To T and G, whose life just went from black and white to technicolor

You think you're happy. And you are. You go on trips, you decide for no particular reason to eat out in Chinatown on a Wednesday night at 8:00, you sleep in and take naps on the weekend, you get a drink with co-workers at the corner pub and end up staying there until 9:00. You do all those things that d.i.n.k.s do, and you do them well, and with enthusiasm. And you can't imagine it any other way. You are happy. You think you're happy, and you are, you really are.

I was Annabelle's age when I first saw the Wizard of Oz. I remember how beautifully Dorothy sang over the rainbow. I thought she was so pretty, I loved the song, I wanted to sing like her and braid my hair like hers. But it was in black and white, and I had this sneaking suspicion that something was off--there had to be more, right? I remember looking at my mom and saying, "is the whole movie like this?"

I remember her response, "Just wait. It gets better."

The first time we were really a family, really a family, as opposed to two single people, playing house, was in the hospital room. Hyphen was congratulating me. "You did it, you did it, I can't believe you did it!" We were still two single people when he said that. In essence we were living the same life as two college kids going for dates in an un-air conditioned ford tempo, and then I said the words that turned us into a real, live, family.

"Can you check on the baby?"

And that was it. It was magic. It was Oz. We were not in Kansas any more.

And now fast forward six plus years, it is almost ten o clock at night on the eve before New Year's Eve, and the four of us are feeding our puzzle addiction with a thousand piece Charles Wysocki, listening contentedly to country classics and the quiet buzz of our good-for-nothing-dog snoring on the new bed that Santa brought her.

It's technicolor, man.

And now, my dear friends of 22 years, friends who rode in that ford tempo with us, are getting to walk down that yellow brick road for the very first time.

It just got better. It just got so much better.

The nutcracker

I took the girls to see the nutcracker today.

Simply put: it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Other than things in nature and the birth of my children, of course.

How could such a simple story inspire such beautiful music? How can anyone come up with such a melody, especially when the nutcracker prince is dancing with the sugar plum fairy--it is just beauty to hear. And then the dancing--that some one today can think of steps to go with music that was written 150 years ago, and to let it be that everything on the stage is so lovely. You have to see it from up high to get the full effect of it all. How the skirts billow out, the pattern the dancers make with their bodies, the colors, the costumes. The athleticism. The legs of the dancers. How can they leap without making a sound? They spin and spin and spin, the audience was clapping during their performances, especially when the men were dancing because it was so amazing.

I was 40 years old when I saw it, but my daughters were 4 and 6. I am not sure if they can possibly understand how pretty it was. To them, perhaps this is just how it is. Nutcracker. Done. Maybe it is better to be 40 to see such beauty for the first time. To wonder, what else is out there? What beauty awaits?

Perhaps it is not sophisticated. People probably regard Tchaikovsky as smaltzy or corny. To those people, I say -- I am sorry. I am sorry that you are so cynical that in your quest to be unique or cool or avant garde you fail to appreciate something that is truly beautiful.

I am sorry that hyphen thinks he hates ballet, and did not go. He missed Annabelle's running commentary:

"Where is Clara, why is fritz so annoying, I hope Tallulah isn't scared of the mice. Is the mouse king dead? Do the boys only wear tights? That isn't very modest. I think those soldiers came out of a hole in the state that Clara's bed was covering. There is a rope that moves the sled, I saw it. Do you see those white spots on the stage? That is so they know where to stand. It is neat how the curtain is kind of clear...." and so on.

I thought Tallulah was asleep. She yawned real big right when they turned out the lights. But when I glanced over at her she was staring intently with a somber look on her face. Concentrating. She wasn't on the edge of her seat, because she wasn't heavy enough to keep it down, so she was kind of folded in half, staring quietly, and she remained that way for the entire performance.

I understood each of their reactions. One was stimulated, one was awestruck.

I was both.

What we were excited about today.

Yesterday Annabelle came home with "a book that Mrs. Fisher read to us last year, and momma, I fell in LOVE with it. I love it. I seriously do, and I was lucky to find it."

It's about latkes. These are Jewish potato pancakes.

Today, she woke up and proclaimed " guess what today is!!??"

I thought and said "9 days until Christmas?

