Christmas is coming the goose is getting fat ....

I cannot believe it has been such a long time since I last posted to my blog.  The holidays sure do keep us busy ... I was thinking this morning how right my parents were/are.  It is better to give than to receive.  I have had the most fun preparing for Christmas at the Monahan-Austin household this year.  The shopping, the planning, building the excitement amongst the kids, their cousins, and ourselves.  We haven't had a lot of cookies, or big events, just time with our family and with our kids.  We've shared stories, and laughed, and even learned a Minnesota version of the 12 days of Christmas.  It has been about family and closeness.  For the most part being together and having each other has been the best present ever; however, it has pushed me one giant step towards becoming my mother ....

While watching TV last Friday my son T said, "Mommy I want (fill in the blank with any toy imaginable)".  I sang back to him "Christmas is coming the goose is getting fat, please do put a penny in the old mans hat.  If you haven't got a penny a hay penny will do.  If you haven't got a hay penny then God bless you!".  This is the response my mother would give us starting around November 1st ending around 8:30p.m. December 24th, when my sister and I would ask for something or tell her we wanted something.  Although I'm sure it came out more like this, "MOOOOooooom I NEED (fill in the blank)". Despite the fact that the response was the same every year, even to date, we never gave up and continued to ask.  My mother is a steel door ... unwavering in her strength.  She wouldn't budge but would always sing, "Christmas is coming ..." We would follow it by an eye roll, a huff, and try again later.  My son is very literal and analytical.  So when I  sang this song to him he looked at me with a furrowed brow and said, "Mommy pennies are NOT made of hay and we DON'T have a goose so how do you know if it is fat or not?" .... Out smarted by a 5 year old again.

I was reminded on Monday, by our oldest daughter, just how magical Christmas can be.  BB said to me, "Have you ever seen Santa?"  I said, "No but I know he exists".  She replied, "I am going to see him this Christmas.  I am going to sleep by the tree and be the first one to see him".  I told her to make sure she had her camera with her and ready because he is quick.  Watching her excitement and delight I couldn't help but remember being her age.   Do you remember counting how many presents were labeled with your name?  Did you ever stack them up and see if your equaled to that of your siblings?  Did you try to sneak a peak and see what Santa was going to bring? Perhaps I am alone in this, but these are the antics I used to pull every year as a child.

When I was about 10 we lived in a house where the bedrooms opened up onto a landing that overlooked where the dining room table was.  After my parents would send us off to bed the torture would start.  First came the rustle of the shopping bags.  Then the wrinkle of the wrapping paper, which was soon followed by the slicing sound the scissors made as they cut across the paper.  The final straw was always the screech of the scotch tape holder.  That single sound would send us over the edge.   When I finally couldn't stand it anymore, I would "sneak" into my sisters room and try to keep her from giggling from excitement.  Honestly, this was the hardest part of our whole venture as she was, and still is, a giggle monster.  Beans and I would quietly sneak out of her room, making sure to step over the squeeky spots on the floor, and sit at the top of the landing to try to sneak a peak.  Just as we would start to get comfortable and think we had "pulled it off" we would hear Mom yell up the stairs, "Girls GO TO BED".  We would squeal and laugh and go back to bed yelling back "I can't sleep Mom.  I'm too excited".  My mom's response .... "Santa can't come if you're still awake".  OH DRAT .... foiled again!  Darn that Santa, he has so many requirements.  So off to bed we would go.

I couldn't tell you what we actually got for gifts, or what was in our stockings, but the memory of trying to "pull one over" on my Mom and Santa to sneak a peak will forever be something I carry with me.  It is the gift I receive every year from my parents.  The gift of a happy childhood.

What is love?

There is a Dee-Lite song titled, "What is Love?" and while I am absolutely sure, for those of you who know the song, that my parents would NOT like the song, the question is a valid one, what is love?

As children we are taught about the fairy tales, and believe that some day our prince will come.  He WILL have a white horse.  He WILL have our glass slipper.  There will be a fairy Godmother who will turn our old dirty regular clothes into a beautiful ball gown, and yes, oh yes, there WILL be a ball, and our prince will glide us across the floor while music surrounds us like a cocoon.  He will wake us from our slumber with one single kiss, slay our dragons, and we will live happily ever after. 

My parents truly got their fairytale.  My mother's prince did show up.  He was dashing and gallant but he totally bummed a ride on her horse.  There was no glass slipper, because hippies would want to conserve the water used for the glass to ensure safe drinking water was available for all of God's children, but there was a dress - no puffed sleeves or oriental silk, but rather empire waisted chiffon.  There was a ball, there were attendants and I'm sure music (albeit probably a Simon and Garfunkel song or Summerbreeze by Seals and Croft) that surrounded them like a cocoon as they glided across the dance floor.  AND they did live happily ever after. 

