How I came to believe in Santa Claus.

As parents, there is something about Christmas time that makes us want our children to believe in the impossible. Like, a big fat man flying through the air in a sleigh powered by magic reindeer leaving presents and if you believe enough, even a Christmas miracle or two.

Needless to say, it has been a long time since I believed. In fact, I told myself that I would never force this story onto my children. Instead of celebrating "Christmas" we celebrated "Yule". For those of you not familiar with this tradition, it is the twelve days from December 21st to January 1st. The children open one present each day which made it perfect for traveling from grandparent's house to grandparent's house and no one felt pressure to have Christmas morning. It also ensured that they played and appreciated each gift instead of opening 100 presents, choosing only one favorite and the rest of the toys were banished to the bottomless toy box to never see the light of day again.

Prince and Princess of course felt pressure the minute they started school because all of the other kids celebrated Christmas, not to mention the whole business about this Santa fellow. Princess was kind enough to break it down for me. "So if I believe in Santa, he will bring me more presents?"

Ah, yes. All of my hard work shot craps, but I never willing to admit defeat decided to adapt this story. So I bought Santa caps and told them that it wasn't one person who was Santa, but everyone taking turns feeling the spirit of Santa and giving presents to others. I also started allowing Christmas morning to be the day that we opened the "Santa's stocking", hence the extra "Santa" presents. Then came the inevitable question of, "Why didn't Santa leave you any presents, Mommie?" Prince ultimately concluded that it was because I didn't believe enough. And I was ok with that.

As the children grew older the stories of Christmas and Santa became more alluring until last year Princess broke down and said, "Why can't we just celebrate Christmas like everyone else?"

Well the truth is we can.

At first I thought this might work out pretty good for me. I don't have to count and recount to make sure that everyone had twelve presents. I just have to make sure that I had special "Santa" gift paper (that no other presents are wrapped in) and whola. But no Christmas story is complete without some drama... my speciality.

I found out a couple of months ago that our department was being laid off and that December 31st would be my last day of employment. Even with the advanced notice, it is a tough job market out there. I joined networking groups, called my friends and family, applied for every position I was qualified for and combed the web for freelance opportunities.

Christmas became a source of more and more anxiety as I tried to balance the pressure of what the kids thought it was going to be, what Tom and I were ready to pull off and my impending deadline to have a new job. In all honesty, I just wasn't in the Christmas mood.

I did decorate the house. I mailed out the holiday cards. I shopped for presents, but everything just felt off. It was like I was going through the motions. I know Tom and the kids saw it - I was being a total Debbie Downer. So I tried to take my own advice and do something nice for others. I made truffles for the garbage man, the mail woman and the teachers. The kids and I went through there toy boxes and cleaned out their closets. We gave everything that wasn't broken to Goodwill. We took all of the hotel soaps and shampoos that Tom has collected and made little kits to give to the local shelter. These small acts did make me feel better.

On December 13th, Prince came home from school and had a package in his hand. It was a gift bag left on our door step filled with pencils, hair bow, and little toys. The note said that it was from a "Mysterious Christmas Caller" who was celebrating and counting down the twelve days to Christmas.

This sweet gesture really touched me. Prince decided that this had come from our neighbor and ran next door to tell her thank you. He came back only to explain that she knew nothing about it and that her son had not received any mysterious Christmas packages.

And so for the next two weeks, my children were filled with a new joy. They woke each other (at the crack of dawn) and raced downstairs to scratch at the door, begging to go outside and see what their special Santa had left them. And each day without fail, there was another package. The notes counted down the days until Christmas, building suspense of what they would do next. Each present contained something new; jingle bells, bows, cookies and toys.

And each day I was in awe of the effort and care that someone was taking to make this Christmas special. After about a week, the kids plotted to discover the secret identity of our gift giver so that we could leave presents for them too. If it was this much fun to receive the presents, imagine how much fun it would be to give them a surprise back? As they sat in front of dark windows with walkie talkies at ten at night, Tom called them out of their hiding places to explain that it was just as important to appreciate everything that our Mysterious Christmas Callers were doing for us. That spying on them would spoil all of their hard work.

With that, they stopped hiding. We enjoyed each and every present. To this day, we still do not know their secret identity. Maybe they are Santa's elves (Princess vote). Maybe there are one neighbors (Tom's vote). Maybe friends from my old job (Prince's vote). Or maybe it is just someone filled with the spirit of "Santa" showing us the true meaning of Christmas.

Either way, I pray our Mysterious Christmas Callers know what they have given us this year. My thanks to you.

Wedding glow

As a 35 year old virgin tanning bed user, the first thing I noticed when I walked into a chain tanning salon was that there isn't a single person behind the counter who is over 20 years old. The senior bronze goddess quickly saw my translucent skin as her golden ticket to employee of the month. She pulled out her color chart and explained to me how I too could add color in plenty of time for my wedding with her magic machines.

