My kingdom for a damn guinea pig...

Now, I ask you... would you think that it's difficult to find two short haired guinea pigs that are female and 'youngish'?

Prior to today, I would have said, 'No'. Well, my friends, I was wrong. Dead wrong.

More later. This search for guinea pigs is enough to wear a girl out. Wish me luck.

I believe in Santa...

My boy is a bit of a skeptic. He’s always been very analytical, and at the age of six and a half, the question of ‘Santa’ is no exception. He’s already trying to figure out how Santa does all he does in such a short amount of time, and how he will get down the chimney (see picture above)… “There’s a blocker in there, Mom!” I assured him we would open the flue tonight.

It stands to reason that ‘Mr. Black & White’ would be the first to call into question why P.J. the Pajama Elf wrapped his Christmas pajamas in the same paper that other presents were wrapped in. My surprised answer… “Well, gosh, I guess P.J. found the paper in Mommy’s room, and used it!” He smiled, and said, nonchalantly, “Or maybe you did it.” Holy jingle bells, Batman! Gotta start being more careful, I guess.

Josie has NEVER questioned the validity of Santa or P.J. or any of the wonderfully woven tales of Christmas legends and traditions. She is a believer. She knows that such magic is real, and my heart soars to see her help her little sister with her letter to Santa, and get so incredibly excited about everything that is Christmas.

Davis, on the other hand, stalks around the tree like a miniature detective, trying to sort things out in his own head, attempting to logic out why there is a Santa in the mall, a Santa at the ‘Christmas in the Park’, and a Santa at my grandparents’ house each Christmas Eve. I reassure him that they are the ‘Real Santa’s Helpers’, but I’m not sure he is convinced.

But just today, just when I worry that this might be the last Christmas that all three of my kids are believers, I noticed a sign on our Christmas tree. A letter to Santa from my son. (see the picture on the side of the blog) ‘To: Santa … From: Davis… I BLEV IN YOU’. I’m not sure if it’s an 11th hour, last ditch effort to convince Santa that he really HAS been a good boy this year, but it made me smile.

And it made me wistful because it reminded me that these early years are so fleeting. My children will only be small for so long. Hug those little believers, my friends. Those sweet children that believe that anything is possible…and remember that the magic of Christmas exists for all of us when we take a moment to look into the eyes of our kids and delight in their wonderment.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

All decked out...

So in yesterday’s blog, I mentioned going to the Zilker Trail of Lights. What I didn’t mention was that is was COLD. You might have noticed in the picture at the top of the blog that Davis looks just a teensy bit like Randy (Ralphie’s little brother) from the movie, ‘A Christmas Story’. It looks like at any moment, he could just roll right off the Yule Log, and lay flat on his back, flailing his arms, unable to get up, due to the heavy coat.

It was cold. Technically… it was freezing. I think the weather guy might have actually used the words, ‘frickin freezing’ (or maybe I just imagined that.)

The wind chill was in the 20’s, and even though we bundled up, and even though 2/3 of our children were actually BORN IN COLORADO, we are all Texas winter weenies now. We walked so quickly through the trail that even I was willing to forgo a lot of the cutesy pictures that I demand every year.

And, yes, we DO go every year. I guess that’s why they call it a tradition. Phil said last night, “Think you could just take those pictures and dupe ‘em for the next thirty years?” (I swear, sometimes he forgets who he married…) But honestly, the trail doesn’t change very much each year. The displays are the same, the music is the same, and you know when you go through the tunnel of blue stars, that you are nearing the end (last night, we were pretty glad to see the tunnel…)

But don’t you think that’s what we want in a tradition? The kids look forward to spinning under the Tree of Lights every year, seeing the trees that light up in time with the music from ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’, and eating kettle corn.

We all have our favorite displays, which are sponsored by various businesses around Austin. One of my favorites is the Nativity, (sponsored by the Catholic Diocese of Austin, I believe), and I like to stand there, listening to the strains of ‘O Holy Night’… that is until one of the kids shakes my arm and asks, “Mommy, why is the Baby Jesus so big?” Seriously, it looks like he’s about to climb out of the manger, shrug on a backpack and head to the nearest Bethlehem kindergarten class. It’s a bit out of proportion, I guess.

Last night, though, when we walked past the Nativity, I was appalled to see a red Santa hat perched on the head of the Baby Jesus. Now it wasn’t like some jokester had just plopped it on top… it was actually fitted down on the head of the figure, like it was meant to be there. Um… whaat?! Guess I’ve been reading that verse in Luke all wrong… “She wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and a red polyester hat with a pom-pom on top…”

And it’s not just the anachronism that bugged me. Seeing the image of the Christ child (albeit a gigantic one) being linked so obviously with the trappings of the conventional ‘consumer driven Christmas’ bothered me. Yes, I know… I was willing to forgive the fact that there were displays of Santa on either side, and lights strung through the trees… yeah, yeah…Trust me, I’ve got my own little ‘Hypocrite’ t-shirt wrapped up under my tree at home. I guess I just had that feeling… you know the one… ‘Is nothing sacred?’

