Well, other than a snip of her little newborn ducktail she rocked for awhile, that is.

On Saturday, Piper had her first salon visit. It was to The Yellow Balloon kid’s cut place, and it was super cute. We came through the back entrance, where there were video game machines, toys, little desks and all that kind of stuff. It also had this sweet motorcycle that was coin operated that was like, a tandem bicycle (meaning it had two seats). It was awesome.

Anyway, Piper’s hair was getting long. Long enough for braids and things like that, which is every mother’s dream, right? Well, since her hair never fell out post-birth, the ends of her hair was the fine hair she was born with. It was sad for me to cut it, because it was a lighter color from the rest of her hair, a shimmery golden brown, like a gorgeous fairy’s dust.  Of course, we asked for just a trim because her hair wasn’t even, it was all kind of scraggled, dry and fluffy.

Piper sat at one of the little tables to color, but since she had just woken up she wasn’t too excited by the idea.

Piper kind of hung around being clingy for awhile until her name was called. With butterflies in my stomach (WHY? It’s not like she’s going off to college or anything), I picked her up and placed her on the little booster seat as the stylist, Susan, attached the cape (BOY, you could see Piper’s glee at that thing) and asked what we were looking for. I said we just wanted a trim, NO bangs (we don’t have foreheads for bangs), but trim off whatever she could to get those dead ends off.

Then the cut began.

Piper was pretty good, never cried! No tears from Piper OR Mama! How’s that for awesome?

When the stylist needed to trim her ends, we used the phone/video to keep her attention and eyes downward. I’m hoping Paul got more pictures because I was holding the phone for her and attempting to get some Flip video of her, too. I haven’t even checked that yet.

I apologize for the blurry crapness that shows you what Piper’s hair cut looked like, it was impossible getting pictures taken because Paul and I both had to hold her head still!

Here is the after shot, Piper’s hair cleanly clipped back with its natural flip. The hair that never fell out post birth (aka her “baby hair”) was so dry that when the stylist trimmed it, instead of falling to the floor (we’d already gotten a hefty handful of chunks of the newly trimmed hair in an envelope provided by the store) like hair usually does, it just puffed out into the air. It was NUTS. It just PUFFED. Where did it go? Who knows. I probably inhaled it.

Here she is, our little love and her Daddy (who had the day off and was able to be there for this!!).

Since she saw a little boy riding that sweet, sweet motorcycle, she had to do it, too. Here she is, seconds before the novelty wore off and her unbridled fear erupted.

And the last one, before the fear came.

Her hair is still long enough for my mom’s masterful hands to braid (while I can barely get her to hold still so I can put a barrette in!), and it feels so fresh. The ends don’t tangle like they used to, which is a blessing.

Piper is now a big girl who has her own stylist and gets hair cuts. What happened to my little baby?!

It is time. Nearly eight months ago I took the learner’s permit test at the DMV. After one failed attempt (NERVES and that damn trick question!), I passed. I refuse to take that test again until I need to re-do my license, far far in the future. I hated that test. I hate ALL tests. Even if I know the material, something about being tested just HITS me and my brain wipes clear of all the material I’d just memorized.

Anyway. Since I have a year until it expires (meaning I have until this May to get my license), I’d been putting it off. Well, no longer. My annoyance at my lack of freedom and my anxiousness at being a burden to family has made me decide to take the next logical step.

This weekend, I am signing up for driving lessons! I’m going to drop 300 bucks and take the 6 hours/ 3 lesson class- the minimum a minor has to take before getting their license. I figure, if it’s good enough for the kids, why not for my old ass?

On top of that, I have been watching YouTube videos of driving tests (and trying to desensitize myself to the cold burst of fear that hits me when I see a test beginning, hoping I’ll get used to it), asking all my friends and family what THEY did in their driving tests, I’m polling the best place to TAKE the driving test (and I’ll need to scout out that location, too), and the best time (Early morning? What about morning traffic? Late afternoon? No, people coming home from work. Hm).

Anyway, this is all to say: Next week- driving lessons. Next month, new license? MAYBE!

First of all, if you’re weak willed, scare easily and tend to believe in superstitions (like me) then it’s a bad idea watching a show about the world ending in 2012 during History Channel’s “Armageddon Week”.

Second of all, this was a tough way to end the year- with a funeral. I haven’t ended a year like this since 1996, let’s hope the next time is a lot farther away.

This year has been good to us. We didn’t have much to complain about, we had few sicknesses and spent so much time with family and friends. Speaking of friends, this year I met my first mom friend who wasn’t a friend first. I’ve never really had a relationship like that, where the first thing we had in common was children- something that forever changes. So it’ll be interesting to see where this one goes, since it’s unlikely they’ll end up in the same preschool (but we hope the friendship continues!).

