Seasoning Greetings December 5 - 20, 2006 The above is not a typo; Tom's first public performance; Christmas tree and cookies

	Lisa checking the quality of her rope knot

	Swinging is about all the kids like about climbing so far.

Winter is in full swing around us. We are hit by cold and rain. Not all the time, but exclusively at some inconvenient moments (e.g. on weekends). This makes outdoor activities with the children difficult, just as is execution of any trip plans. On Saturday we converged with Martin at the climbing gym. For the duration of our stay, Tommy had basically lasted in playing with his toy truck, ignoring all the climbing. Not so Lisa, who immediately grabbed her harness and asked to "hou hou" (swing) -- which is about as much of climbing as our kids are ready to perform. Even so, it makes their proud mother happy.

We had planned a trip to the big airport for Sunday, for which Tom had been begging over several weeks. Half way there the weather got so nice that we took a detour over Golden Gate. Tommy was excited that "bridge was not in a cloud", and waddled with Lisa through every puddle that came under their rain boots. We made it just in time to the airport, to bid Suchýš farewell; he was traveling to Florida. It had presented us with great advantage -- we found out that domestic terminals are equipped with food courts that offer a view to the outside. The children had thus spent the subsequent hour gaping out of the window and commenting what went on there. SFO is a busy airport, and there was much to see.

Without mercy, afternoons turn dark before the children get up from their nap. Luckily, our neighbors have progressed with their Christmas decorations, and so I take the kids out every day, and we watch the lights. Too bad it does not last for the rest of the winter -- although, since the days will get longer after Christmas again, perhaps we can even make it to the playground. Now Tom checks out where they have a Santa Claus, about whom he most likely learned in school. I don't know whether our humble baby Jesus is going to survive in competition with the red geezer, inflated on every corner.

	Hooray, the bridge is out of the clouds!

	Lízzy on Hippo

The most important pre-Christmas event almost missed us. I have written here many times about being a wicked mother. Apparently, I also fail to be the right school-minded mother. When I go to pick him up there, I collect a handful of papers from his slot -- things he painted, invoices, various memos, orders for books etc. Then I have to chase out Tom, who would always like to keep playing, collect his lunch box, hat and pieces of clothing he had shed, as well as rip toys from his clutches. I must do the same with Lisa, who usually gets carried away by meeting bigger kids and refuses to leave the school. Before I pacify my daughter, Tom returns to his toys and so it goes around. In between, I would often like to exchange a few words with his teacher, but I'm not always so lucky. By the time I reach the car, I am soaked with perspiration, with my arm full of stuff, and a single wish on my mind -- strap down my kids and leave. School memos usually remain wedged somewhere between Tom's paintings on the floor of the bus, where they pile up until I grab them after a while, sort out, and throw away.

I am certain that one of them included some blurb on winter pageant. But since it sported a Wednesday date and on that weekday Tom does not go to the school, I left it off my mind immediately. I forgot the silly political correctness -- if they had labeled it a Christmas Show, or anything Christmas-y for that matter, it would have caught my attention. But these flat neutral winter pageant left me completely at ease. Then on Tuesday 20th I had found on the school door a note that parents are to bring children to the show fifteen minutes before start. That alerted me -- and indeed -- the teacher had confirmed that they had been practicing carols with the children and there shall be a show!

Tommy was talking all Wednesday about how he was going to sing songs, and kept on asking whether we're going to go sing already. I had to explain that it would be in the evening, so that daddy could come see him as well. "Pot luck" was announced for after the show -- everybody was supposed to bring some refreshments and eat it all collectively. I had not prepared anything, so we quickly went for a pail of small mozzarella balls and a plate of small tomatoes. I reckoned that with Christmas approaching, everyone would bring cookies and candy, and that something salty should come handy. Our whole family gathered at home by six thirty and time had come for this great event.

	Tom did not sing at the show, of course

	Notice the inverted reindeer.

I must say that the show had ensued according to my expectations. Right at the beginning, Tom had refused to put on his reindeer mask. Then he rejected attempts to have his nose painted red. Smartly, we let him choose - a painted red nose, OR a reindeer -- he chose the mask, which the kids had manufactured themselves, and it showed, especially on Tom's mask. He had glued eyes on the hapless reindeer's chin, under a smiley mouth. This had transformed the reindeer's boring but functional face anatomy into a freaky distortion, yet with a personality. It was by far not the only unusual item in the show; neither the teachers, nor the pianist, and apparently not even the contracted Holy Man Himself could cope with dysfunctional stage lights, thus the children subsequently performed in a ghastly darkness. I bet that the majority of attendants did not even realize it.

