Author: amberhj

Stella insists she can see with BOTH eyes

Posted on by amberhj

Yesterday was sunny and crisp. A Golden Delicious apple of a day. Okay, a frozen one. I’d recently read about how incredibly important and beneficial outdoor time is to kids’ eyesight, and was determined to whisk Stella off to the neighborhood park immediately after her nap. Stella woke up, and after wasting about 30 to 45 minutes doing absolutely nothing in particular, I removed the eye patch from her glasses and we headed out on foot.

Half a block into our walk, which was really more of a run, Stella seemed to have a revelation. I saw it before she said a word. She suddenly paused, looked around, smiled, and excitedly exclaimed, “I can see with BOTH eyes!” She went on to make this declaration at least twenty times. “Mommy! I can see with BOTH eyes! I can see the leaves. I can see the berries. I can see with BOTH eyes! Mommy! I see with BOTH EYES!” While she was having a great time, seeing with BOTH eyes, my mind raced to interpret this statement in relation to her amblyopia and strabismus and vision therapy. I tried not to let my hopes soar, and simply focused on the happiness of the moment. She was thrilled. I was spellbound and silent, mostly. I did say, “Yes, you CAN! You can see with BOTH eyes.”

What did Stella mean, exactly? It could be clear, simple, and run-of-the-mill. Even with her amblyopia, Stella does see with both eyes–with one more than the other, but still. I see with both eyes, as do most people, obviously. Was she simply making a smart, toddler-esque realization about the world and how it works? Or was a shift taking place in her vision? The whole point of our current vision therapy and patching efforts is to help her see with BOTH eyes, equally. Out of nowhere, she was expressing the essence of everything.

I mentioned the incident to Stella’s vision therapist today, and naturally, she found it very interesting. We both acknowledged that because Stella is two, it’s hard to know why she was saying that she can see with both eyes. But yes. Be still my beating heart! It could be that her eyes are working together better. Binocular fusion and increased stereoscopy (3D vision) could certainly create such an excited and interested reaction. On the other hand, it’s also possible that she’s seeing double–which isn’t necessarily bad. Sometimes kids in vision therapy see double here and there as their brains figure out the path to binocular fusion. But I don’t think that’s it, because she had no trouble grabbing small berries or pebbles, no difficulty running fearlessly up and down the small but steep slope that runs parallel to the sidewalk. She made eye contact with me frequently and purposefully.

When Stella’s eyes crossed severely on that day last April, the day that (thankfully) set us on the path to glasses and patching and vision therapy, she couldn’t see or do much of anything. Eye contact was impossible. She could walk, but not as steadily, and if told to walk to mommy, she’d miss me completely and sail by to my left,  aiming at one of the two inaccurate, fuzzy mommy images that she saw. Her arms flailed in front of her, grasping. She wasn’t scared. She seemed dazed and thoroughly amused, playing around in the blurry void. Nothing of this sort happened yesterday. There was a general feeling of clarity, in the way she spoke and behaved. Regardless of what Stella was actually seeing and experiencing, I view this small but striking incident as positive development. Even if her vision was not being transformed in that moment, it was still wonderful to hear and behold.

Due to a rough night of broken sleep, today’s vision therapy session was challenging. Stella was tired, and her fuse was short. But we did some solid work, and learned some new exercises. During the long-ish drive home, again I noticed something out of the ordinary. I looked back several times to see Stella positively beaming. Smiling such a sweet, powerful grin while gazing at something specific–one time it was the cherries hanging from the rear-view mirror. Stella smiles a lot, but this was different. Focused, for no obvious reason. We were listening to NPR, so I know music wasn’t the spark for her pronounced delight. I think it was her eyes again. Maybe she was seeing double and found it entertaining. Or perhaps she was seeing the world in full depth and dimension. How beautiful that would be.

