Good Friday

I love this day.  It was horrible and gray and cloudy when I woke up.  Then while I was in a meeting at work, the sun came out.  I picked up my boys, and we spent real live time together over lunch where I actually listened to what they had to say and learned new things about them and as they spoke I got distracted by their sheer good looks.  Having them home and going to work instead of only working from home have made the day feel different like anything could happen.

Then I came home and read Mom's and Felicity's posts about Good Friday.  What a beautiful holiday for Christians.  This is the weekend that defines us.  More than Christmas, more than any of the causes and protests we devote ourselves to throughout the year, more than what kind of church we go to and what it believes, more than anything.  It's why I love communion, and why every single time I hold that cup, I cry.

it's February fifth - this is only the beginning

"Well," John Michael said yesterday, "My career as student of the month ends today."  I've never known January to fly before now, but it seems like he was accepting that bright orange cup and handful of restaurant certificates just yesterday.  I guess I need to update my pictures in the side bar.  You should probably expect lots of mush this month.  Not mush as in nothing-much but mush as in, if you think I talk about Christmas magic a lot until the end of the December, just wait 'til I unleash my V-Day love on you.  

My first date with Michael was on Valentine's Day, so February 14 makes me all giddy inside and February in general makes me pretty nostalgic, and 1996 was the best year EVER.  I have all boys, so we don't make our valentines from red construction paper and white doilies like we used to with my Mom when we were little.  Unfortunately, they usually have light sabers or Spongebob or something.  Of course, there was the year John picked the God ones.  Proud mama moments were gushing all over the place the night he filled those out with commentary about the friend whose dad doesn't like him, "So I think I'll give that friend the one about how God is love."  That's very nice, John, and if you'll excuse me I have to go write in your journal how completely awesome you are.

I keep journals for all the boys.  John's is full of super emotional mama trauma while I navigate not-getting-a-puppy-for-Christmas and starting him in public school and apologizing profusely when we added another sibling as if perhaps he wasn't enough all by himself.  Drew's is the future script for a stand-up comedian.  Jake's is one giant love letter as well as a new round of trauma as I try to figure out how to raise the baby of the family without making him one and how to celebrate the heck out of the miracle that is his existence while letting him be his own person.

I started John's journal before he was born.  I bought it while out of town with my family.  My brother told me it was awesome, "I mean, he won't appreciate it until he's, like, 35, but still - very cool."  Now that I have three boys, I'm actually wondering if they'll ever appreciate them.  Do they really want to read about the first time they said "I love you"?  The way I felt about their kindergarten teacher? The little hand motion he made as a baby that looked like he was revving a motorcycle?  I'm not sure.  Their journals might just be for me.  A way to freeze time a little.  Which, if I do right by them, isn't something they're going to want to do with their childhood.  

Except maybe Drew.  He's so going to want to remember the time I was stressing in the grocery store about all the things I had yet to do that night, and he waved the spaghetti noodles at me and said with ultimate sensitivity, "And you gotta fix me some supper, because I'm hungry." 

I'm not all that resolute, so I'll call them New Year's Considerations

Well, it turns out that the Wii isn't quite enough to make me stop wishing that every post could be labeled "Road to Publication", that new years are scarier than they used to be, and yoga is awesome.

The first is self-explanatory.  I'm a teensy bit obsessed, but I no longer care.  You don't get what you want without caring about it very much.  So I'm just going to keep caring.  TTYR.

I adore the New Year holiday.  First of all, because I need a buffer between Christmas and reality.  Christmas is like a fairy tale.  January, especially in Missouri, is cold, hard reality.  The New Year eases me in with an extra day off work, warm happy thoughts, and lots of snacks and stuff.  I like that.  Plus, I totally buy in to all that this-is-our-year! stuff.  Because you never know when it just might be.  But then, this year, after thinking all those rosy, dreamy thoughts, I got scared.  Because I was probably all rosy back in January of 2005 too, and that's the year I had cancer.  Which despite giving me the premise for a book to finally actually finish and a new lease on life and a bigger laugh and stuff, also scared the living daylights out of me.  (I wanted to say crap - that it scared the crap out of me, but I don't really like to jar my mom that much, and she'd be really jarred if I said that on my blog - even though it felt more like crap than daylights - because I don't even know what those are.)  

I have a friend who used to look forward on New Year's Eve and actually pray with her husband and try to find out just what the new year held.  Even pre-cancer I knew I wanted none of that.  I hoped I could face anything that came, but I didn't want to know it ahead of time.  And this year, sure enough, I stopped short when I clinked my sparkling raspberry grape juice cup with the boys (turns out, the raspberry is not better than plain old grape), because I realized how little any of us know what the year might hold.  

Fortunately we don't know the good stuff either, and there might be plenty.  But all the same, I'm afraid I don't look ahead with the same naivety as before.  I think this is what people mean by one day at a time.  

