For one reason or another I always seem to take a hiatus from writing at this time of year. But I’m here at last to share a quick story.
Allow me to set the scene. I’m sitting on the couch, my husband is on the adjacent couch. We’re in our appropriately dark living room on an inappropriately sunny afternoon. My phone, which rarely rings, starts buzzing with an incoming call. The number is not familiar, but it is my area code, so I answer. The conversations follows:
“Hi, is Kiera there?”
“No, this is her mom. Who’s this?”
“Oh, well is she there? Can I speak with her?”
I linger here a little because at this moment my phone starts chiming in my ear with a couple rapid fire texts. I glance at the screen quickly but do not recognize the number, so I return to the conversation more adamantly, albeit a bit confused.
“No, Kiera is at daycare. She’s 20 months old, I’m her mom. Who is this?”
“20 MONTHS!? It says here I should be speaking with a 20 YEAR old.”
“Well, you’re not. Kiera is my baby, who is this?”
“I’m so sorry, I must have the wrong person.”
“WHO IS THIS?”
“This is for a patient referral.”
“Oh… but the person you’re looking for is named Kiera? And is 20 years old, not 20 months old?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“That’s weird though, right? That’s not a very common name.”
“Right, I’m not sure how this happened. I’m so sorry to bother you.”
And with that I hang up the phone. I look over at my husband who had been following along. His expression, initially puzzled and confused, had now resolved into a smile with just a tinge of WTF? I shrug my shoulders, laugh, and then look at the texts I had missed. I find this:
What in the Sam Hill?
(Which I thought was sam hell my entire life, until literally right now.)
This was the most peculiar 3 minutes of my life.
It was as if someone saw me sitting there on the couch and said “hi there, I see someone kicked you while you were down. Here’s something to laugh at; think about nearly impossible coincidences, 20 year old Kieras, and crack for the rest of the afternoon.”
Admittedly I took the needed opportunity to do just that.
And I feel better knowing that if all else fails, at least I know where I can get some crack. Phew.
Bruegger’s is my favorite mommy/daughter date spot.
Our local chain is not very busy and we have a very relaxed routine when we’re there. We go in, order two breakfast sandwiches, and set up shop at a corner table for the 45 minutes it takes her to eat an entire sausage, egg, and cheese sammy.
Only once did I make the rookie mistake of ordering one sandwich for the two of us, foolishly thinking I could share with my 12 month old. She ate the whole thing and I was left with the tough outer shell of a bagel as my only sustenance. You live and you learn.
I took her there yesterday for an early lunch. We had a busy week ahead of us and I wanted to spoil her a little bit. We went about our usual routine. Ordered food, sat down, said “hi” to everyone there 6 times, and then got down to the serious business of eating.
A half hour later, when she finally looked up from her plate, she noticed that an older woman had (quite intentionally) cozied up to us at a nearby table. We all said hi to each other of course. I took the break in Kiera’s eating marathon as a sign that she might be ready for some conversation, so we talked about our day. About how Daddy was on a work trip. About how she and I would be going to Aunt Sarah’s for a Christmas party. Then we talked about Santa. As Kiera smiled and whispered “Tanta Tause” under her breath the woman next to us could no longer hold back.
“Does she know SANTA?!?”
“How old is she?”
“Oh my gosh she’s so young, that’s great!”
“She’s so big!”
“Does she like Santa?!”
The flood gates had opened. It was as if the “S” word was a secret password that gave us access to an exclusive Christmas club. A club in which an old woman, a young toddler, and a 32 year old believer were the only members. At least for the time being.
Kiera nibbled at the rest of her food while the three of us sat there and talked about Christmas. She told me about a Santa that visits a local chain every week night. I feigned interest; she tore a schedule and coupon out of her newspaper that she was reading and gave it to me.
Just then an employee walked by and the woman abruptly stood up and said “excuse me, I have something to do”.
I watched her walk over to the employee and start doling out goodies from her bag. She had brought treats to give to the Bruegger’s employees. As they stood there discussing people’s work schedules, so that she could come back later in the week, I had a feeling of déjà vu; this has happened before.
But it hadn’t. Not to me anyway. It had happened to a friend, and she described it so well in her guest post that I was momentarily confused whether it was her memory or mine. That day, two years ago, she got to be a member of the Secret Santa club. Today, it was my turn.
I let myself think about how funny life is for a second but then quickly dialed back to present day and took this window of opportunity to start packing up our things to leave. I took Kiera out of her high chair and told her she could run around while I put the chair away. But she didn’t run around. She grabbed her coat and marched directly to the older woman, arms out asking for her coat to be “on”, before I had a chance to object. The woman happily obliged and as I hurried over to say thank you and pick up my billowy toddler, the woman whispered something to Kiera.
“I have a present for you today”.
She pulled out a baggie of M&M’s and said “I brought them for the workers who aren’t here, but you’re a good girl and I think you deserve them instead”.
And then it dawned on me.
This woman IS Santa.
Here I am, just dipping my toes into my lifelong dream of having the official title of Santa Clause, as this woman was (presumably) long ago faced with the unfortunate milestone of retiring as Santa. But she chose not to hang up her Santa hat. She simply found somewhere else to wear it.
