A New Year, Lots to Celebrate in 2013

It's 2013 and I can proudly say that I've made no resolutions, although I have made a few, um, suggestions for myself for the new year.

As I skimmed through my brand, spankin' new 2013 calendar -- trying to ignore that nagging, superstitious feeling that anything with the number 13 is inherently unlucky -- and was taken aback when I realized several things:

I completely forgot to book my kids' annual doctor's appointments last year. Whoops.

My eldest two kids are not only going into high school this fall, but are going to turn 15 this summer.

Our "puppy" will turn 4 this spring.

Easter is very early this year.

Oh, and 2013 will mark the year that I become a published novelist. Seriously. Remember that book I talked about earlier, Mortified: A Novel About Oversharing? Well, it's going to be published this spring. More deets on this later . . .

After I marked down all the birthdays and anniversaries on the calendar, I thought about 2012 and what promises the new year holds and came up with several things we've got goin' on in the plus column:

-- I made it through Christmas without getting the swine flu or a stomach bug, both of which have sullied previous celebrations of Yuletide splendor.

-- The Youngest Boy did NOT freak out when he discovered that there was NOT a bow-and-arrow set beneath the Christmas tree. Katniss, he is not.

-- The older two went to a boy-girl New Year's Eve party while The Spouse, The Youngest Boy and I ate Chinese food (the adults had the take-out, the kid had leftover pizza . . . because I've been a lazy chef as of late. No judging!) and watched the second Lord of the Rings film, The Two Towers, because we wanted to have a quiet, family evening, save for our partying teens.

-- Our ice rink (pictured above) is actually operational! Longtime Picket Fence Post readers know that the subject of our backyard ice rink has been a source of tremendous angst for The Spouse, with the exception of one, spectacular year (the same year I got swine flu for Christmas, apparently because I'd been a wicked girl during the prior 12 months). Our history when it comes to this brand of home recreation is, shall we say, checkered, thus my joy at the fact that kids are actually SKATING on the rink into which The Spouse has invested so much money time.

-- The Spouse and I are both gainfully employed on a full-time basis. I'm currently on winter break from the university where I teach and am busily working on new syllabi for the spring semester. I'm very enthused about a course I'm developing.

Things in the minus column:

-- I haven't attended a yoga class in months. It was either sleep or yoga. I couldn't do both, so yoga got the shaft. And the kids have noticed. The Spouse has noticed. How did they notice, you might ask, other than by assessing muscle tone? Because when I'm actively practicing yoga I will experience moments, or stretches of zen-like, "yo dude" calm. That zen thing, my friends, has been noticeably absent, my patience practically nonexistent. Piling on a stress-filled Christmas season didn't help. Therefore, it is VITAL that I find a yoga class that fits into my crazy schedule. Soon!

-- I haven't had a real date with my husband since we celebrated our 20th anniversary in the beginning of November. (We did go to see Lincoln a few weeks ago while the kids saw a different movie with friends, but since the kids were in another theater and it was in the middle of the day, I don't consider that a date.) This situation, like the yoga one, also needs to be rectified.

Overall, the Picket Fence Post family is heading into 2013 with hope and eagerness, and I, personally, plan to laugh like a maniac when I gaze at our family calendar and discover that all five of us are scheduled  for something at the same time in different locations. Or maybe I'll just cancel all of our appointments and have us all go ice skating in our yard.

It's Spring and the Rush is On (Hockey, Lacrosse, Soccer, School Projects, Concerts, Easter & Passover)

It used to be that the month of December -- when the Picket Fence Post family celebrates both Christmas and Hanukkah -- seemed like my most tension-filled time of the year. My "To Do" lists were gigantic and the pressure to get everything right -- gifts, holiday cards, "big" meals, decorations -- could be intense. But as my kids have gotten older, I've come to believe that the spring has actually supplanted Christmas/Hanukkah time as one of the more intense time of the year? Why? Let me count the ways:

Hockey is still on-going in its pop-up-out-of-nowhere practices and games, wreaking havoc on my family calendar.

