a very Pressley Christmas

Tonite, we celebrated Christmas with the good people of the Pressley Group. One of Jeremy co-worker's, Denise, suggested a spot in downtown Waynesville, and it was just perfect with its private dining room and its delicious dinner.

For their part, the boys did really well. Their behavior wasn't perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was definitely as good or better as any other kids their ages would've been. For that, I was really, really thankful - and very, very proud!

Also, Jones's jacket may be my favorite thing he's ever worn. I bought it for Freddie, because Brother Bear loves a blazer (and pretending to be Topham Hatt when he wears them), but it came in and was closer to Jones's size than Freddie. No matter which son is wearing it, I think it is so sensational.

Piano Men

The boys are really starting to play around on the piano, now that I've put their playroom in the same room with it. It's fun to see them banging around on what was my childhood instrument (though, let's be honest, my sister logged WAY more hours on it than I did), and today, when he'd finished whatever number he was pounding out, Jones said, "I can do it with my piggies, too." He proceeded to lay on his back on the floor and, as promised, play with his piggies.

In this family, Jerry Lee Lewis ("the Killer") is King, so that was a pretty exciting tidbit that I definitely wanted to remember.

I also want to remember how they asked to wear their Batman and Superman costumes to the gym today. I let them, because let's be honest: how many more years will they be able to get away with something like that? So I took some super heroes to the gym today, and all of us in Haywood County were safer for it.

"Hit it, Freddie!"

Every now and then, I get lucky, and the boys put on a show in my very own office. Today, it was inspired by the re-introduction of my record player, with which Jones (not surprisingly) is especially enthralled.

Come Christmas, we'll be adding a drum set and a keyboard to their band of instruments. I know some moms hate loud toys. Not me. It's the quiet that scares me. Loud toys make the boys easier to keep track of.

In fact, I'm beginning to think I need closed circuit cameras throughout the house - not so much for security but so I can keep track of where my children are.

Jones would play, and then he'd come
over and grab my hand and kiss it
like this. No idea what cartoon he
saw that on, but it cracked me up.

When we got in from being out, Jones said, "Mama,
can we please hear a song on the record player?"

I love this picture and the way it shows the "new" playroom.
Also, let me just say it's a good thing he's holding that
guitar the way he is, if you know what I'm saying.

Waynesville Christmas Parade

There's not too much to say about the Waynesville Christmas Parade, except that we went and that we had a swell parking place in the lot of the pawn shop across the street from Bogart's.

It ended up being a good thing the car was close by when Freddie "shared" his Ginger Ale with Jones by pouring it down the front of Jones's outfit. A perfectly-timed "push" of the can when it was Jones's turn to drink was all it took to send Big Brother, freezing, into the warmth of our van.

Side note: if I ever run away, it'll be stuff like that that has pushed me out the door. It's not necessarily malicious; it's just mischievous and, when you have to deal with it 947 times in the course of a single day, it's enough to make a person lose her ever-loving mind.

Or maybe it's just enough to make ME lose my mind.

Regardless, my mind is currently so lost that I was thankful Nature called before the parade started. It gave me an excuse to walk the two blocks to Jeremy's office and kill the next fifteen minutes in the sweetest solitude I've ever tasted.

I had to force myself to rejoin the pack, getting back just before the Ginger Ale "incident." I then spent the rest of the evening trying to keep Freddie warm and trying to decide if he was just faking it when he said he had to go potty.

Jones, on the other hand, was in the catbird seat. According to Jeremy, who joined him in the car a little while after Jones first climbed in, Jones narrated the parade, giving a play by play of every float, which, if you know Jones at all, isn't even one itty bit surprising.

Thursday nite is the Christmas Parade here in Canton. Of course, we're planning to be there. I am NOT, however, planning to pack a Ginger Ale.

"I'm a haircut maaaaaan!"

Because Jones had tummy troubles last nite, and because - after that and our first-ever bout with lice on Friday, I needed a day to just stay in my pajamas - we stayed home from church yesterday morning. The boys spent part of the morning "cutting" my hair (with safety scissors that will barely cut paper, much less hair). It started when I walked in to see Freddie cutting the fur on one of our giant animals. From there, things progressed to them cutting my hair.

