I feel like I’ve spent the last few days running around in a blur of freezing temps, wrapping paper and shopping bags. Oh yeah…that’s because I have.

Still, there’s nothing as exciting to me as the lead-up to the Christmas holidays. I simply love everything about this time of year, even when it means braving some less-than-fantastic weather (Umm, really, Chicago? -30? And hey, Southwest Michigan, I know you want to give us a white Christmas and all, but lay off a little, wouldja–I’d like to make it to church and back tomorrow night in one piece.)

Between putting up new posts at my WEtv.com blog and Largerfamilies.com, I haven’t had enough time for many original holiday posts here this year. So I hope you don’t mind if I share one of my favorites from last year. Enjoy!

This week, faced with a last-minute shopping emergency, I took the kids to the mall, a place that, this time of year, I try very hard to avoid. After we made our purchase, I was dodging crowds of holiday shoppers with my brood in tow when they spotted him.

Santa Claus.

I’m not sure if I should be proud or ashamed of this fact, but my kids have never, ever sat on Santa’s lap. Belief in Mr. Claus has always been a much more abstract concept in our home. At least one gift for each child comes directly from The Fat Man himself, evidenced by different wrapping paper and “LOVE, SANTA” scrawled in block printing on the tag.

His milk gets drunk, his cookies get eaten, we read The Night Before Christmas and make the usual comments about how we think we hear Santa’s sleigh coming. Yada, yada, yada.

But I’ve never felt the need to cap the Santa experience by taking my kids to the mall, waiting in line to plop one of them on an actor’s lap, and then paying $9 for a crappy souvenir photo. After all, by the time most kids are five or six they’ve figured out that the real Santa is busy overseeing his midget labor force in December, not going mall to mall asking kids what they want for Christmas. As if he really needs to be told. He is MAGICAL, after all.

What intrigued me, though, was that it was my oldest kids—who by their own admission are no longer believers—who seemed the most interested in a visit with Saint Nick. “Look, Mom, it’s Santa!” Jacob said. “We—I mean William and Owen—should really go tell them what we—I mean they—want for Christmas, don’t you think?”

There’s a big part of me that was heartbroken when my oldest decided he was no longer a believer, and I wanted to indulge the little-kid side of him. Besides, what could it hurt? So the five of us headed over to Santa’s Magical Parent Trap and got in line.

But everything seemed to fall apart once it was our turn. The big boys, who had just a few minutes before seemed excited by the prospect of getting up close and personal with Santa, decided to assume a cool, aloof stance once we got there and refused to come inside the gates at all. Owen took one look at “Santa’s” gray beard—or perhaps it was the belly that jiggled like a bowl full of jelly—and refused to go anywhere near him. “No, mom, no, mom, no!” he cried, clinging to my neck as though I was trying to turn him over to an orphanage. Pointing at Santa, he tearfully declared him “’TUPID!”

I held out hope for William. After all, at just-turned-four, Will’s at prime believer age. To him, there’s nothing at all strange about the idea that Santa could be at thousands of malls at the same time, just like there’s nothing strange about the idea that an overweight man who likes to hang around with elves squeezes down millions of chimneys in one night.

But even William wasn’t going for it. He refused to make eye contact with Santa, instead creeping up to him sideways looking down at the floor. When Santa patted his lap and invited Will to jump on up, Will looked at me with alarm and said “Do I have to?”

“No…but don’t you want to tell Santa what you want for Christmas?” I asked.

“Can you just tell him for me?” he asked, making a hasty retreat.

“He wants a guitar,” I said to Santa, as William backed away, his eyes on the floor.

Santa nodded.

“He’s shy,” I explained, as William hid behind his brothers and Owen let out a fresh shriek. Santa just stared. Really embarrassed now, I turned and fled.

“You want a picture?” the helper “elf” called after me.

But it was too late. The five of us, holiday misfits, were already hurrying toward the mall exit.

Before we left, though, we spent the nine bucks we’d saved on a round of Aunt Annie’s pretzels.

I’ve been busy over at my WEtv.com blog, Womb With A View.

On exercise during pregnancy: I do this to myself every time I’m pregnant: I start off with the greatest of intentions at the very beginning (”THIS pregnancy I shall walk two miles daily, swim three times a week, and practice yoga morning and evening! I may even take up strength training and Pilates!”) Then I hit that so-exhausted-I-drool-on-my-keyboard phase where it’s all I can do to stay upright through the day, and all thoughts of exercise go flying out the window. read the rest .

On those fear-mongering birth-story-tellers: But perhaps even worse than the instant experts are the people who feel that it’s their duty to horrify pregnant women with gruesome tales of their own–or their mother’s, sister’s, cousin’s, or hairdresser’s–births. Just listen to the horror stories, heavily laced with hyperbole, that experienced mothers will often tell to try to “educate” a soon-to-be first-time mom and you’ll understand why women tend to be afraid of childbirth:

“Oh yeah? That’s nothing. I punched a nurse in the nose, wrestled a passing police officer to the ground, took his gun, drove to the anesthesiologist’s house, kidnapped him at gunpoint and forced him to come back to the hospital so I could get my epidural.” read the rest

I’ve also written about prenatal testing, unanswered third-trimester questions and my ever-expanding belly.

