Breakfast Mix

Here's a quick idea for breakfast for the kids that will clean out the fridge and pantry and fill up those endlessly-empty bellies!

Toss any and all of the following into a bowl or arrange artfully on a plate (We generally choose the toss into a bowl option):

*slices of deli meat (I double them up, cut them in half, roll them up, and then skewer them on toothpicks)--or any leftover chicken, steak, etc. from dinner the night before, cubed

*chunks of cheese (Brie is a good one for breakfast, and Laughing Cow sells them already in small sections)

*Cheerios

*Dried figs, dates, raisins, craisins, etc.

*Kashi bars (We like the peanut butter ones, and if microwaved for 7 seconds first, they're much softer), cut into chunks

*Chunks of apples with a dab of peanut butter on each one

*Chunks of bananas skewered on toothpicks

*Cubed pieces of whole grain bread, dabbed with hummus if you like it

And whatever else you happen to have in the kitchen! The eclectic mix never fails to tickle my kids, who are used to the typical cereal/yogurt/muffin fare, and the combination of protein with some good carbohydrates keeps them full for a long time.

Happy Girl

The Christmas dress was well-received by this little girl, who grinned at and patted her reflection in the mirror when I put it on her. There' a second coordinating pinafore in an entirely different pattern that she wore earlier in the week. Black patent mary janes and white tights finished it off perfectly.

And a picture for my mom to see--another Snoopy to continue the tradition.

Undecorating

Edited to add:  Thanks, ladies, for all the lip advice!  We've decided it was probably an allergic reaction--to undecorating, maybe?  And now, thanks for a whopping dose of Benadryl and a follow-up of Claritin, it's gone. :)  12/30/07

There is a moment in any undertaking when you realize you've started something bigger than you can finish, and you want to run away. That's how I feel every year when I take down the Christmas decorations. This time, the moment came at about 6 p.m.--seven hours after I had started, when I was still in the same pajamas from the night before, sans makeup (What's the point of makeup if you're still wearing yesterday's clothes?), watching the boys mourn as I took down the Christmas tree ornaments. Caiden wrapped his skinny arms around the front half of the tree, sobbing, while Grayson pointed at the bare mantle in horror wailing, "Look, Brother! It's all gone. It's all gone!" Talk about feeling like the Grinch.

Not one to be deterred by crying (After all, I haven't had a day without somebody crying in 76 months straight and counting), I continued to yank the ornaments off the tree. I reminded the boys that they were eating pizza, after all, and watching a cartoon, and that they should save their sadness for later. I didn't have time for drama; I was on a roll.

So now it's 10:30, almost 12 hours after I began, and I'm still in pajamas, still without makeup, and looking worse by the second. I remembered at dinner that I had forgotten to eat breakfast or lunch and marveled that I wasn't even that hungry. Panic and frenzy can do that, you know. I wish I could have a little bit more of that, without the actual panic and frenzy. The decorations have all been removed, but they're in various stages of disarray, spread out all over the hallway, up the stairs, and covering the entire room upstairs. They're going to have to be put away, and soon, but I don't have it in me tonight.

Now, if you know me, you know our house isn't enormous, and I'm not still on crutches, so you're probably wondering why it is taking me 12 hours to take down the decorations. Well, it's because I have a fierce love for the clean feeling my house takes on once the decorations are down, and I get in the mood to rearrange the furniture. Which inevitably leads to stripping some rooms to refurnish others, and then I have to scramble to make the naked ones look better, and then I call Chris, who's out running errands, and ask him would he possibly mind buying me two end tables, two armchairs, and some pillows maybe? And hey, a lamp too, if you come across one?

And lo and behold he did! (That's why I always ask; I never know when he might say yes.) So one of the chairs looks really fantastic in the living room, which has never actually had bona fide living room furniture in it, but the other one didn't quite work. So then I had to lug the one out of my bedroom and swap it. And then of course I had to change the entire color scheme of the bedroom accessories. And I still don't have enough lamps. And I could really use something to jazz up the antique chest in the living room, too. This is going to call for another trip to the furniture store tomorrow. You can see how this is a sickness. You can also see why this is taking me so long. And now it's too late to quit. Why I can't ever just put the decorations away, without redecorating half the house, is beyond me. You'd think I'd learn.

