Controlling Christmas

It's been quite a holiday season. There's been everything from seeing Jesus Christ Superstar to fighting sickness to partying on a holiday party bus to announcing a reorganization at work to fighting sickness (again) to hosting Christmas for the first time.

It's been a mix of wonderment, fun, illness, anxiety, excitement, and... a bit of sadness.

Last weekend, I had somewhat of a breakdown. It seemed that a simple cold had pushed me over the edge of this sensory-laden season. My hubby knew better. After some empathetic questioning, he forced me into an epiphany. It's an epiphany he's tried to help me see almost since the day we said I do. Here it is:

I can't control everything.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

No matter how right I think I am. (I had to modify that sentence. It originally stated "no matter how right I am.)

I can't control everything.

It's s difficult mantra, me thinks, particularly when a mother has to accept that her children are technically adults.

Alex had to work the days before and after Christmas, so she wouldn't make it home for our favorite family holiday. I get this. That's why I asked her to look into a plane ticket that would bring her back just for one day. I'd pay! Even Alex wouldn't let me purchase the $800 ticket. "Mom, I'll be home the following week." Sigh. Okay.

Cole has hardly given any notice of his gifts under the tree. There's not one sign of wrapping paper rips. There's been no counting the number of boxes. I keep coaxing him, but he won't even shake his presents! Either he's spoiled because he has everything already, which is a very distinct possibility. Or, he's eighteen. Sigh. Okay.

We celebrated Christmas Eve at my parents house, performing the usual fun rituals like eating, playing games and watching a good old-fashioned holiday movie like Animal House. But it was sans Alex. So we sent her a loving video message just before leaving for the midnight Mass, which was incredibly lovely and beyond peaceful. But it was missing an important element: the sound of my daughter's voice singing Silent Night next to me in the pew. After the service, Cole told us that we had a video message from Alex. "Mom, you're gonna cry." And I did. It was our lovely 22-year-old telling us how much she missed us and couldn't wait to come home. While it broke my heart, it also made me just a little bit happy. She still loves us.

A rare frown. Still adorable.

The next day was a blessing as we hosted Christmas on the Kramer side this year. Instead of wallowing in self-pity about how our kids are growing up, I was busily distracted with things like food, wondering how we would get my sister-in-law's locked keys out of her car (along with the chicken tortilla soup), strategizing on how to get the alcoholic white elephants, and being completely entertained by Carson, part of the newest generation of cuteness. And Alex showed up after all! Via Facetime, albeit. But she was there, showing off the lovely Frida Kahlo painting her roommate had given her.

Families grow up, expand and relocate. Thank goodness for Facetime and family group texts with funny GIFs of Elf and Cousin Eddie. Holiday traditions may transform, but we still manage to connect and show our love for each other. That, my friends, is what we can control. As a matter of fact, it's probably the only thing worth controlling.

Hope your holidays were magical.

Departure Grief Reboot

Many of my friends have sent their kids off to college for the first time this past week. I remember the feeling all to well, equal parts proud and equal parts sad. I coped by blogging or crying to my dog. Here's one of the posts after I had sulked a couple of weeks. One year later I can tell you all who are grieving for your kid: next year will be a different story. It will be only a teensy bit sad. Maybe some teary eyes, but no waterfall. You'll start thinking more about tailgating aspects...and how happy you are that your kid is moving on brilliantly.

From last year:


It’s been just over two weeks since the dropoff and here’s what I know.

Forget wrinkles and achy joints. The worst part of getting old is taking your kids to college.

Yeah, I know. This is why you raise your kids—to be independent and find their way in the world. Blah. Blah. Blah. I simply want my little girl back. The little girl with the big brown, curious eyes and bobbed haircut. The five-year-old, asking me to read Olivia for the billionth time. I'll tell you what I would NOT do if I could back in time: I wouldn’t sigh about rehashing the clever little pig's mischiefs. Nor would I calculate all the tasks required to uphold an averagely-kept house. Nope. I'd let the laundry go undone! I'd leave the dishes sit on the counter! I might even allow the pets to puke on the carpet without throwing a tantrum. Maybe.

Some of you (the few, the proud, the followers) might have notice this blog on hiatus. The break was merely due to my grief. The perpetual lump in my throat and swirl about my guts as I ponder what's going on in my college-bound daughter's world. Everyone keeps asking me how’s she doing? I think to myself, How’s she doing? I DON'T KNOW FOR SURE! GHEESH. THANKS FOR REMINDING ME SHE'S GONE!  

I have an inkling she's adjusted well. Clambered into to her new college life by jumping off the high dive. It’s me they should be asking about. How are YOU doing, mother of student? 