Which brings me to yoga.  I didn't make New Year's resolutions.  I never really do, although I do kind of believe in them.  I mean, hey, if there's something you need to change it's worth a shot.  But I do really hope to be more fit this year, to put a little more effort into my well-being.  And I hope to be more grateful.  Every day.  Yoga helps with both.  I look forward to that hour, because it's energizing and relaxing all at once.  But then, throughout the day, I find myself whooshed to that yoga place now and then just when I was headed to perhaps a more stressful one.  It's very centering and peaceful.  Very serenity now.  I don't know if it's yoga specifically or just activity in general, because I took a walk with the boys today and felt awesome after that as well.  I can't do the walk barefoot, which is something I love about yoga.  But I can't hold Jake's hand during yoga either, which is something I loved about the walk.  

So here's hoping I care enough about my writing career to help it happen but not so much that I obsess, that I can face the year with gratitude for all the good and bravery for the rest, and that I remember what it does for a body - Just.  To.  Move it.

  

extremely random movie thoughts, and by the way - Happy New Year!

When I wrote about the Emmys a while back, I was sort of put out with Hollywood because I felt disdained by them - what with having voted conservative, um, ever. That post started quite the little discussion. But one friend didn't comment at all - although she wanted to write something to the effect of, "Ah, Serenity is growing up!" because I was able to see anything other than red carpets and rosiness in my beloved Hollywood. Well, it's been too long since I wrote about Hollywood now, and I don't want anyone to wonder if I've grown up any further - because I haven't - so I thought it was time. Consider this a huge catch-up version of "Movie Reviews From My Cabinet at Home." In this case: A glimpse at some of the movies, new and (80s) classic, I can't get enough of this Christmas vacation holiday. Now remember, we're kids. I mean, um, we have kids. So it's not like any of these were nominated for best picture. They just get us, okay?

First up, Kung Fu Panda. First, I love the Asian themes. Love them. When I watched The Last Samuri I suddenly wanted to clean my house. Just clean it, remove 90 percent of the stuff from it, and hang black-framed pictures of lone white lillies. Besides the Eastern inspiration that makes us want to cleanse our universe/cleanse our souls, Kung Fu Panda is freaking hilarious. We never laughed so hard in our lives - out loud in a movie theater - as we did watching Jack Black as an overweight Kung Fu trainee with a heart of gold. So. Funny. Plus, I now figure there are two kinds of people in this world: Those who believe there's a secret ingredient and those who don't.

Freaky Friday. The Oscars are so pretentious, aren't they? Because if they weren't, they never would have overlooked Jamie Lee Curtis's performance as a teenager trapped in her mother's body in this hilarious version of what was already a pretty great concept. Lindsay Lohan actually does beautifully as her mother as well, but Jamie Lee Curtis slays me. When the teenager-trapped-in-mom's-body tries to read something and has to trombone it, Curtis says "Whoa, she's blind!" in one of the funniest line deliveries ever, and that's just one of the many scenes in this movie that she completely nails. I actually believe there's a teenager in there. Believe it. And this realistic acting makes it all the more poignant when they whip out the schmaltz and actually make me cry. It's a great movie about understanding each other. Period.

The Three Musketeers. I credit this movie for some of my downfall into a total adoration for the art of movie-making. It has everything - romance, great clothes and hair, heroes, sacrifice, brotherhood, and humor. I love the gentle queen who loved the timid king to whom her marriage was arranged. I love how fiercly the musketeers believe in their duty to protect that king. And the line, "Come, Dartagnon, we're saving the king!" was as critical to our family's movie-quoting history as "Goodbye, Boys, have fun storming the castle." Major Nickerson nostalgia in this film, and I'm so glad we own it now.

Honey I Shrunk the Kids. I have no philosophical goodness to bring out from this movie. No one single thing. We own it because I got it for about 4 dollars, and I loved it as a kid. But seriously, when I subjected my children to it the other day, I still sat RIVETED by those four, poor, quarter-inch children trying to cross the massive jungle that used to be simply their back yard. I couldn't wait for the humungous oatmeal cream pie and the part where they sleep in a Lego. It's just good, clean fun.

Ratatouille. If you're sensing a Disney obsession here, that's because I'm in the DVD club. And incidentally, I adore the movie montage before Disney movies now where they play the fantastic score from Kevin Kostner's Robin Hood. It gets my Hollywood eyes all starry. And Ratatouille is just so cute and culinary. It doesn't exactly make me want to be a cook, but it makes me appreciate them very, very much. I'm so glad some people cared to turn our plain animal instict to eat things into an actual art. If there were only people like me in the world, ingredients would never have come together properly. Heck, we probably never would have peeled a banana.

Hancock. We don't own this one, and we've only seen it once - but it was fairly recently. Will Smith is in it, which is a clincher for this fam. And he plays a really arrogant super power whose publicist (Jason Bateman . . . I think I still have a poster of you around here somewhere) convinces him to just look people in the eye now and then and tell them, "Good job." Oh my goodness, do we like to deliver that line around here. Plus, I love the idea of a reluctant superhero and the way he is transformed basically by one man's belief that he can better himself, a little boy's unfettered admiration of him, and the choice to love selflessly.