We walked through the store and she began to weave her spell. I was enchanted with all of the products, the oils, the beds and features. So I signed up for the max plan that gave me unlimited access to all of the beds and the spray tan booth for instant tanning satisfaction. What the hay, it was on SALE!

The tanning lotion smelled great and as I climbed into the bed I tried to remember what all the little buttons did. How could this go wrong?

I decided to leave it on autopilot and just enjoy the ride. The lights kicked on and it started to get hot, but there was an intense hot point in the small of my back. I had vision that I was laying on some kind of temperature gauge, you know like a meat thermometer to tell the lights when I was well done. I pushed the thought from my mind with a deep cleansing breathe only to notice a cracking noise. The glass underneath sounded like it was breaking from the combination of the heat and my weight. I reached behind me to turn up the radio on the wall, only to find out it was up as loud as it would go and was stuck on a country music station.

Great. So there I am, sweating, with a hot poker in my back, cracking glass underneath me and I have no idea how much time has passed. I am completely bored, uncomfortable and I plan on doing this how many more times? Suddenly, the lights turn off and the machine powers down. I fumbled with the door handle and climbed out. Spray tan HAS to be easier than this. So I throw my clothes on over the swimsuit and return to the lobby to wait.

Thirty minutes went by and finally the the bronze goddess acknowledges my existence and calls me to the spray tan booth to demonstrate what to do. There are four poses to memorize. Hit the green button and start posing, waiting for the mist cover your entire body before striking the next pose. Then stand there to dry. She leaves and I put on the shower cap and "blender cream" and then step into shower hell.

First let me explain that this contraption must keep the chemicals stored at a sub-zero temperature because that was the worst cold shower I have ever had. The spray nozzles slowly sprayed their icy contents as I tried to hold the position while shivering through the first pose and it took forever. By pose two, my teeth were chattering and I just knew I was going home with tan teeth. By pose four, I am over it, but afraid to leave the booth in the event that I turn out like "Ross" from Friends.

I had two minutes of warm air in the dryer cycle and then we did it all over again for the moisturizer round. I changed my clothes and ran outside to bask in the humidity and heat.

That night I couldn't really tell a difference, however, I did the next day! In the half lit bedroom I woke thinking, wow, that's a LOT darker, but when I turned on the lights, I discovered I was orange... like an oompa lumpa.

I walked to the kitchen to get my morning cup of joe and Tom just snickered as he asked, "How do you feel about your tan?" "It only lasts for four days," I responded and took my coffee back to bed to cry.

Problems with my Iphone 4

The problem boils down to this simple fact: I need a bodyguard for my phone. I fear for it's safety and well being beyond what any apple care plan will cover. Oh, I know you thought you were going to be reading about reception problems and glue spots under the glass. No. I have reason to believe that Tom is jealous of my new phone and that it might take a turn for the worst.

It started a couple of days ago when he was working from home. I asked him to please be on the lookout for the FedEx guy, there was going to be a delivery and it was very important, it was my new Iphone. So I checked the tracking hourly only to discover that TOM MISSED THE DELIVERY. With cat-like reflexes I texted him, "Did you miss the delivery guy?" "I don't think so. I didn't hear the doorbell," he responded.

No offer to race to the front door and check. He didn't spring from his chair and chase down the truck. He just continued working from home. Doesn't this man know that "working from home" is corporate code for "I'll be at the pool working on my tan?" or in this case "I can't miss this very special delivery, my life is at stake!"

Two hours later he calls me to notify me that the stealthy FedEx man did indeed sneak a delivery tag past his watchful eye, but this story ends well in that I was able to race to the distribution center down the street and have my precious toy in my hot little hands that very night.

That wasn't the only incident. Last night, we lay down to go to sleep and Tom snuggles up next to me whispers good night in my ear. As he wraps his arm around me to doze off happily, his hand goes under the pillow to discover the iphone laying on the bed.

Tom: What is this?

Me: It's my phone?

Long pause.

Tom: What is it doing in the bed?

Me: Recording my sleep patterns. I downloaded sleep cycle to monitor how deep I sleep.

Tom: Why?

Me: Because I want to know.

Tom: You mean because you can.

Me: Fine. Yes.

Tom: What does it do?

Me: It measure how much I toss and turn, noises and stuff.

Tom: Isn't it also going to measure my tossing and turning?

Me: Nah. I put it on my side of the bed and not between us to help keep your data from interfering with mine. Plus I have a couple of days worth of data collected to compare it to. If I notice a drastic difference, I can just re-calibrate it.

I kid you not, I actually heard him roll his eyes in the darkness.

Tom: I can see it now, your going to photoshop me out of the wedding pictures and put in a great big iphone.

Me: Don't be silly. It's just a phone. Which reminds me, it needs a special carrying case so that it matches my dress.

He rolls over to no doubt plot. If anything mysterious happens to my phone, you know who is going to be at the top of the suspect list.

Iphone 4, I heart you

You might have heard that they have come out with a new Iphone.