Then Tom ran off to us in the audience, and declared ultimately that he won't be singing. Fortunately he was no less ultimately dragged back by the teacher behind the scenes and in a few seconds later pushed out onto the stage. On child began crying and had to be handed over to his mommy. Tommy picked his nose, one girl kept lifting her dress up over her head. Only a very small portion of the children attempted to sing. Tom ignored it all grandly -- until he discovered that the stage floor could resonate nicely, and so he started jumping on it like a jackass. In a break between carols he started a yelling contest. He must have like the hall's acoustics. He finished the show off by picking his ear. I had thought that I'd be all sentimental from witnessing my little son's first public performance. Instead I just tried not to disturb my surroundings much in the back row, with my uncontrollable fits of laughter. The show printed schedule contributed to it, which had been finished off with "seasoning greetings". Sid claims that it must be a parody to the political correctness, for it has become improper to wish someone "Merry Christmas" and all that gets printed is season's greetings. I am afraid that the school did not make it as far -- and the message is simply a result of a computer spell check.

After-show refreshments ensued without incident. Kids ran among festive-minded parents and teachers, adults ate collected goodies. It was most interesting to watch a pot of Indian Bhel Puri. This extremely delicious salad made from rice puffs immediately gained its admirers among Indian and generally Asian participants. We were perhaps the only whites who tasted it. Only after repeated pointing and mumbling how good it was, others dared to try it.

	Lisa has the run of the Christmas tree farm

	Tom demands this tree - why must presents mean so many complications???

Now that the show had ended a relative success, with Lisa bouncing around there like a ball, about an hour later she had collapsed at home with a fever. The following two days passed like on a roller coaster. Easy and merry for a while, she turned within five minutes into a sick and unhappy baby. It almost nixed our plans for Saturday's purchase of a Christmas tree. Eventually we went, having figured that Lisa sitting in her car seat might do better than stumbling aimlessly through the house. It took us a bit by surprise, when several farm gates sported "sold out" signs. Either we started late this year, or it's just been a strange year and people went mad more than usually. Eventually we had found an open tree business and discovered another problem. We had forgotten Lisa warm jacket and hat at home. Luckily I am a paranoid, disorganized mother and miscellaneous stuff keeps accumulating in our bus. Hence Tom received his regular thick jacket, and Lisa got Tom's thin jacket and her own old hat, which does not sit well. It was thirty six degrees outside, no time to play heroes.

Both children disappeared, running, among the trees. Tom hugged the first available pine tree and said he wanted this very one. He got explained before that we would decorate the tree so that the baby Jesus could bring presents for him and put it under the tree; he understood it pragmatically in his own way. If a tree is required, then let's have one, no big picking. He suffered our lengthy choosing -- that was not his idea of effective preparations for Christmas presents. Moreover, he had apparently mixed up the association Christmas-presents and presents-birthday, so he hollered "you need birthday, you need birthday".

His determination continued at home, when decorating the tree. It caught his fancy that we were hanging additional cones (made of straw) onto the tree, and wanted to hang them himself. As far as I know, only one Vizovice-dough bird got trampled on; all other decoration had survived. So did our kids -- but we shall get glass ornaments only according to the next five-year plan. I still find straw slightly more edible than glass.

	The tree is decorated, so where are the presents...?

	...at least friends have birthdays and there are parties!

Our next pre-Christmas attraction was the Festival of Lights in the nearby Vasona Park. Santa Clara County Parks and Recreation Department had organized this grand outdoors show for the eighth consecutive year. Naively, we went there on Saturday at six p.m. A line of cars waiting to be let into the park blocked traffic across half of the city of Los Gatos, so we had turned around and drove back home. We had planned our next attempt for Monday 8 p.m. -- and this time it worked. Naturally it did not occur to us to take a camera along, and we're missing photo-evidence. Our kids love walks among decorated houses; this was something much more professional and greater. One enjoys the show from the comfort of one's automobile, with the radio tuned to a local music broadcast. We had seen various animated figures, a pirate ship shooting cannon balls, galloping horses, a psychedelic light tunnel, several gates -- it was a blast.

I'm not sure why I undertook to bake this year's Christmas cookies, having two kids. Perhaps it's my passion for adrenaline sports. I started Linz dough, Tom watched closely during all phases of production. Then he naturally liked most pouring flour on the board and cutting out shapes. Well, cutting out -- he just pressed forms in the middle of the dough. He simply had a great time, while I underwent a hard lesson of self control, and Lisa was left to herself. My lack of attention had distraught her so much that she brought her potty in the kitchen, started to take off her clothes and began to explain that "kala  (potty). She had figured it exactly -- the image of pellets shaken out of her diaper in the middle of the kitchen had indeed motivated me to pay attention and act. Luckily, she was merely wet. Since then Lisa had not pulled the potty out again, and had not looked like she would notice her bowel movements. While baking coco puffs, when Tom formed little heaps of dough on a cookie sheet, Lisa had managed to find keys to the car and bury them under five ounces of hard-to-find unsweetened grated coco. Later she "only" fell off a chair, while I kneaded the dough for brittles.

Thus it would seem that we had worked out all preparation procedures. Let Christmas erupt.

Copyright © 2006-2007 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.