I guess I’m coping. I think about her all the time...probably too much. I wonder if she misses her family as much as we miss her. I’ve reached out to her a bit (quite a bit as she has pointed out), hoping we could Facetime. Apparently, I’m catching her at bad times. Almost always a bad time. Two days ago she said she’d call me back later. I’m still waiting for that call. It’s like I’m in high school again, waiting for the boy to ask me to a dance. And he's just not interested in the nerdy bookworm.

In three days, we reunite—to celebrate the opening season of the Hawk’s football season. But really? It will be a celebration of my endurance. My ability to step away from one of my most favorite people in the world and let her mess up her room without me saying a word about it. Really, I won't. We can simply talk about cool stuff. Like English literature classes. Or if anyone has tempted her to taste a beer. That happened to me once in college.

BREAKING NEWS:

As I was finishing this blog, I received that call from Alex. Eerie, huh? (She didn't recall she was to call me back a few days ago. Kids!) Anyway, hearing her voice instantly lifted my spirit. And as we talked, it quickly became evident, that my role of mother wouldn't be going away anytime soon.

Maybe I'll bring Olivia with me this weekend.

Here we come Alex!

the basement and the bedrooms

So a friend shipped her firstborn daughter to the U of Iowa about a week ago. When I asked Kathy how the move went, she waved me off with a "can't really talk about it."  Now, Kathy's not really the blow-you-off type of friend. Obviously, she was overtaken with emotion.  I happened to be very empathetic at the time. "I know how you feel, Kathy. We just moved Cole into the basement. I was weepy all weekend. Granted Cole is only nine and still in the same house, it's just another milestone to deal with. Now both kids are in the basement and they might as well be living in Chicago.

When Alex and Cole were babies, sweet little old ladies would always be coming up to me and saying, "Enjoy it, it goes way too fast." I'd be thinking, "Right, whatever. You change their poopy diapers, then."  But just thinking this morning it occurred to me, I'm already one of those sweet little old ladies.  Except I'm probably not very sweet, really. Anyway, back to my point.

While I've had somewhat of an ability to keep my youngest from growing up too quickly, my daughter's a complex story. It's like I gave birth to my mother.

My boys (hubby, son and father) are on an overnight trip, so last night I asked my daughter if she (at the ripe age of 13) would like to sleep in my bed with me. You know, cuddle with her mother, for old time sake?

No response...She's a sweet girl. Doesn't like to hurt her ma's feelings.

I decide to let her off the hook. "You don't have to. Just thought you might want to..."

"Well, I really like to sleep in my own bed," she lets me down gently.

This girl has been giving me the same excuse since she was two years old!  TWO! What two-year-old girl doesn't want to sleep next to her mommy in bed? My independent little Alexandria G. Kramer. God love her.

Anyway, she always has been a little beyond her years, which is usually entertaining and only sometimes makes me truly sad. (To be completely honest, it irritates me once in awhile...that statement will really get her going when she reads this post...) HOWEVER... my mother and I took her to Eat Love Pray last night thinking that she would probably get this movie because she is a wise, young soul.  But when I asked her how she like it, she thought it was only "Okay. Liked the food parts in Italy.  It wasn't nearly as good as Scott Pilgrim vs the World."  Smile.  A Soul Journey Across the World or a Kid Defeating Evil Video Villains.  Okay, so maybe she's still a kid after all.

What???

Rocker Dude!

My Sweet...

When I Grow Up...

I've made it perfectly clear that I do not want Alex and Cole to grow up. So, with every new day disclosing blatant indications of their physical and and emotional development, I've been wallowing a little deeper in self-pity.

Enough already! My kids are definitely still kids. Isn't that picture cute? And, today I started thinking about the joys I'm finding in their growth.

1. The day after Halloween, Cole retires from super-heroism. "Mom, next year, I'm not going to be a super-hero. I'm going to be something really scary." That is a major paradigm shift for the little guy. Perhaps Cole noticed a few too many other superheros on Beggar's Night and felt like just another face in the crowd. Well, it's too early to tell whether his new resolution will stick, but I'm looking forward to a conversation that doesn't involve The Dark Knight. (Dang, did I hear that Spiderman 4 is coming out next spring?)

2. Today Alex and I have completely savored two classics -- Breakfast at Tiffany's and Chocolat. (I know it's was way too nice to be inside, but at least the windows are open.) I warned Alex that she might find Breakfast at Tiffany's boring, but she LOVED IT! We even watched all the 'extras' on the DVDs. She absolutely idolizes Audrey Hepburn and can't figure out why Marilyn Monroe is such a big deal. We now have Roman Holiday, Funny Face, Sabrina and Paris When It Sizzles on our Netflix queue. And I have strict instructions to buy my daughter something from Tiffany's when we traverse to NYC. Ahem!! Anyone have a Cracker Jack ring to engrave??

Okay, so they're growing up and I'm getting older. It's not all bad..it's actually all good! And really quite fun.