I’d love it if you left me a comment over at WEtv letting me know how you’re liking the blog!

If you’ve got kids in the 4-8 range you’ll definitely want to check out the Leapster 2 giveaway we’re having over at largerfamilies.com. You don’t have to have a larger family to enter–but you will need to do a little thinking You only have until Sunday, December 14 at 10 PM to enter, so hurry!

If you’ve been reading my column, Mama-Rama, in the Lansing State Journal’s publication NOISE (and for a time, in the Greenville, SC LINK) for the last four-almost-five years, you may be wondering what became of it. Unfortunately, due to cutbacks at NOISE, the column (along with a lot of other content and sadly, some great staff) got the axe.

So that leads to the question: now what? In many ways, my blog is like an extension of my column anyway, and it’s not going anywhere. So if you’re a loyal reader and you’re experiencing withdrawl, you can check in here a few times a week to hear me give my take on modern parenting.

But, I’d like to continue my column in a more official way, too. Given the state of newspaper publishing at the moment, that may mean approaching websites, regional parenting publications, or maybe even moving to a new format (Mama-Rama on the radio?). I’ve also been toying with the idea of publishing the best of my 200+ existing columns into book format.

If you’ve found this post because you were a reader of Mama-Rama and would like to see it live on–or even if you never read my newspaper column but would like to hear more from me–tell me: what format sounds most appealing to you? Would you buy Mama-Rama: the book? Would you listen to the essays read out loud? Would you click through on a regular basis to read me on another website?

Looking forward to hearing what you think! And, as always, thanks for your support and for being such a great audience over the last four-plus years. I’ll really miss being in the NOISE!

Every year, the boys and I make a trip to the store, where each child gets to pick out one ornament to put on the tree. The intention is that one day we will actually remember whose ornaments are whose, and they will have a small supply to take off to college or their first apartment or wherever life takes them. And of course, in the meanwhile we get a pretty tree that’s full of character but growing more crowded by the year.

On these shopping ventures it can be hard to stay on task: just get one ornament per person, then head for the checkout aisle. I see SHINY stuff everywhere and suddenly I find myself creating a need for those tree lights shaped like the ones from the 30s or that new beaded runner for the table. And of course, I don’t always manage to quell the urge. Our Advent calendar was a fairly recent impulse purchase (though I’d been wanting to buy a nice one for years). A few years ago I really needed new gold balls to replace all the ones that were pulled off the tree and broke when I had toddlers in the house. And I always find myself looking at new tablecloths and candles.

But when I was surveying the house yesterday photographing my holiday decorations, I was struck by just how many of those things have been constant from year to year. I’ve had my Mary/Jesus statue and wooden creche for at least 11 years, maybe longer (that’s nearly my whole adult life). I have a little wire tree that I hang these little antiquey ornaments on. I remember finding the ornaments in a little gift shop here in town–years before I lived here!–and loving them. That was at least five years ago. There’s a tin that my Aunt Kay gave me when I was maybe 9 or 10 years old. (it came with a puzzle inside; the puzzle did not survive my childhood, but the tin did). The Santa with his reindeer was a gift from Jon’s aunt the year we got married. Many of the ornaments on the tree date back 10-15 years, some longer.

And I realize that the things I get the most satisfaction from are the ones that have been around the longest, that I pull out year after year. I absolutely love taking out my creche and setting up my little wire “tree” and seeing my old friends emerge from the tissue paper. I even love putting it all away when Christmas is over, wrapping each item carefully and looking forward to seeing them all again. To me, one of the coziest parts of Christmas is seeing the same, familiar old decorations around the house and knowing that no matter how much things change, our Christmas decor looks pretty much the same year after year.

I still enjoy and want to continue the tradition of buying one new ornament a year for each child, but when I really think about it, I get by far the most enjoyment from the things that have been constant from year to year. They may fall out of fashion or chip, come unglued or lose pieces, but I still plan on hauling them out year after year. When it comes to holiday decorations, I just really love my old stuff.

And that’s a good thing to keep in mind when I’m looking for an excuse to stay away from yet another display of new holiday tablecloths and runners.

I rarely do picture posts because I am still working on acquiring 1) skill and 2) a fabulous camera, but as Christmas is one of my favorite times of year and decorating for Christmas is one of my very favorite things to do, I thought I’d share a little glimpse of our house…

This year, we decided to go a little more modest than we have with trees in the past. Due to the current economic climate? A little of that…and the fact that we live in a house with a much smaller living room now! The tree is in our little sunroom off of the main room, with a view of the channel emptying into the lake behind it. By the way, this was perhaps the pokiest-needled tree I’ve decorated in the last decade. Ouch!

