Christmas Catalogs

Today was the day my children have been anticipating for nearly 320-some odd days -- the arrival of the Christmas catalogs!  However, little did my children know, that I remembered from last year what a horrible experience this was.  The circling of pictures and making of the Christmas wish list, that is. 

Here's how it went down last year:

As a child, my brothers and I had a blast looking through the Christmas catalogs.  With each flip of the page, we were dreaming of what we would possibly find under the tree on Christmas morning.  Fast forward to 2010.  When the Target and Toys R Us ads arrived in the mailbox, I couldn't wait for the kids to arrive home!  I greeted them at the door with markers and magazines in hand.  I think I actually had visions of sugar plums in my head as I offered the catalogs, chock full of the best toys that retailers had to offer, to the pack of hyenas disguised as my children.  Within a matter of minutes, they had nearly devoured the shiny circulars as if a delectable, lone wildebeest.  The remains were nearly unrecognizable.  I had to intercept a few fists, snatch some markers, and enforce time-outs.  I could not convince my children that an item on one child's list was actually a win for the whole family.

As the toy catalogs began to arrive this year, Adam and I decided to dispose of the evidence quickly and permanently.  Until today.  When I checked the mail, there was another holiday teaser.  I guess I had a change of heart.  Who am I to deprive my boys of such an exciting and joyous pasttime?

Once again, I greeted them at the door with the catalog.  I enticingly offered to Houston, "How would you like to pick out your Christmas list?" as I dangled the fresh meat in front of his face.  His eyes popped open and his mouth dropped.  "I get to go first?!"  He couldn't believe it!  He snatched the catalog and bee-lined for the kitchen.  He ravaged the junk drawer for a Sharpie marker and came up empty.  He settled on an ink pen and plopped down at the table, never even stopping to remove his backpack.  You could see the elation and expectancy grow with each page turn.  The anticipation was killing him as he scrambled to get through the "girls section".  Worry began to set in as he realized he was nearing the end and still had not found anything for boys.

And then the unthinkable happened...he reached the last page.  He was completely bewildered that there was not a single Transformer or Bionicle.  Not even the most basic of boys toys, a truck or a train, were present.  That's when he flipped back to the front cover.

"You can order the dolls to look just like you!" I taunted him.  "And they have every accessory in the world you could think of!  Wanna have a tea party?  They've got you covered!  Wanna hit the slopes for some skiing?  They've got that too!  How 'bout a pet?  So many to choose from!"

He was not amused.  I presume it worked out for the best, considering I'd have to refinance the mortgage to afford such a gift.

Hawk-ism: Where's Mommy?

Adam was being a sweetheart this morning and letting me sleep in.  In my house of loud, rambunctious boys, the only way to accomplish this is to banish them to their room until Sleeping Beauty awakens.  Adam was playing a video game in the living room and the boys had been playing altogether in the big boys' room.  Hawkins emerged and was crying profusely.

Adam:  Hawk, what's wrong?
Hawkins:  <still balling his eyes out>  Where's Mommy?
Adam:  Shh.  Shh.  It's okay.  Mommy is sleeping right now.  What do you need?
Hawkins:  I need Mommy!
Adam:  Baby, she's in bed.  What do you need?
Hawkins:  <still crying>  I need a drink!!
Adam:  <laughingly>  I can get you a drink!

And instantly, his entire demeanor changed.  He immediately quit crying and began grinning ear to ear.

Proof positive that the kids do not view Adam as any form of caretaker or provider, although we really don't know why.

Check-Up Time

Well, it's the second week of November and that means at least one thing is for sure...annual check-up for Houston and Holt.  When I made the announcement this morning, the fear in Houston's eyes was immediate and unmistakable.  He hasn't had a vaccination since he was five.  Nor will he need another one until he is twelve.  This he knows and relies on for a confidence booster with every mention of the doctor's office.  "But I'm NOT getting a shot!" he declares with much authority.  And with a slightly more vulnerable tone he questions, "Am I getting a finger prick?"

I nod my head and in efforts to blow right past that terrifying truth, I offer with a gigantic grin, "And you get to pee in a cup!"  With my affirmation of a needle, that's when the panic began to set in.  You could almost witness the beads of sweat roll down his now pale face.  Since the cup didn't excite him, I felt another distraction tactic was in order, "I'm checking you guys out from school today!"

He didn't even look up from his bowl of Cookie Crisp.

Later that afternoon, as we walked up the sidewalk to Dr. Owen's office, the Funeral March playing in Houston's head was audible to us all.  I filled out the same paperwork for the ump-teenth time while Adam attempted to psych Houston up about the finger prick.  Once I was done with the forms, I pulled up last year's blog post on my phone about Houston and the finger prick for purposes of encouraging him.

"You were very reluctant to hand over your finger for a prick.  However, you finally did and realized it doesn't hurt!  (Just like Mom and Dad were trying to convince you.)  Hopefully, you will remember that next year.  Perhaps we should read this blog before going to your 8 year check up."

