Christmas wishes DO come true

Apparently Dreams DO come true!

My ChatterBox came home from work on Saturday, all smiles, happiness and tired. I asked her how her day went and she smiled and said, “My childhood fantasy came true!” ChatterBox is a Christmas Elf. She goes to various parties dressed in her finest Christmas clothes, smiles at children and lifts them onto Santa’s knee.

I had to think about this for a moment… Which Childhood Fantasy? meeting the Jonas Brothers? No, she out grew that one. Taylor Hall called her up for a date? No…he is playing Hockey in the States. She won a 7 night stay in WDW Dream Suite? No that is my wish. So I had to ask, “ChatterBox, what is your Childhood dream come true?”

She responded with, “Sitting in Santa’s Sleigh Sharing cookies with him. It wasn’t his sleigh, but his car will do.”

There you have it, Christmas wishes DO come true.064

Even Santa Cries…

Today’s post is from my blogging friend Mary from Red Awakening. She wrote this lovely post a few days ago and gave me permission to repost here on Christmas Day. It’s lovely and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. I hope your Christmas was as special as mine was with my family.

On with the words…….

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It was Friday, December 23, 2011 and Santa is in his office with Bernie, the elf office manager. As they stand looking at the map on the flat screen mulling over the different routes Santa can take they hear a small child’s voice behind them say “Excuse me, Santa?” Startled Santa and Bernie turn to find a multitude of children, from every nation, culture and religion before them.

A very startled Santa stammers “Yes?” and then it starts; the children’s questions.

“Santa, where are my Mom and Dad?”

“Why can’t we have enough food for my family, Santa?”

“Santa, my parents hate me and I try to be good, so why?”

“Santa why is there so much fighting where I live?”

Over and over again Santa hears their fears, wishes and desires. They all come down to one question “Santa where is the peace?”

Finally it is too much and Santa breaks down crying. The children fall silent stunned. Have they broken this man who can fulfill every need and desire? Suddenly they notice that each tear Santa has shed has begun to glow. The glowing tear forms their Deity. Then they hear in many voices “My children the peace is there, but to grasp it the need for material things and domination over others must stop.” There is crying and such sorrow from the Deities as they look at the children’s upturned faces. So many, so different and all like a flower turned to the sunlight for nourishment. Then the Deities and Santa begin to glow, to merge, and in voice that contains all voices the children hear “The light doesn’t need to return for there to be peace as it never left. The light is within all here on earth. The challenge is recognizing it and allowing it to grow.”

In my religion the Winter Solstice or Yule celebrates the return of the sun, or light. Yesterday I had the thought how can the sun return if it has never left?  Starting yesterday the light began to increase in the northern hemisphere, but the sun/light never completely left. Let us take a page from nature and increase our work in the Light this year.

My request is that for 5 minutes every day you release all of your hate, prejudices, fears, and all negativity and just love. After the five minutes you can bring all the negativity back in if you like. But maybe, just maybe, you won’t want to.

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Happy Solstice and Yule, Happy Kwanza, and any holiday you may celebrate I wish you peace and love.

The House of Ho

I am the kind of mom who places an importance on honesty of information. Meaning, my offspring know if they need an answer to a question – no matter how awkward the conversation may be – I am the “go-to” gal. I have answered questions from childbirth and masturbation to definitions of words with sexual content. Awkward for those listening in to our conversation but quite normal for me and my offspring.

A few years back, one of the offspring had inquired what a “ho” and what a “ho house” was. Being the awesome, hip and understanding mom I am I gave several definitions of Ho House:

Noun 1. whorehouse - a building where prostitutes are availablewhorehouse– a building where prostitutes are available

building, edifice – a structure that has a roof and walls and stands more or less permanently in one place; “there was a three-story building on the corner”; “it was an imposing edifice”
massage parlor – a place where illicit sex is available under the guise of therapeutic massage

After going into a long and informative explanation, I glaced up at the faces of my children and had to laugh. Theirs eyes were enormous with a slight look of disgust on their face. Genetic Offspirng spoke up and said,

Santa uses a Ho House?

Ummm….NO! Lesson learned, always start the Q&A session with:

Tell me what you think it is.

