Dear Mama-
I finally, finally dreamed about you last night. Remember how I used to have little "dream visits" with Granny---she would be doing nothing special, just being herself, and it was like I was with her again, just for a fleeting, fuzzy moment. Last night was sort of like that. I couldn't sleep at all at first; work is really stressful right now and I eventually came downstairs to get some water and then went back up to read for awhile instead of tossing and turning. I finally put my book down and drifted off at around 1 a.m., and before I knew it, there you were.
We were in a rented car, flying down the highway together and I was trying to figure out where the cruise control was located. The car was packed with luggage and Dixie, our long gone oldie-goldie dog, was in the back seat panting away.
I was able to piece together that we were headed to a vacation house at the beach, and Daddy and Mark were coming later. You were clutching an envelope in your lap that contained the keys to the place--I could even hear them jingling around when you moved it. We didn't say much in the dream, but there was that glorious, palpable excitement of the first day of vacation--there's nothing like it. Even though virtually no words were spoken, I knew our plan for the day: We'd arrive and get settled before heading out to the store so we could stock the fridge. When we drove up to the house, we walked around the back to check out the pier. That was it, or at least, that's all I can remember. Thanks for the visit, Mama. I needed that. xxoo
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Happy Anniversary to ME! I mean, us.
Exactly eleven years ago today, Hubs vowed to keep me in coffee(both hot and iced), Diet Dr. Pepper and Burt's Bees lip balm forever. And he's done a mighty fine job. In addition he managed to have a couple babies with me, maintain steady employment, and listen to every single one of my whines about work, traffic, my weight, the pimple on my chin and the tepid temperature of my morning latte at the StarMegaBucks without once donating me to the Goodwill or committing me. Thanks, Honey. Tonight Grandma's got the kiddos. Thanks, Grandma! Life as a married lady is sometimes too good to be true.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Little Woman
Dear Olivia--
Last Sunday you shocked us all by turning seven. Seven! I gotta sit down.
Five minutes ago you were all chunky arms and legs,riding on my hip like an adorable chimp. Now, you're sporting all kinds of Hannah Montana gear and your limbs are lanky and slender; willowy even!
Monday morning while you were getting ready for school, I noticed you were a little bummed. The day after your birthday can seem a bit like the day after Christmas, huh? So, I took a minute in between helping you comb the back of your hair and chasing your brother into the bathroom to interview the new seven-year-old you.
Me: So, now that you're seven, what's your favorite thing to do when you're not in school?
You: I like to play with Anna (our neighbor) and Emma. And go to Chuck E. Cheese (the scene of your party---only your second time there ever).
Me: What's your favorite food?
You: Macaroni and cheese, tomatoes and strawberries. But not mixed up together.
Me: Describe your brother.
You: He annoys me. But he's fun until he has to go in time out.
Me: How would you describe Mommy? (I cannot help myself. I am an insecure quivering mass).
You: She smiles a lot and has two big teeth in the front. She smells nice. She's always in a hurry. (Owwwwwwwch. That's me. Conking myself in the head V-8 style)
Me: How would you describe Daddy?
You: He likes to play games and take us places. He's funny and kind of gross like when he burps.
Me: OK, Thanks for talking with me. How does it feel to be seven?
You: The same, I guess. You're welcome.
Here's some other stuff I already know about you:
-Your favorite color is purple. Blue is still for boys in your opinion.
-You like reminding me, and everyone we know, that I am thirty-eight.
-You love capturing bugs and observing them, even the creepiest ones, which is decidedly un-girly. But I won't tell anyone.
-When you were two, you used to tell me you loved me no matter what I'd say to you. For instance:
Me: "What do you want to drink?"
You: "I wuv you, Mama."
Me: "Milk or orange juice?"
You: "I wuv you, Mama."
Me: "Which book do we want to read tonight?"
You: "I wuv you, Mama."
Sigh. I miss those days. But you find other ways to tell me, and even better, to show me and the rest of us, all the time. Even that annoying brother.
