I

...have a tendency to get carried away and impatient.  Especially on house cleaning day.  (Which happens to be today yesterday, Monday if I need to be more specific.)  It seems like there is a lot to do and most of it didn't come from me.  Those grape stems (sans grapes) under the chair?  Not mine.  The toys all in the wrong bins?  Not me, no sir.  That empty water bottle?  I don't even like water.  That cobweb in the corner?  I am pretty sure I can't make silk come out my bum.  (Last time I checked, anyhow.)  My patience on cleaning day is whisper thin.  And yelling at myself doesn't really help me vent. 

...found Carly asleep on the playroom floor, covered in a purple and black quilt my sister made me going on 14 years ago.  It's everyone's favorite blanket (except Josh, he has a blanket made from his Gramma Annie's shirts that fills that spot).  Eric, Poppa, Carly and I have all snuggled under this blanket by turns.  Tonight Carly was covered head to toe (which isn't much, she's on the smallish side you see) and I couldn't even tell it was a person under there until I moved the blanket back.  In sleep she is so soft and peaceful, I can't help but wonder at what point the tornado starts to spin.

...always reflect on Mary during this time of year.  I wonder how she felt, wrapping her newborn babe up and snuggling Him close.  I wonder if she brushed away the little curls around His face, as I have done with my own children.  I wonder if He drove her crazy, left little messes, cried too loud and too long for her patience.  I can't imagine a child not doing that, even a perfect one.  I wonder if it felt different.

...will probably yell again next Monday.  I will probably threaten and cajole and bribe my way through the day.  I will probably pause at the beside of my babies to brush the hair away from their sleeping faces.  I will love them, not because they are children of God (they are), but because they are children of mine.  And in that gentle, fleeting moment (that they will sleep right through) I will be glad.

I think you can call it a conversation

Carly:

Everyone keeps locking my door, every year, every year, every year.  Sabrina locks it, I unlock it.  She keeps locking it every time.  Ethan locks it, I unlock it.  JaVon locks it, I unlock it. {SIGH}

Me:

{looks confused and nods}

Meanwhile, isn't she just scrumptious?

A little lift

A story of hope, always essential when we're bogged down in the Christmastime Crazy.

Go Here

Worth Living

There are people who seem to have it perfectly right, who dress just so and talk just so and look just so and are just so.

I am not one of those people.  The journey to owning this self-realization has been long.  I'm still making payments.

There are times when nothing goes right, when the whole day is lost in translation and you're grasping for straws like a turtle on it's back.  There are days when only old sayings seem to sum it all up.  Even perfect-seeming people have those days.  It's kind of surprising.

I have many of those days, its probably has something to do with not being one of those perfectly right people.  Today was not one of those days, thank goodness.

There are secret parts of people that stay locked away, living in the dark and festering.  Secrets wrapped in guilt, confusion, doubt, fear, self-loathing, and destruction.  Sometimes those secrets are overwhelming, all encompassing, and self defining.  Sometimes they eat away at all the happiness.


But then

There are little glimmers of hope every where, sparkling like dew drops in morning sun.   Little moments that pick you up, push you on, relieve the burdens of the day.  Things like children's fingers, bubbling laughter, Christmas tree lights, too-loud music, chocolate, puffy winter coats, fresh snow, the thumping sound of an automatic washer, soap bubbles, little girl tights that won't stay up, crazy hair, spinning toothbrushes, and so much more.  A world filled with wonder and overflowing.  A cup that runneth over.

And you can see your way through.

Woman Speak

When she says...

Fine

What it really means is

It's not fine, it's anything but fine, I'm kinda mad in a not fine way, and I am irritated in a not fine way.

When she says...

We don't have to.

What it really means is

You did not react with enough enthusiasm and so I don't want to do it anymore and if you make me do it I'm going to be even more unhappy now.

When she says...

Would you like to ______________?

What she means is

I need you.  

When she says...

Don't get me anything

What she means is

Please make it sparkley.

