Geronimo!

…then comes marriage, then comes (fill in the blank) with a baby carriage? I’m surely going to ruffle many colorful feathers here, but I really wonder. When did we begin not only to accept, but celebrate, even envy, women and couples, who have children before they even talk walking down the aisle?

Some people are going to be really ticked off. I know there are those of you out there with different stories. Not so traditional. Not so easy. And these are circumstances I would never even pretend to understand, or judge. But what I am talking about, gritching about, is a society that has nearly fully, NO. Fully decided that it is just great to promote and flaunt men and women who get pregnant, and then maybe, talk about what they want to do about it. Or try, like the rumors surrounding the obnoxious Angelina Jolie, to get fertility help, on the heels of, and maybe even before, a divorce is even final. Do we have no respect for ourselves? What do we want for our children? Really? Even if we must deal with some unconventional circumstances, is this what we desire, dream of, for our own?

You have your story. I have mine. And they don’t always look the same. I’m all for diversity. And some people truly believe there is no merit in a piece of paper only. There is Sting and Trudy. Who after quite some time and several children, finally did go for the piece of paper. But have apparently, and yes, this is subjective, been faithful to eachother and thier children for years and years. And it is important to understand that I am not condemning all women out there who either met her husband at the altar in a maternity gown, or brought their mutual child to the reception. I know all about casting the first stone, and judging ye not. But there is nothing un-Godly about questioning certain societal trends. Trends meaning the things that are coming in vogue. That we aspire to, or admire. Or think is sooo cool. And we are knee deep in a trend that says if you got the hots for each other, by all means, go for it. Bring a baby into your 2nd, 3rd or 4th relationship. Doesn’t matter if the ink is dry on the papers. Or if you’ve even notified a current spouse. This time it’ll take. This time, your loins are screaming the truth. Just ask the children of your previous marriages/affairs.

Angelina Jolie. Gag. Sorry, but hearing news bits about her “wonderful news”, with the ever devoted (right Jennifer A?) Brad Pitt just turns my stomach. The ever beloved TomKat. More gag. Apparently, they found each other, went out a few times, got pregnant, she considers his “religion” (just personally, I’m not into any religion that denounces the potential pharmaceutical needs of a post-partum woman), and they start planning a wedding. And all the world is enthralled. Isn’t it romantic that he proposed at the Eiffel Tower? Isn’t he brilliant for going at it with Matt Louer, vehemently espousing that medical intervention is unintelligent? Misguided? Just plain wrong? Remember the beautiful Catherine Zeta Jones? Her husband, the dashing Michael Douglas? If I remember correctly, she was proudly displaying her bulging belly before the papers had even been completed on Mr. Douglas’ divorce with his previous wife. The one that saw him through all his years of trying to make it in the business, and raised his other children at the same time. The toothy Julia? She wore t-shirts berating Danny Moder’s at-the-time current wife, to get her out of the way. And we were all soooo happy when their love was finally made official on her ranch out west somewhere. Aaahhhh, true love. Wasn’t it true love when she went barefoot to the wedding with Lyle Lovett?

I am not saying mistakes can’t be made. Or rather, lessons learned. I know many of us go through heartache before we find our true one. That the things we think could kill us, that we dread the most, are so often the things that make us, for the better, who we are. Or that we find our ideal situation may just turn out to be without the one we thought we’d share the rest of our years and raise a child with. It happens. And maybe, our baby is on the way before we exchange gold bands. These circumstances can still result in a wonderful life.

But if this is the case, if these are the trials through which we lived, is it really our dream for our daughters to experience the same? Do we want her to find herself pregnant, and wonder if the father will really stick around? Do we want her to win a man from his wife? And if so, what’s to give her the confidence that this time will be it. I’ve always wondered, if I am once the other woman, what will prevent another from taking my place one day? I’m thinking that the track record there may not instill so much peace in my heart. Do we want our children to have to wonder if the one they love will really be there? I’ve certainly survived, and even thrived, through some stuff. Yet, I would not wish it upon my children. I get really ticked at the constant barage of media out there, telling my children, telling your children, that certain things are not only OK, but normal, and even desirable. Some things just are not. And if you consider yourself more open, more liberal, more accepting than you think I am sounding in this little rant, just picture your child in one of the situations of which I speak. Your little girl. Or your son. When I personalize it, it makes a difference in my so-called philosophies. Does it for you?