Lacrosse has begun (this is our first foray into youth lacrosse) and the sport has an extremely intense practice schedule (three practices a week and one game on the weekends . . . and The Spouse volunteered to assistant coach, after he head-coached two basketball team and assisted on another this winter). One of my children, who shall not be named, plays on both hockey and lacrosse teams, whose practices and games overlap until hockey concludes next month, ending the August to April season. (Yes, August to April. For grade schoolers.)

My e-mail box is getting deluged with missives from coaches/league organizers for the Picket Fence Post kids' travel soccer teams, establishing practice times and locations, then changing said times and locations at the last minute. (I now only pencil in these dates.) I currently am unclear as to where and when the games and practices will be for those teams and how they'll fit fit into the hockey/lacrosse picture.

The Girl has also become an official soccer referee (she had to take a long class to become certified) and is supposed to be officiating youth soccer games for the first time this spring. I've got no clue as to how this is going to work. I'm also hoping no lunatic sports parents give her a hard time.

School bands are suddenly switching into high gear with band competitions and performances cropping up all over the place like weeds. I just found out from a fellow band mom that after last week's jazz band performance, a week after a jazz band's talent show performance, a week after an out-of-state band competition, that there's another concert this week AND a competition on Saturday (but I knew about Saturday's, and it's local, yippee). That unanticipated concert happens to be at the same time as a hockey practice AND a book club meeting for a group I really want to join. (I missed the last meeting because of kid-related stuff.) The Spouse has a work engagement that night as well. Don't yet know what that night's going to look like.

Spring class projects. When the flowering trees start to blossom, we know that the smell of drying glue and a forest of tri-fold boards are bound to be taking over our dining room, because if it's spring, it's time for at-home school projects. This usually leads to 11th-hour pleadings from The Ungratefuls for me to rush out and get supplies that they "didn't know" they needed, despite the detailed supplies list their teachers gave them weeks ago.

Then there are the twin religious holidays which require that I temporarily re-locate those school projects from the dining room (usually they're shoved into my horrifically disorganized closet like everything else) in order to prepare for Passover and Easter. We typically host Passover dinner for The Spouse's family and then share Easter Sunday with my family. But before that occurs, I've got to buy lots of matzo (The Spouse and The Girl are the only ones to eat matzo for the Passover week, unlike the rest of us bread-eaters who only indulge in matzo during our formal Passover dinner) and other Passover accoutrements. Plus, I've got to buy tons of eggs (need 'em for both holidays) and an egg dying kit and Easter candy, actually remember to dye the Easter eggs with the kids and make whatever it is I'm going to bring to Easter dinner, provided we're not hosting.

*deep, cleansing breath*

It's all good, I keep telling myself. It'll be fine. We'll figure out a way to handle all of this and, in the meantime, I'll just have to color my hair more frequently to keep stress-induced gray hair at bay.

Get Me . . . I'm Gonna Be All Positive & Valentine-y

My normal, modus operandi is to mock Valentine's Day as a commercial venture ginned up by card companies, chocolatiers, florists, restaurateurs, lingerie manufacturers, jewelers and other assorted retailers in order to yield one big infusion of cash to tide them over until the next big, gift-giving national holiday.

"Why do we need a special holiday to celebrate love?" I'd ask. "Isn't that what your anniversary is for? And the birthdays of the ones you love?"

The Spouse also subscribes to this way of thinking, resentful at being told that he must demonstrate his love and affection by presenting me with something tangible every February 14, something that wasn't picked up at the convenience store on the way home from work.

But, as I seem to be doing a lot lately (see my previous blog entry), I've been rethinking this attitude. What if, instead of resenting the hearts and flowers and chocolates being shoved in my face by the onslaught of Valentine's ads, I embrace the sentiment instead? Hence, I've decided that. like with my refusal to allow stress and pressure to wreck Christmas, I'm not going to permit my rampant cynicism to put the kibosh on February 14. No, I'm not going to go all crazy and spend days baking all things heart-shaped and chocolate. I'm not planning on slaving away to make a grand, gourmet meal. I'm not making candies for all the children the Picket Fence Post kids hang out with (nor am I buying candies for dozens of children either.)

