This Christmas was like no other. Honestly. I am not exaggerating.
It’s not because there was snow falling. We had snow the year Bubba was born. . . 1/4 of an inch but it was snow.
This year I slept through Christmas. (pretty much)

The day began like you would expect (if you have ever read this blog before). Little came dashing into our room at 6:15 AM screaming out, “It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas! Merry Christmas, Mom!” She proceeded to fling her arms around my neck and nuzzle her head against my face, per usual.  This scene ended with Little tucked between her daddy and me with her FREEZING toes pressed into my back.

Before one could say, “Your toes are freezing!” there was a sound in the hallway of two other doors opening. No other sound. Just two doors opening followed by a pregnant pause as the two other children weighed the options of waiting to be called out of their rooms or risking it since Little had already paved the way. I put them out of their misery pretty quickly by calling out, “Merry Christmas, Bubba! Merry Christmas, KB!” Within moments there were two more bodies on the bed.

Little took this opportunity to announce that she had re-thought our schedule for the morning. See, the day before, KB had laid out what she thought would be the perfect plan for our Christmas morning:
1. Say Merry Christmas.
2. Have breakfast.
3. Read the Bible.
4. Run through the wrapping paper (something we had done in the old house but wouldn’t be possible/necessary in this new house).
5. Open presents.

Watching my seven-year old organize our day had been all the Christmas present I would need, mind you, but what sounded so great to Little on Wednesday, no longer sounded acceptable on Thursday. She announced that the order of our day had been changed and she was thinking that now it would be:
1. Say Merry Christmas
2. Open Presents
3. Eat breakfast
4. Read the Bible.

I took this as a teachable moment and let my executing of the REAL plan remind them of who was Mamma. We did what we always do and we started the day on the bed, reading the story of the Savior’s birth, and singing Joy to the World (horribly).As soon as Honey read the words, “Now in those days. . . ” I got tears in my eyes. I had my first “Daddy always did this” moment and I thought the day was sunk. But the tears were short-lived because, even though you would thinking hearing us sing would bring more tears to one’s eyes, the truth is it just makes me smile and laugh. Little is just so exuberantly off-key.

We headed down to the tree and opened some of the gifts.It was just after KB opened her horse that I realized every muscle ached and I was so cold. I went and put my coat on and just kept watching the fun around me.This year was different for our kids in that it was the first Christmas where we didn’t have some contact with Memom and Pop on or before the holiday. We have either been with them, they have been with us, or they have sent a truck load of gifts our way with friends traveling from Birmingham. This year there was no Pop, no Memom, no friends coming our way from Alabama – that meant a more controlled number of gifts under the tree. 

We had decided we would continue with our plan of giving the kids three gifts each (if it was good enough for Jesus, it is good enough for a Kicklighter). There was also a gift from a sibling, a gift from Memom, a gift from Grandpa Jeriald/Grandma Linda, and a gift from some family member that had drawn their name. I fully expected my son to add that up, announce that everyone got seven presents, and then proceed to tell me all the things that meant he couldn’t possibly have gotten or how unfair it was. But, no! A Christmas miracle . . our kids were content and happy and GRATEFUL. I tightened my coat around me and went to fix breakfast while they played with one of the three gifts we had opened already.Of course we had happy drink in honor of Pop. I told the kids, “Every year Pop made us happy drink. He loved this stuff!.” At this point Bubba said, “I wish he was here to tell us that.” Okay – more tears. Again short lived. About now you are thinking that this story is taking much longer than it should. You are probably right. I’ll try to pick it up.

After breakfast we Facetimed (?) with the family in Birmingham, opened the remaining gifts, and headed downstairs to open stockings. This was the first year we had a mantle on which to hang the stockings . . . it was so Norman Rockwell.By the time stockings were empty, I was done. I looked at Honey and told him I needed to lie down. After that I remember asking for more blankets at one point, then wishing they weren’t so heavy because they made my aches ache, and then wishing for more blankets. I pretty much slept through the rest of Christmas.

There was a texting conversation with my friend Amy about a flu bomb (essential oils) and then me telling Honey how to make a flu bomb. There was a Facetime call from China. . . I don’t remember much of that. I tried to eat but literally tasted a teaspoon of each item before heading back to bed. I slept until morning.

Merry Christmas to me.

Don’t let me mislead you – I am okay with the way the day went. I am thankful that I wasn’t awake to worry about my mom or cry about my dad. I am thankful my kids had such a great attitude through the day. I am thankful it wasn’t worse and I am thankful for the flu bomb and how quickly I recovered. It won’t go down in the history books as our best Christmas but it won’t go in as the worse.

