Never Too Early for Christmas

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As I shopped this weekend for Halloween goodies, I noticed the Christmas decorations right next to the costumes at Target.

Although most everyone says it's way too early to think about Christmas in October, I was thankful because it reminded me of one of the best Christmases our family had in the year 2000.

In the ICU Children's Hospital of Los Angeles on an early December morning, Dr. Winfield Wells strolled into my daughter Holly's room.

His street clothes looked like Pat Boone circa 1962: polo shirt, plaid golf pants and white shoes. Holly's cardiologist said he was the best pediatric cardiac surgeon on the planet and I think he knew it.

His team of doctors clamored around him like an entourage with their clipboards and white coats. He said, "It looks like we don't need to put in a pacemaker after all!" A few days earlier he easily patched up Holly's 15-month-old heart with Dacron like a piece of fabric on a rag doll.


She was born with a large ventricular septal defect. After the surgery, it was doubtful Holly's heart would ever beat on its own hence the need for a pacemaker. I talked to God the night before and said if she needs a pacemaker then she needs one.


My husband Tim and I will deal with it. When Holly was born there was never any doubt that Holly wouldn't survive, she just needed extra care. My parents helped us out with that for the first 10 months of her life.

My mom said she would never leave me to take care of Holly by myself. And I think I knew why. My grandmother died from something similar - a leaky heart valve at age 39.

When I told Mom the news about Holly, she immediately put her hands over her face and wailed, no doubt remembering how she watched her young mother pass away.

It took Holly 15 months to gain enough weight for the operation. When she was ready, Dr. Wells said he could wait until after the holidays but we said no, we wanted it done right away.


If she was in the hospital on Christmas day then so be it. There will be more Christmases to celebrate the regular way if there is a such a thing. Most people find the antiseptic smell of hospital rooms annoying but to me it's comforting.


That smell reminds me that we are in the hands of God and that He sends us angels in the bodies of doctors and nurses clad in white to fix whatever needs fixing. The morning Holly went in, a tall nurse with perfect makeup and a bright smile with a Christmas bow on her surgical cap told us,

"Now is the time for hugs and kisses," right before they took her into OR. She gave Holly a teddy bear with a tiny green surgical mask.


When Holly came to, she was attached to tubes and wires when she opened her mouth to cry but no sound came out. My husband left the room but I stayed for her to hear my voice and feel my hand on hers. She had such a small soft hand which gripped my fingers, scarred from surgical tape and IV tubes. Holly was too little to understand the concept of Santa Claus.


I was glad I didn't have to explain that Santa also delivers gifts to hospitals on Christmas Eve. But I wrote her a letter on memo pad paper answering any questions if she was old enough to ask them.

She might ask, "If I'm not allowed to have a Christmas tree in ICU, where does Santa put the presents?" I'd say, "He delivers them to the doctors and nurses and mommies and daddies to bring them to you."


Or she might ask, "Hospitals don't have chimneys, how does he get in?" I'd say, "The nice workers let him in through the front doors."

But there was no need for explanation. The night before her scheduled second surgery to insert a pacemaker, her little heart started beating on her own.


The nurses checked and rechecked the long strips of paper that printed out the rhythm of her heart beats. Doctors upon doctors came into her room looking at the monitors, then at her, then at us. They all said the same thing: "We didn't expect this."


Within a day, Holly began sitting up, dancing in her seat to Disney cartoons. We left the hospital on Christmas Eve. I got to hold her while a nurse wheeled us out which I was robbed of after she was born since Holly had to stay in neonatal ICU.


When Holly saw the sunlight as the doors opened, she smiled, giggled and clapped at it like she just found her favorite toy. On the way home we stopped at McDonald's and tasted those salty and crispy French fries while she chomped away. No more baby hospital food!


There were dark circles under her eyes as we unwrapped presents by the tree that night. But her hazel eyes lit up as she saw the orange teddy bear named Ojo from the TV show Bear in the Big Blue House.

