A short wish list

In no particular order, my wish list, dear Santa: - For the faceless nameless banks who own our Boston real estate to approve our short sale. - For Millennials to use "literally" sparingly & appropriately. - For the cancerous cells attacking someone I deeply love to take a permanent vacation. - For Ryan on "Parenthood" to magically overcome his PTSD and marry Amber and let them have billions of babies with buzzcuts. - For more Bikram yoga, fresh guacamole, and AFAR Magazine in my life. - For inspiration to finish my manuscript. - For Michelle Obama and Terry Gross to become my best friends. - For a little dusting of snow. - For a sounder understanding of what I am doing here. - For a Fulbright to the South of France to research its beaches and pastry. - For photos of bikini betties standing in a conga line sucking in their stomachs to be banned from Facebook. - For my children to keep greeting me like Rosie O'Donnell greeted Tom Cruise on her show in 1996. - For Fifty Shades of Gray to disappear. - For my husband to keep loving me something fierce in spite of the frequent loss of my keys and glasses. - For my keys and glasses to not so frequently disappear. - For the Mac spinning wheel of death to only happen to pretty people. Just kidding. Haha, but imagine! - For the whole thing with Syria and Israel and Palestine and other sovereign nations along the Mediterranean to really just work it out for once and for all. - For students to cease beginning questions with, "So did you want us to...?" - For more love in my heart and less cavities in my teeth.

What about you?

*** Baby Girl's sabbath school class has been playacting out the Nativity story. She was underwhelmed by the role of Wise Man toting myrrh.

The role of Mary was truly impressive, however.

They were so cute in antlers, trust.

Just like that.

Average height, average girth, nothing extraordinary that would make it stand out amongst the other deciduous trees that line our yard. Early in the fall, I noticed that this one particular tree was the first to turn color. It was the first to signal the changing of the seasons. It was practically the next day when I was parking the motorino in the driveway and looked to see the tree was singing with color.

It was changed. And then it was changed again, just like that.

I am walking through some changes just like this. Flash! Blink! Change. I don't generally mind change that I have willed. But the changes that our children will, even if we're on board with them, have surprised me with how staggering and irreversible they can be.

Take potty training. Let's go there. Little Man just willed potty training, like so many bazillions of children have, and that was that. He enrolled, he learned, he graduated. Bam.

And here I am, just sort of waiting to pick him up from Safety Town and he's all, Mom! I'm over here! See me walking across the stage and grabbing my college diploma! I'm done!

He's changed. He's on the other side. And I'm standing in the empty space in his room where the changing pad and the diapers and and all the other accoutrements that signal BABY ON BOARD used to be. How?

How did I bemoan all these bottles and unctions and wish for an advance to the next phase? Of course. Because I was "done" with it all. Like someone who had big plans for the space that would formerly be known as the diaper changing area.

The leaves have fallen. The diapers are gone. A new season is here, advancing advancing, not returning, only standing tall in the midst of the discard pile. I rejoice and then I mourn. I try to remember how bright those leaves were. I trace through the pictures of those babies, their cheeks like nectarines, whose diaper changes once ruled my days.

I will likely never change their diapers again.

They will never stop changing me.

Movember

I cannot emphasize the sheer volume of fecal matter spewing out of life's hydrant at our little family right now. It would almost be comical if it were not so depressing. What non-specific thing I can tell you is this: it is going to be okay. All of it. In the meantime, our punks dressed up for the American tradition of sugar canvassing. They both really got it this year. Walk to the next house! Scary music, ahhh, too scary, let's go to the next house! Oh goodness, more candy! More smiling people! Let's walk, no, let's run! More doorbells to ding! More candy to gather...TRICK OR TREATING is the BEST IDEA EVER!

Pregaming

Fairy

Pooh

Gang