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Every December we collect greetings from friends and family as they accumulate in our mailbox while simultaneously sending out our own seasonal well wishes in the form of decorated cardstock.  This year we came across this idea of using a line from a Christmas song as inspiration and decided to adopt it for our 2013 card.

The impromptu, in-home photo shoot also captured Madison’s first experience with popcorn.  Six months shy of three years old and she’s never had a single piece of the fluffy, buttery goodness that is popped corn. Needless to say, she loved it.

We tried acting out another song with the line I played my drum for Him…but someone wasn’t in the mood to play for Him or for her mother or me or anyone else for that matter, so we moved on.


Ultimately, we knew the chosen picture would be black and white so we didn’t worry too much about the coloring of the props or Madison’s clothes.  With a plain black background and a dress that offered a simply interesting neckline, we hoped the focus would land on her face highlighting her expression instead of drawing the eye to other elements of the photograph.

We may make this a tradition going forward and pull inspiration from a Christmas song for our card every year.  If only we had discovered the idea two years ago, we could have implemented this effort with our first card from 2011:

Then again with the card from 2012:

Oh, well.  Merry Christmas!

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Our cards from 2011 and 2012 were ordered from Shutterfly while our card this year was from tinyprints. This was not a sponsored post although we're pleased with both companies and highly recommend their services.

2013 CHRISTMAS CARD

December 19, 2013

Shortly after Madison was born, in a state of delusion from hours of abbreviated rest, I found myself singing made up songs while rocking her in my arms. Random songs with improvised lyrics to familiar tunes quickly became normal within the walls of our dwelling, a catalog of original lullabies specifically catered to little Miss Madison. Among those gave light to the catchy one liner...

Maddy Patty loves her Daddy.

A line that immediately found a home in repetition once welcomed by a tiny, toothless infant smile.

Maddy Patty loves her Daddy.

It grated Allison's nerves which only seemed to encourage its use.

Maddy Patty loves her Daddy.

Suddenly we started referring to Madison as Maddy Patty in casual conversation before eventually dropping the Maddy altogether using only Patty to get her attention. It's all rather confusing, I'm aware.

Over the last two years many nicknames have found their way into our vocabulary as well as our home like throw pillows rotated and arranged until their placement fits for the time being. Among the various terms of endearment, Patty seems to resurface in times where Madison seems exceptionally talkative. These frequent bursts of chit chat always seem to have Allison and I doubled over in laughter so I figured why not document the random ramblings that cause us to smile until our faces hurt -- starting with toddler observations, comments and conversations from this month. (Click here for more.)


After Allison and I pulled out all the boxes of Christmas decorations from storage...
MADISON:  Whoa!  Look at all the stuff.  I can't beweeve (believe) it.

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ALLISON:  What are you going to name your elf?
MADISON:  Plum
ALLISON + ME:  Plum?
MADISON:  Yes.  Plum.  Plum Silly Elf.
ME:  I like it.
MADISON:  I like it, too.

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ME:  What do you want in your stocking this Christmas?
MADISON:  Cheese.

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ME:  Do you want a dump truck for Christmas?
MADISON:  Yeah.  A purple one.
ME:  A purple one?
MADISON:  Yeah.  With pink polka dots on it.
ME:  What about a yellow one?
MADISON:  No.  What about a purple one.

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Watching Mariah Carey sing at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree Lighting...
MADISON:  Wow.  Mawiah (Mariah).  She looks like a Christmas mermaid.  I yike (like) her.

CHATTY PATTY, VOL. 1

December 17, 2013






Saturday morning we traded the thought of sleeping in for tickets to Disney On Ice and watched the characters we often see on our screens live in person.  We caught it… the contagious smile plastered on Madison’s face at the sight of those mice in clothes by the name of Mickey and Minnie.  We sat on the edge of our seats as they guided us through various celebrations:  a most unusual birthday party with Alice and the Mad Hatter, a spooky Halloween dance with popular villains and a snow covered Christmas finale with fireworks and the toys from Toy Story

Among the medley of celebrations was a Valentine’s Ball including the princesses and their love interests, Madison’s favorite part of the show and (if I’m being completely honest) our favorite part, as well.  We watched as Aladdin and Jasmine transformed the ice into a whole new world of professional skating acrobatics we weren’t prepared to witness; Disney always seems to raise the bar in regards to entertainment, but our expectations were relatively low for ice skating tricks.  We were wrong and naïve and foolish to underestimate the magic of the franchise.  One after the other, each princess had a moment in the spotlight with her designated prince until Ariel (in a pink dress sans mermaid fin) and Prince Eric skated out as icing on the proverbial cake.