 

 

 

But terror takes the sound before you make it

Posted on by amberhj

Yesterday afternoon, during Stella’s nap, I was working here at the computer with sunshine pouring in from the window when thought I detected the slightest noise behind me. I swiveled in my chair and was jolted by the sight of Stella, standing just a couple feet away. “Thriller” would’ve been an apt soundtrack for that moment. She scared the living crap out of me–but thankfully I only gasped and didn’t scream. Stunned speechless by her stealth, I suppose. Come to think of it, her disheveled hair, squinting eyes not yet accustomed to light, and baggy sleep sack did give her a ghoulish look. She got out twice more before I finally gave up on that particular nap time and accepted our weekend fate: Shopping for a big girl bed. And perhaps a small bell to be sewn onto her pajamas.

UW pre-optometry students to the rescue!

Posted on by amberhj

Stella, nailing "The Treat Game" with her assistant, named Baby.

Stella, nailing "The Treat Game" with her assistant, named Baby.

Stella knows how to use “WHAT!?” for comedic effect. At PCC, the natural grocery store we hit up to three times a day, there are fun sculptures outside. In reference to one of them she exclaimed, “A dog on a bike–WHAAAT!?” Just a sliver of a pause inserted. She went ahead and tacked on the prolonged “WHAT!?” in a flat yet exaggerated way, the timing and tone appropriate for SNL or In Living Color. Clearly, she’s a comedic genius bound for stand-up stardom.

As I’ve hinted at before, here and at Little Four Eyes, accomplishing our allotted daily vision therapy is a challenge. A grind. More for me than for Stella. In the way that getting up at 5 AM is challenging for a wine-guzzling nightowl. (I swear that’s not me. Usually.) I’m not the most organizationally proficient mom you’ve ever met–unlike my cousin who organized, within an inch of its life, the kitchen drawer that holds her young daughter’s dishes and utensils. To me it was an awe-inspiring thing of unattainable beauty. Honestly, I’m just happy to have identified a drawer into which I can toss that stuff from across the room, since it’s usually left open. When it comes to what needs doing in daily life, I get it done, but piles, toe-stubbing, sweating, and flat-out sprinting are involved. My creativity helps compensate, though. It kind of makes up for the disarray. I write fabulous copy for a range of clients in order to pay for Stella’s vision therapy and other stuff, and enjoy it, and I easily conjure up ways of executing or adapting vision therapy so that it’s somewhat innovative and actually fun for my two-year-old, who is quite young to be doing vision therapy in the first place. I find this type of work–the creative part of vision therapy, but not necessarily the execution–incredibly motivating and satisfying. Which is only natural, but somehow my difficulty seems much more severe than it should be. Of course, it’s not some horrible Sisyphean nightmare either. I believe in vision therapy. Though I struggle with getting it done, our daily work is incredibly valuable and effective, and Stella is resilient, adaptive and more cooperative than she gets credit for. Oh, and she’s creative, too! Using random objects like bulb syringes and blocks and ribbon, she’ll construct a tall, thin structure with a rounded top and say, “Look, mommy! I made the Space Needle!” And you know what, it really, really looks like the Space Needle. Clearly, she’s a brilliant engineer/designer bound for international renown.

Genius aside, when it comes to vision therapy, it really, really helps that she’s willing to step up to the very hardest challenges for a taste of Theo chocolate, made one neighborhood over from where we live, just down the block from Cody’s workplace and PCC. We often stop in for tastings, pretending to be tourists, though I’m not sure we’ve ever fooled anyone, even with our well-honed Boston accents, since we are loud, include a toddler wearing purple glasses, and head directly to the Hazelnut Crunch every time. In the context of “The Treat Game,” explained in my recent post at Little Four Eyes, she’s now grabbing two cards at at time so as to find matches twice as fast. Those red/green glasses just aren’t posing enough of a challenge anymore. Not when Theo chocolate is on the line. That’s my girl. But I know we can’t rely on chocolate. That’s simply the trick I keep up my sleeve. We have been in need of assistance for a while now.

