Another New Year

It's unbelievable to think that another entire year has gone by in what seems like the blink of an eye. For every good thing I can say about 2013, I can say two completely shitty things. 

I really can't explain why my writing took such a hard hit this past year. There were some minor bumps in the road the first half, but come June things got ugly quick. And that's when I stopped writing. 

One of the main reasons I started this blog in the first place was to vent about life's frustrations the best way I know how. But when life hit rock after rock on its way down the steep side of the mountain this year, writing was the first aspect of my life to suffer.  I quit, just when I needed it most. 

Needless to say, returning to real-time blogging tops my list if goals for the new year, closely followed by the goal to catch up on the last six months I completely neglected. I won't get every detail down, but I at least hope to cover the big stuff. I mean, the other reason I started writing was for Punky and I can't leave such big holes in her story. She deserves better than that. 

So, here's to 2014. For me this year is all about reorganization.  It's time to restructure, reformat, and reboot. I need to start at the very core of my being and move through all aspects of my life. Last year was too much of a jumbled mess and I can't function that way any longer.  It's just not an option.  

The Ballet

I'm full of bright ideas.  Really, I am.  I like to think I do a good job of exposing Punky to different things to encourage her imagination, broaden her horizons, and inspire her dreams.  But once in a while, things don't go off exactly how I had previously envisioned.  And today, unfortunately, was one of those times.

We were up and out early this morning because my company was hosting its annual children's Christmas party at ten.  To my delight, in fact to everyone's delight, the usual puppet lady entertainment was nixed this year and replaced by a funny magician with lots of experience amusing kids and grown-ups alike. His show was a breath of fresh air and Punky absolutely loved him.  He made her a balloon poodle and then pulled her up on stage during his act to retrieve a long, white scarf from her ear (it must have snuck in there with the popcorn kernel almost two years ago).  After singing some carols, Santa made a grand appearance and all the kids had a chance to sit on his lap and get a gift. Punky was thrilled with the Hello Kitty Diary she received and she couldn't wait to get home to play with it, but I threw a wrench in her plan.

See, the bright idea had been bouncing around my head for a full twenty four hours at that point and I was fully ready to commit.  When Punky's dad picked us up after the party, we made a quick stop at the store, had a nice lunch at a restaurant, and then headed to the theater to surprise Punky with something I thought we'd all really enjoy: The Nutcracker.

Despite the fact that I love its music and insist on listening to it every year while we decorate the tree, I somehow managed to make it to forty without ever actually seeing the ballet.  Even though they play it a gazillion times on TV around the holidays, I've never watched more than a minute or two.  In fact, I've never watched more than a minute or two of any ballet.  But, Punky loves ballerinas.  The Nutcracker is a classic.  And we all love live shows, period.  Maybe this will be the start of a new family tradition every Christmas?

Punky could hardly contain her excitement as we waited for the curtain to rise and I'll never forget how her eyes lit up the instant she saw that first ballerina twirling around the stage.  We were all mesmerized by the lights, the costumes, the spins, and the music, but by intermission I think we had all seen enough.  

Punky was bored and getting rambunctious by that point, her dad admittedly dozed off twice near the end of the act, and I was honestly very disappointed in myself for feeling, well, less than entertained, I suppose.

Okay, bored.  I was bored, too.  The music of the Nutcracker always sucks me in, I feel it resonate through my entire body, it's one of my absolute favorite things about Christmas... But the actual ballet part?  Yawn.

Yes, I do really feel bad for saying that.  I obviously know very little about ballet, but I was still able to see just how hard the ballerinas worked to reach that performance and how incredibly talented they all are.  The little kids in the show really blew my mind; I had no idea any child could ever be so graceful at such a young age.  Because it was a local theater group, the audience was filled with proud parents, grandparents, siblings, and so on, all intensely watching the entire show with bouquets of flowers on their laps. How could I not appreciate such a beautiful, magical, classic ballet?

When it resumed after intermission I tried so hard to love it, I swear I did, but I still had no clue what the hell was going on and it seemed like the ballerinas kept doing the same three or four steps, over and over and over again, to every single song, in every single scene.  Punky lost interest entirely and found the contents of my purse more amusing than the show, and I think I heard her dad snoring once.  Alright, twice.  After what seemed like an hour of bows, applause, and bouquet presentations, I hung my head in shame as we quietly left the theater and walked to the truck in silence.

If nothing else, the afternoon was a learning experience.  We now know to read the story behind the ballet before actually going to see one (not that we ever will again) because we obviously aren't intelligent enough to figure it out while watching.  On the drive home, the three of us discussed what we thought the story of the Nutcracker was really about and we didn't agree on anything.  We were all proved wrong as I consulted Wikipedia and read the story aloud over dinner that evening. 

Punky's dad sees it as three hours he can never get back, but I don't feel that way.  I can now say I've seen a live ballet.  I can now say I've seen the Nutcracker.  I can now attempt to sway Punky toward jazz or tap dance lessons and not feel a bit guilty for doing so.  I love my daughter with all my heart but I just can't even imagine sitting through ballet recital after ballet recital.  The poor girl is stuck with old parents and we need something far more exciting than a plie to keep us awake and alert in the audience.  

And, I can also say I did manage to start a family Christmas tradition of sorts. I bought Punky a ballerina ornament during intermission to commemorate the occasion and I can say without a doubt that each year, as it's discovered in the box and hung on the tree, we will relive our afternoon at the ballet and the realization that we are just about as uncultured as it gets.

Mother's Day Jewels

Last year for Mother's Day, Punky made me a bracelet at school. Despite its brightly colored rainbow beads and overly snug elastic, I've worn it faithfully every day (except a handful of times when I forgot it entirely or chose to skip it for fear of losing it - like on amusement park days).

As you'd expect, I absolutely love it. I love that she made it herself, I love the little block beads that spell her beautiful name, I love that she still checks my wrist a whole year later to make sure I'm wearing it, but most of all I love it because of how proud she was to give it to me as a Mother's Day gift. I'll never forget how she beamed from ear to ear as I unwrapped it and tried it on for the first time. She seemed so grown up in that moment and I relive it each time I wear the bracelet.

The company I work for has a very formal office environment and professional attire is expected at all times. The men wear suit jackets and ties every day, business casual is frowned upon, and there are no dress down Fridays for us. I think the walls would burst into flames if everyone showed up in jeans.  Anyway, my childlike multi-color bead bracelet doesn't exact match my work wardrobe, but I've worn it religiously nonetheless and answered many questions about its origin when I remove my suit jacket or let it slip out from under a long-sleeve shirt.  It's small and easy to conceal if needed, and most people think it's adorable when they hear the story behind why I wear it.