This year we got to really know Piper, to recognize the little girl she is growing to be. Just ten minutes ago my Dad was asking if we wake her up to wish her happy new year (which I was totally like, “WHAT? YOU CRAZY, NO.”, and he realized this isn’t just her second year passing by. Nope, she spent New Years in 2009 wide awake with no idea what was going on. Last year she had just gotten sleep trained and there was no way in her she was going to be awake, this year it was routine as usual, and bedtime a little later. Just today she counted to ten (minus four and seven, many many times), and it’s like, whoa, our baby isn’t just saying words, she’s COUNTING. She was counting her blueberries at dinnertime, after stacking them. Yesterday, no joke, we were getting her out of the car at the memorial and she counted to five (WITH the four included). Then, today, we get to ten (almost)? What??

This year we’ve said goodbye to family members we cherished, grew closer as a family, and got to know ourselves a little better, too. I got my learner’s permit, and went driving, and I hope to be a fully licensed citizen by next May (hopefully before that). This year things changed a bit, Piper stopped coming to work with me as much, and as much as it hurt me I saw it for the great thing it was for all involved. I am so thankful we cruised through 2011 without many tears and pain, and I am hopeful 2012 brings the same.

I hope 2012 has a baby in the works for us, I hope it’s more prosperous, and I hope our love is multiplied. I wish for peace and health for all our loved ones, and I hope their dreams are fulfilled and/or realized.

I can’t wait to see what 2012 has in store for us!

This year Santa must not have received my wish list, for Paul’s uncle passed away Saturday morning, Christmas Eve.

While it’s always heartwrenching and painful to lose a loved one, it’s ten times worse when it’s during the season of joy and good cheer. Especially when you think about how that death will reflect on the holiday seasons to follow.

We lost my grandma a few days before Christmas in 1996. Yeah, we knew her time was limited, but as with every death, it came as a shock to us. That Christmas we gathered together as per usual, only this time in the house of my Aunt rather than my Grandma’s house. While we tried to be jolly (see how here), things were changed.

And that’s kind of what this year’s Christmas brought. After having stayed up until 2am on Friday (gift slackers that we are) to finish the gifts, we were rudely awakened by our daughter who thinks 6:30 is a good time to start cheering and yelling for Mama. So Paul let me sleep in until 7:30 (good man, he is), as he made the coffee and fed Piper her breakfast (still in that night’s diaper and jammies, but whatever). When I finally dragged myself out of bed, too (upon the insistence of my daughter who came yelling into the bedroom while hitting me with her Yo Gabba Gabba Vans shoe), our day began.

The day went on as any other, a yelling, squealing Piper refusing to nap until the Food Channel was turned on (seriously, it puts her out like a light), us silently showering and preparing for the day ahead. When she woke we finished wrapping the gifts and addressing the labels, and then the phone rang. There was nothing on the line, I assumed it was a butt dial. After saying, “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.” and replacing the phone in the charger it rang again. “Hello?”, I said cheerily into the phone. “Amber, can I talk to Paul, please.” was his cousin’s response, sounding shaky and tear-filled. Immediately my body went icy, and with wide eyes I handed the phone to Paul (who had Christmas music playing on the computer, I hissed, “TURN THE MUSIC OFF”), Paul said, “I’m so sorry”, and I knew.

I know the pain of losing your loved ones during Christmas, but I didn’t know the pain of losing your husband, your father during Christmas. I couldn’t imagine the devastation they would feel. Paul promised he’d come, and Piper and I were left to get ready for a party alone on Christmas Eve, Paul was hoping he would meet us there before dinner was served. Luckily my in-laws had also invited my Dad to the party, so our ride was already set.

Christmas Eve passed in a whirl of emotions, joy and sadness, loss and love. Piper had no idea what was going on, and I’m SO thankful that she won’t have memories of a sad day like that. I’m also incredibly sad that she likely won’t remember her Uncle Frank (and as I write that I wonder if we had ever taken any pictures of her with him, and kicking myself madly for not doing it before), a wonderful man- Piper and I are so lucky that we are surrounded by great men.

On Christmas day, we had our small family gift exchange, with each gift being Piper’s favorite- until the next gift came along. It was wonderful. We went to the valley to see my aunt/cousins and to eat tamales (second tamale meal of the weekend), and then we went to see Paul’s aunt.

Oh my, the sadness was palpable. She’d keep a brave face, but then leave every now and then to cry. Piper was the lone child, and when the guests who were there before us left, it was just us- Paul, Piper and I, Paul’s grandma, his cousin and his aunt. We all sat in the living room, all sad but still kind of numb. It felt like something, someone was missing. Even though I wouldn’t have done anything differently, knowing this is how Piper’s Christmas was spent saddened me. Again, I’m just thankful she probably won’t remember this. I’d have to think that any older and she would probably not have been a pleasant child.

The home was (understandably) unprepared for a child. Since they usually had a ton of things for Piper to eat, we didn’t pre-pack her dinner, or toys to bring. She sat in her booster seat on the floor, repeatedly pushing away the items I had on hand to give her for dinner. She refused the cold Shakey’s Hawaiian style pizza, the cold mojo potatoes, the fried chicken. The cheese piece Paul cut off the block of colby was refused as well, and all the wanted to eat was a sugar cookie. Because I wasn’t quite up to deal with an angry child who didn’t want to be there, I relented and let her have more. As she wandered the house aimlessly trying to find something she could play with, a VHS of one of Frank’s favorite movies played on repeat in the background. Finding nothing to do, Piper came and sat in our laps on the loveseat, fingers in her mouth and blanket in hand.

