Mom and Dad can hardly wait

You know that line in "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" about Mom and Dad waiting for school to start. I never understood it as a child. I was one small child who kept herself amused, nose in a book. Argh! I understand now. We are so bored. Bored, bored, bored. I know there are things I could do, things I should do, but I can't seem to keep anyone entertained for very long to do it. I let Baby D play with Colin's GameBoy. That can't be good! That can't be right! We should be making bread dough ornaments as thank you gifts for all of Colin's teachers. We should be reading aloud from the The Book of Virtures. Instead, we are sitting by the doors -- all three of us -- with our noses pressed against the window waiting for Brent, sick of each other.

Christmas Postcard

I became Jeremy's step mom when I was 24 years old. He was eight. One night I was rockin' the downtown Minneapolis bar scene, the next I had married Brent and was living in rural Minnesota with two small children and a house that required housekeeping. Having grown up the older sibling of one sister nine years younger than I, I knew nothing of small boys. Jeremy would run screaming through the house . . . naked. He would only eat chicken. He and Seth, the neighbor boy, started things on fire. He saw no need for clean underwear. I wasn't sure I was going to make it. Then he became a teenager and things got worse. When he was about 12 or 13, I (almost) literally thought I was going to kill him. I remember one time sending him to his room until his father came home from work. It was just after lunch. It was many hours before we saw Brent. I could not even speak I was so mad. I just stood there shaking -- my voice so calm and low, I was truly scared for everyone.

I take not one iota of credit for the fine young man and outstanding older brother that typical little boy has become. This Christmas Jeremy's gift to Colin was a piano composition he had written for him. I burst into tears. It was laminated and spiral bound -- the perfect gift for a somewhat hard to please little brother who runs through the house naked and only eats chicken. Later that day they went sledding. I watched them from Grandma's window going up and down the hill, rolling down in the snow, laughing. Sometimes Jeremy would pull both sleds and Colin up the hill. I wanted to take pictures but I was afraid to move, afraid they would stop or that they would start hamming for the camera instead of enjoying each other and the moment. It doesn't matter anyway. It's a picture carved in my heart.

The Heart of the Matter

I've been thinking on Isaiah 23. It may not be the most cheerful part of the Christmas message, but it's the center of the season and it sure is beautiful to me. Here's part:

1 Who has believed our message and to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed? 2 He grew up before him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. 3 He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. 4 Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. 5 But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.

Small town life

There is an old joke about living in a small town where if you get a wrong phone number, you end up talking for half an hour anyway. This has happened to me several times.

My sister lives near the elementary school Colin attends and Baby D and I go there to wait for him after school. Yesterday as we were leaving a mailman I did not recognize came to the door to deliver Sarah's mail.

"I won't take that from you," I said. "And commit a felony."

"Oh," He said. "I know you. You're 30 . . ." and repeated my address.

Why, yes, I am.

"My life is perfect."

I can't decide how I feel about the Christmas letter. Most of our friends and loved ones write very nice informative letters, but every now and again we get one a little over the top. I didn't write one this year because every time I started it sounded something like this:

Our lives are amazing! The baby is exceptionally gifted! He says "Aye" which as you may know is a most ancient form of agreement! I think he may have a career in foreign politics! Shelby STARRED in her first college production! Her fellow chorus members said they didn't know how they would have done it without her Jeremy is composing his own music! His variations on "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" brought the house down! Brent and I travelled, travelled, travelled all the way to the next county and back! Can't wait to see it all again!

Instead I had everyone fill out a short questionnaire. That way each family member was responsible for his and her own stupid answers.

Mixed bag of sympathy

Remember how I was worried about Colin getting sympathy applause after singing his Thanksgiving song? Some of this has played out. Many people have spoken about how wonderful Colin was "considering . . ."

It's all right. Most everyone has been kind and supportive. I know they mean well. I have been very honest about Colin and autism. I have felt it's only fair to him and the people he interacts with to understand that what they get when communicating with him may not be what they expect.

It's a little hard, though. Why couldn't he be good just for having been good?

Than I talked to someone at a holiday party last night who does not know about Colin. He greeted me with this opener:

"Whoever started the standing ovation for Colin should not have done that. It made it difficult for the others."

What -- as Colin's mother -- should my response be to this?

(A) Oh! It was me! (It was not me.) I just can't help standing for my children!

(B) Wasn't that awful?! I am having Colin write a letter of apology to each and every participant!

(C) What an excellent point! Why don't you come over and explain that to him. You'll need to start from the beginning because he neither noticed or cared, really.

I'm not sure. I said," Uh-huh. Excuse me."

She's in a Winter Wonderland

Who else is not entirely put into the Yuletide spirit by Macy Gray Christmas carols?