When I got home from work on Friday, Punky was waiting with a red, tissue paper package in hand.  I knew instantly that it was this year's Mother's Day project at school.

"Is that for me?" I asked, pretending to be surprised.

"Yes, Mommy! Open it! It's for Mother's Day!" she could hardly contain her excitement.

"Well, Mother's Day isn't until Sunday.  I think maybe I should wait to open it then." I flashed her a smile and a wink.

"No, Mommy! You have to open it now! I want you to wear it!" she screeched.

Wear it?  I was a bit nervous.  Surely the package was too big to be another bracelet.  What if it was some kind of hand-sewn hat or something?  What if she expects me to wear it every day?  How could I possible love another hand-made gift as much as I love my bracelet?

I stalled for time but ultimately lost and ended up opening the package.  As I carefully peeled the tape and opened the tissue paper, that familiar look of pride swept across Punky's beautiful, little face.

A necklace.  Big.  Long.  A seemingly endless string of random beads in multiple shapes, colors, and sizes.  She'll want me to wear it to work every day.  It will stick out like a sore thumb.  The bracelet is one thing, but the necklace just can't be hidden as easily.  I love it and all but I just can't...

"Do you like it, Mommy! I worked on it a long time and just finished it in music class today!  I put lots of heart beads on there 'cause I love you so much.  And see the little square ones?  They have the letter 'M' on them for 'Mommy'.  And I made sure to use lots of different green ones because green is your favorite color! Let me put it on for you, Mommy!"

My eyes filled with tears as I leaned forward so she could slip the necklace over my head.

"I love it, sweetie," I managed to whisper, "I really, really love it.  It's absolutely beautiful, just like you."  

Looks like I have a new necklace for work tomorrow.  And I couldn't be more proud to wear it.   

The Valentine Tattoo of Death

Sometimes I simply don't understand my child.  Once in a while I allow myself to smugly think I have her all figured out, and then she does something so unexpected that for a brief second I have absolutely no clue who she even is.
  
On the heels of her big Valentine's party at school, I could tell she was on a bit of a sugar high when I finally picked her up after work.  As we sat and ate dinner together, we read all the Valentines she got and separated the candy and trinkets into containers.  Mixed in with the pile of cards, lollipops, tootsie rolls, pencils, candy hearts, and rubber bracelets, we found several temporary tattoos.  She thought they were stickers at first and I tried to explain the difference.

After dinner I innocently asked if she'd like me to put one of the tattoos on her leg.  From her reaction, you'd think I asked if I could chop her leg off with a butter knife.  

Anyone reading along knows that 'fearless' is a term I've used often to describe Punky. She is not afraid of, well, anything.  As a baby she wasn't too keen on her bare feet touching the grass and that's about the biggest fear I've seen her exhibit in the last four years.  She's not intimidated by people, she's never been scared of the doctor, she has no fear of water or jumping into swimming pools ten feet deep, she hugged and kissed the totally scary and disgusting zombie dummy her dad made for a Halloween decoration this year, she happily rode every single amusement park ride she's been tall enough to ride thus far, she has no fear of heights, no fear of speed, no fear of monsters, no fear of the dark, and normally no fear whatsoever to try something new.  She's never even had a nightmare that's scared her enough to wake me up in the middle of the night.

Yet, for whatever reason, she carried on like I was trying to kill her when I suggested the tattoo thing, and I spent the next hour trying to calm her down and reason the fear out of her little head.  At one point, she actually ran in her room and hid under her covers.  She was genuinely terrified, and crying, and begging me not to do it.  And I was fairly clueless on how to handle the whole situation.  I'd never seen her so scared, and let's be honest, fearing a temporary tattoo is simply absurd.

I finally decided to take the 'lead by example' approach and put one of the tattoos on my right calf.  She watched in total horror, like I would drop dead at any second, and ran out of the room the minute I pulled the paper off to reveal the little car on my leg.  She refused to look at it, all the blood drained from her face when I had the nerve to suggest she touch it, and she sternly instructed me to keep it away from her.

I had no choice but to accept complete failure on this parenting challenge and admit defeat.  All the reasoning in the world wasn't landing in her head and putting one on myself made the situation worse, not better.  I even attempted bribery: unlimited candy consumption for the rest of the night. She wouldn't even bite when I offered to fork over the rest of the money to buy the American Girl doll she's been saving for so diligently.  I threw in the towel.

I gave her a big hug and solemnly swore I would never bring up the tattoo topic again.  I assured her it was her body and she has every right to dictate what others are allowed to do to it (that message can't be reinforced enough in my opinion), and also reminded her that she can trust her mommy wholeheartedly, and that I would never, ever, ever do anything to hurt her, and that I would never lie to her.  And I couldn't resist telling her that I hope she remembers this tattoo discussion when she's a teenager and decides she wants a real one.  Hey, something good has to come from this, right?

She stopped crying and we got on with what was left of our evening.  I sat down to pay some bills and she lost herself in the world of Barbie dolls currently taking over our entire living room floor.  About twenty minutes later, she was at my side.

"Mommy?" she asked in her sweet 'I want something' tone.  "Can you put a tattoo on me now?"

This is one of those moments in parenting where you struggle to resist the urge to stab yourself in the eye with a fork while verbally expressing utter pride and encouragement for your child's sudden burst of bravery.

The tattoo application went off without a hitch.  It didn't hurt, sting, burn, or result in the loss of a limb as Punky previously envisioned.  In fact, she requested another.  And another.  I drew the line at three and she happily danced around in the living room, flailing her inked arms this way and that way, and she instructed me to choose a short-sleeve shirt for school tomorrow so she could show off her pretty arms.

I have no clue what caused her abrupt change of mind, but I'm glad she found the courage to face and conquer her fear.  It's a valuable lesson that will serve her well in the future, even if it means begging and pleading with her not to get a real tattoo when she's a teenager.

Wants, Needs, and Spoiled Brats

Punky is a good kid.  Mostly.  I mean, she's three and often very good at it. She has the occasional tantrum, some typical acts of defiance, the expected exertion of her independence here and there.  But on the whole, she is a sweet, loving, polite, respectful little girl.

Until recently.

Lately she been falling more in the demanding, ungrateful, unappreciative, spoiled brat category.  Just in time for Christmas and her birthday.  And I don't know how to fix it without doing something drastic.

