Love Note To My Family

When people ask me how many kids are in my family, I tell them I have two brothers, but am really the oldest of eight.  You see, my grandparents raised their daughters to be very close, and in turn, their children were also raised to be close.  There are a total of eight grandchildren, and in many ways we are more like siblings raised in different houses than cousins.  We are five girls and three boys, and each of us was the baby at some point.  We range in age from 36 to 18, and speak to each other, either in person, on the phone or via facebook often.  They are some of my favorite people in the world.
When we were younger, our moms took us to whatever photo studio a) they had a coupon for and b) would be willing to take on a group photo of this crazy bunch and gave it to our grandparents as a Christmas gift.  We stopped when I was around 20, and Bridget (the baby) was around 2.  The next year, I was about to be a mom myself, and our mothers were probably tired of hearing me whine about having to find something green to wear to match whichever of the little girls fit into the green velvet dress that had been worn by all of us.  I had this thought that since I was the oldest, maybe the littler ones should dress to match me...
This Thanksgiving, we crowded into my brother's garage and re-created that picture, including making Bridget sit on my lap.  My brother and his wife printed the picture and framed and wrapped it for our moms for Christmas.  Needless to say, it was a huge hit.  The day after Christmas, my Aunt Nancy called to let me know how special it was to her and how she loves that we all really DO both love and like each other.
The thing is, I don't think any of us realize how incredibly special the bond we have is.  Because to us, that is just normal.  We forget that some people barely know their cousins, much less have actual relationships with them.  Taking that silly picture in the garage was actually FUN.  We told the younger kids what brats we were, and how difficult we would be.  We remembered the year my aunt assumed the picture would be from the waist up and dressed Colleen and Megan in beautiful sweaters and mismatched stretch pants, only for all the pictures to be full length.  Or the time Erin had a tantrum and was crying so hard we really thought she puked down my back.  And the year Aunt Nancy fought the face off the studio to make them accept her coupon (she was right, by the way).  To make it worse, that year, they cut the very tops of both of my brother's heads off in the pictures.
So thank you to my crazy family for giving us the kind of bond you can totally take for granted.  Thank you for raising us to just know that we are both loved and liked.  Thank you for our shared humor, our love of matching Irish sweaters and our shared history.  Because really, we don't take it for granted at all.

That Which Does Not Get Done

Over the years I have come to accept that my plans exceed my capabilities.  Every year, there is some wonderful holiday thing I want to do, but it just doesn't get done.  Until this year.  This year I refuse to beat myself up about what I just don't manage to find time for. And I refuse to even teasingly call myself lazy.  I have 4 kids and a full time job for Chrissakes.  I don't have time to be lazy.
This year, Christmas cards did not get done.  I know, many of you were pining for my traditional, non-red eye corrected photo card of all of my kids looking almost at the same place at the same time.  Who knows?  Maybe I will take a page from Julia Child and send the card I created but never had printed as a Valentine.  Or Arbor Day greeting. 
I didn't really bake any cookies either.  Sorry.  I was tired.  Did I mention that I have 4 kids and a full time job?
We DID get almost all of shopping done prior to Christmas Eve.  (So it was the 23rd, but it was still BEFORE Christmas eve).  We went to the beautiful Kris Kringle market, ate chocolate covered marshmallows, had a picture with Santa and saw the windows at Marshall Fields (take that Macy's.  Always Fields in my heart!).  We watched Christmas movies together.  We had friends over, and went to friend's homes.  I re-read The Bird's Christmas Carol, like my grandmother did every year.  We admired our lovely tree and wrapped gifts. 
It may not be a Martha Stewart Christmas, but it's mine and it is plenty.  May you all have a holiday season of plenty.

Hug a soldier

This time of year, I always notice the number of service men and women around town, either those lucky enough to be home for the holidays, or those, while not home, at least safe and stateside.  This year, though, I am noticing something a little unsettling.
Most of the young men I see in uniform are starting to look like boys to me.  It dawned on me that, really they are just boys.  Many of them are just three tiny years older than my own sweet baby boy. 
So, now when I see these young people, in addition to thanking them and sending my silent prayers into the universe for them, I send an extra thank you and prayer to their mothers.  I cannot imagine what it must be like to see your sweet baby, who you have protected so well, walk headlong into a danger that you can do nothing about. 
This holiday season, consider sending a Christmas card, or a USO care package to one of our service people.  Whether you agree with our presence in Iraq and Afghanistan or not doesn't matter.  What matters is that our boys and girls know that we are thinking of them.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

HOLY CRAP!  It's COLD out. 
This should not be a surprise, as I am a native Chicagoan and cold is what we do here.  I hate the news reports where they stop and ask motorists if they are surprised by snow.  In February.  Now, snow in June?  THAT would be a surprise.  But that it is roughly freezing out on December first should not be a surprise.
But there I stood, on the train platform.  Shocked that the wind was blowing right through my coat.  Stunned that my gloveless hands were cold.  Why wasn't I wearing gloves?  Because it's just December first.  It's not "cold" until at least Christmas, right? 
So, now I do what I do every winter.  Perch on our radiators, in an attempt to thaw my bum out and complain that I am freezing.