For a regular day, it was boring. Colorless and sad. For Christmas day, it was heartbreaking. It was tinged with an almost infinite sadness, a piece of the puzzle permanently missing from now on. While having a child in a home usually brings life to a place, in this instance it just brought a morose air. Every little laugh that escaped made me feel guilty. Like she should be sad like the rest of us, she should be quiet and observe. Then I felt badly for her, because she didn’t know. She had no idea someone very special was missing, and that someday she’ll know about him, but not really remember him.

The rest of the week has been just as bad. Since we’re all Paul’s aunt has (other than her son), Paul has been tasked with helping her plan every aspect of the funeral, from the readings at the Rosary to the suit he is buried in. While Paul has taken on this job like a champ, it’s been a little harder for me. I’m just angry at the whole situation. There shouldn’t be a funeral, and my husband shouldn’t have to plan it. Aren’t there more “Adult” adults that can do this? This can’t be easy on Paul, you know? I regretfully let him know that I was upset that he had to take this burden on himself, and because I tend to be an emotional speaker, it did not come out how it had sounded in my head. Instead of it being me saying, “I can’t believe this is happening to her, to us” it came out as a “Why is she making you do this? This isn’t your job!” which isn’t what I intended. I just hate the unfairness of this all. Having to spend Christmas hurting, having to plan a funeral for someone because you’re all they have left, having to lose someone so wonderful.

My husband is an amazing man, and he has stepped above and beyond. Tonight is the Rosary, and Paul will be there early to represent the family. Tomorrow is the funeral services, and we’ll all be there as a family. I just hope Piper can manage to tamp down her usual glee, but also be calm and good, because if there’s anything I have learned from being beside my OWN uncle during his passing last year, there is nothing more grotesque at a death/funeral than the joyful cheer of a toddler. However, we must go, we must support (Piper has been requested), and we must heal.

And this year must hurry up and pass already, I can’t take anymore of this pain.

Recently there was an article about people who go around paying off people’s layaways at Christmas time, calling these people “Christmas Angels”. Recently I’d been in a bit of a funk, knowing Cancer is breathing down our necks this year, just waiting for the right moment (which is the wrong moment) to strike.

A member of one of my mom’s groups posted the article in our forum and mentioned how much it touched her. This in turn started a domino effect in our group of 60 women (we all met online in a diamond lover’s forum), and we all donated to one Mom’s account- over eight hundred dollars to help out families who put things on layaway for their kids. She then took the donations (errrr… “gifts”, I hesitate to use the word “donation” considering the bullshit Regretsy had dealt with regarding the difference between “gift” and “donate” buttons) to her nearby KMart and paid off some of the delinquent accounts that held gifts for children.

Unfortunately/Fortunately, other people must have been bitten by the “I need to help someone” bug, as there were only a few accounts left- and we specifically wanted to target FAMILIES.  The way layaway works, people choose things, put their downpayments on them, and the actual item goes into a bin with their name on it. Our ElfMom was able to look in the bins for toys and kid’s items, and found a few that had things like leapster games, a robe, and playdough.

Now, here is where it really hit me. Play-doh is not dirt cheap (like .99 cents), but it’s not expensive, sets can go from 6-15 dollars. These people couldn’t afford to buy a few containers of play-doh at one time, and were applying payments to something that costs less than a week’s worth of coffee at Starbucks. Friends, this broke my heart. While we all knew we were going to help some folks out (as it was we only were able to pay off two accounts- leaving a few cents so they come back to make a payment and find that they had mere pennies left- paying the account in full will close the account- because another/others had gotten there first), knowing what we helped to buy for families made it that much more real. These folks were hoping they were able to get their child play-doh for Christmas, and a few even had delinquent accounts, they couldn’t finish paying for their baby robes and moondough.

After we paid off that one store, ElfMom transferred the rest of the money to two other ElfMoms in different parts of the country, and those Elfmoms will be paying off a few more accounts in Pittsburgh and Cleveland. I can’t help but be SO proud of the group I’m a part of. I am SO happy to know that there are families out there who will be arriving to give the money they worked so hard for – sometimes paying for the toys before a bill just so their kid can have at least a small hope that Santa cares about them- only to find someone helped them.

See, I remember my Mom getting things on layaway. I remember being with her to shop, not really understanding why we were “buying” something that I couldn’t have right away. I wish there had been people like us back then, when my mom was struggling to give us a Christmas she could be proud of. And now, now that I have my girl, I think about just how fortunate we are. Sure, we don’t take pricey vacations, we don’t spend a ton of money on clothes for any of us. but we have money to buy her small gifts that she can enjoy. It’s not a new bike or a leappad, but Piper will not be wanting for anything, where some kids might have been in those three towns we were able to hit.

