Sangria Overflowing

I am making sangria for a New Year’s Eve dinner party. I thought it would be a pleasant prelude to a main course of Spanish chicken and sausage paella. Odd New Year’s Eve choice? Possibly, but I thought odd=out of the ordinary. Quirky. Fun! And I am all about fun!! (And I am also exceedingly quirky. Just ask my friends and family.)

I thought I’d get a jump-start on my New Year’s Eve soirée by preparing the sangria tonight. I began by pouring the ingredients into a pitcher. Then I was forced to switch to a larger pitcher. Than I gravitated to a uber-big punch bowl by necessity. There are oh, so many, many cups of many, many things in this recipe, including fruit juices, wine and brandy. My gosh. Who knew??

By this evening, I had created a beautiful red sangria topped with cut up grapes and lemons in a ginormous punch bowl. I have sangria enough to warm the bellies of a medium-sized Spanish village! But also a small, already packed-to-the-gills refrigerator. And these are the moments when it is very convenient to live in the Midwest during winter dinner parties. Who needs a deep freeze or spare fridge when we have the great outdoors?? So my covered punch bowl will spend the night on a chair on my deck.

But I was just thinking……..does anyone want to place bets on how many inebriated rodents I’ll find passed out in my backyard tomorrow morning??

Christmas '08

We had a spectacular Christmas, and I feel blessed. Christmas At Home as opposed to Christmas In Connecticut (sounds like that should be a movie title….or is it already?) wasn’t nearly the study in Christmas Boring I’d feared. It was actually peaceful and warm and memory-making. All the things Christmas should be.

We attended our church’s Christmas Eve service, and then headed home to dinner plans of homemade cheese fondue with pears and apples and French bread for dipping. But as I heated up the cream and opened the cheese, I noticed that the cheese had….issues. Issues of the green, moldy, scientific sort. So Super Hubs stole a line from his favorite movie, “A Christmas Story.” “Alright, everybody. Get up the stairs and get dressed. We’re going OUT to eat!” (I swear he was thrilled the cheese was rotten just so he could say that.) So we had pizza for our Christmas Eve dinner at a local restaurant that had a fireplace and was well ornamented for the holiday. It wasn’t our traditional Italian Christmas Eve meal served by my mother-in-law on the east coast, but it was delicious none-the-less. And later at home, we enjoyed chocolate fondue with marshmallows and pound cake for dipping while watching a movie together. There was a beautiful light snowfall that made the landscape picture-perfect.

Christmas Day was sweet and tender, and I am surprised at how pleasant it felt to wake up in our own home. And then the typical holiday antics ensued of giving and unwrapping and pleasant squealing and candy-gorging. We lazed and chillaxed, and then headed to the home of our friends, Bonnie and Joe. They are amazing cooks and great friends-who-should-be-family, and they’ve fed us like stray cats on many holidays this year. We thoroughly enjoyed the company and meal and game-playing.

An excellent Christmas. I hope yours was, too.

Sonic is All That

We have had an unbelievable amount of snow this month! And yesterday there was yet another 12-hour winter storm. Although beautiful, the snow makes driving inconveniently treacherous. But when you live in the Midwest, life must go on. One cannot hole up in one’s house for months on end, just because there’s danger on the horizon. There is still junk food to be consumed.

So, upon my friend, Tara’s, invitation yesterday, I ventured out into the wild to have lunch at the new Sonic that just opened recently to rave reviews. Being the latest “It” eatery in town, I decided I would not allow a little ol’ blizzard to stop me from experiencing All Things Yummy. Battling winds and swirling flurries, my minivan and I slipped and slid all over the icy roads. What should have been a 10-minute drive turned into 25 minutes of white-knuckled traffic.

Call me crazy for risking my life for a chili dog, but it was well worth it! I met Tara in the parking lot, and we parked together in my car into a little station, much like the local bank. We placed our order to a voice of unknown origin, and soon after, a cute little Worker Bee dressed in Nanook-of-the-North attire arrived with our food and a smile. I enjoyed the coney, tater tots with ranch, and an incredible chocolate coke. We thoroughly relished our lunch from the safety of my parked van, while watching other cars spin all over the streets. Ahhhh……bliss.

Twenty-four hours later, I am already craving more of Sonic! What to try next? The country fried steak topper? Limeade? Chocolate cheesecake bites? So much good eating in my near future! So much to live for this winter! I cannot wait!!

