16 Loooong Years

On December 29th, 1994 I married my sweetheart.  That was 16 years ago, or as we tease, "Sixteen  loooong years!"

Last year on our anniversary, my husband held me in his arms as I sobbed.  We had just been told that my nine week fetus had not survived.  The pregnancy was our last attempt, after the three miscarriages before it.  That night we sat in a restaurant trying to somehow settle in to the new reality that was ours.  We were done.  We would not try again. 

It was a quiet dinner.

The next day -a year ago today- another visit to the doctor and another ultrasound later, and suddenly our futures had been turned back around.  We were clutching our hearts in disbelief.  Our baby had made it, and would be ours.

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Last night we sat in another quiet restaurant.  Quiet, except for Jonah's occasional fuss.  I asked Guy, "What would you have thought if someone told you on our wedding day that on our sixteenth anniversary we would have a 4 month old?"  He laughed.  Neither of us would have believed it.

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I sat nursing Jonah, smiling ear to ear and struggling with my meal one handed.  Guy had to cut my meat for me.  It was all very romantic.

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Actually, it really was.

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This afternoon as I was gutting the girls room, I was hauling a load of who-knows-what to the garage when I caught a glimpse of heaven.  Guy sat in the den munching on Jonah's neck, the music of Harry Connick Jr. bright and cheerful in the air, dappled with chortles from little Jonah.  Smiling at the sight, I headed back to my chore, but in moments I was swallowed up in feelings that welled up and spilled out of my eyes.  I quickly made my way back to my two loves, and knelt down beside them to join the smootchfest.  Some moments are just an intense view into eternity.  

Our tears and smiles overlapped each other.

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I can't believe the year we have had.  I can't believe the miracle that has come to stay in our lives.  I get to be Jonah's mom.  I get to be married to my dear, amazing friend.  It has been a blessed year.

A looong, blessed year.

Thrift Store Chic

I am way not crafty.  Art, yes, sewing...eh, not so much.  So I am super proud in a humble, I-got-this-stuff-at-a-thrift-store sort of way of these outfits I made the girls for Christmas.

I bought a few women's sized skirts for about $2 each, and
made skirts and (oh yes, there is more) headbands! for the girls. 

Because I can almost sew a straight line, it was pretty simple to throw a piece of elastic into a waist band for them,  and with some extra fabric chunks canabalized from the skirts,  I followed a tutorial online to make little cloth roses to sew onto dollar-store 4-pack headbands. 

Total cost per outfit: $6.25 before tax if you add a $5 tee from Old Navy.

The girls have been twirling ever since.

Don't you love the little girl pot-belly look?  And look close... they're holding hands as usual.

Gifts

It's here.  It's the day after Christmas, and that wave of relief that always comes for me the-day-after-Christmas has washed over me and taken with it the heaviness of the season of high expectations.

I have always known that I have difficulty at Christmas time, but this was the first year I chose to examine it.  I asked a few of my very emotionally-healthy friends for advice, and from them came gifts of such understanding and wisdom, that I want to share.

From Chantal I learned that Christmas is so romanticized.  There are so many ideals that are put in front of us about how Christmas should be.  I would never expect myself to look like a photoshopped model in a magazine, with duct-tape holding up her boobs and 5 people doing hair and make-up, but I have every magazine and blog telling me that it is my responsibility to make Christmas a magical time for my children and loved ones.  Every friend should have a handmade something from me to show them that I love them, every card I send should have a special note, every dessert I make should be amazing and every bow I tie should have perfect loops.  It is an impossible measuring stick.   

From Ellen, my heart was given permission not to figure it all out.  She said it was enough this year to just acknowledge that there is something amiss in my feelings, and that I should look at that heavy feeling as though it were a child demanding my attention.  Instead of saying "Not right now, I don't have time to deal with you.  Sad feelings don't fit in with Christmas ideals, so I am going to ignore you", I can simply say, "I see you.  I know you are there,"  and then just go on.  I don't have to ask the feeling why its here, what it wants from me, or what I should do to change it.  I simply see it.  Maybe just seeing that demanding child will validate it a  little, and make it fuss at me less.  It certainly has seemed to help.  As my children opened their presents yesterday, and overwhelming feelings of guilt engulfed me, instead of ignoring feelings that are not "supposed" to be in ones' heart at Christmas, I said to them, "Yes, I see you there".  Maybe for the next 11 months I can work on figuring out why they come to haunt me each Christmas, but I don't have to figure it all out this year. 