I’m just fed up with the glamorous shots of couples touching bellies, and shopping in $150 per outfit baby shops. When they haven’t even, for all apparent purposes, begun to plan a life together. Commit. Say they’ll stick it out, for better or worse. I’m not concerned with the state’s approval and silly certificate. I’m concerned about a heart issue. Again, I’m not condemning or judging all the men and women who find themselves in circumstances they may not have exactly expected. And then they go and do the best they can. I’m just tired of the glamorization of babies and families through people who’s idea of long term is a movie contract. From the people who started that remember the children a few years ago, telling us, the rest of the country, as if we didn’t know, that some really important years of a child’s life are the first three. Or some such nonsense, but who’s heads were people like Bruce and Demi, who’d long since divorced. Do you have to? I’m not in your relationship, so I cannot cast opinion. But in these celebrity cases? Don’t even get me started. Bed to bed, relationship to relationship, family to family, and then a re-made family upon re-made family. Call me square. Call me old fashioned. Tell me I’m judgemental and closed off. Religious freak. I’m not sure I care. I don’t think you have to hold to one certain religion or denomination to understand what I’m saying. One of our dearest friends and I were just bemoaning the loss of the family on the phone the other day. The loss of values, and hope of relationship within the family. And she is Orthodox Jew. And I am Charismatic Christian (on a good day). I think we all know, deep in our heart of hearts, that there are certain circumstances more conducive for children and families than others. And that our lovely members of society in their la-la land out in L.A. may not have a clue as to what that is. But they seem to be dictating to the rest of us what it is.

So. You don’t really believe in marriage, as a traditional institution. You don’t need any government, any religion, to tell you who you can love, and live with. Although I lead a pretty conventional life, I understand some of this. I love my husband, and we belong together. With our children. No matter who has or who has not signed off on some fragment of a form. What I wish, what I pray for, is a honoring of what it really is to be a family. And some universal understanding that it just may not be what we see in Hollywood on a regular basis. This may never happen, but I can hope. And I can still just go about saying gag about the Angelinas, and the Britney’s and Kevins, who can’t hold it together even a year after the baby comes, and all the others who are so privileged, but can’t really appreciate what they have. And think the rest of us are pedestrian, at best.

As quoted in the article by Ben Stein, one post prior to this, the heroes of our age are not the flashy ones. They are the ones who dig in and do the work that must be done. That we cannot survive without. And that especially means raising our children, for the next generation. It is no light task. And the perks suck. But it does mean everything. And the example we are being given by a large percentage of our culture, especially the wealthy and famous culture, is just wrong. Send me all the hate mail you want. But it is. Lord, help us.

And now, for my dear friend, who’s oldest child is just reaching 6 and a half. She called last night with the eternal dilemma of what do I tell him when he says but everyone else gets to (fill in the blank). After telling her what I usually try to say in these instances, she said would you just write that down? I need a script, or something. So Mel, your script…

(with much empathy) Ooh, hon…I am sooo sorry that it feels like every one else you know in the whole world gets to see “Saw II” and have their own personal cell phone. Mommy and Daddy know just what that feels like. We remember when (use personal anecdote, like say, when it was your birthday party at the roller rink, and you were the only one in farm print quilted overalls, that your Momma made, and all your little girlfriends got to wear their embroidered jeans and logo Ts…just pulled that one out of the air, of course). Then move on to…we sooo wish we could just let you do all these things that feel so important to you, and that when you don’t get to do them, y - (wait a minute, Blue is up, snuggle fest) - you feel so left out. And that feels really bad, we know. Like you have to miss out on all the good stuff. But you know what? It’s just not our choice alone. We have a job to do, that God gives us. And he tells us (when he asks how, you can say, through His word, or in our spirit, etc.) what is good for you and what is not. We have to make decisions for you that are not always easy, for you or for us. Because it is our job. It’d be easier to just let you do whatever you want, whenever you want to, but you wouldn’t turn out to be the young man one day that you’re supposed to be. We wish we could do for you, and give you, just anything you want, but it would be wrong. It would actually be bad for you. So we just can’t. And we know this sometimes will make you angry. That’s OK. We understand. You just can’t be disrespectful to us while you feel that way. But we’ll be here when you want to talk about it, and all the other stuff that’s hard out there, and makes you feel left out. ‘Kay? (hugs all around)

