Houston, we have achieved meltdown.

I should have known what was coming when we were on the way home from the dollar store.

Grace's school Christmas program was last night, and we stopped at the dollar store on the way home from school to get a "beautiful jewel" to pin on her dress. We were doing this because the dress that Grandma bought her - which has a "beautiful" rhinestone jewel on the front - is too big to wear this Christmas. So we settled on adding a pin to this year's dress.



Note the Christmas tree pin. Snazzy, no?

As we drove home we discussed the program and who would be coming. And that's when the tears started. She was heartbroken that my mom (AKA Grandma Muti) couldn't come. It's not like this was a surprise. She's known for weeks that Muti wasn't going to be there, but somehow it became a life crisis. I really didn't know what to say because, frankly, I was kind of relieved she couldn't come. My dad and step-mom were coming and those two groups don't really mix. But promises of videotaping the show didn't help. Calling Grandma Muti didn't help - in fact, Grace wouldn't even get on the phone.

I decided a long bath would help and threw her in the tub as soon as we got home.

The bath worked. The show was cuteness to the 15th power.


That's Grace in the front row, red dress on the right.

We traipsed out to the car with our somewhat large entourage of grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles and Grace insisted I sit in the middle in the back. I did. She insisted on clinging to my arm, which was stretched across her body, and whining, "I waaaannnt you," all the way home.

I had to work very hard not to lose my temper. For one thing, I hate whining. It is my absolute number one pet parenting peeve. For another, she was clinging to my arm like a guy who just picked up the very last Wii at BestBuy, yet was still going on about "wanting me." Also, Grace likes to repeat herself. So I got to hear her tragic plea at least 8 times.

But on the other hand, I felt for her. It was bedtime. The energy that had been spiraling upward in a slow-growing frenzy of holiday excitement had reached its apex on the stage, and all she really wanted was a snack and sleep. Truthfully, I felt the exact same way.

It's like this every year. The energy builds, the excitement grows, the lack of sleep and change in routine weaken one's defenses and general good will, and then.... the crash.

But somehow I think this process is a strangely essential part of the whole Christmas experience. The mild sense of being disoriented and over-tired makes it really easy to believe in magic. And that's what Christmas should be. Magic.

Have a wonderful holiday, be safe on New Year's and nap whenever you get the chance in the next few days.

When it's 3:45 am and your baby is calling "mommy, mommy, mommy" in a loud, yet disoriented, voice, and you have to force yourself out from under your deliciously warm blankets for the third night in a row remember:

It's good to be loved.

At 6:18 pm, when everyone is hungry - including you - and your children are literally hanging on your legs and your dogs are wagging their tails eagerly awaiting their own dinner (and even the cat is meowing at you in a very demanding manner) remember:

It's good to be loved.

When you are attempting to go to the bathroom all by yourself, but your littlest one insists on actually sitting on your lap while you poop remember:

It's good to be loved.

When all you want is to stretch out on your belly and hang your arm off the side of the bed, but your husband wants to snuggle up like spoons, even though he will fall asleep before you and give you a heat stroke remember:

It's good to be loved.

When you're just trying to watch a movie and your child headbutts you in the mouth, splitting open both your upper and lower lips, but all they're really trying to do is settle in more comfortably on your lap remember:

It's good to be loved.

When you're trying to go out to dinner and you're leaving your children with a babysitter they adore, yet they still get weepy and beg you not to leave, and pull on your arm and insist on giving you a hug with hands enrobed in ranch dressing remember:

It's good to be loved.

When you are exhausted from a long day doing two jobs that you love and you walk into your childrens' bedrooms for one last kiss of their soft, sweet cheeks and one final covering with the blanket, and you know that you are blessed beyond measure by your strong, healthy, funny, happy children remember:

It's good to be loved.

The working mom's party invitation.

You know how you find those party invitations in your kid's backpack? The cute ones in envelopes that are hand-written? Or the ones created on the computer on party-themed laser-friendly paper?

