AS USUAL

Getting organized for the week, I asked my ex-husband what his plans were for the week. The New Year's Eve conversation went as it usually does:
Him: So, well, what were you thinking for New Year's Eve?
Me: Well, what were you thinking?
Him: Well, we [him and his girlfriend] were kind of hoping you didn't have plans...
Me: Hoping or planning that I didn't have plans?
Him: Well, you know.

And then I have to admit: OK, fine. I don't have plans. I'll be glad to ring in the New Year with Cole.

I figure one of us might as well get to have a night on the town, and it wasn't going to be me. (To note: Last New Year's Eve I did have plans - a fabulous dinner party at one of my best friend's house - I was the only single person there, but what's new? I was so proud to tell my ex-husband I actually did have plans. Once over the past eight years isn't bad!)

ME. MOM. AND DAD. IN SANTA FE

It’s Friday night, and I just got back from my Christmas in Santa Fe. I am dogless, kidless and, oh yes, parentless. Whew.

The trip to Santa Fe with my parents was nice. I’ll give you a few details, but let me start by venting a bit. I knew this going in, but my dad is just getting old – or at least he sure acts old (he’s not 70 yet!). I vowed when I started this blog that I wouldn’t ream on friends or relatives, so I’ll try to keep my comments mild. We all laughed the day we got there because Dad decided to wear my grandmother’s fluffy mink earmuffs he had found at home along with a ball cap. Nice.

I can say with great confidence that the keeping-up-with-things neurons in Dad’s brain have totally burned out. At some point or another during the three-day trip he spent time (with much angst) looking for, in no particular order: his shoes, cell phone, gloves, mink earmuffs, hat, gloves, hearing aids, brushes, scarf, gloves, coat, room key and house key.

The other thing that got under my skin was the incessant - and incorrect - use of the “do what?” Lack of hearing? Lack of focus? I’m not sure, but every time you spoke to him, the first words out of his mouth were “do what?” As in:
“Our reservations are for 7 tonight”
“Do what?”
“Did you see all of that snow?”
“Do what?”
”Have you found your freakin' gloves yet?”
“Do what?”
“For the love of god, could you quit saying ‘do what’?”
“.......Do what?”

OK. Enough of that. Our room was small, but good – great view and very cool to have a fireplace in the room.

On Christmas Eve, we took the pilgrimage that all tourists in Santa Fe on Christmas Eve take: the march down Canyon Road. If you Google "Canyon Road in Santa Fe", you get more than 400,000 results, and every travel book raves about Christmas Eve on Canyon Road. Here’s how one Web site describes it:

One of Santa Fe's most beloved ways of celebrating the holiday season, the Canyon Road Farolito Walk lights up the hearts and souls of the crowds that walk this famous road every Christmas Eve. Small bags filled with sand contain votive candles that softly glow on this magical night as they line the neighborhood streets and adobe walls. Carolers spontaneously gather around luminarios, or small bonfires, and sing for joy as they warm themselves from the cold night.

Here’s what we experienced: a mass of people walking up a road, and then turning around and walking back down the road. No “carolers spontaneously gathered”, no “small bonfires,” no "singing for joy." One person was selling cider, and we did see a flame thrower dressed as Jesus. That was about it. We did get to traipse through snow (pretty cool for us Texans), and we did laugh about what a letdown it was.

Later that night we went to our hotel’s bar where it was apparently AARP night, with the piano player playing the requests, which included Moon River and My Funny Valentine. No joke. We did get her to play a few Christmas songs, because, oh yeah, IT WAS CHRISTMAS EVE.

Christmas Day, we enjoyed a massive brunch where I ate more meat/protein than I have probably eaten in the past two years. Very nice. Mom and I ate dinner in a bar that night – sad to say it was not our first time to eat Christmas dinner in a bar. Today, we drove around in the snow and then headed to the airport.

It was a good Christmas, but certainly as I sat in the El Chico-esque bar eating nachos with my parents on Christmas Eve and as I read my 15th magazine on Christmas Day and as I spoke to my son for about five minutes over the three-day span, I was reminded THIS IS NOT HOW IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE!

CHRISTMAS AT MY HOUSE

OK. So here's the deal. I spent THREE days following Thanksgiving decorating my house for Christmas. I tried a new mantle, created a new tree for my kitchen table and even created a vignette of three candles nestled in "snow" (crystals from our adventure last year to Arkansas).
It is Dec. 19, and I've coming to the depressing realization that the only people who have seen the results of my three days of decorating are me, Cole, my mom, my maid and one mom who made it into the entryway of my house.
Instead of spending a few hours of staring-at-the-ceiling-fan therapy, I've decided to be proactive and share my decorated house with you. I am telling myself that there are a number of "yous" out there that actually read this blog.
(I have now spent 45 minutes trying to load photos for the first time to my blog. I am not happy. I am all about work-arounds, so I'm just going to load them as separate posts)

HERE'S OUR TREE

This is the Christmas tree - it's held together by a lot of duct tape and leans precariously to the right, but once it's all decorated, it works great. Note the gaudy, plastic crystal, lit star at the top - that's what I get for letting a four-year-old pick out our tree topper!