Tuesday night, when we all got home from school and work, I was cleaning up in the kitchen when Nate said he had a tummy ache. You informed me that you would handle it. You took him over to the couch, propped him up on a pillow and brought him some ginger ale, then came back to the kitchen to report "He's feeling a little better now. I think we should let him rest until storytime." I had to document this because the next time you're ready to kill your brother, I'll have to show it to you. And, when you're a teenager and you hate me, or when you've grown up and moved away, I can read this and know how profoundly lucky I was to share every day with you.
xxooo
Last Sunday you shocked us all by turning seven. Seven! I gotta sit down.
Five minutes ago you were all chunky arms and legs,riding on my hip like an adorable chimp. Now, you're sporting all kinds of Hannah Montana gear and your limbs are lanky and slender; willowy even!
Monday morning while you were getting ready for school, I noticed you were a little bummed. The day after your birthday can seem a bit like the day after Christmas, huh? So, I took a minute in between helping you comb the back of your hair and chasing your brother into the bathroom to interview the new seven-year-old you.
Me: So, now that you're seven, what's your favorite thing to do when you're not in school?
You: I like to play with Anna (our neighbor) and Emma. And go to Chuck E. Cheese (the scene of your party---only your second time there ever).
Me: What's your favorite food?
You: Macaroni and cheese, tomatoes and strawberries. But not mixed up together.
Me: Describe your brother.
You: He annoys me. But he's fun until he has to go in time out.
Me: How would you describe Mommy? (I cannot help myself. I am an insecure quivering mass).
You: She smiles a lot and has two big teeth in the front. She smells nice. She's always in a hurry. (Owwwwwwwch. That's me. Conking myself in the head V-8 style)
Me: How would you describe Daddy?
You: He likes to play games and take us places. He's funny and kind of gross like when he burps.
Me: OK, Thanks for talking with me. How does it feel to be seven?
You: The same, I guess. You're welcome.
Here's some other stuff I already know about you:
-Your favorite color is purple. Blue is still for boys in your opinion.
-You like reminding me, and everyone we know, that I am thirty-eight.
-You love capturing bugs and observing them, even the creepiest ones, which is decidedly un-girly. But I won't tell anyone.
-When you were two, you used to tell me you loved me no matter what I'd say to you. For instance:
Me: "What do you want to drink?"
You: "I wuv you, Mama."
Me: "Milk or orange juice?"
You: "I wuv you, Mama."
Me: "Which book do we want to read tonight?"
You: "I wuv you, Mama."
Sigh. I miss those days. But you find other ways to tell me, and even better, to show me and the rest of us, all the time. Even that annoying brother.
Tuesday night, when we all got home from school and work, I was cleaning up in the kitchen when Nate said he had a tummy ache. You informed me that you would handle it. You took him over to the couch, propped him up on a pillow and brought him some ginger ale, then came back to the kitchen to report "He's feeling a little better now. I think we should let him rest until storytime." I had to document this because the next time you're ready to kill your brother, I'll have to show it to you. And, when you're a teenager and you hate me, or when you've grown up and moved away, I can read this and know how profoundly lucky I was to share every day with you.
xxooo
Monday, March 31, 2008
Zoe's Story
So I should explain how Zoe came into my life, or rather, I came into hers. She started out as Hubs' dog, back in our early courtin' days. He decided, after living in a river town for a couple of years(my hometown, BTW) that he should own a black lab like each and every one of the other inhabitants. Except he thought he'd go a little wild and get a yellow one.
One Saturday we perused the place where EVERYBODY goes looking for a pet, the hunting supply store, of course. This particular store was known for posting the names and numbers of beagle, lab and various hound dog breeders. After jotting down a few phone numbers we heard the sound of irresistible cuteness coming from behind the register. A mixed-up jumble of whimpers, soft grunts and smacks that could only come from a pile of puppies. The guy at the counter proudly pointed to a big wooden box and said the adorable babies inside were all spoken for except for one, and he 'spected she'd be gone before the day was out.