From Steph, I was gently guided through my sea of inadequacy.  A wave from that sea rose up unexpectedly and wiped me out a few days before Christmas.  At church we always put together Christmas boxes full of dinner fixings and other items that would be much appreciated by a family having a tight season.  When, out of the blue, two ladies from church arrived with a box for us, I began to protest, trying to reassure them that we needed nothing this year.  They sweetly expressed love and gratitude for what they claimed was "all our family does" for others, and left us with the box.  I cried.  I felt indebted to those who sacrificed to put the boxes together, and somehow ashamed that I was on this end of the giving.  Later, Steph came and, like a fisherwoman pulling her net into her boat, she pulled all of my worries out of me and talked me through them.  Though I hadn't been aware of it, I worried that those I love will not know it if my gifts do not somehow show it.  It makes no sense that a box of food brought out those feelings, but that's ok.  There they are.  I see them.

I received other gifts this year as well.  My sweetheart tried very hard this year to create  an understanding of the meaning of this Christmas season for our children.  I am so blessed to have a husband that gives lasting gifts of his integrity, fidelity and true devotion. 

Ruth has given me so many gifts.  As I share her journey saying goodbye to her Little Rhys, I have been so honored to witness her grace and faith as she weathers this storm.  I have also been handed the opportunity to examine my actions and thoughts every day as I interact with Jonah, remembering always to be grateful for his life, and not taking a minute for granted.

Then there is the sweet gift of Jonah.  Though I find it hard to write of my tender feelings for him here without worrying that it will cause Ruth pain, my heart is filled to overflowing for the gift of this little boy.  His spirit is immense, his acceptance of my meek efforts, so rewarding.  I am grateful every day that in all my weakness I have been given the opportunity to be his mother.  And he, above all other wisdom that I have been given these past few days, has healed and humbled me more than anything else. 

It is, after all, the birth of a babe that we celebrate at Christmas.  A babe who brought us a gift.  And in writing those words it occurs to me; maybe my heart hurts at Christmas when I get too far away from that truth. 

Popcorn Popping on the Christmas Tree

I would love to tell you of all of the amazing things I am learning this week.  And making.  And eating.  But there is no time yet.  Must get stuff done...!

But stay tuned so I can share a cool sewing project that I am working on for the girls.  In the mean time, I want to share with you the yummy gourmet popcorn recipe that I have made for our elf-ing.  If you live far away, make some for your self and pretend it's from me!

Crispy Caramel Popcorn

Pop a bunch of popcorn (16 cups popped)

In a bowl:

1 cube butter

1 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup corn syrup

Melt in microwave 1 minute, stir, 1 minute, stir, one minute, stir.

Add:

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp vanilla

(it will get foamy... don't panic!)

In big bowl, pour over popcorn and stir till sort of coated

Bake on a cookie sheet 1 hr at 200 degrees, stir every 15 min.  If you want it to go faster, crank the heat to 300, but watch it and stir it about every 5 minutes till golden, about 20 min total.

Optional: add nuts, drizzle with chocolate, and sit down with bowl and eat all of it (it sounds optional, but it will be so hard not to).

Oh, and if you make 9 batches, you get to memorize the recipe, which is handy.

Merry Christmas from me!

And Jonah boy.

Giving

Trying to instill in our children the true reasons for Christmas has been challenging this year. The squabbles have been relentless. The complaining, constant. I'm fried.

I remember thinking about being a parent -probably back when I was a teenager and knew absolutely everything- and knowing I would undoubtedly raise selfless, grateful and generous children. Yeah, right.

Then I had an idea. It has been my habit to give things to homeless people when I am asked for help. I'd like to give money, but usually I don't have any, so I share whatever I find in the van. I have given away my groceries at times, and about 6 umbrellas, much to my husband's chagrin on a rainy Sunday. In the past few years I have taken to buying hats, gloves, socks, and hygiene products and stashing them in the van to give away.