I've always tried to explain to Punky that she is a very lucky girl.  Granted we really don't have much and basically live paycheck to paycheck, but it's still a hell of a lot more than many people have these days.  She has food in her belly, clothes on her back, a cozy home, more than enough toys for one child, and we go places and do things regularly.  Even though she's very young, I've tried to explain the concept of money and how sometimes it's necessary to make decisions about how you spend it based on what's needed and what we can do without.  She made her first purchase with her very own money a few weeks ago, a new baby doll, and so far she treats the doll like gold.

We talk often about kids less fortunate than her.  We talk about how great it was that she participated in a trike-athon at school and raised over a hundred dollars for the sick kids at St. Jude's.  We talk about the importance of sharing with those in need, and she never passes up the opportunity to toss some spare change into a charity collection bucket, whenever I have some in my pocket that is.  

When she asks for something at the store, the answer is often no.  But sometimes it's yes, like when she's been exceptionally good, when I have the extra cash, when she asks for something educational like a book.  Up until recently, the answer didn't matter.  Either way, she was okay with it.  No arguing, no tantrums, no snotty attitude.  Lately we haven't been so lucky.  

When someone gave her something, be it a toy, or clothes, or a book from a yard sale, she would be thrilled and appreciative and always said thank-you without having to be told.  She didn't expect people to give her things, so her surprise always added to the excitement.  The last time she saw her godfather, she asked him right out if he had anything for her, like he always does, before he even had a chance to take off his coat. And I almost went through the roof.

She just started watching TV with commercials in the last few months, and now she wants everything she sees.  The ads opened a whole new world of want for her, and I don't like it one bit.  I mean, I know she's three and all, and it's not really the fact that she wants things, it's more the attitude that accompanies that want.  It's like she feels the world somehow owes her these things, and denying her them, no matter the reason, sets off a pissing, moaning, whining, groaning, stomping, yelling tantrum.  

I'm really at a loss here.  I don't know how to handle it.  I'm always as honest as I can be without burdening her with issues beyond her years.  I don't want her to act like a spoiled rotten little brat, but I don't know what else I can possibly say at this point.  If she were older, I'd drag her to a soup kitchen to help out for a day but three's a bit too young for that.  I'm at my wits end, seriously.

I suppose there's a chance she's acting totally normal for her age, and it's just a phase like the hundreds of others she's endured thus far, and it's simply something she needs to go through and grow out of over time, but I can't help my impatience.  I guess all I can do is keep reinforcing the lessons I've been trying to teach her since birth.  

She knows Christmas and her birthday are right around the corner.  And I know, as I have every year, about the wall of stuff about to hit our house and a part of me is dreading it.  I obviously want her to be happy, and I love seeing her little face light up when she gets something she's really wanted, but this time of the year is overkill on presents.  I'm not exactly sure how I'll respond if she reacts poorly to any gift she's given, or if she carries on because she didn't get something she wants, or if she doesn't like something and has the audacity to say so.  Mommy's likely to lose her shit.

This parenting stuff is hard sometimes.  It's a never-ending chain of crises and dilemmas, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.  Seems like every time I think I have it all figured out, a new problem comes out of nowhere and punches me in the gut. This one in particular really has my panties in a bunch, and even more so now since we found out today that her dad is laid off from work, effective immediately.  He thought he would be safe until after the holidays but we weren't that lucky, as usual.  Things are going to get ugly quick come January, so I suppose I should just let Punky enjoy all the spoiling she gets in the next few weeks.  We have some extremely rough months ahead of us.

November in a Nutshell

You know I suck, so I don't even have to draw attention to the fact, but I did anyway.

Here's the rest of November in a nutshell.  Well, maybe not exactly a nutshell as that implies something small and simple, and this post is destined to be my usual rambling drivel, covering seventy-five different things in a single paragraph, and qualifying me for a worst-blogger nomination.  Oh well, it is what it is.

Attitude on wheels...

So, when we left off weeks ago, I was curled up on the living room floor in anticipation of another round of Punky's projectile vomiting.  I'm happy to say it never happened, and we made the drive down state the next afternoon with no sudden eruptions from either end in the car.  My nephew's birthday party was a blast, and this experience on roller skates was much better than our first attempt a year and a half ago.  Punky was able to get around okay using the kiddie skates, and I was able to actually skate without my body feeling like I was in a car wreck the next morning.  I found out there is a tiny roller rink not far from us and we plan to spend some time there this winter when there's nothing to do but watch the snow fall.

The following weekend, Punky and I spent hours sorting through all her toys as we've done every November thus far.  There just isn't enough room to keep everything, and saving things she hardly plays with is a complete waste of space.  We managed to weed out most of the remaining baby toys quite easily, and then we turned our attention to the massive collection of stuffed animals taking over our house.

Punky calls them her "guys" and, quite honestly, she does play with each and every one of them.  But some much more than others, and those others needed to go.  I started by offering her two at a time and asking her to pick which one she would like to keep.  I tried to make it easy on her by pairing one of her favorites with one that resides at the bottom of her toy box most of the time.  Using this method we successfully lowered her stuffed animal count by almost half, and that made for a very happy mommy.  Mostly.  I lost it a bit when Punky insisted that we both kiss each one goodbye as we stuffed them in a bag to donate.  As she told every dust magnet how much she loves him, and how much she'll miss him, and how much she hopes he finds a new home, my eyes filled with tears again and again.  And I couldn't be more proud of my little girl.

After the toy sort, we focused on cleaning the house from top to bottom. For one, it really needed it, but the fact that we decided to host Thanksgiving dinner here really motivated us into action.  My family made the drive up Thursday morning, and Punky's brothers also came with their girlfriends.  In all we had twelve people for dinner which was ready only a half hour later than planned.  Not bad for our first attempt at preparing the feast.  In typical holiday fashion, I ate way too much and gained over three pounds that weekend.  We're still not sure if we will see my family for Christmas this year, so it was nice to spend Thanksgiving together since we haven't done so in years.  Everyone left before six that evening, and the three of us were in bed and asleep by nine-thirty.  Aside from being exhausted from the whole holiday experience, we needed to get up at the crack of dawn on Friday.

Merry Christmas!

No, not for shopping.  Only crazy people brave the stores on Black Friday. We needed to be up and out early so Punky could make her parade debut. My company asked if she and I would be interested in riding on their float in the annual holiday parade in the city, and I knew Punky would be super-excited about it.  We wore matching fleeces, scarves, and Santa hats, and spent the morning waving to the crowds as our float made its way through the streets.  It was really cold and Punky's attention span lapsed about half way through the route, but it was still a fun way to spend the morning and kick off the holiday season.