The Twelve Days

Genuine text message this evening from Rock Star to a friend:
“My parents are singing. God help me.”

It was true. And it was baaaad.

Little Squirt, in his sweet naivety, believes his parents to be flawless. Cool. Dare I even say perfect? And quality vocalists, for sure. And we are. (In our wildest imagination.) Our youngest has not yet reached the age when he’s aware of how Lethally Embarrassing we actually are. That enlightenment will come soon enough, bless his heart. He’ll come into that epiphany by age nine, most likely, as did his siblings.

In the meantime, we enjoy his innocence, and defer to his requests to warble. Tonight at the dinner table, he asked us to sing, “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” So we indulged him. But, for the life of us, we couldn’t remember the lyrics. Weren’t there Seven Lords A-Sleeping or something? Eight Cows A-Milking? And Geese doing something crass? And what were Days Nine, Ten and Eleven? All we were certain of were the “Five Golden Riiiiings.”

It was beyond pathetic. And Rock Star looked green with misery. Which is part of the beautiful tradition around our dinner table. Aren’t you sorry you missed it?

Pre-Holiday Ponderings

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Everywhere you go.”
It really is. Complete with snow. My children only have one day of school left before Break. But a ferocious winter storm is predicted for this evening, with many hopeful prayers of students sent heavenward for a “snow day” off tomorrow. Quite honestly, I’m hoping and praying myself. I’d love a cozy family day of board game playing and movie marathons by the fireplace. ‘Tis the season. I want to enjoy every moment.

I finished up most of my Christmas shopping this morning; Super Hubs being dragged about in my wake. (He even accompanied me to my nail salon, waiting patiently with a throng of middle-aged women, persevering despite the splitting headache he developed from the chemical fumes. God bless him. The man is a saint!)

We have changed our plans from Christmas Traveling to Christmas Staying Put. Our tradition has typically been to spend the holiday in Connecticut with Super Hubs’ family. It’s been a warm and lovely and beautiful ritual that we’ve adored. But this year Butterfly has gotten a part-time job in retail, and we must stay home. So we’ve had to alter the trajectory of our traditional plans and rethink Christmas at home. Little Squirt is the one who is struggling the most with this. I’ve realized that he doesn’t actually remember spending Christmas anywhere but at Grandma’s. “But where will we open our presents?” he asked me, in wide-eyed dismay. “Right here. In our home,” I answered. “Well you better let Santa know,” he said earnestly.

In an attempt to fill some of the void left by being non-nomads this year, we’ve done some local family events. We saw a charming community theater rendition of “A Christmas Carol.” We’ve enjoyed a visit to Santa, and some scrumptious meals out. We’ve snuggled under quilts together while watching our favorite Christmas movies. As Butterfly will be heading away to college in the fall, I am unnervingly aware of the preciousness of these family times. They feel sacred. And fleeting. (Sniff.)

So, while I understand the practicality in staying home this year, it also feels.... kind of empty. Normally, I’d be completely buried in the Pre-Vaca Craze right now. I’d be ferociously wrapping and packing and begging my neighbors to pet-sit; in the midst of my Traditional Holiday Nervous Breakdown. Somehow, odd as it sounds, I miss that a bit this year.
“But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be
On your own front door.” Well, we’ll see.

My Christmas Eve Adventure, Finale

Footsteps. I jerked awake. What was that? Did I just hear footsteps or was I dreaming?? I froze and listened intently. I heard another soft padding sound, then silence. My ears strained, listening with all their might. Another quiet footstep. Then another. "Click clack." "Click clack." OH. MY. GOSH. Somebody was OUT THERE! I was terrified.

Willing myself to move, I grabbed my bat and rolled over onto the floor, hiding behind the bed. I heard more footsteps, coming closer. "OH GOD OH GOD OH DEAR GOD PLEASE HELP ME," I prayed. What was it?? Who could be coming?? My imagination raced. Was it a ghost, like Jacob Marley in “A Christmas Carol” that I’d just seen on tv?? No, it couldn’t be. I was old enough to know that ghosts weren’t real.

Was it an Ax- Murderer, like from one of those horror movies that I wasn’t allowed to watch?? The footsteps came closer, along with a circular light. My heart pounded and I felt like I would vomit. It was probably an Ax-Murderer! Now I would die here in Marshall Fields! And with a stolen bat that would land me in Purgatory!!

