New year, new....

So, I'm a little late with the whole resolution thing. Maybe that should be my first resolution: Stop procrastinating!

Seriously, though, I am back. I have resolved to write more and spend less time thinking about writing, reading about writing, or otherwise finding ways to avoid putting words on paper.

To that end, I'm trying to narrow my focus from life and all its events to those things that are most central to my life right now: my kids, and (of course) my dog. No shortage of material there! The rhythm of my days has so much to do with the small people and animals in my life, it seems only natural to write about them. I promise to keep the poop stories to a minimum.

A holiday frenzy, or, afrenzy

That's me - all afrenzy. Every year I swear I'm going to be way ahead of the game. I'm going to be one of those people who mails out holiday cards the day after Thanksgiving, and doesn't even bother joining the throngs at the mall on Black Friday because all my gifts have already been purchased, wrapped and shipped.

Of course, it hasn't happened yet. And I'm guessing it's not going to happen any time soon.

To complicate the already insanely complicated holiday season, my son's birthday is on the 22nd of December. Whenever I mention that tidbit, people invariably say "Poor kid!" Poor kid? Trust me, if having a birthday close to Christmas is the biggest problem he faces in life, he'll have a pretty great life.

And anyway, the person who really suffers for cramming a birthday and Christmas into the same week is me. Once I emerge from my Thanksgiving hangover it hits me: Oh shit! I have to plan a birthday party. And I have to pick a date when his friends will still be in town, mostly. I have to send cupcakes to school before Christmas break. I have to balance the holiday crazies with the attention a kid really ought to get on his birthday. Inevitably, I overcompensate by trying to throw a party at the funnest (is that even a word?) venue I can think of. Don't even get me started on holiday travel.

It stresses me out every year. And yet...and yet I insist on putting it all off until the last minute. I know I ought to simplify. So this year I'm trying to make things just a little bit easier on all of us. Out-of-state relatives will all get gifts purchased online - less wrapping for me, no standing in line at the post office. Holiday cards are coming from Costco this year, and the photo is not what I'd call stellar but it's real. The tree, on the other hand, is not real, but I won't be sweeping up pine needles all month. And my poor put-upon December birthday boy will be having a good old fashioned sleepover.

Ahhh. I'm relaxing already. I might just make it to 2008 after all.

My sweetie

Ours is not an unusual story. I met my husband while we were in college. I was 19, he was 22. We were friends for a long time before we started dating. When our relationship changed to one of a more romantic nature, it seemed like the natural path to follow.

Now I’m 37, my husband 40. In the intervening years we’ve moved across the country, started a business, created a home, had children, and watched our parents die. We’ve made and lost friends. We’ve traveled. We’ve laughed at each other’s jokes (alas, still the same ones all these nearly 20 years) and cried at each other’s heartaches. And still, it feels like the natural path to follow.

We’re starting to see our friends’ marriages run into trouble, which makes me wonder what our secret is. It helps that when my mom met him, she pulled me aside and whispered, "He's a keeper!" It helps that we are truly each other’s best friend, which sustains us when we’re not feeling all that romantic (read: up all night with a newborn baby). And it helps that we respect each other. Maybe more than anything, it helps that he’s still willing to rub my feet while we watch television.

But honestly, I think the secret is no secret at all. We’ve just continued to grow together, while giving one another room to grow alone. When I met my husband, I was still a girl. I was still finding my way in the world and he was there to hold my hand, or to let me take off in my own direction. He watched me become a woman and I watched him grow into a man. When my husband started his business, I was there to anchor us while he took the leap. Now that I’m exploring a writing career, my husband makes sure the bills are paid and puts the kids to bed while I’m hammering out an article that’s on deadline.

In the past few years we’ve taken the occasional separate vacation – my husband skiing with college buddies, me to Las Vegas with girlfriends. We always call to say goodnight, and ask “Are you having fun?” The answer is always the same: “Yes, but everything is more fun with you.” And it’s true.

I don’t know where our path will lead us. I just know that with my husband by my side, it’s the natural path to follow.

Holiday Cheerlessness

I finally realized I'm one of those people who has a hard time with the holidays. It's not just the craziness of the season - though that doesn't help - it's all the sad reminders. My mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just days after her 63rd birthday and a week before Halloween. We took pictures on Halloween night that show her looking fragile and scared. That Thanksgiving, she could barely eat. None of us were feeling particularly thankful, much less hungry, but we managed to pull together a feast anyway.

Christmas was another story. By then, my mom had lost her hair and was wearing a wig. She'd also lost quite a bit of weight. My brother surprised my mom by flying in from DC to spend the holidays with her. He hadn't seen her since her diagnosis, and you can tell by the look on his face in the photos that his worries had been wearing him down. The fear that it would be her last Christmas weighed on all of us. But with two little boys in the house, we were forced to be at least a little bit merry.

Besides the sad memories, I find myself grieving the loss of my mom all over again every time a holiday rolls around. At Thanksgiving I try in vain to remember what brand of bread crumbs she always said were best for stuffing. I pull out the Christmas music and find the Muppets Christmas album that we listened to year after year. My kids listen to it now and that damn John Denver never fails to bring me to tears. It's like the holidays make the loss fresh again. Raw.

So, how do I pull myself out of this holiday slump? So far, I've relied on the two D's that have gotten me through most of my hard times: Distraction and Denial. I pretend the holidays don't exist until the very last minute. I avert my eyes when I walk past all the red and green at the mall and I avoid the turkey section of the grocery store. I stay busy with whatever will keep my mind off the holidays past and present.

I'm not sure the D's are the healthiest route, however. It's occurred to me that maybe the best way to deal the sea of sadness that washes in at this time of year is just to hang on and let it in. Find ways to use my grief to honor my mom. Dig out her Thanksgiving recipes and sing along to the Muppet Christmas album. This year, I might even look at pictures of my mom's last Christmas, and think about all the things we really were thankful for.

Pinto pony

Here's a sure sign I'm getting old. I pulled onto the highway yesterday behind a Ford Pinto that was painted British racing green, with a black stripe running down the center. It also had "classic car" license plates. Classic?

According to Wikipedia, my go-to resource when my 8-year-old has questions, the Pinto was introduced in 1971. That's a year after I was born. So if that Pinto was a "classic" what does that make me? (And don't say vintage. I'm not ready for that.)

Cutest. Puppy. Ever.

You've got to admit it. She's just darn cute.

Too bad she's also a serious chewing machine! She's going through beef tendons (ICK)by the case.

Still, there's nothing like a sweet, soft puppy to make you forgive tooth marks on the cabinets.

Puppy Love, Redux

Well, it's happened. We finally got a puppy. Her name is Beckett and she's an 8-week-old Golden Retriever. She is so sweet, so cute, so...

I might as well be honest, she's hell on wheels. It's like having a toddler with sharp teeth running around the house. Luckily, like a toddler, she goes all out and then passes out for an hour so I have a chance to sweep up the wreckage.

Since I swore I would train this dog, that we would do everything "right" so that she'd be a well-mannered dog, I'm in a bit of a panic. I've read the books, spent hours online, and still this pup is a handful. The kids won't come down off the ceiling because she uses them as chew toys.

At least she's somewhat housetrained - I can count the number of potty accidents on one hand, with a few fingers left over. And she'll sleep in her crate at night. The rest of it, I suspect, is just normal puppy energy run amok. I'd forgotten how much attention a toddler needs - especially a toddler with razor-sharp incisors.

But she is awfully cute. I'll post the photos to prove it soon.