Pre-Christmas calm : underwear dresses and bass guitars on a winter break Monday.

6am

He whispers in the late dark of early morning next to me. His dream had something to do with his feet hurting, or his cheek, and it’s uncertain whether it’s his right or his left, and finally he lands on it being his right, at which point he decides his cheek (coincidentally his right) is actually hurting badly, and he will need a bandaid. Or two. Becca has slipped out the door, still dark, for an early patient. I watch while she disappears down the mountain, and I try and ignore the thousands of moles that have taken residence on our wealthy soil.

And then,

Three boys are up, and it is their break, their winter break. Their break from formal schooling and articulated learning. There is whispering - loud whispering, and talk of playing bass guitar quietly. Two boys help themselves to a stack of oranges at the table. I place an internal bet with myself whether or not the peels will make it compost on their own, without me reminding anyone. I will not state here which way I bet, but I will say that I won the bet.

And then,

I sigh and make pancakes, and sometimes you have a good heart but you don’t do anything, and sometimes you have a lousy, petulant, resentful internally, but you still do a good thing, and sometimes maybe one is better than the other, but in this case, I made the pancakes, and I have to admit: it felt good to hear a quartet of children acknowledge they were “…actually pretty good.” That’s high praise coming my way these days.

And then,

A boy plugged in bass guitar and began playing,

and then his sister came over and started playing guitar,
and then he moved over to ukulele and she took the four-stringer,

and then a five-year old grabbed a battery-operated toy guitar running off a two-terminals in the grave battery,

and then a two-year old grabbed a mini accordion,

and then there was music, lots of music, lots and lots of music,

and you might think I’m joking or being snarky or something like that, but here’s the thing, I’m not,

I really, really loved it,

and they played together, sort of, and it is beautiful every time.

And then,

Have you been thinking about gifts you’d like to give?
I asked a boy-man, the bass player.

A different child looked over at the child I was speaking to:
If you’re thinking of giving me a homemade thing this year,
this child announced to the other,
then no offense, but no thanks.

Shortly thereafter, two boys leaped on their sister, and a wrestling match worthy of a Roman coliseum broke out, and the carnage was intense and the laughter was loud, and a 12-year old continued thumping the bass as bodies hit the floor all around.

And then,

I might go ice skating with you tomorrow,
he announced to his sister.

You know you’ll have to pay for yourself, right?
she trumpeted back.

That’s now how I do things,
he bellowed, not missing a beat,
I need to save up my money for important things.

And then,

A girl snuggled up on our bed and read an Angie Thomas book - not The Hate U Give - the one after that, and a boy read to his two younger brothers on the couch. A book of fairy tales, and then they disembarked and he asked me for a book recommendation.

How about a short story for today?
I asked.

He agreed, and I brought out Roald Dahl’s A Lamb to the Slaughter.

I think you’ll like this,
I said with a sly smile.
It feels like the right day and the right time.

He did, and he did, and it was.

Meanwhile, the Youngers took their books to the dining room, where they went back and forth between a giant Grimm book and an oversize copy of The Wizard of Oz.

And then,

I played a round of Yahtzee with the Olders. I have played this little, so my expected dominance never materialized to the degree I expected. This non-materialization came as less of a surprise to my two opponents; opponents that have no place relegating me to a bronze when I have taught them Everything About Life.

No respect.

And then,

Two boys begged for some fabric, so I got them some, and out came the scissors; I checked on things a wee later, and inquired what they were designing:

What were they making out of my old underwear? (yeah, when I said “old fabric,” what I meant was: “my old underwear and socks.*”)

*washed?

What they were carefully cutting, measuring, and making - out of my old underwear and socks - was a dress for their almost three-year old cousin, their beloved cousin.

A dress.

And then,

There was a flurry of activity, and some of it involved moving furniture and decorating our living room while listening to Gene Autry Christmas tunes on vinyl, and some of it involved two boys getting absorbed in my vintage Taschen design and film hardcovers, and a portion was eating tofu and rice and salad together while the Countess Becca Mama told us about work, and

there was dress-up, and two kids dueling out Paper-Rock-Scissors strategy,

and I read aloud Ogden Nash’s classic poem A Carol for Children; two children shortly thereafter dropped to slumber after giving a Monday there all.

And then,

We continued watching the 2009 Christmas-flavored rom-com New in Town with Renee Zellweger and Harry Connick, Jr., and then the remaining two went down,

and Becca and I were left to finish an episode of the Norwegian holiday ensemble A Storm for Christmas,

and that was a first-day-of-break Monday.

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