As opposed to my mental lopsidedness, my sister is organized AND a creative problem solver. When I told her I was thinking of hiring someone to come here a couple times a week and help with our at-home vision therapy, she immediately suggested that I find an optometry student. I was all, “Brilliant!” Because wouldn’t you know it? We live right next to a giant university–WHAAT?!

So I got in touch with an officer in the pre-optometry club at the University of Washington and she kindly put out the word. I’ve received five applications from wonderful young minds! I’ll not only tell them everything I know about vision therapy and provide true insider information on to get Stella’s cooperation, but I’ll also throw in a pot of coffee and some sort of hourly rate. The peace of mind I’ll get, and the likely improvement in Stella’s outcome, will be worth it’s weight in Theo chocolate. Wait. Maybe I should pay my vision therapy assistant in chocolate bars? What can’t that stuff do?

And that’s not all! I’ve got a lead on a fantastic babysitter and zeroed in on a preschool that may just be ideal for Stella, due to its notably bigger focus on physical activity and fitness than any other preschool I’ve learned about. They have gymnasts and professional ballet dancers work with the little ones an hour a day–WHAAAT?!

Feels like we’re on the brink of being on a roll. We might even, after almost two and a half years, get some much-needed support–WHAAAT?!

Honestly, it’s not just Stella’s eyes that need the help. It’s me.

Takin’ care of strabismus

Posted on by amberhj

Gah! I can’t tell you how long I’ve been dying to use the above title for a blog post about Stella’s vision. Eons. For those of you who don’t know, “strabismus” (defined as “abnormal alignment of one or both eyes”) sounds a lot like “business” with a funny extra syllable in front. So there you go. Was going to save that tidbit up for my next big update, but it just couldn’t wait. I’m sure it’s been done before, because come on, it’s incredible, but I did technically think that up on my own without seeing it elsewhere. I refuse to google the phrase, so as to preserve the mine-ness. I’ve been copywriting for over a decade now in various capacities, yet somehow a good or perfectly goofy headline still makes my heart flutter. Yes, I just wrote a long paragraph about the headline of this post. And I wonder why readers aren’t flocking here en masse.

Oh right, I had a minor point. See the “Eyes” link above? Yeah, so I added a new vision-centric page to this blog so that interested people can find all the write-ups about Stella’s exotic-sounding visual conditions: amblyopia, anisometropia, accommodative esotropia, hyperopia, adorablyopia. Okay I made that last one up. And there may be others that I’ve forgotten and some that I’ve misspelled. But you get the picture. There’s a lot going on in Stella’s super cute eyeballs and we’re working really hard and I’ll be damned if no one else benefits from our saga. It’s like Star Wars, wherein amblyopia is the Death Star. Come to think of it, Darth Vader would make a kick-ass vision therapist. Tough-minded, thinks outside the box, and controls people with his mind? You’re hired!

Coming soon: I have some really exciting news to share from Stella’s recent vision therapy adventures. Like, crazy stuff that you might read about in science journals and marvel at the amazingness and plasticity of the human brain and how the hell did doctors and scientists figure out how to do all this stuff in the first place? This is boring to most people, probably. I’m a blogging failure in the general sense, but clearly I don’t care. I don’t need to reach a lot of people, though if this really is anything like Star Wars, I will. I just need to reach a few people in similar shoes, to help them a little bit, just because I can. If Stella’s story can benefit other kids, well, that’s what it’s all about! Sweet, sweet meaning.

To me and parents of kids whose brains are playing favorites with their eyes, this crap is more fascinating than you can ever imagine (I hope). Anyway, in addition to patching and whatnot, we’ve been doing more “advanced” therapeutic exercises. At the last appointment, it felt like we were really onto something. No, it’s not like Stella’s eyes are cured of any issues, but words like “dramatic” were tossed around. The impact of therapy could be much wider than I’d realized. I promise to write it up soon, because it’s really amazing and fascinating and my hopes rocketed up a notch or two, and my head will explode if I don’t write it all out.

You read this far? Wow. Thank you! To prove it, please leave a comment saying only, “Luke, I am your vision therapist.”

