A Picture (Ornament) Says A Thousand Words

When Sweetie was an infant at his first Christmas, I did what many parents do and had professional holiday pictures taken of him.  He couldn't even sit up yet, so I had the laying-down-on-the-fuzzy [blanket/rug/bean bag] photo done with him in his white turtleneck and red Christmas tartan overalls snuggling with a teddy bear in a big red bow.  It was challenging to get a decent picture; he was really sleepy and I really wanted one of him awake.  It took a few tries ... I would give him his pacifier to settle him down, and the sucking would make him drowsy, then I would reach over to take the pacifier out and get out of the frame quickly, while the photographer snapped furiously before the squawking began.  Ultimately we got a cute picture ... but he definitely looks sleepy.  Every time I look at that picture I remember that day and smile.

Also like many parents, especially with my first child, I bought a gazillion prints in all sizes.  Seriously, my child is the most beautiful child in the world and everyone else loves him as much as I do, right?  Of COURSE they want their very own 8 x 10 for the wall, 5 x 7 for the desk, and a wallet to show off to friends.  The Ex and I combined have a small family, so I always had way too many pictures left over.  While trying to come up with ideas of what to do with some of the extras, I decided to put one in an empty picture frame ornament someone had given me.  I didn't know it at the time, but a new tradition started that very day.

When I unpacked my ornaments the next year, I looked at that picture ornament of my 3-month old son and smiled.  "Awwww, look how cute and little he was.  I remember that day."  And then I looked at my then-15 month old son who was "helping" me decorate by shoving tissue paper in his mouth, emptying boxes of decorations, and tugging on strands of lights.  I was amazed at how different he looked.  I thought it would be fun to make a picture ornament of him at 15 months, and then compare those first two years with what he would look like at 27 months the following year.  So I did, and I've done it every year.

When Stinker was born, things changed a little.  I was much busier when the second one came along ... I was chasing a 2 year old, working full-time, and when Christmas rolled around, I was going through a divorce.  I didn't have as many professional pictures taken of Stinker when he was a baby because of the craziness that was my life, and I certainly didn't buy as many, but I was determined to keep the tradition going.  As I scoured the few pictures that I had (in comparison to Sweetie's pictures at his first Christmas), I was challenged to find one that was appropriate for an ornament.  I simply didn't have as many to choose from; I didn't take as many, and by then everything had gone digital so I didn't have paper photos laying around.  Most shots were in close up.  When I was looking through my cache of "leftover" professional photos for a cute picture of Stinker, I stumbled across a wallet-sized picture of both boys at Sweetie's third birthday.  They were both wearing Hawaiin shirts and denim shorts and they looked so cute, so I decided to put that one in a frame ornament, too.  A new tradition was born.

Now, every year, I add 3 new ornaments to my collection: one of Sweetie, one of Stinker, and one of the two of them together.  I have pictures of them at a character breakfast at Disneyland, in Halloween costumes, and in professional portrait poses.  I have school pictures, soccer pictures, and candid photos.  As I type this, I have 21 ornament frames (not counting the ones they have made for me over the years) hanging on my tree.  And the candidates for this year's new ornaments have been selected ...

On this eve of Christmas, it warms my heart to sit in the quiet, look at my tree, and enjoy all of those smiling pictures of my children looking back at me.  Peace on Earth.  God bless us every one.

The Rainbow Song

I grew up in a home with a mother who liked to sing. She had a beautiful voice, an alto, and I remember her singing all the time: vacuuming, cooking, sewing, gardening, driving. Sometimes she would put on an LP, crank it up, dance in our living room, and sing her little heart out. Maybe that's where the divine dances of the ya ya brotherhood originated in my head! I loved to hear my mother sing when I was little. I really loved it when she sang "que sera, sera." (What is that song actually called? Did Doris Day sing it?) That song had an impact on my older sister as well; a couple of years ago, while she was in Paris, she texted me to tell me that it was playing in the little cafe where she was enjoying a brioche and coffee! As I got older, I thought my mom was weird - nobody else's mom sang all the time and nobody danced around!