They had so much fun doing it that they asked to do it again this morning. I had so much to do - namely, putting away the laundry I'd washed clean of lice - that I did NOT want to be their client today. Then I remembered someone who'd be PERFECT for the position. She's lived in the top of Freddie's closet for more than six years now, but she's been a cherished part of my family, since Christmas of 1987.

It's Cricket, Y'all.

The boys had a BALL with their newfound friend. I was in the kitchen, working, and overheard some of their salon talk, and I'm telling you - it was spot on. Here are a few exchanges:

JONES: So tell me, Cricket. Where do you live?
CRICKET (Jones, in a higher voice): In South Carolina.
JONES: Cool. That's where my Mayme lives.

(a few minutes later)

JONES: What's your name?
CRICKET: Cricket.
JONES: Cricket? Like Jimminy Cricket?

He also said to her, "You wanna cookie, Sweetheart?" and then he asked her what she was gonna be for Halloween. It was absolutely one of the funniest exchanges I have ever heard.

Here I thought that, because I had boys, Cricket wouldn't be played with by the next generation.
Shows what I know!

the Good, the Bad, & the really, frieking Disgusting

We had a busy weekend planned.

Jeremy was going to pick the boys up from school Friday, after which we were all four going to Greenville, where Jeremy and I would drop off the boys at my parents' before heading to a nite away, courtesy of the wonderfully-generous and hospitable Classic Center in Athens.

I was on a treadmill at the gym, dreaming of sleeping past 7 AM when the call came in.

"PRESCHOOL," my Caller ID read.

I answered to hear Mrs. Janet. She was laughing, my signal that all was well, so why was she calling? Well, as it turns out, she and Mrs. Doris had noticed Jones scratching his scalp (which I had NOT noticed). A thorough examination revealed a single bug - a louse, they assumed - so I'd need to come and pick Jones up.

Ew.
Yuck.
Ugh.

My "long day" on the treadmill turned short, as I immediately left and headed to school. When I got there, I learned that they'd still only found that one bug, and Freddie was all clear, so I bundled up my brood, and off we went, Googling "What to do if your kid has lice" on the way.

Our first stop was at the pharmacy. I dropped $47 on lice supplies, recommended by a very helpful Pharm Tech and headed home to shampoo everything that'd stand still long enough.  I also called My Ideal Doctor. Our pal Dr. Markell called back. I'd texted her a picture of some bites I had on my neck, and while she didn't know for sure, she assumed I probably had lice, too.

Is this even happening?

She told me she'd call in a magic prescription. Unlike the kit you buy over the counter - the kind like I had that requires multiple steps and several applications - this one was of the one-shot, kills-lice-and-their-eggs-on-contact variety.

I was sold.

But I was beginning to worry our evening out was in jeopardy.

As soon as we got home, I called Mom to tell her the news. I told her I totally understood if she didn't want the boys there, given the situation. I wasn't a bit surprised, though, when she told me that was stupid and to bring them on.

It became a race against the clock - me, stripping sheets and quarantining clothes, trying to keep Jones from touching anything with his head, all the while knowing that if we didn't leave by 3 p.m. at the LATEST there was NO WAY we could make it.

Ew.
Yuck.
Ugh.

The plan became Jeremy would leave the office around 1 and pick up the prescription on the way home. He called from Ingles to tell me it was going to be $300 EACH. Times two. In other words, $600 of unexpected expenses the week that tuition is due and Christmas is coming.

UUUUggghhhhhhh.

Thankfully, I Googled the RX, while we were on the phone and found a manufacturer's coupon. It made each bottle half price, which helped for sure, but still. COME ON. Before Jeremy even got home, we made the decision to give up on Athens. There was no way we could make it.

When he came in, I doused my hair in the lice-killing lotion. That's what it is, Y'all. It's actual lotion, and you rub a full four ounces on your head and wait ten minutes for it to do its thing. And then you do it to your son, and by then, it's 3:30 p.m., and all of a sudden, a weekend away is another nite at home, all because of a single bug the size of a sesame seed.

Ew.
Yuck.
UGH.

The next morning, things started out as they usually do. We headed to Greenville for a birthday lunch with Lila and to see "Santa Claus: a New Musical" at the Peace Center. We had a great time. Freddie did fantastically at his first play, and Jones was thrilled to hear his name called from the stage (which was a surprise for ALL of us!).