So (here comes my idea) I bought a bunch of hats and gloves, and called Ruth, who did the same. We got together last night to make little gifts to give to folks we encounter who are down on their luck. We wrote them loving notes with a scripture to put on the boxes, and talked about Christ and his story of the good Samaritan. We discussed what we have to offer others in need, and how, if we have nothing else, we can offer a prayer up for them. The kids really got into the whole process. We packed the needed items with a granola bar and wrapped them up like presents.

It was a sweet night. The kids played, and the grown-ups talked about Ruth and Steve's baby, Rhys, who surely looks over his wonderful family as they face their first Christmas without him. We all cried here and there, hearing about him and feeling the vibrations of the family's pain. I told them how I think of them so many times a day as I tend to Jonah. All the while Jonah slept in Ruth's arms.

This morning we hustled our bundles into the van before leaving for school. The kids kept their eyes out all the way to and from school and then all the while we shopped, but it rained all day and there was not a homeless person anywhere on the streets to offer our gifts to. The forecast calls for 10 more days of the wet stuff.

Tonight we asked the kids to jot down a few ideas for us of things they might like for Christmas. The boys lists were short and reasonable. They still squabbled throughout the day, but I think that they understand -our family has been blessed, and things are just things.

Ellie asked for underwear and socks.  And diamonds.  Sheesh.
 

Adorable Nate

Gwowing Up

  "I dohn wanna gwow up."

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"Oh, you will like growing up, because then you get to be a mom."

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"I dohn wanna gwow up, cuz den you guys will all be old!  And I dohn wanna be a mom!  But dere is no way of God stop making me gwow."

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"But you aren't growing up right this minute."

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"Yeah, but a long time ago I gonna be sad cuz I gwew up.  And now I'm hungwy."

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"Ok, you can eat."

"Being a kid is much mowah fun."

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"Yes, it is."

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"I'm gonna miss the toy that Ethan gave me, and I am gonna miss evwything.  And you will get old and I wohn know where you live!"

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"I will always tell you where I live."

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"But you will get old and you will die..."

Tessa was looking at my kindergarten picture today, and had a glimpse of her own mortality, and mine.  I had received a package in the mail a few weeks ago.  My sister had found the dress, the dress she and I and our older sister had all worn for our kindergarten picture.  We tried the dress on Tessa, and later I found the picture of me at about her age.  We sat comparing it to the ones I had taken of her in the dress, and of Ellie wearing the replica I had made for her.

Tessa looked at the picture of her mama, a five year old, and her sister, looking like my five year old twin.  Somehow, she made a leap far beyond her years, and realized that she, like me, would grow up someday. 

I have been thinking a lot lately about mothering.  About the women who came before me, and now, about the women who will come after me.  The generations before mine seldom thought about mothering, or about how to become better at the mom thing.  I don't have to recreate the past -like the dress- or pass down unconscious and unkind behaviors to my own daughters.  I can pick the good that I was shown and add the good that I have learned from amazing mothers around me. 

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And maybe  I can create a new dress. 

 A garment of love and tenderness, joy, patience and forgiveness. 

One that would have fit that little girl all those years ago. 

.  One that will be just right for my own cherished daughters.

Thumping

I am sick to tears of little boys thumping each other.  Even though this looks sweet and even playful, I ain't kidding, it's just a matter of time before the thumping turns into tears.  Then I step in to mediate.  I scold and threaten, and say a lot of things like, "I'm not kidding" and "If I have to talk to you boys one more time..."

Tonight I grounded them from each other.

My friend said she once duct taped her kids to each other and made them stay that way until they could get along. 

I'm outta tape.  Maybe rope would work.

I think I'll go to the hardware store tomorrow.

Getting along

This weekend some things happened that have compelled me to think a lot about how we all get along.  I remember back a ways, when, after riots broke out in Los Angeles, a remorseful Rodney King was quoted over and over saying "Can't we all just get along?"

My friend Chantal, a gentle Ghandi-like woman with beautiful blue eyes that see through the muck of things to get down to what is real, told me this weekend, "We are all human, and we are all just learning."