When she says...

It will just take a few minutes

What she means is

It will take a few of my minutes.  One of my minutes is roughly equivelant to 10 of yours.  So it should take about 30 minutes not including transportation time/they put something new out time/sale time/ran into a friend time.

When she says...

I don't need anything

What she means is

I need you and everything else is bonus.  But I do like chocolate.

When she says...

I'm not mad

What she means is

I am mad but I'm trying to pretend like I'm better than you.

When she says...

I love you

What she means is

Thank you for understanding/needing/wanting/loving/helping/being with me.  Please don't go away.

Holiday Home Tour

I love Christmas.  Love, love it.  I usually put up the decorations early (think pre-Thanksgiving even) and then re-arrange them a few times throughout the season to keep it fresh.  This year, I'm particularly happy to have my OWN home to decorate.

Come on in for a holiday samplin' of our home:

Here we are in the living room.  The formal one, that is.  We don't do much living here but at night we sometimes plop down for family time.  I love having a formal living room with no TV in it.  I made the little tree on the table, if you remember, and I still think it's fab.  The runner was a Super Saturday (read church) project.  The books are our favorite Christmas books plus another Super Saturday notebook project filled with Christmas stories and the scriptures on top, all ready for our Jesse Tree selection for the night.

This is the other side of the living room and our Jesse Tree in the corner.  Sometime later I'll show you all the ornaments I free-hand made out of felt for it.  But, right now most of them are still waiting to be hung and I would definitely lose them if I let them out of their special box.  My grandma's Christmas village was supposed to be on the table where the tree is.  Unfortunately I can't find my grandma's Christmas village anywhere.  I'm not happy about it, not at all.  This will probably forever be known as the year I lost the Christmas village.  Just like we had that one year when Eric broke a house in the Christmas village.  Things like that never go away.

This is my favorite piece of furniture in the whole house.  I found it last year at an estate sale and snapped it up for 50 bucks.  The nativity set on the left has lost a few of it's residents.  The one on the right is constantly being rearranged (as it's meant to be).  There are 6 stray wise men mixed in from lost/broken sets and one small set Eric gave me last year.  I need more.

The other living room, aka the TV room, aka the family room.  I didn't intend to, but I have a goodly stocking collection forming.  We won't fill them all, but in the meantime aren't they cute!

The Christmas tree lives in the family room, opposite the stove.  Every year we let the kids pick one ornament to add and eventually when they start a home of their own, their collection will go with them.  This leads to an odd assortment of ornaments: John Deere tractors, Buzz Lightyear, Elmo, Harry Potter...but it does give a good snapshot of what they are thinking about that year.  This year Josh chose a glass pagoda and Carly went for a purple star dealy thing.  We also put a picture of the kids from each year on the tree.  I love seeing how much they have changed.  Eventually I'll have a small tree dedicated to just the pictures.

This is our picture wall, it connects the dining room and family room.  Up above is our collection of colored glass, some from Eric's mom, some from my great aunt, some I have added.  The pictures are mostly static, but I choose a few to rotate out and add a seasonal decoration.  We have a Christmas plate that was a gift when Josh was small, a ceramic Santa from Eric's mom, and a hand-painted Christmas sign one of our good family friends made.  You can also see the wreath I made about 10 years ago hanging on the coat closet door.  It's gettin' kinda ragged so I think it might be retired after this year.

Ye Olde Snowman Gang, hanging out on the kitchen window frame:

The dining room, in case you couldn't tell.  The light fixture is hung in the oddest place and will someday be replaced because I can't quite get the table centered under it and it drives me C R A Z Y.

Not a decoration, but aren't those chubby cheeks delish? 

Thanks for stopping by!

The reality of being a parent is...

It's not nearly the experience you thought it would be.

There are moments of aching splendor, when you look around and think "Wow, this is what life is" and the whole world sparkles more brightly than noon-day sun.