Instead, I'm going to aim for simple. Simple can be good, enjoyable even. I've purchased The Spouse one gift as well as some sweet tokens for the Picket Fence Post kiddos. Whatever we wind up having for dinner on February 14 -- whether it's frozen pizza, pasta or something easy to prepare -- the whole family can eat in the dining room at a candlelit table (we always have candles in the house) with some Sinatra playing in the background. All I'll do is pick up some kind of chocolaty dessert someplace on that day. That will be perfect.

In my new found spirit of mirth, I even picked up a box of Hello Kitty Valentines and will give them out, just because. (Now that the kids no longer have Valentine's Day parties at school where they distribute Valentines to all their classmates, I kind of miss the little Valentines with cartoon characters on them.) Filling them out makes me feel Lorelai Gilmore-esque. With all this cheerful, pro-Valentine's Day spirit, the Picket Fence Post kids and The Spouse will demand to know whether I've been sipping one too many gin and tonics.

Decorating the Tree: 'This is Your Life' in a Couple of Red & Green Bins

Keeping in line with the Picket Fence Post family’s fa-la-la-la-la 2011 Christmas  -- wherein I try to maintain a happy, cheerful Yuletide facade -- we’ve finally decorated the family Christmas tree after it sat in its tree stand, stark naked in the family room for several days.

I always marvel, every single year, at the memories I inevitably unwrap when I remove the ornaments from their plastic bins. (This year I had to keep vigil over the ornaments because Max the dog kept slyly grabbing them and scampering away in a joyous game of chase . . . joyous on his part. It was an unfortunate time for Max to suddenly become mischievous and charge around the room.)

It was hard not to smile when we looked at all the “Baby’s First Christmas” ornaments, the here’s-my-handprint-when-I’m-7-years-old ornaments which always evokes melancholy about how fast time is passing. There are the ornaments from vacation destinations, like the Grinch and Max one we got at Universal Studios this summer, the pewter sand dollar from Cape Cod, the trolley car from San Francisco and the Chateau Frontenac ornament from our Quebec odyssey last year. There are the ones my grandmothers made me or gave me when I was a teen, in preparation for the day when I’d eventually have my own tree. I fondly look upon the Lenox one my mother gave The Spouse and I for our first Christmas in our first house. We annually re-tell the anecdote about the cloth snowman ornament onto which a 2-year-old Eldest Boy wiped his chocolate-covered face one Christmas at my parents' house.

It’s like This-Is-Your-Life contained in a couple of red and green bins. And the tree really reflects much of what we love, from the kids' ornaments of ballet dancers (when The Girl used to take dance) and the soccer and hockey ornaments, to the Harry Potter and Star Wars themed ones they've coveted. In addition to the Red Sox and Patriots ornaments on our tree, I added a new one this year to honor my caffeine addiction: A tiny Starbucks coffee cup ornament at which The Girl rolled her eyes when I showed it to her.

“Are we putting all of these on the tree?” The Spouse asked incredulously as if he’s forgotten that we somehow always manage to fit them onto the tree quite nicely, with the exception of the glass balls we bought when we shared our first tree together (back in 1991!) in order to take up all the empty space that’s now consumed by 20 years worth of ornament collecting.

Surprisingly, there was no bickering about the lights – which The Spouse and The Eldest Boy calmly placed on the tree – and no fighting over who got to put which ornament onto the tree.

Only one ornament was broken and it was my fault. I accidentally knocked the Rudolph and Hermie the elf ornament (where Rudolph’s nose lights up if you press a button) onto the floor, decapitating Hermie and knocking off his left hand, onto which the string to hang it was attached. I was able to pop Hermie’s head back into place pretty easily, but his hand is unfixable. Now that ornament is sitting on the mantle, a testament to my clumsiness.

After the decorating, we shut off all the lights, grabbed candy canes and sacked out on the sofa for several minutes to admire our handiwork. Not bad, not bad at all.

So How's the Christmas Zen Thing Going? Tenuously . . .

I’m trying, fighting against the odds, to maintain my grip on this Christmas Zen thing to which I vowed to adhere in order to keep myself from going crazy during the harried holiday season in my interfaith home. But life is not making it easy, nor are the folks on the radio, TV and elsewhere who delight in telling us how few “shopping days” there are left before Christmas arrives. It’s stressing the hell out of me and I really wish they’d just knock it off.