I have done both of those myself. I probably will again, but only the handwritten ones because I'm not that crazy about using my computer at home.

But here is the best party invitation I've ever received, from a good friend and fellow working mom.



Seriously... PowerPoint? Wish I'd thought of it.

On the road again.

One of the great things about my job is that I don't have to do a lot of overnight travel. When I do have to travel overnight I luxuriate in the perfectly organized quiet of my hotel room. I browse the on-demand movies and weigh the benefits of choosing my own movie against the glory of an evening spent reading without interruption.

But that kind of travel doesn't come up very often and, truthfully, I'm glad. Because usually I spend about 10 minutes on the aforementioned luxuriating, and the rest of the time I'm either conking out at 9:30 in front of Law & Order or wondering what to do with no one to tuck into bed but myself.

I do, however, do a fair amount of day travel. What I love about day travel is that I get to have some of the good stuff about traveling and still sleep in my own bed. I might get a great lunch. I can listen to a book on tape while I drive. I get a dose of the juice that comes from a great presentation or an exciting new project discussion, and then get myself on home. And if I'm really lucky I get home AFTER bedtime.

The house is quiet. The kids are nestled all snug in their beds. The dogs are walked. All I have to do is kiss a couple of foreheads, maybe hit the jacuzzi and get to bed. What's more, everyone who's awake is delighted to see me. My dogs rush to my side and nuzzle their heads into my lap as I sink into the couch and flex my ankles. My husband gives me a kiss and a hug and asks about my day. And I can actually answer him.

Once in a while my homecoming sets off a karmic disturbance and Lauren will wake up suddenly, weepy and a little confused. Then I get to tiptoe up the stairs in my nice clothes, lift her sleep-warmed body out of her crib and settle into the rocking chair for a sweet snuggle. It's as if I'm the queen of a soft, warm and quiet little kingdom and my subjects need nothing more than to bury their head in my neck to set the world back to rights.

The funny thing is that even though I've enjoyed the rush of a great meeting and (hopefully) the pleasure of an adult lunch, I've also missed my girls. Secretly I'm happy when they rustle awake, that their subconscious minds know I'm home, but just need to check to make sure. It's these moments that remind me that I truly do have it all.

What did you say?

Me: So remember Grace, you don't have piano today so take the bus to Miss Penny's.

Grace: But I haaate the bus!

Me: You love the bus.

Grace: No I don't because I have to sit by Dylan and he smells like poop!

Me: Oh. Well. I wouldn't like that either. (impressive bit of wisdom there, eh?)

***

Grace: Mom, I had a nightmare it was REALLY scary!

Me: Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. What was it about?

Grace: A mean lady came into our classroom and turned everyone into a salad and then ate us! It was so scary!

Me:(nothing. I had to bite my lip and turn my head to keep from laughing)

***

Me: Lauren, do you want some milk.

Lauren: yeah

Me: Lauren, let's put on your shoes.

Lauren: yeah

Me: Lauren, are you opposed to President Bush's stance on the Kyoto Treaty?

Lauren: yeah

Will I ever get it?

Have you ever been at your child's school and you see all the parents of the older kids? They seem like they know what they're doing. They've been here before. They know how to handle things. But the other day I had an epiphany about these people.

They don't know what they're doing as a parent any more than I do.

That's because, at least with your oldest child, every new thing is.... well, new. And with each new thing you have to figure out what to do, how to answer. So while I'm well equipped to deal with Lauren's on-the-floor temper tantrums, I'm totally unprepared to deal with Grace's crushing need to memorize her piano songs instantly so that she can impress her teacher.

And that's the irony of parenting. You never really get it all figured out.

This moment of realization has made me feel a whole lot better about the job I'm doing. It's like realizing that even the CEO of your company has to go poop. We all do it. And we all get through it. We may not always get it right, but no one else is either.