Right now, I’m pretty damn proud to be a Christmas Angel with this wonderful group of my friends. Knowing some little kid out there is going to have a present under the tree with their name on it because of the kindness of random strangers is something that warms my heart.

Every year we visit four houses at a minimum on Christmas day, as you can imagine, this is quite a hit to our wallets! This year I was debating spending for most of the people, I was trying to find a way out of having to gift 40+ people (yes, you read that right), trying to find other options like baking (still doing)  making infused vodkas (hell yes still doing), and garlic oils and crap.

Then, about a month ago, we found out Paul’s uncle’s prostate cancer had returned. His aunt invited us over for Christmas, and even as recently as yesterday I thought about stopping by. Then, this morning I got a call from Paul’s cousin, his Dad was in the hospital after coughing up blood on Sunday. Some of the most horrifying words ever came out, “The prognosis isn’t good.”. It was then I decided without a doubt that we’d be blowing off Christmas with my family in order to spend it with Paul’s aunt and uncle (who should be home then).

It’s funny, because just this morning I was thinking how quickly 12 days is going to go by, having to buy so many Christmas gifts. Then today, I was thinking, “Man, 12 days. That is so long. I hope he holds on for us.”

You know what, Cancer? You are an ASSHOLE. You affect EVERYONE, in EVERY SINGLE EFFING WAY. You don’t give a shit about the holidays, if anything you seem to strike more during the time when everyone’s guards are down- by the way, thanks for all the past Christmases you have screwed us in one way or another- I appreciate it. Cancer doesn’t change it’s plans, Cancer doesn’t care that you have family and friends who desperately need you, who really don’t need their Christmases to be tainted by the memories of losing the people they cherish most. Cancer, you strike at random, and without cause. You hurt every single person who comes into contact with you, and you leave stains, you leave scars on what had previously been pure. You ruin lives. You ruin holidays, you ruin families. You make life about YOU, when it’s NOT. It’s about love, it’s about living every single day to the fullest, it’s about family and friends who hug you and love you despite your bitchy attitude and despite how truly awful a person can be. So today, instead of worrying what the next 12 days will bring, I’ll count each day as a victory against you- against your filthy, ragged and rotting touch.

FUCK YOU, Cancer. I’m SICK of you in my life. SICK.

Piper has been on this planet for two Christmases. For her first one, she was only a month old, and there was no such thing as Santa, no image of him in stores to attract her attention, no hearty “ho ho ho” to hear as a commercial played. That Christmas was about surviving with a one month old and learning how to function on little to no sleep at night. It was also about getting to know our new family, snuggling in the mornings, kissing over her sleeping head at night. Looking back, that time was literally- literally- the best time of my life. The three of us huddled inside our tree-lit house, as rain fell outside. Paul was off for Christmas break, I was still on my maternity leave. Our days and nights were entirely up to us, we could do as we pleased. Of course, because we had just been out of the hospital a few weeks when Christmas came, we didn’t bother buying Piper any gifts, as we knew she would be showered with gifts that Christmas from the various households we visited (and we so were right about that, holy Moses), and although we had a stocking for her (bought during a Pottery Barn sale to match the stockings Paul and I had already, all three of our stockings remained empty that year, and Santa did not make an appearance- I’d like to think we had already received our “big gift” a month earlier that year.

For Piper’s second Christmas, Santa didn’t show up that year either. Whether it was just from being completely unorganized and having no time to go shopping, or maybe it was because we were already flush with gifts from Piper’s first birthday party, or perhaps it was just important to be together with our loved ones- either way, there were no lovely gifts wrapped like candy beneath our tree. Don’t get me wrong, we love love love Christmas in our house, and we will always have lights up, the (live) tree in the corner, the star shining brightly atop our tree as Christmas songs play in the background. So it’s not that we’re Grinch-like in our home, no, we just chose to focus more on family than gifting amongst ourselves (and as I mentioned, Piper was lavished with gifts at her birthday party a mere month before so kid was NOT missing out on anything). Piper still sat on Santa’s lap on his “sleigh” (a sleigh float type of thing comes through the streets in our neighborhood with a posse of cops with their sirens blaring preceding him), and cried her eyes out, So that was a tradition still upheld. Woohoo.

This year, we’re going full Santa attack. Santa will be wrapping her trinkets and gifts in her stocking, he’ll be giving her the “big” gifts (and getting all the glory), we’ll be pushing the Santa Effect. No, not the “Elf on a Shelf” (which scares the hell out of Paul!), but the bit about Santa visiting good boys and girls for Christmas. Piper is still too young to try to pull the “Santa is watching and knows if you’re not being a good girl!” bit, but I’m not fond of scare tactics for kids anyway. Does this mean I won’t make use of this particularly handy tool later? Nope.

