Happy Holidays Eldridge 2010 Twas the Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, Every Eldridge was stirring, including the mouse;
The mouse took up residence in our garage last week,
Driving my panic to a new panicked peak.
The boys were all nestled all snug in their beds,
With Caden still screamin, at the top of his head.
And Drew with his cell phone, texting his new lady friend,
100 new messages, and then pressing, "send".
"Get off your cell phone, or your paying the bill!"
Jon's voice was gruff, staggering, and shrill.
When out from the next room, Bradyn chimed in as well,
"Dad, can I by a new book, Kindle's havin' a sale!"
When out from the third room, there arose such a clatter,
Jon yelled up the stairs to see what was the matter.
Away to the bedroom I flew like a flash,
Sort of muttering and stuttering in my self imposed dash.
Tripped on a lego, and swore just a little,
Watched the dog cock his leg, and threaten to pittle.
"Caesar!  You dumb dog! Get your butt out the door!"
Grabbed my poor foot, legos suck and are sore.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
Jon in the front room, with a new look of fear.
Assembling a new toy is always a battle,
Christmas at our house, it's an uphill paddle.
"Oh crap, of course, this things missing parts!"
On to assembly, the three hour start.
To the top of the stairs, down the long darkened hall,
He tripped on the lego, and threatened to fall.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
His arms flung out skyward, as his butt hit the sky.
Whining and crying and hating his life,
He looked my direction, his now laughing wife.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard out the door,
The mouse in our house, looking for more.
"I thought you killed the gross rat last week,
This week for sure, or he'll start to reak."
I was delighted, Jon looked dismayed,
Eyeing the presents, and wondering who paid?
"We did it again, we do every year,
Again bought to much, for our children we fear."
Thier grim little faces if their lists are not read
While they rested soundly in their warm snuggly beds.
A bundle of toys Jon had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
As he watched me struggle making Christmas just so.
I sorted and struggled and showed all my teeth,
And the smoke it encircled my head like a wreath;
I had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when I laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
I was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And Jon laughed as he watched me, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
At now 8 months pregnant, wrapping presents was dread.
My arms felt like jello, my butt felt like lead.
I filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
The baby just kicked me, its one little perk,
To know that he's safe all snuggled inside,
This surprise blessing, now filled me with pride.
I looked at the tree, all the presents arranged,
Then realized my outlook, was slightly deranged,
A house full of love, no matter how nuts,
A spouse with a job, no real worries or ruts.
Little boys sleeping, a fourth on the way,
Soon left me speechless, with nothing to say.
I looked at my husband,
Took a good look at life,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to us a good-night."

Change the Blog Name?

My Mom asked me a couple of months ago, when I announced I was pregnant (okay 8 months ago) a couple of questions.  First there was a shock and awe, "really, really, REALLY?"  It wasn't a happy really, it was one of those, "are you sure, did you pee on the stick correctly" sort of really.  It was followed by a comment about my husband's genitalia being "snipped", why wasn't it "snipped" and when would it now be "snipped".  My mom doesn't have it out for her son-in-law's junk, trust me.  She is just a mom, and my third pregnancy was ... a little less than stellar.  That pregnancy combined with a doctor telling me a year prior, "another pregnancy is not possible, it could put you in the ground," was also not exactly a great omen.

After the really, the snipping, and the trying to talk me off the ledge, she asked one more question.  "Well, I guess you're going to have to change the name of your blogsite."  Huh.  Not something I was really thinking about as the thought of 4 college tuitions, a 3 year old an a newborn, pushing out another infamously large headed Eldridge child to the amazement of doctors and nurses, and general discomfort of the next few months.  Now this?  Change the name of the blog site?!  Admittedly, it was a nice after thought when I was in complete and total denial that this was happening ... and I've spent many a spare moment pondering this question.