To complicate matters, I grew some sort of thing on my lip in the midst of playing with accessories in the dining room. I just felt it start, and then in a matter of minutes it was a large, swollen lump protruding out of my top lip so that I can't smile or it stretches my lip til it bleeds. I sang to Caiden when tucking him in tonight, and he was mesmerized at the growth. Or whatever it is. It's so enormous and face-altering that when I passed a mirror and realized exactly how large it was, I realized that I cannot possibly go shopping for new armchair pillows and lamps unless this thing calms down a little bit.

So I chugged down four teaspoons of Benadryl. And now, as I sit in the new chair for the living room which has actually ended up in my bedroom, I'm feeling a little spacey. And a whole lot less stressed about the two overflowing baskets of clean laundry that need to be folded, the pile of bedroom decor that still needs to be put away, the mountain of Christmas decorations all over the stairs and game room, and--actually, I can't remember the rest. Wow. Benadryl is amazing. In fact, it has taken me four tries to type the name right. Fast-acting, indeed. The bad news is that my lip is still swollen four times its natural size. Maybe I should've tried applying ice, first. It's too late now; I'm feeling myself drift away on the waves of a Bendaryl-induced coma.

And after 12 hours of cleaning, undecorating, rearranging, and lugging furniture around the house, I'm beat. Top that off with a liberal dose of Benadryl, and I'm going to sleep like a baby. This undecorating thing, it's not for wimps.

The Whole Story

Christmas Eve was wonderful. The children and I came home from church and got dinner ready while we waited for Chris to finish the final service. We had a Shepherds Meal together by candlelight and then read the Christmas story to the children by the fire. They opened their Christmas Eve gift, dressed in their matching pajamas, and went to bed. Exhausted from a long day, they all went to sleep immediately.



Chris and I brought down the childrens' gifts from the attic and set up a wrapping station on the kitchen table. We finished wrapping all the presents together while watching a Christmas movie, then went to bed.




Now that's all true, but it's only half the story. Let me try again:

Christmas Eve was wonderful and very, very long. The children and I came home from church, realized I didn't have time to bake bread and make soup, and went to Central Market with half of the people in Texas and bought soup and bread. I got dinner ready while the children bickered and continually messed up the house and made me crazy in general, while we waited for Chris to finish the final service. We had a Shepherds Meal together by candlelight, but Caiden, who's a safety nut, was freaked out by having fire on the table and mentioned the safety issue about forty times during dinner. Grayson, who's a terrible eater, never did eat much, and I finally put Addison to bed in the middle of it because she was so cranky.


Then Chris read the Christmas story to the children by the fire while I tried to take pictures of the boys, but Caiden got the giggles, and Grayson got the wiggles, and I doubt they heard a word. They look tortured in the pictures.


Chris had to prep the boys for their Christmas Eve gift, and I overhead Caiden whisper, "Please don't let it be clothes" as I went to my bedroom to get it. Of course it was clothes: matching pajamas that I stayed up til midnight the night before to finish.

I got guilt-tripped into reading Caiden one more story, after I yelled at him for asking 48 million times for one. They dressed in their matching pajamas and finally went to bed. Exhausted from a long day, they all went to sleep immediately.

Chris and I brought down the childrens' gifts from the attic and set up a wrapping station on the kitchen table. When I realized how much longer I'd have to stay up to get the gifts wrapped, I wanted to cry. We finished wrapping all the presents together while drinking loads of coffee and watching a Christmas movie because I said that watching nature shows on Christmas Eve just felt wrong, then went to bed at 1:15 a.m.

About 5 minutes after settling in, I heard a soft noise in the hallway. Chris got up to check, found Caiden sneaking in the family room to check if Santa had come, and put him in bed next to me, where he proceeded to steal the covers and my side of the bed. Then I recommended that he get Grayson, too, since he's notorious for waking up in the dawn and wandering the house, and would probably open everybody's gifts unless he were locked in our room. So the four of us crammed into our bed, and Chris and I tried to sleep over the din of Grayson's allergy-induced snoring. Chris gave up, lugged a sleeping bag to the couch, and came back an hour later. I got chills, had to get up at 3 a.m. and put on more clothes, was told by Caiden that I had bad breath, and finally fell asleep for good.
And that's the whole story.

It's a good thing we make the coffee strong, and Buddy the Elf showed up to help make Christmas merry and bright, regardless of the lack of sleep.

The Stockings Were Hung

and they're crazy! But that matches well with our family, you know?