Today, as a ten-year-old, she wants nothing to do with that bear but I keep it up on my dresser, ready with a patch and thread if it ever needs them.

Take Your Lower Lip and Pull it Over Your Head

Carol Burnett via last.fm

As a mother, I no longer dread mammograms, pap smears or spinal fusion. I look forward to them like spa treatments.

Major back surgery was painful, of course, but I got oodles of time to myself with a side of morphine. Carol Burnett once said that in order for men to understand childbirth, take your lower lip and pull it over your head.

Well, to understand spinal fusion, take your lower lip, pull it over your head, then pull it back to your neck.

Then stretch it back to your spine down to your toes and put it under your heels. Strap on your best stillettos and dig your heels onto your lower lip. You might understand spinal fusion at least during the hospital stay. Recovery time? That's a different story.

Remove your lower lip from under your stillettos and pull it up to your belt buckle, tuck it into your pants, then snap it back into its original place. And then you get back to your job of mothering.

In my house, you must abide by three simple rules:

1. You must have fun making dinner with me. We made Boboli pizza the other night. The girls fought over who sprinkles the cheese on the sauce. April won because Holly did the sauce. But Holly didn't want too much cheese so she tells April how to do it. April growls.

April's latest thing is to act like an animal. If she ever takes acting lessons and does that embarassing exercise where she walks around a strip mall acting like an iguana or parrot, she's got it down.

Yelling ensues. I separate them into corners like Muhammad Ali and Leon Spinx for time outs. Then I march them back into the kitchen and order them like Louis Gossett Jr., "You two HAVE FUN if it's the LAST THING YOU DO!"

They crack up. I half expect April to do her best Richard Gere impression, "I got nowhere else to go!" Then bark like a dog.

2. If you are a children's author or illustrator, please have a name I can pronounce. When I read to my kids, I always read the author and illustrator's names out loud. Not only is it important to know who created this work, we find more books by these authors at the library.

But it's hard when you can't pronounce their names. I say, "Today we will read 'Jane Goes for a Walk" by Ziadna'en Aidezkyyoiuuon. Illustrated by Andiao;en;knaci Alidja;kanekngalkidu." I do my best but they laugh at me. So I advise if you go into this wonderful line of work, get a pen name.

3. Finally, no fighting until Mommy is at least in her underwear. Many times we get ready in a rush to go somewhere. I'm in a state of undress and I have to break up a screaming and growling fight. I rush out of my room, praying the blinds are closed, to find out what happened. But I can't discipline if I don't have my underwear on. How do you lay down the law when you're buck naked?

So, if these three simple rules cannot be obeyed, I will need a relaxing day to myself until they are. Which reminds me, I'm due for a root canal.

Volunteers of America

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No matter how hard you work, if you don't get paid for it, it's not considered a job. Part time jobs are few and far between these days so instead I volunteer at my kids' school and my church. I do it because I love it not for monetary gain.

An unnamed loser on an internet message board once told me, "At least I have a job. Do you ever leave the house?" Hell hath no fury like a stay-at-home mom scorned. Instead of engaging in a flame war, I ignored him at the time. But then he insulted another member's daughter and let's just say that karma's bite in the butt is a little painful to say the least.

Truth is, I never put hardly any energy into any job that I was paid for. At least I didn't get a lot of enjoyment over it. But I get enjoyment out of the jobs for which I volunteer.

It was Ronald Reagan who spoke of the spirit of volunteering in Temecula. It must be contagious because I didn't get into the spirit until I moved here.

I help kindergarten kids learn their letters and numbers. I help elementary kids write compositions. I teach Sunday school to elementary kids and plan crafts to teach them about art through God. There's hardly any art classes in school anymore, so if there's the next Picasso it's my duty to find that talent and bring it out.

If I were paid for any of these things, I doubt I'd derive as much happiness as I do now. As a volunteer, none of this work is a chore. I do it out of the kindness of my heart. And to keep an eye on my kids. Over protective? Maybe. But never unhappy.