Ouch.

We're getting close to finalizing our insurance settlement from the accident, and I got a copy of this message from our lawyer to the insurance company:

"Given the medical expenses and limited insurance available, Heidi will not come close to being made whole."

That almost made me cry. I know what he meant: "After medical expenses, her cash settlement will not adequately compensate for her injury." But that line "Heidi will not come close to being made whole" just pierced me. My leg never will be whole again. I will function normally, but never as well as I would have otherwise.

And that hurts.

I was going to give this a positive spin, a life-affirming "it will all work out for the best" vibe, which I do believe, but I think right now I just want to feel that hurt and accept it.

Of course ours is the weird kid

Atticus participated in his first Primary program on Sunday. He had his line memorized and had practiced saying it slowly and clearly. He even knows some of the songs.

But once he got on the stand, it all disappeared. During the songs he didn't know (and even parts of some he did), he leaned on the railing with his chin in his hands, looking really bored. Or he danced around. One of our friends in the front row observed that it looks like Atticus always has a Star Wars battle scene in his head that he's trying to act out. That kid is never still.

Then came the moment: his line! He stood at the microphone and wilted. Even with prompting he curled up and refused to speak. They let him go and little Afton, who isn't even officially in Primary yet, marched up and said her line, pleased as punch.

Afterward I asked him why he didn't say his line, and he just said, Huh? I reminded him, "I follow Jesus' example when I go to church." And he got really upset: I want to say it! I missed it! What happened?! We let him say it at the pulpit (microphone off), and the Primary president said he could do it again in Primary next week.

I think Atticus just didn't get what was going on. He'd missed the forest for the trees, lost in his perpetual narrative.

Speaking of narrative, Atticus pulled his new socks up to his knees this morning and called himself Wonder Boy. I asked him if he wanted to wear his soccer socks, which are even longer, and he said, "No, Wonder Boy doesn't wear blue socks, just white socks." Good to know.

My goodness, I love that boy.

Ready or not, here comes Chrismas

(from last year)

Atticus has been talking about Christmas for the past month. For a couple weeks he was obsessed with nutcrackers, asking over and over again for a nutcracker that's NOT a Christmas decoration. I blame his friend Henry, who has fireman and soccer player nutcrackers. I wasn't about to shell out $20 for the not-really-a-toy nutcracker he begged for at Lowe's, but James made Atticus's week when he found a small one at the dollar store. It even had a working lever that makes the mouth move. Fan-TAS-tic.

Last week at preschool they had face painting, and Atticus asked for a Christmas tree. Everyone else was a butterfly or a tiger or Spiderman, but Atticus had a big green nose and a gold star between his eyes. He was thrilled. 

He's also been talking about what he wants to get, of course. I've been very upfront about how Daddy and I are Santa Claus (yes, I know, I'm a HORRIBLE person for attempting to deprive my child of Christmas fantasy), but my efforts have fallen on deaf ears. He asked how he could tell Santa what he wanted, and I said he could just tell me, because I'm Santa--I buy the presents. "I know, I know, but what about the REAL Santa? With the reindeer?" Ok, fine. I'm his helper. (I'm not going to insist he stop believing; I just don't want there to be disappointing surprises later.) 

Now when he tells me about something he wants, he asks if I've written it down. I only write down what he mentions repeatedly, and so far the list is a DreamLight and a Scooby-Doo Mona-Tiki-Tia play set. The problem is he wants a Curious George DreamLight, which they don't actually make, but he thinks maybe it can be found at another store or Santa can just make it. (And they're $30! Are you kidding me?) And though I've seen pictures of a Scooby-Doo figure with a tiki head, they don't make them anymore, and they certainly don't come in the exactly-like-the-episode detail in a foldable, portable play set that he has described. So I can pay top dollar for a collectible set, but it still won't be exactly what he wants. (See why I'm reluctant to perpetuate the fantasy of elves that can make anything??) We may have to settle for action figures of the full Scooby gang. A friend found Daphne, Velma, and Shaggy at a thrift store, but we're missing Fred and Scooby.

Then there are the things I want to get him, like a bike or scooter, and maybe some better shoes. I'm all for restraint in gifts (I really like the idea of three gifts like the gifts of the Three Kings--not counting gifts from extended family), but it's hard not to try to make all his dreams come true. 

I believe experiences are more important than things, so I'm going to focus my energies on memorable activities, which are often free. Sledding, lights, live Nativities, a trip to the mall to see Santa, gingerbread cookies, decorating the tree. That's what Christmas is made of. I hope.