It seems like such a simple statement, but the pure wisdom in it cannot be ignored.  Each mortal that walks here beside us and including us, is simply that: mortal.  We are eternal beings, crammed into human forms, having no memory of our former home or life prior to this earth walk.  And there is not one of us here who has it all figured out, who has nothing left to learn, or who is so wise, polished, or experienced that she (or he) need not gather a few more morsels of understanding.  The beauty of it is this; though we, none of us, are done learning, it does not prevent any of us from being a teacher.  How amazing that we frail beings of limited insight into our own weaknesses can yet see clearly enough to at times be guide to a lost one, comforter to one who weeps, or witness to another as they grow through (and perhaps out of) their own weaknesses. 

And when our path collides with that of another in perhaps a less peaceful manner, isn't it best that we "get along", moving beyond what that moment brought?

I am so grateful that I have had, placed along my path, brother- and sister-souls who are my teachers.  More grateful still to share my path with a husband-friend who is learning like I am, and who is patient when I sometimes get stuck. 

Saturday night I was in a craft store picking up a few things.  As I reached the checkout stands, I saw, a ways off, my friend and mentor, Kathy, talking on her phone.  As I poked my head out around a display to say hello, her eyes filled with tears and as I hugged her and asked how she was, she said "Better, now that you are here.  I just found out that my mother is dieing.  I feel like Heavenly Father just brought you to me because I needed you."  After the many, many times Kathy has been there because I needed her, I got the chance to be there for her. 

Maybe that's what it means when they say we should "get along with each other".  It's not just about moving along our way, but helping others, and being helped by them, as we all get along home.

Persimmons, politics and Ed

"Do you want to take an adventure with me?" Francine called one day asking.  Of course, I agreed.  Anything to get Francine for a whole afternoon all to myself would be worth it, but throw in an adventure and try to keep me away!


"The persimmons are ripe and amazing..." she began, telling me of a tree farmer she met at the farmers market that had invited us to see his orchards.  On persimmon trees, the leaves fall and the fruit stays on the branches until it is ripe.  Birds come and eat the easily reached fruits, hollowing out the pumpkin colored orbs and leaving the skin hanging on it's stem.  The bright fruit contrasts with the dark wood of the skeletal tree.  It is an amazing sight. 

We left early and drove to Newcastle.  There we met Ed, a leather handed, gravel-voiced fellow who managed 1,400 acres of trees with his children, whose houses sit scattered about the property like fallen fruit. 

We walked amongst the orchards of pear, apple, cherry and chestnut trees, listening to his amazing stories, hearing his take on politics and his end of the world predictions.  He tried repeatedly to sell Tessa on the idea that his six year old grandson, Joaquin, would make a great husband for her.  He talked without pausing, told stories and jokes, and shared his philosophies of business and integrity.  By the time we left, I wanted to try canning peaches again, get my finances in order, read the classic books I have been putting off, and be more generous when I give of my time and means.

It was an amazing day.  We saw 25 wild turkeys.  I tried my first ripe persimmon, which was heavenly.  I learned how to plant a tree so that it will grow astoundingly high in just two years.  I learned that to dry persimmons you need to massage them every day.  I learned that being rich is to have family near, to learn every day, and to laugh.
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We drove home that afternoon with smashed, ripe fruit in the treads of our shoes, and light, peaceful hearts.  I felt like I had been given the rare privilege of meeting someone who really understands how to savor life.

Because, really, isn't life delicious?

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A little story

Once, a long time ago, there lived a young woman and a young man who fell in love and got married.  The young woman and the young man had decided they would never have a cluttered refrigerator covered in tacky magnets and sentimental keepsakes.  Mysteriously, small children joined their family one at a time, creating large messes and causing the young man to get grey hairs and the young woman to get skin on her belly that resembles bread dough. 
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Soon, the small children were drawing small pictures.  Alas, the young couple became not-so-young-but-somewhat-wiser and could not keep up with the small pictures.  It was not long before it became clear to the not-so-young couple that the drawings of small children were exactly what the front of a refrigerator was made for. 
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A year later they learned a similar lesson about homemade Christmas tree decorations.
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(Please note the illustration of the young couple with lovely yellow bodies)

Warming up for the holidays

Hanging lights in 60+ degree weather

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Unlike my macabre zeal for Halloween, my anticipation of yule tide festivities is usually a bit on the anxiety-ridden side of the tracks. My unintentional traditions have been; to be Grinchy when the stores put out their red and green wares in early November, to put off trimming the tree till around mid month, and to get a lump in my throat at the sound of a carol.  Add to that a skimpy Christmas budget and a generous helping of procrastination and you have a recipe for holiday disaster.