A couple of nights ago, bam, it hit me.  I named the website, "The Cat Makes 5" years ago.  It was in ode to the fact that we had 2 children, Jon and I, and a transvestite Shitzu who thinks he is a cat.  Ere go, the #5.  Thinking of the same 5 number, I magically came up with an answer (thank you Rodney Rippon for all of your stellar mathematical teaching skills, apparently I can still add).  We DO have 5.  It's just no longer Jon and I inclusive.  The "cat" really does make 5 with the addition of the 4th boy in a few mere weeks.  Really, it's ironic, and maybe God and I should have discussed naming this whole blog site years ago. I didn't really take the issue to prayer, maybe I should have.  Maybe I should have consulted the powers that be about the fact that what I named my blog sealed my fate.  Unfortunately, I waiver in faith.

So there you have it.  The blog site name will not be changed for my 4 followers (yeah, you know who you are).  It will for now and forevermore remain, "The Cat Makes 5".  That 5 number won't change ... ever ... ever ... ever again unless there is another immaculate conception that is going to take place.  Mom has stopped saying, "really" and changed her response to, "I'm so sorry."  She's not sorry there's a baby on the way, oh no, she's sorry her daughter's body isn't exactly cooperative carrying around said baby.  I'm a horrible "vessel" to bring this child to earth.  God bless surrogates.  As for Jon's "situation", the lengthy, adinfinitum medical visits, lab workups, etc due to said pregnancy have successfully met our deductible for this and every other subsequent lifetime (thank you for good insurance, that's in the prayers tonight along with thank you for vasectomies).  This deductible situation lasts until December 31 ... again, a math problem.  This means Jon's ability to procreate lasts ... you got it. 

Parenting after 4 ...

On Thanksgiving my Aunt and Uncle in Colorado Springs invited us to their home.  I couldn't resist the lure of NOT having to cook this year, and I was excited to see some of my now grown cousins I only get to see about every 2 years.  My Aunt and Uncle's house was FULL, and dinner was delicious.  More importantly, I got to see some of those cousins.  One cousin in particular, is married and has a little girl (18 months) named Carly.  When Jansen and his wife, Yvette showed up at the house Carly was less than thrilled to see the enormous amount of folks there ... and my family complete strangers.  I felt for her, it was a zoo, and no self-respecting 18 month old handles that kind of stimulation without some sort of meltdown.

Carly was tentative, there was a minor meltdown of sorts as she tried to get her bearings and navigate the crowd.  Suddenly, Caden (my 2 1/2 year-old) appeared around the corner.  At once, Carly saw an ally in toddlerdome, and she and Caden took to one another like moths to a flame.  Caden being the third in line in our house of boys has little fear of people and crowds.  His initial reaction when we entered my Aunt and Uncles' house (a place we've never even seen before) was to scowl at everyone and start shouting off demands and "no!" when anyone asked him anything.  He wasn't tentative or scared.  He was, for lack of a better word, bitchy.

Caden's eyes lit up when he saw Carly and suddenly his bitchdom came to a halt as the two of them started toddling around the house.  Caden was talking nonstop to Carly about going here and doing this, etc. and Carly just sort of stared at him, but dutifully complied and both seemed happy.  Yvetter commented she had never seen Carly interact this well with another kid.  Bonus, score.  The second generation of cousins were getting along as smoothly as the first.  Now that I'm an adult I understand why our parents loved family gatherings ... the cousins got along so well we dissapeared, out of their hair, for a grateful few hours of self imposed respite care.

But, like all burgeoning relationships, Caden and Carly's was doomed to exit the honeymoon phase when they had their first turf dispute battle.  While gathered in the front room chatting with cousins, I watched out of the corner of my eye Caden and Carly.  It had been a few hours, dinner was over, Caden had NOT napped that day, and his ability to cope with anything was fast losing ground.  We had brought a few toys for Caden to play with, and he currently had his "truck" in his hand.  Carly, interested in the new toy, very quietly walked up to him and really quite pleasantly tried to take the truck.  She wasn't mean, grabby, or even bossy.  In fact, she was silent and matter of fact like Caden should just offer up the toy.  I hesitantly watched the exchange as Carly tried once, then twice, then a third time to take the truck.  I KNEW Caden was going to lose his crap.