This Great Adventure of mine was going wrong. So very wrong! I did not want to die! I had too much to live for and too many unfulfilled dreams! Now I would never get to marry David Cassidy or own a horse or become an Oscar-winning actress! Now I would die a horrible, bloody death at age ten, my body dismembered and spread out all around the store. This would probably make the newspapers and my fifth grade class would find out, and even from the grave I’d be incredibly embarrassed!

“Kelly? Is there a Kelly in here?” called a voice. OH DEAR GOD he knows my name!! The Ax-Murderer knows my name!! Has he been stalking me??!! Closer came the footsteps and light, threatening to expose my hiding place. I peeked under the bed and saw big black shoes slowly walking toward me.

My mind raced in a panic. WHAT TO DO?? WHAT TO DO???? Think fast! Think fast! By this point, my brain was so full of terror that there was no room for any thought processes. So I reacted purely by instinct, my adrenaline soaring. I jumped up, and viciously waving my bat, let out an ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream that would have made Nancy Drew proud! I yelled my lungs out to the Ax-Murderer!!

Only it wasn’t an Ax-Murderer. It was a kindly old security guard named Mickey, who had worked for Marshall Fields for 32 years, and I had nearly given him a heart attack. He told that I made this the most eventful Christmas Eve he had ever worked, as we sat in his office drinking hot chocolate and waiting for my parents to come and pick me up.

Apparently, a few hours before, my mother had called Kerry when I didn’t come home at the time expected. Kerry covered for me, saying that I probably went to visit another friend. My mother called all my friends that she knew. Becoming alarmed, my father called Kerry, who broke down and told him the truth. Then the local police were called….who notified the Chicago police…..who spoke to Marshall Fields security….which sent Mickey on the hunt to find me. I guessed I would be in big trouble, considering all the fuss made and the involvement of two different police departments. But in the meantime, I enjoyed my visit with Mickey, who seemed very amused and kept saying he couldn’t wait to tell his grandchildren all about his evening.

So that was the story of Christmas Eve when I was ten, when I had My Great Adventure. It didn’t turn out anything like I’d dreamed it would. By the time I arrived back in Palatine with my parents, it was nearly dawn. They were not as impressed with my resourcefulness as I’d hoped. I was grounded for the rest of the entire Winter Break. Christmas Day was very tense, to say the least. And my best friend was also punished for her role in my scheme.

Now nearly thirty years have gone by. I have since become an adult, married with children of my own. Marshall Fields has since become Macy’s. My Christmas Eves have since been more tranquil.

I had lunch in the Walnut Room a few weeks ago with some friends, enjoying a cup of cocoa in close view of The Tree. My mind drifted back to that memorable night when I was ten, as I looked up into its branches. I remembered. The Tree seemed to twinkle down at me as if we shared a secret ….and I felt like it remembered, too.

My Christmas Eve Adventure, Part IV

I slowly raised myself up and crept down the aisle, then the next one, and then the next, until I found what I was looking for. There, in the sports section of the Toy Department was a baseball bat. I grabbed one. It wasn’t stealing, really. I was a good Catholic girl and knew that to steal would be to break one of the Ten Commandments. And that was wrong and would need to be admitted to at Confession. No, taking the bat was not stealing, it was more like borrowing, I reasoned. Borrowing for my protection. Surely Mr. Marshall Field himself would want all customers to be safe! I would replace it tomorrow morning, before I left the store. So, with bat in hand, I felt a little more protected, a little more secure.

I decided to leave this floor with its creepy, dark toys and shadows, and go up to the top floor where the Furniture Department was located. I would find a comfortable bed and nest for the night. It was clearly too dark to go exploring or do any of the other fun things I had planned.

By now, my eyes were better adjusted to the dim light. I quietly left the Toy Department and headed to the escalators, whose power was turned off for the night. I would need to climb up. Feeling very exposed and more than a little nervous, I ran up each escalator on every floor as fast as I could, pausing at the top of each to catch my breath. RUN FOR MY LIFE, PAUSE AND BREATH. RUN FOR MY LIFE, PAUSE AND BREATHE became my pattern.

I finally reached the 9th Floor, the top floor, and where you could view the top of the Christmas Tree from the window. The Furniture Department would be to the right.I stared at the immense tree. Even in the dark, the sugarplum fairies ornaments and glass toy soldiers comforted me. They twinkled and winked in the moonlight that streamed through the windows. How I loved that Christmas Tree! It felt like an old friend; warm and safe and comforting. I would feel protected tonight, spending Christmas Eve near this tree.

