I haven’t heard it in a while, but when I was younger sometimes at Christmastime the radio stations played a song called “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.”  You can guess what it’s about if you haven’t heard it.

We found it funny, but I found it a little less amusing the Christmas I found myself actually missing my two front teeth, and endowed with a powerful lisp instead.

I’ve forgotten all about the song until this evening, when I was working in the kitchen and writing notes to myself.  Only a very few of these notes make it to paper, sometimes due to lack of paper and pencil, but usually due to lack of time.  (I’m slow.  Plus, sometimes it’s a little hard for me to stop.  I’ve fallen asleep in bed with my pen in hand.)  Then I started thinking about how I wish I had more time for writing here.  C&D are nearly four, and I can’t exactly remember where three has gone, and age two is largely missing in my memory, lost somewhere between naps and doctors’ appointments.  I want to remember these days, to remember how much we’ve all grown, and to remember how sweet it all is.

Instead I run to keep up with the house, the chores, the food, and the busy imagining:  we are cowboys, trains, doctors, nurses, bees, butterflies, waiters, Taco Cabana drive-thru cashiers, chefs, horses, farmers.  This week on the brain especially has been the Nativity, with Carmen playing the role of Mary or the Wise Men, David of shepherds, Joseph, the heavenly host, or the apocryphal Little Drummer Boy, complete with djembe drum, harmonica, and lap harp.  The role of Jesus is played by the floppy, worn bear that Matt played with as a toddler.  Bear Jesus rides around in a stroller in lieu of a donkey, I think.

When I do have a piece of time to myself, I spend it working on a special project that will gradually unfold.  It’s not the next Great American Novel, but it does require large amounts of paper, screen time, and turkey burgers and tater tots from the local university.  The university is where I find my great triad of necessities: power outlets, Wi-Fi, and food.  Well, and of course, it’s gotta be quiet.  So, okay, call it a quartet or something.   Paper and pen are handy, too.

I thought of something I should do tomorrow–I already have a list across from the fridge, a habit born post-AVM–but I already forgot what it should be.  Time to sign off.  The kitchen table isn’t a very good place to sleep, anyhow.