Now, can anyone tell me which of these movies I should rush to see (or perhaps away from) currently in theaters? Because I think I want to see them all: Benjamin Button, Marley & Me (I already know - bring a box of Kleenex and try not to have ever actually loved any of your pets), Seven Pounds, Bedtime Stories, Valkyrie. Also, I got a couple months of free Netflix for Christmas, so prepare for another rash of brief, completely unhelpful movie reviews soon. Up first is Hairspray, and I hear Ghost Town is awesome.

photo credit:  basha04 on Flickr

I'm thinking a movie on a weekday at nap time . . .

Agent Holly:  You will be happy to hear, in the words of Drew shortly before this picture, "We.  Just got.  A Wii!"

So now when I am overcome with anxiety over whether or not I am any closer to beginning an actual writing career, I'll simply pick up a remote and bowl.  I'm really good at the bowling.  Not so much the tennis.  I end up jabbing at the air in front of me as if trying to poke my little Mii into responding to the ball rather than reacting to it myself.  "What does it say about you, though," I asked Michael, "to be good at bowling on the Wii?"  It doesn't seem like something you could put on a list of assets, talents, or even handy little knacks.  It just is.

I drove to my parents' on Christmas Eve.  The roads were covered in patches with packed snow, and Michael was home sick.  I have never felt so happy and so refreshed by a home-going though.  I needed it desperately that day for some reason.  As I drove there alone, I panicked when I realized that I had not yet read the directions for - nor placed in my vehicle - the car escape tool Dad got me for Christmas.  It cuts your seat-belt and breaks your window and punctures your air bag and all kinds of other important things if you have an accident that leaves you trapped inside the car.  I thought how awful it would be to have a wreck on Christmas Eve on the way to his house and not have the safety tool he had given me.  

Now it is safely placed in the pocket of my driver's side door, and I feel so much more prepared for life.  It's nice to have a little bit of Dad's protection beside me in the car as I drive.  Just like it was so nice on Christmas Eve, when the day kept feeling so decidedly un-Christmassy and the boys kept spilling things and I realized I still hadn't bought enough wrapping paper (Wal-Mart again?!), to know that I was going to Mom's just as soon as my work day was over and that she would rescue Christmas from the moment I walked in the door.  I was wrong though.  It was rescued the moment I saw the lights of the little town where she lives.  

We're headed into the second week of Christmas vacation for the boys.  They look so forward to it.  And then sometimes it disappoints.  They get bored and miss their friends and routine.  Jake likes having them around but finds that they sometimes mess with his universe.  They wake up every day certain something exciting will happen, and their faces droop to find me working (what is this strange part of grown-up life that you work on Christmas vacation?!) But I'm going to try and rescue it for them.  I'm pretty sure I can.  I just hope I have enough tools.

one more wish for magic

So I guess we'll have a white Christmas this year.  I should have taken a picture right across the street.  Dave's house catches snow like a perfectly frosted gingerbread house.  Only it's a beautiful dark gray instead of brown.  I don't say "Dave's house" as if you know him, but simply because it's a pretty view from my house that I've mentioned on the blog before.  If we ever move, I think I'll remember this house more for that poetic view than anything else.  "Remember how Dave's house looked at Christmas time?"  I'll probably say things like that.  And, remember how Dave actually raked?

Tonight I'll wrap presents with the tiniest bit of anxiety, wondering if and hoping that my children still believe in the magic of Christmas once they've opened the presents tomorrow.  I saw a rerun last night  - a behind-the-scenes look at The Grinch cartoon.  And a man said, "Everyone hates Christmas a little bit.  No one would dare deny that."  Now, if you've been hanging around the last few weeks, you know that I really like this time of year.  I believe in the magic so much that I seriously expect complete strangers to walk up and hand me money.  (They did last year!  Well, it was a diaper coupon, but if diapers are on your grocery list, believe me, that is MONEY, BABY.)  I think the sound of the Salvation Army bell is the loveliest of the season and the Merry Christmas said between us after I've dropped my money in, perfect in sincerity. 

But still, I understood what that guy said.  Because no matter how hard we try to make it about everything except the presents, it still becomes about them a little bit.  And wondering if my kids will still believe the magic after Christmas morning is always a little moment of angst for me.  

But on that note, you should see me the day after Christmas.  Ooh, I love that day.  All the gifts are unwrapped, and we're reveling in them.  My kids were grateful and happy and so full of magic that it's shooting from their fingers and their toes.  I'm looking forward to that.

Next time I write, Serenity Now will probably be dripping with New Yearsy thoughts - all that hope and new beginning stuff.  I'm kind of big on that.  So, consider this my Merry Christmas message.  Here's hoping you've got magic shooting from your fingers and toes.

I have the best idea for the next season of Survivor

I went to Wal-Mart on the Saturday before Christmas.

These are the words of an insane person.  Except that I survived it, which makes me a conquerer.  Except I came out limping and crying, which makes me ridiculous.

I went in cheerful.  Just be calm, I told myself.  Just a few gifts to pick up.  You already know what they are.  The crowds are just other people full of Christmas spirit.  The carts are not attacking you.  But.  It.  Wore.  Me.  Down.  