Not only that, but it feels as though a million little things keep coming at us, affording me precious little time to breathe never mind enjoy the season, stuff like shows for the school bands the boys are in (one which required me to run to stores the night before and buy The Eldest Boy a black dress shirt), a book swap at The Youngest Boy’s school (I forgot to sign and send in the paper to give him permission to participate), the Secret Santa in The Eldest Boy’s French class (he just asked me to take him out to buy something for his person), the specific gifts I’m supposed to get for the Giving Tree at church and submit (wrapped) on Sunday, making sure not to forget to attend one of my niece’s performances of The Nutcracker before it’s too late, and getting Max’s ridiculously long -- now partially knotted – Havanese/Wheaten Terrier hair cut (his regular groomer has been ill and we’ve been putting it off).

No, The Spouse and I haven’t started Christmas shopping for our family yet, though we’ve had rushed conversations in dribs and drabs over the phone or just before we’re about to pass out from exhaustion at night about what we think we should get the Picket Fence Post Posse. I think we’re going to have to open a bottle of wine, boot up our laptops and plop onto the sofa together after the kids go to bed on Saturday night and get this shopping done online (and be prepared to pay extra for expedited shipping). At least I won’t have to battle traffic or wait in lines.

And while our personalized Christmas and Hanukkah photo cards have been delivered to the house, I haven’t yet sat down to address the cards and have everyone sign them. (I thought it would add a touch of humanity to have each member of the Picket Fence Post family sign the cards. I have a feeling I’m going to live to regret that wholesome decision.)

No, we haven’t gotten our tree yet.

And while last week I was wistfully pondering all the different kinds of Christmas cookies I wanted to bake – trying to keep that happy Christmas spirit flourishing – there is NO TIME for that right now. I hope I’ll find a free afternoon closer to Christmas to make them. I'll remain optimistic.

However this is the context in which I’m now operating: The other day The Spouse had meetings (of course he did) and I had to: Drive the boys to a math class, drive The Girl to her hoop practice, rush to the store to buy a black shirt for The Eldest Boy's concert and a gift for the Giving Tree, pick up the boys, drop The Youngest Boy off at a friend’s house so another mom could drive him to hockey practice, pick up The Girl from practice and drive her to the library for her book club, drive The Eldest Boy to his hoop practice and pick The Youngest Boy up from hockey practice. (The other two kids got rides home with others.) Oh, and I had a deadline to meet that night. I’ve got another day like that ahead of me next week when The Spouse will be out at some work event.

Nevertheless, I’m forcing myself to be fa-la-la cheery and Christmas-y as all get out. I’ve got a strained smile on my face, but this sunny disposition shall disappear with shocking speed if 1) You remind me of how many shopping days are left and b) I hear the odious “Dominick the Christmas Donkey” song. God do I loathe that song.

Christmas Card Photos . . . DONE!

We had a not-too-stressful photo session with the Picket Fence Post trio and Max the dog yesterday. I dressed them all in red T-shirts that read "Thing" and then a number on it.

The dog got "Thing 1," because the kids were uber-sensitive as to which one of them would be perceived as the literal "number one" offspring and get to lord his or her supremacy over the other, lowly siblings. The Eldest Boy had "Thing 2," his brother got "Thing 3" and The Girl, obviously, got "Thing 4." (There was some minor drama before the session started because I couldn't find the "Thing 4" shirt. I had to search through everyone's dressers, closets and beneath beds, though everyone, including The Spouse, swore they did not have it. After about 45 minutes of harried hunting around I found it stuffed in the back of The Eldest Boy's pajama drawer.)

The kids were, ultimately, cooperative (as long as I didn't ask them to locate any missing item in the house) and the photos looked cute, not of the Awkward Family Photo variety.

But as for Max, he refused to look at the camera when he was seated with the kids. Every time I brought the camera up to my face, he turned his head to the side as though he was some camera-averse celebrity who couldn't deign to look my way because I was lowly paparazzi. Either that or he thinks he looks best in profile. The only time he did look at me when I had the camera in front of my face was after the group had broken up and the kids were all standing around me, as in the first photo above.

