“Let’s begin by taking a smallish nap or two,” in the words of novelist A.A. Milne’s beloved Winnie the Pooh.  There is NOTHING better than a Sunday afternoon nap!  Curl up with cats and it’s even sweeter.  I think there’s a form of sleep shaming going on in society, and those who get by with the least amount “win”.  As a kid I viewed nap time as punishment and now I regard it as the highest reward.  Of course most of us cannot take naps everyday.  But sleep is important and those who require more than others should not be viewed as lazy.  Mama was continually embarrassed because Daddy ALWAYS fell asleep in church like clockwork once the sermon started.  Ironically, he loved attending church and said he felt at peace whenever he was there.  I remember one Midnight Mass where a friend and I were the only two non-Catholics in attendance and literally the ENTIRE church was snoring.  It was so funny we giggled like school children.  I was sure the Priest saw us but we could not seem to stop.  And hey, at least we were awake!  I cherish nap time with my little girl — the feel and weight of her small body next to mine, hearing her soft snores, and having her arm wrapped trustingly against my neck.  I know this time is precious.  And so I am off to take a nap with some cats, a kiddo, a one-eyed Shih Tzu, and two wolfies.  We will be all snuggled up together resting for the week ahead.  Sweet dreams to all.

I have been in love with another man since shortly after I got married.  The picture you see here was taken this past Thanksgiving.  He served my little Shirley Temple her very first Shirley Temple.  Eight years ago as a new bride I decided to throw a housewarming party.  My new grandmother in law informed me I simply MUST get Osbourne because “He’s the best.”  I learned that he had been in high demand for the most elite and wealthy of Dallas society for more than three decades.  Quickly I came to realize what a gem this man was.  So many things I didn’t know … how to set up a bar, how to command the flow of a party, where to greet people, etc.  And this darling man took me under his wing and made me feel like a queen.  He deftly placed my newly acquired silver trays, procured the ice, opened wine and champagne, organized the liquor, set out my new linen cocktail napkins, got out all my glassware from the stemmed to the highballs, sliced lemons, limes and oranges, and discreetly arranged for a garbage can to be placed behind the bar at his side.  The next thing I knew the doorbell was ringing and I was frozen.  With a gentle wave of a hand, he had me stay where I was and went to answer the door.  Slight shock registered on some faces as they came in; after all we did not have a million dollar home. Some greeted him like another guest at the party; others with blasé familiarity.  Osbourne took a true command of my party without taking any of the credit for himself and helped me build my confidence.  When I ran out of platters I will never forget he served from my blue plastic TV trays with a panache that would have rivaled any party at Versailles.  He was incredible and I was in awe.  I have since seen him at many parties and he is always my favorite person with whom I look forward to visiting.  I have never known him to be anything but gracious, dapper, up beat, charming and kind.  He reminds me of my Daddy and the kind of person I aspire to be.  Aviator Beryl Markham said, “If a man has any greatness in him, it comes to light, not in one flamboyant hour, but in the ledger of his daily work.”  Every time I have thanked Osbourne for bringing me a drink he has never once failed to say, “It is indeed a pleasure.”  The next time I see him I shall tell him the pleasure is indeed all mine.

“Pride and joy” seems to be such a trite phrase.  And yet I felt the full force of its meaning at my little girl’s first Christmas pageant today.  I was so proud of her standing front and center singing and making all the little signs and gestures to her three songs.  It was indescribable and I was overcome with joy as I saw her looking around the church for me.  The stained glass lit with the radiance of her smile when she found me and my heart swelled.  Former United States Secretary of Education Margaret Spellings said, “Don’t let anyone else take the measure of your worth and capabilities.  Always stand proud in who you are.”  This is what my parents taught me.  And I am still trying to follow those words.  I want the same for my daughter.  She really is my pride and joy.

