The blog in which the Pope has sold out.

I am not even kidding.  I just somehow streamed piping hot decaf tea through my nostrils, onto my lap. See, there are certain sentences that just don't sound right.  Yesterday's "We attended a board meeting" was definitely on that list of things that made me giggle.  Although, today's, "The Pope sends his first tweet" made the tea singe the hair in my nostrils.  It is not a joke.  While there is a Pope spoof on Twitter, this one today was the real deal, and maybe it's because I am not as connected to the world as people who watch the news, but this seems ridiculous.  By the way- the spoof one is really funny.  Almost a funny as "Texting with Dog."

So, I do not "Twitter."  First, I have WAY too much to say, and am not partial to being limited.  Plus, I do it all on Facebook, and even there, it's too much for most people.  So much so, I have chosen to not "friend" many a family member, as I know they would lose patience with my over posting of pictures, video's and mundane life that I chose to share. (I don't know why I feel this need to share that my dog's hair is tangled up three of my toes, or that it's yet another night of Chanukkah and you will have to listen to my migits and I sing prayers that sound like a cat coughing up a fur ball, EACH. NIGHT.OF.CHANUKKAH. ) Last night, was one of those frantic "calls to mom moments."  See, her sister, my aunt, sent a friend request on Facebook.  Out of concern that my aunt, who only has to tolerate me a few times a year by phone call, or once every few years in person, was denied access to the trap that is my Facebook wall.  I messaged her a kind note of apology, but honestly, I think I saved us all a lot of frustration.

I don't know why some people allow me to remain a "friend" there, but I can only conclude that they think the world of my migits (Grandma), or enjoy watching me make a fool of myself.  It's like a naked train wreck running around without any medication to level anxiety disorder or what I call, "my life."  I love my life, and chose to share it, with more characters than the Pope's newest outlet will allow.

The blog in which it's radKid time again!

Yes, radKid has that hip "iPad" weird capitalization thing happening, but today was day one of five for a small group of 8-12 year olds at the YMCA.  We are so lucky to have participated in this organization's class last February, and even more fortunate to have been able to participate on a very small scale during other classes.  (Generally, we like to go to the graduation ceremony and help with the gear the children where while doing the simulations.)  It is nothing more than about 45 minutes of our day, but our entire family loves being a part of it.  This session, we were asked if we would like to help in the class, doing a most important job- handing "sticka's" out.  Geoff came and helped and that allowed my sick tail to go upstairs and catch the last few minutes of Charlie's gymnastics class, and then to bring him to the radKids class and help with Shay and Geoff, while I took my coughing mess of a self, home.

Today could not have been a more appropriate day to participate for us.  You see, my kids have been bullied on the bus.  Last week was Shay.  This week, was Charlie.  And while I am fully aware of the video on the bus bit, and the going to the school administrators bit, I am approaching this differently.  First, the parent is a friend, and the child, is young.  If the child were older, or the parent flippant, I would address the situation differently.  I think the root of the child's behavior is what needs to be addressed.  I want for that child to know what my kids know from radKids.  While I don't have the radKids booklet in front of me, I can't quote perfectly, but I can tell you that both my kids know that they are special.  She needs to know that.  Second, no one has the right to hurt you.  And it's okay to tell.  My own two migits have been through the class one time, and witnessed no less than 4 other classes (in part) and yet, the best I got was Shay telling the child to stop, and that she had to tell a parent.  While Charlie didn't have the words, Shay should have gotten the bus driver involved.  I am glad that she didn't, as this was a friend and I hope to work through this differently.  The mother is mortified, and I feel for her.

So, I approached one of the radKid instructors, and shared our story, and she stopped setting up for class this evening, and took both migits and reviewed what they know.  Sometimes, it takes another voice to reiterate it.  I was so thankful. While I believe that one day, these techniques will be second nature, I hope that neither child is ever in a situation where they have to employ them.  I will arm them with the tools, and pray that other parents are given the same opportunity as mine were- to know they are important; to know they don't deserve to be treated badly; and that it's okay to tell.

The blog in which we spoke at a board meeting this morning.

I am sick.  And while I know this is not about me, it is, sorta', since I had to drive him there, and then to school.  We were asked a few weeks ago by one of Charlie's gymnastics coaches to speak at a board meeting at the YMCA.  Well, at first, it was more like this-

Coach- Hey!  I was wondering if you might allow Charlie to come in early one morning to speak at a board meeting, here at the YMCA.  He would have to come in at 7:30 AM, and it wouldn't take more than a few minutes to share his story of how the YMCA has made a difference in his life.  And, the person I had asked to do this---- died.