And a stack of handmade matching pajama sets for the kids to open tonight. (Well, not completely matching. Addie's set has pink ribbon trim and a tiny pink bunny button.)

Now all I have left to do is get the kids bathed and dressed, help out at two of the Christmas Eve services, buy bread for our Shepherd's Meal tonight, make potato soup, bake Santa a chocolate cake, sew the buttons on Grayson's pajama shirt, saw dowel rods to fit inside of Addison's puppet theater, install a lock on Grayson's bedroom door, wrap all of the Christmas gifts, and enjoy some time alone with Chris after the kids are in bed. Piece of cake! (Santa, I'd like some sleep this year for Christmas.) Ironically, Christmas Eve is my favorite day of the year.

Now I know why my parents were always exhausted Christmas morning. But it's a happy exhaustion, and afterward we'll all sit around in our pajamas, eat loads of food, and play with our toys. Well worth the work.

Happy Christmas Eve! I hope yours is filled with lots of good things!!

New Friends: The Knit Edition

I feel like I've been missing an appendage. Clearly it wasn't an appendage I kept up with very well, or I'd never have lost it to begin with, but I missed it nonetheless. I got my shiny new camera in the mail today and immediately finished sewing eyes on all the knit toys so I could take their glamour shots. With no further ado:


She needs a name, probably something creative like "Dotty," but other than that she's finished and ready to roost on top of Addison's stocking come Christmas morning. Ironically, Addie watched me knit the entire thing back in September, but I'm confident she'll love it even if it's not a surprise. Addie loves stuffed animals like nobody's business.


I've mentioned before that Grayson has a thing for the three pigs story. He'd happily listen to it twice a day, week in and out, if I'd oblige. Since I won't, I knitted him this set instead, and I'm going to combine it with "The Real Story of the Three Pigs" book for Christmas. And look at that pot! So cute. I love details like this.
Chris and I have already played with it and think having the wolf hang off the chimney is probably more realistic. If it were, in fact, realistic to have a pig build a house of bricks and then entice a wolf to climb the building and hop down a chimney.
And look! They're puppets!
But these might be my favorites. Caiden and I read "The Mouse and the Motorcycle" a while back, and now these three rodents will be tucked in with the sequel for Caiden. I told Chris if Caiden doesn't love them enough, I'm confiscating them. I love them.


And for no particular reason other than this is a picture of her first ponytail ever (She's certainly not a knit toy.), I'm including this photo. Oh, I love that girl! She's sweet enough to eat.

You can see why I was determined to learn how to knit when I discovered Susan Anderson's first book, "Itty Bitty Hats." Her designs are so fun, so whimsical, and so rewarding to knit! These three are all from her newest book, "Itty Bitty Nursery." Next on my list to work on is an entire tea set, complete with sugar cubes and a golden tea spoon. You can imagine who that'll go to. Knitted bliss.

Next stop: Sewing projects. See you then!

Sleep

Of all of the good gifts God has given me, I might be most thankful for the Gift of Babies Who Sleep. That deserves all capitals, Brittani would tell you. Bridget still swears that I drug my kids. They have what I like to refer to as a "Strong Sleep Ethic." I've been known to put Addison down to bed at 6 p.m., and she'll still be asleep at 8 the next morning. Once she slept a whopping 15 hours before I woke her up. I promise I don't drug them. But any mom of little kids can tell you that children who sleep well are more valuable than diamonds. If I had to choose, I'd pick that over a 3 carat diamond. And I really love diamonds.

But--and this is a really big "but"--something happens to my kids once they graduate to the big kid bed. I remember Caiden getting in trouble more during one naptime than the previous two years combined, all because he wouldn't stay in his bed. For more than a year, I'd have to push the door open every single night to move his sleeping body away from it, pick him up, and put him back in his bed. That kid went to bed each night in his own bed, later migrated to wedge himself against his door, and had to be put back to bed. Every night for over a year. I'd like to say that has changed, but he just switched it up a little: now he appears in our bedroom sometime in the wee hours of the morning, curls up on the floor by the bed in a blanket, and sleeps until Chris wakes up. I can't tell you how many times I've almost stepped on him.

Grayson has been no different. He was an angel--until he got a real bed. Now he takes forever to fall asleep, crying for a nightlight, the door left cracked open, and snuggles, until I threaten all sorts of violence and consequences and whatnot. He finally falls asleep, only to sneak out of his bed in the middle of the night, crawl onto Caiden's bed, and then migrate with him to our bedroom later on. It's a scary thing to wake up and realize the three-year old has been awake and roaming the house. Bad things happen when preschoolers are unattended.