And Mel, when and if that fails, this is the most fool proof method I know to use. Choose one of the following:
1. Because I said so.
2. Because I’m the boss of you.
3. Because I’m the mom/dad, and you’re not.
4. Because I like to see you suffer. (just kidding) But you know, sometimes when one of ours persists in a ridiculous line of questioning concerning something that’s just not fair, or how come he/she gets to (whatever), and he/she doesn’t, or why don’t we do (something) for him/her, we just say because we love him/her more than you, or because we think it’s funny when you’re miserable, or well, you know, he/she is our favorite. And you know what? They get this look like whaaaaaa? and then know immediately that we’re kidding, that we are doing what we do because we’re doing the best we know how, and they relent. And we usually start laughing. Just a thought. Sometimes works for us.

Finished the floors, got to upstairs, did both bathrooms up there, and shelled out $74 to the children for sticks! How could I have known that they’d really get into gear for a nickle a stick? I figured, well, they’ll hang in there maybe, 45 minutes, maybe an hour, and more than 2 hours later, they were all involved, and demanding their pay! And suddenly they were making little noises about how, aawwww, I, the mom, don’t get paid for all my work, and ooowwww, isn’t that saaaad…yeah, dammit, it IS sad. I figured with Speedreader’s pay, he got a bit better than $15 an hour! He’ll be damned lucky to get that with a college education! He’ll be begging me to pick up sticks! I’ve never earned that much! Then, I got to teach the awesome lesson of telling him that the Chick-Fil-A meal we all got for lunch just ate one whole hour of his stick-picking-up-work. Wow. Was he ever astonished. A whole hour? Maybe he didn’t like to eat out all that much afterall…that Fly Pen he got for Christmas? Seven stick picking up hours. The Four Wheeler he thought we’d be stupid enough to look into? 21 stick picking up hours…This has proved to be an unschool lesson worth its weight in gold. He is FINALLY beginning to understand what we mean when we say we want to “stretch our dollar”, or we need to “be mindful and good stewards of what we spend”. Once he had to sweat for it *presto*! he’s suddenly a fiscal conservative.

I once read that the difference in a liberal (and I mean more fiscally here than anything else) and a conservative is that the liberal has nothing to lose, and the conservative has earned something he/she doesn’t want to give up without say in the giving. Makes some sense to me. All I know is that I got more conservative after I saw how much was taken out of the paycheck we’d spent many many life hours earning. Not so unlike Speedreader realizing how many sticks he’d have to pick up for a trip to Lego Land. And I didn’t even issue a 10-99. Happy Income Tax Day, which isn’t so far away.

You can’t have it.

Went to Home Depot yesterday, in this adventure called our Project Kitchen Remodel. They have this service, for free, that allows you to sit down with a designer, and a CAD program, and dream up all of your wildest kitchen fantasies. Well, the ones they sell. The designer whips out her handy dandy Book o’ Dreams, plugs in all your kitchen coordinates and poof! Behold your kitchen. Glorious organization. Special nooks and crannies for each and every tiny knick knack you could possibly collect. Stainless appliances (of which we’ll need a range/oven). Rice paper glass front cabinets. Silestone countertops, in Stellar Black. Like that extra deep drawer with proper corresponding size pegs for your plates? It’s yours. The Super Base Organizer with space for every spice and every lid to every pot you own? Presto. There it is, right on the computer screen. Wine storage, glass storage, built in desk with file storage and printer cabinet? Yep, yep, yep. I’m loving it. Super duper deep pantry will roll out shelving? Oh, yes. Exclusive utensil drawer base with pull out cutting board and 2 extra drawers? Yes, please. And add that wall cabinet specially designed for cookbooks and built in pull out cubbies for recipe cards. Love it, love it, love it.

After 3 hours, much brain damage in critical decision making, and many back and forths on the correct stain color on our beautiful new cabinets-to-be, the designer hit the “Caculate Cost” button. (clickety, clickety, click click, print) We glance at the screen. Wow. $1200. Well, that’s kind of high, but we do have some gift money. Whew. Um, noooo, designer lady says slowly, that’s $12,000. Twelve thousand dollars. Not twelve hundred.

