Signed, Sealed, Ready for Delivery

The Christmas cards are going out tomorrow! I've made my list and checked it twice. If you're not on it and you enjoy long, informative, somewhat braggy letters about someone else's kids, email me your address at circe at clytieadams dot com. Jennie designed my card and I can't wait for you all to see her creativity at work. (Thanks!!)

Peec on Earth

Freestone has a new idea about sounding out words. If it doesn't sound like something he recognizes, it must be French. He was trying to sound out "energizer" and it came out "enuh-rrrr-gizz-rrrr." I heard him say, "Why is that in French?" Same thing happened when I put up the Christmas stocking hooks and they spelled out "PEACE." Freestone said, "pu-e-ah-kuh!-eh. Hmm...why is that in French?" He then proceeded to rearrange the letters to say, "PEEC." When his work was done, he stepped back and said in a soothing voice, "Theeeeere. Now we can sound it out! Peeeees." (He talks to himself a lot.)
I asked him, "What about the A?" He replied, as patiently as he could, "Mom, we don't NEED the A." I guess he's right. English has some funny rules. Hopefully, after a few more years in French immersion, he can choose that language instead, whenever English doesn't act like he wants it to. It's always good to have choices, oui?

Any Way You Slice It

Like everyone else in America, we worked hard today, Scott getting up at 2:30 AM to shop, the rest of us cleaning and Christmasifying our home. Scott drove from one end of the valley to the other, picking up and dropping off furniture. I don't know anyone who doesn't have a sore back and tired feet. So when all the kids were finally either in their beds or in their seats on Row H at Lexie's Ballet West Nutcracker performance, I had a clean, quiet kitchen to cook in. Heaven! But...kids have radar for when moms are about to breathe a sigh of relief. It's like a warning light goes off in their heads. "Mom relaxing! Red alert! Red alert! Do NOT let this happen!"

Cute little Ari, sneaking out of bed and peeking around the corner, gasped with delight when she saw me making Jell-o, so I let her help. I thought maybe making Jell-o with Araceli would be a more valuable experience than hurrying and making it myself. I knew I was right when Ari said carefully and with pride, "I am going to tell stories to my children about this. My very first time cutting an apple!"

Araceli is such an emotional child. It doesn't take much to set her off, to make her angry or frustrated or enraged. I forget that it doesn't take much to make her happy, either. A few relaxed minutes at the end of a busy day can buy a full measure of tranquility, happiness and comfort for Ari to lay her head down on at night. I have to remember that more often. What I offer as a mother, I want it to sustain and comfort, and to last. A lot of what I offer doesn't. Years from now, I don't think Araceli will remember the very first time she cut an apple, but she is happy tonight. We all are.

Over the River

Thanksgiving morning started with Dad's Afghans slipping out of their leashes and running away. How many people can say the same thing about their Thanksgiving? Once they took pity on Dad and came back, we all went for our First Annual King Thanksgiving Fun Run. It was really a one-mile walk around the track at the school, followed by a ham breakfast, but Fun Run sounds better. As we circled the track, Dad told the kids about one of his chores as a boy. When a sheep died, Dad would tie its legs to a rope and pull it with a tractor down the hill to the gully behind where the school is, where he would throw it in the gully. I bet there are still sheep bones down there, in the neighbors' back yards. I'll have to remind the kids of this particular chore next time they complain about wiping off the kitchen counter.

Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma and Grandpa's was a wonderful day of good food and family time. Scott searched the ads for all the Black Friday deals and I addressed my Christmas cards, as the kids played and worked on their new coloring books Grandma gave them. We managed to stay long enough to have leftovers: turkey sandwiches for dinner. It was a small crowd; just us, Michelle and Jake, Aunt Marie, Ricky and Grandma and Grandpa, but it was perfect.

Yesterday I was thankful for Ptolemy, because of who he is, but also because he is the culmination of all the decisions we have made. Some were good, some were bad, but despite our shortcomings, Ptolemy was given to us to complete our family. Every time I look at him I am grateful he is here to put a smile on the faces of his brother and sisters. I'm so thankful for each one of them.

I Am Thankful For:

Carpentry

I was in the mood today for an artistic medium a little more meaty than sugar and flour. I traded away all my little girls in exchange for little boys who love to paint and hammer. Even with three-year-olds wielding hammers, the only person in the group who hammered a thumb was me. These little guys were quite adept at the whole thing, especially making designs with elastics once all the nails were in.

One of my clearest memories of being a kid is hammering nails into a tree stump. I'm guessing it was at Aunt Elmeda's house, and any kid who wanted to could hammer a nail into the tree stump. That was an amazing opportunity, one that never came along at home! I still think the tree stump with the nearby supply of nails and hammers was awesome. The boys I collected for my project today, Free, Henry, Matthew and two Joshies, did not disappoint me with their level of enthusiasm. They saw tho whole thing through, from laying out grids to painting to hammering and making rubber band designs. While we pounded away, all the lucky little girls got to decorate gingerbread houses, an SWS specialty. Thanks, Sarah!

Matthew told me that he's asking for lots and lots of duct tape and some good scissors for Christmas. I like it! We might have to have another boys' day.