“Find somewhere to grow
Grow somewhere we’re needed”
(Hip lyrics for those following along)
I want to be just like her when I grow up!
Since this blog is slowly developing into a personal account of things I want to remember and things I want to be, I’m letting it evolve and adding this to my list of life goals.
I will remember this as the day that I realized I will always be Santa, because I always have been Santa. And that a small piece of me is even a little excited for the opportunity to someday be this example for someone else. When there is time, and money, and sleep. I will remember this as the day I got to be a part of the Secret Santa Club, when I was simultaneously united with a stranger and reunited with an old friend across the distance of two years. And I’ll remember this as the day I let my daughter take candy from a stranger, because she wasn’t a stranger at all.
She was Santa.
Happy Holidays everyone! If you’re out there being Santa, feel free to comment and share.
Have you ever heard a new word and then suddenly you start hearing this same word used everywhere? Or bought a new car, and now it seems as if everyone is driving it?
Of course you have, this happens to everyone. It’s the way our brains work. It happens to me with such frequency that I now expect it and rely on it. It is called the Frequency Illusion or Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon. I find the latter name really hard to remember. (Until you DO remember, then you’ll hear it everywhere.)
Seriously, I ♥ memes.
So I wrote my last blog post about paint on a car window, proclaiming that it made me happy, and guess what happened next? I saw car windows painted everywhere! Honestly guys, you barely even have to look for this stuff.
I’m not great at taking pictures while driving. It’s not a skill I’m trying to perfect, but I couldn’t pass this one up.
“New driver learning”
Ok, I appreciate the announcement. I’ll stay out of your way.
But did you also just learn how to write?
As I close the books on the summer of 2016 I can’t help but note that I did not attend a wedding this summer. For the past decade my summers have included the celebration of at least one wedding, sometimes 10. Summer season is synonymous with wedding season! I kind of missed it. It’s fun to get dressed up and go out with your friends. I would have whole-heartedly welcomed the opportunity to wear something other than a nursing bra, and possibly might have even brushed my hair. Let’s be honest though, I really just missed hearing those two little words. Open bar.
But as I talked with a friend last night, who has half a dozen weddings in the next year (some of which are multiple plane rides away), I decided I don’t miss it that much. It can be a little consuming to plan your life events around someone else’s life events.
Luckily for me, Steve got married.
I do not know Steve. Nor do I know the owner of this car (Steve’s Friend). But I have been walking by this car for the last three weeks and it makes me happy.
Steve’s Friend must have attended a wedding on Labor Day weekend. Maybe this person even shuttled the happy couple or was part of the wedding party, I’ll never know. But parking next to this car makes me laugh every day. I walk past and think to myself “damn, that must have been a great wedding”.
I have been to this type of wedding before. I have cheesily decorated a car for a wedding related event before (party van!). Also, since everyone and their brother owned this unsightly Impala at some point in their lives, I feel like I am Steve’s friend too. So I have been living vicariously through this person for the last three weeks. It’s fun being Steve’s Friend.
I even find myself surprisingly excited to get to work everyday to see if the window paint is still there. I’m going to start placing bets.
Today I finally worked up the courage to snap a couple pictures of Steve’s Friends car (creeper…) only to reassure myself that when this person does decide to wash their windows, and I’ve forgotten about this entirely, I can think back and laugh all over again.
P.S. Steve, I sincerely hope you got it.
You woke up at 6:00 this morning, about 30 minutes earlier than normal. You were angry, scared maybe, definitely not happy. Maybe your teeth were bothering you, maybe you just wanted mommy, maybe it was nothing at all. I went into your room, hugged you as you stood in your crib, picked you up, and wiped your tears. You nuzzled in to my shoulder and immediately fell back asleep. Not wanting to wake you, I laid in the nearby chair and that’s where I stayed for the next 30 minutes. Under the ever-increasing weight of you, with your head resting heavily on my collar bone, and your fidgety feet tickling my knees.
Like clockwork at 6:30 you pop up and quietly stare through the darkness until you recognize my silhouette. You smile and say “oh hi!” As if you thought I was actually your mattress, and you think this is some happy accident. You’ve done this for three mornings in a row. And I’ve secretly loved every second of it. Should I be making a routine of this? No. Could I get you to settle down in your crib for that last 30 minutes if I really tried? Probably. Would I start every day of the rest of my life like this if I could? In a heartbeat.
It feels like stolen time. Being needed by this baby, who is just on the cusp of outgrowing her baby-ness.
You will always need me of course, in some form or another, but it won’t be like this. As a new mom I’m acutely aware that there is a last time for everything. Fortunately or unfortunately, it is a fact of life. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the should haves and could haves rob me of these moments. Moments like these are mine for the taking. I’ve learned enough by now to know that you do not get them back once they are gone.
But I also know how quickly habits form, and I do want to do right by you, so this was the last time my dear. Tomorrow when you wake up screaming at 6AM, needing more sleep but not knowing how to get it I’ll go into your room. I’ll help you lay back down without picking you up. I’ll pat your back, and gently remind you how to sooth yourself back to sleep. I’ll let you know that everything is ok and I’ll quietly leave your room to go back to mine.
Or maybe I’ll pick you up and cuddle with my baby.
One last time.