~~~~ Jenn Satterwhite needs all our good thoughts and prayers right now. She's at her mom's side, along with all her family. She'll be taking a break from blogging, but if you want to send her a love note, I'll be happy to pass it along. ~~~~

We're on day three of constant rain here in lovely Northern California. Our yard is one giant puddle, and I'm choosing to see it as a positive. We might get a good start on trying to resprout the lawn this year. Besides, the kids got two amphibious vehicles for Christmas, and I'm thinking we'll just put them out in the yard and control them through the window. I know how to party, huh?

I'm not used to feeling this rundown. Even a high level of sloth is not allowing me to stop my energy from seeping out the hole in my bucket. The foul weather would make it easy to hibernate, except the kids have reached some mystical landmark on the road to health where the signs indicate it is time to ricochet off the walls.

The night before Christmas, we got the last kid to bed at 10:30 pm, and began our frantic preparations on Santa's behalf. We finally got to bed around 1:30. Between the train/activity table stacked with gifts and the play kitchen that seemed larger than my first apartment's kitchen, the living room was full. We fell gratefully into bed, only to be awoken at 3 am by my very, very excited 6 year old.

"Pssst! Mommy! Santa's been here!"

Friggin' Santa forgot to leave the Christmas Tree lights off until I in my cap and Papa in his kerchief could settle down for a short winter's nap.

Three O'Friggin' Clock In The Morning. Apparently my children also know how to party.

My daughter and I made our way to the living room, where I lit a fire in the fireplace and watched as she fussed over the loot. I made her wait for the rest of the family to open any gifts. My son trotted out moments later, bleary-eyed and disappointed that he hadn't managed to catch The Man In Red himself. He saw the bounty of presents, and made a curious "Eeep!" sound. And then he did it ten more times. He turned to me and said, "Eeep! I can't stop making this surprised noise! Eeep!"

The boy knows how his mama loves repetitive surprised noises.

The husband came stumbling out next. The three year old slept on. The kids plinked on the new xylophone, plunked on the new bodhran. She slept on. Finally, after desperate noises of longing kept coming from both awake kids, I snatched the wee monster from her bed, triggering a tantrum of epic proportions, but hey! They got to start opening gifts.

Actually, once my youngest saw her play kitchen, she was thrilled. And days later, I find it hilarious (and telling) that she uses the stovetop and oven for storage and cooks everything in the microwave. She also piles the dishes in the sink and scowls at them when she walks by, but doesn't bother to put them away. I've set a fine domestic example these last few months, I'm thinking. I'm glad we didn't get her the ironing board... she would have been totally confused.

By 6 am, we'd opened all the gifts, and we crawled back into our beds for a nap. We slept for a few hours, and then resumed playing with the new goodies. Late afternoon, we ran over to my parents' house, where we exchanged gifts. The kids came home with a new guitar, a harmonica and several rhythm instruments, and Moon Shoes.

You know I'm going to bust those trying to launch myself skyward. It must be tried, though. It's my pioneer spirit asserting itself.

This morning, surrounded by an explosion of plastic food and assulted by the sound of hee-hoo-hee-hoo-hee-hoo harmonica, I'm finding my sense of humor is still intact. For a while there, I was worried.

Mostly, I'm grateful. I am safe in my home, surrounded by my family, recovering nicely (if too slowly for my tastes) and aware of how lucky I am.