Me-  Clearly, that sucks for her.  However, win-win, because I am sure Charlie would love to speak in front of a 30 person board meeting.  (Thinking to myself, "Not so much."  The kid can barely talk, and now you are asking him to speak in front of 30 adults he has never met?)

So, I asked him, and he was honestly excited.  I told him I would not have him memorize anything. I would just ask him some questions about his experiences at the YMCA, and any answer he gives, would be the right answer.  Score.  Well, I got very sick over the weekend, and yesterday, I felt like death warmed over.  I typed something I planned to email to the coaches to read on our behalf, since I couldn't stand up for longer than 3 minutes without passing out.  This morning, the sore throat mostly gone, but the cough worse, and a really painful bout of abdominal pain, along with an incredibly foggy head, I showered, and drying my hair felt like an aerobic activity.  I was pooped.  At one point, I told Geoff he should just drop off the typed, prepared speech I was going to send yesterday.  Well, I thought about the impact of having Charlie there.  I mean, first, it's an amazing opportunity for him to share his growing confidence, second, I can not ever repay the YMCA, the coaches, the staff, for all that they have done for our entire family.  We have developed friendships, began leading a healthier lifestyle, and have a wonderful time, as a family, in a place that supports us, and makes us feel better for having gone, each time we walk out the doors.  So, I mustered the strength, pulled up my big girl panties, and off we went.

We walked in a few minutes early, caught up with the coach that invited us, and Charlie was excited.  I could tell.  He doesn't act this way everywhere, or for just anyone.  He acted like he knew he was important, and he seems to act this way every time we walk through those doors.  What a gift.  Could you imagine?  Being able to hug a kid and make him feel like he is something special.  I am his mom.  And I can not continuously produce that effect.  We walked upstairs, and his other coach joins us.  She has the same effect on him.  He goes running for some love, and then starts chit chatting a bit.  I don't know that either coach was fully aware of his multiple diagnosis, specifically, the sensory integration dysfunction, as well as the obvious apraxia.  I am always happy to share this information with those around us.  I love to educate, but honestly, my head was foggy, and I am not sure of what I said.  I might have said something to the effect that I have watched a Netflix marathon of "Everybody Loves Raymond" for the past 24 hours.  Hopefully, I mentioned the challenges.

My stomach was killing me, and I was suppressing a hacking cough, and ready to be back here in bed, and finally, it was time to have Charlie tell his story.  I have no qualms about public speaking, but I literally looked like I had just rolled out of bed, and that was after I nearly passed out to dry my hair for the event.  I was concerned about Charlie, but tried to share my own comfort level with him, seeing as, I didn't have anything but gratitude and thanks to share with these people.  I was given very little to go by as far as how long to speak, or what format to do it in.  The less direction, the better, seeing as I had a two page typed speech that I knew I could not comfortably read.  I preferred to just read a few questions for him to answer, and when I did the night before, he did fine.  We talked about different things over the past few weeks, and honestly, he did great.

He shared his experiences with swim lessons, swim team, and most recently, gymnastics.  He modeled his socks he loves that he won at Bingo Night there, and at the end, I allowed him to show off some of his gymnastics skills.  I know that the YMCA is not the thing for everyone, but it is the thing for us.  It has given us not only the opportunity to swim year round,  exercise any time of day, trip on our feet during Zumba, and to allow our children to participate in age appropriate classes where they can build confidence, and develop areas of their lives that challenge each of them.

The blog in which it's the annual PTA "Holiday Shop."

As we walked into the evening, before heading to the trailers to work the "Holiday Shop,"  we snuck up to take a picture with Santa.  Shay said she was not interested, and I totally get it.  Who wants to sit on some rotund, bearded man's lap when she asks her own daddy to shave each day?  For the record- I love his few day facial hair growth.  Mostly because it probably detracts from noticing my own facial hair.  THANKS PCOS!  (I will consider traveling as the bearded lady with the circus as long as they don't use animals in their shows.  I have standards.)  I also have anxiety issues that prohibit me from traveling more than about 30 minutes in any direction, therefore, I don't see a steady income in the near future. 

Um...  I don't know what to say. 

#1 Dad pin  Priced well, but didn't sell many of those.  Sad.  I think we have some fantastic dads at the school.  One day, we saw about 5 dad volunteers in the shop helping the migits shop at one time.  

