Celebrations e Holidays
Seasonal Stuff
NEW Piecing Things Together
Forrest Gump compared life to a box of chocolates. I’m a chocolate lover (especially when it’s covering nougat), but I disagree. I think life is more like a box of jigsaw puzzle pieces—1,000 lopsided segments, odd-shaped bits and unfamiliar parts. Some pieces are smooth and easy to recognize; others are downright jagged and unwieldy. You know it’s going to take awhile to figure out which side is up. Like many moments in life, puzzles start out a jumbled mess, but with consistent effort, piece-by-piece, it all comes together. Fun, frustration and unexpected surprises intertwine as the fuzzy picture comes into focus.
I’ve been a jigsaw puzzle aficionado since I was a teen. You’ll find one--in various stages of completion--atop my dining room table. I keep it corralled on a sheet of foam core board for easy relocation to a coffee table when it’s time to eat. Visitors--family and friends—are familiar with my loosely enforced 10-piece minimum. Before kicking up their feet, getting a snack out of the fridge or changing the TV channel, they’re invited to make a puzzle contribution. After all, we’re in this together.
NEW Birthdays On the Bubble.
It wasn't until I saw my husband Nick, standing ankle deep in a wading pool of homemade bubbles that
I realized I’d made a mistake. My son Jake, the birthday boy, and several of his 8-year-old pals wouldn’t
have agreed. They were running amuck – bubble wands, hoops and blower guns in hand -- puffing,
popping and shooting bubble ammo at each other. They stopped occasionally at this plastic oasis to
refuel their bubble-making implements.
With garden hose in hand, a barefoot Nick was working hard to keep the supply plentiful. Occasionally he shot a grimace my way. Our backyard, sloshed in homespun bubble sauce, had turned in to a slip-and-slide soapy mess. I surveyed the good, clean fun springing up around me and made a mental note: Do not repeat when younger son Seth, turns 8.
YBelieving in Make-believe
Every December 24, when Shawn, Jake and Seth were little, they carefully selected the best-decorated sugar cookies from our day spent baking. Before they went to bed, they placed a plateful of these homemade snacks, along with a glass of milk, near the fireplace for the man in the red suit. Nearby, a bowl of water and a pile of carrots awaited Rudolph and his pals.
Why? Because my sons believed in Santa Claus. They knew that once a year, sometime after they were fast asleep, the jolly old elf would squeeze down our chimney with his sack of elf-made toys to place under our decorated tree. Flying direct from the North Pole, via a reindeer-pulled sleigh, St. Nick also filled their stockings with small goodies and an occasional lump of (bubble gum) coal.
NEW A Pillowcase of Costumes
“What are you going to be for Halloween?”
It’s the most asked question during October. At recess, in between soccer drills or on the drive to piano lessons, you hear preschoolers and preteens, alike, eagerly pondering the possibilities.
At my house there was always a lot of discussion before the Halloween dress-up decision was made. Like every other 3- to 13-year-old, my sons, Shawn, Jake and Seth, took their time making this important selection. Woe to the kid who chooses too quickly and settles for something simple like a pirate, a cowboy or a vampire.
The chatter started weeks before October 31. Numerous ideas would be kicked around, debated and considered. Like most busy mothers, I did my best to sway the conversation in the direction of accessories we had on hand (cowboy hat, black cape, baseball mitt). I cheered when one of the younger siblings wanted to be what their big brother was last Halloween.
Whose Home for the Holidays?
Ah love. It starts out innocently enough. You say yes to dinner and a movie. He brings flowers and chocolates. There are romantic walks on the beach. And before you know it, you’re married. The days of staring lovingly into each other’s eyes are replaced with scanning the food section for bargains and listening for the sound of the shower turning off, so you can take your turn.
You’re occupied with many challenges as the two of you begin a life together. So many decisions to make: Cable or satellite? Pepperoni or sausage? Over-easy or scrambled? Foreign or domestic?
Days, weeks, months pass. Miscellaneous facts are gingerly revealed: He likes Brussels sprouts. She thinks birthday cake is a breakfast food. Both of you have trouble staying awake for the 11 o’clock news. Deals are reluctantly made: He agrees to read the sports section until she’s finished with the front page. She’ll watch Entourage if he’ll sit through reruns of The Office. Then, your newly formed family of two becomes three, four and maybe even five.
A Boy, A Box and Packing Peanuts
The brown box arrived on our front stoop a few days before Christmas. It was from our friends Greg and Jane who live in St. Louis. The cardboard carton was so big, that it took two of us to drag it into the living room. The whole family gathered, anticipating what bounty it held inside. Because of its size, it wasn’t a present I could slide near the tree and tell my sons, Shawn, Jake and Seth, to wait for Christmas morning. This first gift of the season was ready to be enjoyed.