How was yours?

Remember the commercial jingle: “I don’t wanna grown up I’m a ToysRUs kid. .. ”

I have been reconstructing the lines all morning. Things like, “I don’t wanna be a grown-up, ignorance is bliss” and “It’s yucky being grown-up; I wish I was still six.” Yep. Today I believe that being a grown-up stinks. I think it would be nice to have my biggest problem be whether or not to join “The Club of Awesomeness at second recess or Kenzie’s club for everybody at first recess. ” (actual problem my seven-year old discussed with me yesterday – I told her to join the Club of Awesomeness because the name was better and then to tell Kenzie that “everyone is awesome” – and I sang it like a Lego Emmett. I am so cool.) Instead, I have decisions about heavy things – 77 lb. things.

Yep, I have decisions about a ten-year old who has occasional seizures and I can’t completely trust her communication.

Little had another seizure last night. It seems petty to even write about it since my sister has a dear friend whose one daughter has constant seizures and another daughter has started having them sporadically. In my world, where seizures are not daily occurrences and I don’t have a doctor I trust, I feel the weight of what happened last night and the uncertainty of what to do next. It’s heavy.

What happened? Little had been feeling bad before going to bed so I was half expecting to be up with her at some point. Honey always takes Little to the bathroom and gives her medication before we go to bed and so last night he got her up and left her on the potty to go get a clean pull-up. He barely made it out of the bathroom and heard her fall off the toilet against the wall, and then she threw up. When he got to her she was rigid and unresponsive (typical of the three other seizures she has had). By the time I got downstairs she was “awake” and shivering and very willing to snuggle (the only up-side to a seizure). She didn’t remember anything, of course.

She slept well through the night and later into the day than she normally does. To demonstrate how odd this is I’ll tell you that I always worry she is dead if she sleeps past six. Seriously. I spent my time in the shower thinking through how I would ever make the call and tell my mom Little was gone – silly, I know – and as soon as I got out I asked Honey if he had checked on her. He knows I struggle with this and so, of course, he had been in her room and made sure she was breathing. It sounds so neurotic as I type it. Still, it’s a window for you into the stress of our life. The abnormal is so normal here . . . your kids probably all sleep past six . . .

So, Little seems fine now. She keeps talking about food but her coloring is still weird. I mean, she KEEPS talking about food. Sheesh.

I’m very aware that her other three seizures have been 2-3 years apart and this one is the second in 2014. Little was supposed to have an MRI in January but we found ourselves without a job and so we put it off. I think it’s time to pick that back up but I have dropped the ball on lining up doctors up to this point. I find myself remarkably motivated now.

If you read this, I covet your prayers. My daddy’s prayers seem overwhelming absent in a moment like this and my prayers seem so small compared to his. When I feel this way I have to choose to remember that it wasn’t the man who prayed . . . it was the God He spoke to that moved and worked. That’s the same God I serve. He is able. He holds Little in His righteous right hand. Who better to trust as I make these decisions.

Maybe being a grown-up wouldn’t stink so much if I could remember He wants us to come to Him like a child. “I don’t have to grow up. God wants me as His kid. . .”?

We do some crazy things for our kids, right? This week Bubba’s school had a fundraiser at the local music store . . . this started out as a fundraiser at the Barnes and Noble but ended up being a fundraiser at Boomer Music. I am not going to touch the list of reasons that this was a bad idea.

Maybe I will touch it. . . how many violins, guitars, or saxophones does a family need to buy? Everybody could do with another book to read but who’s dropping the cash for an extra drum set? SERIOUSLY.

Still, we had signed Bubba up to play . . . honestly I thought his entire class was going to be singing. No, a small group of kids were signed up to PLAY THEIR RECORDERS. So, school ended and we drove home so he could get dressed in “festive wear” and headed down the road to the small music store with a smaller parking lot.

We arrived as the kids were lining up and listened to Bubba do an excellent job. Now you listen:

There was another song but it started so quickly I was still clapping for the first one (supportive mom that I am) and couldn’t get it recorded. I’m okay with that.

After he finished playing I ran to find Little and shut the door to the MEN’S  bathroom where she was already . . . busy. I stood guard there while KB picked the guitar she wants for Christmas and Bubba checked out the sheet music. Then we went home.

It was a chaotic and low impact 30 min. all for my little man.
The things we do.