Merry Chris Chris!

It's nearly midnight on Christmas Eve, and I can't sleep thanks to the sugar cookies coursing through  my veins (hey, someone's got to make them think Santa ate those cookies), my sense of accomplishment in wrapping every last present at the last minute without any kids coming downstairs Cindy Lou Who style, and the salsa music blaring outside as my entire neighborhood celebrates Noche Buena. I wouldn't mind it so much - in fact, it's one of those love/hate things about living in Miami - if I didn't know from past experience that it's going to end in fireworks. Lots of them. In fact, just heard the first few pops now. Kids will definitely be waking up soon, but at least I won't be caught in the act of putting presents under the tree.

Roman calls it "chris chris" (awe) and this Chris Chris month has completely blown away past year's time-warp speed. It's like watching the Santa Tracker and seeing his little sleigh bounce from Copenhagen to Belfast to Sao Paolo in a matter of minutes - that's exactly what time feels like lately. If it doesn't slow down soon I'm going to be 98 and hopefully eating pho on a park bench in Central Park with some really interesting person. Anyway, time flies. Yeah. Ani had a last-minute birthday soiree (which really truly deserves its own post - poor kid should have been born way in the beginning of December but I can't really blame her for being late, especially since she is possibly the most punctual kid on the planet - I mean, she comes downstairs fully dressed with her hair done every morning for chris chris sake). Reni learned how to ride a bike without training wheels (video coming soon). We joined a really cool church (yes, you read that right) and I found a behavioral therapist for Reni in the hopes that talking about his feelings with a professional (and that professional giving me some parenting coaching lessons) will ease his anger and confusion about why daddy doesn't live with us anymore.

Some days are good, and some not so good. Some moments are truly Hallmark, and others are more Showtime/HBO. There really isn't much in-between when you're single-parenting with three kids.

Hallmark: the other day Roman grabbed my hand, looked up at me and proclaimed, "mama, you're my best friend." No big deal, my heart just burst.
HBO: Reni's teacher raced out to the car at pick-up this week and, shaking, told me that my 6 year-old had returned the gift she gave him (matching the one she gave everyone else in the class) with a curt, "I don't want this."
Showtime: kids were outside shrieking, I'm trying to make dinner, then I hear Roman howl and he looks like his teeth have rotted out but it's just dirt, matching the mud covering the rest of his body, flung there on purpose by his lovely siblings.
Hallmark: Anika's teacher telling me that she made the short list for Gator of the Month (the theme is pursuit of excellence for the month of January) and her classmates voted her the most deserving.
HBO: Reni's teacher the day after the infamous present refusal, texting me saying that she was in tears again - this time happy ones, thank god - after reading the notes that Reni and I wrote her and shoved inside a gift bag with some chocolates and a monogrammed coffee mug as a way to hide my shame and poor parenting skills.
Showtime: pretty much most of today. Don't know how their teachers do it but three kids alone all day has got me loco. I ate too many sugar cookies that had so many sprinkles and so much frosting on them that I'm probably going to be up all night.
I could write an 800-page manifesto on this. But not really, because TIME.

Look at these little charmers, though. I am one lucky mama. Roman is still in shock/awe/fear that Santa is here, and appears to be a real, burly, tall man with a ton of facial hair that looks way more appealing in cartoon form.