The Morning Mom Told The Truth

See, the thing is, the moment was perfect. I was poised and ready, perfectly positioned to blow Santa’s cover.

“Mommy, can you tell me why the box in your room said ‘To Tucker, from Santa,’ when it wasn’t even Christmas morning yet and Santa hadn’t been here yet?”

And here it is. My moment in time to kick the red punk in the shins and take the glory for myself. I gathered my cherubs around me for a moment we would all remember, the morning Mom Told The Truth.

I said, “Let’s talk about things that aren’t real. Like… Big Bird. Is he real?”

They laugh knowingly. “No, of course Big Bird isn’t real. And neither is Elmo.”

But we’ve never actually talked about how Elmo and Big Bird function and exist if they are not in fact real. And suddenly we were teetering a little too close to my own moral code of magic undefined.

I didn’t know where to take the conversation. Next in line would be Mickey and Minnie, and they are woven into our family fabric. Disney princesses… no, no. Cinderella is my own personal fantasy. And for that matter, so is Princess Anna. The tooth fairy? She may be forgetful, but she gives courage for all that wiggling and loosening and bleeding.

“But it’s fun for children to believe in them, Mommy.  If you ask, like, a two-year-old or a four-year-old, she would say, ‘Oh yes!  Elmo is real!'”

In that moment, I knew that if I showed them the wizard behind the curtain, I would alter their view of the entire world. They would question it all, all the fun of pretending and the joy of not knowing for sure.

Once you know, you know. You can’t give back the knowing.

So, I said, “Well, that tag was on that gift because… well, I was just helping Santa out.”

“That was nice of you, Mommy.”

“Yes. Well, you know. It’s what moms do.”

I bailed.  Santa lives to see another year.

Is This Child For Real?

I heard some movement in my bedroom last night. I stirred and sat up to find Tyler kneeling next to my bed, his head rested on his folded hands.

“It’s okay, Mommy. I’m just praying for you.”

“You are?”

“Yes. I am asking God to give you good rest and a good night and so many good dreams.”

i am a womn with obstucted use of her hnds

tricia, why are you typing like a womn with obstucted use of her hands?

red onn.  i have humbly decided nit to chafe any of my mistakes,

we were sledding. itwas great.
because i try desperately toob ea fun mom.
andwe were having fun.
the scenery aline was incredible,

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tyler, canm i rde wth you?

sure mommy bt thujs wont end well.

i chise to ridenwith tuck, who had far more confidence in me.
we sailed dow the hull, and would yu believe,
we were headed straigt for the only man-made obstacle on the mountain.
an 8inchn ramp.

I kew, midair, if i lad on my back or may tailbone, the comforot of lifeas i know it will change.
so we hit the ramo and i sifted my weight to land wnywhere bt on the central core of my bodyl.
remember, i was sharng a sledm with tuck.

i dont really know what happened im the enxt few moments.
there was an explosing in my hand
and a scraping of my fac e over ice,
some oart of e landed on tucker,
bashng his head into the ice,
ice. not anow.
nothung powdery abiut it.

and this ended the fun.
off tothe hospital.
does tucj have a concussion.’
is tricias ha d brken,
and whats with all thus blood on her face?

xrays. poking. prodding.
hardcore pan meds that sent me into a fit of giggles that has been documented for pisterity,

it’s not broken.
honestly, i was slightlyh disappoited.
its likem when i went tothe hospital because contractions were four minutes aart and intense, and she said “no, honey. this isnt the real thing.”

the n what is the purpose of all thispain>?

its swverely spraied. and i a to see my doctor in the net fie days if the pain contiues, since there are some small bones i hte hand that can;t shiw that they are fractured until sweeling goes down andpeoiple tink they’re ready tp get back to ther lives.

this. is miservable. its enought to make a gir question the value of having fun in the fist place.

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Hot Cocoa made of Chocolate Bars

In the evening, Vail Village is like Disneyworld after-hours. White lights, cobblestone streets, smoking chimneys, and heaps of charm.

We were on a shuttle to Vail Village, and it was standing-room only. Kids on laps, four people squished into a row for three, and yet nobody was unhappy or crowded. After all, we were all on our way to Vail Village. (See above.)

My dad held Tyler on his lap, and he said, “Tyler, let’s pretend we’re on the Polar Express.”

Tyler said, “We can pretend they dancing waiters are serving hot chocolate.”

And just like that, one of the men did a faux tap dance down the aisle, spinning and twirling, pretending to balance a tray above his shoulder. Children began to cheer, and grownups cried, “Wait! My ticket! I’ve lost my ticket!”

I love fun people.

The Thing About Meringue

“Two- to three-day-old eggs make the best meringue. No yolk at all, and use a very clean bowl,” says the guest chef on the news this morning, who is teaching us how to make nontraditional pies.

All five of us are piled into this hotel room, in a most charming, thankful way. And we’re all watching “The Best Thanksgiving Ever” special that precludes the Parade, which is the magic we’re all waiting for.

“Use a clean bowl. Very clean bowl. She really emphasized that,” I said.

“I’ve always heard that,” says Mom. “I’ve always heard, ‘use a very clean bowl to make meringue.’ And when I’ve started to make meringue, I’ve thought, Is this bowl really clean enough? I mean, how clean are we talking? And when do I not use a reasonably clean bowl to prepare meals? ‘Gee, Polly. I see you made mashed potatoes. It’d be better if you’d started with a clean bowl, though.'”

(She makes me laugh.)