A Christmas Poem

Or:

How to make Clement Clarke Moore cringe from the grave

Or:
How to make my brother laugh (and cry) even when he's not happy with me

A Gift for Rory

'Twas the week before Christmas
And my heart was aflutter.
I had all my gifts,
Save the one for my brother.

For his list many times
We cajoled and we pleaded.
But to our dismay,
Our pleas were not heeded.

Where would we shop?
Oh, what would we buy?
What in the world
Can we get for that guy?

A-shopping we went
With grandiose design.
We'll sure knock his socks off
This Christmas time!

We shopped at the mall,
Old Navy and Target.
We even hit Wal-Mart;
You know we were desperate.

We queried the kinfolk,
"What did you get for Rory?"
Each person we asked
Just had the same story.

"You know your brother
Didn't send us a list.
He's always been difficult,
That Rory!" they hissed.

So what can we get for this
Super cool man?
Maybe something to show
He's the ultimate fan.

Aggies or Cowboys
Or maybe the Rangers
(So bummed that the trophy
And they remain strangers.)

Nah, sports is too obvious.
How 'bout a top?
Something blue or deep green
To make his eyes pop!

"Get him some wine,"
Suggested the nephew.
Hmm, maybe instead
We should call Dr. Drew.

A nice vuvuzela
To relive World Cup fun?
But that crazy noisemaker
Would make Mom come undone.

Perhaps something quirky
Like a jar of cashews,
Chia pets or a clapper,
Or a Snuggie or two.

What can you give to
The man who has all?
Surely he doesn't need
Crap from the mall.

When truly the one thing
We wish to convey,
Are three little words
We don't often say.

So if you're not satisfied
To hear "We love you."
Then give us your list
Before the day's through.

Although I would love to post the video of the live reading ... I won't. And, dear brother, your gift is on the way (along with our thank-you notes.)

Griffin

If you hear of a dognapping in the area, I'll go ahead and confess - it was us. Okay, me. I'll not implicate my innocent family.

What, pray tell, would compel me to commit such a heinous act and embark upon a life of crime?

This guy ... meet Griffin.

Because if I were ever going to dognap a dog, it would be this one. There is none other that I want.

Here's how it happened. A few weeks ago, a friend of ours asked my husband if we would be willing to dog-sit for the weekend. As in, bring his dog to our house. My husband (oh-so-wisely) put the query to me, and to our mutual surprise, I said, Sure, why not? With the following conditions: YOU make sure the fence is secure, YOU feed the dog, YOU walk the dog, YOU take care of any and all requirements pertaining to the care of the dog. Having thus absolved myself from any onerous obligations, I resigned myself to tolerate having a dog in my house for a weekend.

What happened, of course, was that this scraggly little pooch stole my heart. I mean, just look at that face! What can I say about Griffin? Probably first and foremost, the thing I loved best about little Griffin is this: not once did he make any attempt to lick me. Not once. That alone sets the bar high for any dog which may come after him. So very high.

As if keeping his tongue to himself wasn't enough to forge an undying attachment to him on my part, Griffin also happens to be a love bug. Docile, sweet, gentle. Say a word to him, or merely glance in his direction, and he rolls over onto his back and looks up at you with a face that simply says, Rub my belly. It is slightly reminiscent of the dog in the movie Up: "My name is Dug. I have just met you, and I love you."

We didn't tell the kids beforehand that we were dog-sitting. We thought that would be a fun surprise. It was. It played out like this: The kids walked in from school, saw Griffin, and immediately exclaimed in ecstatic and rapturous wonder, We got a dog??!!

To which we laughed, and said... no.

Don't worry, they were not scarred (on some level, they knew such a fortune could not possibly be true); the initial disappointment was eased plenty enough just knowing we had a whole weekend with our new friend.

As a family still grieving the loss of the old man cat, we showered our pent-up affection on this willing recipient. I knew I was sunk when the little guy snuggled up in bed with between us at night - and I liked it. (Not to besmear the memory of the old man cat, but did he ever snuggle with us? Uh, no.) That dog has a special way about him.

When it came time for Griffin to go home, how the tears did flow from you-know-who. And I'm not embarrassed to tell you that the first couple of days without him, I missed him something fierce.

*In case the father of the sweet girl to whom Griffin belongs is reading this, of course you know I'm kidding about the dognapping. Besides, we already returned your house key.

The latest stack

Well, I've done it again. Why can't I stop myself? After a quick afternoon trip to my favorite branch of the Austin Public Library, I returned home with yet another insurmountable pile of books. The three books I had on hold were ready, plus I found a few others.

Is this a sickness? It's like being at a buffet and not being able to stop yourself from piling 2 weeks of food onto your plate. Sure, you're hungry. But you're not THAT hungry. I feel like a glutton. Why can't I leave some of these books on the shelf? What am I afraid of? It's not like they're going anywhere. At least not for more than 3 weeks.

So, here's what I've got and I've got 3 weeks to get 'em read.

The three on top are books on CD (for the kids) for the car. And one of the books is my daughter's (The Battle of the Labyrinth). And one of them I actually just finished (Into Thin Air). But I didn't photograph the one I'm currently reading (The Sun Also Rises). I don't know, maybe the stack isn't so daunting after all. Besides, I'm anticipating having oodles of time over Thanksgiving. Because that always happens.

P.S. I love you, Library.

Meet your favorite rock star author

I know Betty White thinks that Facebook is a huge waste of time, but here's is why I disagree (for the most part.)