Of course, last night, it was so cold, that He probably could have used a jacket and a scarf, too.

Weekend Wrap-up...

Highlights of the weekend...

1. 'Mamma Mia'... hanging out with girlfriends and watching the movie. Love, love, looove it! 'Take a Chance on Me' has been blasting from my speakers all weekend, and Josie keeps begging to hear 'Dancing Queen' over and over. (Thank God we decided to get her an IPod Shuffle for Christmas.) And there's nothing quite like singing with your 8 year old daughter, "Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight..." Egad! We're driving Phil crazy. I had no idea my kids would be so 'into' a musical soundtrack... I'm bustin' out 'Grease' next week.

2. 'Christmas with the cousins' in Temple... good times... the kids playing together... eating... hanging out... decorating cupcakes... playing Cranium with the fam...
My dorky brothers can still crack me up. Nobody can sing 'Like a Virgin' in the voice of Slingblade quite like my big brother, Rusty. hah!

3. Zilker Trail of Lights... now THIS is an Austin tradition! Never been? Oh, you must go! You must! If you've never spun around under the tree, had a cup of hot cocoa, and warmed up near the Yule Log, it should definitely be on your list of "Things to do in Austin, Texas"... right up there next to visiting the Tower (you know the one!), going to the SRV statue (okay, I admit, I've never done that), eating Amy's Ice Cream, and buying one of those 'Keep Austin Weird' t-shirts. I might be just a little nostalgic about it, considering that was one of the places that Phil and I went on our first date waaaay back in December of 1990. (If you're doing the math, yes, that was EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO!) Dressed in formalwear, no less, on our way to his fraternity's winter formal. Wow, if you've never spun under the tree in a cocktail dress and heels... um, actually, I don't recommend it. Makes me a little dizzy just thinking about it.

4. Even more CHRISTMAS CARDS in my mailbox! Dang...you people have some cute kids! ;)

Hope you all had an awesome weekend, as well!

It's in the mail...

Among my least favorite chores… checking the mail. I’m not sure why, except for the fact that the mailboxes are around the corner from the house, and whenever I get the mail, a good percentage of it (the junkie stuff anyway) ends up in the floorboard of my van. Why is it that in newer neighborhoods, there is no mailbox at the end of the drive? That was the way we used to get our mail when I was a kid. You remember? The little mailboxes with the red flags? Maybe it’s a small town thing, but now we have the big community mailbox with the individual locked units. You know the one... where you sit in your car until that neighbor that lives two doors down that you don’t much care for gets THEIR mail, and then you do the ‘smiley nod’ thing to them as they pass you. Wow. That might have been too much information. ;)

And my mailman must hate me. I mean, he’s always very friendly to me whenever we happen to cross paths at the mailboxes, but I just know that secretly he wishes that I would check my mail more often than once every two weeks. Well, maybe not so secretly. He’s left a note in there before to let me know that it is too full. But with electronic bill-pay, and being able to access all your accounts on-line, I just forget that there is paperwork piling up in there, and I need to at least pick it up, open it, and leave it on the kitchen counter for a month. Oops… I mean, pick it up, open it, discard the trash, and file the bill neatly in the uber-organized filing cabinet. Yep, THAT’S what I meant.

So, yes, usually I hate to check the mail. Except in December. In December, this month of all mail months, I’m at the mailbox EVERY DAY, waiting for my mailman. Just to see him pull up in his little truck, I practically start bouncing from one foot to the other, as he unloads his little packets of mail. Why?! Two words… Christmas cards.

Oh, Christmas cards… how I love them! I love to send them, to receive them, to look at them, to hang them up and display them, and finally, when the holidays are over, to scrapbook them. Just the pictures I receive, mind you. Because isn’t that what we all love best? The pictures of the new babies? The pictures of the growing kids? The pictures of the vacation? Or the pictures of the new house, or the new puppy, or the new guppies? I do. I love them. I always like to see how my friends and family, both nearby and far-flung, have changed, and what they are up to.

I love the clever cards, the mushy cards, and the ‘cutesy’ cards. I really like getting the ‘newsy’ little family newsletters that people fold up and put in their cards, as well. Well, that is, I usually like them. Occasionally, you get the one that is a detailed account of how everyone has gotten a big job promotion, all the children are in the Gifted and Talented class at school, their dog won Westminster, and their family picture was taken in front of the Eiffel Tower on their month-long vacation. Sorry…not very much in the spirit of the season, but… gag!