I have dreams of the days to come when the kids sleep in later than I do. That sounds like Having Arrived to me, you know? Thankfully, we have a split floorplan, which means all the bedrooms are on the same floor, but the secondary bedrooms are far, far away from the master. I love that. I ditched the baby monitor long ago, and sometimes we lock our bedroom door, just to keep the boys out at 5 a.m. Where they curl up then, I have no idea. But I sleep in perfect peace. I figure if somebody's having a crisis, I'll eventually hear it. Over the fan. And the ceiling fan. And through the door. It would have to be a crisis worth getting up over, come to think of it.

Last night I went in to check on Caiden and found him curled into a "C" on top of his covers. At his knees was Grayson, also curled into a "C." Together, they made an "O." Both were sound asleep, unknowingly snuggled next to the other's best friend. I hesitated before lugging Grayson back to his own room. Sometimes I pass by the bunk beds at furniture stores and wonder if I should get a set. But that makes me wonder, will Grayson still steal into Caiden's bed, if they room together? Probably not. And as much as I hate hearing the pitter-patter of little feet at 5 a.m., I love knowing that they're best friends, and that they'll both give up warm covers and some sleep to spend just a little more time together. As much as I value a good night's sleep, brothers who are friends is even better.

Catching Up

I am the wife of a worship pastor. I used to be the wife of a student pastor--the same guy, just a different job. I promise I don't go preacher-hopping. This time of year is a big one for us, even moreso than the regular Christmas flurry of activity, because our church has several days of Christmas services. Not just several services, but several days. Tonight is the first one, and we won't stop until the last three services on Christmas Eve. Because our children are so little (and I'll be honest, because it's cold and flu season and my kids always seem to pick up RSV and end up in the hospital), I can't volunteer at the church very much because they'll be stuck in the nursery everyday. So except for going to one service and then volunteering on Christmas Eve, I'm home with them.

If I were a newby pastor's wife, I'd resent the time he spends away from us the week before Christmas. After all, he goes to work around 8 or 9 a.m. and comes home at about midnight. But my years as a student pastor's wife have served me well: I'm good when it comes to crunch time. He was gone several nights a week back then, as well as a trip every month and seven weeks of summer camp. So a week of this at Christmas comes as blessed relief from what he used to do. Now I'm smart about it--I use the extra time to finish wrapping presents, watch all the sappy Christmas movies nobody else will watch with me, spend some quiet time alone by the tree at night to reflect on what Christmas is all about, and finish any last-minute gifts. In fact, don't tell him, but I don't mind this at all. Last night I put the kids to bed, lugged out my ironing board, and sewed Addie's Christmas dress in the dining room, my current sewing station. I had all evening to work, listening to Christmas music. It was quiet, productive, and peaceful. Nice.

This morning when I went in to get Addie, she was jumping up and down in her bed pointing at her new dress and squealing. Sure, she may grow up to become a tomboy, but it's not happening anytime soon. I love having a girl in the house! I handed it to her and she draped it over her body, patting it. Talk about a good response to a handmade item! If only I could get everyone to respond like that!

Today we only have a couple of things on the to do list. We'll go to the service tonight, but in between we're just enjoying living in Texas. It's already beautiful outside, completely cloudless, and I think it's going to be around 70 degrees. That sounds shameful in December, unless you're at home all day long with three restless children. Then it sounds heavenly. They spend a large portion of the day playing in the backyard. Yesterday I got all the laundry done with the backdoor open and the kids playing Army on the trampoline.

So I guess that's all going on around here. I'm waiting anxiously for our new camera to arrive in the mail. I don't know how I did it, since I couldn't walk or drive or actually go anywhere, but I lost our digital camera back when I broke my foot. Forever gone are the pictures from Gray's birthday, but thanks to technology we'll have a new camera anyday in the mail. I hope I can figure it out. I have so many things I've made in the last two months that I want to show you! Nobody in this house (except for Addie!) responds with much excitement when I finish a project, so posting them here is my only way to get any good feedback. And Susan B. Anderson, whose wonderful designs I've been knitting up, keeps asking me for pictures. I've made several of the designs in her newest book, all to be tucked away with coordinating books in children's stockings. I'm so in love with them that if the kids don't adore them immediately, I might confiscate them to become keepsakes of my own!

