Real retail therapy

Today, I am volunteering at the Santa Shop at Lil E's co-op.

The premise is simple: Parents donate crap out of their basements, closets and garage sale piles and other parents arrange it in a tidy fashion by gender, age and obsurdly ridiculous heinousness (that stuff goes up front, only encouraging it to sit on your mantle or another highly visible place forever after).

Then, more parents act as personal shoppers and wrappers and cheerleaders to indecisive, crying children and exuberant, strategic children as they carefully choose gifts from the tables of crap as their Christmas gifts for their family.

It really is lovely and fun and gives the kids a big surge of excitement to use dollar bills to "buy" gifts that they pick out themselves. And it is funny to see the wee ones laboring over which tie the width of the Kennedy their grandpa would like best and which plastique snow angel statue their mom would most treasure. In fact, it is hilarious to see children recognize an item from their own home and have to return it as a Christmas surprise, or to watch them become inexplicably drawn to the most horrid of singing bass wall hangings that we parent volunteers assure them would, in fact, be the ideal present for their very particular daddy.

I will be womaning the wrap station, creatively trying to cover oddly-shaped Avon candles with cheapy gift bags and find ways to make a dog's head resin mug look pretty in Baby Jesus paper.

I will be wondering why these kids have eight other siblings they need to simultaneously shop for and how in the world one little crap-stocked Santa Shop can make so many nanas, papas, grammies, grampies, moms, dads, stepdads, other mommies, "uncles," half sisters, Aunt Jennys, household pets, and even the kids themselves (yes, my kid buys a gift for himself, and there he is above, pictured with contemplative surprise at his own pick), feeling so blissful and blessed. But it does.

And that is the genius of co-ops and other places for kids that never change.

I complain a lot about the mommy cultishness of  co-ops in general, of being shushed during meetings and head-shaking rules and retreats that please God I will never, ever, ever have to attend, but the truth is that some of it works because it has always worked and because it always will work. Sure, the pen on the sign out table is older than I am and the by-laws were written when Elmo's fur wasn't matted down. And of course, some of the policies could stand to be rewritten and some of the fundraisers may need to be 2.0ed. But some of the stuff -- like this silly, wonderful, crazy, exhausting Santa Shop -- should always stay just the way it is.

That is why I will be there today, not worrying one bit about an empty Britney Spears perfume bottle or well-loved Uno deck chosen for me or for any other mama I wrap it up for. If you would see the look of complete and radiant pride in these kids eyes, even behind tears or tantrums, you'd sign up to be a part of it too. This retail therapy is what Christmas is about for me, especially now, especially today. Especially finding that beam of light amidst tables and tables of crap.

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So now the boy officially has two homes

Weeks ago, back when Lil E first started asking perceptive, sensitive questions that surprised even me (me, who has become, over time, attuned and accustomed to what he gets for such a small child) about where Daddy is living and will live and why we are not all living together anymore, I answered as much as I could, as simply as I could and then just hugged him for a long time. He asked the questions with an urgency that I understood and felt myself but he cried to hear the answers, and that I understood as well. He crawled on my lap with his paci and his babydoll Tiger and rubbed my elbow to soothe himself, as he has done since he was brand new.

And then, because I felt this was so much bigger than the experiences I've had or I know, I went to the bookstore.

I had a list of books from myself that my benevolent and ass-saving therapist recommended. I asked the woman behind the information desk to help me find them.

"Those are all in the divorce section," she said matter-of-factly. But when she looked at me, her face softened. "Here, let me show you. Let me take you there."

It made me uncomfortable and it made me laugh and so I asked her, "Does this tour to the divorce section also include directions to where I can get a drink and a date after I buy my books? Are you required to hug the people you send here?"

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Apparently, I've been on hiatus

You know what it is like when you come back to the office after a vacation and everything is just a little bit different? How you have to ease back into the conversation with your lunch buddies and dust off the surfaces of your cubicle? How you feel just the slightest bit out of synch, like you've missed the one detail you need to feel really in, at least for a few days?

That's how I feel. I feel like I have been on vacation from my favorite blogs and most of my work and a lot of my life for weeks - no, months - now. I've needed to focus my attention in other directions and this time certainly hasn't involved nearly as many margaritas and bottles of SPF 30 as it could have.

Maybe it was out of exhaustion from the NaBloPoMo self-competitive task-mastering or perhaps being consumed by attorneys and property and preschool and cozying work into the hours when I really need to be sleeping, but I needed to retreat a little more before I got back to the office.

I took a few days off of IMing, didn't even peek at my blog stats, finished up some nagging deadlines and addressed some of the emotional hangover that's accompany the business of my divorce. I've taken a few hot hot baths, reorganized the guest room (again), listened to lots more pre-mommy/pre-wife music, nursed a cold and actually thought about what I might get my loved ones for Christmas (just thoughts so far, don't want to go too overboard). All of this has just been preparation for returning to the real stuff, and yet, all of this feels like necessary real stuff too.

But now, I'm back. Slogging through the slush with a giant cup of very strong coffee, ready to talk about all the not so much that I did during my time away and then, just listen and read patiently while I catch up on everyone else until I am right back where I need to be for myself.

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