The homestretch: cookies, pizza, fish hospice.

The last week of school before winter break really snuck up on me. I guess I've been too busy to pay much attention, and in the past five days alone have enjoyed three events at the boys' school. While I've had every intention of making our annual holiday gifts for teachers and other loved and appreciated folks, it occurred to me yesterday that Christmas is NEXT week which means I need to have everything ready to hand out tomorrow! Thus began a terrific cookie-making production. Armed with my new press and the recipe for biscochitos that my friend Laura made and sent me last year (I immediately fell in love with these fabulous treats), I dove in. These shortbread-like cookies are really great in a reserved, worth-waiting-for way. They're not flashy, not in your face, but rather subtle and impossible to eat just one of.

Here's some cool background info on the biscochito that Laura sent me:

Biscochitos were introduced to Mexico by Spanish conquistadores in the sixteenth century. Mexican wedding cookies and Polvorones are other names for these tasty little treats. These cookies are enjoyed during such festive celebrations as weddings, christenings, and religious holidays. They are popular at Christmas too.

Because biscochitos were the original Mexican wedding cookie, they were cut into diamond shapes, as diamonds signified purity for weddings. Tradition has it that if you open a package of biscochitos and one is broken, that is the one that must be eaten first. When making biscochitos, the cookies can be cut into any shape but are often cut into the fleur-de-lis shape to represent their European heritage.

If only I'd had more time or my new press had a fleur-de-lis die.

Pizza, perhaps not surprisingly, was dinner last night. I swear, y'all need to get on board with these caramelized shallots. They are off-the-hook fabulous.

So, fish hospice. A few days back, we noticed that our oldest fish, Lightning Strike, was really looking long in the tooth. He'd gotten very fat and was basically in a holding pattern near the bottom of the tank. Because Tom likes to solve any- and everything via online research, he did just that and diagnosed Lightning Strike with dropsy, a fish disease that involves failing kidneys, water retention, bloating and, thus, dropping to the bottom.

Like a flash, Tom and the boys were at Pet Smart, buying antibiotic droplets. Once home, Tom removed L.S. to his own bucket -hospice- into which he squirted the recommended number of drops. Then, although according to Oliver, "the people at Pet Smawt did not tell Dad to put the drops in the akwawium," he did.

Lightning Strike seemed to be on borrowed time and over the next day, the water in the aquarium changed from clear to yellow to orange to dark purple. A grody scum started floating on top. Although T was working very late that night, I suggested that he make haste in investigating the oddly-hued tank. Once home, he immediately began siphoning out the bad water and cursing under his breath his overzealousness in dosing the regular water with those drops.

A few days later and the water is mostly clear, Lightning Strike is back in, and although I don't think he's out of the woods -he did swim nose first into the rock cave today- he definitely looks improved, svelte and, basically, not dead.

Who knew T was so committed to the fish?!

Holiday charitable giving with kids

Much earlier this year, an old and dear friend, SJ, gave each of my boys a Moonjar. It's a three-part bank whose compartments are dedicated to saving, spending and sharing. I told them that we were going to divvy into equal thirds the money in each of their banks and that when Christmastime came, we'd read about some charities and they could decide which would serve as the recipient(s) of each "share" jar. They were so wonderfully amenable to dividing up their money and seemed on board with charitable donation. If you recall Jack's last foray into giving, it was amazing and inspiring and literally brought me to tears. And I know it meant a lot to him too, because he's mentioned it frequently since.

Today was our donation day, so after school and snacks, the boys brought down their Moonjars, and we counted out what each had in his "share" fund. Jack had $12.36 and Oliver had $7.70. I gave each of them $2 from the fine jar (the jar they pay a quarter into for purposefully dissolving whole bars of soap and for egregious use of butt/penis talk.). Then we talked about the Fresh Air Fund (Jack's favorite) and the Animal Legal Defense Fund. I planned to include the Equal Justice Initiative too, but both were so eager about the FAF and ALDF that they insisted on splitting their money between those two.

I said I'd match their amounts but first, each boy had to tell me a one- or two-sentence rationale for choosing these charitable groups because I want to write the charity a letter with our donation. Jack said that "Summer camp is so much fun, and I want other kids to be able to go too." Oliver said, "I really like animals, and I don't like people to hurt them. I am donating to help protect them."

The boys learn a lot at school about community and kindness and helping others, and I think this just-launched tradition of ours (I donate every Christmastime so doing it with them is very special for me, too) makes what they learn even more meaningful. Using their own money, sending that off towards organizations that mean something to them drives everything home in a tangible way. I very much want them to grow up with a deeply-instilled sense of charity in its truest, most dignified meaning. Thank you, SJ, for the Moonjars. Cheers to you, Jack and Oliver, for so generously and enthusiastically sharing.

Happy Holidays!

If you struggle to find trustworthy, well-run charities, I've done a lot of research, and in addition to those noted above, I also love:

The Fistula Foundation National Resources Defense Council Human Rights Campaign

A veritable conniption fit

Round about 3am this morning, I realized just how grateful I am not to be a member of a group who ululates with any frequency. I think it would bug the crap out of me. You see, by this point, J had been wailing for at least the ninety minutes since I was awakened by his cries. Despite my pleas, demands, coercions and every other trick in the book, he refused to stop his freakish calls, and I was nearly catatonic with ire. Little did I know that he would continue said ululations until 6:30am, taking only a one hour break when he fell fitfully asleep. Or did I? Was he pretending to be an elderly woman on the banks of the Ganges, mourning a family member who'd just passed in tragic fashion? No! Were that the case, he should have won an Oscar, and if he does one day, for dramatic interpretation, you heard it here first.

He couldn't get to sleep which, as we all know, is an annoying affliction. Many hours into this insomnia, he accused me of not tending to his ear even though I'd heard no mention of said ear prior to that moment.

"My ear drum is bruised and killing me, and you don't even care!"

Me, groggy and peevish, replied, "How could I know that your ear hurts if you haven't mentioned that?"

"Well, you need to take me to the doctor! NOW!"

Me: "Um, doctors aren't open in the middle of the night. I've given you Advil, we'll get the Lidocaine ear drops, and that's really all I can manage until the doctor's office opens at 9."

He raged against the lack of 24-hour pediatric offices, moved into my bed, kept putting his cold feet on my legs, raged against my "butthole care" and patently refused to stop his dramatic whimper. Except when he Jekyll-and-Hyde told me he loved me.

Y'all might think I sound cold and cruel, but any mom knows when her kid is dramatizing the hell out of a situation and also when the child is delirious from lack of sleep. Both were 1000% true, and being that blood and puss were not gushing from his aural orifice, he most certainly could have bucked up a bit.

After nearly six hours, I could take it no more. Out of my mind, I woke Tom (who was in the basement after yet another endless night at work) and told him he best take over. I took Oliver to school and his holiday concert while T took J to the doctor to find that while he does have an ear infection, it is a slight one. Fine. I'm terribly sorry for his ear pain but jesus h overreaction.

Even J later said, "I kind acted crazy."

Yes, bank-o'-the-Ganges, you did.