Operation: Save Christmas

This time last year, Mike and I were beyond most people's definition of exhaustion. Despite that, it was Christmas Eve and we were away from home without one single gift for Conner from "Santa" or ourselves. So, without my knowledge, Michael sprung into Super Secret Operation: Save Christmas.

We'd spoken briefly about how "it didn't really matter that the gifts were in Montgomery and we were in Birmingham and that we were extremely grateful just to be with family on Christmas and how presents don't define the Holiday and so on and so on". But, we did want some sense of normalcy. Some sign that things weren't complete chaos (although it was). And then there was Conner to whom we'd been selling this idea of magically appearing gifts for over a month now. Not that he'd known one day from the next but we had promised.

So, with no sleep, armed with his college friend Stuart, a couple of Cokes and some gnarly music (I'm sure), Mike trecked to Montgomery having spoon fed me the excuse of "I'm going to the NICU to see Chase since it is Christmas Eve". He had taken a night shift before, so I swallowed the fact that Mike would go yet another night without sleep and headed for bed myself around 11:30.

Mike arrived in Montgomery shortly after 1 a.m. and spent over an hour sorting through gifts, loading them into the car in the freezing cold. He still doesn't know how the neighbors didn't see him and call the cops... He even flushed the potties and grabbed a few essentials we had missed in our mad dash to Birmingham a few days prior. What a good little hubby he is.

"Santa" then hustled back to Birmingham (on his magical sled with reindeer, naturally), more exhausted than ever, to set up the next days Christmas Delight. By the time day broke, he was crawling into bed. His Christmas Merriment Experiment tucked under his belt.

We woke a few hours later, and Conner and I stumbled down the stairs of my mother's house to find a room full of gifts.

It took me a few minutes to realize that the gifts were in the wrapping paper I had used. The same sizes, the same shapes, the same amount of gifts that I assumed were still under our tree in Montgomery.

In a haze I asked "Did you go out and buy the same gifts? And wrap them?"
I'm a moron.
He chuckled and replied "No. Guess again."

Then it hit me, the magic of Christmas had not passed us over and there sat every single gift Michael, I and Mr. Clause had intended on giving Conner and our families.

It was truly amazing.

I will always treasure what Michael did that night. Thank you baby. You are the best Santa ever.

Hey Fat Man, BUTT OUT!

This weekend, the Hubby relieved me of The Mom Job for a WHOLE hour so that I could escape to Target. I shopped under a pseudonym and most wouldn't recognize me in a big red suit, a long white beard and black boots. I also had the laugh down to an art.

I only spent an hour and some change sifting through all the toys and gadgets that the boys have absolutely no room for and will probably break in a week. I managed to get out under $200 too! But I couldn't help but wonder... why do the grandparents get credit for their gifts... the aunts and uncles ....and cousins and friends ...and teachers and neighbors... they all get to say "here you go kid, look what i got just for you!"

But when it comes down to the man who goes to work every day to pay for these peices of garbage lovely gifts and the woman who carried these children for 2 separate 10 month gestations, dealt with the agonizing heartburn, the sleepless nights, the swollen feet, then birthed them through a hole the size of .. well... you know an approximation of how big it is. Tack on the crying when things went wrong or when one particular child decided to stop breathing and seize and all (no blame, Chase, no blame) and then when that woman spent weeks bleeding her insides out, cramping away, nursing and cracking and becoming engorged... and all THOSE extra sleepless nights till they are... well.. 20-something that are sure to come... why is it that THAT person (or persons) has to throw away all the "Aww... baby... ALL THIS STUFF IS FOR YOU! FROM ME!" on some hocus pocus mumbo jumbo imaginary fat dude that broke in without setting off the alarm mom and dad promised would help protect you?

I know, I know. "It's not about the presents.. but the MAGIC and their faces... and who CARES about who the gifts came from when they are HAPPY and SURPRISED and loved..." BLAH. BLAH BLAH.

BAH HUMBUG!

I don't know how long these Pixie and Fairy dust years of Santa will last because I did NOT fight Saturday mid-Holiday Target Crazies for Conner to say "Momma! Look what SANTA got ME!"