When is Seven O'Clock coming?

I have two pieces that I'm sitting on about my Muslim kids' first Christmas (Santa centered). The posts have the potential to be so good, but they're sooooo half-written. I can't wait until I carve out enough time to finish them, because, guess what? I just got a dog.

I really want to share some of the highlights of experiencing Christmas (NOT IN ANY RELIGIOUS CONTEXT AND WITH LOTS OF SENSITIVITY TO THEIR OWN MUSLIM TRADITIONS) with the boys now.  I hope you enjoy...

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Yusef: I'm not buying anyone presents. And then I'm taking all of Hanni's.

Hanni: Presents aren't very important.

Yusef: They're extremely important to me.

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I'm becoming budget conscious as a single mom of two. I heard from a friend that the trees are cheapest in Queens, so I organized a much publicized four hour window in the kids' busy calendar to go buy ourselves some Christmas cheer.

I tried to get them excited about the tree for an entire week, when that wasn't working, I invited our beloved and highly cheerful friend Rose to come with us. Sunday came along, and we loaded two grumbling teenagers into the big car, and this was their response to my enforced fun...allll the way to Sunnyside, Queens.

Yusef: Why are we going to Queens?
Hanni: Why would we pay money for a Christmas tree now when we could just get one on the street after everyone throws them out?
Yusef: I didn't know we were going all the way to Queens.
Hanni: Maybe we could rent a tree. We should rent a tree.
Yusef: Miss do you know where you're going? Gawd.
Hanni: How much is this tree going to cost us? We could just go to a forest and cut one.

I responded the way any patient, rational parent would. I grabbed the phone from the kid closest to me and threw it across the car.

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Hanni: What time is Seven O'Clock coming?

Me: Who?

Hanni: Seven O'Clock!

Yusef: Santa Claus

Me: Oh, umm, he's coming Christmas eve--after midnight.

Hanni: Is he real?

Me: Yes...yes, of course he's real.

Yusef: How will he find us?

Hanni: Is he the Snowman?

Yusef: He's not going to have enough time.

Hanni: Is he going to bring his cows in here?

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While decorating the Christmas tree...
Yusef: Oh my gawd. We have to stop putting stuff on the tree it's going to be so ugly. Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! 

Hanni: We should say good-bye to her now.

Me: Who?

Hanni: The tree. 

Me: Why?

Hanni: Because it's going to hurt too much later.

Yusef: Miss, Christmas music is nice. Baby, it's freezing out there. 

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Me: Hanni, come down quick, there's carrollers outside.

Hanni: What are they doing?

Me: They're singing Christmas songs.

Hanni: They should go home. It's cold.

Funniness...

Yusef: Ms, It's too early for apples.

(10:00AM)

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Yusef: Good night. Please.

(In response to my multiple returns after the first goodnight on his birthday. I thought he wanted me to sing. One. More. Time.

OMG, Christmas Tree.

The Christmas cuteness is abundant at my house. I've been sitting on this post for almost a week because the funniness quotes are being slung at me with sling shots. I'm about to buckle under the burden of the sweetness of Hanni & Yusef's first Christmas....

My kids are Muslim, and I am very careful to uphold their families' individual religious practices for them. But I really wanted a Christmas tree, therefore, we are celebrating a non-religious, Santa Claus based, Christmas in the Casey household.

I loooooveee me some Christmas trees. I name them, talk to them, stroke them, kiss on them, thank them for coming into my life.  (Turn on warm, twinkly lights and turn down the room lighting and you have the exact recipe for every party I've ever thrown.) I BELIEVE in the Christmas tree.

Money is tight. Going from single woman to single mother of two very hungry teenage boys has meant a vast difference in budgetary capabilities. I heard from a friend that the trees are cheapest in Queens, so I organized a much publicized four hour window in the kids' busy calendar to go buy ourselves some Christmas cheer.

I tried to get them excited about the tree for an entire week, when that wasn't working, I invited our beloved and highly cheerful friend Rose to come with us. Sunday came along, and we loaded two grumbling teenagers into the big car, and this is what I had to listen to alllll the way to Sunnyside:

Yusef: Why are we going to Queens?
Hanni: Why would we pay money for a Christmas tree now when we could just get one on the street after everyone throws them out?
Yusef: I didn't know we were going all the way to Queens.
Hanni: Maybe we could rent a tree. We should rent a tree.
Yusef: Ms. do you know where you're going? Gawd.
Hanni: How much is this tree going to cost us? We could just go to a forest and cut one.

I reacted as any calm and graceful woman would--I took the kid's phone that was closest to me and threw it across the car, plugged in my iPod and turned up the Christmas music. I mean, I recognize everything they were saying was funny, but I wanted family bonding cheer time. And enforced fun always goes well.

The tree picking out went reasonably well. A sweet French Canadian responded well to my bargaining for a seven foot beauty. I made the children meet the tree, Yusef kept his hood up and gave me 'the look' that I think he believes can inspire fear, Hani told me if I had worked harder, I could have gotten the tree man down to $10.

Rose was starting to look a little like she couldn't figure out why she was in Queens with two teenagers and a crazed mom, so we took a break and left the kids to figure out tying the tree to the top of the car. We could hear them cursing at each other in Arabic and Mandingo all the way into the Rite Aid across the parking lot. I knew they'd figure it out.

The boys were laughing by the time we got back to the car, and the ride back consisted of Christmas music and even more laughter. Poor Rose had to hold the tree through the sunroof in order to prevent it whipping off the car and onto the BQE.

Is Santa real?
Is he the snowman?
Oh my god. We have to stop putting stuff on the tree it's going to be so ugly. Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!
Miss, Christmas music is nice.
Ousmane sitting on floor under tree, I'm going to take all of Walid's presents. He's going to have nothing.
Walid so sweetly into decorating and making the tree beautiful.
Liz holding the tree out the sunroof. The wide berth given to me on the BQE.
The Grinch scared Ousmane.
Cars made walid happy. The sweetness was back. The boys yelling at each other while tying the tree down.
Baby, it's freezing out there.
Standing in the street looking up at our tree.
Cathy, who's going to give US presents.
I'm not getting anyone anything.

We should say goodbye to her now.

We should put her in storage.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

As mentioned, I've only been a mother for a little over four months-I'm largely clueless. I didn't give birth, officially adopt, get babies through a surrogate, do anything that 'normal', cool moms do. I've become second mom and guardian to two teenagers I used to mentor. They live with me, I feed them, soccer mom them, and love them A LOT.

However, after four months, I believe I've reached a milestone that all 'real' mothers reach with their teenagers. That wonderful, loving time when they tell us they hate their lives.

This past weekend, in reaction to me enforcing one of my rules about coming home on time, one of the boys packed a bag, made plans to become homeless, and posted on Facebook that he hated his f***ing life. Yesterday, in response to an issue at school that I addressed with the other child, he raised his voice to me for the first time. When I told him to go away and cool down. He yelled, "Go away! Go away! I'll go away!" and ran out the door. When we found him sitting quietly in the hallway 30 minutes later, he came inside and posted on Facebook that he also hated his life.

I am so proud that I have created a loving environment within which they now feel comfortable enough to tell me that the life I've created for them sucks. Don't worry, both boys have decided not to move out, and I feel pretty confident that we'll be on the up of the hormonal swing again soon.

For the sake of my sanity and theirs, I communicate consistently regarding appropriate manners and rules. However, where I feel the messaging must be most consistent is in the expression of my unconditional love--especially when they don't feel any love for me at all.

These times, I believe, are when a mother's love is most needed, and sometimes, the most lonely. I accept that you believe that I have ruined your life and I love you, I love you, I love you.