The other day as I was scanning my Facebook page I noticed that one of my friends had posted a quick comment about an upcoming event (that very day) taking place at a local bookstore. It was the world release party (WORLD release, people) of the latest in the Diary of Wimpy Kid series. The author himself would be on hand signing copies of the book and meeting his young fans.

Being the mother of a Wimpy Kid fan, I knew I would be AWESOME MOM if I surprised my kid and took him to the event. A quick internet search provided all the necessary information. With an assist from my husband and a quick call to my Facebook friend, we were armed with a plan to head downtown, pick up our copy of the new book, and meet the man himself - Jeff Kinney. Woo-hoo!

All thanks to Facebook. Someone should tell Betty White how useful it can be. You never know, it could even help you get a gig hosting SNL.

We came. We stood in line. We slung mashed potatoes. We stood in line. We sat. We stood in line. We took pictures. We stood in line. We read the entire new book, cover to cover. We stood in line. We stood in line. We stood in line. We met Jeff Kinney. Whew.

My feet hurt. The boy's head hurt. We were hungry. We were tired. Would we do it again? You bet. Why?

That's why.

[Imagine the Rocky theme in your head]

I just wrapped up week 5 of my renewed exercise campaign. My forty-and-fabulous campaign. Although I'm fairly certain I will reach forty-one before I reach fabulous. But then I will just change the campaign slogan to forties-and-fabulous. Either way, it's a goofy slogan.

Much to my own surprise, my exercise of choice these past weeks has been ... running. (Stop laughing, Dad.)

Now why would I go and do a thing like that? I wasn't sure myself the answer to this question. But then I recognized that I happen to be surrounded by a particularly wacky group of people - let's call them runners. People who run even though there is absolutely nothing chasing them.

I live with one. I am married to one of these runners. He likes running. For real. In fact, he likes it so much that he has signed up to run the Austin marathon. Again. He's looking forward to it. Wacky, right?

My sister-in-law is also a runner. I've never explicitly asked her, but I'm pretty sure she likes it, too. She runs marathons. Plural. In many ways, I want to be like her - because she is very cool. Today is her birthday. And what did she do on this day, her birthday? Yeah, she ran. Dear Sheila, you are an inspiration to me.

I am also related by blood to one of these people. My brother. He runs. In fact, you could say that the man is a veritable running fool (right, Dad?) But he's the kind of runner I can really relate to. The kind of runner who looked at me on the eve of his running the half-marathon and said, with a sigh and a pained expression on his face, "I hate running." But did that stop him? No way - the man ran his 13.1 miles, and then threw down some DoubleDave's.

So, you may say it was inevitable that I would be drawn into this insanity. Peer pressure. The need to belong. The desire to be a contender in the annual Villa Sabine Mini-Triathlon (oh yeah!)

But here's the really weird part: I like it. Maybe not the running per se, but there definitely is something about it that is very nearly enjoyable. It could be the challenge, the solitude, the endorphins, the satisfaction of reaching of a limit and then pushing past it, the almost imperceptible thing called progress.

Yeah, I like it.

And the grief goes on

Two days from now, it will be one month since we lost our old man kitty. I still tear up when I come home and he isn't at the door waiting for me food. Sometimes I think I hear him down the hall. I even miss his caterwauling (well, that not so much.) In these past few weeks, each of us has traveled varying distances on our own winding paths of grief.

It is a painful thing to watch this grief wash over your child. I will never forget the night before he left us, the night we all came to realize that his life was slipping away. How we cried together. How we fawned over him. How we longed to ease his suffering. My son sitting at the table eating his dinner and bursting into tears at the sound of our little friend's pained cries. How my heart nearly broke at the two mingled sounds.

My own pain at the loss of him has eased in this time. Age and perspective and the cares of this life intervening to dull its effects. Until the sweet girl comes out of her room at night, tears in her eyes, with the now anticipated words on her lips ... I miss kitty. My own pain is further diminished when I consider the magnitude of hers, when her broken heart is written there, on her face, in her voice. And then a fresh pain, the pain of a mother, as she utters the words that pierce me - I just want him to come back. If only I could give that to her.

But I can't.

So, I do what I can. I lie with her in the dark and hold her. I let her cry. And I cry, too. I let her talk. I suppress my own desire to speak, to fix, to coax the tears away. I stroke her tear-streaked face, and listen to her pour out her grief. I listen as she tells me she doesn't think there is another kitty in the whole world like our kitty. And I agree. I listen as she lays out a plan to honor and remember him. At the appropriate time, I remind her of that silly thing he used to do and elicit a shared chuckle amid the sobs. The pain is still there. But grief once shared becomes a lesser burden. And sleep comes.

She showed me today the drawing she made and taped upon her door....

... and I wondered if her grief would ever end.

And then she speaks of the future, of the kitties which are to come.... And I am reminded that life goes on, that though the heart does not forget, it yet was made to be healed. And healing slowly comes.

A girl and her kitty

Her first word was meow.

I still remember the day she discovered him. I mean, really discovered him. It happened fast and he escaped so quickly (but not as quickly as he could have) that by the time I got the camera it was over. But I remember her face. Her face was bliss. And his little kitty life was never the same.

I always marveled at how much he was willing to put up with at her hands. Perhaps he sensed there was no malice in her touch - just pure, absolute adoration. Perhaps he sensed her gentle spirit. Perhaps he sensed that a girl with a heart as soft as hers needed a soft and pliant kitty on which to lie. Perhaps he secretly enjoyed being that kitty.

There has never been a time in her life when he wasn't in it.

Until now.


In loving memory of our sweet old man kitty, Sebastian

March 1996 - September 2010