On the drive home, both nap-deprived boys fell asleep. Jones woke up, crying. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Gotta potty!" Jones said. This is HIGHLY unusual for him, so Jeremy pulled over as quickly as he could only to have Jones say he'd wait. Fifteen minutes further down the road, it happened again. Jones made a very panicked face and said, "You better hurry!" Again, we stopped as soon as possible. Jones got out of the car before telling me he'd wait until he got home.

One more time - this has all happened in a span of twenty minutes - Jones panicked, and we stopped. This time, we walked into the Hot Spot and went in to the one-seater Men's Room (because the Women's was occupied). Just before pulling his pants down, Jones decided to wait five more minutes until we got home (I'll remind you, by the way, that this is the kid who loudly announced in the Chick-Fil-A bathroom last week that "I don't go stinky at restaurants; I go stinky at houses." I guess he meant what he said, and he said what he meant).

When we finally got there, he ran up the stairs and got all the way to the bathroom, where he proceeded to empty his bowels all over the floor, his pants, and the sides of the toilet and tub, because he couldn't unbuckle his belt in time.

All I could do was laugh. In 24 hours, I'd gone from killing invisible bugs to cleaning liquid crap off every single porcelain surface in our bathroom. I sprayed copious amounts of Clorox and took yet another load into the laundry room.

A little while later, I decided I needed a bath to wash the icky bits of the weekend off of me. When I got in the tub, the lukewarm water reminded me that I was using all the hot in the washing machine.

Ew.
Yuck.
Ugh.

I slid the shower curtain shut and decided to wait it out. The drive to be alone was clearly strong. Trying to find out via Twitter whether or not Tennessee had FINALLY hired Les Miles helped the 25 minutes to pass, until Jones ran in for Round Two ... in the bowl six inches away from where I lay.

Ew.
Yuck.
I-honestly-can't-stop-laughing-because-at-this-point-what-else-can-I-do?

By the time I got him - and everything else - cleaned up, the water was hot again. How's that for a silver lining? A few minutes later, the rhythmic running of his baby brother rang through the hallway. Freddie sprinted into the bathroom and wiped completely out on the still-wet Clorox I'd just re-sprayed on the bathroom floor.

Having no idea how Clorox can effect the skin of a kid with eczema, I climbed out of the water I'd waited for so long to heat and dipped Freddie in, dousing him with his got-to-get-it-from-Amazon Eucerin soap.

I assumed the misery would end soon. It was almost bedtime!

Boom!
Awesome!
YESSSS!

Turns out, Nooooooo. You know what happens when you assume. A few minutes later, we sent the boys to get ready for bed. I asked Jeremy to go back and monitor the situation, because if we know anything it's that these boys cannot be trusted when left alone together. Jeremy didn't get up (football was on!), and about a minute later, we heard a crazy wail. It was definitely Freddie, but it was less an "I'm in agony" wail and more a "I want to get my brother in trouble" one. There's a difference, and I know it, but Jeremy doesn't, so he finally got up.

He came back in, saying, "Jones sprayed Freddie in the eyes with Clorox."

The bottle, usually under the kitchen in the sink, was still on the basin in the bathroom - for obvious reasons. Seeing Freddie go stinky himself, Jones assumed Freddie needed to be cleaned, too. Either that, or he wanted to blind his brother.

Who the heck knows which?

Regardless of Jones's motivation, the ensuing fall-out resulted in both Jeremy and me COMPLETELY overreacting in a flurry of sending Jones to his bed and Freddie to the shower for rinse after rinse of water.

"Should we call Poison Control? Do we take him to the ER?"

I was PANICKED like I don't think I've ever panicked as a parent before. Jeremy and I yelled at each other - obviously misdirecting our panic and uncertainty of what to do.

For his part, Freddie was fine ... at least until we tried to drown his eyes with tap water.

Cooler heads began to prevail when Jeremy called our resident health resource, Aunt Dolly. She always seems to make everything better with her cool, calm, and collected bedside manner. I may not have made it through pregnancy and/or having infants without her. I'm not even joking about that.

So while Jeremy rinsed, I Googled - and tried to fight the fear that my older son had blinded the younger for life.