He nervously smiled and headed back over to solemnly watch whatever preschool show was blaring on the waiting room television.

I have failed to mention up until this point, although you probably assumed, that the entire Schwartz family was represented today.  We hadn't really thought about the logistics of cramming into an exam room when Adam and I agreed to all go to the appointment.  The open space is no more than 4 x 10.  Hawkins was in the stroller crammed all the way by the window while Houston and Holt sat on the exam table.  Adam and Hayes took up residence in the only two seats.  I stood in the "aisle".  I'm positive the room could not have held anymore Schwartz's.  Should we decide to have another child, I think our pediatrician should consider building a bigger, family-friendly exam room.

"Mommy, Mommy!  Can I wash my hands?" Hayes pipes in over the continual shuffling of weigh checks and height checks and blood pressure monitoring and head circumferences.  I'm not sure what it is in my second born, about the doctor's office that sparks a newfound passion for hygiene.  Due to the fact that we're snug in there like a jigsaw puzzle even without the two additional nurses, I asked him to wait.

Enter "Bug Lady".  That's what our kids have nicknamed the sweet nurse from the patho lab that comes in to prick fingers.  She got her name because she tells the kids that she is checking their blood for bugs.

Houston objected to every finger she wanted to use.  "That's my gamer finger!" he protested.  He began to beg.  And grovel.  Then he resorted to crying.  I decided to let her go ahead and prick Holt since Huey was having difficulty with accepting reality.  Commence Holt crying which made Hawkins cry.  Holt was screaming, Houston was crying, Nurse Julie was repeating "It's okay, it's okay" and the Bug Lady was calmly requesting "Let me see your finger.  It isn't gonna hurt!"  Adam and I were very sternly suggesting for Houston to man up and stick a finger out.  The poor kid in the exam room next to us probably thought that someone was getting their arm chopped off with all the sounds of anguish exuding from Room 12.

Adam managed to pry a finger out of the deeply clenched fist and that's when the bug lady swept in for the kill.  Houston instantly quit crying because he realized, Hey, that didn't hurt afterall. The medical staff departed, quite enthusiastically, and the room was finally quiet for half a minute.  A nice reprieve from the last five minutes of screaming and/or crying from eight individuals simultaneously.  We all just sat there, catching our breath and re-hashing in our heads, what in the world just happened?!

Hayes broke the silence first.
"Hey, Mom, can I was my hands now?!"


Here's Our Stats:

Houston
54.5" tall  96%
92 pounds 97%

Holt
30.5" tall  75%
22.10 pounds  50%
49.5 head circumference  97%

Holt is 12 Months!!

So, we had a pretty busy month and I kind of neglected to write down your achievements from this last month.  And since I am writing this on the eve of your 13th month, that doesn't help much either.

Here's what I can say in all certainty...

Not much changed this month.  You're getting better at standing unassisted.  You're up to twenty seconds or so without falling down.  You like to practice walking while holding on to both of my hands.

You've become a bit of a food snob.  You no longer eat bananas.  I guess I've fed you too many of them over the last few months.  However, you love to throw the chopped up pieces on the floor.  Your brothers think it is hilarious.  In fact, this is what you do with all of your meal-time offerings that you decide not to eat.

You are drinking a few whole milk bottles a week as I am beginning to wean me and you from breastmilk.  You don't seem to care one bit which I'm not going to lie, saddens me a little.  However, it is great that this transition is easy for you.

You have perfected the 'stink eye'.  You are constantly furrowing your brow at things/people/situations that displease you.  I'm afraid that I taught you this because that was one of my silly faces that I used to flash you.  I just hope it doesn't sink all the way into your personality.  That could cost you a lot in therapy down the road.  Oops!

You're still a Mommy-addict.  We're in the process of searching for care groups to curb this pattern of behavior.  (sarcasm, people)  No really, but we are researching some kind of child seat hip implant.  We figured that would save my arms from falling off having to hold you all the time.  Unfortunately, the implant is only available on the black market as of yet.  Something about the titanium coating on the four inch bolts, that are manufactured in Taiwan, which have the ability to cause dysentery.

You're still not talking.  Not even Mama or Dada.  You make those sounds when you're babbling but it doesn't mean anything, yet.  Everything is 'eh' or 'uh'.  And if you really, really want something, it's 'eh, eh, eh".  I can't wait for verbal skills!  Well, at least, 'Mama'.

I guess I did a good job remembering afterall!  Your Dad and I, along with all your brothers, love you so, so very much.  We are so blessed to have you in our family.  I can't believe this first year has come and gone so quickly.  We look forward to this next year as we really get to see your personality begin to blossom.  You will learn to navigate the world on two feet and to speak up for yourself.  And trust me, around here, that is very important!  This next year will be full of so much adventure.  Just wish there was a way to slow it all down.

You are wonderful in every way and there is nothing your Dad or I would change about you!