Knowing when to worry, and when not to

Posted on by amberhj

When I was an infant, I had to wear booties attached by a bar. The goal was to straighten out my legs. It worked, but my legs are a bit S-shaped to this day. They curve oddly at the knee, a quirk noticed by various coaches in middle and high school. But you know what? It’s subtle, and hasn’t been an issue. At all.

It just occurred to me that if Stella had needed a bit of leg straightening, even in this simple, relatively painless manner, I’d have been worried sick. Stomach tied in knots. All for nothing.

Stella’s foray with the feeding tube, and her eyeglasses and eye patch should be no different, really. I don’t mean to dismiss them, just to put them in perspective. I’ve let go of a lot of the anxiety surrounding them, but perhaps too much remains at times. It’s pointless, anyway. Counterproductive, even. She’s doing wonderfully.

There’s a huge lesson there. Hopefully it will sink in. This realization could help make 2011 a fabulous year.

P.S. Happy new year!

All I want for Christmas is an earlier bedtime

Posted on by amberhj

Night before last I slept like a baby. A newborn, actually. I was up until midnight, and wide-eyed from about 1:30 to 6 a.m. At which point I drifted into peaceful slumber for 90 minutes.

I went to bed late after Stella went to bed late. I slept from midnight until 1:30 a.m. Then I found out that my third nephew, my youngest sister’s first baby, had been born!  Three thousand miles away. He’s why I’d stayed up to begin with–I wanted to know about his grand entrance and all the key details as it happened! But frankly, it was taking forever. So I went to bed with the phone next my head and bolted awake at the sound of an incoming text. And I don’t care what cynical people say, it’s a miracle! It’s amazing! He wasn’t here and now he is, out in the world, a new person that is partly my sister and partly her husband. He and my sister, they’re just one of those “meant to be” couples. They’ve been together forever, and oddly and horrifyingly and at different times, they’ve both sustained life-threatening accidents and spinal injuries.  They are soul mates and survivors and now they are not only still here and okay, they have a son! He was eight pounds, one ounce, and super adorable. Like Stella, he took his time joining us out here. But why not? That’s kind of a big transition. Nothing to be rushed into. But don’t tell my sister I said that. She was pissed. All that aside, I just can’t believe that my littlest sister is now a mother. I’m not sure why it stands out so much out of an entire childhood together, but way back when, I did her gorgeous, shiny, long strawberry blond hair for the prom and made it frizzy and she was so kind to me about it, whereas I would’ve thrown a fit. She’s just great. She’s my baby sister. She’s a mom now. It’s crazy wonderful.

And that got my brain hopped up on all kinds of big thoughts, including how fleeting and wondrous all of this is and how I really need to do and be better and will I have another child and why do I live in Seattle instead of in Boston near my family and did I miss the holiday episode of Modern Family, all of which kept me awake until 5 a.m. That’s when I started to drift off, and that’s when Stella started screaming as if being attacked by vicious  zombie stuffed animals. So then I slammed my door open (it can be done, as I demonstrated), and rush into Stella’s room. Her “paci-binky” (yes, she came up with the term and I think hyphenation is warranted) had escaped from the crib and I could not find it a-n-y-w-h-e-r-e. So in a rage, I turned on the lights, and scoured the area muttering like a mad person. With no luck. So I went back into my chamber of insomnia and dug up an old pacifier and I have no idea why I knew that we still had it or furthermore, that it was in my underwear drawer. The unconcious is a funny thing when furious. So I gave it to her, thereby probably causing her to need braces and major an costly orthodontic intervention as that old pacifier is big and bulbous and probably for little babies with no teeth, and then stormed back in my room. Full of adrenaline and devoid of hope for any sleep whatsoever.

It was quiet for a while, as my body’s adrenaline surge died down, then I thought I heard a peep. Or two. Then there was animated talking about monsters and Santa and robots, and then the screaming. Again with the screaming! It’s totally contrived, but at times very convincing. In that moment, I decided to let her scream and scream because fake screaming shouldn’t “work” and cause me to come running only to have her immediately quiet and smile (because she’s been totally fine the whole time) and cheerfully say, “Papa bear likes porridge!” in an attempt to engage me in early morning playtime, but I was clearly allowing it to work and so here we were, but as of tonight I was having none of it anymore! You hear me?! None! Of! It!