Once we managed to bring our core temperatures back up to normal at home, it was time to tackle the decorating.  We spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening trimming the tree and decking the halls.  Punky's godfather came up that night and helped us with the window lights and setting up my huge snowman collection, and on Saturday we hit the stores to tackle more Christmas shopping.

Our tree

That night I finished all the wrapping.  Santa isn't taking any chances with a sneaky three-year-old in the house.  I wanted it all wrapped so that if by chance she manages to get into the spare closet and catch glimpse, I could say they are the presents we bought for her cousins and hopefully the explanation will suffice.  Punky's smart.  Really, really smart.  And I can say without a doubt the whole Santa thing isn't going to last much longer.  I think will get through this year by dodging some questions and/or lying through our teeth, but I bet the jig will be up next year when she's about to turn five.  I was over Santa by that age, too.  It simply wasn't logical to me.  There were too many conflicting stories.  And no one was going to tell me any man was squeezing through our tiny Franklin fireplace with a bag full of presents. Screw magic, I wasn't buying it.  And then, of course, I filled my little sister in on it.

So now, we wait.  December is looking like an extremely busy month so time will go quickly.  I'd say I'm ninety-five percent done shopping.  We will be making a trip home mid-month for my family's annual Pollyanna Christmas party, and I'm excited to go since I miss it most years because it's held where people have dogs and cats in the house.  This is only the second time in five years that we will be attending.  Oh, and the night before I am going to my sister's company Christmas party.  She asked me to go and I'm looking forward to a night out.  I never get those.  Ever.  It sounds like it will be a blast, and I already anticipate a bit of a hangover the next morning.  I haven't had one of those in years either, and with all the stress life's tossed my way as of late, I think the headache will be totally worth it.

Halloween Shortcake

When I glance at the number of posts I've actually managed to complete this year, it's terribly disappointing.  But, on the bright side, my lack of time and diligence means you are spared some of the yearly bitching and moaning about things like the upcoming cold winter and my utter hatred of Halloween. So, with that in mind, I'll keep it short(cake) and sweet.

By mid-September, I started pushing Punky to decide what she wanted to be for Halloween.  I wanted to avoid the last-minute, desperate search we had last year.  If it were up to me we'd skip celebrating the holiday entirely, but being a good mommy means sucking it up and pretending to be excited about costumes, pumpkins, ghosts, and going to strangers' homes begging for miniature candy bars.  Okay, I actually enjoy that last one.  The chocolate, not the strangers.

Her first choice for a costume was a mouse.  Not Minnie.  Not Mickey.  Not even Jerry or Mighty.  Just a plain, ordinary mouse.  Why, you ask?  I have no clue.  She has no mice stuffed animals.  She never talks about mice.  We haven't had mice in the house.  I have no idea how she came up with the idea but it sounded simple enough.  Surely I could find a mouse costume somewhere, right?  Easy-peasy.

Wrong.  I spent hours web surfing every costume site I could find and came out empty-handed.  Most didn't have any mice, and the ones that did were sold out already.  Apparently rodents were very popular this year.  If you have an inkling as to why, please fill me in 'cause I definitely feel like I missed something.

Punky was disappointed but she quickly forgot the mouse idea when she saw a witch costume at the store.  She truly had no interest in being a witch for the sake of being a witch.  I mean, witches are scary and she doesn't like scary, but this particular witch costume had lights sewn into the fabric and she was captivated by their twinkle.  In hindsight I should have bought it and been done with it, but I wanted to think on it a bit.  When I returned to the store a week later, it was gone.  And so, I had to disappoint my child once again.

Choice number three left me just baffled as the first two: a pig.  She wanted to be a pig.  Again, not Miss Piggy, not Olivia, and not even Peppa.  Just a plain, ordinary pig.  I found myself back on the internet in search of the perfect pig costume but, as it turns out, pigs are almost as elusive as mice.  I found plenty of adorable pig costumes for babies, but only two for kids Punky's age and they were just about the ugliest pigs I have ever seen.  How could I put my beautiful, little girl in an ugly pig costume?  It just didn't seem right.

When I broke the bad news about her third choice, I seriously think she wanted to punch me.  I wanted to punch something, too.  I was beyond frustrated and I needed to put an end to it once and for all.  For the next hour she sat with me in front of the computer as I bounced from site to site showing her the options.  There was no giving up.  I was determined to order her a costume.  Something.  Anything.  I think I would've agreed to a cardboard box at that point.  I just wanted it done so I didn't have to spend any more time and energy on the great costume hunt of 2012.

We managed to find a handful of really cute costumes, but getting her to make a final decision was like pulling teeth.  All of a sudden she morphed into a shopping diva and my patience was running dangerously low.  She was getting tired, hungry, and bored, and I had to pee so bad I was about to explode, but nobody was moving until I had something in the cart, dammit. It was a battle of wills, I tell you, and mommy wasn't caving.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we had a winner:

Despite the itchy wig and freezing temperatures, she had a blast hitting the town and collecting her treats.  She was thrilled with her costume and, if I have to say so myself, she was the cutest Strawberry Shortcake ever.  The real kicker is that she isn't even into Strawberry Shortcake, at least no more than mice, witches, and pigs.  She simply baffles me sometimes, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Summer's End

Well, I suppose it's over.  The hot, fun days of summer are gone and we're left to dread the dark, cold months ahead.  Okay, I'll spare you the total rant and rave post this year but you're welcome to go back and re-read previous ones, you know, in case you've forgotten how much I absolutely adore this time of year.

Our final camping trip of the year was a success, meaning we got there and back without losing the camper at 60 mph on the highway.  Incident free, just the way I like it.  No major boo-boos, no gross insects inside the camper, and no ticks found on Punky this trip.  We got one on her at the campground in June but thankfully it hadn't embedded itself yet.  I spent that night itching and scratching, tossing and turning, and dowsing every inch of our bodies and belongings with bug repellent.

Rockin' Out!

The weather was perfect on Friday and Saturday, which gave Punky some much desired pool time.  She enjoyed swimming so much this summer and I know she'll really miss it in the months ahead.  I'm going to miss it, too.  We also spent some time at the playground, her second favorite spot at the campground.  She loves it there and already can't wait to go back next summer.