These little slimy and rubbery rats were a hit.  Not for me, and not when the plastic wrap was off the final 10 or 15 that the kids brought up to purchase. For two dollars, they got way more than a nasty toy. They also got a cashier that vomited a little bit in her mouth when having to shove it into a gift bag. 

Why didn't he ask if I liked this?  I really do like this.  I don't fish.  I don't own any fish.  I don't eat fish.  I just think it's gaudy enough to appreciate it.  I would so make use of this. 

I'm sure I have never asked my children for a bobble head.  I am sure I have never hinted that I might desire one of my own.  And yet, while boxing them up last night, Chaz asks, "You like?"  No, no I do not like.  Not even a little bit.  And while I know he has a fondness for blonde's, that looks nothing like me.  My cape is way bigger than hers.  

What golf enthusiast doesn't want this?  

I wanted this.  I have always wanted something this ridiculous in my home.  I believe that I have minimized my home to the point of needing some extra "homey" touches.  This seems more redneck than gangsta', but he makes me smile, and don't we all need to smile once in a while?  (I know, I know.  It's all I ever want is to smile and laugh, but is that so wrong?) 

Scary.  

This blog post is being really difficult and not allowing me to move this picture.  Work with me.  This is the contents of Charlie's shopping with my "boss."  She wanted to thank me for doing exactly what she was doing, without the stress of being responsible or being chewed out for closing 30 minutes early when there were no shoppers.  Look.  This is why I make a great "worker bee," but really don't need thanks.  We really love to serve those around us.  And by serving in the PTA, we are serving our own children, and no amount of payment will ever suffice.  Thank you "boss-lady" for letting me serve alongside you!  It was a fun week and I can't wait to do it again next year.  

This black wire fake handbag thing with the pink feathers made my brain wrinkle.    Why?

Apparently, I am not the only mom that can not stand this stuff.  One of Chazman's classmates made this purchase, and in doing so, informs me that her mom is not going to be happy with this item for her little brother, however, she can just throw it away and give her brother the other gift she planned for him if that situation arises.  (She knows her mother well.)  I on the other hand, have made it abundantly clear that if a person chooses to partake in playing with Playdoh or any other sticky, slimy, or jelly-like consistency, then I need not be within visual range.  I also can not be present.  Or awake.

I did ask the child to reconsider, and she said that she was good with her choice.  Luckily, I ran into her mother on my way out that day, and she laughed.  (I tried.  Really, I did.)

This was a moment of panic for us.  I quickly got sight of the word "sex" and immediately flustered.  It's not as bad as the pin for twenty five cents that was written in Russian.  I wonder what that pin said.  And I wonder why that kids bought two of them....

Then, there's the origami kid.  That student thought it was appropriate to pay me in three dollar bills that seemed to be folded into some origami shapes.  That I had to unfold.  Then had to try to straighten it in order to stick it in the register.  Those bills were almost as bad as the $17 dollars that were crammed into the money envelope that was handed to me by some fifth grader.  I quickly and sternly explained to him how a real life cashier would hand it back to him and ask him to hand it to them properly.  I had $3.25 handed to me in all change.  With only 2 quarters.  You do the math.  There was one little girl who was ready to shop.  she brought a Santa-style sack, and she bagged TONS of gifts!  There must have been 4 eye masks, two alarm clocks, three wooden fish shaped plates, and a plethora of other assorted gifts that totaled no less than $70.  Child had a small fraction of that to actually spend.  That bag was huge.  Then there's the little girl who showed obvious favoritism to her step-mom.  She bought four plastic roses- one for her mother, and three for her step-mom.   Awkward.

Then comes the returns and exchanges. I am not sure what they thought this was, but no, we didn't desire to take a whistle back that a father disapproved of.  He offered it to us, and I swear, he said, "He only blew on it once."  Uh, no thanks.  You can keep it.  It cost you a whole $2, and you can exchange it for whatever you want.  I can afford to be generous like that.  While I do appreciate the value of money, and understand how annoying a whistle can be,  I don't think he understood that we were not interested in reselling his son's slobber.  There was the mom that was mad about the broken ring the kid bought for $1.25.  I don't know, but honestly, how long did you expect that ring to NOT be broken?

There wasn't much of anything that caught my eye, however, there was  an  item that I thought was actually well priced, and most moms might really appreciate.  It was a tea light lamp set and was only $4.50.  I thought, for a mid-priced item, it was well priced, and not ridiculously gaudy.  Not saying that the other stuff was, (but I am, wink, wink) but there was really nothing that I could have really said, "I wish I had that."  I did point it out, only because I really thought it was a deal.   I told my boss about it, more winking, since we both got paid the same thing, and she put in more hours than most full time employees do in this past week. She ended up wanting it, and when her daughter came to do her shopping for her family, I brought her over to that area, and they were sold out.  We got more in, and she ended up buying one for herself.