There will be those times when you can't stand to look at another dirty diaper, another dirty floor, another load of laundry, another finger print on your just washed window, another toothbrush in the toilet, another child or husband or wife.

There will come a day when you realize that cleaning up when it happens is less effort than letting it dry/stain/set/settle.

You will make your bed, most days, even though you're just going to sleep in it again.  And you'll wish your child made his/hers too.

You will compromise most of the standards you set about "never letting my child do that."

You will yell louder and longer than you remember your parents ever did.

The first wrinkle will show up, right next to the gray hairs that sprouted, and you'll feel like you're getting old too soon.

You will realize your parents must have thought that too.

You will be uncool, unhuggable, unlikeable, unapproachable.  But that (pretty much) passes.

You will see more gross things than the people in medical school.

Sometimes laughter comes uncontrollably, piercing through all the emotions you've been holding in.

Eventually your kids will probably make a choice you don't like, go a way you can't go, grow up and change into fully formed free thinkers.

It hurts more than childbirth, more than death, more than free falling from the top of the stairs.  Because the pain is laced with joy and gratitude.

It doesn't turn on and off, it goes on 24/7/365, through the rising and setting of the moon and sun, through New Years and Reunions, through waking and dreams.

You wouldn't trade it, but you might do some parts over if only to take away that 'look' on their face.

It's a flash of time but also your whole life.

You can't remember, really, when it began and you hope it never ends.

There will be days when every fault and shortcoming is magnified by the minute.

And then come the days when you are perfect, if but a moment, because they love you.

Climbing on the high horse

This whole thing with Tiger Woods kind of makes me feel rotten in the pit of my stomach.  Not only because it is possible he cheated on his wife - all the evidence points that way, it is true, but I doubt we will ever be told for certain from his own lips.  And do we really need to hear it from him?  Since when did it become my business what goes on in his marriage?

I've heard (and given) the argument before - "He is a public figure."  Yes, he is.  And a public hero, of sorts, a black man that is successful across all the boundaries of society, one of the few public figures to break through that ever-shifting boundary.  He's always been a good guy, a family man, a devoted son.  All good things, in the public eye.

I am fascinated to see how quickly magazines, TV shows, newspapers, online blogs and the like have jumped on the 'torch Tiger' bandwagon.  Suddenly a hero is a demon, and it is with palpable glee that society rips him apart. 

I admit, when I heard a joke the other day about how Tiger can drive a golf ball and not a car, I sniggered.  And my initial reaction when I saw a picture of Tiger all banged up and his wife holding a golf club, I sniggered again.  But, I've been thinking about that.  If it was a picture of a woman banged up, and a man holding the club that did it - well, it wouldn't have been funny.  And so I take back that snigger.

It comes down to a very simple concept, in the end: Consumer's consume.  Our taste for more brought us to the brink of another Great Depression, it has stolen our freedom and good sense.  A bigger house, a bigger car, a bigger Christmas, more famous athletes, people who are famous for being famous, movie stars with more clothes off, public officials that barter away our future in exchange for popularity and/or money, more security at the cost of more freedoms, more, more, more, more, more. And when the more runs out, we consume the people too.  Their good names, their pictures, their privacy, their relationships, their peace of mind.  Whatever it takes to fill up our own emptiness.  Because we'll never be full when we're consuming these things.  We'll always be hungry.

So, I'm not going to read anymore stories about Tiger Woods and his troubles.  I'm going to leave him alone, even if no one else does.  I'm going to let him go behind his closed door and recover.  And I'm going to change my focus. 

Let this be my Christmas message to myself:  Christmas isn't about consuming, or things, or toys I can't afford.  It's not about being sad for all the things my children want and can't have, or feeling sorry for myself.  It's not about wishing the IRS would send us our check already, or wishing I could buy a plane ticket for my brother-in-law Scott.  It's about right now, right here, with my children and husband and being so richly blessed with life.  It's about having those precious things and letting that be enough.

And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst. - John 6:35