I crossed over to the Furniture Department, and, next to a window, found a king-sized bed completely made up with pillows and comforter. It looked cozy and inviting. I crawled in and looked out at the street. Christmas Eve in Chicago. Shoppers trudged through the slush, carrying numerous bags. Cars blared their horns. I could see a light snow falling in the glow of the street lights. I had no idea what time it was. 7:00pm? 9:30pm? How much time had gone by since I hid in the Ladies’ Room? I thought about my home and wondered. Was my family back from the restaurant yet? What were they doing right now, on this Christmas Eve? No, I would not think about them. I pushed those thoughts away. It was My Great Adventure. It was My Memory of A Lifetime. Even though it was turning out nothing like I’d thought, it was still MINE, nonetheless. I lay on the bed and, feeling chilly, pulled the comforter around me. Exhausted, I dozed off.

My Christmas Eve Adventure, Part III

And I was proud of myself. So very proud! I had actually gotten all the way to the city BY MYSELF! I wished I had someone to share my triumph. But now I needed to be practical. I had to find a place to sit and rest for a while, and then plot out the rest of my day. There was a little ice cream shop a few floors down that I had noticed the last time I was here. I dug some money out of my purse and treated myself to my favorite dessert; a banana split.

I found a little corner table, dug into the ice cream and began to think. The store closed at 5:00 pm, an hour and a half from now. I would need to be hiding in the Ladies Room stall by then. I wondered how long it would take for the store to clear, and the employees to leave. Maybe an hour? Hopefully by 6:00pm I would be alone. I thought about home again. 6:00 pm was the time my family was scheduled to go out to eat, back in Palatine. We had dinner reservations at an Italian restaurant this evening, as was our tradition on Christmas Eve. I would miss all that this year; the stuffed shells, the garlic bread, the yummy cannoli, the man with the violin who came around to tables, playing “Silent Night.”

I licked the whipped cream off my spoon and thought more about my family. A lump formed in my throat and I began to feel homesick again. What would my parents do when they found out that I had run away? Would they be worried or angry? Would they miss me tonight? Thoughts that hadn’t occurred to me previously began to plague my mind. Up to now, I had mostly been a compliant, responsible child. Suddenly, a list of all the rules I had blatantly broken flashed across my brain. Here I was, a runaway on Christmas Eve! Was I being really selfish to want A Great Adventure?? I finished the banana split and shook my head defiantly. No. No. Absolutely not! This was MY Great Adventure. I needed this. It was good for me. Years from now, my parents and I would talk and laugh about this night. It would become a good family history story, I was certain. I would not think about home anymore. I would go and browse until it was time to hide.

6:something pm. I had been hiding in the stall of the Ladies Room for over an hour. It had been easier than I thought. I had tarried, washing my hands a bunch of times as the bathroom cleared of shoppers. Then I put my feet up on the toilet seat in the last stall, scrunching down as tightly as I could, and left the door slightly ajar. I imitated what I had seen done once on an episode of “The Rockford Files”. Someone, an employee perhaps, had eventually come in, called, “Is anybody here?” and then satisfied that the bathroom was empty, turned out the light.

Now it had been very quiet for what seemed like ages. I had, at first, heard footsteps going back and forth, and dim voices, then nothing. I climbed down from the stall, and stretched my cramped legs. My heart raced as I cautiously opened the Ladies’ Room door, and looked out. The store appeared to be empty! Very empty and dark. Unbelievably, creepily dark. The blackness felt overwhelming to me, and quite scary. I hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight, darn it. I hoped that the lack of light was only due to the fact that the Ladies Room was in a corridor.

I stood for a few minutes, willing my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I slowly edged along the wall, and turned down the corridor into the Toy Department. Still it was pretty gloomy, with a miniscule amount of illumination from the streetlights outside the windows. The once-friendly Toy Department, my favorite place in the whole store, now looked morose and threatening. I quietly, cautiously walked down an aisle, my macramé purse held in front of me for protection. Shadows fell across the floor. I turned down another aisle and nearly screamed. Big white eyes confronted me! I sank to the floor, relieved, as I realized it was a large stuffed teddy bear. I put my hand on my chest as I waited for my breathing to return to normal.