We caught Madison staring at her shoes a few times throughout the show and were convinced in her head she was exchanging them for ice skates as she requested to join Daisy and Belle and the others several times. Once home later that evening with a Christmas movie playing and a present wrapping station in progress, Allison and I watched Madison skate her toys around the coffee table before picking up Ariel in a barefoot triple axel.  At one point, she flew Tinkerbell around the living room with her wings fluttering in rhythm with our hearts.  It never gets old, this joy of parenting, somehow it keeps managing to renew itself day after day.

DISNEY ON ICE

December 16, 2013

It happened a year ago.  December 14th
The day someone ruined Christmas for a nation.  A day that started like the ones before until someone robbed a town of their children and their wishes and the opportunity of chasing dreams into fruition.  The day someone decided to steal the peace and joy this season is known for and walked into Sandy Hook Elementary School attempting to play God.


We send our children to school in hopes of increasing their quality of life, not to have it interrupted and collected like stamps of a hobbyist.  We must never forget the significance of this day as it woke us from a hibernation of parental sublime and forced us to look in the eyes of evil if only to say it exists, an alarm clock without an option to snooze that rings in our ears at deafening decibels. 
As a parent, I cannot imagine the crushing weight of pain that consumes one after the loss of a child.  As a parent, I cannot fathom the feeling of having your worst nightmare become reality.  I can’t wrap my head around the thought of transitioning from the role of protector to one that needs protecting… after all, that’s exactly what the parents of those 20 children need.  The families and friends of all 26 victims from the Sandy Hook community need protection and support and strength because time doesn’t always heal our wounds and although they may have learned to cope with the pain, it’s only because a part of them remains numb from the sudden amputation of a limb from their family tree.
I’m sure we can agree the love for our children will always outweigh the differences between us.  Someone once said it takes a village to raise a child and as much pride as it takes for a parent to admit this, sometimes it’s true.  If we allow it to, the love for our children is capable of uniting us all... and saving us in the end.

Evil may exist, but it doesn't have to win

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image source

REMEMBERING SANDY HOOK

December 14, 2013

Madison was six months old the first time we took her to sit on Santa’s lap for the obligatory childhood Christmas photo tradition.  At the time we didn’t realize, but looking back it’s abundantly clear, that her age worked in our favor as far as helping us get a decent picture.

Fast forward to the following year when we found the challenge of sitting her upon the knee of a random man donning a red velvet suit in the middle of the mall to be significantly more difficult.  In fact, it was almost impossible.  If you were forming an opinion from the outcome of the photo alone, you would think it was painful.

This year we attempted to prepare her well in advance in hopes of a better experience the third time around. We spent days leading up to what has become the annual meeting of Santa Claus reminding her she would get to tell him in person what she wanted for Christmas.  That he was friendly and nice and, well, jolly.  We planned to take her one night after work so when the day came we woke her that morning with the news that tonight was the night and Santa was waiting for her.  Once we got home from work that evening, Madison welcomed us with excitement and couldn’t wait to get dressed so she could finally see Santy Cause.  We mirrored her enthusiasm and made our way across town taking our place in line among  the glitter covered cardboard displays surrounding a large green chair kept warm by a bearded stranger.  Madison waved at Santa and made eye contact a few times even smiling at the other kids climbing onto his lap.  She would say it’s almost my turn every so often after we stepped forward.

Then, finally, it really was her turn.

Madison climbed me like a tree as I headed towards Santa.  I tried to let her walk, but she gripped the back of my shirt as if I were throwing her over a ledge.  I kneeled in front of Santa while he handed her a candy cane in hopes she would warm up to him since she saw I was right beside her, but she took the candy cane and gave him a high five while clenching the skin of my neck like a wild animal.  I moved her towards his right knee, she screamed.  I immediately pulled her away while trying to calm her in my best soothing father voice, but I could see in her eyes she wanted to punch me in the mouth.  So I moved over to sit on the stool designated as holding Santa’s candy cane stash, moved the box of individually wrapped bribes and sat down with Madison on my lap while quickly thinking of some sort of compromise to get this picture over with.