The dude behind the counter was big, but I nearly leveled him to get back there and scoop up Ms. Available. The pups were English Setter/Brittany Spaniel mix, but the end result was sort of a lanky, dainty Springer. The one in my arms was black and white, with freckles on her nose, back and belly. She had a sweet, newborn-baby smell and deep, navy blue eyes. When I rolled her on her back, she yawned, stretched and gently licked my thumb, no matter how long I held her there.
"Fifty bucks." said counter guy. "Just to cover the first shots."
"Nah." said Hubs. "I really wanna lab." I made him smell the pup's head. He obliged. Then he winced and said, "I gotta go to work in an hour. Let me think about it."
This would not do. I knew as soon as we left some hunter would claim her. He'd probably make her sleep outside. In the cold. Probably keep her chained up at night. Probably make her earn her keep chasing squirrels. Or fetching dead ducks. Or something.
On the way back to H's neighborhood, my mind raced. Somehow, over the next several hours, I had to get that sweet bundle of awesomeness into my life. And I had to convince Boyfriend that it was his idea. But the magic of puppy love was already at work.
About ten minutes after I dropped H back at our place of business, The Daily News, he called me up and said, "If you come by and let me give you fifty bucks, will you go get me that little speckled pup?" Victory.
I wish I could say that her name was the result of some well-thought-out process, but we actually saw it on some Lenny Kravitz liner notes and thought it was cool. It was a song called "Flowers for Zoe," which Lenny write for his daughter.
We played her the song on her first night at H's apartment. She liked it. She also REALLY loved The Grateful Dead, and bites of grilled hamburger tossed her way, and having her belly scratched. And most of all, she loved us.
Over the years she's endured four moves and the humiliation of sharing her home with two human babies who took years to potty train and occasionally yanked her lovely, fringed tail. But she loved them for their perpetual trail of crumbs and because they loved her. She also enjoyed their lullaby CD's, and would often drift off to sleep at my feet while I rocked them.
Another song she liked was an excruciatingly corny ditty that I used to twang to her in the mornings:
"Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you, Honey---everything will bring a chain of looooo-ove. In the morning when I rise, bring a tear of joy to my eyes and tell me everything's gonna be all right."
And that is what I whispered to her in the vet's office today, as she left this world with H and I by her side. I loved that damn dog. We all did.
Goodbye, sweet girl. You were the best.
One Saturday we perused the place where EVERYBODY goes looking for a pet, the hunting supply store, of course. This particular store was known for posting the names and numbers of beagle, lab and various hound dog breeders. After jotting down a few phone numbers we heard the sound of irresistible cuteness coming from behind the register. A mixed-up jumble of whimpers, soft grunts and smacks that could only come from a pile of puppies. The guy at the counter proudly pointed to a big wooden box and said the adorable babies inside were all spoken for except for one, and he 'spected she'd be gone before the day was out.
The dude behind the counter was big, but I nearly leveled him to get back there and scoop up Ms. Available. The pups were English Setter/Brittany Spaniel mix, but the end result was sort of a lanky, dainty Springer. The one in my arms was black and white, with freckles on her nose, back and belly. She had a sweet, newborn-baby smell and deep, navy blue eyes. When I rolled her on her back, she yawned, stretched and gently licked my thumb, no matter how long I held her there.
"Fifty bucks." said counter guy. "Just to cover the first shots."
"Nah." said Hubs. "I really wanna lab." I made him smell the pup's head. He obliged. Then he winced and said, "I gotta go to work in an hour. Let me think about it."
This would not do. I knew as soon as we left some hunter would claim her. He'd probably make her sleep outside. In the cold. Probably keep her chained up at night. Probably make her earn her keep chasing squirrels. Or fetching dead ducks. Or something.
On the way back to H's neighborhood, my mind raced. Somehow, over the next several hours, I had to get that sweet bundle of awesomeness into my life. And I had to convince Boyfriend that it was his idea. But the magic of puppy love was already at work.