For a minute, the Kitchen Showroom area goes black. Our heads spin. I might have tried to say something. I can’t remember. I just heard that figure, over and over and over and over, reverberating in my brain. Twelve thousand, twelve thousand, twelve thousand. And it doesn’t include hardware, the range or the counter tops. Just the cabinetry. Plain. Base price of our dream design. Then she chirps something about how this is the way to do it. Start big. Dream big. Then pare down where we need to, to fit our budget. Fit our budget? The Super Base Organizer is, alone, $800, we find out as she prints out the list. The pantry with smooth roll out deep drawers? $1250. The 2 way access storage for a piece of the island? $525. And on and on it went. Why did no one mention these prices as we added extravagance upon extravagance? Wouldn’t it have made more sense for her to say something like, I dunno, how much can we spend??? But noooooo, you start with the stuff you drool over, hear some vague pitch about their limited time offer, like ending in the next 3 days, 12 months, same as cash, and refinancing, home equity and interest rates, and then get your little kitchen dreaming heart ripped out.

Deflated, but wiser, we lumber back out to the truck. You know, if I hadn’t taken our old cabinets to the dump already, I just put’em back up, says Mr. Tango. What were we thinking? Exclusive utensil organizational drawer, our arses. Hey, the only thing we really need is a range, some storage baskets and the wine organization. That’d cost what, a grand? That, we can handle. Paint it all one color, turn the lights low, and leave up the Christmas lights, and it’ll be perfect. Romantic even. Who needs all that other stuff? Not us. Then we’d just have to keep it clean, and organized. This way, we can just dump most of our stuff in a few baskets, and voila’! A perfectly adequate kitchen. If I have more counter space, I’ll just be expected to use it. Plate drawer? I’d have to keep the plates neat. Silly, silly idea.

When short on cash, that kind of cash at least, you have to get creative. And afterall, in the end, then it’s unique. Right? More us. At least, that’s what we’re telling ourselves this morning, in our 2x2 feet of counter space. And the oven that turns itself off in the middle of cooking something. And the holes in the flooring left after ripping out the old cabinets. It’s kind of grown on me. I kinda like it this way. No one else has a kitchen like it.

I can stay in my jammies if I want to. Happy Birthday to me. 35. Thirty-five. Big 3-5. Five years til 40. Argh. However, I was greeted this morning by my children, breakfast in their sweet little hands, made especially for me. On the menu? Microwaved English muffins, leftover sliced oranges and apples, orange juice, and a paper towel. Scrumptious. I am, indeed, still in my jammies, and plan to stay that way til my manicure/pedicure later today. And then, I’m going to research the price of a few injections of Botox. Blue Boy asked me last week how did I get these lines on my forehead? How. did. I. get…How did I get them? Hmmm, let me think about that about half a second.

My in laws and my niece are here. The house is quite wrecked from dragging the holiday loot back from my folks. We’re out of groceries. The laundry is behind. Children are running around in states of half dress. And mumbling something about being hungry. But. I’m just going to sit here at the laptop, or take a nap. It’s my birthday and that’s what I want to do. Later, I may make a Birthday Martini, in my own honor. Anyone have a favorite recipe?

So. Another year done. More experience. More experience. More wrinkles. Happy Birthday to me. Ack.

disclaimer: The author will use this little event in her life for fun-poking, superficial complaint making, and creative lisence taking if necessary. The author in no way condones the actual wallowing in of one’s minor inconveniences, or the supposition that one’s problems are the “worst they can be”, or the whining of “woe is me”. Not all fact or fiction here is necessarily the expressed opinion of said author, and therefore cannot be used against her. The author chooses to use this fodder for meager attempts at humour, not as a sincere effort to express any real pain or frustration. All people involved are used without their personal consent, including and especially the Duke Power dude, all neighbors, children, spouse and dog. None were hurt during this accounting, except maybe the dog, who really hated his coat, and possibly the children, who had to go without Cartoon Network, and as of the beginning of this account, are still suffering therewith.