The owners hosted plenty of activities for the Labor Day weekend crowd.  On Saturday morning we spent over an hour painting ceramics and I was painfully reminded of just how much I truly suck at anything remotely artistic. The kids had paint everywhere, globs of it, but they had a blast.  We missed the t-shirt dying event in the afternoon because we opted for swimming instead, but we went to the cash bingo later that evening.  I thought Punky's attention span would last a bit longer than it did because she knows her numbers and could play her own card with help, but she quickly became discouraged when she wasn't winning.

On Sunday we left the campground to go to the annual family corn roast for a few hours.  As always, there was great food, good conversations, and lots of laughter.  But this year there was also a somber undertone as people shared memories of my uncle who passed away a few months ago.  It was his farm, the place he grew up, and it just wasn't the same without him.  His family planned to scatter his ashes there the next morning.  I swear I heard his laugh in the wind.

The kids pounced on their annual opportunity to beat the crap out of my Uncle Mark's drum set.  As usual, it was the absolute highlight of Punky's day. She looks forward to it every year.  I still think we'll end up with one in the house at some point; of all the various instruments out there, drums are still her favorite.  That's okay, I guess.  She can be both a doctor and a drummer.  And earplugs are cheap.

We left the corn roast early because we were anxious to get back to the campground for the big Chinese auction they were having that evening.  They had so much stuff that it took about two and a half hours to call all the winning tickets.  We won three times, plus someone gave Punky an additional winning ticket for her to pick another prize.  She chose a garden gnome dressed in military garb with a sign that read "Support our troops" and she gave it to her Pappy.  Sometimes her sweetness simply makes my heart melt.

Then came Monday.  Rain, rain, rain.  From the moment we got up, till the moment we went to bed, it poured.  All damn day.  My mom and I left Punky to the care of her dad and pap while we hit the casino for a few hours in the afternoon.  I played the entire time on twenty dollars, which was about all I could afford to lose anyway.  I was winning like crazy but eventually put it all back.  I can't complain though, five hours of entertainment for twenty bucks was a great deal.  Plus we had a good lunch, and it got us out of the rain and into a space larger than an eighteen-foot box on wheels for a while.

To our dismay, it was still raining Tuesday morning which meant packing up wet gear for the trip home.  It also meant that Punky missed out on one last jaunt to the campground playground and she was far less than happy about it.  Although our trip ended on a very soggy note, it was still a fun weekend. I enjoyed my early morning walks just as much as last time but I somehow managed to gain over two pounds.

Before we set out on Friday morning, I had reached the forty-pound loss mark and I was thrilled.  I celebrated by enjoying bagels, chocolate cake, and a huge piece of lemon meringue pie over the weekend, so those two pounds were well worth it.  And besides, I hadn't seen most of my relatives at the corn roast in a year, and not a single one of them noticed my weight loss so maybe losing forty pounds isn't a noticeable as I thought?  At any rate, I'm happy to report that my digestive system was a bit more cooperative this trip.  I didn't even have to open the bottle of Pepto, the baggie of Tums, or the box of baking soda I took along as a precaution.

So, farewell to the summer of 2012.  We had plenty of great weather, fun trips, and lazy days at the pool.  We made lots of memories, had lots of laughs, and got lots of exercise.  Here's to hoping that the summer of 2013 doesn't take forever to arrive.  I'm ready for it now and it's still technically not even autumn yet.

Easter Stuff

The usual Easter traditions began on Thursday evening when we tackled the annual egg dying with Punky.  As you would expect, it was a messy venture.  In addition to the eggs, she managed to dye her hands, t-shirt, and a small section of the dining room rug, but all were easily fixed with a bath, a load of laundry, and a few squirts of carpet cleaner.  It was worth the effort; she had a blast.

On Friday, Punky and I headed down state once again to spend the holiday with family.  She spent the afternoon getting into trouble with her cousins and, when my sister got home from work, we took them to the mall for a photo op with the bunny.  I knew Punky would be fine, but I was nervous about my niece.  I envisioned a reaction similar to the one she had when we met Goofy at Disney World and, believe me, it wasn't pretty.  To our surprise, she ran right to him, jumped up on his lap, and smiled ear to ear for the picture.  And when their turn was over, she kept running back to him every chance she had.  

Two weeks ago, when my mom demanded arranged a photo shoot of her grandkids, it was like pulling teeth to get the three of them to sit still and smile at the same time, and in the end we failed miserably.  My sister and I anticipated a similar experience with the bunny, but the exact opposite was true.  Fifteen seconds and one camera click was all it took.  Go figure.  They all sat, smiled, and looked at the damn camera.  Even the photographer was impressed; one shot is rare when there are three kids involved.

Saturday was a nice, relaxing day.  After lunch at my parents' house, we tagged along for the ride to Cabela's.  I had never been there before and it's definitely an interesting store to see.  Of course, it took us longer to get there than we were actually in the store because my dad never takes the direct route anywhere and the country roads he chose this trip were plagued by closures for bridge repairs, but it was a nice day for a ride in my mom's new car.  Punky managed to con her godfather into buying her a fishing pole and an expensive night light.  I swear, all she needs to do is look at him and he caves.  He spoils her rotten.

We spent the evening at my sister's house and my mom joined us for some kickboxing.  Yes, I'm dragging them down with me.  I had to sneak in a workout at some point over the weekend, so why suffer alone?  Aside from my sister's utter lack of balance, they kept up well.  Given that my mom is in her sixties, she did great.  She took breaks here and there, but honestly we all did.  I was impressed, and it was nice to have company in my misery.  And then, about an hour afterward, my sister and I each ate two pieces of pizza and some antipasto so the workout was entirely in vain.  Oh well.

We started Sunday morning at Punky's godfather's house and he continued to spoil her with a big bag full of Easter treats and surprises.  Then we headed to my parents' for dinner and an Easter egg hunt.  Punky had two more baskets waiting there for her, not to mention all the goodies from inside the eggs.  When we arrived home in the evening, Punky quickly discovered that the sneaky Easter Bunny also scattered eggs around our house.  Plus, he hid her basket so she needed to hunt for that as well.  

Between all of us, she made out like a bandit as usual.  She got new clothes, new books, bubbles, movies, coloring books, and other random trinkets.  Then there's the candy.  One whole shelf in the pantry is lined with sugary treats.  Most of it will eventually end up in trash, I'm sure.  A few weeks ago, in anticipation of Easter coming, I cleaned out the candy bin and threw stuff away from Valentine's Day, Christmas, Halloween, and even last Easter.  We only allow her to have one candy treat a day, and only if she eats all of her dinner.  It will take years to consume that much candy at that rate.  And I certainly don't need mounds of chocolate sitting around. 