I've ordered the photo cards through an online service, so I'm waaaay ahead of last year when I didn't get my act together on the Christmas card front until late December and was sweating over whether the box of cards would be delivered to my house in time for me to address them all and mail 'em before Christmas.

As for my Christmas shopping . . . well, it hasn't even begun. But I've thought about the gifts at least.

*reminding myself that this is going to be a STRESS-FREE December, no matter what*

This Year I’ve Decided, No More Grinch (Seriously)

On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I broke out the Christmas decorations. On my own. No one was bugging me to do it. It was my idea.

This is earlier than I’ve ever pulled out the festive Yuletide décor and placed it around my domicile. (Typically, per my anal retentive must-wait-until-December-1-to-deck-the-halls belief, I wait until the 12th month of the year.) I was singing Christmas carols. I was even smiling. I didn’t have to hassle any of the kids to try to help me out because I didn’t ask for their help. I didn’t want any. I did it myself and actually enjoyed the experience.

This year, I resolved, the Grinch is dead.

The Grinch, normally, is me . . . well, me ever since I had the audacity to try to combine three active children, a career, Christmas and Hanukkah together into one little month. My Grinchiness was compounded by the exponentially exploding school, youth sports and extracurricular activities schedules kept by the Picket Fence Post kids, the responsibility for trucking said kids around to practices falls mainly to work-from-home me. (I coordinate with The Spouse over the nightmare of an overloaded calendar on getting them to games, etc.) I also have the responsibility for sending out Christmas and Hanukkah greeting cards (including the requisite photo), doing the bulk of the holiday shopping, making Christmas cookies with the kids, making latkes on the first night of Hanukkah, buying advent candy for the ginormous Advent elf we have on a kitchen door (which sometimes scares me when I enter the kitchen in the middle of the night and forget he's there), buying the Hanukkah gelt (traditional chocolate coins) and wrapping the gifts.

In past years, Christmas time hasn’t gone all that smoothly. In the mid-1990s one of my grandfathers died on Christmas, his favorite holiday. A few years ago the Picket Fence Post family had to have our cat put to sleep the day after we put up our Christmas tree. (She was having full-body seizures as we decorated said tree with the children, and The Spouse and I tried to act all cheery.) Last year I came down with the swine flu on Christmas Eve, missed seeing The Girl play Mary in the Christmas Eve church service and spent eight hours alone in my house on Christmas Day feeling absolutely miserable while The Spouse and the Picket Fence Post kids went to my brother’s house. Bah freakin' humbug.

But it will be different this year.

I’m shaking off the stress, the melancholy, the feeling of tremendous burdens from Christmases past and starting anew. As I made this vow to myself on Saturday while decorating the mantel with a Santa Claus, an angel and various stuffed characters from the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer TV special, I learned that a beloved senior member of The Spouse’s family passed away. While the family mourns and remembers her – The Girl’s middle name is the same as the now-deceased relative’s daughter – we are making an effort to be light of heart and respect what she meant to us. (This was NOT some omen or sign indicating that the Christmas season is forever doomed in my house, I repeated vigorously to superstitious self.)

This year, despite the fact that we’re heartbroken upon losing a member of the family, I’ve told the Picket Fence Post kids that they’re going to see a different mom this holiday season, one that’s not all clenched and jaded, dark and twisty. As much as it goes against every fiber in my body to do so, I’m going to try to just go with the flow this year. If things don’t work out exactly as planned, that’s okay. If things get missed, well, I’m only human. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect, especially not all at the same time. Things don’t even have to be super-organized (that’s always my undoing, I try to be super-organized then get crushed by my "To Do" list and miss stuff anyway). I’m going to be of the moment this December. I’m going to listen to Christmas music and try to reclaim the spirit I once had. It’s worth a try isn’t it?

Who’s with me? Who’s up for de-stressing Christmas and throwing onerous "To Do" lists out the window, or better, yet, into a roaring fireplace while you sip a mug of hot cocoa?

“How do you spell ‘sword?’ Is it s-w-o-r-d?” The Youngest Boy asked me this afternoon while he was writing his Christmas wish list . . . We might need to swap that hot cocoa with something stronger if a “sword” is on the list.