I was beginning to have second thoughts about spending the night here. In all my planning with Kerry, it had never occurred to me that Marshall Fields after closing would be so dark! This was VERY disappointing! I had imagined that the store would be just as it was during the day……only emptier. Completely devoid of shoppers, yet all the merchandise ready and available to me and only me. I had pictured myself trying on all the perfumes, playing with the Barbies, reading the comic books, and possibly eating a potpie in the Walnut Room. I’d dance through the aisles with the mannequins, singing at the top of my lungs and joyously relishing my freedom while spraying Chanel #9. Marshall Field’s would be a castle, and I would be its queen!

But now my favorite store seemed gloomy and frightening. And I hated the dark! At home, I always slept with the closet light on. I had an overactive imagination and I was not a courageous child. But then another thought; an empowering thought, occurred to me. Yes, I WAS courageous. I had gotten all the way here by myself, hadn’t I? I had outsmarted every shopper and employee, and was now sitting in one of the most famous stores in Chicago ALL BY MYSELF. I could do this! I would be brave. I would pretend that I was Nancy Drew. I just needed a weapon.

My Christmas Eve Adventure, Part II

So now it was Christmas Eve, the long-awaited day. The consummation of months of dreaming. I felt a nervous anticipation as I got dressed. Would I have the courage to go through with my plan? Could I pull off The Great Adventure??

I told my mother that I would be spending the day with Kerry, but would be home in time for our Christmas Eve dinner. Kerry and I convinced her older brother to drive us into downtown Palatine and drop me off at the library. We fed him some convoluted story about me having an overdue book, and that I was to wait there for my mother. I gave Kerry a hug in the car, whispered that I’d call her after my adventure, and waved good-bye. As soon as the car was out of sight, I walked the block and a half to the train station.

I grabbed a train schedule, and stuffed it into my purple macramé purse. There was only 20 minutes until the next train. My heart raced as I asked the station agent for a ticket, but he sold me one without balking. I waited on the platform as the icy wind whipped my scarf around my face, but I barely noticed the frigid temperature. My heart soared with the knowledge that I was beginning My Great Adventure! Here was the fruition of weeks of planning. I was actually going through with it! I felt older, taller, wiser. I could accomplish anything! I was a near-adult! I was Queen of the World! “Stand back, little girl, so you don’t get hit.” The station agent yanked me away from the tracks, yanking my mind back into reality as well. I was only ten once again.

The nearly-empty train ride into the city took about an hour. Just a few weary travelers, some carrying wrapped presents, were scattered about the car. I found a seat on the second floor, rested my head against the window and watched the scenery. We crossed town after town, each decorated for the holiday. Arlington Heights. Mount Prospect. Des Plaines. Houses lit up, warm and welcoming. Wreaths wrapped around street lights. Cars packed with families heading to celebrations. Holiday Hoopla. The train was warm and lulling, and I closed my eyes.

“Last Stop! Chicago!” I jerked awake. We were at the station. I followed the others through the building and onto Madison Street. I grabbed my pink notebook from my macramé purse and read the directions I had written down, the last time I was here with my family. “Straight on Madison. Left at State Street.” I followed the throng of pedestrians through the city.

It was bitter cold that Christmas Eve. I shivered as I crossed the bridge over the Chicago River. I remembered taking this same walk a few weeks earlier with my family, heading to lunch in the Walnut Room. That had been such a fun visit, with much laughter and joviality. The city had seemed warmer and friendlier that day. Now the cold was raw and cutting, and the buildings appeared more towering. I felt very small. No one noticed me. I was all alone in Chicago, on Christmas Eve. I felt the first pangs of homesickness.

The walk to my destination seemed to take forever. But finally, turning onto State Street, I caught a glimpse of the Great Clock. Marshall Fields in all its glory! Nine stories of beautiful bliss! My spirits lifted dramatically. Even at the tender age of ten, I recognized a true shopper’s paradise. The building with its dark green awnings and animated Christmas windows! The famous landmark that screamed “Chicago!” It was a little slice of heaven.

I entered the building and drank in its beauty. Big gold ornamental balls hung from the ceiling, and familiar Christmas carols chimed through the air. I made a bee-line to see the famous tree, located in the Walnut Room. Dodging shoppers, I took the escalators to the 9th floor. The top of the tree would be visible there from a big window that overlooked the Walnut Room. I sneaked between people to get a front-row view. This year the tree was decorated in “The Nutcracker Suite” theme. It was as beautiful as I remembered it from my last visit! I sighed in deep appreciation. AHHHH……..How I loved Marshall Fields, with it’s amazing tree, Tiffany dome mosaics, opulent decor and luxurious merchandise! All stores everywhere paled in comparison, I believed. I was in love.