Why am I choosing to go the Santa route? Because as a child, there were so many wonderful years of writing letters to Santa, making my list, setting out the cookies and milk (and carrots for the reindeer) for the Jolly Old Man. I remember the magic of waking up Christmas morning to see the cookies had been partially eaten, the milk drunk, the gnaw marks on the carrots. I remember jumping out of bed to see what Santa brought us. I remember waiting for my Dad to wake up so we could open presents- and I remember busting into their room to wake him up because I COULD NOT WAIT ANY LONGER!! After the gifts were open, the new socks I received in my stocking pulled onto my chilly feet, after the packages were torn open, batteries scavenged for, and my magazine was read, I’d call my cousin and we’d tell each other what we got. After that, I’d call my Grandma and tell HER what I got (even though I’m sure she had an idea about some of it, she probably helped fund some items- as always, Thank You, Grandma). Then our family would get ready to head out to my Aunt’s house for the typical Hispanic Christmas tradition of tamales. After we unwrapped tamales and presents, we’d head to my Dad’s sister’s house, where our families would open gifts one by one. Finally exhausted from a busy day of celebrating, my brother and I would drag ourselves off to bed, knocking out the second our heads hit that pillow.

Since I have such crazy wonderful memories of Christmas, it’s not even an option to not introduce Santa to Piper. I refuse to deny her the magic of hearing about this jolly old elf, of Dasher and Dancer, of cookies and milk, and watching the path of his sleigh on NORAD. Many consider telling your children about Santa is telling them a lie. Many will even tell children about Santa- and how it’s really your parents doing the work (seriously). I don’t think it’s a lie, really. Just because it’s something you choose to believe (like religions- you can believe Jesus was reborn, you can believe you’re a direct descendant of Jesus, you can believe that Jesus was a prophet and not the Messiah, you can refuse to believe Jesus even existed- it is YOUR choice, but something you still believe!), and something you want your kids to believe, what difference does it make that a man comes down your chimney or not, how does that not make this one tiny FIB worth it?

As most of my friends have agreed, when we found out our parents were Santa, we weren’t destroyed. We weren’t hurt that they had lied to us, angry that we had been “living a lie”. It was more of an, “Aaaaaah, that makes sense.” If anything, it made me appreciate my parents more- because they went to so much effort to show me that there are still reasons to believe. They were okay letting the big guy take all the credit, and yes, to let Santa take the heat when I was denied AGAIN that kitten I so desperately wanted (asthma and allergies would likely have killed me). Santa was a huge fixture of my childhood, and because I know I enjoyed it, I can’t wait to experience this through Piper’s eyes.

A quote I read:

“There are three stages of a man’s life: He believes in Santa Claus, he doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, he is Santa Claus.”
- Author Unknown

I read that and teared up, because it is so true.

While I don’t care if others don’t tell their kids about Santa- I DO care that one of those kids will likely be the one MY kid finds out about the truth from- possibly before it’s “time”, and even thinking about that pisses me off. So I beg of you- if you tell your kids there is no Santa, don’t let them tell their friends. Because honestly, in 4 years from now, should Piper come home crying because little Josie told her there was no Santa, I will KICK YOUR ASS. My future self will be so much buffer. So yeah, a small plea from a mom who chooses to believe, even if it means staying up late to use wrapping paper ONLY for Santa gifts (and hiding it from prying eyes) and a different handwriting, and even if it means drinking – eeeew- milk and yaaay- eating cookies.

I want Piper to have those great memories that I had. And if it takes a tiny “fib” to get her those, I’m down.

And now, in the spirit- “Yes, Virginia, There IS a Santa Claus”

Eight-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York’s Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history’s most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps.

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

By Francis P. Church, first published in The New York Sun in 1897. [See The People’s Almanac, pp. 1358–9.]

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor—

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

About the Exchange

Francis P. Church’s editorial, “Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus” was an immediate sensation, and went on to became one of the most famous editorials ever written. It first appeared in the The New York Sun in 1897, almost a hundred years ago, and was reprinted annually until 1949 when the paper went out of business.

Thirty-six years after her letter was printed, Virginia O’Hanlon recalled the events that prompted her letter:

“Quite naturally I believed in Santa Claus, for he had never disappointed me. But when less fortunate little boys and girls said there wasn’t any Santa Claus, I was filled with doubts. I asked my father, and he was a little evasive on the subject.

“It was a habit in our family that whenever any doubts came up as to how to pronounce a word or some question of historical fact was in doubt, we wrote to the Question and Answer column in The Sun. Father would always say, ‘If you see it in the The Sun, it’s so,’ and that settled the matter.

“ ‘Well, I’m just going to write The Sun and find out the real truth,’ I said to father.

“He said, ‘Go ahead, Virginia. I’m sure The Sun will give you the right answer, as it always does.’ ”

And so Virginia sat down and wrote her parents’ favorite newspaper.

Her letter found its way into the hands of a veteran editor, Francis P. Church. Son of a Baptist minister, Church had covered the Civil War for The New York Times and had worked on the The New York Sun for 20 years, more recently as an anonymous editorial writer. Church, a sardonic man, had for his personal motto, “Endeavour to clear your mind of cant.” When controversal subjects had to be tackled on the editorial page, especially those dealing with theology, the assignments were usually given to Church.

Now, he had in his hands a little girl’s letter on a most controversial matter, and he was burdened with the responsibility of answering it.