It's my fault really, because I wore ridiculous shoes.  I don't know why I do that.  (Yes I do.  It's the whole life is too short thing.)  And I wasn't prepared for the check-out lanes.  They were almost my undoing.  After picking up my last item and rounding the corner for the check-out lanes, which may as well have been heaven itself, I saw the lines and gasped the dying breath of a mad woman.  I bought Advil, a candy bar, and a Diet Coke while in line.  Plus read an entire magazine, alphabetized the gifts I'd bought, had a long chat with my mother, and flossed.  (Okay, only the mom one is true between Diet Coke and flossing).  When I finally made it through, boosted only slightly by the fact that the check-out woman's day was going to be way worse than mine, I limped and sloshed my way through the filthy slush, threw my stuff into the car, walked the cart about a half-mile back to the cart-retriever place like the marathon runner finishing the final leg, and collapsed behind the wheel, hugging it like it was one of my children.

One crazy thing I noticed over and over, though, in every aisle, three layers deep - was that people were seriously happy.  I didn't run into one single person who wasn't smiling despite the chaos, and I'm pretty sure most of us were smiling because of it.  I mean, don't get me wrong.  I am not casually saving ANY of my shopping until that late next year if I can help it in any way, but still.  Even as we commiserated with each other and rubbed our temples and questioned our intelligence (only our own - no one challenged the intelligence of anyone else), we wished each other Merry Christmas and thoroughly, not-just-because-at-least-it-has-to-beat-this-day, meant it.  This is what I love about humanity.  

(Aside:  I'm putting up another picture from our family photo night, because I really kind of like this one but didn't end up using it.  I like Jake's crooked pose, the way he and Drew have matching gaps, and my poofy hair from having jumped into the chaos.)

But anyway, next year I plan to get all gushy towards humanity on the Saturday before Christmas by sitting in my own home in front of my gorgeous tree and just think about how great humanity can be.  I'll probably even smile at the thought of all those poor suckers discovering humanity the hard way.  

Happy Monday, everyone!  It's a happy one because there are only three more sleeps 'til Christmas.  (Which reminds me, Guy-on-the-phone-with-your-significant-other, you don't know me, but I met you in every other aisle of the toy section about twelve times - each time you were talking on the phone trying to figure what in the world to buy.  Please tell me you found something from that child's list you were talking about.  I was so moved by the fact that you were there, taking those toy aisle laps like a trouper, keeping your infant calm, and especially that you didn't cuss once.  Merry Christmas.)

not always what you picture

We had a little trouble capturing a Christmas card this year.  I wouldn't expect one if I were you.  Doesn't Drew (in the middle) look like he's starting a modeling career though?  Check out that perfect uncaring pout.  And believe me, it's a pose.  He was in a perfectly good mood here.  It was Jake's mood that threw things off, as evidenced in the second picture here in which Michael is holding Jake's teary face toward the camera.  Merry Christmas, indeed.

I can get kind of upset about things not turning out as I'd like them to.  But, I don't know, this year I just love these pictures.  And not like you love those blooper pictures that you try for - you know, "Now everyone look silly!"  No, these are seriously unfortunate pictures.  Not a one of them turned out pretty.  And I didn't care.  I was really tired that night.  But I find that today - when I'll probably choose the least appalling one and upload it to Walgreens - I still don't care.  

What I care about is how much we laugh together, whether or not we're understanding each other and focusing on the same important things in life, whether or not the kids feel loved.  You can't put that stuff in a Christmas picture.

So I gave up early on the picture-taking that night.  Between each shot, I swear, they were rolling around on the floor wrestling - arms and legs flailing, Jake getting cheered up by not being forced to perform for Pete's sake!  And then I would just click the timer on the camera and yell okay and they'd plop themselves into some sort of seated position while I squeezed into the mayhem.  After a few shots, I just got tired of stopping the fun.  

Christmas won't be perfect for any of us this year probably.  We'll cut corners and hang fewer lights and buy smaller presents.  With the chaotic pace of life, sometimes Christmas isn't as poetic as we want it to be.  The night I put up the nativity I found that with three small boys it's not as easy to capture the solemnity of the moment as we always did with Mom.  I ended up getting the box down and yelling to various rooms, "Everybody get in here!  Linus is telling the Christmas story, and we're all going to sit here and watch it!"  So they did.  And then they snatched at the shepherd and wise men and baby Jesus and plopped them on the shelf with excitement nowhere near solemnity.

And last night I had it in mind to watch It's a Wonderful Life.  I was determined it was the only way I could go to bed happy.  But we all went to the Y instead.  I took a yoga class, John had basketball practice, Jake found that heaven is a rec center play room.  We were there way too late to watch a movie afterwards.  And an evening at the Y is such a different picture than an evening in front of Jimmy Stewart with chocolate and angels getting their wings and such.  I mean we ended the night playing Ms. Pacman and Galaga for goodness sake.  

You just can't decide ahead of time what life is supposed to look like - even Christmas - and only be happy with that.  It's like our Christmas card I guess.  I'd rather live a great picture than take one.