About ten minutes after I dropped H back at our place of business, The Daily News, he called me up and said, "If you come by and let me give you fifty bucks, will you go get me that little speckled pup?" Victory.
I wish I could say that her name was the result of some well-thought-out process, but we actually saw it on some Lenny Kravitz liner notes and thought it was cool. It was a song called "Flowers for Zoe," which Lenny write for his daughter.
We played her the song on her first night at H's apartment. She liked it. She also REALLY loved The Grateful Dead, and bites of grilled hamburger tossed her way, and having her belly scratched. And most of all, she loved us.
Over the years she's endured four moves and the humiliation of sharing her home with two human babies who took years to potty train and occasionally yanked her lovely, fringed tail. But she loved them for their perpetual trail of crumbs and because they loved her. She also enjoyed their lullaby CD's, and would often drift off to sleep at my feet while I rocked them.
Another song she liked was an excruciatingly corny ditty that I used to twang to her in the mornings:
"Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you, Honey---everything will bring a chain of looooo-ove. In the morning when I rise, bring a tear of joy to my eyes and tell me everything's gonna be all right."
And that is what I whispered to her in the vet's office today, as she left this world with H and I by her side. I loved that damn dog. We all did.
Goodbye, sweet girl. You were the best.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Unexpected
A few weeks ago I was performing one of 1,000 nightly rituals, cleaning out the kids' bookbags, when I found a note from Liv's teacher. "You should congratulate Olivia," she wrote. "She was elected president of our first grade class today."
She hadn't even said a word about it.
After I congratulated her, I asked her why she hadn't told us the good news herself."Well, it's not what I was expecting," she said. "I don't actually get to make any rules or anything, Mommy."
I'd wager that 100% of our U.S. presidents have woken up a few months after the innaugural ball with those exact same sentiments: "It's not what I was expecting."
Regardless, we are proud of Olivia. And, in so many ways, she's not what I was expecting. I had expected, at 29, to get pregnant. I did, almost immediately. Then, I expected to have a blissfully perfect pregnancy. It wasn't, and it was very short-lived. It ended in about ten weeks. Eighteen months and two more miscarriages later, I expected that my husband and I would begin learning a little about the adoption process and maybe give it a try in a year or so.
What actually happened was that within eight months of our first baby steps into the process, we found ourselves on a plane to Ukraine, where we were told to expect to bring home a little boy.
Not only did we not expect a sweet baby girl, but we didn't expect her to toddle right to us after only a few visits.
We didn't expect her to somehow, incredibly, have my mother's eyes, Mark's cousin Pam's smile, my cousin Holly's complexion and my dad's silly sense of humor.
We had given up on finding a miracle, but then she found us.
The other day she told us this president thing has turned out pretty great, because she gets to announce when it's time to line up for lunch AND she gets to help with role call in the morning. See? Sometimes what you least expected turns out to be better than you could've ever imagined.
Monday, January 28, 2008
What I'm reading and admiring so far in '08
I like winter---in small doses. (I have to add that because if I don't I will wake to seven feet of snow blocking the front door, which will cause me to turn into that guy from The Shining quicklike).
So, suffice it to say that I appreciate some seasonal chilliness once in awhile, I mean it IS January, for Al Gore's sake. (Love you, Al! Call me!) Also, it gives me the perfect excuse to curl up with a book and my $29 down-alternative throw from Cosco. Both are best enjoyed while making sweet love to a huge mug of sugar-free Swiss Miss.
We're a happy library family here at Casa Pellin, although sometimes I find the trip a tad frustrating. Much like wandering the video store aisles, an aimless search among the stacks can often prove overwhelming for me. It must've been all those nights in the early 00's reading "Here Comes The Truck!" and "How A Princess Gets Dressed"---for a while there I wasn't sure what the grown-up me liked to read anymore.
But now I get the pleasure of finding out all over again.
