Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday, and Do I Have Your Home Address?

Yesterday, I took a break from the latest editing gig to update a spreadsheet with addresses from three years of Christmas cards. This might actually mean that my family and friends will receive some kind of holiday note from us next December. I feel organized and restored by having completed a chore that has haunted me for so long. I have sent Christmas cards since I was 12 years old—writing the first ones to kids I met at summer camp. The last two years have been chaotic and I have sent none. Ceasing the creation and mailing of cards has felt like some kind of counter to the holiday spirit. Having lived in six states, I have friends everywhere. I loathe not being able to keep up with each one intimately; the cards, therefore, are especially important.

Each year, I used to mark on the bottom of a card to my former painting professor the words “I still paint” to let him know that he was wrong about at least one of us those years ago. Almost 17 years later (has it been that long?), yes, I still paint—not as actively as I would like, but there are still commissions and sales and the occasional lending of work for some purpose somewhere. Am I Ford Smith or George Rodrigue with financial success and notoriety? No, not yet, and maybe someday or not at all, but the point is to remind my dear teacher that his lessons were not lost on me.

The year I left my first husband, the Christmas card was a simple photo of my children. Without newsletter or further explanation, it read the following: my name restored to its original as printed on my birth certificate, my children’s first and last names, and the complete absence of their father’s name. It said everything by saying nothing, and the responses were tremendous—notes ranging from sorrow and empathy to those that read, “We saw this coming. There are things we knew that we never told you…” A friend from out of state sent a note about his own troubled marriage and an embarrassingly large check to help with Christmas that year. (He and his darling wife are still together, thankfully.)

The past two Christmases, I wanted desperately to send a letter to the world about my new family—my husband, his lovely girls, my two little ones—and I even wrote one, but I could not make myself produce copies and mail them, and we were in the middle of a stressful and distracting custody suit anyhow. I kept asking myself questions about how hard it would be to get addresses of friends from my husband, about whether or not my former in-laws would appreciate a card, and if sending some kind of printed holiday report made me impersonal. (My mother used to hate holiday newsletters and took the time to carefully pen signatures and personal notes by hand on close to 100 cards.) The first married Christmas, I felt that including pictures of my step-daughters would be to take a liberty with them that they were not ready for me to employ—their image, their snippets of life as though I had some kind of claim on them. Plus, were the cards to go to former in-laws, would they take the sight of new family as some kind of slap in the face? 

Things are different now, but last Christmas, I was overwhelmed by the craziness of having an early celebration here with all four children, travelling across three states for another Christmas with my birth family, dropping off my two children for them to have a Christmas event with their father and his step-children, and trying to complete a massive graduate school application plus keeping up with the contract work I do. I just gave up.

This year, I now can print labels off my Excel spreadsheet (the original file was lost to a hard drive crash). I have reconnected with a handful of former in-laws, whom I missed dearly once I was able to let go of so much bitterness. I think that, the world of Café Catiche aside, there is a gift in the electronic publication of a more personal note about my family’s accomplishments and events. But most of all, what I want to say is this:

Yes, we think about you. We send you this note because you represent various chapters in our life and we are grateful for you. We can’t afford to send Christmas gifts to everyone, but we can tell you how we are doing, send a picture for your fridge of the lovely clan we have evolved into, and most of all let you know we love you and your memories stay with us. We wish you love and happiness; success with work, school, and/or childrearing; peace in your family; and for you to be the great spiritual connection that helps keep others grounded in unfortunate times.

It’s February—nearly March, really. I suppose with the remaining months in the year, I can manage this, but I am already a month and a half behind on birthday greetings. And yes, I have been working fastidiously to rectify this matter. My sister was the only one to receive her Valentine’s note (a gift of pedi socks, actually) on time. My youngest step-daughter will receive her Valentine on Monday. And so it goes, and so it goes…

A Letter to My Children's Step-Sister

As you know, with the little people gone, I write fun letters to them. Concerned that the youngest step-daughter of my ex-husband might feel left out, I write her as well. She has two older sisters of her own, both of whom are in their teenaged-young adult years. The letter below speaks for itself. I will be putting it in the mail today.

Dear ______,


Yes, it has been a while since you have received a letter. Chicken Little and Tiny Man will have to tell you why—it has to do with the family dog. But I have had some other distracting obligations in which you could most directly relate: there is a teenager in this house.

