...While Visions Of Sugarplums

It's a strange Christmas this year, as my wife's parents have flown in from a few provinces away to spend the holidays with my kids. My oldest boy of three absolutely adores his grandparents and the fact that they're here is the greatest gift he ever could have received.

Because of the astronomical cost of catching a plane back home on the 26th, the in-laws decided the best (and most economical) time to go back home would be the morning of Christmas Day - at 6AM.  In order to facilitate their sharing in our Christmas cheer and ample time to see the boys with their new loot from Santa, we're having Christmas tomorrow morning.

As I type this, December 22, it is Christmas Eve at my house.

I've had some trouble getting into the Christmas spirit as of late. A lack of snow on the ground, no employment and a feeling of just being overwhelmed by things all played a factor in it, I suppose. Two "shows" doing my regular Santa gig for local day cares didn't even really do much to inject me with some Yuletide cheer. I felt like - to quote Homer Simpson - "Christmas is canceled. No presents for anyone".
That all changed a couple of night ago.

My oldest's daycare was holding their first annual "Christmas Concert" where happy parents and family members would file in to an overcrowded room to watch their kids sing a holiday ditty that they had been rehearsing for the last 6 weeks. My mood was particularly ornery that night because we couldn't find a parking spot and ended up walking a couple of blocks in sub-zero temperatures with a 3 month old in tow. On top of that, my prediction of the venue being overcrowded was a gross understatement. Imagine your average living room. Now imagine 68 people crammed into your living room.

Ho Ho Oh No.

Cursing under my breath, I managed to grab about 6 inches of real estate along the far wall next to my father in law and read through the program that was handed out to attendees. My son was in Act 4, and he would be singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with the other pre-schoolers. It didn't come as a surprise to us because we got to hear his earnest rehearsing the last few weeks - despite their performance number being kept "a secret".

After the toddler group went through, the makeshift curtain parted and my proud-as-punch three year old stood confidently at the front of the group in his antlers and STUD MUFFIN t-shirt (hey, they requested a brown shirt, and that's all he had. I thought it was awesome). He quickly scanned the mass of humanity and found some friendly faces, beamed ear to ear and got down to the business of entertaining.

I have never been so proud of anyone or anything in my entire life.

With tears in my eyes, chest swelled, I recorded every bit of the performance to my phone but never took my eyes off the little guy. While other kids clammed up, cried or were just plain disinterested, my boy NAILED it. I know it may not sound like a big deal to someone who's never had a kid, but believe me - it was a moment.

My heart grew three sizes that night.

Fast forward to tonight. I cooked a turkey for 6, wrote a letter with the boy for Santa and left out his snack (reindeer treats included), tucked my kid into bed and got to see the excitement in his eyes as he waited for Santa to arrive.

I needed this more that I knew.

Long before life beats you up a little and the cynic in us starts to grow, there was Christmas Eve. The one magical night of the year for a child that nothing else ever seems to measure up to. The only thing on your mind is whether or not Santa is going to find your house and whether or not you had been good enough all year to get that special present you asked for.

I may be on the back side of 30, but I felt like a little kid again tonight zipping my boy into his Lightning McQueen sleeping bag (a Christmas Eve present from Mom and Dad - along with some snazzy Green Lantern PJ's) and kissing him goodnight.

The "spirit" has been found again.

I'm a lucky dude.

I think I hear some sleigh bells up on the roof, so I'd better run.

Whatever you celebrate this time of year, have a Merry one.

Blue Christmas

I'm not quite sure what's wrong.

All I know is that the Christmas Spirit that is normally all-encompassing for me this time of year is nowhere to be found.

I have a great wife, two beautiful kids, a roof over my head and plenty of food in my refrigerator. Hell, I even have a gig as a part-time Santa bringing some Christmas cheer to the kids who I still envy because of their unconditional belief in the iconic man in red.

What I have is what can best be described as the Christmas Blues, and nothing seems to be able to shake them. A prevailing sense of "I think I'll just lay here and sleep some more" has permeated my days and even an unexpected visit from my wife's parents (my son's favorite people in the world) does nothing to lift my spirits.

Good grief.

Suggestions for decking my halls?

Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Huxtables.

Being a parent of two small kids does strange things to a person.
Your brain doesn't function the way it used to, your mouth doesn't say the things you want it to say, and your body just doesn't co-operate 99% of the time. 

My funny, erudite and intelligent wife seems to be on the receiving end of parenthood's mental ravages on a slightly more frequent basis as of late. Long before I was a parent, I said and did stupid things on a minute-by-minute basis, so it's no big deal when I say something ridiculous.  When my wife makes a gaffe, however, it fuels my laughter for days on end because it's always been a rare occurrence around these parts.

A couple of weeks ago we had some family pictures done. It was repeatedly remarked how grown up and handsome my 3 year old son looked by friends and acquaintances. The phrases "future heart breaker" and "model" were being thrown around, and as a parent whose genetic makeup is responsible for said child, I'd be a liar in saying it doesn't make me feel pretty good.

On our way to an appointment for our youngest, I brought up all the comments that the oldest boy's picture was garnering on Facebook. Our exchange was as follows, with my wife in italics.

"So (the boy) is getting a lot of comments on his photo shoot. Maybe we should get him into modeling! Oooh la la."

"Absolutely not. The last thing we need is another Lisa Bonet"

My mind raced through everything I knew about Bonet and couldn't make the connection that my wife was alluding to. I couldn't possibly figure out what my wife had against one of the Cosby kids.

"Why Lisa Bonet?"

"The little girl who was modeling and in the pageants and stuff... She was murdered."

"Lisa Bonet? (wildly laughing) You mean Jonbenet Ramsay?"

"(somewhat sheepishly) Yeah, close enough."

"Oh, but it isn't close enough. You see, one was a kid who was molested and brutally murdered after being exploited by her mother through beauty pageants and talent shows. The other one played Theo Huxtable's sister. You see where the two aren't even close?"

"Okay, stop. I'm tired."

"If you had said Rudy Huxtable, I could see it - same age range and all. But Denise? The worst she did was marry that guy on the show whose name nobody could remember?"

"Okay, you're beating a dead horse now."

"...And she had that spin-off with Dwayne Wayne."

This grilling went on for about 15 minutes before my wife threatened to push me out of the van on an overpass. Feeling confident that I had milked the joke for all it was worth, I moved on to a non-Cosby kid matter.

Later that night, I looked up Lisa Bonet on Google and found out a few important pieces of info.

1. Her husband's name on The Cosby Show was Martin. That was driving me nuts.
2. She legally changed her name to Lilakoi Moon.
3. She named her kid Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa and got married to the guy who played Conan the Barbarian in that shitty new movie.
4. She was addicted to drugs and alcohol for several years and won't talk to anyone from The Cosby Show.

Maybe my wife wasn't far off target. I certainly don't want any grand kids named Nokia-Wolf something or other or my son marrying someone named Martin.

My wife is a wise woman. She did marry me, after all.