I went to school today and stumbled into a Christmas concert

If you stay around the school building in the morning, and it's the kind of weather when you have your windows rolled down, you hear the most adorable sound.  Over the loud speakers come these two little voices saying, "Good morning!"  Then they say their names and ask us to please join them in saying the Pledge of Allegiance and the Tiger Pledge.  The Tiger Pledge is a little vow to show respect and responsibility and best effort and all those good things.  I love hearing those little voices in the morning.

Well, last Friday should have been Drew's turn, but I got him to school late.  Today we were a little late again.  (I think Jared did it today, Sara!)  So I'm not sure but what he has missed his chance for good.  But anyway, I went inside to check with his teacher on something else and all the kids were streaming to the gym for a high school band concert.  So I was surprisingly serenaded with O Holy Night and a comical version of Twas the Night Before Christmas while Drew sat happily beside me and Jake chewed on a giant wad of bubble gum and grinned at Aunt Eva Jean who sat beside us.  It was a pretty decent start to any Monday, you gotta admit.

On the way home from a ball game last night (who knew third grade basketball could be so fun?) we stopped at a gas station where I plopped some Rolos on the counter.

"Chocolate fix?" the clerk asked me.

"Yep."  And it was.  A thoroughly emotional choice as I wasn't even hungry.

"Whatever it takes," he said kindly.

And I thought, whatever it takes indeed.  

See, I didn't have any trouble getting into the Christmas spirit this year.  I've felt thoroughly magic clear to my toes since November 1.  Surprisingly, though, my budget wasn't feeling quite as Christmasy as me and hasn't been giving as generously as I would have liked.  It's like the economy is going under or something, although I'm sure that's not true.  So although it's been Christmas for weeks around here, December 25th has managed to plummet towards me like a giant snowball under which I feel I will soon be flattened.   I have way too much shopping left to do considering it is December 15th.  

And so, finally I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps Christmas is, like, too commercial or if perhaps the stores prey on our holiday spirit to get us to buy more, or if maybe - and this is a shot in the dark here - maybe there is a little something going on with the economy.  And all this threatens - like the giant snowball itself - to undo all of the happiness that Charlie Brown and Michael W. Smith have thus far established.  

So I say, whatever it takes.  I sit in the quiet at night in front of my lighted tree.  I listen to Christmas music nonstop from a variety of sources so you don't get - you know - "Jingle Bells backwards!" (Name that movie).  And I eat Rolos when I don't really need them.

An old friend of mine had an awesome Facebook status recently, "I'm glad the King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger, in all our trials born to be our friend."  That was all it took that moment.  And I was so thankful for it.  I refuse to let Christmas bowl me over.  It's way too easy to pause and finally get it.  You just gotta find what it takes.

traditions are like the rules of Calvin-ball, you add new ones any time you want

My mom is really good at new traditions.  When I moved out, she debated over whether or not to send me with the long, narrow stocking that matched my siblings', which she'd hung every year for Christmas.  She ended up getting me a new one instead to take with me.  She's had to change a lot of traditions over the years.  And I never knew her to do it with very much sadness.  She's the one, you know, who keeps foolishly promising me that every stage of life is as wonderful as the next despite my determination to be blue at the thought that my poor children are growing so quickly.

This is a picture of a tradition she started several years ago.  One white gift bag for every family of my siblings and I for each day of December.  Our kids all have various methods for deciding who gets to open the package every day.  Mine have an elaborate process - one picks out the proper date and unties the ribbon, the other takes out the tissue paper for the big reveal.  The next day they switch.  Jake is - you know - also there.  

So today's ornament is from one of the packages.  It's the Grinch.  We also have an older Grinch ornament, so I gave them both some billing.

New and old.  I like life to be plenty stuffed with both.

if you think it's too early for Christmas, you better turn your head

We slayed a tree this weekend, shook its loose needles with a rumbling tractor, pulled it through some netting, and strapped it to the back of our truck.  

As we drove there, I was thinking about traditions and the fact that I've never really thought we had many.  There are lots of things we usually do but not many that we always do.  I think I was over-defining the term.  Because even though we will probably move to artificial at some point in the future, and even though last year we  waited too long and had to retrieve an already-slain tree from the ditch (i.e., the grocery store), Fouch's Christmas Tree Farm is definitely a family tradition.

 In my later high school years, Mom always had a beautiful department-store kind of tree, everything matching.  She put all our old homemade ornaments elsewhere and made the house look like Better Homes and Gardens.  Felic and I loved those trees.  We didn't have much love lost over the popsicle sticks from our elementary days.

Of course I intended to have a tree like that when I had my own home too.  So, what was I to do with all the Hallmark cartoon-like figurines that Michael brought to the party from his childhood?  I'm ashamed to say I put those ornaments on kind of reluctantly the first year. Then I tied wraphia bows around the edges and red balls to tie it all together, and it was absolutely gorgeous.  I remember feeling a little smug towards all those Caution Signs that marriage demands compromise.  If this is compromise, I thought, I'm going to be happy for EVER.