Don't get me wrong. I still love to read to my kids. Ramona Quimby, Junie B. Jones and that blessed farting dog, whatshisname, are alive and kickin' around here. But, since most of my friends have little ones too, I needed some suggestions on some good hibernation material that doesn't include colorful illustrations or an accompanying sing-along CD.
Recently I was flipping through a "Good Housekeeping" magazine while waiting for my oil change. It was the ONLY remotely female mag in the tiny little waiting area. The guys there already know I don't know nothin' 'bout fixin' no cars, so I'm not about to put on any airs by thumbing through Car and Driver, OK? Anyway--so not the point! GH has a piece in every issue now called "A Good Read" with a list of books recommended by their staffers. Guidance! I obediently marched down to our local branch that afternoon (um, well, this is Charlotte, so I zoomed over in my mini-van, found a killer space, THEN I marched). Here's what I found:
"Here If You Need Me" by Kate Braestrup. I found myself reading aloud to Hubs a lot from this book, which he usually hates, but he forgave me for this one. That's how good it is! This is an autobiography of a young widow and mom of four who also happens to be a chaplain for the Maine Wildlife service. She brings home the bacon, fries it up in a pan, and then gets called out to encourage, console and pray with the families of people and children lost in the Maine woods. Yes, we do need you, Kate!
"The Myth of You and Me" by Leah Stewart. This one was written by a Carolina girl, and if that's not reason enough to go out and grab it, it's won a couple of fancy awards, too. Because it's so effin' good. For anyone who's ever had a bestest friend who totally crapped on you once or twice but you loved them anyway, not in a pathetic co-dependent way, but an unconditional, kill-or-die,love-you-even-if-you-write-run-on-sentences way, this is for you. She also published a mystery called "Body of a Girl" that's currently on request at my library; I think I'm fourth on the wait list, so get in line, ladeeez!
Those are the only ones I've had time for so far, and GH is two-for-two on their picks!
I just adore books. Growing up in a three-channel-TV house (and one of those was fuzzy), books were of grave importance to me. If I can just get all personal-growthy for a minute, they became part of who I am. It's such a treat getting to see my kids discover what they love to read and have read to them. I can proudly say I know every word to "Here Comes The Truck" by heart because I read it eleventy-seven times to one Nathaniel Pellin from the time he was one year old until oh, about two months ago. That's when he discovered "Here Comes The Fire Truck!" Sigh. I sense a pattern.
As for Liv, she's actually started asking to cut our nightly storytime short so she can read a little of her favorites by herself in her room. This makes me want to beam with pride and burst into tears all at once. It's the gradual end of an era, of snuggling with her in bed and reading and re-reading "Dora In The Lost City," and "Bear Stays Up For Christmas" (even in August).
She's got new pals like American Girl Stories and A to Z Mysteries. I swear, she is like a garden. Every single day, every minute, there's something new and amazing there that you didn't notice before. Like little crocus shoots breaking through frozen soil. Or the first, finger-shaped daffodil bud, destined to be a yellow beauty.
Or a girl becoming a reader.
So, suffice it to say that I appreciate some seasonal chilliness once in awhile, I mean it IS January, for Al Gore's sake. (Love you, Al! Call me!) Also, it gives me the perfect excuse to curl up with a book and my $29 down-alternative throw from Cosco. Both are best enjoyed while making sweet love to a huge mug of sugar-free Swiss Miss.
We're a happy library family here at Casa Pellin, although sometimes I find the trip a tad frustrating. Much like wandering the video store aisles, an aimless search among the stacks can often prove overwhelming for me. It must've been all those nights in the early 00's reading "Here Comes The Truck!" and "How A Princess Gets Dressed"---for a while there I wasn't sure what the grown-up me liked to read anymore.
But now I get the pleasure of finding out all over again.
Don't get me wrong. I still love to read to my kids. Ramona Quimby, Junie B. Jones and that blessed farting dog, whatshisname, are alive and kickin' around here. But, since most of my friends have little ones too, I needed some suggestions on some good hibernation material that doesn't include colorful illustrations or an accompanying sing-along CD.