"No, momma. It's the first day of Hanukkah!"

Have I mentioned that I love this kid?

Her enthusiasm continued and when we got to ballet and her friend was telling everyone that she got to open a present tonight, Annabelle didn't even need to ask why. She said " I know, because it's Hanukkah! It's the first day. I am so excited."

Even at dinner she was singing the dreidel song. I have no idea how she learned this, or knows anything about Hanukkah, other than a little presentation one of her Jewish classmates did at Christmas around the world last year, but she does.

We just looked at each other and smiled. We smiled the smile we smile at each other when we can't say what we want, which is please, please, don't ever grow up. Please stay six forever. It's a sad smile--- well, not really. Not sad. Just bittersweet.

Master of the house

H has these really annoying sleeping habits that have been on my nerves since we were first married. He likes to fall asleep watching television, then after he's had his initial slumber, he likes to get up and come to bed for real. Usually this is at 1. Sometimes, sooner. Sometimes, later.

Tonight, we were all watching our only show, the voice, which you shouldn't let your kids watch, but most of it goes over their heads, so no big d. The dog was with us, as is her way. I guess she got tired of Tallulah laying on her, so she went to our room, where her bed is. This sent Tallulah into a full on sobbing jag, so we ordered the dog out. She obliged, but with a kind of teenager-ish look," like seriously? I was in bed." Tallulah set about trying to make her comfortable, coaxing her with blankets, and stroking her ears, but because our dog is winning combination of ungrateful and stupid, she doesn't realize that Tallulah's love is keeping her on this planet, so she eventually got up and went back to her bed. Which may be why on Tallulah's revised Christmas list there is " a dog, of my own, who I can train, by myself." (Thankfully the revised edition came out after the note went to Santa.)

The kids went to bed, and after I came out of their room, I see the dog, back out in the living room next to hyphen, both of them watching tv. Well, one of them. The other was scratching his balls.

I go upstairs. I am trying to clean out the playroom in preparation for next week's toy onslaught.

I come back downstairs and as I do h heads to bed. Darned if the the darn dog didn't follow him.

I start to think about her movements. She is always up and down all night. Moving from one room to the next. I think about how annoying her sleep habits have always been, how they have been on my nerves since we first got her...

Am I the stupid one? How could I not have realized? She is following him? She is loyal to him? Not to the one who feeds her (me) and not to the one who loves her (t).

Loyalty to the man who holds her in no regard. That is one dumb---, well, you know.

Talluliloo

I want to remember this as the christmas where she was just starting to not be scared of Santa. "He's nice wight? It's ok if he comes in my house. Wight?" I want to remember that she asked for a" stuffed animal chicken that can walk on a leash," and a"control remote helicopter." I want to remember her paper Christmas tree, the one she made in school, that was so meticulously decorated. I want her to remember that when I saw it, I said, "you are just like your papa." And that I said it with love and a smile. I want to remember that when Annabelle was sick, she brought her Teddy, even though he had throw up on him, and because she is like her dad and doesn't want to touch gross stuff-- this was hard for her, but because she is 100 percent selfless when it comes to the person she loves most in the world, and will touch vomit for her, it was easy at the same time. I want to remember how at the first grade birthday party today, she jumped into the ruckus, to tear our beloved class hooligan off of the little kid he was pummeling. I want to hear how she says yellow. Led-ow. I never want her to say it right. No one ever fix this, ever. And these are just the things that have happened in the last couple of days.

How can I chronicle all of this? How can I record every moment and enjoy them, at the same time? Someone tell me. In the next few days, I am in charge of, attending, or heavily involved in a class party, two gift exchanges, two birthday parties, a CCE party, a Christmas pageant dress rehearsal,the actual pageant itself, shopping, addressing cards, mailing presents, all while nursing her sister through a night of vomiting-- all of these things that can make your life a drudgery at this time of year, and I may not have the time or inclination to play "pail nolish" with her.

Because when I am 80 years old, I want to remember how she got mad at Audrey for teasing her and said "when you are asleep, I am going to get my dog to come upstairs and diarrhea in your mouth."

I will want to remember 4 year old Tallulah, and all of her contrasts, and I am scared I will sleepwalk through it.