My Christmas Eve Adventure, Part I

I wrote this particular narrative two years ago, based on a childhood escapade. I'll give it to you in sections, over the next few days. Enjoy.
I was ten years old the year I ran away on Christmas Eve. It wasn’t that circumstances were so bad at home. I just felt the need for An Adventure of Great Magnitude. I led such an ordinary life for a fifth grader, I believed. No passion, no excitement! Just plain ordinariness. I wallowed in its monotony. I was a youthful romantic dreamer. I lived inside my head, imagining myself as the heroine of my melodramatic daydreams. It was time for my own real one.

I had been planning my adventure for months. It had become a near obsession. I had a little pink notebook into which I wrote every detail of my plan. I shared my scheme with only one other person: My best friend, Kerry. Together we plotted it out on the cold December playground. We dominated the top of the squiggly slide and considered all possibilities.

Where should I go? Someplace warm and tropical? No. My bathing suits were all stored away for the winter in some mysterious place in the house, and I didn’t want to ask my mother for them. That would arouse suspicion. Europe? Exciting, yes, but way too complicated. I’d have to stowaway on a plane. And that would possibly end in prison time. So that, to our juvenile brains, left Chicago. Living in Palatine, Chicago was in close enough proximity to get there by train, yet still far enough away to be exciting and glamorous.

Where was my favorite place in Chicago? That was easy. It was Marshall Fields on State Street, specifically at Christmas time, when the gargantuan tree was set up in the Walnut Room. I had absolutely loved that particular Christmas tree from the time I was a very little girl! My family made an annual visit to the Walnut Room to eat under the tree and admire the lavish decorations for that year’s theme.

Kerry and I conspired. The Great Runaway would occur on Christmas Eve. I would take the train downtown to Chicago, then walk across the loop to State Street and Marshall Fields. When it was near closing time, I would hide in the stall of the Ladies Room until the store was closed for the evening, and then have the entire place to myself! The tree…..the toys…...the animated windows……the makeup department……it would all be MINE MINE MINE! For one evening, I would essentially own the store! I would be like Eloise at the Plaza Hotel! I believed with all my being that my plan was possible. Not only possible, but entirely doable to an adventurous-sort of 10-year-old like me.

I concluded that I would spend the night on one of the beds that I’d seen in the Furniture Department. I’d wake up early on Christmas morning, then make my way back to the train station, board the next train to Palatine, call my parents from the station, and be home by breakfast. I expected that my parents might be a bit angry, but I reasoned that they would ultimately be SO grateful to have their only daughter back home safely, they’d welcome me with open arms and loads of presents. Then we’d talk about my adventure over eggnog in front of the fireplace. And they’d be amazed at my ingenuity and independence! Perhaps even more privileges would ensue! And my brothers would be so envious. I would definitely become the favored child.

My backup plan: If my parents were too angry to ever forgive me, I would just go and live with Kerry. She was the youngest of nine children, and her parents would barely notice one more child in their household, we decided. I didn’t eat much or take up too much space. Besides, I’d always wanted a sister.

Christmas Eve, 1986

I wrote this story three years ago, to share with my Drama Team. It is a glimpse into one of my Christmas' past. I hope you enjoy it.

Christmas Eve, 1986. I trudged through the slush, holding my scarf protectively around my face. It was a cold and bitter Christmas Eve in the city of Chicago. The streets were uncharacteristically empty, except for a few lonely homeless folks. I passed brownstone apartments, and watched enviously at the merrymaking I could see through the windows. People celebrating together. The atmosphere inside looked warm and inviting, contrasting hugely with my depressed heart.

I was on my way to work the night shift at Children’s Memorial Hospital. As one of the newbie R.N.s, I was assigned to work the least-coveted holiday shift of the year, 11:00pm-7:30am, beginning on Christmas Eve and ending on Christmas Day. I begrudgingly acknowledged that I was needed to care for the very sickest of children that night. But I had indulged in some moments of self-pity. I didn’t want to be working on Christmas Eve. This was my all-time favorite holiday! I wanted to be with my parents and brothers at their home in the suburbs, drinking eggnog and watching “It’s A Wonderful Life," as was our tradition. I wanted to go to Midnight Mass with them. I did not want to be working all night tonight, come home to my empty apartment for a few hours sleep early on Christmas morning, and then catch the train to Palatine to finish the last bit of the holiday with my family. That was not my idea of a good Christmas. And working the night shift always played havoc with my sleep cycle. I just knew I’d be exhausted. I envied my co-workers who got this holiday off.