“Is there a Santa Claus?” the childish scrawl in the letter asked. At once, Church knew that there was no avoiding the question. He must answer, and he must answer truthfully. And so he turned to his desk, and he began his reply which was to become one of the most memorable editorials in newspaper history.

Church married shortly after the editorial appeared. He died in April, 1906, leaving no children.

Virginia O’Hanlon went on to graduate from Hunter College with a Bachelor of Arts degree at age 21. The following year she received her Master’s from Columbia, and in 1912 she began teaching in the New York City school system, later becoming a principal. After 47 years, she retired as an educator. Throughout her life she received a steady stream of mail about her Santa Claus letter, and to each reply she attached an attractive printed copy of the Church editorial. Virginia O’Hanlon Douglas died on May 13, 1971, at the age of 81, in a nursing home in Valatie, N.Y.

And this, my dear friends, is what I want for our family.

Sooo, hey there everyone. I kind of fell off the face of the Earth there for a while, didn’t I? Sorry about that. For some strange reason, since Thanksgiving/Piper’s second birthday, things got crazy hectic. And not in that “I need to start getting ready for Christmas” kind of way. No, after P’s birthday, my mom got a cold, and I had to bring Piper to work with me for something like four consecutive days, which meant no blogging. By the time I got home, I was sooo exhausted from non-stop Mommying that I couldn’t bring myself to do anything more than get on the computer and browse Pinterest for things i want to do but will likely never do, and hang out on Facebook like a loser. Hahaha. Luckily, Piper was SO well behaved those three days. She went down easily for her naps, she acted sweetly during her wake-time, ate well. No fights, no tantrums. A model toddler, my girlie.

Anyway, that happened. Piper had her second checkup, and our suspicions were confirmed- Piper grew! Not in a regular “This is right on track for her” way, but in a way where our pediatrician actually exclaimed, “Wow, she jumped up five percent!” when going over the growth chart. As a tiny-statured person married to a tall guy, this is music to my ears. I can’t even tell you how much I think about this. It’s not that I’m worried for her, if she’d be short, not at all. I was short, I survived. If anything, I was treated better and kinder because I was tiny. People want to protect small people like me. I always drew the attention of taller guys, something about being a shortie makes them want to be your protector. It also makes people think you’re not capable of doing things that need a bit of height, it makes people think you’re younger than you are (when you’re young enough to hate that), and kind of baby you. It blows. This is why I want Piper to be average sized. I’m not asking for above average height, I’m not looking for a long-legged glory, simply because that’s just asking for too much with my 200 years of short genes to contend with, you know? We are thrilled to find out that Piper went from either tenth or fifteenth percentage (meaning she’s taller than only ten to fifteen percent of other kids her age) to twenty percent! How exciting is that! When we first started taking Piper in for her visits, our pediatrician told us the age up to one year is all about putting on weight. Once they hit a year, she said, that’s when you can begin to see the pattern of growth. In her stats book, you can see she typically followed the same pattern, always 50th percentile on weight and 10th or so for height. I’d look it up, but I’m lazybones right now and really don’t want to get up from my cozy couch nest. I’m super excited about this, because recently we have noticed she can reach things she couldn’t before, and we had known she had grown a bit, some hand-me-downs were beginning to fit a little better than even just a week before, and her GAP jeans (still tiny for her age, they’re 18-24 months) now can be worn without being cuffed. Even after that appointment last week (the second of December), she appears to have grown a little bit more!

Speaking of growing, in the last week or so (seriously, I asked Paul if it was just my imagination and he agreed with me), Piper has started getting into EVERYTHING that is on a table, or on a shelf. It’s a weird thing to discover, because Piper never really was one of those kids who got into crap. She never put stuff in her mouth, never tried to stick forks in electrical outlets, never got into cabinets and crap. Well, because of that, it appears we’ve gotten sloppy with “toddler-proofing”.  We’ll put scissors and knives on the previously unreachable counters to turn around to grab the peanut butter or something, and the next thing you know, Piper has grabbed them and is preparing to put them safely in her purse, along with my heart, which fell right out of my mouth. Just this evening, a few things went from the table and counters into the trash, into the Christmas tree stand, into her purse. Note to self: put crap away immediately. This is all especially frustrating as we got our Christmas tree today, and I can only imagine how the tree will fare with Piper and her quick hands. I guess we’ll see. Today the tree is up (and she’s used to it now but it’s currently bare, so tomorrow is the test), tomorrow we’ll decorate it. Give me strength.

For her second birthday this year, I ordered her an ice cream cake. It was the most delicious thing ever. Cookies and cream ice cream with devil’s food cake. Why does cake always taste better when it’s under some ice cream? It’s like the cake turns into a poundcake that way. After giving slices to my parents, one for Paul, one for me, and Piper got a big ol’ wedge, there was plenty left over for another slice the next day for Piper, then I took the rest of the week and finished it off. Hey, Paul had his Thanksgiving leftovers (turkey, potatoes and stuffing etc….), and I had mine.

