Mrs. Claus

When I was younger, in my late teens, I was pretty serious with this one fella....

And every year at Christmastime, his mom would give her kids gifts from Mrs. Claus.

Right? 

She's obviously brilliant. 

And she told her husband that Mrs. Claus was a neighbor or acquaintance or someone she knew from when they lived back east. 

Seriously. 

And to the best of my recollection, on the rare occasion that the husband questioned, then she was like "Honey, you remember! The lovely neighbor Mrs. Claus!" and that was the end of it. He blew it off...whatever.

I'm giving credit to my ex-boyfriend's mother on this Mrs. Claus thing up front because I had a major plagiarism case in my classroom last year, and I'm a firm believer in citing my sources. And while I have a lot to say about the major plagiarism case, I'm not saying anything because I really love the teaching gig I've had since 2002.

For the past year or so my family has been letting go of the traditional approaches to the holidays, and let's face it, we all know women have been running the show around purchases for Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or whatever holiday families celebrate. Women. And Mrs. Claus has been a silent partner too goddamn long.

My family celebrates Christmas, and not in the religious sense. We celebrate simply being together and yes, we do Santa. It's part of having a child who is chronologically 12, but developmentally 5. We will likely always do Santa....

Honestly, I put a lot into the Solstice, living up here at 48.12* N, and 123.43* W where the sun was up from 8:01 am till 4:22 pm on December 21. Each day after the solstice, the sun is up for a little longer. Let there be light.

In my house, we celebrate Christmas. And we're fine to say Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and, really, I, like a growing number of Americans, don't give really care what kind of greeting you say, just be kind when you say it. For reals.

But, here's the deal, the Santa I was taught to love is an old white dude who's been given credit for the work of others for a few hundred years. And, honestly, Mrs. Claus has been getting the shaft, if you will, about this whole thing. I'll let Miss Granger deal with the elves, yo. That's not my jam...

As a feminist, my heart belongs to Mrs. Claus, because I, like many women I know who happen to also be moms, am the following Departments:

• Planning
• Purchasing
• Wrapping
• Decorating
• Cooking/Baking
• Cleaning/Housekeeping

Sometimes, we call the last two Departments the Bitch Work Departments, because obviously.

Also, as the primary food source (wasn't that shit supposed to stop after I weaned them? FUCK!) sometimes I add hate as a necessary ingredient in my recipies. A lot of people cook with love. But I find hate works, too. It's better than spitting into their food. I mean, that's just disgusting. But hate? Adds a little spice to life. Just kidding. I only add love. Because there's already a lot of anger in my house because of the myriad diagnoses my family has been handed over the past eight years. And, Jesus knows, there's a shit ton of hatred in the world.

So, as Mrs. Claus, it's my responsibility to ensure that Christmas happens...to be totally responsible and make magic happen for my kids.

And, as Mrs. Claus, I purchase really good stuff for myself. Duh. For the past several Christmases, Mrs. Claus purchased a gift certificate for a pedicure for me. Because Mrs. Claus knows I need to park my ass for an hour and indulge in self-care with no children around.

Mrs. Claus has even become so popular in my home that my kids say things like, "I sure hope Mrs. Claus has arranged for the elves to fill up my stocking!" That's right. They are boys being trained to know that women run the show.

Over Portugal

Even though my very bright, but young 4th grader is starting to question me about Santa...I went straight to Mrs. Claus: "Yes, actually, Mrs. Claus is the one responsible for overseeing all the planning including the route planners who work with the meteorologists, and then they coordinate it all and send it up to Google Santa Tracker and then Mrs. C gets the final word on all of that. You know?"

A couple of weeks ago, we were standing in line to see Santa at Swain's, because they have everything including Santa, my boys asked me where Mrs. Claus was, "Oh she just dropped him off and is gonna pick him up later because she's gotta get back to the North Pole and make sure the elves are getting the toys made."

Secretly, it's kinda fun.

I even talk to strangers about Mrs. Claus. I recently had a delightful conversation with a nearly 4-year-old girl and she's never fucking heard of Mrs. Claus! Sweet Jesus! That's just shameful. So I filled her in. I think her dad was a little concerned. He didn't turn around and look at me because he either didn't want to encourage me, or he wanted to get the fuck outta there. I can't say I blame him. I mean, some middle-aged broad with a purple pixie was talking to his 4-year-old in a pink pussy hat about Mrs. Claus. He was not gonna jump in on that conversation. Gotta penis? Get out.

Last night, as my husband and I were setting up and making Christmas happen, because my husband knows which side his bread is buttered on...our younger son struggled to get to sleep. It's the excitement of Christmas. I get it. I've been there. Sometimes I'm still there. But not when a child gets out of bed to pee...and then can't get back to sleep...because he's never been to sleep in the first place. Ugh.

Our living room and the boy's bedroom share a wall, and we were as quiet as we could be in our set up. But, due to sickness last week, we've been super duper minimal this year. It was all we could do to get the Christmas stockings out of the loft in the shed. I'm not down with live trees; allergies. And, I don't want to make our incredibly dedicated 4-legged child move out of her space.