I knew, before caving, that she’d tossed her lovies, blankets and pacibinky out of the crib (but not Dolly or zebra–they’ve somehow been granted amnesty). When rage again lifted me from my rumpled bed, I held it in. I robotically located and returned the crap to the crib, put the blankets her and left. Yes, two blankets, because she has to have the one Mimi made her and the one from when she was a little baby, plus her two lovies (the blandly but lovingly named blanky and pup pup) plus her new bespectacled dolly, named Dolly, and her zebra, of course, because how could you drift off to dreamland without a black and white striped animal next to your head? I was then able to sleep from about 6 a.m. until 7:30 a.m. All told, I’m pretty sure my sister, the one who’d birthed a baby early that morning, got more sleep than me. She will punch me in the face if she reads this. Well, she’ll want to, but like I said, she’s wonderful and will restrain herself.

Stella has, by and large, been a great sleeper. Which is good, because if she’d had both eating and sleeping troubles, I’d have been committed long ago. But in the last month or two, something has changed. I keep telling myself that earlier naps and an earlier bedtime are the key. That we will put Stella in her crib by 8 p.m. on the dot (at the latest!) every night, that I’ll make sure she’s down for her nap long before 1 p.m. (today it was 2:14). It’s just not happening. Today she slept until 9:15, making up for the previous night’s shenanigans, and so we’re off kilter again.

Clearly this calls for a Christmas miracle! Or a watch. You hear that, Santa?

 

 

A little blue

Posted on by amberhj

Lafont Tamtam in 220 blue

So long, old 220 blue

Stella’s glasses are blue, mostly. They are also broken. Actually, she has two pairs and both are destroyed. Again.

So we hauled our butts into the optical shop today. Apparently, after breaking them ten or so times, we’ve exhausted their supplier’s inventory of the Lafont Tamtam in 220 blue. To be clear, we used to get the original Tamtam in that hue, then switched to the identical Tamtam 2 in the same shade, a sturdier update. They’re both depleted and being phased out. So I could not order a replacement pair in what has become her signature color.

You know what’s funny? My sadness. My heart broke just a bit when the optician told me it was unavailable. This pang was a tad surprising. Not so long ago, I was teary about her need to wear glasses. Afraid they would obscure her beautiful face. Change her somehow. But at some point between then and now I fell in love those little blue frames. They’ve become a part of her, an essential component of her unique brand of cute. As cheesy as it sounds, those glasses truly hold a special place in my heart. And that explains why, even though they kept breaking, I couldn’t let go.

So I ordered them in blue 315 (which apparently means purple).

Here’s hoping that one of Stella’s New Year’s resolutions is to take better care of her glasses.

Lafont Tamtam in 315 blue

Welcome aboard, 315 "blue"

The hazards of marrying an environmental engineer

Posted on by amberhj

I can’t remember exactly when, but early on in our relationship, Cody and I attended a housewarming. At some point within the flow of party conversation, after we all gushed about the hostess’ new place, Cody casually noted that the land upon which the abode was located would “liquefy in an earthquake.”  But hey, cheers and congrats!

One morning not so long ago, Cody, Stella, and I sat in a cozy coffee shop enjoying pastries when he mused about the property having once been a dry cleaner, apparently just like most other commercial properties in existence. They’re among the worst and most common of God-awful polluters, and during his decade of work in the city he’d learned about the toxic nature of that particular block of Seattle’s quaint Queen Anne neighborhood. He explained that the toxic fumes were no doubt rising up from the ground beneath us at that very moment. Oh but don’t worry, the building provides some shelter from it and only the cafe’s employees were in any “real” danger.  Man, aren’t these croissants delicious?