Speaking of which, I did have the nerve to thoroughly enjoy Easter dinner on top of my pizza splurge the previous night.  I loved every bite of potato salad, paska bread, horseradish, and ham.  And I even indulged in a 410 calorie piece of cheesecake for desert.  I held my breath when I stepped on the scale this morning.

I lost over a pound.   

Party Time

My little drummer girl

Wednesday night, after her favorite dinner of macaroni and cheese, we braced ourselves for a night of noise and gave Punky her birthday present: a hot pink, electric drum set.  She loved it and entertained us the rest of the evening.  To our surprise, she hasn't really touched it much since.  I think she's just overwhelmed with all the new stuff she has to play with now.  She bounces from one thing to the next, five minutes per activity at most.

We had her actual party yesterday.  My sister and her family planned on coming to spend the night with us for New Year's Eve anyway, so I thought it would be a good idea to have her party while they were here instead of them making another trip this month.  And besides, when we made her wait over three weeks for her birthday party last year, she drove us nuts.

This year I took the easy way out and ordered all the supplies online.  Deciding the theme for the party was a grueling process.  I told Punky it was her decision, and she changed her mind daily for weeks.  We sat in front of the computer three evenings in a row, looking at the same sets of decorations over and over again, and she only reached a decision when I had enough and threatened to cancel her party if she didn't pick something already.  I hope she puts that much thought into choosing a college, career, and boyfriends down the road.  Her choice? Ni Hao Kai-lan.

Of course, I couldn't find a local grocery store that made Kai-lan cakes.  My mom ordered it from a bakery down home, and my sister held it on her lap for over two hours on their ride up so it wouldn't get smushed.  It was a beautiful cake though, and tasty, too.  

The party went well.  We had more food than we knew what to do with, and the same could be said for Punky's present pile.  The highlight of the party was the pinata full of candy and other miscellaneous junk.  No, I wasn't crazy enough to actually blindfold them and give them a stick to swing around aimlessly.  This pinata had pull strings, so they all grabbed a handful and yanked away until it finally burst open.

Everyone was gone well before five, except for my mom who is staying a few days, and we spent the evening cleaning up the mess and assembling new toys.  Just like other years, I put some stuff away for a rainy day.  It's a lot to handle all at once with Christmas and her birthday only three days apart.  She opened enough to keep her busy for quite a while, and it's nice to have some new toys on the side for when boredom strikes.  It worked well in the past, but now she's old enough to remember the things she got and wonder what happened to them.  I think.  Time will tell.

Today You Are Three

Dear Punky,

I can hardly believe how quickly the last three years have gone.  It seems like we brought you home from the hospital just yesterday.  If I close my eyes, I can still feel the tiny baby curled up in my arms.  I can still hear the hungry newborn cry.  I can still smell the baby powder in the air.  I can still see the beautiful, little face that changed my world forever.

I can think of no better use for the term "mixed emotions" than to describe motherhood.  It's amazing how every single step on this journey makes me equally happy and sad at the same time.  Both excited and nervous.  Proud, yet fearful.  Watching you grow and learn has been an incredible experience.  And this year brought many great firsts in your young life.

Out of necessity, you started daycare in January and faced the world without us for the first time.  Soon after, I came to realize that you truly are your own little person.  Suddenly you had a life all your own that existed outside the safety of our home and miles away from the two people who love you most.  You had a new world of friends, teachers, and experiences.  Until that point, I told your story; now you had your own tales to tell.  

Dinner time on school days is one of my favorite things.  You are so eager to tell me about your day and you spare no details.  I know that Derek always yells at the table, Gavin spits too much, Lily pees on the potty only after nap time, sometimes you cry at the library, Miss Courtney is your favorite teacher, and you broke Miss Diane's red crayon, but it was an accident and you are very, very sorry.  I know that Jackson said a bad word, Alex hit Storm because she took his toy, music class is your favorite part of the day, you don't like the rice they have at lunch some days, and, thanks to your demonstration, I know the exact way Miss Betty holds the book when reading a story so everyone can see the pictures.  I love your stories and never tire of them, no matter how many times I've heard about the letter of the week, the name of the school's pet rabbit, or all the different bikes in the gym.  Keep telling me your stories, little girl.  I'm always listening.  Now and forever.

In February, you had your first and only opportunity thus far to play in the snow.  Starting daycare unfortunately unleashed a a firestorm on your immune system and you were constantly sick until summer.  You battled virus after virus, and ear infection after ear infection.  With all the neon pink antibiotics you downed in those months, I'm surprised you didn't glow.  Mother nature has been kind to us this season, no snow to speak of, but don't worry.  It's coming.  I can guarantee it.  And you'll have the chance to romp in the snow once again.

You reached a major milestone in March when we bid farewell to your crib and transitioned to your big girl bed.  While it was hard for me to adjust to that change, you had no problem whatsoever.  I anticipated a struggle.  I thought you'd never stay in it long enough to fall asleep.  I thought you'd be playing with toys or roaming the house at two in the morning.  But, none of that happened.  And while you still prefer to sleep with me, and do so fairly often, you give us no trouble at all sleeping in your bed when you need to.  Well, except for your irrational fear of your curtains.  We'll continue to work on that.

In April, you had your first attempt at roller skating.  It did not go well.  You cried, and screamed, and begged to go home, partly because you were exhausted and frustrated that you couldn't do it, and partly because I was stupid enough to take you to a loud, dark, crowded, roller rink after a day already packed to the gills with physical activity during which you managed to eat only a few bites of pizza and a pretzel.  While I accept full responsibility for that bad experience, I haven't attempted it again.  And you haven't asked to go either.  Maybe we'll try again someday soon.

In May, you managed to blow my mind and take me back to my own childhood when you attempted to jump into a story book.  For the first time, I truly saw myself in your eyes.  And I felt an even deeper connection to my beautiful, little girl than I ever thought possible.  In that instant, I understood you on a whole new level.  

June brought the excitement of your first real vacation and I couldn't be happier with the result.  I had some hesitations taking a trip like that when you were only two, but if it really exhausted and overwhelmed you, no one was the wiser.  The extremely long car ride, the blazing heat, the constant on-the-go days, the total change in routine, all the different rides and attractions...and you handled it all with ease.  You were so happy, so brave, and so full of wonder on that trip.  It was worth every penny and I'm so glad we didn't wait until you were older.  As long as I live, I will never forget the moment you met Goofy.  

