• 20Dec 08

  It's a French Kiss Martini Kind of Christmas

  I've always found the holiday season to be a breeding ground for family drama...at least in our household. Once again, I have not been able to complete the relatively simple task of buying, addressing and mailing Christmas cards. So, I humbly offer this blog instead, and pray you forgive me for the lack of a more personalized greeting.

  After a comically disastrous pageant rehearsal a couple of years ago, my girls quite literally became the black sheep of the church. Click Here if you missed it.

  And then there was last year, when the Little Ladies were swept up in a Christmas tale fraught with intrigue, theft, a missing Christ child, and a dog held for ransom. Click Here if you missed that one. I'll give you a few minutes to catch up.

  So, where are we this year? Remarkably, all is calm and all is bright. So far, we are all healthy, and the Little Ladies are thankfully not involved in a pageant which requires animal noises. The Christmas shopping is done, and all household deities are accounted for. *knocking on wood* Of course, Christmas is still several days away. Give us a few days, and we can easily give you a disaster.

  But the relative calm this season is not lost on me. We are blessed. Are there areas of sorrow? Certainly. Just the other morning, Elena cried on the way to school because she misses her Uncle Dennis...how he used to play the piano for her and sing silly songs. She asked me when we can all be in heaven to see Uncle Dennis again. It quite literally took my breath away, and I was at a loss for words. But in spite of this, life is good. The girlies have made huge progress with their therapies this year, and are doing well in kindergarten. As recently as this past summer, we weren't sure they were even ready for kindergarten. Do they still have a way to go? Most definitely. But at least we're seeing progress.

  Flipping on the news these days doesn't exactly bring tidings of comfort and joy. I need a stiff drink just to make it through an hour of CNN. But as our economy continues to teeter on the brink of disaster, jobs being lost on a large scale and home values plummeting, we are still in our home this Christmas, bedecked with yuletide cheer. Dmitry and I still have employment. Our girls will remain in their school this year, and for at least one more year. Things are tight, and we are feeling the pinch like most people. But, we have much to be grateful for.

  In our extended family, we agreed that this year we would not buy gifts for each other. We're taking care of the children, and that is enough. But it has felt a little odd not to have grown-up gifts. Even though nobody needs another pair of slippers, or a Christmas sweater with jingle bells on it, or a fill-in-the-blank-greatest-hits CD, it has just seemed wrong that we will not be exchanging gifts this year. Until, that is, the Little Ladies unwittingly arranged to give us what we could really use the most...time together.

  Elena and Larisa have been bugging me for weeks about going up to Prescott to spend time with Grammy and Grandpa. "We'll work it out," I keep promising them. But they keep nagging. We finally decided to drive them up there the weekend following Christmas. They asked if we could stay too, and Dmitry and I have decided to make it a weekend. We'll drive the girlies to snow country to let them go sledding, which is another thing they have been bugging us about.

  But wait, there's more! While chatting with my sister, Rhonda, and my niece, Meg, I had the brilliant idea that they should join us for the weekend of merry-making up North. (Is "brilliant" the right word? I suppose that remains to be seen.)

  "There's a reason we don't do big family weekends," Rhonda so optimistically pointed out.

  She's right. We're a weird lot. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love my family. But we're weird. Throw four generations of us under one roof for 72 hours, and there's a great likelihood some of us won't make it out with our sanity intact. We'll probably end up huddled in a corner, sucking our thumbs in our Rudolph slippers. Think Chevy Chase's Christmas Vacation meets The Family Stone, and you'll kind of be on the right track.

  "Oh, come on," I implored. "Think of all the blog fodder we'll get out of it. It will be fun."

  She shot me the same penetrating look she gave me when I boasted in the first grade that I had met Shaun Cassidy at school. I tried to maintain eye contact, but faltered. My sister can always nail me.

  "Okay, maybe 'fun' is an overstatement," I conceded, "but we should do this. Please?"

  Long story short, she and Meg succumbed. So this Christmas we will all be cozily tucked away up North for a long weekend of movies, cooking, sledding and even a family game night. We haven't had a family game night since we were kids. Probably because good Pentecostals weren't supposed to play games...or dance...or drink...or smoke...or go to movies...or engage in any activity that could produce mirth or frivolity. Unless, of course, it was Christian Clue, a la the Simpsons. The Human Secularist did it...in the school...with misinformation. You've got to love Ned Flanders!