(One of two pics to be any good in the dark, Blue Boy staying warm)

I thought about how to record this. Day to day? Hour to hour? And then I thought about the fact that the last few days until this afternoon when we were “restored” have been very much a blur. So maybe I’d just hit hightlights, in any order I can recall them. We’ve had a lot of wine to, um, stay warm. I’ll do my best.

1. I freaked over losing my internet access.
2. I freaked over losing my internet access.
3. I freaked over losing my internet access.
4. It was cold.
5. It was really cold.
6. I knew it could be worse, but we were really cold.
7. The first day was kind of campy. The second was not so.
8. It got dark early.
9. I learned how to make a really smoking (no pun intended) fire.
10. I learned you have to thaw out iced fire wood to get said smoking fire.
11. I learned a system of how to keep this smoking fire smoking for hours and days at a time.
12. I learned a billows is better than passing out trying to oxygenate the fire via my breath.
13. I learned it takes approximately 27 minutes of oxygenating the fire via my breath to pass out.
14. I learned certain meats last longer in a non cooling fridge than one would think.
15. I learned what really bad milk smells like.
16. I learned how to make bagels in an iron skillet.
17. I learned I like to eat out when the power’s out.
18. I thought of people who don’t even have a bed at night.
19. I thought of the fact that we’d have power, and food, and warmth, and luxuries soon, again.
20. I learned the children are much better behaved without media than with. Go figure.
21. I discovered it can be fun to be cold, but by the fire, playing a game with your family.
22. I learned my hair can go about 4 days without washing before I absolutely must wear a hat.
23. I discovered not every one considers hot rollers a necessity. What?
24. I discovered a dog can shiver.
25. I saw that a shivering dog can hate his Old Navy coat. And figure out how to get out of it no matter how we attached it to him.
26. I saw that children can get anxious the first 24 hours without Cartoon Network.
27. We’re considering getting rid of all media, save my laptop of course. But probably won’t.
28. I saw my husband can think totally on the fly, and save my favorite dogwood despite the icy odds.
29. I learned that without one drop of sweat, I can indeed wear the same shirt for three days and nights in a row, with no adverse odor.
30. I found out that Duke Power has hired a dude that actually spoke kindly to me, and told me the potential dangers of connecting a generator to our home, alone.
31. I also met the men from North Carolina, that have worked 36 hour shifts since we all lost power, to get us reconnected. And they were nice.
32. I was made coffee by a neighbor I’d never had coffee with before.
33. She let me dry my hair at her home, too. Good friend.
34. I found my son is a great wood hauler, and my daughter a great fire watcher. And my youngest son, a great try to burn the house downer.
35. Candles are romantic, even if you’re freezing.
36. If you leave the house all day, and don’t stoke the fire, you will freeze your ass off all night.
37. Total Wine in Greenville is a great way to pass a power outage.
38. So is Bob Evans Restaraunt.
39. I figured if you’re burning that many calories not freezing to death, you can eat biscuits and gravy.
40. Kids start to stink after 5 or 6 days of wearing the same underwear.
41. Gerbils can hibernate very well, and will bite you if you try to unhibernate them.
42. Blog traffic drops gravely if you suddenly don’t post for 5 days in a row.
43. And I’m more concerned about this than I’d like to admit.
44. It can be warmer outside than in.
45. Husbands start to stink after 2-3 days of wearing the same underwear.
46. Nookie in 39 degree temps doesn’t really get/keep you warm. It’s a myth.
47. Husbands will tell you nookie in 39 degree temps will get/keep you warm.
48. Freezing temps can make you cranky.
49. I don’t look so great in a toboggan hat.
50. Layers are not slimming.
51. Unless you’re 7.
52. I learned how to reheat pizza in an iron skillet over my smoking fire.
53. I know now I like living in a modern age.
54. I’m sort of embarrased at how quickly south’ners shut down in inclement weather.
55. I couldn’t find one pair of matching gloves.
56. Our children are cute in cold weather gear.
57. It never even accumulated 0n the roads.
58. I’m tired, and am going to bed. Thank you God, that it’s warm.

(The only other pic, showing the dog in his coat, not so happy, but warmer.)

Miss Glamore had this basic idea for simple decorating for Christmas. I, too, engaged my children, and although I did the spray paint on the branches, they did the rest. Not sure it measures up to Tiny Kingdom’s, but we’re happy. So, again, thanks Anne!

