Brown paper packages tied up with string

This year, Santa brought me a great surprise that I didn't know I needed so much.

When I awoke at 5 am on Christmas morning, there was a bike. Not the one we'd expected Santa to bring for Ana (that one was there too). But a big bike. For me.

When our shed was broken into last year, my mountain bike was stolen. I hadn't ridden in much post-K (post-Kids), although I occasionally put them in the wagon and took them for a ride or to work/school.

This bike was not a replacement of that one. This one exceeds any expectation one should have for such a mechanism.

It's a vintage-style cruising bicycle, the kind you ride with your head high in the wind as you smile at the passers-by with a how-do-you-do. It's a powder-blue metallic sheen white-wall tire-d love machine,

and when we ride I feel a delicious cheesy poem working inside.

OKAY. Enough groaning. I'll stop there.

This bike in the last days when I haven't been blogging has been so wonderful for my spirit. Yesterday I rode it to work, and then down Oak St, to the commercial lane of the bank (to the great amusement of the tellers there, and the security guard emptying the ATM), and down Maple St to get the latest in my juvie-lit series addiction, and the whole time, I felt like the little happy girl inside of me, free from worry and full of love.

The bike is a reminder of my days as an exchange student in Holland where I rode my bike with my new friends everywhere (and in every condition). Through dark streets we'd ride, smoking cigarettes (yes) and telling stories, or in the case of one unrequited love, we'd sing more songs than a jukebox, pausing together at the instrumental bits (them playing in our heads), cycling closer at the grand finales, nearly crashing into heaps of metal, laughing all the while. We'd cycle out to bars to play games of backgammon, served with coffee and a shot (at the Blaue Haand), or sometimes to school (ha!), or to each other's flats...almost as good as where we were going was the getting there. The excitement of being where we were, of making new friends from around the world, of having no worries...How could that feeling reverberate through the air when I'm on this bike? I guess it's been in me all this time, I just haven't felt it in quite a while.

Thank you, Santa.

YES. It's THAT bike. Santa really nailed it. And if a fool-hardy villian should hear it calling, he'd better turn and walk away. Because this time, I WILL find her and take her back.

Oh yes, ideas for names are being accepted.

New Look?

Any thoughts on the new look? Is it annoying that the text scrolls over the background? I'm not sure.

Christmas is coming

Is it possible for children to implode from anticipating Christmas?
Children with mouths covered with sugar cookie sprinkles and dirt from the yard,
wearing candy cane shirts and pants festooned with dancing snowmen,
eyes staring wistfully into nothingness, visions of sugar plums and creepy bearded cat burglars coming into their homes after hours?

I think they just might.

And I think I just might if I have to rewrap another gift, re-hang another ornament, sweep up another broken candy cane, re-tape another Christmas card on the kitchen door, and re-position my children in front of another holiday special so I can get some of this stuff done (picture mouths hanging, ears absorbing only the sounds emanating from the tube).

And as crazy as it sounds, I just love Christmas. Not the insanity, indiffernt parenting, or stuff, but the hot cocoa afterglow once the wrapping paper is cleared.

Merry Chaos, I mean Christmas to you all. (Pass the cigarettes).

Ana is 5 and Oliver is three months old

And these pictures speak of you both:

Ana- my poet. and apparently, makeover queen to the stars! (or at least to compliant baby brothers). You are my sweet dove.

Oliver, my Olive. Your big smile breaks my heart into a million laughs.

Unworthy

A friend surprised me today with the nicest gift I've ever received.

A pencil drawing of my son Oliver that captured his beauty and spirit in a way that overwhelmed me.

This person already amazes me with how much she gives (in the ways that count, like her time), and how much she does (she holds multiple degrees, is completing her Ph.D., dabbles in photography, blogging, baking, housebuilding, fundraising, child-raising, and consciousness-raising).

But this gift. Well, how do I say thank you?

Who've YOU been talkin' to?

My daughter says to me yesterday:
When I grow up, I'm not going to have a job.
I'm going to exercise, and eat healthy, and do yoga.

Well, how will you get the money you need to live, I say.

My husband. He'll go to work, and I'll do yoga.

Update

• My daughter turned 5 last week. That, in and of itself is worthy of several blogs. She is initiating her childhood, the next big developmental phase of her life. It's been hard to wrap my head around...
  
• Back to work, and everything is going great! I'm adjusting better than I thought, and Oliver is in good hands with Tia Haydee and Kevin.
  
• Completed financial aid application for dream school for Ana. Letting go of idea that the school we choose will be right for both of them.

• Although...this from the place I tour tonight:

Students requiring exceptional accomodations, for example, but not limited to: elevators, wheelchair access to classroom and restroom facilities, occupational and / or physical therapy, adaptive physical education, etc., will be accepted for admission by the administration after consultation with the Archdiocese of New Orleans and the Local Educational Authority, herinafter referred to as the LEA.

With gifted classes, it might be a place for both kids. (Ana gets tested by a private tester for dream school and giftedness in January. My daughter has no interest in spatial learning, but is a creative genius---ok, I'm biased...but wondering if these tests pick up on children who make innovative connections and are inventive, outside-of-the-box thinkers).

• And struggling...is a dream school really a dream school if children are all above average, and there is little diversity? Who knew finding a KINDERGARTEN would be such a big deal?