Things That Bug Me About Mother's Day

I've been feeling rather Grinchy lately, as the ads and chatter about Mother's Day reaches its apex, though last night's episodes of The Middle and Modern Family provided me nice comic relief about the holiday.

Why? Let me count the reasons why Mother's Day bugs me:

1. The overcommercialization. Seriously . . . what makes some people look at a car wash and think, "Moms would like this"?

Here's a handy tip: Not every mom likes the color pink, stuffed animals, cleaning supplies or wearing a sweatshirt with a cartoon character on the front.

Another helpful suggestion: You know that ad you've been hearing on the radio about pajamas that are supposed to make Mom feel like a superhero, and those pajamas include a cape? No. Just. No.
 
2. The pressure. It's one thing to celebrate each person who is important in your life on his or her birthday. You call them, send them a card, maybe get them a gift or share a meal. But imagine if all those birthdays occurred on the same day and everybody wanted you to celebrate THEIR birthday with them? Madness, right?

That's how I feel about Mother's Day (and Father's Day for that matter). No matter what you do, you're bound to disappoint somebody. And I hate disappointing people.

3. The gift. Try to find an appropriate gift which says, "Thanks for putting up with my crap when I was growing up." A gift that you haven't already given your mom a thousand times before. Nothing can really do the trick or possibly express how much all that woman's efforts meant to you. I'd much prefer to put the time into a meaningful birthday gift rather than a Mother's Day gift for all the moms in your life (and your spouse's life) simultaneously.

4. The falseness. There are many stories I've heard from moms who've had utterly awful Mother's Day experiences where they've had to drag their very young rug rats to a white linen and real silver flatware restaurant for brunch and struggled to keep the children from chucking their food, knocking things over and navigating the buffet line without knocking that great grandmother with the walker over there into the tray of Belgian waffles. But those moms had to plaster a fake smile on their faces and pretend as though they were having a great time.

How come we never hear about Father's Day brunches? 'Cause they don't have to suffer through them. Instead, they get barbecues with hamburgers and hot dogs and chips. And beer. And baseball on the TV. I wanna trade.

Here's what I do like about Mother's Day:

1. The cute factor. When your kids are young, they really try, in the narcissistic way that children have, to do something for Mom, even if they need ample help from Dad to accomplish it. (This can also work for grandmothers with young grandkids too.) They hand you scrawled crayon drawings of you and the child holding hands and there are lots of hearts on it. They give you sticky kisses. The craft that they made at school is still wet with glue when they hand it to you in bed.

Once your kids are of driving age, that cute phase is long gone. That's when they get a store-bought card that's been hastily signed and read a text that just came in on their cell phone while you were reading their card. Then they ask you for the car keys.

2. The excuse it gives you for family time. Mother's Day is a great excuse to take a pass on crappy errands, tasks or things that you don't want to do (unless it's Mother's Day brunches) and just chill with your family. I, for one, like Mother's Day the best when it's ridiculously simple: I don't want to cook and I don't want to do dishes on that day (or any other day for that matter, but that's another blog post). We can just hang out or maybe walk around at a park if the weather's nice. Oh, and I want hugs and don't want to referee an argument about the TV remote.

What do you think of Mother's Day? Are you a fan or not so much?

It's worth noting that a writer on the web site Babble claims that the woman whose efforts led to the creation of the national Mother's Day holiday later hated what it had become and tried, in her final days, to have it abolished.

Getting Irish With It

These days I approach each March 17 with mixed feelings. Despite my Hibernian surname, I’m only one-quarter Irish. In addition to Ireland, my ancestors also hailed from Spain, England and Austria. Throw in The Spouse’s Russian/Austrian background, and the amount of Irish blood flowing through the three Picket Fence Post kids’ veins amounts to only one-eighth.

Yet we still celebrate St. Patrick’s Day with some vigor. Or at least I do and try to get the kids to care about the fact that I care about St. Patrick’s Day.

Other than the fact that all three kids will willingly eat corned beef (The Spouse makes a mean corned beef dinner), they pretty much hate all other things related to Irish fare including soda bread, the boiled dinner part and the music, from traditional to contemporary. (They rolled their eyes last year when I suggested we have a March 17 U2 marathon.)

