'twas the Night Before Christmas

Originally published in 2010, but still holds true. . .

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Enzo was tearing up Paige’s stuffed mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
Until Enzo decided to rip down a pair;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
With visions of Enzo attacking their heads;
And Gracie in her collar, and I with no chap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When down in the living room there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Down each stair I flew like a flash,
Until I tripped on a toy, and received a great gash.

The moon wasn’t shining and the sky did not snow
I was greeted with discomfort from the havoc below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a fallen Christmas Tree and Enzo, my dear,

He ran from my reach, so lively and quick,
I spun in place and gave a high kick.
More rapid than eagles his legs they came,
And I whistled, and shouted, and called him a name;
"Now, Bastard! now, Moron! now, Enzo, you chicken!
I’ll send you to the pound with Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the couch! to the top of the wall!
He dashed away! dashed away! dashed away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When he met with an obstacle, I said, “Oh my!”,
Over the tree, he leapt and he flew,
He stomped on the toys and the ornaments too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard his big bark
He pranced and he pawed his way through the dark.
As I flipped on a switch, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur; Enzo got a hold on his foot,
And he fell on his back in the ashes and soot;
The bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
Flew around the room as Enzo attacked.

His teeth -- how they nibbled! his paws how they buried
Santa’s cheeks were like bonies, his nose like a cherry!
Enzo’s droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And on the beard of Santa’s chin Enzo had a great hold;
The stump of a pipe was chomped by his teeth,
And the paws of this Doberman encircled Santa’s head like a wreath;

Santa pushed Enzo off his little round belly,
They tussled and shook like a bowlful of jelly.
Pawing and pushing, right jolly old elves,
And I laughed when I saw them, in spite of myself;

A push on his snout, a paw on his head,
They played and they laughed on Enzo’s big bed;

When Enzo got tired, Santa went straight to his work,
Laughing while calling the dog a big jerk,
And laying his finger aside of Enzo’s nose,
And giving a shove, Enzo whined as he rose;

He sprang to his feet when Santa gave a whistle,
And flew to his crate like the down of a thistle.

I heard Santa exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to Enzo, and to Enzo good-night."

The White Board

So, the kids and I have taken to writing notes to each other on the white board.  Every day, I'll walk by and see a note from either Paige or Tony.  "Hi Mom, I love you, and Gracie, and Enzo and Jack-o-lantern (the pet caterpillar). . . just thought I'd let you know.  Love, Paige.  Or Tony will draw a picture of poop, and with an arrow, label it "Paige". 

The other day it was my turn.  I wrote, "My Dear Paige and Tony.  I ADORE you both.  I think you're AMAZING and AWESOME, and I am so thankful you're in my life.  ALWAYS.  Love, Mommy"

Last night, I tucked the kids in, and I walked by the white board.  Tony had mentioned that he wrote me a note after he came down from his shower, but I didn't have a chance to read it before then.  It read:

My Dear                      Tony,

I ADORE you                 .  I think Tony is AMAZING and AWESOME, and I am so thankful HE is in my life.  ALWAYS.  Love, Mommy.   P.S. Tony is my faverit.  Sorry Paige, but he is the BEST.

I fell into a sound sleep, giggling.  I can only imagine what Paige's response will be. . .

S.A.D.

Into yet another December, and last year I felt lousy, the year before I felt lousy and the three years prior to that I felt lousy.  I blamed it on the divorce, and then the deaths. 

Last year, I had been going through a health scare early in December, that carried into January.  And so, I had another thing to add to the misery of the month. 

Yet, as I look back on 2012, it wasn't as bad of a year as the last five or six.  I am employed at a company that I actually like, working with people I actually like, doing work I actually like.  I've been dating someone for the majority of the year, and although it's not the ideal dating arrangement (long-distance), it's working.  My kids are both exceling at school, and they make me giggle on a daily basis .

I'm tired, but I've been tired since I started working at the age of 14.  (It happens to people who never stop working -  ever - [ask any of my siblings]), so that doesn't explain the lousy feeling that this year is bringing.

A couple people close to me suggested that I might have that seasonal disorder, SAD.  (Seasonal A-something, D-something). Quite possible.

I mean, does this disorder/disease/disfunction/discombobulation allow people to dwell on the losses?  I guess that's what I've been doing lately, and it's all been subconscious. 

I think about my sister's 50th birthday coming up this week, and I reach for my cell phone to call Jeff to talk to him about the celebration. 

I walk into a restaurant (yesterday) and Frank Sinatra is singing a song (You and Me), and I immediately think of the time when I was about 13 and I played the song on the jukebox at Speedy's (a hometown hangout that used to be), while my dad was working in California and I recall the tears that ran down my mother's face as she stared at the jukebox and missed my dad. . . and I actually reached for my phone to call my dad to tell him of the memory.

"Dominick the Donkey" or "Lazy Mary" come up on my iPod and I am in my parents' basement watching my father sing the Italian words without a hitch, and seeing Jeff spinning Rocco around in his arms. . .

Does this SAD thingy do that?

So I suppose it's not the misery of the actual year (2012) that causes the sadness.  It's the misery of this life.  And maybe the SAD thingy just happens to coincide with the time of the year.  Maybe we should propose celebrating Christmas at a different time, or maybe we should say SAD is a bunch of nonsense. . .

We all bring baggage into the holidays, and I certainly wish the baggage I was carrying was whether Grandma's feelings would be hurt because nobody ate her god-awful fruitcake, or the drama came from my mother making up names of author's while we played board games; or even the over-indulgence of alcohol by one of my brothers or my father or all of us. 

I wish the baggage came from the drama of one of the couples in the family fighting.  I wish the drama came from the fact that I washed all the dishes, and somebody else sat on their ass.  I wish the drama came from my father screaming at the grandchildren to calm down.  I wish the drama came from my brothers fighting and one of them going through the two-plated window.  I wish, I wish, I wish. . .

I might have this SAD thingy, and I could shoot Vitamin D into my veins like an addict, but I very much doubt it would work. . .

Perhaps Tracy Chapman summed it up best when, in one of her down times (maybe she has SAD?), she wrote:  "For Christmas and for New Year's, I wish and I resolve. . . but I'm disappointed by myself, Jesus and Santa Claus. . ."