PICTURE THIS

Here's my collection of Christmas frames with Christmas photos. Note the photo on the right in the red frame of Red with Santa. We took him to the free "Get Your Pet's Photo Taken with Santa" event at Petco last year, and lo and behold, Santa was black.

GIFTS

OK. I have no idea how to rotate this photo, but you get the idea. My red bow talent is the result of a summer working retail at the mall 23 years ago.

DINING TREE

Here's the new tree I created using my collection of antique silverware with monograms and old napkin rings. (Note the remants in the bottom right of the mess I had to shove to the side to take this photo...)

A MESSAGE FROM????

Red, Cole and I made another trip to a nursing home today, and I met a woman that seemed to have a message for me. Hmmm.

Cole did great - nothing phased him (not the sleeping people in their wheelchairs in the halls, not the man who kept giving him Ritz crackers, not the blind woman who couldn't really respond and not even the drooling man wearing diapers) until we got to one room that had that distinct, nasty nursing home smell. You know. Basically a diaper that needed changing.

He was really grossed out, and I felt bad that I had not mentioned that possibility. Later, though, he said "At first it grossed me out, but then it just made me sad." Then we had a long talk about how humiliating it would be. Never know what might come up at these visits....

So, there we were on the third floor and walked towards a woman in a wheelchair with a blank look on her face. She saw Cole, and her eyes followed him. We introduced ourselves, and she asked slowly if Cole was my boy. I said yes. She stared at me - really seemed to look deeply into my eyes. Cole went off with Red, and I stayed with her (Mrs. Rogers). It was hard to follow what she was saying at first.

Then, she looked right at me and said "You are brave."

Let me tell you, there are many days as a single mom I feel much more of a mess than brave. She said it again. "You are very brave." I said thanks and she asked "do you take care of your boy?" I said yes. She said "Well, you need some help." She was still looking straight into my eyes.

By this point, I'm wondering "who is this lady? how does she know about my life?" I said "Well, yes I really do need help." It was so...not sure what the word is. Thoughtful? Eerie? Prophetic? Spiritual? Not to sound too weird, but it was like a message I needed to hear.

Now, she did go on to tell me I should just call the nursery to get some help. But, I'm going to choose to believe that she did have a message for me, not just some confused ramblings. I plan to look for her on our next visit...maybe she'll have another message, or maybe she'll just be asleep.

A SPECIAL CHRISTMAS MEMORY

Cole had to do a little presentation this morning to his class about one of his Christmas traditions and Christmas memories. For the tradition, I talked him into telling about a Danish tradition in his father's family that involves one person at the table finding a surprise in their rice pudding. We brought chocolate pudding and played the game with the class. It was fun.

Then Cole shared his Christmas memory. I tried to suggest a few things last night, but here's what Cole shared with his class: "One Christmas Eve I had to wait five hours in the airport for my great-grandmother because they lost her walker." What??? That's the best, most memorable Christmas memory he could come up with?

What about our yearly drive - with Christmas music playing and hot chocolate no less - to look at Christmas lights? What about our mornings opening presents around the fireplace? What about discussing special ornaments as we decorate the tree? What about the time we went to the Old City Park Candlelight Christmas Celebration? Or when we went caroling in the neighborhood with our friends? What about when we pick out the toys to pack in the shoebox for Samaritan’s Purse?

To think that one long, irritating afternoon in an airport could negate all of the warm, special memories I worked so hard to pull off over the past 9 years! I'm thinkin' I'm going to focus on making MYSELF some warm, special Christmas memories from here on out.

POOP IN THE MOUTH

I'm sitting here trying to work and having a good cry watching the end of one of those old episodes of Little House on the Prairie. Love that old show. It was the Christmas episode where Laura gives up her beloved pony to that awful Nellie Olsen in order to get her mom a stove as a Christmas gift. Call me a loser, but I dare you to watch that episode and not cry.

Thought I'd report on Red's (my dog's) missionary work. (I just knew when I bought him he had a heart for missions. Ha.) He did pass the class at church and went on his second nursing home visit today. The visit did not start off well. As we gathered in front of the nursing home to pray, Red plunged his face into some yellow poop that he proceeded to happily eat. Lovely.

After some serious clean up, however, he did very well. So many of the rooms are warm and cozy, he tends to just curl up and want to stay. He did play the cute dog part well. One lady thought he was actually a baby - her great-grandchild in fact. She was a bit confused.

FROM THE HEART

Got a massage this morning, and it was great. The funny thing was the guy giving me the massage must have been hungry. His stomach growled the whole time - I'm always so distracted when I get a massage anyway! It really was nice though.