Allison came over and sat on Santa’s lap with the thought process that Madison would follow suit.  No such luck.  The elves behind the camera grew impatient.  The larger elf with all the toys put a puppet on his hand, waved it in the air and spoke in a really high pitched tone I can only assume is some sort of elf language.  It distracted me.  The flash of the camera distracted Allison.  Meanwhile, Madison held her candy cane pouting in a puddle of complete misery.  This is what we took home to frame…

Allison is cropped out (by her own demand) and I’m resting on a stool that I imagine could collapse at any moment.  Madison is clearly ready to go.  Maybe next year we’ll skip the meet-and-greet and wait for the presents.  I feel like we’ve all been traumatized.  Memories we’ll treasure for years to come.

HO HO HOLD ON A MINUTE

December 12, 2013

My wife and I decided not to exchange gifts this year.  We’re both framed in the mind of giving to Madison during this season of our lives.  There’s a fine line between the roles of young parents and young couples, a line we’re constantly tottering like a see saw in the playground of our days, but that’s not to say we’ve agreed to neglect each other this Christmas.  In a way, we’re each getting one gift a piece (we just happened to pick them out ourselves and failed to wrap them or place them under the tree).

Allison came across a deal (too good to pass up) on a bag she wanted so she purchased it.  I decided to get a trash can. Yep.  One I’ve had my eye on for a while.  Merry Christmas to me!  It has a small footprint and a pedal and a self initiated, quiet-closing lid and provides the option of hiding the trash bag so it isn't an eyesore.  It’s sleek.  It’s everything our current failure of a foot-pedaled trash can wants to be when it grows up.

A gift fit for an adult.  A gift that reminds me of Christmas 2010…

…Allison and I had just purchased our first home.  She was a few months pregnant with Madison and I was exhausted from moving our belongings into our new house on Christmas Eve.  We didn’t have a tree.  We didn’t have stockings hanging from the mantel.  We didn’t have any decorations indicating this was the most wonderful time of year.  All we had were each other and boxes as side tables and our entire lives ahead of us.

The next morning was Christmas and we woke to find everything exactly as we left it when we permitted sleep to take us hostage the night before.  Boxes on top of boxes beside boxes underneath boxes that Allison started digging through.  One cardboard container was emptied  with its contents on the floor behind her while she tore open another then another until she surrounded herself with the material survivors of our previous dwelling.

“What are you doing?”  I asked.

She looked at me like a disappointed child who finished opening all of her gifts yet didn’t receive the one toy she wanted the most.  “I can’t find my phone,” she said reluctantly.

We spent the next few hours looking through and over everything we owned.  Glasses and vases and books and picture frames and… stuff.  I asked about the last time she remembered having it, my mother’s question albeit in my voice, and we retraced our steps.  The memory surfaced of packing things at our apartment; the recollection of picking up the object of our search to call her best friend with a pregnancy question.  Did I just feel the baby kick?  Was that gas?  I want a doughnut. You know, pressing inquiries amidst bubble wrap and boxes begging to be fed and piles of trash and roles of tape.

Then suddenly, the truth revealed itself.   I saw the look in her eyes, the look she gets when she finds the word she’s hinted around for five sentences until it comes to her.  The look she gets when she remembers the movie an actor starred in while we spent an entire episode of some show trying to guess.  The look when she knows something.

“I think I accidentally threw it away while we were packing,” she confessed with quiet assurance.

I spent the next 30 minutes in the dumpster of our old apartment building tearing open bags of Christmas trash while my pregnant wife cheered me on.  The ripped remains of wrapping paper stuck to my leg by a sticky substance I knew better than to question.  I moved bags I opened to one side and bags I knew weren’t ours to another while slowly preparing Allison for the news this search may come up empty.  She encouraged me to continue and I did.  Several minutes later she started crying because she realized her pictures and videos weren’t backed up, I remember attributing the tears to a hormonal side effect of pregnancy.  If anyone should be crying in this situation, it should be the guy knee deep in the leftover evidence from everyone else’s Christmas morning.

Finally, I pulled sections of paper from a bag without candy canes or Santa faces on it and recognized the contents from our own personal discard pile.  I felt around for something solid in a world of tree fate before my hand landed on an item small and substantial.  I wrapped my fingers around it and shook off everything blocking the view from my elbow down until I saw the phone in my palm.

I handed Allison her cellular device, the morning’s most sought after gift, as if it were the precious baby Jesus Himself.  I saw the smile cover her face like a winter blanket and heard her whisper thank you then I climbed out of the dumpster.  We drove home in silence as if there were an unspoken agreement not to discuss the last filthy hour of our lives.  I took a shower while she shuffled through the mountains of chaos that was now home sweet home for the phone charger.

That was the Christmas I went dumpster diving and this will be the Christmas I get a trash can.