Smiling faces circled Nick, my husband, as he cut the strapping tape. He reached down through the kernels of packaging to pull out a lavishly filled wicker gift basket. As Nick wiped off a few noodle-shaped foam pieces that clung to the cellophane wrapping, we could see that the basket had treats for every member of the Fadden household. Hot cocoa and biscotti. Smokehouse almonds and sausage. Chocolate covered pretzels and caramel popcorn balls. Toffee and sugar cookies. And a personalized ornament for our tree.
Writing on Eggshells
I’ve managed to dye my fingers a new shade of purple, a color not found in any box of crayons. It falls somewhere between eggplant and magenta. As I stare at my hands, I wonder if the stain will fade before next weekend when I’m going to my cousin’s wedding. I guess I can always wear gloves.
What A Bargain?
It’s January 2. My husband, Nick, is standing in our driveway, taking down the last string of lights woven through our bushes. He’s carefully wrapping them around a cardboard holder one strand at a time. His goal is to prevent the lights from being tangled when he gets them out next winter. Fat chance.
Birthdays From 1 to 92
Anyone who as ever received a birthday card from me, opens it carefully. They might even hold it over a trash can. Why? They know I’ve stashed confetti inside, and they want to keep the mess to a minimum. I sneak a rainbow of glittery, metallic chips between the folds of the card; my way of enjoying the party before it’s even started. I love birthdays and when the confetti cascades out, along with my good wishes, my theory is once again affirmed.
A Turkey of a Thanksgiving
Everyone in my family loves something different about Thanksgiving. Nick, my husband, loves the smell of turkey baking and the sound of the NFL on TV. For our teen-age son, Jake, it’s the homemade mashed potatoes. For Seth, the youngest, it’s the toasted marshmallows on the yams. And for our home-from-college student, Shawn, I think it’s the chance to do his laundry for free. Me? I love being with my family and taking time to reflect on the many blessings of the year. Thanksgiving is the quiet before the storm. The flag is up early Friday morning, signaling the start of the hustle and bustle of Christmas.
YThinking Thankful
About four years ago I began keeping a gratitude journal. My notebook is nothing fancy. It’s a simple black-and-white speckled composition book. I buy one for less than $2 every year at the back-to-school sales. On those lines, I jot down at least three things each morning that delighted me the day before. It’s a great way to begin each day – spending a few minutes thinking about what I’m grateful for.
YSitting at the Big Table
As November 27th gets closer, lots of us are spending time in preparation and anticipation. We’re busy comparing prices for frozen turkeys, finding grandma’s recipe for cranberry sauce and ordering chiffon pumpkin pies. We’ve assigned a favorite aunt the task of bringing the green bean casserole and asked our neighbor if he has folding chairs we can borrow. All of this organization is necessary to carry out our vision of the perfect holiday dinner; one that merits a symphony of satisfied after-dinner sighs that continue long after the wishbone has been pulled. But to me, these details are secondary. While many of you are dusting off your crystal and sharpening the carving knife, my energies are spent on how to fit 19 and a highchair at a table that comfortably accommodates 10.
Merry Birthday. Happy Christmas.
This is my salute to Sagittarians and Capricorns — my sisters and brothers all over the country who, like me, have a birthday bordering the holidays. Each of us who has known the disappointment, heartbreak and misfortune that comes with being born too close to Christmas. Through no fault of our own (and because of the poor planning of our parents), we were born on the fringes of the busiest, most expensive holiday of the year. We’re forced to compete against giant evergreens, cookie parties and men in red suits, armed with nothing but a candle, a party popper and a handful of confetti. It’s no wonder December birthdays are often overlooked.
Tilting the Tree (and other slanted celebrations)
Christmas traditions. Every family has them. Warm and fuzzy customs that happen year after year of the holidays wouldn’t be the same. My family has traditions too. I don’t know that they’re warm and fuzzy, but they’re the ones my boys treasure. Holiday happenings that are part and parcel of our celebration. Our December days include baking cookies, hanging stockings, singing carols, spending too much on presents and overeating. Every decoration, string of lights and Christmas puzzle has to be dragged out of the garage and displayed before Shawn, Jake and Seth officially declare Christmas underway.
A Simpler, Kinder Christmas
No one confuses me with Martha Stewart. I don’t get phone calls when a friend wants to create centerpieces using bark, berries and spray-painted six-pack soda can holders. I wish I were. I know some of those people. They turn a sprig of rosemary, three candles and a leftover Cool Whip bowl into a sight to behold. I admire them. Everyone looks good in the family photo on their handmade holiday card, even the dog.
Y Award Winner