Here is Piper getting ready to blow out her candles. It was just Paul, my parents and I, and despite the small size of the group singing to her, she freaked out mightily when “Happy Birthday” was sung. Poor thing, she was torn between covering her eyes (for the singing, like she didn’t want to see us singing to her?) and watching the cake with its brightly lit Number Two candle shining as her dad walked it over to her in her high chair. In the end, the flame of the candle was too much to avoid, and dropped her hands to blow it out. Oh, by “blow it out” I mean aim her bottom lip so any and all air was huffed upwards, as if trying to blow a piece of hair out of her face.

I don’t know what it is about this picture, but something about it makes me tear up a bit every time I see it. Perhaps it’s just because it’s obviously my baby turning into a big girl.

The day after her actual birthday was Friday, and I had to work. Paul had Piper all day, but I only worked for three hours, so it was perfect. The Saturday after her birthday, despite a parcel full of car issues, we managed to get to my aunt’s house, where they gave Piper cupcakes, ice cream and balloons to celebrate her birthday.

Here’s another shot from Thanksgiving, wearing her “Birthday Girl” shirt, her tiara, and her purse and necklace (as a bracelet). I love this girl more than anything in this entire universe.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the future, about her preschool, about our second and final child. And while I wish I could be pregnant right now, and planning on finding out the sex of a new baby right now, I’m so so so happy we get to share this time with Piper alone right now.

A two year old is so special, with so many things changing every day (and yeah, some tantrums that suck) that I worry that with already having to work with her two days a week, I might be overcome with the stress of it all, rather than the feeling of just how freaking amazing it is to be a parent. And with all that rushing around, and thinking about the daily “How the hell am I going to do this with TWO, one of which is a needy newborn??”, yeah, I just can’t imagine it. Still, when that second kid DOES come along, I can NOT WAIT.

 

Okay, I know, I’m so not a celebrity. I’m not even D list. I’m like, W List. Whatever.

I’m featured on my buddy Nicole’s blog over at Pampers and Pumps, please go visit her blog and learn about where the name of my blog came from, the grossest things I have dealt with as a mother, and handy tips for Moms to be.

Here’s the link to the feature: Pampers and Pumps: Celebrity Guest!

Look around on her blog and leave Nicole some awesome comments, wouldya? Thanks everyone.

Dear Piper,

Hello, my dearest girl. If someone had told me back in January of 2009 that I would end that year holding a precious little bundle made of all the best things your daddy and I had to offer I wouldn’t have believed them. No, I would have shaken my bitter head and remarked, “No, it will never happen. We’re not that lucky.” But you know what, sweetheart? We ARE. We are so, so incredibly lucky to have you.

At first, we were lucky that you were such a mellow newborn. Sure you’d break into fuss storms should we ever even THINK of putting you down, but whatever, I can think of worse. Then, you became an awesome infant, who laughed early (like a cough) and found joy in pretty much everything. Eventually you started eating solids and crawling around, and you kept that up for awhile- the crawling.

Your first birthday approached like wildfire, consuming everything in my life, a sort of “These are the things I want to have done by the time Piper is a year”. We learned our lesson about having outdoor birthday parties at the end of November- not going to do that again.

The whole of your second year of life began. You looked like this:

As you can see, your poor eyes were watering from the cold. I didn’t really get to spend much time with you that day, I was too busy being hostess. This is why this year is different, but I’ll explain that in a minute.

Then Christmas snuck up on us. You barely had any time to spend being a one year old before the holidays came and we brought in our Christmas tree, and took some pics for our Christmas card. These are some of my favorite pictures of you.

And this one, my sweet girl.

Then there was the picture of us as a family, our family of three.

At Christmas  you didn’t really understand why people were giving you things. All  you knew was that everyone it seems you’ve ever known was constantly holding you, hugging you, and handing you gifts.

Your godmother took pictures of you, something we are so grateful for. You already looked so much older than just a month earlier at your party.

The Christmas extravaganzas continued.

We rang in the New Year quietly, because we had just sleep trained you. As much as we adore you and want to spend every second with you, that kind of doesn’t imply at 3am. Sorry sweetie. Luckily, you took to it as if you had been waiting for that kind of thing to happen, and aside from two nights when we were on vacation in April, you have slept every night in your crib, from bedtime to wake-up (which can be pretty early sometimes, btw). We are so thankful for this, because at 13 months, Mama needed some sleep, baby girl.

January came, this was when we began to realize bathing you in the whale of a tub on the kitchen table was starting to come to an end. We took this picture, and showed it around, trying to point out just HOW MUCH hair you had.

February came and went, and I left you for the first time ever. Your grandma watched you for a few days while I dealt with an IRS audit at work. Baby, as much as I know it should have been done sooner and it was a good thing, it was the hardest day of my life.

I cried so many times that day. I knew I’d see you later in the day, and that you didn’t cry when I left, but it broke my heart to leave the house without you beside me. Especially because you still didn’t walk yet. You crawled allll over the place and it was so sweet, but could I really leave you? You were so helpless. Sure, you took one step towards me and decided it was “meh” and continued crawling, you wanted to get where you were going that much faster, and walking just wasn’t doing it.