Recently I was flipping through a "Good Housekeeping" magazine while waiting for my oil change. It was the ONLY remotely female mag in the tiny little waiting area. The guys there already know I don't know nothin' 'bout fixin' no cars, so I'm not about to put on any airs by thumbing through Car and Driver, OK? Anyway--so not the point! GH has a piece in every issue now called "A Good Read" with a list of books recommended by their staffers. Guidance! I obediently marched down to our local branch that afternoon (um, well, this is Charlotte, so I zoomed over in my mini-van, found a killer space, THEN I marched). Here's what I found:
"Here If You Need Me" by Kate Braestrup. I found myself reading aloud to Hubs a lot from this book, which he usually hates, but he forgave me for this one. That's how good it is! This is an autobiography of a young widow and mom of four who also happens to be a chaplain for the Maine Wildlife service. She brings home the bacon, fries it up in a pan, and then gets called out to encourage, console and pray with the families of people and children lost in the Maine woods. Yes, we do need you, Kate!
"The Myth of You and Me" by Leah Stewart. This one was written by a Carolina girl, and if that's not reason enough to go out and grab it, it's won a couple of fancy awards, too. Because it's so effin' good. For anyone who's ever had a bestest friend who totally crapped on you once or twice but you loved them anyway, not in a pathetic co-dependent way, but an unconditional, kill-or-die,love-you-even-if-you-write-run-on-sentences way, this is for you. She also published a mystery called "Body of a Girl" that's currently on request at my library; I think I'm fourth on the wait list, so get in line, ladeeez!
Those are the only ones I've had time for so far, and GH is two-for-two on their picks!
I just adore books. Growing up in a three-channel-TV house (and one of those was fuzzy), books were of grave importance to me. If I can just get all personal-growthy for a minute, they became part of who I am. It's such a treat getting to see my kids discover what they love to read and have read to them. I can proudly say I know every word to "Here Comes The Truck" by heart because I read it eleventy-seven times to one Nathaniel Pellin from the time he was one year old until oh, about two months ago. That's when he discovered "Here Comes The Fire Truck!" Sigh. I sense a pattern.
As for Liv, she's actually started asking to cut our nightly storytime short so she can read a little of her favorites by herself in her room. This makes me want to beam with pride and burst into tears all at once. It's the gradual end of an era, of snuggling with her in bed and reading and re-reading "Dora In The Lost City," and "Bear Stays Up For Christmas" (even in August).
She's got new pals like American Girl Stories and A to Z Mysteries. I swear, she is like a garden. Every single day, every minute, there's something new and amazing there that you didn't notice before. Like little crocus shoots breaking through frozen soil. Or the first, finger-shaped daffodil bud, destined to be a yellow beauty.
Or a girl becoming a reader.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Ah, recovery. And Christmas movies that aren't so Christmassy.
We had a fabulous holiday of Beaufort County travel (me and the kids) mingled with holiday time here at home with my dad. I loaded up the kids to take them to Eastern NC the weekend before Christmas so they could meet my cousin Erica and her family who flew in from Oklahoma for a few days. It was so good to see her, and I also got the bonus gift of seeing my friend Renee who now lives in NYC.
Renee and her husband Stu were visiting her folks, who live just up the road from my dad. ( Now, in rural Eastern NC, "up the road" means about five-ten miles away.) Anyhoo, once I realized she was nearby, I arranged to stop by her mom's house after the kids were tucked away. Man, is there anything that's more of a deja-vu overload than sitting in your friend's mom's kitchen? Renee's mom, Ms. Dorothy, puttered around in the kitchen the entire time, putting together a pecan pie while Renee and I chatted. We sat at the same little kitchen table where we used to swoon over Rick Springfield and eat Manwich sloppy joes that we'd occasionally whip up after school. I felt fifteen again for the first time in a long, long while, and it was one of the coolest gifts I could've received.