From left to right: the Mary & baby Jesus my mother gave Jon and I for our first Christmas together, our Advent calendar (we got it out of storage a week late so haven’t actually been able to open up that first week’s worth of doors!), and a very cool wooden puzzle-style creche my mother gave me, and which remains among my favorite Christmas decorations. I’d love to leave it out year-round, I enjoy it that much! But some things are more special when you only use them once in a while…

Also propped up against the Advent calendar are two little angels the boys made in school last year. I thought they were too cute not to put out.

Having no fireplace, the stockings were instead hung on the non-functional woodstove with care…

In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there. In his sleigh, or a car, or hanging from a rope, or whatever.

Now where are those Wise Men, Joseph and Mary? And where’s Jesus, for goodness’s sake? Even an oxen lowing would give this empty stable some life. I went through all the Christmas boxes, and all I could find was this paper Jesus that Will made in preschool, and from this angle it looks like a piece of toilet paper. Guess I gotta get to the gift store stat.

and…

just because it’s funny, look at the picture below–a little above the stable to see the part of the picture I cropped out.

That belly is always getting in the way these days and showing up where I least expect it!

How to make four chilly boys happy:

How to make their mother happy: Go read my latest Chicago Moms Blog post, “Can You Afford Not To Shop Local?”

I’m quoted in this Commercial Appeal story about large families.

Two notes: my website address is actually http://www.largerfamilies.com. I’m hoping that will be corrected in the online version but just in case…

Also, my family last name is Dodson and that’s how I was quoted in the story. So, if you came here looking for Meagan Dodson, i.e. The Writer Known As Meagan Francis, you’ve found her. And now my deeply-held secret is out and all the stalkers can come get me! Ahhhh!!!

I wrote the following essay a few years ago for my newspaper column, and thought I’d reprint it now since it seems along the lines of some other things I’ve been writing about lately. What I love about re-reading this is seeing how many changes I’ve made in our lives since writing it.

A couple of weeks ago many of my mother friends were talking about the Duggars, an unusual family in Arkansas. They were first featured on the Discovery Channel back when they “only” had 14 children (their family has since grown).

And I thought I had a lot of kids.

The response among people I’ve discussed the Duggars with has been mixed. Some thought it would be a great experience to grow up with so many children. Some thought the Duggar’s routine and parenting style too strict and inflexible. Others felt sorry for the children, who have to share their parents’ time, love, and resources. While the kids seem happy to me, I can see why, in an era when four kids is considered pushing it, that people would be genuinely puzzled by how anyone could care for eighteen of them.

But what surprised me is the people who protested—passionately—over the fact that in the Duggar household, the children have work to do.

I’m not talking slave labor here. The Duggars aren’t running a dry cleaning business or assembling designer sneakers for ten cents per shoe. But the older kids prepare some of the meals, help out by bathing and dressing their little siblings, and everybody in the household helps keep it running.

The very idea seems foreign and antiquated—cruel, even—to some moms and mom-bloggers. “When do those kids get to be kids?” they ask.

But I see it a little differently.

I have some spoiled children. And that’s not a judgment on my kids: they could hardly help it, having spent years enjoying the fruits of a child-centered society. With today’s brand of competitive hyper-parenting we spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about how to make our kids smarter, more musical, more athletic; starting before birth with educational CDs to maximize our fetuses’ potential and segueing into music classes for infants, competitive sports for toddlers and college-prep preschools. Our kids are no longer expected to help run the household; now they are household projects in and of themselves. It my look like we’re giving them more, but are we really giving them what they need to be successful adults?

“Those kids didn’t ask to be born,” argued one mom. “It’s not fair to make them help run a family they never asked to be in.” I suppose I tend to view the fact that my children are here as a plus for them, not a liability that I have to make up for.

Besides that, I don’t think a responsibility-free childhood is good for them. Just when are they learning to care for others, share the workload, put somebody else’s needs before their own? What about the satisfaction of knowing they’re valuable, needed members of a household?

Most of us don’t have huge families anymore. We don’t have to have ten children so that we can run the family farm, and many of us enjoy spending our disposable income on our kids and having more one-on-one time to lavish on each child. For the most part, I think that’s a good thing. But along the line, something has been lost. My kids—and a whole lot of other kids I know—could do with a lot more responsibility.

I’ve been thinking lately about how much we let our kids take all this for granted. How many crappy toys we buy them, how little we expect them to contribute around the house, how often we let them off the hook because it’s easier than following through with an uncomfortable consequence. Are we really doing them any favors?

Do the Duggars have it right? Maybe, maybe not. But they’ve gotten me thinking about how I could do things differently in my own household, and I think we’ll all be happier for it.

As long as it doesn’t involve a dozen more children, that is.

Over at my WEtv blog, I wrote about my reaction to finding out this new baby-in-progress is a girl. It isn’t your Hallmark-esque scene of a woman leaping off the table in joy:

I’d guarded myself carefully against thinking too much about the baby’s gender at all, even as people around me swore they were picking up on “girl vibes”, as if I were walking around bathed in a halo of pink light.