So here I was feeling melancholy, and walking the 1 1/2 miles from my apartment on Fullerton to the hospital in the bitter cold, late on Christmas Eve. I reached my destination at last, and rode the elevator up to the 9th floor. I hung up my coat in the locker room, then headed out to report in to the Unit on 9West where I worked. My spirits rose a bit as I saw the halls that some loving hospital worker had festively decorated with garland. A lit Christmas tree was displayed in the Playroom, attempting to brighten the lives of the children who were forced to spend their holiday here. I took Report, poured a cup of coffee in the hopes that it would fuel me for the long night ahead, and then headed off to assess the children I was assigned to care for that evening.

The doctors mercifully had discharged as many of the patients as they possibly could earlier in the day, allowing them to spend Christmas at their homes. So only the very ill children remained there that night, with their worried parents sleeping fitfully in fold-out chairs by their beds.

That evening I had four children assigned to me. Three would require very little care throughout the night. I would need to check on them a few times and distribute some IV meds, but I would try to let them sleep undisturbed.

My fourth patient was one that I knew would keep me very busy. Her name was Amanda. She was a four-month-old baby girl with the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen. She had leukemia. I had taken care of her in the past and was familiar with her care. I observed that her young parents loved her tremendously, but they didn’t have much money, and worked very hard. They couldn’t be by her side as often as they’d liked when she was in the hospital. She had been admitted earlier that day for a fever and low blood counts. She was alone on Christmas Eve.

Amanda had a private room that night. I entered it, and saw a little red stocking with a teddy bear appliquéd on it, hanging from her crib. But that was the only sign of Christmas. A blinking IMed pump stood next to her crib, with an octopus of tubes infusing fluids into Amanda’s heart. The full head of black hair she had been born with was now gone, one of the side effects of chemotherapy. Childhood leukemia, in some forms, is curable. But because Amanda was a tiny infant, her prognosis was not great.

I crossed the bedroom and went over to her crib. Her big brown eyes were open wide, and she smiled and kicked her feet when she saw me. “You poor baby,” I said. “Having to spend your first Christmas stuck in the hospital!” But Amanda was oblivious to her circumstances, and to the disease the ravaged her body. She just sucked on her pacifier and looked content.

I picked up the baby and brought her to the rocking chair by the window, careful of the Central Line that was anchored to her chest. The Imed pump trailed along behind us. Amanda eagerly took the bottle that I offered her. I rocked and fed her and looked out the window. As I watched the snow fall outside, and the cars intermittently drive down Lincoln Ave., I thought about Amanda and wondered. I wondered if she would grow up. Would she know Christmas’ other than this? Would she sit on Santa’s lap? Would she ever get to help her mom decorate cookies? Go sledding with friends? And I thought about her parents, whose hearts must break that they couldn’t be here to hold their baby on Christmas Eve. This poor baby. All alone in the hospital without family tonight.

And then another thought occurred to me. Amanda’s parents weren’t here tonight. But I was. I could hold their baby tonight. I could be present with this baby, on her first Christmas Eve. “I’m without my family tonight, too, Amanda,” I whispered. “So you and I will just have to enjoy spending this Christmas Eve with each other.”

Amanda’s tummy grew full, her eyelids became heavy, and she drifted off to sleep. I continued to rock her for a while. I spent a lot of time in her room that shift. I felt like the Grinch, my heart growing several sizes that night. I began to feel grateful for all the Christmas’ I had been given. And I became grateful that I was here to spend this one with this baby.

I don’t know what happened to Amanda. She was still alive and well at age three when I left my job at Children’s. But I’ll never forget that particular Christmas Eve, when I spent my holiday with that little baby girl.

Star Student

I am suffering in Kindergarten Homework Hell this weekend. And it ain’t pretty! Little Squirt has his turn as the “Star Student” at school this week, which involves quite a bit of preparation on my part. Little Squirt is, as is typical, living in “Little Squirt World” with nary a care, allowing his mother to shoulder the myriad responsibilities.