We’re using this on the dining room table. Ignore the boxes. We’ll move them before any major meal. And whether or not you really like this monument to Christmas, can I just say ‘free’?

It really should be simple. A Sunday morning, two visiting grandparents, our three children, and some breakfast. Pancakes, bacon and eggs. Is it that hard?

Oh. Hell. Yes. Start with our Project Kitchen Upheaval. Due to the remodeling, I currently have about 2 feet by 2 feet in which to put ingredients, a cookbook, bowls and mixing spoons, 6 small reaching hands, and 1 dog waiting for dropped goodies. And on the counter space, is a blender, a coffee maker, 2 jumbo bottles of wine (the in-laws), a roll of paper towels and some dish soap.

It didn’t seem to be such a stupendously stupid thought at 9:30 am. At 11:15 am, it had entered the Dumbass Ideas Hall of Fame. I don’t have a screen thingy with which to keep the bacon grease from causing 2nd degree burns as I try to flip pancakes on the range, so we cycled 4 pieces of bacon (all that would fit in the dish), at a time, in and out of the microwave. We had 2 pounds of bacon. 4 pieces per 7 minute cycle, 12 pieces per pound. At least 21 minutes to get a pound done, so 42 minutes to finish. Just the stinking bacon.

Bowls for the liquid part of the pancake mixture and supposed to be frothy egg whites, which were not. A bowl for the dry part of the pancake mixture, and another with a dozen eggs to scramble. Catgirl in dress up heels, making insanely loud clomping noises across the hardwood kitchen floor. Blue Boy keeping up a steady stream of Lego space ship noise. Speedreader relating word for every last word, with grand gestures, a Brian Regan comedy routine. All in 10 square feet of the 28oo available to us. Utensils flying, and being grabbed at by short people in attempts “to help”. Same short people alternating pleas of let me let me I wanna I wanna, and that dadgum dog to keep me tripping. My mother in law took over bacon duty, with such earnest effort, she was sweating. And I started smacking anyone that dared removed one blessed piece of the finally cooked product. We’re having a big fun flippin’ family breakfast, so get out of my freaking way, which was not yelled, but spoken in a very controlled low tone, with very direct eye contact. Tears from Catgirl, who declared she simply desired to help Mommy. A whimper from BlueBoy who said he’d not had anything to drink all morning. A look from Speedreader that let me know he was pretty sure I was close to cracking. A husband who said, honey, honey, you’re being a bit hard on them. Is he smoking a big doobie he’s been so cruel to hide from me? My father-in-law, raising ever so subtly the newspaper he’d been behind. And a very exasperated Mom, wondering, stupidly, why in high blue heaven I seem to be the only visible breathing body that can answer questions and meet needs.

By noon, we were seated. Or they were seated, I was serving seconds before I ate one cold pancake, that didn’t quite turn out. It looks so simple, to get it all on, with a patient smile on my face. It seems so pleasant, to sit down together, and share a Sunday morning meal. Why do I forget, like with child birth, how painful it’s really going to be?

A few years ago, maybe only 2, I decided this, to my weary husband’s delight. If what I wanted to do for Christmas could not be accomplished peacefully, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, then it would not be done. It’s kind of radical, I know. But I’m finding it freeing.

While most of the stores around us added fake snow flecked trees, mechanical Santas, and gobs of red and green candles to their Halloween decor, we just purchased pumpkins, and got our costumes together. When November came, and Christmas plastic went disgustingly overboard, we thought about giving thanks, and what pies we might bake. Put some leaves in little vases on the mantel, and raked, and raked and raked. And now, Thanksgiving is passed, and it’s time to think Christmas.

True, there is a real argument that actually leaving Christmas to Christmas can cause untold amounts of brain paralyzing angst. Why, it is indeed difficult to cram the typical lists of tasks into a mere 3.5 weeks. What, with the card making, picture taking, family update letter writing, card list compiling, in the P.O. line standing, whole house decorating, deep cleaning, scads of baking, multiple party hosting, school party cookie taking, children’s card creating, toy buying, budget busting, stress piling, volunteering, family negotiating, classic movie watching, holiday outfit purchasing, and whatnot, it leaves very little time to sleep. And forget about actually enjoying the fruits of all this manic labor. So what’s a Christmas to be?