You learned to pedal your tricycle in July, and while that was a fantastic milestone moment, the month brought an even better one, even if we didn't know it at the time.  As it turned out, July was the very last time you had an ear infection.  It was the last time you drank antibiotic chasers after dinner.  You've had your share of colds since then, but none have resulted in the nasty ear infections that plagued you for months.  We suspected one the very next month, but no.  And the doctor's theories were far worse.

August.  I still shudder when I think about August.  "Something's wrong," the doctor said.  I've relived that doctor visit a hundred times in my nightmares.  My world was shattered, my heart was broken, and I experienced a fear unlike any I had ever known.  The possibilities were terrifying.  How could something be wrong with my perfect, little girl? 

While our visit to the children's hospital in September left us both relieved and frustrated, you stepped up to the plate and provided us with the perfect distraction.  The biggest milestone of the year by far.  All of a sudden, out of the blue, you were potty trained.  Something just clicked on that cool, fall morning, and there was no turning back.  You were ready, and so were we.  I can honestly say that of all the things I so desperately miss about having a sweet little baby, changing diapers is not one of them.  And I'm so very proud of you.

In October, you got to experience real door-to-door trick or treating for the first time.  You didn't mind the dark, you didn't mind the cold, you didn't mind all the strange people asking you questions.  And I was reminded that for as many ways as you are like your mother, there are just as many ways you are not.  My feelings for Halloween aside, there has never been a more adorable lion in the history of the silly tradition.

With the holidays approaching, in November we wrote your very first letter to Santa Clause.  Those are fifteen minutes your dad and I will surely never forget.  Every time we are arrogant enough to think we know you inside and out, you manage to throw us a curve ball.  Full of surprises, that's our girl.  And we wouldn't have it any other way.  

This month brought your very first real train ride and more encounters with Santa than any kid needs in one year.  You were so caught up in the magic of the season, decorating the tree, the music, the lights, the shows, and the anticipation of Christmas morning.  I have more great Christmas memories than I can count, but the memories of this year with you trump them all.

So, we made it.  We survived the infamous terrible two's.  I already know that three will be a challenging year for all of us as you continue to exert your independence and discover your place in the world.  The only thing I ask of you this year is more of the same.

Keep giving me the best hugs and kisses I've ever had.  Keep singing with the most beautiful voice I've ever heard.  Keep smiling with a twinkle in your eye bright enough to light my entire world.  Keep dancing like no one is watching.  Keep learning with an insatiable hunger for knowledge.  Keep challenging your world. 

Never stop telling your story.

Happy birthday, Julia Allyn.  Today, you are three.

I love you.

Our Bouncy Christmas

Christmas went off without a hitch this year with no puking and good weather for traveling.

As planned, we started our celebration the night of the 23rd.  Punky was excited to have both of her half-brothers spending the night in anticipation of Santa's (early) visit that night.  Her dad made a delicious pasta dinner for us and then we let her open one little gift from her brother.  Before bed, we sprinkled reindeer food on the lawn and filled a plate with cookies and carrots for the big guy.  Last year she licked each and every cookie left for Santa; this year she chose three special cookies, and then ate two of them herself. 

We thought it would take forever for her to fall asleep, and the trampoline assembly just couldn't wait till the wee hours of the morning, so I took her in our bedroom and locked the door behind us while her dad, brothers, and one brother's girlfriend all got to work in the living room.  Punky was super-excited, of course, and a bit distracted by the giggles and chatting outside the door, but when we heard a loud bang I used it to my advantage.

"Mommy, what was that noise?" she queried.

"I think that was Santa's sleigh landing on the roof!" I whispered. "Quick! Close your eyes and get to sleep because he won't come in if you're still awake!"

To my utter surprise, it worked.  She was out like a light in under two minutes.  I waited ten more, just to be on the safe, and headed out to check on the assembly. 

While they toiled away for the next hour and a half, I dug out the other gifts that were scattered around the house and arranged them neatly under the tree.  I took pictures of them struggling to wrap all the stretchy bands around the base.  I stuffed her stocking.  I set the coffee up for the morning.  I took pictures of them trying to figure out how to secure the netting to the sides. I packed a few things for our trip the next day.  I did my checkbook.  I took pictures of them attaching the big red bow to the front of the trampoline, and more of the finished product and tree surrounded by presents, and we finally called it a night around two.

Then I couldn't fall asleep; I was too excited.

Punky and her favorite Santa gift

We were up before seven because we had to be, not because we wanted to be.  We had a long day ahead of us and time was of the essence.  I went in to wake Punky about a half hour later while her dad got the video camera ready.  I thought for sure she'd jump out of bed and run for the tree, but no.  She didn't want to move.  It took plenty of coaxing to get her out of bed, but she was wide awake once she caught sight of the trampoline. 

I was right, the look on her face was absolutely priceless.  She screeched and did a little happy dance before running over to investigate.  Within minutes, she was in bouncy heaven.  And we spent the next few hours forcing her to come out periodically to catch her breath and open one of her other presents.  

Shortly after noon, we were on our way to his mom's house.  Punky told everyone the news: Santa brought her a trampoline!  We ate dinner and chatted for a while, then headed back home to pack the truck for our trip.  Punky was exited to have twenty more minutes to jump before saying goodbye to her new present for a few days.  By four, we were on the road and we arrived at my mom's just in time for her traditional Christmas Eve dinner.  We spent Christmas morning with Punky's godfather, who spoiled her rotten again this year, and then we headed to my sister's for the rest of the day.  As planned, we came back home Monday afternoon.

It was a nice Christmas, with plenty of food, wine, and gifts.  My nephew, niece, and Punky got more presents than they knew what to do with, but that's how it should be.  We can't afford to spoil them year round, nor would we want to, but Christmas is a magical day for kids.  As long as they grow up learning to be thankful and appreciative for what they have, there's no harm in it.  

Now I'm just struggling for a place to put it all, and her birthday is yet to come.  I've already started packing a box of old toys and books to donate to her school.  She helped me pick out some things she no longer plays with, and I'm so proud of her for that.  I'd much rather do it this way than sneakily tossing things in the trash when she isn't looking.  Hopefully she's learning a lesson that will stick with her the rest of her life.

Finished

I finished my Christmas shopping yesterday.

Yes, I said finished.  Ten whole days before the big event.  

I'm still waiting for a few packages to arrive, but everything in my possession is wrapped.

Yes, I said everything.  

