We are thrilled Thanksgiving Eve, when the nurse comes to remove Michael's PICC. He barely winces... I am told most toddlers freak out at the sight of the scissors to remove the stitches, but the process itself of removing the PICC line is fast and painless. Actually I have even heard it tickles (I know, weird). It's just that there are 2 or 3 stitches that need to be removed... with scissors. Not surprisingly, Michael is upset, but handles himself like a brave kid. Within seconds, something that has drained on us for so many days is GONE.
POOF.
GONE.
You think our world changes? Of course not. Energy just redirects. Series of events to follow the PICC removal... Nurse leaves. Take dog potty outside. Then dog tracks potty on her paws in the house. All over the house. Then Michael has an accident. Same exact time. No carpet cleaner in the house. Seriously?! Prescription needs to picked up at the pharmacy before it closes. I still have to make the Bacon Cornbread Stuffing for Thanksgiving tomorrow...
This is it. Between searing tears and belly laughter, I am truly thankful.
Thanksgiving is a blur, always an absurd affair. I find myself at one point leaving our Uncle's house to go home for a change of clean pants for Michael. Because Michael has two accidents, not one, because I had been prepared for that... but two. One would've been too easy to handle. Thank you, Cosmos, for throwing 2 messes on Thanksgiving Day. And so I roll with it.
Now that the holiday weekend is drawing to a close, I look back on the thanks that this weekend has brought, but also on the wonderment.
It's tradition in our family (of my own doing) to lug out our Christmas ornaments and holiday decor the morning after Thanksgiving. And this year is no exception. While I swore I wouldn't be one of those suckers at the mall at 4 am. It turns out I am. Not for any other reason than I wake up and can't sleep. At 4:19 am. So why not shop?
I hop out of bed, throw on my cutest hat with my yoga clothes and scurry out the door to Target to see what kind of deals I can find. Incredibly, I can't believe the parking lot. I have to park in the lot of the adjacent grocery store. As I walk in, folks are already walking out with their treasures and blankets where they had been camped out before the store opened. I am trying to process this as I walk into the brightly fluorescent-lit store that screams its iconic red bulls-eyes at me.
Chaos. People grabbing at the electronics boxes. Mayhem. Tag-teams rummaging through the DVD displays. What am I doing here? My brain throbs. I head to the toys, grab the few items that I saw in the ad that we had agreed would be perfect for the kids and I head to one last area of the store.
The Christmas trees. So, every year we have the picture perfect designer tree. We have all the matching ornaments... pretty burgundy, rich scarlet, and shimmering gold globes. Spiced fruit, apples, pears, grapes. Every year since we've been married, we have chosen a few sentimental ornaments and hung them. But certainly our tree has had no, uh, personality.
I have a thought that a scrawny little one might become our new special tradition. I want a cheap one to load all my childhood ornaments on. To add ornaments each year that the boys make.
A tree of the past.
A tree of the present.
And a tree of hope... a tree of the future.
I turn upon the deserted aisle, since everyone else is in a frenzy at the electronics and the toys. Or at least that's what I think. But then it dawns on me. The real reason no one is here in this department for the deals on the Christmas trees was... there are none. All gone. What a disappointment.
I hang my head and move on. As I see a sales associate in another department, I ask if they have any trees left, thinking it was a crazy proposal. She is friendly and offers to check. And sure enough, to my delight they have one. As I load it in my cart and head to get in line to pay, everyone keeps asking me where I had found it. Score! And in the spirit of the holidays, I hope and would later found out that my comrades asking about the tree also would get one.
The LINE. It wraps from the back corner of the store to the other back corner, then it snakes its way, zigzagging, back and forth, back and forth, EVERY aisle all the way to the front of the store. I wait an entire hour just to pay. It is unreal. It is a line at an amusement park.
At 6 am sharp, I walk through my door and drop my purse on the counter top with a loud THUD. Exasperated, look at the damage on the bill. And think about a cup of coffee. My husband greets me and we hide the new treasures for the boys. Within no time the boys are up playing and our day starts.
But herein lies the amazing thing. Through my gray exhaustion, Michael asks about the Christmas decorations we are going to hang today. The light in his sparkling eyes dance with excitement.
I put up the small tree I had just purchased. Michael and I keep calling it our 'special tree'. And it was worth my ridiculous shopping trip. Every ornament that I take out he inspects closely with wonder. His sweet, pink finger tips glide over shiny Santa ornaments, and sparkling snowmen, and delicate angels. I haven't seen these ornaments in over a decade. All from my youth and are part of my Christmas memoirs. And here is my beautiful son, appreciating each ornament, taking it all in.
We continue our decorating, Michael full of questions. The longest conversation stemming from how Santa comes into our house. I explain in detail that Santa lands on our roof, and SWOOP!, comes down our chimney into our fireplace. His eyes are wide. And focused. He would later explain it to back to me in detail.
The day passes. Other than getting up the other Christmas tree and decorations, rather uneventfully. During CF treatments before bedtime, we watch the animated "Grinch who Stole Christmas". Michael saying he likes little Cindy Loo Who because he thinks she's cute. And I explaining that Christmas is about love, not about presents. The irony still makes me laugh.
As he falls asleep we put on the Charlie Brown Christmas music for him. You see, he is a Charlie Brown kid. Part intellectual, part humor, Charlie Brown hits the sweet spot as Michael's ideal entertainment. So now we have been through The Great Pumpkin, and a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, it's natural to move on to the next in the holiday specials.
Last year, when he was two years old, he knew every word to "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" because that is how the Charlie Brown Christmas special ends... with all the Peanuts singing that song around the pathetic, but miraculously beautiful tree. We even recorded him singing every complex word in his two-year-old vocals. It was that unbelievable, we had to record it for all of history.
So this year, at the close of a lovely day, we play the whole Vince Guaraldi Trio music from that TV special in his CD player. He settles in. And then... Two times, Michael calls us into his room on song #10, asking for "repeat". Since I am not understanding what he is trying to say, I start the entire CD of music over. Upon the third time, he calls us into his dimly lit room again, it is on song #9... We find Michael emotional and crying. Weeping actually. We realize the song "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" is playing and is song #9. Aha! He had wanted THAT song on repeat. He had remembered it from Christmas past. He is so moved by it, he is crying, but refuses to let us turn it off. He asks again to have that song played on repeat. He falls asleep to the joyous, special song that he sang verbatim a year before.
As the night closes, the boys snuggled in their beds, I am content. Satisfied that I have started a memorable holiday season for Michael. The next morning, he wakes up with joy across his face and confidently asks, "Did Santa come last night?" It took some explaining for him to understand that Christmas morning is still weeks away and that we are getting ready for Christmas. In the meantime, we will get to enjoy the decorations, the lights, the music he loves so much.
Later in the day, Michael goes ice-skating for the first time this weekend and loves it. He exclaims to his daddy and uncle, "Mommy is going to be so proud of me!"
He's right. And that doesn't even begin to describe how I feel about this amazing, little boy.