Caden lost his crap.  Suddenly that all to familiar scowl (the one he reserves for his brother's in the heat of battle) creeped across his face as he screamed, "NO Carly, you stop that, you CAN'T have my TWUUUUUCK!"  Carly, an only child up to this point, sort of stared at him then she swung back and backhanded him in the head.  Caden was indignant and slapped her back.  Carly slapped again, then Caden one more time, and I sat and just watched the whole thing thinking, "well, I guess they'll work it out when one of them gets tired of smacking the other in the head."  Caden was in no mood, and Carly finally lost it as well just as her mother was rounding the corner. 

I told Yvette it was no big deal, jsut a turn dispute, both of them had slapped equally, Carly was nice about trying to take the truck, and Caden was just a train wreck.  At that moment, I realized I have become a seasoned parent.  Why?  I watched Yvette, now pregnant with #2, dutifully (and appropriately) get on Carly's level and try to coerce Carly into apologizing.  Carly was not interested, Yvette kept trying, and I just sat there thinking, "what?  there isn't blood, they're both still breathing, toddler law of the jungle."  I tried to put myself in poor Yvette's shoes and think back 13 long years ago when I was the parent of a single child.  I think I was probably a spaz.  No, I know I was a spaz. 

Drew was the result of years of infertility treatments, miscarriage, and prayers.  When he was born the earth ceased rotation as far as Jon and I were concerned and we were both convinced this child would be the only game in town since it took so much effort to get him there in the first place.  I dressed Drew like a fashion plate, I monitored his every move, and took HOURS of video of him playing in his excersaucer doing the same damned thing, but to me it was entertainment.  To those of you that had to endure the copies of said video and feign excitement, I apologize.

I was that Mom like Yvette.  Thirteen years ago I would have not let Carly and Caden's argument ever get to the slap down point.  I would have stepped in and tried to help them reach resolution and make Drew apologize.  Realizing I'm now seasoned doesn't mean I've ceased to care, by no means.  I think it means I've come to recognize that sometimes you just have to let your kids work it out. 

My boys, as I've regularly documented on this blog, are boys, which means they are inherently stupid until at least 25.  They dig holes in my yard and call them "foxholes" to catch non existent enemies, they dump 5lb containers of sugar in the toy room and try to mash it into the carpet to cover their crimes, they turn the basement into fight town and use things like car seats to throw at one another calling them grenades.  These are events that if Drew HAD stayed an only child, would never have happened.  My hovering skills were to polished to let him out of my sight long enough to excercise his inherent stupid gene.  I think over the years if I stepped in before all such stupidity occurred, they might miss out on all these "memories" they can retrieve when their older.  The "remember when ..." stories.

My brother was recently here on a visit.  Even though there's a 7 year gap in our age, we still have "remember when ..." stories.  These stories aren't the cozy loving warm hearted stories of our parents acting like the Leave it to Beaver Cleavers, they're the stories that may have inspired terror at the time, but now laughter and some level of respect that our parents (and us) survived childhood.  Josh brought up the, "remember when we took that trip to Florida in the suburban and Mom kept threatening to come back there and smack you and Maranda if you didn't stop (whatever it was we were doing, probably fighting or egging Josh on to hysterics)."  I thought back to the time.  Maranda and I snickered under our breath, and I VIVIDLY recall one of us saying quietly, "uh huh, yeah, let's see you come over two seats within smacking range of the two of us."  Needless to say, mom had skills, and before that trip was over she had thrown off her seatbelt at least half a dozen times and crawled back over those two seats with lightening fast precision aiming for a well placed backhand.  She never missed.

The trip was my parent's call to action to make "memories".  Despite the fun, like trips to Epcot and Disney, it was that damned car ride for days that we remember.  It was ... in a word ... hell.   I can't imagine why my parents didn't leave us on the side of the road somewhere in mid-arkansa.  BUT, despite it all, it is a memory, one my parents may want to strike from recollection to maintain sanity, but a memory none the less. 

My boys are ... my boys.  With each succesive child (pregnant with #4, God help us all), I'm learning to step back, step in only where needed, and accept that the "remember when" stories only can come through me remembering what's important.  Kudos to you new moms.  Kudos for being attentive and loving and stepping in.  You're not wrong ... you just haven't mastered multiple levels of simultaneous chaos.  If there's no blood, I don't want to hear about it.