While I'm awfully proud of myself for accomplishing this for the first time in my entire life,  I also realize it's no big feat given that I started the beginning of September.  I actually thought I'd be finished sooner, but I ended up with a bad cold that severely cut into the one day we planned to shop for Punky.  I took last Wednesday off so we could send her to daycare and finish all our shopping, but I was so sick and barely survived the toy store.  The mall was simply out of the question.  I just couldn't do it.

When we got home, Punky's dad was a real trooper.  I wanted to get all her stuff wrapped and hidden before we picked her up at school, but I needed the couch.  Badly.  He tackled the project all by himself while I wallowed in my misery and wrote her name on the tags.  He finished the job with fifteen minutes to spare.  

I was able to order most of the remaining gifts I needed online, and I finished the last bit with a trip to the liquor store on my lunch hour yesterday.  I'm not much of a drinker and, unfortunately for those in my life that are, I tend to shop for wine like I'm remodeling the living room or naming a puppy.  The woman at the store tried to help me but quickly discovered I was a lost cause.  She was throwing all kinds of technical wine jargon at me and getting responses like, "The picture on that bottle is so beautiful!" and "That's a cute name for a winery!"  

The plan for this Christmas is the same as last year.  Santa will be visiting us one night earlier than the rest of the world because are traveling again for the holiday.  We will open our presents Christmas Eve morning and somehow manage to be out of the house around noon to go to his mom's for lunch with the family.  Then we will make a quick stop back here to load the truck before making the two hour drive down for Christmas Eve supper with my family.  We will be with Punky's godfather on Christmas morning and then at my sister's for the rest of the day.  And on Monday we'll drive back home and watch Punky open the rest of her gifts.

I plan to wake her by eight that morning, but she'll only have about four hours to open her presents and play with her new stuff before we have to rush out the door.  Take off another hour for eating breakfast, brushing her teeth, getting dressed, and making her morning pee.  I'm not sure she's at the age yet where she'll rip through her presents at lightening speed just to see what's inside them.  I think she's more likely to open one and insist on playing with it first before opening another.  If she even opens any at all, that is.  One present, that will be fully assembled in the middle of the living room, may distract her from all the packages waiting for her.  

Yes, we did it.  We caved.  We ordered her a trampoline.  I'm sure it's no surprise.

Seriously though, how could we not?  It's all she's talked about for weeks.  It was number one on her list.  She told three different Santas for heavens sake.  It was a tough decision for us but ultimately we just can't break her little heart.  

The one we picked is a small indoor/outdoor one meant for kids her age.  Although it's only forty-eight inches round and fourteen inches high, it still has the full net enclosure that you see on full-sized trampolines.  It has some type of interactive sound module that will drive us completely mad while we count down the days till spring.  As much as I hate the thought of a trampoline in my living room for months, I can wait to see the look on her face.  I hope I still feel that way when winter seems to last forever.

So, judging by how she was with the rocking horse last Christmas, she may just spend her morning bouncing like a maniac and ignoring her other gifts.  If that's the case, she'll finish them on Monday.  Then she'll have her birthday two days later and her party on the weekend.

When I think about the wall of stuff about to hit this house in the next few weeks, I want to throw up.  We may need to put the couch on the lawn.

More Encounters with the Big Guy

Last Sunday evening, my mom and I took Punky on the Santa Express.  It is run by a local railroad as a special treat for kids this time of year.  I heard about it through a friend at work and quickly purchased tickets.  From the adult perspective, it was actually kind of lame, but Punky had a great time.

I was never on a real train before, at least not that I can remember.  When we boarded, we passed through a dining car and then into a coach car to find a comfy seat.  The kids were asked to wear pajamas and bring a favorite blanket to snuggle.  Once we departed the station, Santa's elves came through and talked to the kids.  They passed out pictures for them to make with stickers and sang a Christmas song or two.  A mere fifteen minutes down the tracks, we arrived at the North Pole.

From the hype, I kind of expected more than just painted, wooden cut-outs of buildings, reindeer, and presents, but the young kids were in awe of all the lights and the sight of Santa waving to them sparked giggles throughout the train.  Then we stopped briefly while the big guy himself boarded to hitch a ride with us.

When Punky saw him appear in the aisle, she was dying to run right to him.  Waiting your turn is extremely hard when you're two.  Once I got a good look at him, I got really nervous.  He looked nothing at all like the Santa she chatted with at the mall just a week earlier.  Mall Santa was much older, thinner (not skinny, just a naturally chunky man with no extra padding needed), he had a short, real beard and glasses.  This one was maybe early forties or so with the stereotypical fake wig and excessively long beard and an obvious pillow stuffed in his suit.  Punky had looked at the mall picture at least fifty times that week; surely she would notice the difference. 

I held my breath as he approached our seats, but she didn't notice a thing.  She greeted him with the same enthusiasm as mall Santa and took the opportunity to remind him that she wants a trampoline for Christmas.  Their interaction went off without a hitch, and he stayed right next to Punky while he chatted with the group of kids behind us.  Six siblings, all old enough to know the truth about Santa, took turns visiting with him and getting their pictures taken.

This Santa had a sense of humor and joked around a bit with these older kids.  He teased one about trying to impress the girls with his Justin Bieber haircut.  It caused a mighty chuckle between the siblings and the mom quickly spoke up and revealed why: she was a little girl, not a boy.  It was obvious that Santa felt like a big jackwad, but in his defense I must say I thought she was a boy, too.  Then the mom felt the need to add, "This is the second Santa this year that thought you were a boy!"  And I wanted to smack her.  No regard whatsoever for the little kids on the train.  Second Santa this year.  Idiot.

Anyway, after he had a chance to visit with all the kids, we dropped Santa back off at the North Pole and returned to the station.  It couldn't come fast enough for me.  As soon as Santa was out of sight, Punky turned into a total brat.  The last twenty minutes on that train lasted an eternity.

Today I took Punky to the children's Christmas party hosted by my company.  I never hesitated to take her anywhere because she was always so well behaved, but lately I have my reservations.  I did not want a repeat of the train episode in front of all my co-workers, that's for sure.  The poor kid had to endure multiple lectures from us before we left this morning, and I even went as far as to threaten to cancel Christmas at our house if she acted up at the party.  I know that seems harsh, but I was desperate and it worked.  She was an angel.

Of course no children's Christmas party would be complete without a visit from the big guy, and I definitely thought I was pushing my luck introducing Santa number three in a two-week period, but again she didn't notice a difference.  This one distracted her right away with a real present before she even sat on his lap, but it didn't make her forget about the trampoline.  She wasn't taking her chances; to my dismay, she reminded him once again.