The Girl does own an Irish themed shirt, but I can’t recall if it still fits her anymore. (I haven’t recently done that clothing purge thing where you go through all the kids’ duds to weed out what no longer fits in quite some time. I loathe that task.)

And, in past years, in fact, I’ve faced pediatric grief and general apathy when I suggested to the kiddos that they wear green, just for fun, to celebrate the holiday.

This past weekend we went to my brother’s house to have an early St. Patrick’s Day dinner with his family and the Picket Fence Post maternal grandparents, and when I offered my kids shamrock stickers which I’d bought for St. Patty’s Day, only The Girl took one (out of pity for me I think, not wanting to crush my enthusiasm for all things Irish) but the sticker quickly disappeared when we got to my brother’s house. My young nephews, however, were thrilled with the stickers, which I’m sure are plastered all over their domicile like gummy little nightmares.

So when St. Patrick’s Day 2011 dawns, I know that at least I’ll be wearin’ the green and playing Irish tunes throughout the day, but I can’t say that the kiddos will be on board . . . unless I happen to whip up some mint green milk shakes only for folks wearing something green, that might entice them . . .

UPDATE: On St. Patty's Day morning, I made a grand entrance into the kitchen as the Picket Fence Post kids were getting ready for school, only one of them in green (but I think that was by accident). "And a good St. Patrick's Day morning to ya!" I pronounced. The Girl then scurried upstairs to exchange her blue shirt for a green one. The Youngest Boy fetched his Boston Celtics jersey from the dryer. . . I'm still thinking about making them mint green milk shakes later, but will torture them with U2.

Image credit: Planet Mom Tshirts. (I actually own that shirt.)

We Had Ourselves a Flu-ey Little Christmas . . .

Lots of folks are emerging from the Christmas holiday break and are politely asking one another how their holidays went. For most people, I hope the answer is, “Fun! The kids had a great time and I got some time to relax and see friends and family.”

But in the Picket Fence Post household, my answer is, “The kids had a blast, loved Christmas, but I was sick in bed for eight days with what my doctor said was the flu, perhaps the swine flu, and my husband sustained a very serious ankle sprain during a basketball game – had to be carried into the house by a friend – and a neighbor had to drive him to the hospital in the middle of a blizzard.”

Yep, after all the planning, the anticipation, yours truly fell ill on Christmas Eve day, when I brought The Girl to church to rehearse the Nativity play (she was playing Mary). I got out of bed for the Christmas morning gift-opening extravaganza, but spent the next week mostly in bed, not eating for four days due to crushing nausea, fierce head aches, dizziness and life-sapping fatigue. The Spouse’s ankle sprain occurred the day after Christmas but he was able to hobble around on crutches and an air cast.

It, in essence, sucked.

On the bright side, the children loved their gifts from The Spouse and I and Santa. The Eldest Boy received the item for which he’s been pleading for years, an iPod Touch, The Girl got a white desk for her room and a DSi, while The Youngest Boy spent vacation re-enacting A Christmas Story's Ralphie Parker with the airsoft BB gun Santa brought him -- think regular BB gun but it shoots non-toxic, biodegradable plastic BBs at a lower speed than the metal BBs -- while wearing the faux leather jacket we gave him that he loves so much he wants to sleep in it.

Unfortunately, because their parents were detained by illness and injury, the original plans we had for an active, fun Christmas vacation (I’d hoped to take them to play Laser tag, maybe go into Boston on New Year’s Eve day), it was a mellow week-plus. The Spouse did limp to the theater to see two movies with the kids and, on another afternoon, sat in the car while they went sledding, while I mostly laid in bed uninterested in reading or doing much other than sleeping and wondering when I'd get my appetite back.

This morning was the first morning since I’ve been sick when I woke up not feeling like utter crap. Plus I've eaten. So I consider both of those things major accomplishments.

Fingers crossed that 2011 will be a healthier one . . . and that The Youngest Boy doesn't shoot his eye out a la Ralphie Parker.