  Okay, so perhaps I'm exaggerating just a tad. We just weren't a game-playing family. Nevertheless, Rhonda, Megan, my Mum and I are "gamely" putting together a weekend of fun.

  "We could do Karaoke," Meg suggested.

  "With what? The Melodies of Praise Hymnal? We'll be at Grammy's house, remember?" Rhonda quipped.

  "Be nice," I shot back. "We'll wing it."

  Megan joked that we could all play Crisco Twister, but decided that this would be a little too much family togetherness.

  Later in the day, I called Rhonda to inform her that I'm bringing Scattegories for all of us to play. My Mom is providing Pictionary. Rhonda's supplying booze.

  So this Christmas season, as we are all rushing from one activity/commitment/obligation to another, we will take a few days to give each other the gift of time. Rhonda and I will watch our children celebrate the holiday together. We will be silly and take a lot of pictures. And there will be new memories created. That is, unless we block them all out.

  I suppose, then, that my wish for all of my friends this year is that you can take some time with your own families...whether kin or created...to make some new memories. I'll be thinking of you all this Christmas, and you can be thinking of us as we're getting hammered with French Kiss Martinis and playing Pentecostal Pictionary. And if you happen to find yourself alone for the holiday, feel free to join us. We'll be the slightly inebriated ones belting out the Melodies of Praise Karaoke, which always sounds better after a little liquor...or a lot. Grab a martini and pull up a hymnal! You know you want to. Bwahahaha!

  Merry Christmas to you all, and to all a good night!

  • Posted Dec 20, 2008 12:13 pm PT
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• 9Dec 08

  Magic or Madness?

  It happens the same way every year. Our annual Post-Thanksgiving-Trek-to-Disneyland looms large with anticipation in our home. We started our annual pilgrimage when I was still a kid living at home. I broke faith for several years when I grew up and flew the coop. But now that I have borne children, I have humbly returned to the Disneyland fold. In the weeks leading up to our adventure, I scour weather reports, finalize hotel accommodations, make reservations through Disney Dining, and check park hours, parade and fireworks schedules. Inevitably, I end up taking two trips to Disneyland...the actual trip, and the imaginary trip in my head in the weeks leading up to the event.

  In my imaginary trip, we awaken on the morning of departure to smiles and giggles, suitcases that have magically packed themselves, an alternative fuel vehicle which comes equipped with a mute button for the offspring in the backseat, and a nourishing breakfast of omelets made from organically grown vegetables and free range chicken eggs. The girlies eat, dress and get in the car without fussing. They quietly play a Disney themed alphabet game in the back seat. "A" is for Alice in Wonderland, "B" is for Belle, "C" is for Cinderella, "D" is for Donald Duck...you get the idea. Then they eat their snack of granola and drift off to sleep for the next six hours, their little faces smiling in sweet dreams, until we arrive at the hotel.

  Of course, reality is never that forgiving. Our actual trip usually starts out with me muttering obscene words at the alarm clock that would make Minnie Mouse blush, and shoving underwear haphazardly into suitcases while counting on my fingers how many days we're going to be gone. The camera and cell phones are never charged, and I forget about breakfast entirely until the girls are strapped into their car seats and remind me that they're hungry. "I'm sorry Babies," I say, while shoving some string cheese at them. And then there's the drive. Somewhere between Blythe and Indio...a barren stretch of desert affectionately referred to as "God's armpit"...the girlies start whining. One of them has dropped her crayons. They can't agree on a movie to watch. One of them has to go potty, after being warned at the Denny's in Blythe that there won't be another bathroom available for the next 32 hours. This is usually the first point in time where I question my sanity for making the trip, and threaten to turn the car around and go back home.

  After we actually arrive at the most Magical Place on Earth, our optimism returns in full swing. There is something glorious about walking down Main Street, meeting the characters, and admiring the exquisite flowers and Christmas decorations. Of course, this is tempered by the girlies' spotting the merchandise in the store windows. Any time we would hit a store, our conversations went something like this:

  Child: "Can we buy that?"

  Me: "No."

  Child: "Can we buy that?"

  Me: "No."

  Child: "Can we buy that?"

  Me: "A Mickey Mouse colander?! You don't even cook."

  Child: "It can be my Mickey Mouse space helmet. Please?"

  Me: "NO!"

  Child: "Can we buy that?"

  Me: "Let's go on some rides...quickly."

