Whoa, there.

I feel like I need to confess my sins - it has been two weeks since my last post, and so much has happened and I just didn't even try to write about it! Not even once!

That's not entirely true, of course. I've got about 7 half-started entries sitting in draft mode. But never mind those - I'm going to break it down for y'all right about now:

When last we spoke, I was contemplating bringing a large-headed, plastic kid into our lives. Amazon.com got the doll to me on the birthday eve, and we set about opening Dora's box and getting her free from her cardboard and twisty-tie prison.

An hour and one bloody thumb later, the air around me was a hazy blue from all of my colorful exclamations. Dora lay on my bed like a oddly proportioned corpse. But the box! Oooh! The BOX!

That box was so huge that the older two kids and I immediately began taking turns climbing into the box and displaying our "New A-DORA-ble younger look!" The little window where you are encouraged to squeeze Dora's hand to hear her talk was quickly relabled "pull my finger!!!" by my eight-year-old.

I renamed it the "Penalty Box."

True to form, while Dora was appreciated, the box was the real gift.

Of course, it is hard to believe my baby is five years old now. That means I'm REALLY OLD. Because it is all about me.

When we found out that I was pregnant for the third time, we were stunned. We had planned on having three children, but not so close together - but as in so much of my life, my best laid plans were rearranged. Five years later, I'm suddenly the bemused mother of three kids who can wipe their own butts, buckle their own seat belts, and drive me right over the edge from anger to laughter with a cock of an eyebrow. Of course, I still have to remind them to do it, but when I think back to that first Christmas, with two sick toddlers and a newborn, it sure seems a heck of a lot easier.

Coincidentally, I lost my voice for two weeks this December.

My new five-year-old stands with her shoulders thrown back and her chin up. Life with her two older siblings has made her quick on her feet, and verbally precocious. With her sparkling eyes and dimpled cheeks, she also has a marked disdain for pants. She likes some air on her buns, that girl of mine.

She's also the most musical of my children - she memorizes music and lyrics on the first hearing, and spends most of her day singing - that is when she isn't whining. I'm SO READY for the whining to stop.

I've got a whole bunch of sentimental thoughts rattling around in my head about this - I mean, NOT about the whining, but about the end of this particular era as a mother. I think another blog entry is in order, because I'm moving along here. I've got two weeks worth of entries to summarize and cram into a single post and I'm determined to do it.

Despite the lack of a voice, I spent the week leading up to Christmas frantically working, trying to remember where all the gifts were stashed or when they were scheduled to arrive, and in general kicking myself for not starting on all this stuff six months ago. We dressed the kids in their holiday clothes and brought them to see Santa at the mall the Saturday before Christmas.

Surprisingly, the line wasn't long - but we were handed a sign informing us that we were the end of the line before Santa got to take his reindeer feeding break. That meant we got to tell all the families with toddlers dressed to the nines and moms with babies who had just timed it perfectly between nap time and poo-poo blowouts that nope, we were going to get our photos, but they had to wait an hour. Neener neener. It made me want to cry.

With our Santa photos clutched in our hot little hands, we had lunch out and admired the holiday decor before returning home to continue on with our own holiday prep.

We decided to give my parents matching bikes for Christmas this year - they've borrowed ours and had a blast with them. After two crazy running around days of fetching bikes and dragging them home, we got the wonderful treat of seeing the delight on my parents' faces when we hauled the bikes out of the van. My mom was riding up and down the street, slowing down at each driveway and waving to the neighbors and whooping.

Sort of like someone else I know. Ahem.

We opened gifts and enjoyed a nice dinner on Christmas eve, but I could see the kids and my husband starting to fade. By the time we got home, all three kids were eager for their beds and feverish. We finished our prep work for Santa to come, and collapsed into bed at midnight, only to be shaken awake by our oldest at 1 am.

SANTA CAME!

Yeah, and he left a note, too. Don't open anything until the entire family is awake and Mom and Dad are holding a cup of coffee. Preferably when the clock says 6 something.

We managed to hold her off until 5, when she woke her brother. My youngest didn't want to wake up, and began whining from the second her eyes opened.

As the kids ripped through their gifts, there was less mania this year - it was more sedate and each gift was appreciated before the next was opened. It was great!

By 9 am, everyone was back to sleep.

We were supposed to meet up with family in Silicon Valley, and then continue on to my husband's parents' house that night, but with everyone sick, we've rescheduled for our next available non-sick weekend.

As for me, well, my voice is mostly back, and I'm "on vacation" from work - and I've got a hankering to fix my office and reorganize things. This year has been a doozy - I've been challenged in new (good) ways and challenged in old ways, and I've been spending a lot of time revisiting the year's ups and downs this week. As for 2008 - I'm making like my five-year-old and squaring my shoulders and putting my chin up.

And failing that, I'll be whining. Heh.