Miss Glamore over at her Tiny Kingdom started the season with an excellent post. She’s compiling stuff from her house and yard, and setting her children lose. Yes, she admits, there is a mess, but it’s inexpenive, and all about family. If that’s not a big part of Christmas, what then, is? Martha may have a siezure from lack of symmetry, but is the point perfect poinsettia proportions upon the mantel?

The retail stores start that madness of early Ho Ho Ho to sell, sell, sell. We’re wandering around in the crisp of autumn, minding our own business, and blam! Oh holy freaking crap! It’s almost Christmas! Hurry Hurry Hurry! Shop Shop Shop! Time to get the annual ulcer and have a happy freaking holiday. Why? Because retailers and professional event planners with staffs of 42 tell us this is the way to do it, to have the most wonderful memories, and make ourselves and everyone around us, happy. And they’ll make more money, money, money. If the halls are appropriately decked, all will be well within our little universes. And if we capture the most flattering picture of our family, the perfect impression will be given to friends all over the country. We have it all under control and are loving every minute of it.

Our children see reams of advertising, selling everything but what Christmas really is. It becomes everything unreal, untrue. Families are often willing to go into crippling debt to please their children, feeling this is what will be good for them, will make them happy. The best gift we can give our children is to teach them that we don’t get everything we want. That time together and relationships are part of the foundation that will carry them into their futures. And that this season especially, is about learning to think of others, before ourselves.

By no means do we do it all perfectly, but we are trying to make some adjustments. We’ve largely dropped doing cards, because of the brain damage it was giving me to get all the children clean, dressed and together, and then actually capture something I’d send out. I was spending hours at night writing personal notes, because I thought that said more than a typed “newsletter”. For us, it just isn’t worth it right now, but may be again some day. Our shopping has been reduced to just immediate family. We called a toy truce with freinds, all agreeing the gift wasn’t needed to prove we love each other, and that our children get plenty already. From Mom and Dad, there are only 3 gifts per child, based on an idea my aunt gave us, that the infant Jesus was presented with only 3, based on the only recorded history we have about that event, in the Bible. We just told the children, if it was enough for Jesus, then it’s enough for you! And since we started it early, they’ve never questioned it. We try to have a family project that is giving to someone else, but do not always pull it off. I’ve learned to let this go, too, feeling we can just keep trying, and that people have needs all year with which we can help, not just at Christmas. And for me, reducing the amount of holly, garland, mistletoe and fat red bows has helped. I do not turn the entire home into a Christmas post card. We do a tree, some lights, something on the mantel, and maybe table. I don’t bake 14 different things, but try to do one or two, and just maybe more of it. We may deliver it to neighbors. Primarily, it’s just about prioritizing what we really want to do, how we want this season to be, and letting the rest go.

If I could get down to it’s core, I would say what I want to leave the children with is this. Christmas is not after-Thanksgiving Day sales. Or plastic Santas. Or the gifts we get. Or the tree. And it’s not about getting so wrapped up in the superficial aspects, that we forget the original intent, and can’t see straight from exhaustion come December 26. It is about being able to slow down enough, actually, to remember our greatest gift. It is about That in those days, it came to pass, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with Child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the LORD came upon them, and the glory of the LORD shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the LORD. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the Babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Luke 2, 1-14, King James Version

As the mother of three, and wife of one, I naturally do quite a bit of laundry. And in this laundry of shirts, undies, sheets, towels, pants and all the other things that must be cleaned, there are also items never intended for the rinse and spin cycle. So, I keep a little bowl by my dryer, to collect these items. Check the pockets you say? Nope, if you leave it in there, it’s gonna go through. And just for the thrill, I’m going to share with you what is in this bowl, this week. I promise there will be no exaggeration.

1 babyproofing plug cover thingy
1 plastic yellow counting bear figure (the kind you use for math manipulatives)
1 green fingernail brush
1 smallish white rock
1 gray outlet adapter
1/2 a broken button
1 broken zipper
1 yellow tinker toy stick
23 various Lego pieces
2 plastic hold-your-screw in the wall things
1 gray Lego jedi cape
3 pennies
1 5 cent Euro (???)
1 quarter
1 dime
1 black plastic hair clip
5 beads
2 marbles, and
1 thumbtack