Christmas magic

About this time of year, every year, I start thinking about this time next year.
I am busy making plans and resolving for how I will do the holidays differently. They were good, but I can always see a way for improvement. A smoother way, more festive but slightly less exhausting and maybe even painless.

I will bake more goodies for friends and family. I will not drive across 3 counties (toting two toddlers plus all their accessories and consequently destroying any hope of normal sleep patterns) to see all our family in 18 hours. I will structure holiday gatherings around what works for my little people. I will tell my husband exactly what it is he should surprise me with on Christmas morning, so I do not receive the latest and greatest electronic gift that was hot on every one's list, except mine.

The problem is that soon after I make all these resolutions I forget them. I forget them long before December rolls around again and it is time to put them into action.

At which time, the same can of pureed pumpkin will still be in the cabinet ready to star in Aunt Bubbie's pumpkin chocolate chip bread. Come Christmas and it's eve, I will undoubtedly make those drives to Newberry, Richland & Lexington counties, taking my own disastrous car nap along the way. And when he asks, I will tell my husband, I really don't know what I want for Christmas.

By the time Christmas night rolls around & we are eating popcorn & left over ham for dinner at 10pm, with two over-tired, yet car nap refreshed toddlers bouncing around, I see that it could be better. So I plan.

But it turns out that the chaos I am trying to prevent, might actually have been the best part of the holiday. I thought it would be a quiet dinner with the hubby, the children all nestled in their beds. Instead, it is much like any other day, one kid insistent on wearing her new helmet while she climbs in and out of our laps at the table, the other playing the new drum set with his new tambourine, while daddy sets up mommy's new kindle fire.

Next December, I won't remember picking up popcorn kernels at 1am or the eventual meltdown. I will remember the joy in their eyes, as it crept into my heart. And the peace on their faces when they crashed.
Ahh, it is the magic of Christmas. Right? At least until next year.

The couch

I have been sleeping on the couch since October.
It's not that I don't want to sleep in my own bed, beside my sweet husband. It's just that sleeping in that bed means there is no sleep for mommy.
It's not a bad mattress or a drafty room. Or tension between the hubby & I. The root of the problem lies just about four feet from my pillow -- it's a white crib that from the hours of seven to seven, contains the sweetest little one year old boy. And when I am in that bed, he knows it.

At 11 months, I knew we should be sleeping through the night. And so did he. But he just couldn't seem to resist some social visits in the wee hours of the morning. He didn't want to eat or even play, just snuggle with mama. While this is flattering and incredibly sweet -- both reasons why I let it go on so long, I mean I have to say I kind of enjoyed those quiet snuggles, just the two of us, in the middle of the night -- it was making me a total basket case. While he seemed to rest soundly during those snuggles, I was readjusting to prevent another crick in my neck and glaring at the clock with one eye counting the minutes until the sun was coming up -- and his older sister. And carefully gauging when he had had enough of me & was ready to hit the sheets again.

One day it occurred to me that my inability to function after 2pm might have something to do with the fact I was waking every 2-4 hours at night. The very fact that this was a revelation to me tells you how tired I was. I mean, duh?
So that night, I put clean sheets and a blanket on the couch, and laid my head on a pillow a room away from that white crib & it's contents.
And I slept.
And so did he. There was a brief call out around midnight, but when the call went unanswered he went back to sleep in a matter of minutes.
And so did I.

A week passed and I thought I'd try to move back into my bed, that his habit would be broken. As I brushed my teeth that night, it was as if he knew I was returning. There were a few whimpers and several restless tosses and turns. It was all I needed to remind me no bed was worth sleepless nights. Back to the couch I went. And there I have stayed.

When we move in a few weeks, we'll all have our own room. And the couch will have it's nights alone back.

It's not perfect. Or pretty (my OCD really wants me to unmake the couch every morning & let our living room be just that). But it works. 
And that is what being a mom is about. Making it work.