  Before you think I'm a complete Scrooge, the girlies did get new toys at Disneyland. They paid for one of the toys out of their saved allowance money, and Dmitry and I bought them one toy. The girlies each picked a Jessie doll from Toy Story. They already have a Woody doll, and Larisa reasoned, "Woody needs a girlfriend." Okay then.

  Experiencing Disneyland with a child is truly a magical thing. They are so genuinely thrilled and excited at every turn. The rides, the characters the parades, the fireworks...all enchanting for little ones! One of our favorite spots is Goofy's Kitchen at the Disneyland Resort. We always go there for breakfast one morning during our trip. As you eat, the characters come to visit at your table, signing autographs and taking pictures. Goofy is the chef, and visits each table personally to make sure everything is okay. He also takes time out of the kitchen to dance, and invites all the kids to come dance with him. As expected, this is a big hit with the Little Ladies. This year, they got to spend time with Pluto, Goofy, Baloo, Alice in Wonderland, Chip and Dale and Prince Philip from Sleeping Beauty.

  The girlies became quite bashful when Prince Philip came around. He bowed to them, kissed their hands, and asked, "Can I be so bold as to inquire what your names are?" After the girls told him, he scratched his head quizzically and said, "Elena and Larisa...Elena and Larisa. Now, I know I've heard those names before. Where are you from, my fair maidens?" Elena shyly said, "Arizona." "Arizona!" the prince exclaimed. "Of course! So, you are the famous princesses of Arizona. How I have longed to meet you! I believe you are already acquainted with my wife, Aurora." Of course, the Little Ladies were over the moon with happiness.

  Another favorite spot is dinner at Blue Bayou...a candlelit restaurant overlooking the beginning portion of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. We always go there for my birthday dinner. It's a blissfully quiet spot to relax and dine, away from the crowds for a while. And of course, the Christmas Fantasy Parade followed by fireworks is just about the best thing ever. This year, one of Cinderella's stepsisters walked up to Dmitry during the parade and asked him, "Are you available? You look like a prince." Everybody got a kick out of it, except for the girlies. Larisa scowled and told her in no uncertain terms, "Nobody takes away my Papa!"

  For me, one of my favorite parts of this year's trip was meeting Oscar. He is a kindly gentleman with a glint of whimsy and mischief in his eye. Oscar is the head chef at the Carnation Café on Main Street. While chatting with him at our table, we learned that he has been working at the Carnation Café since 1956! For 52 years, this man has arrived at Disneyland at 4:30 a.m. to prepare the food for the day. He has tried to retire twice, but has always been lured into additional years of service. He avows that in March of 2009, he is hanging up his chef's hat for good. What a remarkable man!

  Disney does an incredible job of making your visit extraordinary. And yet, real life has a pesky way of poking holes in the "magic". The rides break down. The characters have to leave before your little ones get a photo. And there comes an inevitable point each afternoon, where an observant park-goer hears a giant, collective whine/sob/scream from the under five crowd. There is only so much Disney delight a toddler can stomach when his nap and feeding schedules have been altered. Parents everywhere exchange empathetic and exhausted looks as they attempt to wrangle their way through the Peter Pan line with a three year old who is red in the face from a temper tantrum.

  And then there is the attempt to extricate oneself from the park following the evening's fireworks. Main Street becomes a solid wall of people, all trying to move inch by inch toward the exits. You are surrounded on all sides. Every year, I feel a panic start to rise in me as I realize that if anything were to happen at that moment, we would all be trampled in a stampede. Yes, folks, I am just that cheerful! Somehow, after being hit in the back of the heels by about three dozen strollers while fighting a mounting panic attack, the happy holiday feelings brought on by the parade and fireworks tend to vanish, and I find myself praying to God for a Xanax-with-a-Bailey's-chaser, and a helicopter to swoop in, rescue me from the crowd and drop me into my hotel bed.

  In this respect, I suppose the Disney experience is no different than any other season in our lives. Excitement, accomplishment, exhilaration and breathtaking experiences all intertwine with disappointments, failures and disillusionment. Rarely does life serve up only portions of good or bad.

  And then, of course, this year we had to go and get the flu. Dmitry came down with it on our second day, and me on our third. No amount of magic and good will that Disney throws at you can overcome a fever, aches, chills and a pounding head. So this year, as much fun as we had, I was more than ready to head for home.

