Another change in plans -- I'm consolidating some posts for my 11 stay-at-home days of the Leatherman Christmas in the interest of just getting them done and having some freedom to write about other "Leatherkidisms" as they present themselves. I feel as though I've already missed out on some good material given this self-inflicted restriction. So here are the fifth- and sixth-day posts.
On the fifth stay-at-home day of the Leatherman Christmas, Cal complained about his gifts.
Imagine the scene: Six adults and four kids sitting in a sea of gifts, half of them opened, half still wrapped. At this particular moment, Cal is the center of attention -- it's his turn to open a gift which he is holding in his hands as he stands, ready to get to work. It's a rectangular shirt box, so I have a general idea what the gift is. Cal tore the wrapping paper off of the box and clumsily opened the box which then fell to the ground, its contents tumbling out as it fell. For some reason, this gift put him over the proverbial edge, an edge on which no one should find himself at Christmas. His response upon opening it was one of exasperation: "WHY do PEOPLE keep GIVING me this STUFF?!?!!!"
I was mortified, as any mother would be after her ungrateful kid just made that statement in front of people. Completely unprepared for it, my response was simple and ineffective: "CAL!" Everyone seemed to laugh it off (I didn't ask what they were really thinking) and didn't say much about it the rest of the day. I haven't forgotten it and can only hope I'm the only one (other than Dan) who hasn't forgotten it. I'm chalking this up to a fluke and something that will never happen again... please, never happen again.
On the sixth stay-at-home day of the Leatherman Christmas, I rocked Ella to sleep with no "no nigh nigh."
It was after 7pm on Christmas Day, a napless day for Ella and Cal. We were winding down with my dad, sister and nephews, and Ella was becoming cranky -- prime for putting to bed without a fight, so I jumped on the opportunity to do so.
Ella said her "good nights," and off we went to her room. I quickly got her changed into her jammies and couldn't resist the glider which was inviting me and Ella to sit for a bit and rock. It had been a long day for me, too, and a little silence and alone time with my daughter was more appealing than ever. I'll just rock her for a few minutes, I thought to myself. No one will notice my absence.
I've written about rocking Ella to sleep and how special it is before (see Sweet Ella), so I won't re-hash that. What made this notable during our 11 stay-at-home days was rocking Ella to sleep in complete silence knowing what was wrapped around that moment. Shopping. Cleaning. Driving places. Wrapping gifts. Baking and cooking. Visiting family. Talking with family. Performing late-night Santa duties. "No nigh nigh" chatter. Playing with new toys. General day-to-day kid management. Very hectic, rarely quiet and never relaxing.
Ella was sound asleep in my arms, her head curled tightly under my chin and body limp againts my chest, in a matter of minutes after we settled into the glider. Not once did she utter "no nigh nigh." I could have placed her into her crib right away but chose to keep rocking. I could hear the faint sounds of Christmas winding down coming up from downstairs and over that, Ella's deep-sleep breaths. I felt relaxed, at peace and simply happy. What a special Christmas gift Ella gave me without even knowing it.
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