Now I love the unveiling of our Hallmark ornaments every year.  The kids get a new one each year from Grandma Bohon, and it's my favorite part of the tree.  I took some pictures and plan to put a new one up every day or so on the blog.  I know you won't really care, but I'm loving my tree - this year with a blue and silver theme - so much that I felt the blog needed some holiday spirit as well.

The first one up today?  Two little chipmunks in an acorn swing.  It says "Our First Christmas Together".  Can't you just see the happy compromise?

the gap ad you've been waiting for

So I've had a little trouble capturing the gap.  Here's Jake getting a hair cut last night.  He sat perfectly still, but do you really think I feel like grinning now, Mom?

Then I tried again tonight.  Say cheese, Jake!  Mom, are you kidding me with this?

But anyway, we got it eventually.  

So we're watching the ol' claymation Santa movie as I write this.  I get a little edgy about Santa every year.  I love it, and we do it, but I struggle with the fear that my kids will eventually think of it simply as a big lie we told them throughout their childhood.  I'm well aware that most kids just sort of grow up out of it, play along for several years, and never get all that traumatized by it.  But we're talking about my children here.  I've told you about Drew, right?  The dramatic one with all the sensitivity and crazy clever questions and, again, drama.  There's no way that dude's easing out of the Santa phase without some sort of a scene.

But here's my hope - that at some point in their youth, even if they realize the absurdity of some of the details they may have been believing, they will also realize that if Christmas promises anything, it promises magic.  I'm not being all ethereal and poetic here.  I just mean the whispering of secrets, the fact that at least someone during this season will surprise you.  They'll have a gift more perfect than you had imagined or be someone you didn't even know was thinking of you.  You're sure to feel a rush of joy every time you drop a coin in the salvation army bucket or give a coat to the coat drive.  There might be carolers outside your door.  Seriously, a crowd of people standing in your lawn serenading you.  Any season that encourages that is seriously magic.  

There was a group of them at HyVee tonight.  That's what put me in this magic frame of mind.  If you read the blog very much, you may know that I have a completely irrational abhorrance for grocery shopping.  Bumping into the sound of carolers at the West end of every aisle really brightened the entire experience though.  That and having all three rambunctious boys with me.  You just can't take yourself too seriously with three boys bouncing around you wheeling their kid size carts like they're in a go-kart race.

So that's what I hope.  That the belief in Santa will turn into a belief in the magic and the thrill of giving it as much as receiving.  My favorite part of the Christmas story is how common it is - a poor man, a plain girl, a manger, regular old shepherds, animals.  But then there were angels.  Actual angels, visible and audible and filling the sky and telling the shepherds to go join the tableau that now sits on our mantles every year.  You know what that was?  It was magic.  And I look for it every year.

sometimes you get what you wish

To add creativity to my thankful list today, I thought I would include actual quotes from my journals.

October 12, 1995

I really want to love and be loved.

There are all kinds of quotes with Michael's actual name in them - clear back from fifth grade when I wrote about the two cute boys in my class and one of them was him.  Oh the drama as I pined for that boy from that moment on.  We went on our first date Valentine's Day 1996, and we were married August of 1997, the hottest day this side of a sauna, I'm told.  To me, it was perfect.

October 5, 1998

I want to have a baby.

It took me a while to come to this one.  Growing up all I really cared about was getting married and being a mom.  But once I got married, I found that I wasn't in a very big hurry for motherhood after all.  I finally started hoping for it about one year before it happened.  John Michael was born October 17, 1999, the happiest day of my life to that point, and Andrew joined us June 13, 2001.  Being the mother of two very young boys was crazy and trying and some days lonely.  Being the mother of them?  Awesome.

April 3, 1999

Our new dream is for me to work at home.

Check.  I've never made much, but I make a little, and I do it without paying childcare.  I really love that moment after dropping John and Drew off at school when I get to pull right back into my own driveway.  Third to being married and being a mom, I wanted a home that I love.  The house has flaws, but the home is wonderful.

Things went a little dark in June of 2005, as most of you know.  I was pregnant but diagnosed with a rare, aggressive tumor.  And then I wished for this.

July 21, 2005

I don't want this.  I want to live.  And I want this baby.  I want to live to see all my babies grow up.  Please let that be my story.  I promise to be grateful.

My cancer was removed before it spread.  And the baby I was so scared for that day is strolling around my writing space with Captain Jack Sparrow's spy glass in one hand and a chocolate chip cookie in the other.  He also just stole a sip of my Diet Coke.

I'm pretty grateful.

Our Halloween

What we have here is a soldier, a boxer, and a cowboy.  The boxer has ROCKY stitched in gold on the back of his robe.  And in keeping with our love for movies, the soldier calls himself Sergeant York (with a machine gun?  Okay . . . ), and the cowboy is Woody with a beautiful stick horse named Bulls-Eye whom we  forgot to include in the picture.