We had it all planned for the next day.  Daddy took off work, for once I had no holiday rounds, we’d been building it up for weeks, and it was finally going to be the day our four year old got to see Santa!  Since Thanksgiving I’d been threatening to email his elves if she was naughty.  And then just before midnight she started begging me to help her and was literally writhing in pain.  Trying not to lose it, I calmly asked her what was wrong.  She wailed it was her ear.  It did not look red but when I went to touch it she screamed so loud it even woke my husband.  My girl is tough; REALLY tough.  So I knew something was seriously wrong and figured it might be a bad ear infection.  I called the emergency hotline and the kind nurse asked me the standard litany of terrifying questions as I tried not to wig out.  I had given her Children’s Tylenol three hours prior so it was decided I was allowed to give her Children’s Advil as well.  It was also arranged that we would see the nurse first thing in the morning.  My little one fell into a fitful sleep on my chest as I held her and prayed for her to feel better.  Turns out she not only had fluid in both ears but one was so full there was a danger of it bursting.  Trying not to flip, I asked if a busted ear drum would damage her hearing and how long it would be before we knew.  She is on antibiotics and I was told she should start to feel better in about three days.  Then she threw up four times and they said it was not uncommon because of the incredible pain and pressure she was experiencing.  She asked if she could go to school but could barely hold her eyes open.  So I took her home and let her sleep through some of the pain for most of the day.  When I told her we wouldn’t be seeing Santa (we’d actually missed our chance) she started crying.  I told her Santa wanted her to feel better and that we’d be going next week for sure.  We asked if she’d like to go to her favorite Tex Mex place instead as she struggled against more tears.  Once we got there and she greeted everyone in English and Spanish (they’ve all known her since she was an infant) she started to feel a little bit better.  At least she was able to eat.  When we got home she hugged me and said it was the best day ever.  The best day ever?!  I was running on two hours’ sleep, cleaned up vomit several times, and greatly disappointed my only child.  And yet, she was happy.  Then I thought to myself with no small amount of chagrin that we were all three together, we all got to spend time with each other, and we were all OK.  Out of the mouths of babes …  I close this post with the timeless words of Dr. Seuss:

“And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow,
stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons.
It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags.
And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before.
What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store.
What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

I’ll bet you’re thinking, “she posted a pic of her dryer?!”  How boring.  I did this for several reasons.  First, the top of the dryer has not seen the light of day for more than a year.  The cats are all mad because they’d come to think of it as some type of lounge area.  Second, it reminds me how blessed we are to have them.  I remember dreading Saturdays growing up because we had to load up all our dirty clothes and take them to the laundromat.  Back then there were really no video games except in arcades and kids were actually required to do work.  Daddy had a big thing of quarters and I would watch Mama’s face turn as red as her hair because there was no air conditioning.  Frankly, it was Hell.  I would safely label it the worst part of my childhood.  And then there was the dreaded steamer.  It made that awful place seem 10,000 degrees hotter.  When we first got married and I got to live in the only house I’ve ever known, we had to buy a refrigerator, washer and dryer.  I was SO excited.  This was when they first started making colors and, being a budding techie, I got the best brand for the best deal.  Two loves of mine:  getting high tech stuff and getting great deals.  And yet I still DETEST laundry.  How easily I have forgotten our station wagon slipping and sliding in the ice to get to the washateria only to wait for an hour because all the machines were taken and the humiliation of having other people see your unmentionables.  Now all I have to do is empty a hamper downstairs and any time I want I can have clean clothes.  What a blessing!  I DON’T want to take it for granted; I DON’T want to forget how hard things were for my parents and yet how happy they always made me.  And I DON’T want our little girl to be oblivious to the suffering, plights and misfortunes of others.  There is a false sense of arrogance that comes with money, in my opinion.  After all, if they have more money they are “better,” are they not?  More successful.  Smarter.  A harder worker.  And yet all of that is false.  Look at people in other countries still washing their clothes in polluted rivers.  We are ALL so blessed.  I always want to remember that and not take even the most mundane things for granted.  My father taught me never to envy, but always to aspire:  to aspire through personal growth and to always do my best.  Hooray for those who find it calming and therapeutic, however I still cannot bring myself to iron.  I buy “travel” and “wrinkle free” clothes and linens for that very reason.  I shall end with the words of a woman whom I have always greatly admired.  Erma Bombeck said her second favorite household chore was ironing.  “My first being hitting my head on the top bunk until I faint.”  I could not agree more.

French essayist Joseph Joubert said that imagination is the eye of the soul.  As I look around the house I see toys strewn about.  Rather than grumbling, I often take pictures of the little vignettes before putting them back where they live.  I have found treasures gifted to me in places ranging from our bed, the stairs, our hallway, the sofa, our kitchen, the porch, and my office just to name a few.  Most are from our daughter, but often the wolfies and the gatos carefully place their lovies where we will discover them as well.  They are reminders to me that I live in a home where love abounds.  I find tea cups on my desk, wet squeaky skunk toys under the covers deposited by the wolfies, and bits of string on our formal dining room table “hunted” by the cats.  Sometimes I have to scold one group or the other from “loving” toys that are not theirs, but for the most part everyone knows what belongs to whom.  Our new toilet is not just a device better for the environment — it’s a rocket ship.  One flush and we are transported through the bathroom skylight to the moon.  We get to eat chocolate every day and there is always a party to which I am invited.  My dressing room is a hair salon where I get served wine from my perfume bottle.  Chalk markings on the sidewalk rival the most mystical of Egyptian hieroglyphs.  Bananas are telephones, underpants become hats, and purses hold “special tickets” to secret events and places.  I have regained my imagination through my child’s eyes and have gotten a glimpse into her sweet, smart, funny, beautiful soul.  I have to go now; we need to walk Pluto and then have our afternoon tea with the wolfies.  There may even be a trip or two to the moon.  😉