• 5-megapixel photos
• HD video
• built-in LED flash - When you’re taking pictures, it works as a flash. When you’re shooting video it can stay on to light up the scene.
• has a camera on the front too!
• has two mics to suppress unwanted and distracting background sounds
• retina display
• more scratch resistant
• multi-touch display
• video phone calling feature called face time
• multi-tasking
• ability to organize apps into folders
• imovie
• voice control

Oh, Iphone... You had me at 5 megapixel camera.

Ninja training

After dinner, we started getting ready for bed. I gave the children drumsticks for dessert, banking on that buying me 15 minutes to change into my jammies. No sooner had I shut the door to the bathroom then Prince starts knocking. "Mom, I have something to show you, " he says timidly. "Is someone bleeding?" I respond. "No," and I can hear he moving away from the door. "Eat your ice cream, hun. I will be out in 5 minutes," I negotiate with no response. I figured he just went back into the kitchen with his melting ice cream that I can see vividly in my head dripping all over the floor as he saunters back through the living room.

How old do they have to be before you can pee in peace? I look down to see two shadows at the crack in the door and hear Maya and Callie's noses verifying that I am just out of sight. Ah, the universe answers my question for me.

I changed and walked through the bedroom stopping only to turn off the light as I stepped into the hallway. I walked carefully because it was completely dark and then from out of nowhere a voice catches me off guard. "Mom, can I show you...." Prince starts. "AAAAAAHHHHHHHH" I screamed and with my mad ninja skills jump back to try to get away from the voice (which was about 3 inches until my back was firmly pressed against the wall.) My response scared Prince so bad, he screamed and flung himself likewise into the other wall. We stood there in the dark for a long moment as our brains try to catch up to our heart rates. "OMG. Why did you sneak up on me?" I gasped as I clutched my chest, pretty sure that I was having a heart attack.

"I just wanted to show you how the fudge in my drumstick looks like an eyeball" he said as though it made perfect sense. "Hun, why were you stalking me in the dark? If you want to show me something you have to have the lights on" I tried to clarify.

"Man, you scared me!" he changed the subject and then I noticed he was crying. I hugged him and tried to comfort him as we walked back towards the kitchen. By the time we made it into the light we were both laughing. I looked down at the ice cream and with the fudge center and it did look like an eyeball.

"Hun, if you want to kill me, please choose something other than scaring me to death," and I kissed his forehead, "might I suggest just dropping something really heavy on me." Prince laughs harder, "I didn't try to scare you." "Well then I am going to have to start hanging a bell around your neck so I always know where you are," I plotted.

Arm Waddle

My goal this year was to loose 10 lbs. It isn't that I think I'm fat, it's just want to be fit. That is what I told myself until I saw this picture.
















What in the heck happened to may arms over the years? Sure I notice a little extra swing under my arms when I waved, but just decided to give up waving. No big deal, right? Now I have to hide my arms like a fugitive.

With this photograph I can no longer deny my arm waddle. I added weight training to my exercise routine going from just 30 mins on the treadmill with my cellulite busters three times a week to weight training the other 3 days.

Meet my nemesis. The cold steel torture device that makes me hate life, almost more than arm fat, but not quite.

I know why they call it ripped muscles. That is EXACTLY what it feels like. Breathing hurts, sleeping hurts and all I did was 15 sit-ups. That got me thinking, moo-moos aren't that bad. I saw one hanging in a store window just the other day. I could just go by one in every color and grow into them over time.

What happened to me? I used to play tennis, workout, do aerobics, weights. I ran track and did the high jump. Well... Those days are gone. I had two kids and now my exercises is hitting the gas and dodging traffic to get from work, to soccer, to karate, to scouts to school on a caffeine buzz that starts at 6 am and goes till 10 pm.

No moo-moo for me. I will meet you tomorrow, oh great device of pain. I will keep at this until one day I am thanking you for the suffering that gave me sculpted arms. Well, I probably won't say it out loud. I probably won't even really think that, but I will be glad I survived and remember what is waiting for me if I ever eat another donut.

Ya, right. Liposuction, here I come.

Pied Piper

With the end of another school year comes the endless parade of half used school supplies returning home in order to be disposed of. What else am I suppose to do with another box of 48 broken crayons, 8 half used notepads and a ruler that was decorated with permanent marker so that you can no longer read the numbers?

Among the trash longing to be disposed of was a musical recorder. Why in the name of music were we asked to purchase these torture devices? There is nothing beautiful about the sound that comes out of these things, unless you ask a 10 year old. Prince gasps when he sees me poised over the trash, "You can't throw THIS away, Mom. I'm really good at it." Prince explains.

Dear god, please don't demonstrate.

This silent prayer was followed by 45 minutes of "Mom, listen to this song!" Callie and I shared a brief moment of mutual understanding as we tried to be supportive of my little pied piper as he played his tunes and danced around the living room. Callie was the first to crack under the pressure.



Prince mistook the howling protests as a sign that she wanting to sing along, so Prince played louder. Callie insisted on waiting out the remainder of the show in the backyard.

Traitor.