The circle of life, I suppose.  Hakuna matata.

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LOST & FOUND (A CHRISTMAS STORY)

December 10, 2013

It rained off and on all weekend.  Two days worth of cold tears I imagine the heavens cry when they want the world to temporarily retreat inside their glowing shells of Christmas lit homes.  The kind of freezing water the sky navigates to our land encouraging us all to light our fireplaces and settle in settling down with our loved ones.

We followed Mother Nature’s directions and abandoned all errands this weekend in effort to run them another day.  We held an impromptu photo shoot for this year’s Christmas card.  We cleaned our home and played an exhausting game of catch with laundry and our TiVo.  We assembled puzzles and read stories.  We ordered take-out to stay in.  We listened to Christmas albums on repeat and watched Madison watch Christmas classics soaking ourselves in the light of her eyes; the same light responsible for illuminating our house on a daily basis, but perhaps never as bright as in the last few days.  Christmas is two weeks from Wednesday and I anticipate those big brown eyes of hers will outshine the town... and I can’t wait.

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image source unknown

THE WEATHER OUTSIDE

December 8, 2013

Since Madison started preschool, we’ve seen an increase of paper products entering our house.  Paper covered in paint with a crispy, crunchy, hardened feel.  Paper with accidental holes from a toddler’s first water coloring experience.  Paper in shapes glued to other pieces of paper.  Paper scribbled top to bottom in crayon, a mini masterpiece of colorful wax. 

Each one unique from the other. 

Each one special in their own right. 

Each one begging to be displayed.

Every time we unzip the lavender backpack with Madison's name embroidered across the front to find another creation, we quickly realize the amount of excitement we find inside is overshadowed by the challenge of where to put it all.  We genuinely enjoy looking at every piece of artwork she makes so we had to find a solution to save them… and we did.  We found Artkive.

Artkive is an app that allows you to take a picture of the oh-so-precious production and store it in a gallery for easy access.  The artwork is sorted and categorized and labeled by name and age, an OCD person’s dream organization system.  It also provides the preference of separating creations by child, if applicable.  The app will allow sharing directly to your personal Facebook timeline, if desired, or each piece of artwork can be emailed to Grandma or other recipients added to a share group within the app itself. 

Should one prefer to feel the paper between their fingers and see the art in person, Artkive will print the entire gallery (or specific creations as selected) in the form of a book... an opportunity we plan to explore in June once Madison turns three then again every year thereafter as a way to chronicle the artistic aspect of her childhood.

Throwing the original copy away is optional.  We store all of Madison’s in a drawer for now and have a few pieces framed while others rotate on a magnetic chalkboard, our current display method of choice.  If discarding the artwork proves to be as difficult for my wife as the task of newborn clothes seemed to be then we’ll probably keep them all in the end; however, it's nice to have options.

Artkive is a great way to manage all the paper without spending any paper, unless buying a book is an option explored and even then the pricing is reasonable.  Artkive is easy, straightforward and user friendly.

It's genius really. 

Much like Madison's incredible Picasso-like sketch she drew just after turning two years old...


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I was not paid or compensated in any way for this review.  All opinions and statements are my own.

ARTKIVE

December 5, 2013

Last weekend, I helped Madison navigate her arms through the sleeves of her coat while Allison placed a red ribbon in her hair holding back the strands too long to leave alone yet too short to trust behind her ear and we all three made our way to a tree lot.  Once there we weaved ourselves in and out a maze of green limbs attached to trees taller than us and a few smaller than us until Allison found the one.  With her left arm elbow deep in a tree destined for our living room, she glanced my way welcoming my opinion although the light in the brown eyes she batted was certainty instead for she had already decided that tree was ours.

After an obligatory tree lot picture to follow the tradition set by the previous two years…

…we had an evening of light stringing and ornament hanging ahead of us.  Although this is technically Madison’s third Christmas, in a way it feels like the first.  She’s more aware.  She’s more involved. She’s more excited.  Consequently, so are we.  With Christmas albums in rotation, we poured ourselves a glass of wine (a cup of milk for the little one) and slipped into our pajamas gravitating towards the smell of Christmas occupying a corner of our home.  I watched as a barefoot Madison listened to her mother explain the importance of layering decorations for dimension.  I watched as a little girl hung onto every word my wife handed her like a fragile glass ornament and I felt her enthusiasm fill the room we were standing in.  Christmas as a parent is far more enjoyable than it ever was as a child.