And then last night, we were relaxing in bed while watching the finale of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” that classic cinematic climax known for making hearts soar. During George’s emotional, snow-covered moments of awakening (and manic sprinting), Cody flatly remarked in regards to the flurry, “Asbestos. It’s all asbestos.” And whenever asbestos is released into the air, an angel gets its wings. Wink!

But he wasn’t 100% sure, so we did a bit of googling and it turns out that George’s snowfall was created with foamite, relatively benign and used in fire extinguishers. However, the fake flakes in the poppy field scene in “The Wizard of Oz” (the stuff they sprinkled all over Judy Garland) were genuine asbestos. So there you go. Merry Christmas!

The thing is, Cody’s really not a negative guy! He’s kind and content. It’s just that his occupation has led him to become extremely informed about some really negative stuff, which pops up at inopportune moments. Actually, when it comes to news-worthy environmental scares (like BPA, for example), he’s consistently the least worried person I know. Probably because he’s intimately acquainted with the “real” environmental threats. And he’ll tell you all about them at your holiday soiree.

Fabulinks

Posted on by amberhj

I quickly wanted to share the results of our fun photo shoot with Dave Estep of EstepWorks. He’s a friend, a former co-worker, and an incredibly talented creative photographer here in Seattle. Can’t recommend him enough. He’s so laid back and kind, and his happy brand of creative genius seems effortless in the best possible way. Honestly, I was so confident in his abilities that we really did minimal prep. We didn’t make ourselves look fancy, with the exception of Cody’s button-up shirt.  I made sure we didn’t clash and I put on a bit more make-up than usual (the usual being none), but I didn’t shower, barely combed my hair, and my jacket was covered in lint. But that’s us. I knew Dave would present us, as we really are, in a beautiful light. And he did. We’ll treasure these photographs for a long, long time. Thanks so much, Dave.

Check us out on EstepWorks’ blog.

In unrelated but also fabulous news, Stella’s vision therapy progress evaluation (this morning’s eye exam, after three months of patching and vision therapy) took place this morning. I wrote about it over at Little Four Eyes. I’m proud of Stella and her hard-earned progress, while also steeling myself for more hard work. We need to get that left eye up to 20/20. We can do it.

I’m off to make some more modern paper ornaments before bed. They’re taking over our home, and I like it. Happy holidays!

Christmas is everywhere. Even on our butts.

Posted on by amberhj

I frigging love Christmas. So does my whole family. Growing up, the season was filled with wonder, for reals, thanks to my mother’s amazing creativity, my father’s endless enthusiasm, and my (and my sisters’) borderline psychotic desire to BELIEVE. In fact, I probably believed in Santa until I was 15. I simply refused to give him up because that would mean less holiday magic, my drug of choice. (Wine is now a close second.)

To this day, come December, every nook and cranny of my parents’ house is adorned with enchanting and festive touches. Garland atop every piece of furniture. Lights on banisters, mantles and Christmas trees. (Yep, you’d best believe they have multiple trees.) The dishes, bowls and, well everything, magically become a holiday-themed version of  themselves. Goodbye, bland everyday pottery. Hello, charming snowflake mugs–I’ve missed you! Oh, is that an adorable family of holiday elves on the toilet? Why yes, yes it is. The magic even follows you into the bathroom, friends. If they could fit a small fir tree and holiday choir in there, they would. Outside, there are white lights on every edge of the house and all the trees within a half mile, except for one small concession. A small bush of colorful lights. That’s where my mother allows my dad to win one skirmish in their epic holiday battle of the sexes. White lights versus multi-colored lights. My mom’s Martha- and Jesus-like class and purity (all that is good and light) versus my dad’s gregarious, well-meaning but over-the-top garishness (probably representative of the crass commercial side of the season, and evil). Why, just this weekend at Target, I overheard a woman telling her husband, in one sentence with a dead serious tone and without breathing, to put down the colored lights we are doing all white lights. Clearly, too many colored lights will ruin Christmas. Thankfully, stylish, organized and unwavering women prevent that from happening.