Keeping in the tradition of thinking outside of the box, my 4th grade son decided to paint a Christmas tree...and we placed presents under it. He was concerned that Santa wouldn't find our house. I told him Mrs. Claus had it all under control, and that there'd be gifts from Santa and Mrs. Claus in the morning.

And there were. Complete with flame-less candles for the win. 

Painted Christmas Tree with gifts.

NatrureBridge Field Trip

At the end of October, my son went on the biggest school field trip ever. The entire sixth grade class went to a 3-day, 2-night expedition to NatureBridge at Olympic National Park. 

All the gear. Note the van and packed trailer in the background.

The school district where my kids are enrolled is generous enough to pay for every sixth grader who attends school, as well as the teachers and a few parents that are crazy enough to chaperone, to go out to Lake Crescent and learn about the natural environment up here on the North Olympic Peninsula.

Waiting to load up

The sixth graders were given Field Journals, in which they take notes about what they learn in their natural environment: Old growth forests, the Elwha River system, studying water samples and macroinvertabrates, and geology.

Writing in his field journal

NatureBridge promises a classroom without walls, and they delivered big time for my son. Did I think he'd be capable of doing this? Yes, absolutely. Was I nervous about sending him? Absofuckinlutely. Did I over-pack the suitcase? Totally. But, when your kid is spending three days outside in the largest rainforest in the world, which is North America's Pacific Temperate rainforest, and it's the beginning of the rainy season, and you know your son gets messy at the drop of a hat, you over pack his suitcase.

Happiest kid ever

He didn't brush his teeth. He didn't take a shower. He may have changed his clothes. But he's a twelve-year-old boy who was with his friends, away from his parents, and upon his return I asked him if he did any type of personal hygiene, he said he "wasn't really interested" in those things.

Fantastic. For reals. Because I'm sure the other sixth grade boys also did not clean any parts of themselves, either. Integration at it's finest. Borderline Lord of the Flies.

In order for this trip to happen, my son needed additional supports from adults. My son is developmentally disabled, and struggles to grip a pencil to write his name, but did the best he could with his field journal. He walks really quite slowly, which translates to he needed a lot of gentle pushing, and perhaps even a bit of pulling, when they were hiking Marymere Falls. But he did it. He's done it before, so it's not like he's never been. But some of his peers had never been. It provided him an opportunity to be a leader.

At Marymere Falls

The adult that was primarily in charge of him was his former Special Education Teacher, Ms. B. She was in charge of my son during first grade, and then again in fourth and fifth grade. He was homeschooled for half of second grade, and all of third grade. So, she knows him, and our family, very well. I consider her an integral part of my son's education and we've become dear friends.

Eating the sandwich he made

My son made his own sandwich and ate it. I found this hard to believe, and Ms. B knows I would think she was totally bullshitting me, so she took a picture for proof!

Little bit of soccer practice

While he was out playing and learning and having the coolest experience ever, my husband and younger son and I had a little fun. I got to go to soccer practice. I typically didn't go because there's really no need for all four of us to go to practice. It's a logistical nightmare for all four of us to go anywhere during dinner time because it throws off the entire schedule in a way that takes days for my special needs child to recover, so he and I would typically stay home and play UNO. He's really quite good and ends up kicking my ass quite a lot.

Dinner: chicken, slaw, ginger cake. He ate it all.

My kid with special needs ate all of the food that was offered to him. We were not permitted to pack food for them. And, as a dedicated rule follower (mostly) I did not pack food for him. I'm sure they accommodate kids with special dietary needs...but that's not something my son deals with so it's not on my radar.

Because my son takes medications on a regular basis to control his seizures, a form needed to be completed by his physician, and of course, I had to send all of the necessary meds, in their prescription bottles. So, there was some homework on my end to get this shit done. I know intrinsically my kid isn't the only kid that was medicated who was going on this massive expedition, but when you're doing the prep for this, it feels completely fucking isolating. Because, as a culture, we're trained to NOT talk about these things. We're trained to NOT discuss the fact that some kids need meds to get through their day. There's no shame in the fact that my child needs medications in order to not seize. But my culture makes me sometimes feel like he's not healthy because he needs medications...leading me to meditate on "what does it mean to be healthy?"

The kids all went out to NatureBridge on Wednesday and came home on Friday. And everyone was exhausted when the buses pulled in to the school parking lot about 45 minutes later than they were expected. But, considering they had to move about 100 kids and adults, running 45 minutes late is understandable. In my experience of being at the lake, it's so beautiful out there that it can be difficult to leave and head back to reality.

I am so thankful that my son had this amazing experience and for the adults that helped him. Special thanks to Ms. B for having his back, for taking all the pictures, and getting them to me. We love and appreciate you more than we could ever express.

In the burned out tree on the trail

With Ms. B.

Larger than life

How Abby spent most of her time: on her boys' bed

In a canoe on the lake

Happy and exhausted

Brothers reunited; they really did miss each other