For me, music and memory tie together in my brain. Certain songs evoke very specific memories for me, both good and bad. Thankfully, all of the songs I remember my mother singing bring up warm fuzzies and smiles. Maybe it's because of the strong impact my mother's singing had on me, but I really wanted to sing to my children. I don't have a very good singing voice, but everyone always told me it doesn't matter to little kids, so I decided I would try it. When my sons were infants, I sang made-up silly songs to them during playtime, and they smiled. I would pace with them during the witching hours - those long nights when baby just won't sleep - and sing. I couldn't remember the words to very many songs, so I sang weird songs like "Silent Night" and "The Ants Go Marching One by One." The one song I remembered - a full three verses - was "que sera, sera." I sang that song to them a lot.

We did a lot of singing in the car on the ride home from Disneyland earlier this week, but it was more of the silly made-up type. For example, I made up a song about their stinky feet, which they LOVED. We sang it over and over again while they stuck their stinky feet on my center console and I tickled their toes. Sweetie asked me to sing it again today. He loves it when I sing. Stinker doesn't. Most of the time when I sing, Stinker tells me to stop.

Imagine my surprise when, at bedtime tonight, Stinker asked me to sing him the Rainbow song. The Rainbow song? What's that? I kept thinking about the made-up songs ... did one have a rainbow in it? No. Nursery rhyme songs? No. What the heck was he talking about? And then it hit me. He wanted me to sing him "que sera, sera." I sing three verses, and the second verse (as I sing it - who knows what it actually is) is:

Then I grew up and fell in love,
I asked my sweetheart, "what lies ahead?
Will there be rainbows, day after day?"
Here's what my sweetheart said:
Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be.
The future's not ours to see. Que sera, sera.

When I said "are you talking about the que sera, sera song?" he said. "yeah, yeah, sing dat one." I can't remember the last time I sang that song to either one of my boys. I have no idea what prompted him to ask me to sing. But I loved it. And I sang it. And he made a yummy noise! I was not surprised when Sweetie came into Stinker's room and said, "sing it to me, sing it to me." So I did. And then he made a yummy noise. I am a lucky mom; other than giggling, there's nothing better than a yummy noise from my sons.

Divine Dances of the Ya-Ya Brotherhood

My two children spend, and have always spent, most of their days in a structured school environment so that I can work. I have guilt, and feel like I am missing out on critical bonding time with them during their day, so I am forever trying to come up with ideas that are "uniquely me" to help me bond with them. Often, they are so happy to see me, and relieved to be home, that they have an abundance of energy that cannot be contained. On those days, the constant chatter and loud silliness starts in the car ride home and then spills out of the garage into the house. On those days, it is difficult for me to change my clothes and get dinner going because they are literally hanging on me, talking to me, tugging on my clothes, etc. I needed something we could do together when we got home, that was quick and easy and a no-fuss treat for them, that would make them feel like they were getting some special attention from me and would diffuse some of that extra energy. Behold "ya-ya" time.*

We drop everything as soon as we get in the door. I put on some fun music, turn up the volume, and we dance around the living room being crazy. It only takes about 10 or 15 minutes before they feel sufficiently spent. We started with the B-52s - they LOVE "Rock Lobster" - but they now want their own music. We are currently all about the Naked Brothers Band, and they don't even request that I join them in the dancing. I know it's time for divine dances of the ya-ya brotherhood when one of them says "Mom, can we get our ya-yas out, please?"

Recently I caught myself watching them. It warmed my heart to see my sons, totally uninhibited and full of joy, leaping and dancing together. They had big smiles on their faces. They grabbed stuffed animals for dance partners. There was no special occasion; it was just an ordinary day like any other. How lucky am I?? What a great day!!

*The idea of "ya-ya" time is not my own. How we do it is our own special creation, but I read about the idea in a parenting magazine somewhere.