I also will be getting something very special in the mail soon that I want to show you, but that's all I'll say about that.

Well, this post hasn't been funny or enlightening or even very interesting, but that's kind of how life is around here lately. Which is nice. It seems like we always end the year on a big note (Remember Blitz the Impaled Dog?), and I'm hoping to spend the next 11 days in peace. We'll see how that goes!

OH! I forgot to mention the entire reason for this post--I'm wanting to join BooMama's Christmas Tour but am waiting on the camera. I have to show you our crazy stockings! Will you still care, if it's after Christmas? I better get that camera soon; I'm famous for undecorating the day after Christmas. Chris'll probably postpone delivery of the camera, just to keep the decorations up a little bit longer.

Anyway, I hope each of you is having a good week before Christmas, getting all your shopping and wrapping done! Thank you for all your sweet thoughts and comments when my grandmother died. It's so nice to know that people I'd never have met otherwise were thinking of our family.

I hope you have a happy day today :)

By the way, if you live in the area and don't have somewhere to go for a Christmas Eve service, we'd love to have you join us at Fellowship Church! There are many options for you, and I'd just link to our homepage but am having linky problems this morning. Here's our schedule:

Grapevine:
Dec. 20 7 p.m.
Dec. 21 7 p.m.
Dec. 22 5 & 7 p.m.
Dec. 23 9:30 & 11:30 a.m.
Dec. 24 1, 3, 5 p.m.

Downtown Dallas:
Dec. 20 7 p.m.
Dec. 23 9:30 & 11:30 a.m.
Dec. 24 5 p.m.

Fort Worth:
Dec. 23 9:30 & 11:30 a.m.

Plano:
Dec. 22 7 p.m.
Dec. 23 9:30 & 11:30 a.m.
Dec. 24 3 & 5 p.m.

If you need directions to any off the campus locations, go to www.fellowshipchurch.com.

Cookies

Today was our big Christmas cookie baking day. I've had good intentions for the last three years to get a tray of homemade cookies to the worship team as they start rehearsals for the myriad Christmas Eve services our church does, and I was determined to get it done this time. So I loaded the kids up and took them to Wal Mart this morning to get the supplies. That might be one of the best perks of going to Saturday night church: Wal Mart is bare-bones empty Sunday mornings around 9. Even so, by the time we got back into the car to go home, I wanted to donate my three children to the Salvation Army, but they wouldn't fit into the little red buckets. Grocery shopping has to be near the top of my most-hated things to do with children.

But we persevered, and once home we donned our aprons. I wore a vintage apron I bought off etsy a while back, but the boys had on aprons from my grandma, and I burst into tears the second I tied them. I should've taken that as a sign, hung up the aprons, and bought some store-baked cookies. I need to remember to listen to that little voice in my head.

First off the block was spritzes. They turned out pretty well, but Grayson's teeth are going to rot out of his head from all the red hots he swiped while decorating the trees and stars. After several dozen of those, we moved on to chocolate candy cane cookies. By this point I hated making cookies, eating cookies, and trying to make memories, in general. In between saving cooling cookies from sticky hands stealing them, keeping a monkey-like toddler off the counters, and washing the growing mound of dishes, I was losing my mind.

I couldn't quit, though, (Why not? I'm later wondering. Would the earth have stopped?), so we made a pan of chocolate-peanut butter something-or-others (must name these!) and the dough for chocolate drops, and by then we were all crashing from our previous sugar high. I rounded up Spaghetti-Os for dinner and washed the last dish.

Of course the boys had abandoned me some time ago and were vegging in front of the Pink Panther, so I had a familiar momentary flash of guilt/inspiration: play something with them. Again, I had visions of a wonderful family memory in the making, so I pulled out the Dora the Explorer version of Candyland. Grayson has never played it before, and why I chose tonight to teach a three year old how to play a game with actual rules, I'm not sure. Stupid.

Here's a condensed version of how the game went:

Grayson: I be Boots. I be Backpack. No, I be Dora!
Me: Just be somebody. Here's your card. It's green. Go to that green spot.
Grayson: I don't like green. I like lellow. Dora likes lellow.
Me: Fine, go to the yellow spot.
Caiden: Hey, that's cheating!
Me: (dirty look at Caiden) It's your turn, Caiden, just go. It's red. Go to the red spot. Go now.