Also, I've had a couple people ask:  I was really boring with the Halloween treats and just did chocolate chip cookies.  The parents in Drew's class provided plastic gloves with candy corn in the tips (for fingernails) and popcorn in the rest to look like a creepy sort of hand.  They also had fruit shishkabobs on little ghost toothpicks and sugar cookies shaped and iced like jack-o-lanterns.  I told you I wasn't the right person for that task.  

BUT, I made up for it with my presence.  I was the only parent at John's party, and I was so happy to be wanted there.  (He's not too old!)  So I got to hear with my own ears that his classmates think I am a wonderful cook, and they loved the cookies.  I told them I did it with the help of Pilsbury.  Of course, only the teacher knew what that really meant.

I went to Drew's as well.  (Me and my cups.  I got that sign-up sheet right at least.)  And his letter home this week said, "Dear Mom, Did you see Jake do the limbo?  Also, where did you go after I went to specials?  And I had fun . . . because you were there."  (Ellipses his - that kid is a writer, I tell ya).  

Would it help if I Call it Grandma Bohon Day?

I failed to take a costumed picture of the boys before now, but I'd been wanting to show this picture for a while. I'll call it peek-a-BOO, and then it fits the theme. I don't know what it is about a Bohon boy in a sweatshirt, but it gets me every time.

I love Halloween. Pretty much any holiday really. Even the really obscure ones are kind of cool, because Michael works for the State and always gets them off. Seriously, he's off for holidays you probably don't really know exist. But it's these big ones that really make me happy.

I know some Christians feel we shouldn't participate in this one, but - well - we do. Pretty whole-heartedly actually. Autumn is just perfect to me, and it deserves a holiday. And it works for me that it's one in which we get to dress up. I've taken my children to the grocery store wearing their blankets as capes on a Tuesday - just a regular ol' weekday in the spring or summer. They loved costumes way before they knew that Halloween existed. No matter what movie they watch, you can pretty much count on a blur to race from the living room at some point so that one of them can return dressed as the subject of the movie. We really like our costumes. They have an entire box in their room of capes and gear and possibilities for their imagination.

The real hero of this holiday is of course Grandma Bohon. I knew they had discovered her powers when Drew came to me one day and said, "I know what I want to be for Halloween this year. Call Grandma." I think it was July at the time. She can make them anything they want to be. They aren't properly grateful of course, because they don't see her actually working the sewing machine. But they are grateful. They know she will always deliver, and it's one of those happy I-always-knew-I-could-count-on-it things that I'm so glad their childhood includes.

And that's what Halloween is to me. Michael and I were just talking about it last night, and we can't be absolutely positive that Jesus won't look at us on judgement day and say, "I can't believe you dressed them up on Halloween." But I'm pretty sure He'll agree with us on the wonder that is Grandma Bohon and how beautiful it is to make memories, to love each other, and at least every now and then to put on a cape.

your mother's day and mine

Dear Mom, 

I liked the way you smelled after a long trip with Dad when you would come through the very door in this picture and pick us up at Grandma's where we had been staying.  Your skin was always so fresh and cool, either from the snowy outdoors in winter or the crisp air conditioning in summer.  You smelled like some place wonderful mingled with your perfume - the combination that resulted from time away with dad and thus your happy glow.

 

If I was with you today, I'd make you a necklace from construction paper hearts and an old shoe string that you can't help but picture in the mud and which you are grateful doesn't smell like dog poop - because that's what my children did for me.  I would pick all of your favorite flowers - the only ones that bloomed, and which you so love to see growing outside - and put them in mugs and glasses all over your house.  I would still string my toys all over the floor, but I don't think you would mind picking them up - what with the necklace and all - and did I mention the rings that say MOM and the poem that you rock like a mock ?  If I was 2, I might even dump baby powder all over the bathroom floor and myself and the tractor trailer I like to drive around the house.   But don't worry, Dad'll clean it up.

 

If I were with you today, I'd kiss your face and thank God that I learned from the very best woman in the world just how special old shoelaces can be.  You rock, Mom.  Like a mock.

Did the grass sing?

Easter didn't start out so great for me. I had to work, which is just wrong. I was raised by a generation that was already realizing some people have to work on Sundays. I mean, at the very least - we ate at restaurants on Sunday, thereby reveling in the fact that some people had to work. But still, I also always went to church. AL-ways. My work schedule is a long story I'm not really telling here, but suffice it to say, I didn't want to be at home working yesterday. I wanted to be in a church building singing resurrection songs. Then, on top of this, there was the Easter bunny saga.

Who knew my children even believed in the Easter bunny? I thought it was one of those things you play along with but don't actually believe. Like the tooth fairy. Although don't get me started on the last time I spewed hatred at that poor mythical character. But remembering to trade out a bloody tooth under your child's pillow and replace it with money is just too much to ask of us poor exhausted parents. So anyway, they do still believe apparently and they talked all about it with each other only TWO days ago, describing in detail the two things they expected from him, which I don't think can even be found in this town. So in the morning they found their baskets and candy and replacement gift with appropriate delight. But they can't stop talking about the things they had wished for and how perhaps they can save up for them. I haven't yet heard any theories as to why the bunny robbed them, and they never actually fussed, but still. This is why I hate the Easter bunny. On a normal day, like say, a Tuesday or something, there's all kinds of magic surrounding them. Every time I have remembered to buy their favorite snack. The time Drew asked me to pray that he would find his digital pirates clock from McDonalds, and then after kissing him goodnight, I DID find it and brought it to him, and heard John say, "Mama's great isn't she?" Oh for Tuesdays! When ordinary miracles are so easy to find. But believing the Easter bunny will somehow know that you wanted the Lord of the Rings video game in time to actually find it and buy it and that somehow he's going to get it into your house only two days after you said this out loud to your mother? I can't produce that kind of magic!