She ran the shop from Monday through Friday, and then again last night, when we opened it up for families to come and have pictures with Santa, arts and crafts, as well as shop local vender's and our shop, set up in the trailers.  Not many families chose to make the trek to the trailers,   While we had some down time, she asked both kids to go inside the shop, the adjacent trailer, and to pick out anything they wanted.  I was not happy with that, so I chaperoned them into them into the shop, and steered the to the 25 cent section, and both chose an item. She was not happy with that, and walked straight back in and Charlie followed her.

While closing the shop, and re-boxing all the crap, I mean, lovely gifts that children purchased for their families , my children were begging for a box.  My boss was more than happy to donate some to my children's cause- boats.  My children had worked at sweat shop pace to re-package individual pieces of crap for about 30 minutes, so my thought was, let them play.  So, Shay hopped in, and announced to the room that she was in a boat.  Charlie followed suit, and 30 minutes later, it was time to leave. ;o)   

Notice the Santa hat?  That was a gift from my boss.  Please know- I am using that word, "boss," ever so loosely.  We were both paid the same, but she organized and ran this shop as she would had she been a paid employee.  I promise you, this woman not only received no payment for the work she did, but if her husband knew how much money she spent to set up, or to help countless children who were short a few bucks, or WITHOUT money at all, she might be sent to look for a real paying job.   She gave so generously, in true hopes that the spirit of the giving might remain with the children.  My children saw the hats as we were leaving, and asked for it.  She said she had bought a  bunch of those to decorate with, and that yes, they could each have one.  My kids wore it all morning!  Notice Charlie is at our kitchen table with something in his hand?  It is bubble wrap that came from a gift that my "boss" helped him pick out for Daddy or Mommy last night.

It was like Christmas morning yesterday when we woke up.  I had a horrific migraine by the time I went to sleep after the final night of "Holiday Shop," and it was late, so Geoff got them to bed, with promises that we would look through all the wrapped gifts in the morning.  The kids helped us open all the gifts that my boss helped him pick out for us, and then they played with their gifts.  Most notably, the box that we brought it all home in.  Thanks "Boss-Lady-Friend!"

Happy Chanukkah, Merry Christmas, and for everyone in between, may you enjoy the season and the reason that you celebrate!

The blog in which I am easily impressed with a monogram, and I stole something.

Well, if that title doesn't grab ya', I don't know what will.  After Charlie was born, I breastfed.  That seems like such an understatement.  I freakin' fed a small third world country is more like it.  I pumped, fed, and pumped some more.  I worked the urgent care back then, and pumped so much there that room number 6 was were I did my pumping, and often, my coworkers would walk by and make a "mooing" sound.  Good times.  Well, five months after I shot Chazman out of me, I found out I was preggers with child number two.  Basically, that only meant that I was going to be a human milk producer for longer than I planned on.  So, I pumped and nursed for almost two years.  I found that I true to my form, if I am going to do something, I am going to do it better than anyone around.  Well, I did.  I pumped so much that I was able to donate my surplus breast milk to babies in need.  The national breast milk bank LOVED me!  One year, they sent me a Christmas card, with the picture of their staff, all had signed the card, and this small note pad that had my name monogrammed on it.  I felt so fancy.  I very rarely use it.  It seems so fancy to me.  Well, yesterday, I had to write a note to the teacher about something, and it was the only blank paper in the drawer.  I was laughing when I found it, as it reminds me of the best memories of when the children were babies.  (I didn't like when they were babies, and the best times were  literally when my mom and husband and I were tearing about the freezers trying to sort the frozen milk and package it in chronological order in huge coolers that we shipped across the country to California.)  Trust me.  It was the best of those times.   Anyway, I wrote the note, then circled the website for the breast milk bank, informed her of my super human power and how I got the notepad.  I hope she doesn't take that as a personal challenge- to obtain a monogrammed note pad in exchange for the breast milk.  I'd be more than happy to get her one, as a teacher gift, if she really liked it.  I am just more competitive than I need to be on this one, huh?  

My very own monogrammed notepad. 

My hours of pumping paid off.  