And before I knew it, I was playing the game at break-neck speed, picking their cards for them, shooing Grayson off the playing board between moves, and moving their pieces as fast as I could. At some point Caiden realized this wasn't going to be an endearing family memory. Halfway through, Grayson decided he wanted to be Diego, which, unfortunately, was already in Caiden's possession, and I snatch up all the pieces, shoo them to the end, and say, "Hooray! Everybody wins! What a great game!" which is met with big-eyed stares. Oh no, Mommy's getting scary. I can hear it in their heads.

When Caiden protested, I dumped all the pieces at the start and tell him to have a great time playing the game by himself. I scoop up Grayson and put him in his bed, jeans and all. I sing our obligatory goodnight songs as fast as I can, spout the nightly blessing in warp speed, cheerily shout out, "Good night!" and bolt out of the room before he can ask for water or pajamas or a clean diaper.

Now it's 7 p.m. and I sit, exhausted, in the recliner wondering how on earth an afternoon baking drained all the life out of me. I'm a wimp. My husband is bringing home dinner (The Lord bless you and keep you, Chris, because I need you around for a long, long time!), and I have visions of knitting in perfect silence dancing around in my head.

I wonder, as I think back over my day, two things:

Did my mother have days like this, where baking cookies was supposed to create wonderful childhood memories but ended up with her exhausted and us all in bed still in our clothes with our teeth unbrushed? Or was she smart enough not to attempt a baking marathon with three small children? I really don't remember. Which brings me to my second question:

Will my kids later look back on this day and only remember making green Christmas tree spritz cookies, wearing Grandma's ancient aprons, and stealing red hots? Or will they remember their mom threatening to abandon them in the Wal Mart parking lot (Just kidding.) and forcing them to play Candyland while she wore a scary look and muttered under breath?

Either way, the cookies are finally finished, the children are in bed, and I'm headed to the bathtub. There's always next year.

A Small Funeral

I lost my grandma last weekend. She was 95 years old--I have to admit that I think it's false to say "95 years young." Nobody's young at 95 years, and anybody over 60 is usually gracious enough to admit it. My grandma was old. And we all laugh and say that she was already old when I met her, about 30 years ago. Even before she was old, she was probably an old soul. Grandma was practical, old-fashioned, and ladylike. My earliest memories of her involve polyester pants covered with aprons, glasses attached to a chain around her neck, and AquaNet hairspray in her bathroom. She adored her sons, loved her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and she treasured her friends. I will miss her.

I sat at her funeral Wednesday, in the last pew, looking at the little crowd that had gathered to say goodbye. Denver's weather was treacherous, with fog touching the road and snow packed on the streets. Fifty people, most of them older, sat huddled in pews during the ceremony, and we listened to old hymns together in silence. From the back, I wondered at the fact that so few had gathered. Then I realized that she had been the last of her family. Parents, husband, siblings, and in-laws had all passed before her, and she was the last one. Only those much younger than her were left.

Sometimes on TV I'll see the funeral procession of someone famous, with paparazzi cameras flashing and thousands of mourners following behind. My grandma was not famous, wealthy, nor powerful. Her crowd of mourners was small. But those people who came knew her. They loved her and admired her character, and they will each feel a hole with her absence. Several people in the pews spoke of her life and what it had meant to them. One had been in her Sunday school class half a century ago, another mentioned picking raspberries out of Grandma's yard. Each one talked of her love for the Lord and others, her devotion to her church, and her deep-set practicality. She was a great lady, in the true sense of the words.

When I go, hopefully years from now, I can't imagine that I'll have a large funeral--I certainly don't want to become famous--but I hope that the small crowd that gathers will be made of family and friends whose lives I've touched in little ways that add up over time. I think my grandma would've been very pleased to hear the words spoken at her small funeral. All the things in life that twinkle and are flashy? Those are the things that fade away in an instant. What lasts is love for the Lord. Devotion to family. Thoughtful gestures to friends. Small but consistent contributions made to the greater society. Those are the things that maybe make for a small funeral, but create a life worth celebrating. I will miss her and her presence in our family. I hope I can remember that small celebration and live the remainder of my life in a way that honors hers.

