Eleven, or, How Many Small People Can Fit In My House?

So I decided that the way for some of the neighborhood families to get together in an informal way would be to have a Christmas Cookie Party on the Sunday before Christmas. I never anticipated 1. that people would actually come and 2. that their children would be so well behaved. I am not kidding. There were eleven people under 8 in my house and not a peep, not a snit, not a shove or a "stop being grabby" or anything. Just eleven little kids totally rocking out. I was so proud of my girls, who liberally shared all their toys, cups, food, etc. with anyone who seemed to be in need. The De-Luxy kitchen was a huge hit. We will definitely do the CC Party v. 2.0 next year.

It's Sunday, or, How the Hell Did I Make a Gray Cake?

So two of the four Thompsons are coming over this afternoon and I said I would make cake. I decided to try the Red Waldorf recipe in the BH & G canonical cookbook and unfortunately ran out of red food coloring. Thinking creatively, I decided to add blue for a nice purple effect. Unfortunately, adding blue to a bit of red and a lot of unsweetened cocoa powder turned the batter into an attractive gunmetal gray. I thought it would bake out. It didn't.

My solution was to make the outside of the cake as pretty as I could with store-bought frosting and some sprinkles and hope that my guests won't notice that the cake they are eating is as gray as Lenin in his mausoleum.

On the flip side, I strayed away from my rule of "children must have hot breakfasts every day" and let the kids have donuts. Here's the evidence.

The Empty Vessel, or, how much can this kid eat?

This was Emma's SIXTH MEAL of the day. Breakfast at 7:30. Snacks at 9:30, 10:30, 11:30. Lunch at 12:00. Woke up from nap and polished off 5 chicken nuggets, half a banana, six blackberries, a handful of cinnabunnies, and 5 oz. of water without breaking a sweat. And she's only 19 lbs! How does that math work?

1,000 enemies a day, or, the logging camps are quite nice this time of year

The caption for this Soviet poster (from a Stalin speech, 1935) is Staff Makes Absolutely All The Difference--which is true. Who will slaughter the kulaks for you if not for your minions in Ukraine? In our house, I alternate between feeling like staff for three of my own dictators and assuming the mantle of despotism myself. Neither is attractive, helpful or healthy. I need to relax more, eat more chocolate, and not worry about the small stuff. Didn't somebody once say that it's all small stuff?

BFF, or, How two year olds make friends

I've often wondered how small children form "friendships." I have to conclude that all they can do (cognitively and emotionally) is look for in the other child what they already know about themselves. I read a study where very young babies will turn away from a child who is expressing anger or aggression but will turn towards other babies who are expressing fear or discomfort. It is these early experiences with empathy that stick with us. The good thing about my girls is that when another child shows up in the mix, as here, at snacktime, they don't blink, or worry about whose cup was whose, or who got the most bunnies. Their attitude already is, pull up a chair and have a nosh. I don't think you can ask for more out of people who still think that eating with their hands is the social norm.

The Intuitive Edge, or, Sick at 11:00 p.m.

I sat bolt upright in bed last night about 11:00 p.m. and just knew that something had gone terribly wrong in the girls' room. I opened their door and there was Ellie, bewildered, sobbing, sick. I loaded her into the bathroom with Hubby Hub for stripdown and a bath, took apart her bed, and started the washing machine. Two sets of pajamas (hers and mine) and another changed bed later she finally felt well enough to fall asleep with us around 2:00 a.m. It is so hard to be shh-shh and patient and it's okay when every bone in your body is screaming, THIS IS SOMEONE ELSE'S VOMIT ALL OVER YOU and the only thing you want to do is tear off your own soiled jammies and stand under the shower for 20 minutes. But, as we always say around here, if you didn't sign up to wipe asses, you shouldn't have had kids.

So THIS was a crazy week.

1. A world without Evel Kneivel is a strange, dark place.
2. Never doubt how loudly a 15 month old having a night terror can moan. Not scream, moan. Which is more pervasive and infinitely harder to control.
3. Never doubt how loudly the other 15 month old can snore. She is her mother's child.
4. December is on fast forward already. We have something going on, it seems, every day. And then the holidays will be over and big-nothing January will be here. As U2 says, "all is quiet on New Year's Day....a world in white gets underway."

I hope I actually enjoy Christmas this year. It's easier to now with the kids. I'm just not dealing with other people's insane expectations about who visits who and who gets a present from who and who's going to be mad that it didn't go their way. I'm done with that.