Grrrr.
GRRRR.
ARRRGGGHHHHH.

Once Jones was in bed, we "treated" Freddie with a regime of reading books and pointing out the handful of letters that he knows and then rinsing his eyes out again. Then he watched two hours' of cartoons, all snuggled up with me in my bed. I couldn't bring myself to say "no" when he'd say, "Can I please watch one more" after each "Special Agent Oso" episode would end. I was too afraid he'd wake up without the ability to see, though he showed absolutely no signs of trouble.

Finally, I called Dolly again and texted her pictures of his crystal clear eyes. She assured me he was fine, and I put him to bed.

And then I put myself to bed, and I dreamed of a house where this short of stuff never, even happens again.

Nice.
Sweet.
Aaaahhhhhhh.

Freddie's First Show!

This time last year, I took Jones to his first-ever mainstage play. He and I saw "A Charlie Brown Christmas," presented by my beloved former employer, the South Carolina Children's Theatre.

Freddie definitely wasn't ready then, and when I bought the tickets, I wasn't sure if he were ready this year - Jones can watch cartoons all day, every day. Freddie ... can't, so it was a big risk buying for four, but I figured we'd never know if we didn't go, so off we went.

But first, we had lunch with Lila. She turned 11 on Thursday, so we celebrated today at Trio (Freddie INSISTED on cutting his own chicken fingers, inspired, I think, by seeing Fred Flintstone cut his own steak, and no. That's not a joke. BOTH of my boys are perpetually reenacting cartoons).

Then, Jeremy, the boys, and I walked the four or so blocks down Main Street to the Peace Center. It was a beautiful day - perfect weather with lots of folks milling about, as they do in downtown Greenville.

Jones recognized the Peace Center as "where Mama works," and he and Freddie loved running around the plaza, while I went to the box office to collect our tickets. They even got to play in the fake snow created by a machine near the Concert Hall entrance.

Because I had lots of loose change, they also got to make a wish in one of the fountains, as we went into the theatre. They wished for the same things they asked Santa for - Jones wants a trolley with a key to make it go, and Freddie wants a Batman watch.

At least, they're consistent.

Also, notice how Freddie throws his coin and then blows their air as if to blow out candles. Apparently, all he knows about wishes comes from birthday cakes.



We got settled into our seats about ten minutes before showtime. Because of my Board involvement, Jeremy and I gave a (very small) donation to the theatre. I asked that they list it "in honor of Jones & Freddie Pressley," and Jones was 1000% enamored with seeing his name in the playbill. He kept opening it up and saying, "Mama, I wonder if my name is in here?" and then he'd make a big to-do about seeing it.

The show was awesome. I remain amazed at the incredible caliber for performances SCCT continues to do, and I am so, so proud of my affiliation with the theatre - both past and present.

Both boys did really well. There were a handful of times that Freddie'd say, "Is it over yet?" and he got restless for a minute, but for the most part, he behaved perfectly. I definitely won't hesitate to take him back, which is a good thing, because we've already got tickets for both "Flat Stanley" and "Madagascar the Musical."

In what may have been the highlight of the whole day, Jones got included in the musical! At one point in the story, they're trying to decide who's on the naughty or nice list. Several elves come down into the audience and ask kids their names. When they yell the name to Santa on stage, Santa tells them whether they're on the naughty or nice list.  When the elf Tenchie asked Jones his name, he wouldn't speak to her, but I did. "It's Jones," I said. She yelled, "Jones!" to Santa, and he said, "NICE!!!!!" Jones said, "I'm on the Nice list! How 'bout that?" All afternoon, he gloated about that, which was adorable. 

I am so excited that now both of my boys are old enough to be my theatre buddies. I hope it's a habit we keep for many years to come!

I love this picture of Jones with the cousin
he calls his girlfriend. 

The house lighting in the Gunter
makes for HORRIBLE pictures. The color is
AWFUL and, in my feeble, iPhoto attempts,
unfixable, but still. At least, he'll have a few
photo memories of his first show.

Because of their excellent behavior
(and because I had some extra change),
they also made wishes on the way OUT of the theatre. 

Batman watch & Cat Boy shoes.
Something tells me BOTH of these wishes will
come true this Christmas season.