What the fairytale fails to tell you is happily ever after is a mindset, not a moment or state.  You don't get to glide across the dance floor for the rest of your life, but rather you have moments in life where the dance floor will appear and you will get to glide with your prince for a few moments.

Happily ever after in the real world is the make up after a fight.  It is the calm after getting a restless child down for the night.  It is the sigh of relief when you are told it is just a sprain, its not broken.  It is the phone call after a loved one has landed from a long flight over seas telling you they have arrived safely and the joy you fee when they tell you they will be coming home 1 day earlier.  It is the moment you find out your spouses cancer is in remission.  It is the brave face you put on when you find out their cancer is back.  It is supporting them at their parents funeral.  It is a family dinner.  It is the occassional dinner without children.  It is sharing the joy of a Grandchild's birth.  It is in going to church together.  Sharing the holiday's, sitting on the porch, the simple touch of one hand to the other communicating I understand, and the look in their eye that says, "I love you".  It is the comfort when the pain and tears can't be held back.  It is the solace and peace you find in them.  That is happily ever after.

My Grandma (some call her Duckie, she is my Mom's mom), has always said, "If you cut one, the other bleeds".  To me while gruesome in the visual, says it all.  That is happily ever after.  That is love. 

So what is love?  It is what we all seek, it is the fairytale, it is the happily ever after, it is my parents.

The birds and the bees will getcha every time.

A while ago our youngest daughter Lovely came around the corner as my husband and I were kissing and hugging. She giggled a little and then looking a bit perplexed asked, "Daddy why do you kiss Molly?" His answer, "Because she is kissable". I laugh because the look on our daughters face said, "How do you know if something is kissable?". He said, "You just know, but it is how we show our love for one another". She said, "Can I kiss you?" I thought to myself oh boy.... I'm not prepared to talk to a 6 year old about the birds, bees, and everything else in between. It was innocent enough but is still something that should be talked about and conversations about intimacy should always be handled with care. This interaction with our sweet little girl reminded me of one of the funnier memories I have of my Mom about the same topic, albeit it wasn't as innocent as the conversation with our daughter.

Mom and I were sitting at the diningroom table talking about this and that then the conversation took a drastic turn southward and went something like this:

Me: Mom what happened to your wrist (noticing a mark on her wrist)
Mom: Oh that?
Me: Yes, what happened
Mom: (with a dead straight face) Oh, that's from the handcuffs when your father and I have
our kinky sex
Me: OH MY GOD! GROSS MOM! DON'T Tell me THAT!!!!!! My ears are burning.
AHHHHKKKKKK. I can't believe you woud say something like that.
Mom: (laughing her a&% off) Gotcha! I burned myself taking the cookies out of the oven
yesterday.
Me: Phew. Thank GOD! Being that my sister and I are adopted I am fairly certain you and
Dad are still virgins. GROSS. Please don't ever do that to me again!
Mom: I make no promises (laughing)

Sometimes your parents give you great ideas on how to shock the crap out of your children; and they can remind you that there is so much humor in everything you. To be fair I should probably wait for my children to be in their late twenties like my mother to ensure I receive the optimal response.

Dads and Daughters

Growing up my Father took care of his mother towards the end of her life. He always made sure she had the basics, and some of the not so basics, like a new roof, when hers was leaky. A new bed when hers was old and musty. New flooring and carpet when her house flooded from the snow meltdown. He always took good care of her. She used to tell him to quit buying her stuff. She didn't need stuff. So when he would show up with something new to replace the old he would tell her, "I found it on the side of the road". As a child I always thought this was strange. Why on earth would Dad "lie" to Grandma and tell her such tall tales? Obviously he didn't find whatever he happened to be bringing up to her house on the side of the road.

In the last few years I have watched my Dad's physical health slowly decline. He went from being very active, to somewhat active, to being in constant pain and at times barely able to walk. It is hard to watch your parents grow old. Their bodies become their Judas, they betray them. Over the summer I would show up with random things that would help him, a new this or a new that, and Dad would argue and fuss and tell me to quit spending my money on him. Towards the end of the summer I bought him a pair of shoes designed with extra support for stability and he said, "Oh Mol, would you quit it. They are nice but quit it". I looked him straight in the eye and said, "What??? I found them on the side of the road". He didn't utter a peep.

It's hard for our parents when we become them.

Like Father, Like Daughter

My father is an early riser, he always has been. I cannot remember a day when Dad wasn't up before the family, and often times was off to work before we were even thinking about getting out of bed. As a child I couldn't understand why anyone would want to get up early if the opportunity to sleep in and stay snuggled in your bed presented itself. It seemed like madness, complete and utter madness. Mornings were for the birds, the bugs, and other things that could nap on and off throughout the day without penalty, like our cat.