Then came the day when Grandma was was watching you, after you started getting more and more used to her. I got a phone call from Grandma who sounded very pained. She had tripped over Woofie and popped her shoulder out of the socket. We were so worried! Poor Piper fending for herself while Grandma was in agony on the couch. When we got there Grandma told us you had brought your blanket over and laid it on her lap and put your head on it, as if comforting her. It broke my heart to hear that, my sweet girl. One good thing came out of that day- you began walking in earnest. As if you realized sometimes you just had to suck it up and do what needs to be done.

After you began walking, we could not stop you. Crawling was never revisited.

Pretty soon the time began to pass, you grew steadily.

Even at a year and a few months, you only had two teeth. But you were such a happy girl!

Then your molars snuck up on us without even a hint to the pain it must have caused you!

As you got taller, we got you a new carseat for Grandpa’s car. You really liked sitting in it at home, like it was some kind of easy chair!

I was able to finally get a shot of you walking. I was so proud.

You were almost a year and a half when you threw your first public tantrum. Apparently you really didn’t want to go back to the office!

You got to have fun on Easter with Grandma and with your cousins and your other grandma! ]

And this was your first egg hunt! Daddy tried not to help you too much.

You had a grand old time chucking around some baby powder.

We began going to the park by our house a lot, and it was good because we made a new friend for you AND Grandpa got some good pictures!

You found a new favorite  hat, one that all three of your cousins wore.

Your new trick was yelling “Cheese” when you were being photographed. Well, it sounded more like, “Cheeeeeee!”

Daddy had a summer camp at work, and even though you were too young to attend, he made sure you had the proper uniform!

We bought you a futon to relax in, and it was one of the best purchases of your life so far.

A favorite past time of yours at work was getting up on Charlie’s desk and making phone calls. You didn’t actually call anyone but you liked to pick it up and talk into it.

We took you to the beach for the first time with your cousins!

You had a taste of ice cream, and then your filthy face went to Grandpa’s to play in his yard.

As the year progressed, we had some sad times, too. We said a final goodbye to your uncle at a glorious farewell party where you rode on your first boat.

Even though it was a sad day, it was also a celebration of life. What better way to celebrate the life of a loved one than at a sailor dress and balloons?

At the end of August we moved out of the office you had spent all but 6 weeks of your life. I was so incredibly sad as it meant things were changing and you wouldn’t be coming in to the office with me. I was sad that you wouldn’t have many memories of the time you spent there, especially as you took your first step there, rolled over, sat up… so many firsts there, all so easily forgotten. You enjoyed laying in the empty, dusty shelves, though.

And you FINALLY got all your teeth in. The canines were the last ones to pop through.

You transitioned well to the new office!

You have shared your first soft-serve cone with daddy…

Spent some time at the touch pools, where you mostly splashed instead of touching any of the sea life.

AND you went to Disneyland!

Before too long, Halloween was approaching.

We took you shopping for pumpkins!

You were a monarch butterfly, and so unbelievably cute.

We went trick or treating at the mall, which was a let-down. Next year we’ll go house to house!

Over the year you had a few playdates. You two are so cute.

Life continued as usual. We had lunch together at work.

And at the tail end of one years old, you caught the worst cold yet. You were a sick baby and it hurt my heart. Thankfully you’re better now!

Today your birthday was on Thanksgiving. I had intended to get you a turkey cake, but I found out it was only ice cream. Why call it a cake? Lame. Instead I ordered you an ice cream cake which I hope you like just as much. We’re just going to have Thanksgiving dinner at home with Grandma and Grandpa, you’ll blow out your candle (and hopefully not spit on the cake), you’ll wear your “Birthday Girl” shirt, and you’ll be wonderful. I’m hoping you’ll eat your turkey, as well as the green beans and mashed potatoes and stuffing, and I know you’ll love the pumpkin pie.

Piper Jane, today you are two. The past two and a half years of my life (including when you were “baking”) have been the happiest time of my life. Every day you do something wonderful, something funny, and yes, something a little bit bratty. You make your Daddy and I the happiest people, and you make us love each other more than we thought possible. Everyone who meets you falls in love with you instantly, you are that much of a gift to this world.

I know hard times will happen, I know the supposed “terrible twos” are soon to affect us, and I know we have yet to tackle potty-training, but as long as I have that smile looking my way every day, it will be okay.

I know the day will come someday when you can’t stand to be around me, and I know the day will come when you slam your bedroom door in my face. We’ll deal with that when the day comes, but until then, I’m going to enjoy our daily snuggle times when Daddy comes home, and I’m going to enjoy your newest habit of feeding me the literal crumbs off your food. I’m going to thank God above for giving us this light in our lives that is YOU.

While this is a Happy Birthday letter to you, it’s also a bit of a love letter, because I am hopelessly, head over heels in love with you, my sweet, smart and gorgeous daughter.

Thank you for giving us purpose, for giving us hope, and for giving us the happiest time of our lives.

Love you forever,

Mama (and Daddy and Woofie, of course)