Tales of the Ordinary Days

The Twelfth Day of Christmas  Today I was thinking about the common grade school homework assignment; writing a story on what you did over Christmas break. Since it's been ages since anyone asked me this question and it sounded intriguing, here goes... My Twelve Days of Christmas by Sandy Lane 1st Day of Christmas - Celebrated an early Christmas with the boys. No wrapped gifts, just a shopping mall and Barnes and Noble with money in hand. We ended the night at Outback for dinner and then caught the movie, The Hobbit. Note for next year: avoid shopping malls the weekend before Christmas. Second note: my kids are fun, no matter what we do. 2nd Day of Christmas - Creighton vs. California for a Sunday afternoon game at the Century Link. Kori joins us as we celebrate Robbie's birthday. The night didn't end after the Creighton win. Happy Birthday, Robbie! 3rd Day of Christmas - Last day of work in Omaha before the holiday, ending with Christmas cheer. I m...

The boys after surviving our Christmas Eve road trip This story serves as a follow-up "bad parenting story" from my last blog post. Since the kids in my previous story were not my own, I thought I better come clean on my own parenting prowess. When the boys were young, we would spend time over our Christmas breaks skiing in Colorado. The days of our stay would vary, dependent on family schedules. On this particular year, we chose to ski the week before Christmas. The plan was to drive home on Christmas Eve. This would get us home for the Lane extended family gathering on Christmas Day. Our ski trips would many times involve other families. Russ and Robbie were with us on this trip. Following a great week of skiing, we packed up Christmas Eve morning. We set off on our road trip with happy thoughts of landing in the warmth of our homes by late afternoon. Plenty of time to enjoy this special night and prepare for our Nebraska Christmas. As is typical with the mountain...

Boo-Boo and Russell after they were corrupted I have a confession. Well, technically WE have a confession. Robbie and I weren't being responsible. Once. Just once. Hmmmm....let's further narrow it down to the holidays. There was this one time over the holidays that Robbie and I weren't exactly responsible. Not horrible, but not our shining moment either. The Setting: December of 1989. Apartment living off of 108th and Maple in Omaha, Nebraska. The Cast of Characters: Sandy: 22 years; Robbie: days shy of 22 years; Russell: 3 years; Brynnie: 18 months. Scott worked nights at the jail. Robbie went to surgery tech school and lived with Scott & Sandy during the week. The Story: It was a very cold early-December Friday night. Robbie and kids decided to stay the night in Omaha. Scott was at work until midnight. I thought writing Christmas cards was a good idea. Robbie agreed. So we wrapped up the children in their warmest winter-wear and walked across the...

Mom and her famous wreaths As I read people's Christmas posts and their words of fond holiday stories from years past, I'm reminded of the little things that rest in our happy memories. It really is the sights, sounds and smells of the season that linger. My own personal treasure chest of memories may seem incidental to most, but these little bits of Christmas fill my heart with emotion each time I reflect... The warmth of the stove on my three-year old back as I sat next to it, playing with my magnetic alphabet set. I was allowed to open one gift early on Christmas Eve. An act of charity as I was home bound with the Chicken Pox. We did not go to our grandparents that year. Mom cooked a turkey and our little family stayed home. The sight of a three-wick candle burning brightly in the formal living room. The lights were dimmed with Elvis singing Christmas carols from vinyls in the background. Our record player was a large piece of furniture used to display our favorit...

I am pretty sure my brother, Matt, believed in Santa as he tore open his gift and my parents looked on (circa ~ 1966) I never believed in Santa. <sigh> My non-belief in Santa is a dark secret of my childhood. I have no memory of ever believing. My mom tells me that on my second Christmas, I crawled out of my crib before anyone was awake and opened the presents under the tree. My vague recollection of this event isn't about the magic of Santa, but only of the pretty wrapping paper. Our next door neighbor, Michael Wischnewski, told me there was no Santa Claus. I was three. He was thirteen. Mom was furious. The resulting impact to me: no memories of lying in bed on Christmas Eve, waiting in exhilaration for Santa as visions of sugar plums danced in my head. <another sigh>  That being said, I do remember trying really hard to believe. Growing up, I watched my friends experience the magic of Santa Claus as I tried to convince myself that ...

The year we were busted. Cousin, Adam, is nestled in the middle. I have always enjoyed the joy of a great surprise. Growing up, I would often asked to be surprised with gifts rather than having each present chosen to my specifications. Unwrapping a pink flowered robe on Christmas day, knowing my mom had picked out this retail treasure just for me, was bliss. My brothers, on the other hand, did not buy into my naive wonderment. Their Christmastime goal was to uncover every hidden treasure and unwrap in advance of Christmas Day. And no matter how hard I tried to resist their Grinch antics, I would ultimately cave. I was a willing participant in a trio of holiday hi-jinx. The year of note was during our pre-teen years. Old enough to babysit ourselves, our parents would leave us alone when they would go out. During the holiday season, they were gone most weekends socializing. The minute Mom and Dad would walk out the door to go out to dinner or to a holiday gala, we three kids wou...

Grant Lane at a grade school Christmas program We attended a beautiful Christmas performance in Denver this weekend. It was full of acting, dancing and singing. The gifted soloists were backed by a mega choir. They collectively rocked all of the "favorites" of Christmas. As a pretty blonde songstress sang a perfectly pitched Silent Night, I found myself misty-eyed. In fact, I fought the tears that were edging my eyelids; wanting to stream my cheeks. This song does this to me every time, without fail. And every time I think of a Christmas Eve, many moons ago, that will always delicately rest in my happy memory. This Christmas season, I am busy. And not busy in a Christmas way. It's been busy in a work, long football season, get engaged kind of way. But I have found there are benefits to all of that. Namely, that I'm not trying to "fit it all in". Rather than me scrambling to pull it all together, I am taking a minimalist approach; no Christmas cards, ...