I used a gift certificate for the massage that Cole gave me for last Mother's Day. Cole's father has always been generous in helping Cole buy me gifts. After getting the first massage gift certificate from him, I knew I was on to something. "Cole, Mommy sure does love massages....yes I do. That's a great gift!"

I have taken a more creative approach with the gifts I help Cole buy his father (Christmas, Father's Day, birthday). I just let Cole pick out the gift - it's from his little heart (and clearly his father has not picked up on how to drop some serious hints).

So, Cole has given his father a musical Christmas tie, Spiderman bathmat and blue squishy pillow over the years. The singing Christmas beaver Cole bought him several years ago is the only accessory in his father's living room. The furry guy strangely sits in the middle of the coffee table - year round.

I'll let you know what Cole comes up with this year...

QUIRKY RADAR

It’s official. It’s been one year this month since my last date. My last evening of adult conversation with an available male. I think the well is officially dry, and there’s no hope/potential in sight.

I was thinking back on the dates I have been on (that would be pre-2007) and some of the just plain funny things I’ve experienced. Now, you might not think they’re funny, but I think they’re quite quirky. Some might say my quirky radar is too sensitive, but judge for yourself.

In the past seven years, I have been out with men who:

• Drive a bus for a living.
• Prayed over our meal and thanked God for the red tomatoes on our salads.
• Pulled over at the end of my street to make sure I was going to put on my seatbelt.
• Told me they were recently divorced (as in four days divorced)
• Admitted that they lived with their parents.
• Told me their soon-to-be ex-wife thought they were an alcoholic, as he drank his fourth glass of wine.
• Talked baby talk to their CAT.
• Told me that he and his ex-wife fought more over custody of their dogs than custody of their kids.
• Took me to a lovely fountain to enjoy the sunset - and brought a towel in case we decided to splash around in the fountain. (seriously dude?)
• Talked to me in third person, as in “How is Laura doing?”

Now, those of you who know my dating record realize that this list is a compilation of a mere five to ten men (too depressing for me to actually count the number). It’s a weird dating world out there, and I’ll admit that it just doesn’t take much for me to hoist that red flag right on up the flagpole.

(I need to say here that I am certainly not ungrateful - I have been on some very fun dates, enjoyed some good meals at cool Dallas restaurants, gotten lots of good advice, had great conversations, gotten some good self-esteem boosts and some very thoughtful gifts.)

Maybe if I turned down my quirky radar, I’d have better luck. If nothing else, it might make for some entertaining reading for all of you married gals who wonder about all the great fun us single gals are having.

THE GREEN FELT BIRD

I finished putting up all my Christmas decorations – it took three days, 16 Diet Cokes and only one emergency trip to Michael’s. I have not worn makeup or anything nicer than my fat-girl sweats for the past three days. Whew.

Putting all our ornaments on the tree was quite a feat and made me think about the fact that every ornament has a story. Probably the most interesting/pitiful/tragic story on my tree is the gaudy green felt bird decked in sequins and gold trim. It was my Grandma’s.

When my Grandma died several years after my Grandpa, the family had to clear out their house. Walking through during the clean out, I noticed that all of my Grandma’s ornate green felt birds had been thrown in the trash. These weren’t just any felt birds – these were the birds that had hung on my Grandma’s tree for as long as I could remember. Yes, the tree looked a bit odd covered in only strange green felt birds, but it is what I remember of their tree on so many Christmas Eves.

“Why are we throwing out all the green felt birds?” I asked my mom, who was busy sorting through another drawer of paper scraps (Having grown up during the Depression, my Grandpa always ripped the fronts off Christmas cards and used the back sides for scratch paper. He also tore napkins into fourths – which doesn’t sound so weird to me anymore thanks to the current economic climate.)

“Oh, Laura,” my mom said with a sigh and a laugh.

“What??” I demanded.

She went on to tell me that the tacky – but special – green felt birds that brought me warm memories of the family gathered around the piano on Christmas Eve at my grandparents were made by my Grandma when she was locked in a psychiatric hospital. Nice.

I’ve known for a long time that my family has a long, proud history of depression and an array of other anxiety related disorders. But really? She made the birds in art therapy at Timberlawn? And THEN, she hung them on her Christmas tree every year?? How could decorating her tree every year been anything but, well, depressing?

I did pull one of those birds out of the trash, and I hang it on my tree every year. We’re all kind of a mess, aren’t we? And our Christmas trees do kind of tell the story of our lives, warts and all.

Besides, I Christmas-crafted my way through a depression once. It was year one of going through my divorce, and I worked like crazy on Cole’s Christmas stocking. It’s a traditional red velvet stocking with sequined figures, including a snowman, football and train.

I do laugh and roll my eyes when I hang it up every year. It’s too darn cute to throw away for the sake of not having an oh-how-I-hated-my-life flashback. Maybe that’s how my Grandma felt – but seriously, these birds are ugly.