A Feast of Feasts

Ruby headed off to "Williamsburg" in her 1600's dress for Colonial Day today. She brought two dozen rolls to sustain her on the voyage. During Colonial Day, girls couldn't speak in school and kids were put in the stocks for any violations of the colonial rules. Araceli, in her "pilgrim" dress, took 6 mini muffins to school as an offering to the "Indians" at her Thanksgiving dinner. In Freestone's class, he got a piece of beef jerky for Thanksgiving. While appearing to be a cheap and boring cop out, the jerky was probably the most authentic form of celebration of all the school festivities. Xanthe's class had a "feast." Xanthe, in charge of bringing 13 plates, was intimidated by the word "feast" and didn't want to go until I told her that feast means to eat a lot of food. She was OK with it after that, but her real celebration was today when it was time for ballet. Santa Claus left a brand-new leotard in the glove box of our car! He was going to save it for Christmas, but he noticed that Mom got delayed at the violin shop and didn't have time to go home for Xanthe's leo, so he had one of his reindeer sneak the new one into our car just in time, wrapped in a bag from Pat's Dancewear. I love Santa Claus! And this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for gullibility. Xanthe and I had our own feast at the Mandarin Cafe after ballet so Xanthe could show off her new leotard.

There were no celebrations at jr. high, probably because the original pilgrims left all the jr. high-aged kids back in England because they were so insufferable. Having taken many ten-minute car rides with pre-teens, I can tell you that I, for one, could not have survived a trans-Atlantic boat ride with one. Golda did have a small, humorous moment of thanksgiving, though. She was in the kitchen after dance and ate a mini muffin. She asked me if she could have another one and I said no, of course not. Seconds later the doorbell rang. At 9:00 at night. It was Golda's Beehive leader, with a single chocolate chip muffin in her outstretched hand. She handed it to Golda and told her that she loves having her in Young Women's and wished her a happy Thanksgiving. We laughed, but we also wondered if a muffin is too small a thing to be a blessing and if Sister Gurr's visit was a funny coincidence or inspiration. Either way, we know that sister Gurr does think about Golda and does love her. We are thankful for all the teachers who organize feasts and Colonial Days and late-night muffin drop-offs, and who care for the children we love.

Rolling in the Dough

Whenever a child suggests baking sugary treats, it's always chocolate chip cookies for me. Except for the one grinding-wheat-to-make-flour incident, I've been successfully making and eating Toll House cookie dough for years. With chocolate chip cookies, I can have the whole thing practically done before anybody has a chance to "help." They stir a little, plop some globs on a cookie sheet in between bites of dough and...voila. Cookies are made and I'm a Good Mom. Works great on the nephews. For Ari, a box of corn starch and some water makes a cool art project that looks messy but isn't. Goop is far more entertaining for her than baking and just as easy.

Ruby is another story. Or another recipe. Over the past few months, she has taken an interest in cooking and baking. As long as she cleans up, she has free reign of the cookbooks and the kitchen. Rice pudding has become a specialty, but tonight she tackled grandma's cinnamon rolls. Scott was dubious about her being able to pull off all the steps, with the yeast and the rising, the rolling and the cutting, but the first bite melted his doubts. Ruby seems to have an intuitive sense about baking and the confidence to pull it off. By the end, everyone wanted to help. We all tried out Michelle's tip: "cutting" the log of dough into rolls with a thread (or dental floss). Slip the thread under, cross the ends and pull. It cuts the dough perfectly.

It's so fun to have children who do things that I can't do. Golda can sing, Ruby can bake, Araceli can play the cello, Freestone can master video games, Xanthe is very organized. I don't know why I haven't fostered the culinary arts more in these kids. It's far more delightful to eat a cinnamon roll than to sit through a recital. Just food for thought...

The Future

No sooner had the final curtain fallen on Nutcracker 2009 than Ruby was in tears over Nutcracker 2010. She was crying because Araceli, who will be old enough to try out next year, is tall for her age. Maybe too tall to go up against other 8-year-olds. Tender little Ruby is already worried, thinking of the heartbreak of not being a part of this. Next fall, I'm sure Golda and Ruby will be there in the alley with me, waiting anxiously for Araceli to come out of her audition. If Ruby could keep her fingers crossed for Ari for a year, she would. In the intervening months, Xanthe and Esmae will be working on their Baby Mouse dance, coached by Araceli, in hopes of someday following in the big girls' footsteps. In their Clytie Adams sweats, they look the part, even though they aren't even old enough to be in the audience yet! Xanthe did go with me Friday night and watched from the lobby. She had the foggiest idea that there were people somewhere who were watching it on a stage rather than a TV monitor, but she didn't care because she got to go backstage and see her teacher, Lisa, and hand out thank-yous to all my Chinese dancers. She's not thinking about next year yet. She's just trying to make it until Tuesday, when it's finally her turn to dance again.

We Interrupt This Family for...Nutcracker

"We interrupt this family for Nutcracker" was the inscription on one of the plaques in the Nutcracker boutique, and it made me laugh. Life was completely interrupted by Nutcracker this week, and it was wonderful! Ptolemy, who cries when I leave him at home, was privy to the whole Nutcracker experience from the comfort of my arms and the arms of all the ballet moms who vied for his affection. He's fussy now that it's over and he doesn't have the music and warm dressing rooms and little girls' chatter to lull him to sleep at night. He doesn't know when it's time for his Act Two nap! Maybe he even misses his little buddy, Camden, the other Nutcracker baby!

One of my little dancers gave me a note that said, "Thank you for teaching me the dance. If you didn't teach me the dance I would be wondering what to do onstage." Well, thank heavens that didn't happen! My Chinese dancers sparkled and shone. With their bobbing heads, quick feet and big, gold fans, not one of them looked like they were wondering what to do onstage! I was lucky enough to see Golda's Arabian dance and Ruby's Candy Cane dance from the wings every night. Again, no "wondering!" They were beautiful. Of all the moments life is made up of, those backstage glimpses are some that I hold most dear.

Just like every little girl can't be Clara, every week can't be Nutcracker Week. Just one week out of fifty-two is so laden with sugarplums and candy canes, and though it's sad to say goodbye to such sweetness, it helps us enjoy the turkey and stuffing even more.