Fast forward about 15 years. I am now in my mid twenties. I have a house of my own and "visit" my parents, rather than live with them. We would spend the day together enjoying memories of the days past, and would be off be off to bed well past the double digit hours. It was during this time that the oddest pehnomenon took place. I found myself waking up early, and not just the normal "6 a.m." before work early, no that would be too normal. No this was a before the sun comes up, are you seriously awake, what the hell, 3 a.m. kind of early. INSANITY!

I would wander downstairs to find Dad sitting on the couch enjoying his coffee in the silence. While one might think Dad would find my internal clock's new time zone a disruption to his morning communion with his thoughts. He welcomed the time together. Just us. Dad and Daughter. We would talk about work, relationships, people, places, memories, .... life. It is during this time I grew to see my Dad as more than just the bossy guy who "made" me mow the lawn - which admittedly I only did about 6 times in my entire teenage life - but rather a critical component to the core of our family. He, like my mother, believes in the strength of family more than anything else on earth.

As I have matured so too have our early morning conversations. I have come to realize that my Dad was not an idiot, that he DID know what he was talking about and that I do NOT know it all - I know, I know .... This is shocking! Dont take it too hard. I, myself, am still getting over the shock, and trust me when I say it will take a little while to absorb, grieve, and come to accept the fact that parents know more about life than their children. Understanding when to capture a moment and turn it into a ritual that becomes a fundamental part of who we are is a parents job. It is this gift - knowing what our children need, even if it is not articulated or requested - that parents never cease to give their children.

Sometimes we welcome the opportunity to become our parents ...

Fart humor ... something only boys understand

It's a good thing kids don't come with an instruction manual. It would take away the surprise of not knowing what is going to come next ...

Conversation with my 5 year old:

T: Mommy I am going to fart
Me: Gross. I'm going to leave so you can have a moment
T chasing after me: No mommy I want you to hear it (ffffsssst, squeek. Giggles)
Me: Still gross (laugh)
T: Cool did you hear it? (giggles)
Me: Yes. Sigh.

Ah the joys of motherhood. I'm not sure which I enjoy more the constant fart noise that fills the air or being used as a kleenex. Both enrich you life so fully it is hard to choose a favorite.

Cinderella's Shoes

I had a moment of deja'vu yesterday. When I was a girl I used to love to go to my Grandmothers house, not necessarily to visit her but to visit her accessories. She wore "high heels" with matching handbags. I coveted her jewelry and make-up. Unlike my Mom who wore cherry chapstick, my Grandmother wore electric red lipstick. She was exotic and I was hypnotized by the lure of their shine and sparkle. The arch of the shoe, the silky smoothness of the leather, the eye catching twinkle of the earrings. When we would visit Grandma would let me wear her shoes, carry her handbags, and even wear a necklace or two around her house.

I was in awe of how the right shoes, handbag, and jewelry could transform a plain black suit into a work of art. Almost 30 years later I am still entranced by the way the perfect pair of stilettos can transform a wall flower into a femme fatale. How the subtle flash of a small diamond earring can catch the eye of a stranger, and the glossy shine of lip balm can seduce the most innocent onlooker.

Yesterday my step-daughter, Sweet Pea, came into the kitchen in a pair of my red shoes. She said, "Look Molly. Aren't they beautiful?" The make me look beautiful. My eldest step-daughter, BB, is learning to coordinate her accessories with her outfits and wore a black and white top with color gradation, black shoes, with jeans and carried a black patent coach clutch. She was striking in her outfit. My son made sure he pointed out his pants and his shirt matched, "Because you have to match Mommy!" and my youngest step-daughter, Lovely, was so proud of her ability to coordinate her shoes with her outfit.

It is important to be proud of who you are an confident in your person. Each interaction with my children this past weekend was a flashback to my childhood. Not only do we become our parents but our children become us.

What the ... ????

Today is my first day as a blogger. It is an interesting phenomenon, blogging. You're baring your thoughts to the world not knowing exactly what that world is comprised of. I am in my mid 30's, and by mid I mean this is my 35th year on earth, and am divorced. I have a beautiful son who is 4 and am dating a wonderful man who has 3 daughters. Yes, 3. As a child, pre-teen, teenager and adult I never, ever, ever, ever, ever would have thought I would make a good parents. Yet here I am today parenting 4. Isn't life amazing? I spent my entire life up to now working hard at becoming that which my parents were not and now that I am here. I realize, HOLY CRAP, I have become my parents.