Ice Rink and Other Wintry Things (Like Hanukkah & Christmas)

As we near December 1 – and we here in the Picket Fence Post household recover from two Thanksgivings -- here’s a photographic update on the status of our years-in-the-making ice rink:

If and when The Spouse completes the backyard rink – bouts of mild weather haven’t helped the project any – I’ll run right out and buy myself a pair of skates and take to the ice alongside the kids. I swear.

Speaking of December 1, I cannot believe that Hanukkah starts at sundown on Wednesday on the same day when Advent starts. What does this mean for me, the mom of an interfaith home in which we celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah? I'll tell ya:

Buy Hanukkah candles -- Check

Remember to light the Hanukkah candles, make (or buy) potato latkes to have in between kids’ extracurricular activities on Wednesday

Buy gelt (chocolate “coins” in gold colored foil) -- Check

Take down the Thanksgiving decorations to make way for, at the very least, the Hanukkah decorations, with Christmas decorations to come

Pull Charlie the giant Advent Elf my mother gave the kids years ago, who has pockets for advent candy, out of the holiday decorations closet in time for Wednesday

Fill Charlie’s pockets with candy . . . which I need to buy

But not chocolate ones, lest Max the cone-wearing dog attempt to raid Charlie’s pockets. We don’t need another trip to the doggie ICU.

Oh, and get the kids’ Christmas list to my mother because she wants to take advantage of Christmas shopping discounts. NOW!

Figure out what The Spouse and I are going to buy for whom

Take the Christmas card photo (I’ve got a great idea, but whether it’ll be great when I try to take the photos in reality is another story.)

I seriously need to hit the “pause” button, for just a moment. Need to breathe. Maybe take a break with a hot cup of peppermint tea, and perhaps start doing what my good friend Gayle joked that she was going to start doing: Answering her phone, "Buddy the Elf, what's your favorite color?"

Three for Thursday: Thanksgiving TV from 'Gilmore Girls' & 'Mad About You' to 'Mad Men,' Helicopter Parenting on 'Parenthood' and Pining For Thanksgivings of Yore

Thanksgiving TV Episodes from Gilmore Girls and Mad About You to Mad Men

Who can forget the wretched awkwardness at the Francis family Thanksgiving table when Betty Draper Francis literally forced her daughter Sally to eat sweet potatoes – shoving a forkful into Sally's mouth which led to the girl gagging them out onto her plate – in order to please her new mother-in-law on Mad Men? Or the Gilmore Girls episode where Lorelai and Rory wound up attending four Thanksgiving dinners because they couldn’t say, “No” to their friends and family? Or even the time when Mad About You's Paul and Jamie Buchman hosted their first Thanksgiving in their apartment and had to grapple with some serious passive aggression from their family members and friends when they didn’t like the fact that Paul and Jamie wanted to have dinner “buffet style” and had messed with everyone’s idiosyncratic ideas of what a “traditional” Thanksgiving dinner is “supposed” to be?

I highlighted some of my favorite Thanksgiving episodes over on my Notes from the Asylum blog, including the one of the famous Cheers Thanksgiving food fight.

Helicopter Parenting on Parenthood

This week’s episode of NBC’s solid, incisive and sharply observed drama Parenthood provided a mixed bag of parenting portrayals.

On the one hand, you had Sarah Braverman, who gave her daughter Amber a much-needed push to get her to overcome her fears and meet with an influential alum from a university she wants to attend. And on the other hand, you had an over-the-top helicopter parent in the form of Kristina Braverman insisting that her son was entitled to an invitation to a classmate’s birthday party even after the mother of the birthday girl said he wasn't invited and that her daughter specifically didn’t want Kristina’s son there. While there’s a whole powerful, poignant and painful Asperberger’s backstory there, and some real bonding eventually occurred between the two moms with children who have challenges, a big chunk of the Kristina story bugged me this week. Read more about why in my review of the episode.

Pining for Thanksgiving Days of Yore

In my Pop Culture column this week, I pine away for Thanksgivings and Christmases of my youth, when I used to actually enjoy this time of year tremendously and didn’t see them the way that I do now: As one, long, life-sucking list of things to do, all at the same time, and all while under a heap o’pressure with no time to just sit back and soak in this time in your life. But when I think of how I used to love this time of year, to quote Liz Lemon, I want to go back to there. But how?