So, obviously, I haven’t yet collected enough decorations to fill our home to the brim but it’s my goal, damn it, and every year I inch closer. There’s currently a full set-up of Christmas regalia on the mantle entailing faux-mercury birds, a small tree comprised of fake red berries, very large ornamanets, a handmade “PEACE” banner (warped by glue and exuberance) complete with glitter and monkeys wearing Santa hats, plus pine cones, the standard glittery Eiffel Tower, etc. etc. A wreath will be strung up over the existing mantle display as soon as I can get my hands on a sturdy wire ring, as I’m using the extra bows cut from the bottom of the tree to make a simple, fresh wreath with a silver bow. Atop the bookshelf, you’ll find the nutcracker versions of Santa, skiing with goggles, and Mrs. Claus, with wire-frame glasses and a tray of cookies for Santa, because getting them at every house in the world just isn’t enough for that tubby saint. If Stella and I can assemble and decorate a gingerbread house without eating it into non-existence, it will join those two up there.

There’s a charming German Advent calendar hanging over Stella’s mini red piano, homemade paper ornaments strung from the chandelier, and a garland with lights on the conveniently red hutch. In Stella’s room, we’ve got a tiny, sparkly pink and white bottle brush tree on her bookcase, one of those small fake trees in the classic burlap sack (needs decorating) on the little white table by her windown, and white and red star lights from Ikea swooping down over her curtains. Outside there’s the typical wreath (may add star lights to this–TBD) plus giant sparkly snowflakes and over-sized ornaments hanging from silver ribbon on the front porch. Lights will be added this week and it’s killing me that they’re not up yet. There are some holiday bowls in the kitchen, white with red snowflakes, but that’s it for that space. Sad, I know. But it gets worse, as there’s no holiday presence in our room or the office–unless you count my holiday spirit when I’m in those rooms. I’ll rig something up, though. I’ll make wonder out of nothing. Because, you know, as proud as I am of the Christmas decorating I’ve done, I’ve got a long way to go before I reach my family’s exacting standards for holiday magic. “You call this a tree? It’s only got 300 ornaments! None of them vintage! Chump!”

Now, depending on your holiday orientation, you may see all of this as paltry and pathetic, acceptable, or outrageously insane. To the latter, yes, it might seem a bit much. On paper! But in person, it just works. Besides, holiday magic isn’t something that can be worked out on paper. If only you believed, you’d understand. Only jerks don’t BELIEVE.

I’m overjoyed to report that, unlike all the non-believing Grinches out there, Stella has inherited the happy holiday gene. This past weekend, I hastily arranged just a few decorations to get us started–the Santa nutcracker and the mantle adornments. She breathlessly reviewed each item several times, saying things like, “Look at my Santa! He’s wearing goggles! Daddy wears goggles, too!” Yes he does Stella, at the swimming pool. But she and I digress. That night, after we put her in her crib, we could hear her sobbing and screaming, “I WANT MY CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS! I WANT MY CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS!” Indoctrination complete, I thought. I gave her a big squeeze and told her about all the decorations to come the next day. Worked like a charm.

We put up the Christmas tree last night, though it’s still naked because, sadly, all our strings of lights died of unknown causes at some point within the eleven months that passed since they last lit up our lives. Our pricey Nordman fir  (they’re huge in Europe) is supposed to shed less. Yet, naturally, needles covered every visible surface of our home by the time the tree took its place of honor in the corner by the large front window. Stella immediately referred to the needles as “Christmas.” She said, “Here mommy, hold the Christmas,” as she passed me two bright green needles, treating them like magic holiday fairy dust. Then Cody got on his belly to fill the tree stand with water. Which is when Stella pointed at his needle-strewn butt and exclaimed, “He has Christmas on his booty!”

Whenever I ask Stella what she wants for Christmas, Stella says, without hesitation, “Ornaments!” Me too, Stella. Me too. Our toilet isn’t going to decorate itself.

*Disclaimer: I use both white and multi-colored lights. Mostly white, though.