Now is the Winter of Our Discontent

I remember thinking to myself, just a few weeks ago, that it was so nice that Christmas was a season, rather than just being a day. When I was a kid, the day was everything, not just because of the presents (though I admit they were a factor), but also because it was possible then, in a way that it seems not to be so much now, to feel entirely immersed in the thrill of it being Christmas or your birthday or the day you go to Disney or start your vacation or whatever. The thrill is on you like a cloak, or in you, pulsing through your circulatory system. It's real, and it's really good. As a somewhat more grown up person, I don't have easy access to that feeling anymore, so I appreciate even more having the whole season, the preparation, the decoration, the cookie making, the parties, the candles, to experience. I like me some Christmas.

Why, then, a few weeks later, did I find myself feeling happy that there was a Day, and not just a season? Why did I put a lot more stock in how the day itself came out, whether Christmas Day was a success? Friends, I will tell you why. Because our Christmas season sucked, a little bit. I have already disclosed the wrong-week trip out of town, inviting and uninviting neighbors to an open house situation. The trip was great, of course, but getting the dates wrong like a big dope messed with my plans for shopping, preparing the house, getting gifts mailed, etc. No big deal- I had the following weekend to make up for it. Or did I? The great windstorm of 'Ought Six struck on Thursday night, knocking the roof off our garden shed and taking out the power for most of Bellevue (and lots of other Puget Sound areas). Judging by the swarm of people at the only open grocery store in the area, and the crazy half-mile line of cars at the only open gas station, I am pretty sure Bellevue collectively scores a D minus in disaster preparedness.

Jim thought I was insane for planning to go ahead with the open house in the frigid half-light of our powerless house, but after the previous week's head fake, I wasn't going to let my neighbors down. As if they cared. But five families did come over. We all left our coats on and drank punch and ate cookies and sang carols by candlelight. Except for the singing part. A relative success under the circumstances. We had just finished packing our things to spend the night in Seattle with friends who were less powerless than we when our own power surged back to life. Huzzah! Jim could return to his medieval war-making computer strategy game. And I could put Naomi to bed without going in to re-cover her every half an hour. Sweet modern conveniences!

So now, everything was back on track. The darkened stores would turn their lights on once more. The locked down post office would hum back to life. It was only a couple of days delay! I could overcome it! Sunday morning we tried take a Christmas card photo. I was a little embarrassed to learn that I couldn't tell that Naomi was under the weather until I saw her in the photos. In every one of them, she was staring glassy-eyed in the wrong direction, through pink drooping eyelids. I know cold does not cause colds, but two days of consistent fifty-degree interior temperatures surely didn't discourage whatever viruses were visiting at the time. We scrapped all the family shots and put another sweater on the bunny.

Naomi seemed OK on Monday, and went to school. Tuesday, she stayed home. Wednesday, we decided to take her to the doctor. Normally I am not an advocate for going to the doctor for a cold- I know that there is no treatment, and for kids under two even more so. It just seems like a waste. So although Naomi was clearly SICK, I went not expecting much. Not expecting, that is, for the doctor (one we didn't normally see) to listen to her lungs and start using words like hospital and pneumonia. Youch! She had me give Naomi a nebulizer treatment (which involved a LOT of crying and howling from Naomi, who told me half way through the epic struggle, with tears running down her face, "Mommy, I need a nap!"), listened to her lungs, and then had me give her one more. Hooray! Her lungs had improved. No pneumonia. By this time I had called Jim and made him join me at the doctor's office, since I hadn't predicted we would be there for three and a half hours. We were to give her the nebulizer every four hours for the next five days, or something ridiculous, in addition to another round of antibiotics for her forever infected ears. (We normally don't give her antibiotics for ear infections, since they don't bother her and eventually clear up, but we were feeling a little vulnerable on this visit.)

That afternoon was the worst, with Naomi half asleep and half awake, feverish, breathing fast and shallow. She got used to the nebulizer, thankfully, so we didn't have to wrestle every time. After she went to bed that night, Jim went to the airport to pick up his sister and her hsuband, who were coming for Christmas. We had been so excited about this visit, because we hadn't seen them since our Malaysia trip in early 2004, and they had never met Naomi. Now we were just worried that it was going to be the biggest letdown for them, as they sat around the house watching us blow our noses and give nebulizer treatments to their lethargic niece. Augh!
Naomi got a little better each day, and after one more day of fever, seemed to be over that part of it, thankfully. Because her cough was so terrible, though, she woke up every two hours or so during the night. We were reminded, and not happily, of the olden days, when little baby Naomi needed to eat every two hours or whatever. Zzzz. Needless to say, I got what she had, and as we got closer to Christmas, and I got sicker and sicker, and more exhausted, and I had a very strong feeling that I needed to leave my home and go to the hospital and just check myself in there and sleep for twelve or fourteen hours, and then come back. I skipped church on the morning of Christmas Eve and went back to bed. Because I could not get it together to make hot pot (our Christmas Eve plan), we just went out to Szechuan Chef, where they have hot pot (and everyone there had ordered it!). It was only so-so, but I loved it because... I didn't have to put it together!

Naomi betrayed her kid tribe by sleeping in very late on Christmas morning. When she got up, we opened our stockings and presents, ate some really wonderful banana bread that a neighbor had brought over to make up for missing our little cave party, listened to Christmas carols on Jim's fancy Mac Mini jukebox setup, cooked up a massive brunch, and did nothing for a few hours. There may have been napping- I can't remember. In the afternoon we went to our friends' house in Seattle, where they treated us to more presents, awesome tamales, and these little white chocolate pretzel clusters that are my coveted Christmas treat and that I was unable to find this year. Unfortunately I was not able to taste the food, however, I was assured that some of these little pretzel jobbies will be saved for the day when I can, again. Hooray!

So, Christmas turned out swell after all, despite all obstacles. The best and worst part of tribulations is the realization that you really don't have it so bad. We kept talking about the people in Iraq who get by on one hour of electricity per day (in addition to, you know, the even worse parts of living there!), and when Naomi was sick, I thought, geez, what if I had a really sick kid? One that really did have to go to the hospital regularly? Man oh man! Of course that detracts from the delightful experience of feeling sorry for ourselves and complaining, which believe me, we did. But our gifts are many, and we know it. As I was getting Naomi ready yesterday, I asked her who she was going to see that day at school. She said, "Baby Jesus!" Heh. I said what I always say when I am using my feeble don't-squelch-the creativity approach. "Yeah, maybe!"