If I rummage around in my closet of childhood Christmas memories, I have faint recollections of stressed-out and penny-poor parents who struggled to provide gifts for six children.  I feel the echos of disappointment and traces of sorrow for which I have no explanation.  I am teased by guilt as as all around me holiday revelers are decking halls and being jolly.

After all of the pain and sorrow our family has experienced over the last three years, I have decided that enough is enough.  There is every reason for me to celebrate this year, I just need to figure out how to reprogram my brain.  If I would just immerse myself in the holiday, I decided, maybe the sad feelings would be replaced by busyness, and eventually, joyfulness.  It ain't therapy, but it probably couldn't hurt.  Plus, it's a lot cheaper.

Then I was visited by an early elf.  Joanna (who is indeed, the size of an elf) showed up at my door last week with a huge bin and said, "This is your Christmas present!"  Inside there was a lovely box with carefully made Christmas envelopes, each with a corresponding note.  Some instructed us to make and decorate cookies, read stories, and watch Christmas movies.  Others had us doing acts of service, going out to see the lights, or making special ornaments.  The bin contained candy canes, books, coloring pages, cocoa mixes, cookie makings, and much, much more.  The 12 days of Christmas, including all of the ingredients and holiday magic to make them possible, were lovingly tucked into the tote. 

I love inspired friends.  How she knew this is what I would need to help me tackle my humbug, only Santa knows, but she did, and I am so grateful.  The kids are having such a ball with the whole thing.  They take turns opening the envelopes, and are so thrilled with each activity.  It's like she gave me my family for Christmas.  Joy (and a good helping of sugar) in a box.

We even got our tree early (early for us, that is) so we are officially (trying to be) in the Christmas spirit!

If you are in need of some help getting into the holiday spirit, look here (and even if you are all Kringled out, you will still get a thrill. 'Wish I had been there for lunch that day!).

Giving Thanks

How does one deal with social eating and food sensitivity, especially at the holidays?

You go to Melissa's house, that's how.

Let me take you back 11 years.

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and as the dawn's blue light began to creep through the kitchen windows, I held my sweet new baby Adam in my arms, just minutes old.  And Melissa was there.

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  The next day, knowing that we would not be going anywhere for Thanksgiving, Melissa said she would "bring over a couple of plates of food".  Later she dropped by with rolls all ready to go in the oven -our oven- not because she didn't have room in hers, but because she wanted out little apartment to be filled with the aromas of the holiday.  When she came later with food, it wasn't just a pair of plates with dinner on them, it was a plateful of each of the items she had prepared that busy day, and all this after staying up all night helping me with labor.  One of the most tender memories I have in my vault is that of offering that Thanksgiving prayer with tears streaming down my cheeks, grateful to my core for all of my blessings, including my friend Melissa.

This year happened to be one where Adam's birthday fell on the day before Thanksgiving again.  We did the regular birthday hoopla, and spent the rest of the day cooking together.  Melissa worked like a mad woman to prepare food that I would be able to enjoy.  There were yams made with caramelized coconut milk, mashed potatoes with rice milk, and even a separate little 9 lb turkey with no dressing or butter on it, just for me.  Whatever recipes could not affordably be made for everyone were duplicated in miniature scale just for me, but made with allergy free substitutions.  I even got to have gravy.  And let's face it, that's the only reason to even celebrate.  It's all about the gravy.

 (The proverbial "Kid's Table")

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The whole meal was so wonderful, and I felt normal for the first time in weeks, perhaps months.  The apple pie was a bit of a flop... -some substitutions just don't cut it- but the coconut custard I made was de-lish.  Recipes will be posted, as I, unlike my husband, do not believe my soul will be stolen if I share my recipes. 

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I am reflecting now on the gratitude I have in my heart for my many, many blessings.  I have been so abundantly blessed with kind and loving friends.  I love my children, even on days when they are monsters, which -lucky for me- is only on the days when the earth is in orbit around the sun.  I have a hubby who loves me, even though I am totally neurotic, and I am so humbly blessed that Jonah is here.  The realization that he is here washes over me eight times a day; he made it, we all got through it, and by some true miracle this little child is in our lives.  I guess after that final miscarriage I had allowed myself to imagine a life without that last little soul, but now my brain can't even fathom it.

