Christmas in July

I remember the days leading up to my brother's birth. I was nine years old and so excited to welcome a baby into our home. I remember feeling him kick the palms of our hands laid upon our mother's swollen belly. We spoke to him, urging him, "Come out soon. We can't wait to meet you." We knew that he had arrived in the middle of the night when we tiptoed downstairs to find my Nana asleep on the living room couch. To make sure we weren't mistaken, my sister and I went into our parents' room to find my father asleep, alone. "Is he here? Is he here?" We shook him awake. "Let's call your mother and find out," he said. Mom was at the hospital and she confirmed that, yes, our baby brother had arrived. We were a family of five.

My parents waited until we had the chance to meet our baby brother at the hospital to finalize his name. They were stuck between Jordan and Christopher. They asked us which name we thought suited him better. Christopher. He was, he is a Christopher. We were in love with him from the moment we first laid our big sister eyes on him. He completed us- our sibling unit. As he grew, we would find boundless amusements in his antics, in his play. Like a little mommy, I was so proud of his every accomplishment- so proud to introduce him as "my brother." Above all of the bits and pieces, the numerous adventures and experiences that have built his person- I am most proud of his talent to connect with people, to engage people/ strangers in conversation- to make all feel welcome.

I will never forget the day that my mother brought Christopher, then 12 years old (Henry's age) to visit me in my new apartment. I was pregnant with First Born Son, soon to be married to The Mr. and we hadn't yet told Christopher that I was pregnant. He was still so young, I was young- I worried about how he would feel about me. He was seated next to me on my couch, " I have something to tell you. I am going to have a baby." His face lit up, "I'm going to be an uncle?! Yay!" It was this singular expression that brought me the greatest sense of peace and comfort for the journey I was embarking on.  And, he has continued to be supportive, gladly accepting, supremely thoughtful of each nephew and niece that has entered his life.

In December, he announced that he was going to be a father. At the time, his relationship with his baby's mother (whom we all respect and love dearly) was uncertain- his life was far from "settled." We worried how a baby would impact their lives. I worried as a mother worries- experienced in situations that are challenging to the spirit, wanting for her young not to repeat the same struggles that she had endured. But, at the same time, with an open heart, open arms, we were all ready to embrace them, support them, catch them if they stumbled, and rejoice with them.

On Saturday, July 9th, my family members paced the floors of our respective homes. My nephew was coming into the world. We sent strings of text messages between our houses- buzzing with anticipation. It is so difficult to be separated from my sister who lives in Las Vegas with her family. I longed for her to be here- to hold my hand, to dance with me with nervous energy, to celebrate. My mother held off on going to the hospital as long as she could for fear of intruding. But the labor was so long. And "any minute now" became a marathon of hours. It was troublesome for my mother- she had been in the room for the birth of First Born Son, she knew how to support her daughters through the hardship of labor. But, this was her baby boy. My mother could hear in his voice that he just wanted his mother near, if not in the labor room- certainly in the same building. She sent updates- which I relayed to my sister. And we both ached to be there. The Aunties sending love, hope, wishes of peace and comfort from both coasts of the United States. And then finally, a text from my mother, two words, "He's here!" followed by a text from my brother, one word " Rowan!" and the most beautiful picture of a smushy- faced newborn boy, a little Christopher. My nephew.

My mother holding Rowan, her 7th grandchild, upon our first introductions to him.

Having gone through the recovery process four times before, I knew that those first days are precious. You are exhausted, you are bonding, you are learning how to nurse. A steady stream of visitors disrupts the quiet that is so essential to connect. I wanted to be conscientious of their abbreviated time in the hospital. But, an invitation to meet my new nephew was extended and I could not resist. To feel the weight of this boy in my arms, to inhale his new baby smell, to take in all of the familiar features of his face (he looks, of course, like his parents, but I see all of us in him) is to feel pure joy. Rowan Audio (the middle name an homage to my brother's love of sound, of music) melts my heart. To see my brother, a new father with his baby fills me with a warmth I never could have imagined. It has been like Christmas in July. Just as Christopher made us feel complete as a family unit- Rowan is that missing piece which finishes our circle.

Blinded by the Light



 A few days before Christmas, The Today Show aired a filler parenting segment titled, A Parent's Guide to the Holidays from their ongoing series Parenting Tips for Those Who Have Been Parenting Under A Rock or Parenting for Those Who Cannot Think for Themselves. Matt Lauer interviewed a panel of experts consisting of a magazine editor from a popular family magazine, a lifestyle expert, and some fat guy (I am not being insulting here, this is how he introduced himself) who wrote a book with a self- deprecating title. The theme was At What Age is it Acceptable to _____________? At what age is it acceptable to let your teenager get drunk with you on New Year's Eve? At what age is it acceptable to pull the rug out from under your unsuspecting child's feet and let them know the truth about that jolly visitor from the North Pole? And, here is my favorite, at what age is it acceptable to stop taking family pictures? The answer was a resounding: when it ceases to be enjoyable. Hmmm, are we there yet? Thank goodness for the wisdom that The Today Show bestows upon me because I honestly thought, as you may remember from my previous posts on the subject, that family photos were an acceptable form of child abuse and torture.

In our family, we extend the tribulation to visiting relatives. See Exhibit A below. This is a sketch of my  sister, her husband and my two lovely nephews who were visiting from Las Vegas. They had only been in Buffalo for 24 hours and the boys were still on Vegas (Begas, as my 2 year old nephew, G calls it) time. My sister had not gotten any sleep the night before from trying to settle the boys. They were out of sorts from having missed their naps. Yet, it was imperative to my family to catch a shining Christmas Eve moment with all four of them. Look at how the little one, my nephew Lu, is fighting and giving up at the same time as he tries to contort his body and become dead weight in his mother's arms. Most of the 200 photos captured G, in his Michael Cera haircut, with his head down, clawing his way out of his father's grip.

I wanted a portrait of  H, my Dad, and me. "Ooh, ooh! Let me!" offered First Born Son enthusiastically. Like a kitten sidetracked by a ball of tinsel, First Born Son was mesmerized by the camera flash. Or, he was spellbound by a novel way to annoy me. He started giggling sadistically at the outcome of his picture taking, a series of images with our heads cut off, our mouths distorted as we pleaded, "Stop! Stop! I'm going blind!" Our eyes uneven and squinty. I tried to push through the blinding light which singed all of my senses; and, I pawed helplessly, hopelessly at him trying to recover my camera. But, he contined to dance around just outside of my grasp. I was so disoriented, but I thought I heard him singing, "That's what you get! That's what you get! For all of those years, doing us wrong with your camera lens!"


These are the kinds of photos you get when you hand your camera to a teenager who is out for revenge.


On the final day of my sister's visit, we gathered the kids together. There are six grandkids. If I thought that trying to get a photo of four kids was difficult, six kids is impossible. The Baby was one hour past done. G was too rambunctious from eating a dinner of cookies, with more cookies, and some fudge. H was antagonizing First Born Son by showing him affection. And Princess Commando shouted out through the clicking and snapping of 4 cameras with flashes on, "Ugh! The paparazzi!!"

If six kids is impossible, then eleven people and Simba is just plain silly. But, we did it anyway.

And, because, we like to learn things on our own time and the definition of "enjoyable" is subjective, we'll probably do it again next year.