It is the season of Advent in the liturgical calendar year.  It is my most favorite liturgical season, and that is saying a lot.  (Not really.)  Anyway, I love this time of year, and while I am the worst Catholic there is, they still let me call myself that, and so, in thanksgiving to that, I feel the need to attend confession.  Not often.  Just like, ya' know, "that" often.   Like all the other not so great Catholics.  It is best to attend around a holiday, or the end of the world.   I am totally multi-tasking this one.  And what, pray tell, am I going to confess?  In general, I use the same sin over and over.  (I haven't stopped doing it, and that is why I keep confessing it.  It's not that the priest didn't do his part.  It's just that I don't listen so well.)  It's hard to examine one's conscience, and then decide on just a few.  I sinned a  few times in the past hour.  Probably more than a few.  How many is "a few?"  If more than three, then you will have to replace that term with a more appropriate one.  My apologies.  See, I am not a math major. I didn't go to  college.  Ask Shay.  She'll tell you.  Often.

So, I was talking to some neighbors recently, and I am not exactly sure how it came up, but I mentioned how one day, I was cleaning out under my sink, and found two disposable gynecological speculum's.  I must have stolen them from my job, many moons ago.  Why?  Well, there is a VERY good reason for it.  But the reason is not  as important as the confession.  The problem is, the job I stole them from is no longer in business, and now, I can't apologize for that, properly.  (As if there actually is a "proper" way to apologize for stealing a gynecological disposable instrument.)  So, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart.  In choosing to steal a vaginal instrument, and failing to leave it in that torture table with stirrups, I have stolen from the best doctor I ever worked for, who I loved above all other doctors. I firmly intend, with your help, to publicly (NOT pube-lically)  admit to this, to not steal gynecological speculum's, ever, and to avoid the gynecologist.  I mean it.  Our lord, Jesus Christ, suffered and died for my speculum stealing, and all the other little piddily stuff I have done, in His name, have mercy.

Whew.   I feel so much better.  I should have done that ages ago!  Thanks for letting me take care of that with you.  And the reason for the steal-age?  Well, the Catholic church does not support birth control, and the only form that can be used is called "natural family planning."  It is an amazing process, and yet, if done correctly, it works.  We needed to find my cervix, and in the beginning, it was a struggle to find it.  So, I brought those home, to aide in our desire to make mad, passionate monkey love in the beginning of our marriage, and to ensure we did not conceive, and now, in trying to stay within the boundaries of the church teaching, I sinned.

PS  Monkey love= stupid newlywed action that my husband hasn't seen since those speculum's were used.  Please don't mention that to him.  Poor little fella'.

The blog in which it's some holiday tutorials for fun with the kiddos.

I am a minimalist, at best.  I am the anti-hoarder.  However, I have my soft spot- pictures.  And all those Christmas/Chanukkah picture cards we get year after year.  Well, this year, I finally gathered, hole punched and put onto a round, metal ring that I glued shut and added a bow, and viola'- a sweet coffee table piece that both my migits look through each day.  Come December 26th, it will be packed neatly away.

Cinnamon salt dough ornaments... not super scented, however, easy and nice little addition.  Water, flour, salt, and cinnamon.  That's it.  

Flame less, homemade Advent Wreath.  Today is the first Sunday of Advent.  We started it last night though.  

(This is our second or third year of this same advent wreath and candles.  They have really lasted.  I just replaced the batteries this year from some of the unused flame less tea lights in the box.)

I bought a big package of these, and painted three purple, and the fourth one is pink.  (Those are the traditional candle colors for the wreath.)  I even thought that we might make a faux menorah using this new fan fangled technology.

We decided to make cinnamon salt dough ornaments to attach to handmade gift packages, as well as the crystallized pipe cleaner shapes.  We made stars, snowflakes, round ornament shapes, candy canes, hearts, and my son swears one is a fireman, but I swear it's like looking into one of those psychology inkblot tests and I can't stick it in the Borax/water solution because it is too large.  However, I will crystallize a smaller picture frame I made out of the pipe cleaners.  The ideas are as endless as the imagination will take you.

$1.47 for these six cookie cutters that we made all the cinnamon ornaments out of.  

Borax/water crystallized pipe cleaners. I would have to say, I did make these many times this past week, and not sure what the exact formula is, but sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.  Directions online said per each cup of water, use 3 tablespoons of Borax.  I heated the water and then mixed in the the Borax.  Sometimes it crystallized in a few hours, sometimes it sat over night and didn't work at all.  Hmmm...
The cinnamon salt dough ornaments are two cups flour, one cup table salt, about a cup or less of cinnamon, and at least one cup of water.  I used more than one cup of water, but not sure how much more, since I just added until it seemed right.  Directions say to cook at 200 degrees Fahrenheit, for about an hour, or until dried.  I have read that they can dry by being let out, but I did not have patience for it.  That recipe made a lot.  