Teenaged girls are funny. They put on fancy clothes and shimmery make-up before going just to the grocery. They spend a lot of time playing with their hair. They sleep all hours of the day and are up at least half the night. They giggle. They text message. They eat odd combinations of food during the worst hours of the night. But most of all, teenagers seem absolutely consumed by the worst thing of all: boys.

So this summer has been the summer of coaching young ladies through break-ups with very foolish young men, protecting young ladies from the unwanted advances of other foolish young men, and helping them remain chic and savvy as they sustain another relationship with another young man (who may or may not be a fool at the present). This, my dear, will happen to you.

One minute you may find yourself happily slapping together mud pies in the yard or constructing new Barbie doll outfits out of old socks and bits of ribbon, and the next thing you know, the boy next door who used to break the heads off your Barbies suddenly turns cute—overnight. The dolls are packed away, the mud pies disintegrate into the yard, and you find yourself writing love notes in hot pink pen. You will write notes such as this one:

Do you like me? Check one.


__Yes


__No


__Well, I thought you looked pretty cute on Tuesday, but then I saw you Wednesday talking with Gracie and then all of sudden I was not so sure. You gave me the look of death. Did you mean that?

Yes, child. You will dot your i’s with hearts and sign your name as swirly as possible. You may even, given the chance, sneak a text message in spelling your parents will find absolutely atrocious, but that your peers determine is trendy code. You will change outfits multiple times during the day. You may, as well, completely underestimate your own natural beauty and talents, and find yourself feeling awkward and out of place among others. I assure you, child, that much of this awkwardness passes. So whatever crazy behavior you may see your big sisters exhibiting is only temporary insanity. In the meantime, any tips we can exchange on this rather delicate matter would be much appreciated.

A Letter to My Children

Since my little people are with their father for the bulk of summer, I wrote a letter to keep them informed as to the ongoings of our neighborhood.

My Lovely Children,


I certainly miss you. The most delightful things have been happening since your departure and I thought you should know. Just yesterday, I saw a rabbit as I tidied the side yard. He had hidden so well at first that I was startled when he sprang out, tap danced a bit, and then bound away. I later heard from one of the associate rabbits of the Malvern Rabbit Association that much dancing has been taking place. Apparently, your own pet rabbit has been giving soft-shoe lessons. There seem to be preparations for some kind of party at the end of summer. Perhaps, we may be invited. I will let you know. What does one wear to a rabbit festival?

The bees have been active as well. This week, your step-sister and I visited the produce stand out in the country. Really, the site of overflowing baskets of zinnias and delphinium had stopped us. I pulled over into the lot to admire them and found that the bees had beaten us to the spot! They were plundering the blossoms for pollen and nectar. Some of the larger bees instantly recognized me as your mother and sent greetings, but they were too busy to stop for a long chat, so we moved into the shade to admire the fruits and vegetables.

I should tell you what we purchased there—glistening berries, plump tomatoes, Amish butter, and eggplant as rich and purple as exotic jewels. The air hung heavy with the perfume of turned earth and ripe produce. We would have stayed all day if it weren’t for the dog, who had taken a ride with us and was howling in the truck. So, we collected our things and returned home for a country lunch made in our light-filled kitchen. We had fried green tomatoes, thick slices of French bread, and North Carolina livermush. While we ate, we talked about the pie we would make later.

And we did make that pie—with blackberries and apples! I threw out the scraps of leftover apple peelings and cores for the critters in the backyard. That night, I saw the most amazing thing. Several chipmunks had gathered and were fighting over the peels. As they pointed, exclaimed, and poked one another in the eye, a devious squirrel slipped surreptitiously over the fence, gathered all sweet and delectable fruit remains, and then absconded without notice. When the chipmunks finally had called a truce and sorted matters amongst themselves, they turned to find their stash completely vanished. They were speechless. Your rabbit could not stop laughing. You know, he is so naughty that I think he might have arranged the whole thing.

Anyway, little people, Mommy loves you and is thrilled that you are having such a good time. My true hope is that this summer leaves you rich in good memories that you will carry always. See you at the end of the month, and of course, I will not forget the stuffed llama (he does not talk much, but he is an excellent singer) and we will have an early celebration for Tiny Man’s birthday.