  With heads exploding and noses running, we loaded our luggage and children into the car, armed ourselves with ibuprofen and tissues, and headed back across the desert. The girlies were overtired, overstimulated and overwrought. Thankfully, they conked out and slept for a blessed hour and a half. After they woke up, and as we were approaching Indio, I asked Dmitry if we could pull off at the Starbucks to get a cup of coffee.

  "The girls are happy so I thought we could keep going. We're making good time."

  What is it with men and making good time while driving? Is there a prize if you break the sound barrier on a multi-state trip?

  "It'll only take a few minutes, and besides, the girls should go to the bathroom before we hit the desert."

  Dmitry sighed the longest sigh in recorded history, which was his passive-aggressive way of telling me that I was screwing up his trip by wanting coffee. "If you want something hot to drink, you should get tea since you're sick," he finally stated.

  I sighed the longest sigh in recorded history, which was my passive-aggressive way of telling him to keep his opinions to himself. As if on cue, one of the girlies piped up from the back seat and said, "I have to go potty."

  I tried not to grin at her timing. After all, Dmitry was sick and cranky too. Heck, he used to travel the world collecting medals, posing as a team for endorsement deals and signing autographs at tournaments. Now, the only traveling he was doing was across a God-forsaken desert with a cranky wife and two five year olds who were incessantly kicking the back of his seat. Where had the glory gone? If an extra 15 minutes would make him feel like a driving god, who was I to quibble with it?

  Without a word, he pulled off the highway. After our potty break at Starbucks, we were once again on the road. It was getting dark, the girls were thankfully quiet, watching Tinkerbell with their headphones on, and Dmitry and I were sniffling miserably into our respective piping-hot beverages. Wearily, I thought to myself, "Why do we do this every year? Why can't we find a quiet cabin in the woods somewhere for two or three days of solitude?" Especially now, with the economy in the toilet and our house value shrinking daily, there are surely wiser ways to spend what little money we have. With all the aggravations, is it really worth it?

  About that time, I heard Elena talking in the back seat. I turned around to see what she needed, and saw that she was bouncing her new Jessie doll on her lap and talking to her. I turned back around to face the road, but it was impossible not to hear what she was saying. Elena had left her headphones on, so she was practically yelling at Jessie.

  "Don't worry Jessie. Woody is already waiting for you at your new house. It's a nice house with a whole room just to play in. You'll like it there. My Mama yells sometimes when she's mad, but she gives the best hugs, and cooks really good meat and noodles. My Papa is very big and funny and tells a lot of jokes. He sings in Russian and brings us food from the Russian store. My Mama likes to sing too, and she reads to us a lot. She knows how to take the band-aids off without hurting. And she takes us to Disneyland and holds me tight, tight, tighter on the scary rides. It's a very good home."

  Dmitry and I exchanged amused glances and smiled. It was simple and sincere. And for me, it was sufficient motivation to make it all happen again next year. The Little Ladies have the childhood luxury of remembering only the magic, and not the madness. And at least for the time being, Dmitry and I have the luxury of giving them that magic. So, weary or not, we'll be back.

  

  • Posted Dec 9, 2008 8:55 am PT
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• 19Nov 08

  Goin' to the Chapel

  Save the Date! We have a double wedding coming up. Here's the conversation we had on the way home in the car today:
  
  Elena: "I just don't know what to do."
  
  Me: "What's the problem Baby?"
  
  Elena: "I have a tough choice to make. I can't decide if I want to marry Grady or Caleb."
  
  Me: Stunned silence.
  
  Larisa: "Oh, please let me marry Grady. I've wanted to marry Grady all my life. He's very special to me."
  
  Elena: "Well, okay. You can marry Grady, and I'll marry Caleb. And then, maybe we can switch."
  
  Me: Stunned silence..."Um..."...stunned silence.
  
  So there you have it. The happy couples will register at Toys-R-Us. We're thinking the ceremony can be held on one of their chapel days at school, since they're already inside the church. The principal will be presiding. The reception will be a lavish affair at Chuck E. Cheese Pizza, with candy bracelet favors for the guests. The brides plan on wearing their Tinkerbell Halloween costumes and the grooms will don their Spiderman and Batman costumes. Instead of a wedding cake, there will be cupcakes that each guest can decorate. Oh, and they'll probably honeymoon at Lego Land.
  
  I like my future sons-in-law. I do. I really do. And now, I'm pouring myself a nice glass of wine.

  • Posted Nov 19, 2008 12:21 pm PT
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