Smelling the Baby Dolls

I remember Christmas 2005 perhaps better than any other because it was the month we found out I was carrying a daughter. After two little boys, I'd requested a girl from the Lord, and He kindly obliged. The morning I found out, I was alone, violently ill with a stomach virus, and Chris was at home tending to Caiden, who was also sick. I dragged myself into the doctor's office, hanging on by a thread, only because I knew it was the day I'd find out. When my obstetrician told me the news, I was overjoyed despite feeling like a wrung out dishrag.

We kept the news under wraps from everyone but Bridget and my sister, and I planned how I was going to tell my family on Christmas. I borrowed flower girl dresses from a friend, brushed Grayson's curls (He was only 14 months old, and he hadn't had a haircut yet), crammed a tiara on Caiden's head, and situated them under the Christmas tree. The picture of them was attached to pink shower invitations, I wrote a poem on the vellum, and mailed them to my family. I wish I could find that picture; it's classic. I'm already imagining how fun that'll be to show it at my sons' rehearsal dinners. Grayson would've been a pretty little girl, but Caiden was something else. A cream and gold dress with a beautiful sash didn't even help.

So the day we went shopping for the boys' Christmas gifts that year at Toys R Us was a momentous one. I walked through the pink section, filled with Cabbage Patch Dolls, My Little Pony, and Barbies and burst into tears. I have friends who are fine with never having a daughter, but I'm not one of them. I wanted two boys and then a little girl, and when I found out I was pregnant with #3, I hoped desperately for a daughter to complete the picture. It's a good thing God gave me a girl; if it had been a boy, I might be secretly buying him bows and baby dolls. And getting counseling. :)

Last night we went back, for our annual shopping trip for the kids. Chris and I were both excited just walking through the doors. I realized last night that I'm a true parent: I was happier at the thought of what we'd be buying them than what I wanted for Christmas. It made me feel a little old.

We started down the aisles, and I stopped short almost immediately at the tiny pink toddler kitchen. Addie will happily spend 30 minutes stirring imaginary food in a pink bowl. So a kitchen is in order, and I hadn't been able to find one small enough for her until last night. Yay! Then we tackled dinosaurs, Playmobil pirates, and cowboy costumes, and I hung in there with the best of them, but when we passed the pink aisles again, I bid Chris a goodbye and stood in front of the baby dolls in bliss. He went off to find fighter jets and baseballs and scooters. I smelled baby doll heads instead.

Do you know the smell I'm talking about? My mom always says that smell reminds her of her childhood, and I think that's the same for every little girl grown up. It transported me back to being a little girl myself, playing with dolls and tea sets. Such a sweet time. Now I can't believe how many dolly options there are: ones that cry, or wiggle, or scrunch up their faces (scary, in my opinion), or say "Mama." And then the accessories! Strollers, carriers, swings, outfits. I was in heaven. I won't admit how long it took me to land on just the right one, but in the same amount of time Chris found the majority of the boys' gifts. I was tempted to buy myself another doll, just so I could have one to play with Addie. Never mind that she's in the front room playing dinosaurs and pirates with Grayson right now. Soon I'll get to help her unwrap her very first "real" baby doll and its matching stroller. What started two years ago as happy tears in the pink section is coming to life this year, and I can't wait.

A Heartlift

I read this post by Sally Clarkson this morning during my quiet time and have come away from it with kernels of wisdom, hope, and joy. I discovered Sally through my wonderful sister-in-law, Meg, several years ago and have been enjoying her ministry ever since. Her writings never fail to encourage, uplift, or challenge me. She, more than any other writer I can think of, inspires me to be the very best mother I can be, but it's never coming from a place of obligation or guilt, only earnest desire. When I read her book, "The Mission of Motherhood," I walked around for weeks in a happy cloud, thrilled to realize the very high and special calling that motherhood is. Thank you, Sally.

I hope you will take a minute to go read her latest post and soak it up.

Deep Thoughts

I've been in a bit of a writing slump lately; I'm guessing from a combination of the usual pre-Christmas flurry of activity, regular life with three small children, and something else not as usual or regular: Really Deep Thinking.

Bridget and Brittani and I had our monthly dinner at Chili's last night. It's a tradition we started a while ago, and we do it frequently enough to keep our sanity but infrequently enough that our husbands don't protest. We're smart girls like that. Last night we continued a conversation Bridget and I have been having for a long time, about the purpose of prayer, and God's goodness as it relates to suffering. We also threw in a little bit of celebrity gossip (Is Britney pregnant again, or not?) and the usual husbands/children/home life talk. But mostly we focused on trying to figure out the purpose of suffering. (Yes, Pace, Dan, and Chris, we really do get deep at Girls' Night!) I'll let you know if we land on anything; it has been written about and debated since at least the time of Job, so I'm doubting we solve it. You never know, though: we've solved a lot of things over chips and salsa at Chili's before.

