that, but worse. And harder.