Getting Real

I have heard it said that it is an admirable trait to be straight and real.

A while back when I was introduced to and snubbed by a young lady who has yet to learn some manners, it was revealed to me that “the good thing about her is that she’s REAL.”

Am I the only person who doesn’t like these people? I think they’re rude. I think it goes without saying when a person is genuine. Perhaps I have a very unrealistic expectation that those around me know the difference.

Whew. That feels better. Thanks for listening.

"%$#!"

Last night, Andy, Noah and I bundled up and made our way to St. Mary’s School to gather with family to watch and enjoy Elliott’s very first Christmas program. Along with so many others, we arched our backs and craned our necks to see the children sing favorites like “Go Tell it on the Mountain”, “Emanuel” and the never ending “12 Days of Christmas”. Dressed in the headgear of a shepherd (made with the help of twine and a pillowcase), we watched as Elliott scanned the audience to find his family, and got misty when the grateful smile on his face indicated he’d spotted us. Grandparents were able to meet Elliott’s teacher, see his classroom and gaze at the kindergarten artwork hanging all around. We finished the evening with cookies and punch, said our good-byes and went to the car parked at the Fire Department.

While we stood next to the car waiting for Andy wrap up his chat with a fellow parent, I noticed that residents of the nearby Shalom Home (house that boards department members for next to nothing) were having quite the holiday party. If the opened shades didn’t give way to what was happening on the inside, the door swinging open frequently enough did. A young lady clad in what appeared to be a “flapper” costume stood in her fishnet stockings swaying to music that either I couldn’t hear or that was playing only in her head. A couple of guys ambled out onto the front patio to get some air and observe the crowds of people leaving the school. One recognized Andy as a fellow department member, and called to ask why he wasn’t partying with them. Andy motioned to the toddler on his hip as well as the rest of us and called back something about his sons Christmas Program. Another female department member stumbled out, recognized Andy and began merrily shouting obscenities at him (you know, in a friendly way) “Hey Engen you $%&! Quit being such a %#@* and come over and have some %$#ing drinks with us!” Much like my grandmother’s used to, my jaw fell open while I stammered inaudible “uh, ba, oh…”s. I tried to convince myself that Elliott didn’t hear what his dad was being called, but alas, his jaw was slack as well.

Somebody PLEASE tell me what I should be more upset about: (a) the fact that my son had to hear it; (b) the fact that she had no problem screaming these things in front of all kinds of children within hearing distance or (c) the fact that I have been ranting about this and now I feel like an OLD HEN who should start her next sentence with “The problem with the world today is…”

It's just a DOG! (Right?)

Today’s the day. I am picking up the new family pet. Well, let’s be honest – the replacement family pet.

About three years ago, I was duped into saying yes to my family when they requested we become the proud owners of a British Red Lab puppy being sold roadside just a few blocks away. I still remember the boyish gleam in his eyes as he rattled off all the reason’s why our growing family needed a new puppy. The pleading, the begging, the pouting, the stomping and let’s not forget the way his lower lip quivered when I continued to reject this absurd suggestion. Finally, Andy’s persistence wore on me. (Mind you, I was three months pregnant with Noah at the time, and really looking forward to being left alone for my Saturday afternoon nap.) I agreed to take a peek at this little distraction up the street. We refrained from telling Elliott that it was a potential new family member we were considering, but simply let him think we were nice enough to allow him some puppy playtime for a moment. Naturally once I saw the fluffy floppy red little fur balls, prenatal hormones took over, forced me to say “awwww…”. It was out of my hands from there on out. We took home our new puppy, Gromit.

In the past two and a half years, Gromit has managed to quadruple in size and it would appear to some that we received a license to keep a horse on our 50-foot “Old White Bear” lot. I could whine about the destruction he has caused, but that comes with the territory – it’s a puppy. It’s just a VERY BIG puppy. Because of the love I know Elliott has for his dog, I never followed through with my desire to shout, “I told you so!” and give Gromit the boot. Nowadays, Gromit spends most of his days outside where he can’t destroy valuable items (you know, silly little things like the couch.) Elliott is unable to spend a whole lot of time with Gromit being as he’s an “outside dog” and to make matters worse, whenever given the opportunity Gromit runs out of the yard and all over the neighborhood, crosses many busy streets, etc. When he’s tied to his lead, he lays around moping. I can’t be certain, but I’m think I saw him reading ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ the other day. It has become clear to us that a lab was not the dog our family was intended to own during this stage of our lives, and more importantly, ours is not the best family for Gromit.

We have a few people interested in Gromit. One wants to train a dog for hunting (which is what Gromit was bread for), another wants a playmate for his golden retriever and the third wants a family pet without the headache of potty training. We’re considering each thoroughly, and figure Gromit’s bon voyage will take place mid-January.

The good and somewhat impulsive news is that we have done our homework, and found a local breeder of Jack Russell Terrier’s. We pick the new fella up today and are stashing him at Auntie Alyssa’s until Christmas morning when the boys will wonder what’s making that big red package move around under the Christmas tree. While I have mixed emotions about our finding Gromit a new home, I am excited that the boys will now have a pet that belongs.

A Christmas Gift

“Should that gift be from Santa or us?” “We’ve kept the gifts equal, right?” “I know it’s educational, but will he like it?” “Does that go in the stocking or under the tree?” And of course, “Do we have enough batteries for all that?!”

Of all the uncertainties that go into gift giving, we found the perfect gift this year. The gift each other. Christmas in the year 2004 will bestow a new interpretation of ease and wonderment. While the main components will still be evident (hearty hugs with family, large Christmas meals, beautifully wrapped gifts…) I now foresee even more. A candlelit evening church service, an extra long roadside stop watching for Santa’s sleigh, kids lounging in their p.j.’s long after breakfast while they play with their toys, and even more time for that stove-side bear hug I look forward to from Andy.

In years of Christmas past, we like so many others have dashed to this place and that, sheepishly leaving one celebration too early and stressfully arriving at the next too late. While I doubt this will be the reason Elliott and Noah seek therapy as adults, I still feel a mother’s guilt wondering if their Christmas memories could have been tainted with tension. With the understanding of our respective extended families, we have wiped the slate clean and altered all of the Yuletide plans which have been established since the dawn of time (or at least since 1997).

Admittedly, I do feel remorse knowing that we won’t see some of those Aunts, Uncles and Cousins who have done their part in creating our own special Christmas memories. But we are learning that this holiday in particular should signify more than our own superhuman ability to travel the twin cities in a single bound. I implore anyone with a special Christmas memory to share their own customs. When I reflect into the big blue eyes of Elliott William and Noah Andrew, I want to see magic and sense the seed of new tradition.