So as much as I'm trying to think of something to write, my mind is whirling with questions, bits of quotes I've heard or read, remnants from a pivotal class I took in college, and then the fog brought on by sleep-deprivation: Chili's nights rarely end before midnight. I feel underenergized and overanalyzed. Toxic combination.

Today I'm going through the motions of being a real person; mostly I want to break up with my Deep Thoughts and curl up under my covers to take a long winter's nap. Throw in a little of Sarah Maclachlan's Christmas music, a bit of Creamy Nutmeg scented oil, and my favorite pajamas, and I might sleep 'til Friday. That defines "heaven" for a mom, doesn't it?

So as much as I'd like to write something witty or inspirational or stockings vs. mantle-related, my mind is shot. This Deep Thinking stuff isn't for wimps.

Tastefully Whimsical

Were you worried I got lost in Canton? I have to tell you, I was a little worried that Chris might bail out at the last minute, or even worse, grumble through each booth once we were there, but my fears were unfounded. He was a champ! We walked through a multitude of pavilions in search of my favorite place to buy bows (never found it, though), spent an unearthly amount of time picking out our stockings, and even bought a cart.

If you've never been to Canton, that doesn't speak to you, but if you have, you know what I'm talking about: The Cart is as much a part of shopping in Canton as are the foot-long corndogs. I've been several times and never bought a cart, but Chris broke down after jut five minutes of toting around heavy rolls of wrapping paper I bought, and I found myself picking out a cart. They come with color-coordinated shopping bags inside, and how on earth I've been to Canton that many times without buying one, I'll never know! The cart made it a lot easier to carry the ballerina sock monkey I bought for Addison's stocking, her multitude of new bows, our outrageous stockings, and the wrapping paper. I'm seriously considering buying my parents one for their retirement gift in 2009. There's nothing like thinking ahead, you know?

Chris said he feels like a true Texan now that he's been to Canton, and I think he might even come back with me sometime. In my book, that's a success. So now that that's done, the Christmas tree has been decorated, and I've made my master Christmas gift list, I'm feeling a little better about the big day approaching. Tomorrow our sitter comes for my afternoon of errands, and I have to go to Target to find something to decorate our mantle. There's a backstory--the mantle was decorated with a vintage "Merry Christmas" painting, antique stacking Santas, and framed photos of the kids with Santa. Then we bought the stockings.

Let me explain about the stockings. I had an idea in my head: needlepoint with velvet backing, classic, traditional, tasteful and subdued. Oh, I wish I had my camera! We ended up with the five most whimsical, un-tasteful stockings I've ever seen. Caiden's is a yellow velvet stocking with red and green stripes--and a gigantic green velvet frog in a tuxedo with legs that extend down past the stocking itself. Grayson's is a beautiful white satin stocking, with red glass beads attached to green velvet leaves--and a giant brown reindeer head framed in green fur. Addison's doesn't have any animals on it, but it has ribbons, eyelet lace, velvet, pom-pom fringe, and an elf toe complete with green satin. Nothing subdued about that. Mine and Chris' have been dubbed "Mother and Father Christmas." I can't even explain them, except to say that mine has feathers and sequins and an actual hard-plastic molded lady on it, complete with feet and buttoned-up red satin shoes. Chris' has a man on it with a crazy white beard, red-striped legs, and pointy feet. Needlepoint, they are not.

So now my vintage, simple mantle looks a little ridiculous, in a bad way, above the stockings. Tomorrow I'll be hitting up Kirkland's, Target, The Container Store, and everything else I can to try and find something that looks tastefully whimsical. Or whimsically tasteful. Either way will work, but simply vintage doesn't. I can't wait to take a picture of it when it's done. If anybody ever thought we were a quiet, got-it-together family (I don't actually know anybody who thinks that, but you never know.), one glance at the row of stockings will change it. But that's okay, because they make me laugh every time I look at them. They're so fun, they don't even need gifts inside! I normally can't wait to take down the decorations in January December the day after Christmas, but I have to be honest: I'm going to miss those stockings when I do. And that'll make whatever I have to spend making the mantle look tastefully whimsical worth it.