That way I know what train of thought they are on. Apparently the Offspring had read a sign on a house that read HO HO HO and knew there was something bawdy associated with that term. Yet they also knew that was what Santa always said. Now that they are teenagers, the term House of Ho is a hilarious use of double entendre.

Saturday night, the family piled into a sleigh for a trip down Candy Cane Lane in Edmonton’s west end. My family – extended included, filled the 25 passenger wagon. My dad’s sister organized the entire evening. Her kids were in town and it was great seeing faces that I have only seen on facebook for the past while. I met her grandkids and fell in love with the youngest. We sang every Christmas Carole we knew and sang blablabla for those we didn’t. We were treated to some Queen – brought to us by the Offspring as well as Carole of the bells blablablaed in several parts. It was fantastic!

Then we saw it, half way down the street – there is was. The House of Ho. Across the front of the home was HOHOHO to the left of the door and HOHOHO to the right of the door. My offspring started cracking jokes and laughing – much to the dismay of my Aunt whose grandbabies were sitting behind us. As funny as it was, I had to put a stop to the hilarity and we snickered to ourselves.

We ended the evening at my Aunts home visiting with family, drinking hot chocolate and eating cookies. All the things the Christmas season is made for.

I Live on the Island of Misfit Toys

Do you remember watching Rudolf as a kid and being enchanted with the Island of Misfit Toys?  I do and have been thinking about that time a lot lately.

When I was little, my mom would go through the TV Guide and highlight all the Christmas specials during the month of December. Every night after dinner my brother and I would have a bath, hop into our flannel jammies, snuggle under a blanket on the floor and watch every possible Christmas special available. Mom often made hot chocolate with marshmellows and the Christmas baking was started so cookies were also a treat for bed time snack. Sometimes dad would light a fire and we always watched the show in the dark with only the tree lights on. It was magical for me. Fridays, mom would let us sleep under the tree. Imagine how magical it was for a little kid sleeping under the Christmas tree with the lights on! I would wake up in the middle of the night with the lights off and be disappointed. But was too lazy to turn the lights on, and too fearful of burning the tree burning down. Granny always had a good scare story about how some poor family left their lights on and their house burn to the ground. That was not an option for me. I liked my house, especially my room.

My room had two closets. One for clothes and one permanently set up as a doll house. I was living the dream…except for one thing. I never quite felt like I fit in. I could have easily lived on the Island of Misfit Toys.

Don’t misunderstand, I had lots of friends but I never felt part of the group. I’m sure lots of people feel that way. The older I get the more I realize it is true. People who think and over think and analyze things to death, often feel disconnect from the group. I still do in many ways. I have a ton of friends for a gal who hates people…not true, I like people just not every waking minute. I love solitude but I also love socializing. If I had to choose between the two…solitude would win. Strange to some, but normal to others.

I have lived through a lot of teenage drama this week. From boyfriends and dates, to misfit solitude. The balance is hard. The worst of it is, mommy can’t fix the pain. She can talk, sympathize, advise, support, but the decision must be made by the teens themselves. It’s nights like this one where I wish for the simplicity of being 8 and sleeping under the Christmas Tree. I wish I could make it that easy for my Offspring. As a mom, it may in fact be more painful for me than it is for them. I’ve walked in their shoes, now I have heels and walk bedside them. Being a mom is harder than being a teenager. Wish someone had told me. I remember just wanting a baby, I didn’t think about them growing up.

I want to go to the magical attic, the place where everything is stored. (It is the equivalent to your dog moving to the country. I think it is called the Sally Ann, or the Dump.) And dig out my 1975 turquoise aluminium tree. Cover it in blue lights and white decorations and leave the lights on while I sleep. A little bit of Christmas fairy dust would be good about now. Maybe Santa will leave a giant bandaid in the stocking to fix the sore hearts in our house OR maybe we just need to settle down for a long winters nap.

Wishing You the Best This Holiday Season!

It is no secret, I LOVE Christmas! I love everything from Stocking Stuffers that make you laugh, to the “I can’t believe I just ate that” feeling after Boxing Day. I love the unexpected surprises and the hard fast Christmas Traditions that never change. Whether you celebrate Christmas or not, my wish for you is to enjoy your family, friends and all the other surprises life forces gifts to you.