The blog in which it's a recap.

Reindeer Duck- sold out

Duck for a Buck was uneventful this past Friday morning.  We did get a whole new shipment of totally different ducks, and it was fun "playing," um, I mean, selling, them.  I was partial to the hippy duck, and both kids ended up picking the same duck, one of the Christmas ducks.  Surprisingly, we totally sold out of only one group this week, and it was that exact duck- "reindeer duck."

While I was there, the head duck master, A.K.A. "Katie," mentioned how she planned on sticking me on the register at the holiday shop part of next week.  (That is a fundraiser the PTA does each year that allows students to come into a shop they set up and allows the children to purchase gifts for their family or friends.) I volunteered last year, and LOVED it.  Helping a child shop for each gift is a blast, especially the younger ones.  Most memorably, the second grade boy who had $20 to spend on his mom, dad, and sister.  Somehow, he really thought his sister was going to want a flashlight.  While I tried to steer him toward the mood rings, explaining that while his sister was 12 years old, hormones kick in, and he might benefit from "reading" her mood prior to pissing her off.  It took some convincing, but surprise, he bought two!  (He thought it would be extra helpful with his mom as well, and that left extra money for that flashlight he wanted for himself, uh, I mean, his "sister.")

Anyway, I really can't stand being responsible for money.  Freaks me out.  I mean, for real, I'm not a math major.  Actually, I'm not a major in anything.  Remember, I didn't go to college...  And I freakin' didn't know what a rhombus was until this past week.  How the heck do they expect me to calculate mood rings and assorted items when I will no doubt be distracted by: a shiny coin; a mood ring and feel inspired to shove it onto my pudgy fingers and wait until I can read my own mood;  a mood ring that I must stick on someone else's finger so that I might know how to treat them; a "World's Greatest Mom" mug that I really want but feel cheated that it costs more than five of the same mugs at the dollar store; a child that is as indecisive as me and get the register and find that they are $18 short for what they intended on purchasing; the inability to calculate tax on my own without a calculator, and a husband or friend who reminds me where to add the decimal for the multiplication of that answer; a child who insists that every gift they purchased is not for themselves, but EXACTLY what their Grandpa would have wanted (no, that bow won't look so good on your hairless grandfather... I've met him.  He wouldn't look good in pink either.  True story.)   So, needless to say, I expressed my concern, and it appears that a trained monkey could not be obtained for the event, and I have always said, "I am here to help, in whatever way you need me."  Clearly, I need to amend that statement in the future.

It's the first day of December, and I am running out of elf ideas.  I am going to share with you a bit of my philosophy on Santa and the elves.  First, Santa takes his direction from our Lord.  Second, the elves can only make three gifts, and they can only do so within the budget that our family has been blessed with.  We send the money, and the elves do what they can.  No matter if they are naughty or nice, they get three gifts.  That is because, regardless of how we all act, we were sent a Savior.  Not because we did anything.  But because we needed Him, and that our Heavenly Father knew that.  Our elf does not punish them by not returning, or threatening with anything.  That is my job.  I discipline.  The elf- just for fun.  Today, our elf was bowing before the new born King.  And that is what my daughter reported to me this morning.  "Mom!  Shout! is bowing before Jesus!"  It is a personal choice each parent makes on behalf of their children- Santa, no Santa.  Elf, no elf.  I say the biggest decision is how to share your faith.  And that is through actions, and that is why this year, we are "Giving Christmas Away."

Each year we try to remember to thank those that serve us.  While each year we find that we are no better financially able than the year before, each year we find some way to share our gifts with those that give of themselves, year round. Our teachers, bus drivers, speech therapists, coaches, child care workers at the YMCA, local firemen, etc.  Last night, we invited some neighbors to join us in a meal (pizza), and help us make some ornaments and a little give away to some local seniors.  They are hand warmers made from fabric that is sewn and filled with rice and lavender scented epsom salt that you microwave (with a cup of water in the microwave to reduce the change of causing a fire) and place on a sore muscle, or hold in your lap to keep your hands warm.  The cost was minimal, but the opportunity to share that with those around us was priceless.  I pray that the gesture warms the souls who accept it, and also that they remember the water in a cup part ;o)