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I believe in miracles, because I believe in a loving Heavenly Father who desires that his children have what they most need in this life, even if sometimes what they most need comes disguised as a trial.

Yes, I believe in miracles.  In fact, I have come to expect them.

(And for dessert, a bundle-o-baby that weighed twice as much as my turkey.  Nibble nibble, yum yum.)

You just need a hammer

I fully intended to walk while we were at Disneyland last week. My resolve melted by the time we got from the Toy Story parking lot (Woody section, not to be confused with the Potato Head section) all the way to the front gate. My foot began to shoot pain, so we rented a wheelchair, and boy oh boy, let me tell ya… that was awesome. Not to take anything away from those who use a wheelchair as a wonderful way to be able to get around, but what I never knew is that when you are wheel-bound, you get to go to the front of all of the lines. See, the park was built so long ago that all of the long lines that switchback and forth with ropes and turn styles are impassable by wheelchair. On one of the busiest days of the year, we waited about 10 minutes for each ride. 

So mama got “pushed around” all day (I need to mention here that Ethan will be waiting for his drivers licence until the age of seventeen (did I say seventy?) based on his wheelchair driving). I was a ready lap for a weary child here and there, and my arms never got tired from holding Jonah.  It was weird at times as the person pushing me would often "park" me by a wall, or with the strollers.  I grew a new appreciation for those with dependence on others for their mobility.

Tessa remembered the Pirates of the Caribbean ride from last year. Again, she rode with her head buried, but this time she peeked out once in a while. We are now inspired by her latest rendition of the ride’s theme song, “Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates left for me!” (I am so glad, I hate it when they run out of pirates just before I get one). And though it wasn’t quite as magical as it was the first time, it was still a wonderful day.

I have told the kids that next time we go (which, unless Disney runs another volunteers-get-in-free day, will be years down the road), we will do Ro-Sham-Bo (paper, rock, scissors) and then will crack the loser on the toe with a hammer. Hey, we all have to take one for the team once in a while, right?

The Happiest Place on Earth

The Saddest Baby

at

The Happiest Place on Earth

Actually, he did great considering we went from 9AM and got back to our car at 1AM, a fun filled.  16 hours later.

I am sorry I didn't get a chance to post while we were away.  I know the three people who read my blog regularly were on pins and needles.  I would have mentioned that we were leaving town, but it is a well documented fact that cat burglars lurk on the blogs of homemakers waiting for such announcements.

So, now we are back. 

I can't wait to tell you all about Disneyland with a broken toe.

I can't wait to tell you about Thanksgiving in Vegas (those showgirls make fab gravy).

I can't wait to tell you about how wonderful Melissa  (my own personal Vegas showgirl) made me feel as we created an allergen free extravaganza so that I could enjoy the holiday.

I can't wait to tell you about the 11 1/2 hour trip back home with five cranky kids.  At least no one threw up all the way home (Oh, darn, I just gave away the spoiler of our drive down!).

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Sadly, I must... wait, that is.  I have to get us unpacked, groceries re-stocked, and brain switched to December mode (insert scream heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere!).

But, just so I don't leave you wanting, here is a little listen into my living room right now:

Tessa (singing): Yo ho!  Yo ho,

a pirate submarine!

This little piggy II

 This little piggy went to market,

this little piggy stayed home,

this little piggy got caught on the frame of the blankety-blank bouncy seat for the 5th time and snapped.

It now faces North East at a 45 degree angle when not tapped to Market Piggy.  The other two piggies laughed their little pork butts off as I sat on the kitchen floor whimpering.

Rich from church, who is a PA, came over to see if it was dislocated or broken.  Upon examination, he said "Could be" and "Tape it".  Good times.  A day later I can confirm... definitely broken. 

Oh, and remember way back when we made blankets to be donated to needy children so that we could get free Disneyland tickets?

Yeah.

We are going to Disneyland Monday.  Nothing says FUN like a broken toe at Disneyland.

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On a completely different note, I would like to show you the cool little dude Adam made for a Webelos project.

He calls him Steve.

One-eyed Steve.

I know, it's funny, huh?