We headed to Charlotte on Sunday, with my dad following behind. The next night he got to see the kids sing at church on Christmas Eve. Nate's group sang "Away in a Manger," complete with occasional swaying, and Liv's choir sang a rousing little ditty called "Dance and Sing." They went to bed immediately after church----is there any better bribe out there than Santa's pending arrival? The next day, after the dust had settled from the ripping open of a foldaway doll house, a robot, two guitars and yes, a set of bongo drums (if you see Santa tell him I'd like a word or two), we lounged and played for awhile, then headed over to Mark's mom's for an early dinner of beef tenderloin and all the trimmings. Delish. The days preceding and following that day have been sprinkled with my dad's peanut brittle, various butter cookies, egg nog and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Awesome holiday. My pants are tight, but my heart is full.
Now it's the 28th, and the kids are watching their "Jungle Book" anniversary edition DVD (thanks Grandma!) and football's on the other tube. It's been a great couple of days. Last night hubs and I got the unexpected treat of having the kids stay at Grandma's while we went out for spicy Asian food and a cold cocktail. After that we even managed to stay awake during a real, grown-up movie. It was called "No Country For Old Men," and hubs wanted to see it because he'd read the book. It was pretty good, a tad violent for my usual taste, but I was so excited to be conscious after 9 p.m. on a Friday night I didn't give a hoot.
Aside from last night's outing, there have been several really good movies on cable lately, and a few of them, even though they aren't really "Christmas" movies per se, are must-sees for me nearly every year around this time. Oh, you feel a list coming on, don't you?
1. "Because of Winn Dixie". This movie came out on DVD in December of 2005 and Olivia watched it repeatedly until about March. It was also the last movie she saw in a theater with my mom. In the movie, ten-yr-old Opal often says upon meeting someone, "The first thing you should know about me is that I don't have a mama." And now I often feel like saying the same thing. I guess that's called "irony". Or, "shit-on-a-stick", but whatever.
2. "Moonstruck." It's wintertime in New York, and Cher gets her hair done big as a house and puts some lovin' on a crazy-haired, wild-eyed Nick Cage. Can't you just hear those jingle bells?
3. "Fight Club." Mark and I watched this with his friend Bernie Vogel when he came to visit at Christmas about eight years ago. I like to replace the guest soaps after watching it. Heh.
Turns out that's a pretty short list! And now, for the shows that drip Christmassy goodness. . . or badness, depending on the mood.
1. "Scrooged." Bill Murray with a still almost-full head of hair gets scared into a serious 'tude adjustment by a ghostly Buster Poindexter, among others. In the end, he gets with that cute girl with the freckly nose.
2. "A Christmas Story" Believe it or not, I'd never even seen this movie before I met Mark. My first Christmas with the Pellin clan included a late-night viewing of this one with Mark, my brother-in-law and his girlfriend. Hence, "frag-eee-lay" has been part of the household vocabulary for 14 years.
3. "A Charlie Brown Christmas" My kids don't understand why I cry a little bit during this one. It's just, that poor, sweet tree must symbolize how we all feel sometimes until someone shows us a little love. And because---oh, the holidays!
4. Any "Little House on the Prairie" Chrsitmas episode. My kids seriously need to see other kids who get deleriously happy over a skinny little stocking with an orange and a penny in the toe.
5.Little Women--the '90's version with America's favorite five-finger-discount girl, Wynona Ryder. Susan Sarandon is radiant as Marmee, and there's a lot of gorgeous period costumes swooshing about. And more swooning over little Christmas miracles like oranges and sausage stuffing.
Hope ya'll had some poigniant viewing moments this holiday! See you in 2008!
Renee and her husband Stu were visiting her folks, who live just up the road from my dad. ( Now, in rural Eastern NC, "up the road" means about five-ten miles away.) Anyhoo, once I realized she was nearby, I arranged to stop by her mom's house after the kids were tucked away. Man, is there anything that's more of a deja-vu overload than sitting in your friend's mom's kitchen? Renee's mom, Ms. Dorothy, puttered around in the kitchen the entire time, putting together a pecan pie while Renee and I chatted. We sat at the same little kitchen table where we used to swoon over Rick Springfield and eat Manwich sloppy joes that we'd occasionally whip up after school. I felt fifteen again for the first time in a long, long while, and it was one of the coolest gifts I could've received.