And as long as I'm complaining, who moved Easter up this year? It was snowing here. SNOWING. Little girls in white dresses froze to death. It was ridiculous.

Fortunately, Michael's mother totally came through for us, as she always does. She is so good at holidays. She had the huge hunt, the actual vinegar in water egg-coloring, gifts and candy, a hot, delicious meal, and to top it off - she had church. The grandchildren each read portions of the bible and she talked with them about the real reason we celebrate. If only Sandi Patti had been there to sing "Was it a morning like this?", I think I would have come full circle from grouchy to glorious.

As it is, I came half circle, and a good night's sleep got me the rest of the way. I'm glad it's Monday now, that I'm two days into my work week, that He's risen, and that it's no longer snowing. I'm glad there are endless possibilities for magic again and that nobody is expecting them to come from an omnicient rabbit with candy and eggs. And the sun is actually shining, so I do wonder if it was a morning like this. Did it sing? Did the earth rejoice to feel you again? Man, I love that line.

i heart Heart day

It's that week again - the store-bought valentines with Disney characters, the pink and red M&Ms.   And fortunately for me, the hand-made construction paper cards from school with "I love Mom" on the front and "You rock" on the inside.  

I need very little on Valentine's Day to make me happy.  To me, Valentine's Day is like permission to write "I love you" on a folded napkin and still have inarguably fulfilled every obligation of the day without having spent a dime.  
In college we used to put out boxes and give each other little Valentines just like in elementary school.  My first Valentine's Day with Michael was my first date with him ever.  It was just lunch - no gifts, no cards, no candles.  But it was the best day ever.   I didn't eat much, which his dad told him later was a good sign.   

It's too bad people get stressed about this holiday, especially when they're single.   Seriously, some red construction paper, a heart cut out of white, and a few happy words.  Glue it together with Elmer's or flour-and-water, sign your name, and you're about to make someone's entire week.  It's not stressful to celebrate this one, and it doesn't require a gesture the size of a marriage proposal.  Just tell somebody - anybody - that you thought of them.  I really think this is what Post-It notes were created for.  

How to find the magic 101

One of the "Santa" gifts for John Michael came by UPS just in time.

As I picked up a package of Pampers on Friday - and as we all know, the cost of diapers is one of the leading motivating factors for potty-training these days - a complete stranger handed me a dollar-fifty-off coupon for them.

I made a gift for someone that turned out just as I wanted it to.

It's a Wonderful Life. Every year.

There is snow here! Just enough to embody the song, not enough to be dangerous.

Two words. School. Vacation.

The feeling I get when Jake feeds a coin into the Salvation Army bucket.

Popsicle-stick ornaments.

Christmas movies on television every night, at least one card in the mail every day, neighbors bringing cookies and fudge, and every check-out person in every store or restaurant who dares to say Merry Christmas.

Michael W. Smith christmas CD - any of the three. (This guy gets Christmas like nobody's business.)

One husband, three sons, one drafty but loveable sort of house - magic, magic, magic.

I love this time of year.

i'll take another Zales commercial, please

It's that time again. The time of year when even the nicest, most generous people find themselves letting in the scrooge. It happened to my husband just yesterday: "It's too early for Christmas music." I hear that every year - not just from him of course. It's too early for the music, the tree, the red and green that sometimes appears vomited into the shopping aisles. I know already. It's too commercialized.

I've let in the scrooge myself before. Sometimes it's hard to find meaning in my teeny tiny checkbook balance and big fat shopping list. And that feeling isn't helped along by thinking about it all sooner. But this time, I'm fighting it. "It's Jingle Bells, Michael. It's not a Christmas song, it's a winter song." And besides that . . .

I love Christmas music. I just imagine how much we needed Him then. The world was horrible and sad, and religion wasn't saving us. The best Christmas songs make me think about that. They make me think about the sadness all over our world today and the fact that religion still isn't saving us. Then they make me crazy with happiness that He came. And it's just never too soon to think about that. You may judge me for already having the Christmas music out. But I gotta say, I kind of judge you for dissing it. Just relax and soak it in. It disappears suddenly and completely and without apology on December 26, so we may as well enjoy it now.

I got all four boys to pose for Christmas card pictures tonight. They posed until I was happy . . . and then two goofy times after that for the blooper shots. Michael still won't be putting the music on quite this soon and the little ones don't really understand either that horrible, achy feeling of need nor the wonderful feeling of having it met. But for me, it's time, People. Christmas is on.