I leave you with some home-movies of my family Christmas, so from me and my Muppet Clan, Merry Christmas!

 

The Face Painter

I read a blog this morning that reminded me of this story. Thank you Bokkie!

I was a Face Painter – when I say Face Painter I don’t mean Puddy from Seinfeld I mean I was really a FACE PAINTER. I say WAS because I don’t want Santa to call me and ask if I am interested in getting back into it. Dear Santa, NO THANK YOU! I know this does not make any sense to any of you but Santa, so I shall explain…

I grew up in one of those very lucky families where the mom worked magic and made Christmas sparkly and special. Every year, just before Christmas, our family would march around the city looking at lights, participating in special Christmas activities. We always saw the Teddy Bears at the Museum, looked at the Christmas windows at the Bay downtown, saw the Creche at City Hall. We would drive around the city at night singing Christmas Carols and looking at lights.

The best was the annual Christmas party. All of our family and friends would come to visit, laugh, sing and Santa came every year. I knew it was always my Grandpa, my sister did not. She was a Believer. It wasn’t as if I never believed, I did, but as I became older those beliefs change and morph into something else. The age gap between my sister and I is LARGE. I loved to help keep the illusion up for her. I knew who Santa was, but I sat on his knee anyway telling him how good I was that year, and he would reach into his sack and pull out a gift with my name on it. To: Edmonton Tourist Love: Santa. Written in my mom’s perfect script.

As we got older, cousins and friends moved away, the parties stopped. I missed them.

When the offspring muppets came along, and we moved into our new home, I decided I wanted to reestablish the Christmas Party Tradition. I walked around my block, knocked on doors of neighbors I did not know very well, and handed them an invitation. I invited people I did not know very well from the muppets school, and I extended the invitation to my family. It was a Family party, so there was food, special responsible drink, and Santa.

I asked each parent to bring a wrapped gift with their child’s name on it, about a $5 value, and leave it in a box hidden on the front porch. At 8:00, we heard Jingle Bells, Stomping on the porch and then the great loud “HO HO HO”! The children were enchanted! The older children were trying to puzzle out who Santa was. You could see them search the room, count the dads, look back at Santa with a quizzical look on their faces. They would never guess. I knew the REAL Santa because I was a Face Painter.

I use to Face Paint. Not the full face clown make-up. I specialized in cheek art. I drew unicorns, spiderman, puppies, you name it – I would draw it on your cheek. I had a booking agent who would slot me in great corporate venues, one for the highlight reel was The Edmonton Oilers Christmas Party. My booking agent also was an entertainer. He made/makes amazing balloon animals and hats. The big secret was, he was Santa Claus.

I would go to Christmas gigs, work for 2-4 hours, make obscene money, and come home. My children always asked who I saw. Every time I would say, Santa. He dressed liked the Coca Cola Santa, complete with the red coat to go OVER the red suit. Perfect! I would get phone calls from him to book my time, and my kids always ask who was on the phone, “Santa” I would reply. I would make arrangements for Santa to come to our home. He would always negotiate a plate of food and tin of homemade cookies. The food would be left in the box on the porch.

Santa would come and go every year. The same Santa, we have pictures to prove it. As the muppets grew older, they became more skeptical. One year we were at the Telus World of Science taking in the Christmas Lego exhibit when Chatterbox saw Santa. She knew there were fake Santas out there, but she maintained – just like my sister did years before – that SHE knew the REAL Santa. We walked up to Santa, and Santa KNEW my name. If there was a prouder moment in her life up until then, I was unaware of it. Let the bragging begin! Chatterbox’s mom KNEW the REAL Santa, so take THAT your stupid non believers. She had proof. Santa looked at my children, and thanked them for the art work they had made the previous year. It hung on his fridge and he described it back to them as proof. I had believers for a few more years because of that encounter. Thank you Santa.

Every now and then I get a phone call from Santa just to see how I am doing. When I hang up my kids say “who was on the phone?” I still answer “Santa”.