He has brought home Teddy, the class mascot, with instructions to take him everywhere, and document the “Weekend with Teddy” with photographs and journal. So I have had to scrutinize Teddy’s whereabouts all weekend with the eagle-eye of a mother duckling, for fear he will be lost at some unknown location, or dropped into the slush, and then I would have to explain his destruction to a tearful kindergarten class and teacher. And, to really turn Bad into Ugly, my digital camera broke down on Saturday, forcing me to re-take all of Friday’s pictures of Little Squirt and Teddy with Butterfly’s camera, and then run to the store, begging and bribing the contrary photo employee to get them printed out right away. I got down on my knees. I actually did.

We’ve also needed to create a Little Squirt poster, with his likes and dislikes, favorite things, and photographic documentation of his babyhood up till the present. Did I mention that the last four years of photographs of this child’s life have been uploaded to the computer and never printed out? So I’ve scrambled around the house looking for pictures, any pictures, dear Lord, that he can put on his poster (this poor, dear, third child of the family with only two complete photo albums from 2002-2003). In a sad moment of desperation, I was tempted to cut pictures of black-haired child models out of a magazine and pass them off as his. This is what Kindergarten Homework Hell has turned me into: A Frazzled, Deceptive Mother who desperately would rather cheat on Kindergarten Homework so she can have time to take a Calgon bath with a big ol’ glass of pinot grigio.


(Big sigh.) It’s been stressful. Our busy Christmas season weekend has revolved around our little Star Student. Who, I might add, has had no inclination to do any of this homework. He has been too busy watching “Drake and Josh’s Christmas Special.” But, I must admit, seeing him hold Teddy’s hand all weekend has been darn adorable.

Gloom and Doomers

What is up with the National Bureau of Economic Research’s announcement that the U.S. has been in a Recession since last December??
My opinions on this announcement:
1.) DUH.
I admit that I am no Economic Genius. (I actually can barely balance my checkbook. Which is why I use a debit card. It’s also much quicker than scrambling in my purse to find a pen when there’s a lot of hostile people behind me in line at the checkout, and then I can never find anything in my purse anyway but some used tissues and old receipts…...but I digress.) I believe that, even among the Economic Non-Genius’ among us who can barely balance a checkbook (Such as myself. See above.), a great big DUH.
2.) What about engaging in The Power of Positive Thinking?
As soon as the Economic Experts made this announcement, stocks took a deep dive. And parents who were planning on indulging their male tots this Christmas by buying them Spike The Ultra Dinosaur, will now return the toy. Which will cause many a tear around the Christmas tree this year. And it’s all the fault of the National Bureau of Economic Research. FOR SHAME, You Children-Hating Donny Downers! What about The Power of Positive Thinking? What if the Expert Schmexperts had instead chosen to indulge in a teeny-weeny white lie? What if they said something like, “Not only are we NOT in a Recession, but the economy is greatly flourishing!” “Things are on the upswing, by golly!!” “The economic future of America looks bright and cheery!! Therefore we highly encourage each citizen to have a champagne toast!!”
Then, I wholeheartedly believe, my friends, that stocks would have vastly risen and consumers would have gone on a Celebration Shopping Spree, subsequently pulling us out of a Recession into a Time of Prosperity. That’s my opinion. (But the experts didn’t ask me.) Again- a great big DUH.

DISCLAIMER:
*The above is the snarky opinion of the writer and not intended to be insensitive to people who are truly struggling financially during this period. May God bless you.
*This commentary is also not an intention to malign any employee of the National Bureau of Economic Research or Returners of Spike The Ultra Dinosaur. Or Recession Champagne Toasters. I believe Champagne Toasting is entirely appropriate in any economy, frankly.
*Bear in mind that this right-brained writer dropped her college Basic Math course because of a failing grade and took the easier community college Accounting class in its place. And only got a B-.

Winter-Time

The first winter snow arrived yesterday as a guest, and I am an ambivalent hostess. This visitor has its charms, but I am hoping it won’t stay for long. It has made the landscape look picturesque, like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. But if it overstays its welcome it will quickly lose all appeal for me. I am now a tense winter driver, because of my Near Death Experience of last year. And I am an even tenser Mother Of A Teenage Winter Driver. And then there’s the constant battle of the Slush vs. Clean Kitchen Floor, instigated by my children and dog. (Big sigh.) I’ll quit complaining now. I have lived in the mid-west for most of my life, so I should be used to this.

The first snowfall is a poem-worthy event. And as I read this jewel by Robert Louis Stevenson, I thank the good Lord for a heated home, but I long for a nurse who will “wrap me in my comforter and cap.”
Winter-Time
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.