So, hope you got my Christmas card, and I’m looking forward to getting yours. If you’ve already sent it, it is being displayed in my home, as we speak. But if it doesn’t get here before Christmas, rest assured that I will pick it up from the mailbox, oh... approximately, the middle of March.

Nicknames… Part 2…

Okay… clearly I just don’t have enough to talk about since I’m talking about nicknames for the second day in a row. Thank you to those of you who sent me emails reminding me that I do have a few OTHER names, as well. Hah!

One of my favorites...my mother has always called me ‘Ladybug’. She’s the only one that calls me that. And have you ever noticed that that’s the way a lot of nicknames work? For the ones that really ‘stick’, there is oftentimes just that ONE person that calls you that? From anyone else, it’s just not quite right. Nobody else can call me ‘Ladybug’… it’s a special name my Mom has for me.

Josie will tell you in a heartbeat that ‘Josie-Bear’ is her Daddy’s special name for her. And my mom is the only one who calls Libby ‘my Liblet’. I, on the other hand, call her, ‘LibbaLoo’. Davis gets to just be ‘D’ or ‘D.C’. My poor kids…. They are going to have such an identity crisis. We have so many little names for them.

But you know, I honestly think nicknames are a way to tell someone that you care about them. Okay, a silly, funny way to tell someone that you care about them, but a ‘language of love’, nonetheless. My grandfather has always been famous for giving out nicknames to his grandchildren. Some names stuck, others not so much. But my little brother has been ‘Slick’ for the last thirty-three years. He was bald as a cue ball when he was a baby and PaPa has never called him anything else. Keep in mind that over the course of 33 years, he has not only grown hair, but he has turned around and even lost a little (love ya, hon!)…no matter, he’s still ‘Slick’ to PaPa. That’s love, right there, my friends.

Nicknames... gotta love 'em...

I love nicknames. Some people hate… I mean, really HATE nicknames. They give their child a certain name, and they expect people to call their child by their given name, by golly. Which I can totally respect. I, however, love diminutives… nicknames… as evidenced by the names of my daughters. I gave both of them what I thought were very classic, beautiful, timeless names. The names in fact, of two of the sisters in one of my favorite books: Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Josephine and Elizabeth. Yet we call them Josie and Libby. I guess I just figure I get two great names for the price of one. ;-)

So, yes, I love nicknames. I love the stories behind nicknames. And even though it’s hard to shorten ‘Staci’, I’ve had my share of nicknames, too. In high school, it was tradition that when you were on the varsity cheerleading squad, the sponsor, Ms. Bray, would give you a nickname. Sometimes it would take Ms. Bray longer to choose some girls’ nicknames than others. But once you were given a name, THAT was your name. Evidently, mine was pretty easy. I was dubbed ‘Miss Priss’ practically from the beginning… which was shortened to ‘Priss’ almost immediately. Of course, I was in good company with Grumpy, Huey, Christmas Tree, Gabby, and Gumby, among others. So ‘Priss’ was my name, and it stuck. Ms. Bray never called me anything else. And when I saw her years after I had graduated, she still called me Priss. I guarantee that if I saw her tomorrow, I would still be her ‘Priss’, even though it has been over 21 years since I was first christened with that little moniker. (Jeez… I feel old now!)

At the scrapbook store where I work a few hours a week, teaching classes and spending any money I might actually make, I have been given the dubious nickname of ‘Cyclops’. Why?! Because I’m ‘Staci with just the ‘I’…. Get it?!! To differentiate me from the other two Staceys that work there. Do I mind? Of course not… it actually makes me laugh. It’s even funnier that customers have been known to call the store to sign up for a class, and they check to make sure that ‘Cyclops will be teaching’.

I do have to admit, though, that I haven’t always loved my nicknames. When I was little, my oldest cousin, Kenneth, loved to tease me when we would visit them in Mississippi, and he gave me a nickname which made me so mad, and made me cry more than once. He called me…are you ready for this? ‘Staci the Tasty Pastry’. I know… it’s soooo horrible, right?! NOW, I know it’s not that bad… that’s it actually kind of cute, but when I was a kid, just the sound of that could send me into a whining fit so fast; it’d make your head spin. “Maaake hiiim STOP!!” The grownups would reason with me, "He calls you that because you're so sweet." Nope. Still hated it.

It’s funny how time changes things. I’d love to see Kenneth… it’s been years since we’ve seen each other. And I just know he’d resurrect the nickname I haven’t heard in a long time. This time, though, I’m pretty sure I’d smile.