Much love,

Mommy

The Toothfairy Returns and Takes My Heart With Her

Minutes ago, I slipped a hand under my daughter's pillow to make sure that the toothfairy did her job. You might recall a previous blog (http://cafecatiche.blogspot.com/2010/05/preserving-magic-tooth-fairy.html) in which the toothfairy had not met certain requirements. This evening, my daughter wrote a note to her, which when I read, brought tears to my eyes. A marked closure of certain aspects of her childhood had suddenly found me. What I had not realized before was that my daughter might also see the loss of her last tooth in this light. Below is the precious exchange that took place this past evening, with all spelling and language preserved as found in the original letters:

Dear Miss Queensipia,

I lost my last tooth. I will be missing you and those bumble bees learned their lesson really well. Lucky says hello. Farewell. I'll miss always. I hope you serve my children if I have any.

With love,

(my daughter's name)

P.S. (Brother's name) can't wait to have a loose tooth and lose it then give it to you by putting under his pillow. I will always remember you.

The fairy, of course, is gifted in her ability to provide a quick response. Her letter stands here as closure to this wonderful period in a child's life:

July 6, 2010, 2:20 AM



My Fair (Daughter's name),


Sweeter words were never spoken. I think you are perhaps the only child I know who has taken the time to acknowledge the loss of the final baby tooth with such sincere and mellifluous candor. Thank you, dear child, for this farewell note. I fear that you may think your childhood ends with my receipt of this one tooth; it does not. I will be always present in magic and memory, and my tradition certainly will live with your brother and the children that you of course will have.


With greatest affection and respect for you, a true princess among children, yours most truly,


Queespisia June Petalis


Senior Level Tooth Fairy


Richmond Station 10-A


P.S. Please note that the treacherous situation with the bumblebees has since been remedied with a truce, and I was, in fact, escorted by them on this prized journey this evening.

Should every child be so blessed with such grace. Good night, Readers.
 
Catiche

Preserving the Magic: the Tooth Fairy

Tragically, the Tooth Fairy failed to perform her duty the other night. My daughter came to me tearfully the following morning to convey her vast disappointment. By the afternoon, the fairy herself had rectified the situation in a rather surprising manner and left for her client not just the requisite dollar, but a carefully written apology and a rather stunning gift: two bee sculptures dangling from the ceiling. The bees are spectacular, both fairly large (one the size of a football), brightly painted, and quite whimsical. My daughter’s face was priceless when she read the letter, which had been taped to her shut bedroom door, then entered her room to see the bees. This evening at dinner, my daughter announced that she simply could not hold a grudge against the fairy due to the events that delayed her the night before.


Below is a copy of the letter. We hope to follow this with photographs of the bees at some point.

My Dearest,


Please forgive me for failing to visit last night. I certainly understand if you do find my behavior most egregious. The most horrible thing happened on my way to your humble home in Malvern Gardens. I do hope you forgive me upon learning these frightful circumstances, as they stopped me from fulfilling duties as your beloved Tooth Fairy.


There were approximately ten children who fell asleep before you did last night, whose pillows concealed waiting teeth and lovely notes, and whose parents had indeed followed the appropriate instructions for summoning me. The skies had been thankfully clear thus far, and there were no atmospheric disturbances whatsoever. I was singing along, flitting down the grand avenue that leads to your flower-flanked cottage, when lo and behold! I came across a most nefarious family of savage bees. Bees, as you know, love sweet things and flowers, and are therefore a terrible threat to tooth fairies because of our naturally sugary scent and our lovely flower-blossom flying gowns. This is why we tend to work at night; bees sleep under the starry skies, as do children.


For some reason—the bees were out. There may have been some kind of Malvern Association Bee Keeping Meeting or maybe it was the Gala for the Historic Preservation of Bee Society, as there are such things. Two most ill-tempered bees refused to allow me to pass and gave me a terrible fright. They chased me down Monument Avenue toward that bizarre sculpture of Arthur Ashe (Is he raising his racket to swing at children? Or bees?) and I ran right into that racket. I sprained an armpit and damaged the lower set of wings that function as ailerons for flight. I could not make it home at all and was terribly distressed and discombobulated. Fortunately, one of the Malvern Rabbit Association chief officers found me floundering about, carried me home, and put me to bed.


This morning I awoke, sore and distraught. It seems as though in my troubled state, I had forgotten your precious, and likely, final lost tooth. The first thing after Natoonka Flower Tea, I found the naughty bees, summoned my most challenging magical powers, and banished the bees from Malvern Gardens forever. They have now been turned into charming floating sculpture that can hurt no one. Here they are for you as a symbol of my victory over malice and my unrelenting efforts to provide magic and mystery for children everywhere.


Most affectionately,






Queespisia June Petalis


Senior Level Tooth Fairy


Malvern Station 10-A