We headed to Charlotte on Sunday, with my dad following behind. The next night he got to see the kids sing at church on Christmas Eve. Nate's group sang "Away in a Manger," complete with occasional swaying, and Liv's choir sang a rousing little ditty called "Dance and Sing." They went to bed immediately after church----is there any better bribe out there than Santa's pending arrival? The next day, after the dust had settled from the ripping open of a foldaway doll house, a robot, two guitars and yes, a set of bongo drums (if you see Santa tell him I'd like a word or two), we lounged and played for awhile, then headed over to Mark's mom's for an early dinner of beef tenderloin and all the trimmings. Delish. The days preceding and following that day have been sprinkled with my dad's peanut brittle, various butter cookies, egg nog and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Awesome holiday. My pants are tight, but my heart is full.
Now it's the 28th, and the kids are watching their "Jungle Book" anniversary edition DVD (thanks Grandma!) and football's on the other tube. It's been a great couple of days. Last night hubs and I got the unexpected treat of having the kids stay at Grandma's while we went out for spicy Asian food and a cold cocktail. After that we even managed to stay awake during a real, grown-up movie. It was called "No Country For Old Men," and hubs wanted to see it because he'd read the book. It was pretty good, a tad violent for my usual taste, but I was so excited to be conscious after 9 p.m. on a Friday night I didn't give a hoot.
Aside from last night's outing, there have been several really good movies on cable lately, and a few of them, even though they aren't really "Christmas" movies per se, are must-sees for me nearly every year around this time. Oh, you feel a list coming on, don't you?
1. "Because of Winn Dixie". This movie came out on DVD in December of 2005 and Olivia watched it repeatedly until about March. It was also the last movie she saw in a theater with my mom. In the movie, ten-yr-old Opal often says upon meeting someone, "The first thing you should know about me is that I don't have a mama." And now I often feel like saying the same thing. I guess that's called "irony". Or, "shit-on-a-stick", but whatever.
2. "Moonstruck." It's wintertime in New York, and Cher gets her hair done big as a house and puts some lovin' on a crazy-haired, wild-eyed Nick Cage. Can't you just hear those jingle bells?
3. "Fight Club." Mark and I watched this with his friend Bernie Vogel when he came to visit at Christmas about eight years ago. I like to replace the guest soaps after watching it. Heh.
Turns out that's a pretty short list! And now, for the shows that drip Christmassy goodness. . . or badness, depending on the mood.
1. "Scrooged." Bill Murray with a still almost-full head of hair gets scared into a serious 'tude adjustment by a ghostly Buster Poindexter, among others. In the end, he gets with that cute girl with the freckly nose.
2. "A Christmas Story" Believe it or not, I'd never even seen this movie before I met Mark. My first Christmas with the Pellin clan included a late-night viewing of this one with Mark, my brother-in-law and his girlfriend. Hence, "frag-eee-lay" has been part of the household vocabulary for 14 years.
3. "A Charlie Brown Christmas" My kids don't understand why I cry a little bit during this one. It's just, that poor, sweet tree must symbolize how we all feel sometimes until someone shows us a little love. And because---oh, the holidays!
4. Any "Little House on the Prairie" Chrsitmas episode. My kids seriously need to see other kids who get deleriously happy over a skinny little stocking with an orange and a penny in the toe.
5.Little Women--the '90's version with America's favorite five-finger-discount girl, Wynona Ryder. Susan Sarandon is radiant as Marmee, and there's a lot of gorgeous period costumes swooshing about. And more swooning over little Christmas miracles like oranges and sausage stuffing.
Hope ya'll had some poigniant viewing moments this holiday! See you in 2008!
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