Strand by strand, the three of us helped light this tree before turning our attention towards the boxes stacked one on top of another at the other end of the room.  We removed lids to reveal tissue wrapped memories in the form of glitter dusted spheres and shiny crystal hearts.  Madison’s eyes lit up with every ornament and the accommodating stories we told as we pulled them from the corners of their box and our mind.  She patted her feet across the bare planks of our wood floor to grab another before heading back towards the tree inquiring out loud “where we gon' put it?” as she tried her best to catch a limb with a loop.





It was in that moment I realized Allison’s advice of layering reached further than simply wrapping the tree with ribbon before hanging ornaments and only after stringing lights.  It was in that moment I looked at the decorations scattered on our coffee table and lying on our couch and noticed the many layers of the holiday itself.  Ornaments we purchased together and ornaments for Madison.  Ornaments from our childhood and ornaments to symbolize hers.  Ornaments from our parents and ornaments from theirs.  It was in that moment when I felt the presence of my late grandparents more than ever before; two people I think about often, but find myself missing the most at Christmas time.

Many of the ornaments remind me of a time years ago when my grandmother would place them in my open palm one at a time transferring them from her own hands, wrinkled from a lifetime of use yet soft as a favored blanket.  The numerous hours over the course of my early years spent finding a perfect spot to hang them all surround me like the falling flakes of a snow globe, collecting one by one at the bottom kept forever until the next time something stirs them up again.



Madison never received the opportunity to meet her great-grandparents as they passed before she was born, but watching her smile as I unfolded the tree skirt that belonged to my grandmother and placing the Santa statue that stood on their table upon our own was enough comfort to know they’ve met her.  It felt as if they watched as we decorated our house for a holiday cemented in family traditions with family objects that sat by absorbing it all in year after year.  If I listened close enough I’m sure I could hear my Papa sarcastically claim to like the crooked star topper or hear my Grandma singing along to the Christmas carols crackling through our speakers.  If I looked close enough I could probably see them standing behind Madison when I pulled the snow globe I wasn’t allowed to play with as a child from the box and tipped it over then right side up again so we could watch the memories fall one snowflake at a time.


Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year.

DECK THE HALLS

December 4, 2013

Last year we subjected ourselves to the popular craze that is Elf on the Shelf and proceeded to move the little guy dressed in red with the pointed hat from one random place to another throughout the month of December.  Madison would wake every morning eager to discover his new location and/or any mischief he may have encountered in the process of moving around our home while dreams of sugarplums danced in her head.

I’ve seen numerous pictures of elves breaking eggs in the middle of the night and dusting the kitchen with layers of powdered sugar and marshmallows or taking all the ornaments off the tree and replacing the stockings on the mantle with underwear.  Fortunately for us, our chosen Elf isn’t as destructive or rebellious.  We approached this Elf with the understanding that destroying our dwelling would find him a one way ticket back to the North Pole; that being said, creativity is welcomed and encouraged as long as it doesn’t require the adults of the house (i.e. Allison and I) to redecorate an entire tree mid-season or break out a broom or mop in his wake.

With two years of Christmas under her toddler belt, Madison is sure to enjoy this one most of all.  As an only child and, currently, the only grandchild on both sides of the family we’ve realized she may be a little spoiled so we want to make sure she doesn’t lose focus of the holiday.  We want to make sure she knows and understands the reason for the season.  While nativity scenes and Christmas carols help initiate conversations about the birth of Jesus, it would be a disservice to her childhood if we didn’t address Santa Claus… enter Elf on the Shelf.  With this Elf, we're able to illustrate that good behavior is acknowledged (and rewarded) even when it appears no one notices in the moment.

This year, Elf came with a letter in effort to help us help Madison understand it’s important to give back especially during this time of year.  While we want her to have things from her wish list, we also want to nurture her benevolent nature and inspire her to inspire others; a lesson we hope she continues to learn year after year.  The letter read:

Both Allison and I have started helping her sort through her toys (and clothes) deciding which to keep and which to donate to other children for the holidays.  I’m sure every parent notices certain toys their children favor while other toys sit idly by waiting for a turn that rarely, if ever, comes.  Those infrequently used toys are often in good, if not new, condition covered in the infectious joy every child hopes to unwrap Christmas morning.  If we can help spread a smile to at least one child this season, other than our own, then the box Madison fills will be worth its weight in gold.

Our intentions are to continue this tradition every year going forward. 

Our intentions are to help our child transition into a beautiful person from the inside out.

A gift far greater than any molded piece of plastic or touch screen electronic.
 

ELF ENCOURAGEMENT

December 1, 2013

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