Get This Girl a "To-Do-List"

My Christmas decorations are not up.

Savannah informed us all at dinner, with utter disgust in her voice, that she is the ONLY person in her class who doesn't have their tree up.  By the time she got done telling us of this tragedy, the disgust had changed to tremulous sorrow.

My Christmas card is not written.

David "casually" said, "So, what are you...ah...thinking about writing this year?"  This is his way of trying to reign me in without stepping on the "creative-artist-at-work" land mine.  (Seriously, you don't want to be married to me.) 

Young Women's is forever needing something...this week it's a new counselor, a combined activity, and a lesson on Sunday.  I have not started working on any of these things.

And the list goes on.

But instead of doing any of these happy and worthwhile projects, yesterday I decided to put up curtains in the toy room and make a couple of pillows for the couch.

We have lived in our house for over two years.  But yesterday was the day.  Smack dab in the middle of the Christmas bustle, I'm making a cornice box for the toy room.  Plus pillows.

I've had the styrofoam for the cornice box sitting in my garage for over six months.  But yesterday was the day.  Thought I'd just whip that up.  Nothing else going on.

My sister Rachel said (speaking of crazy-inside-me), "I thought you weren't going to let her out anymore."

I said, "Yeah.  I wasn't."

I do think the little green pom-poms are darling though.

*sniff, sniff*

I had a really bad morning.  Really bad.  (I will spare you the details, though [much to David's consternation and chagrin] they may show up in the Christmas card this year.)  It was so bad I called David and quit.  I said, "You better be here at 3 o'clock because I won't be.  I can't do this anymore.  Well, technically, I CAN, but I won't!"  Then, since I just quit my job, I decided I had the whole day to do something "just for me."  Here is what I did:

1.  I took a shower...and took the time to wash my hair and shave my legs.

2.  I bleached my upper lip hair.  (Technically, this is really for everybody looking at me, but it still felt like it was for me.)

3.  And over-tweezed my eyebrows.  (I got a little carried away in my angst...plus all that crying blurred my vision.)

4.  Went to Zoe's for a little solace in the wool section. 

You'd be surprised at what I paid for this little pile, but just look at it.  A whole yard of red wool.  I'm still drooling over it.  Almost makes me want to cry again.

5.  Drove to Dave's work for a hug and a kiss.  He wasn't there.  He had received my message and driven home to put me back together.  When he didn't find me there, he folded and put away all my  laundry.  When I heard this I started crying again in earnest.  I waited in the parking lot for him and then soaked his shirt and tie.  I love this man.

6.  Made one last stop at Old Brick House for some more retail therapy, and bought an 11-drawer dresser for the toy room.  (A few weeks ago, the cheap, but HEAVY, plywood "armoire" fell on and almost crushed my four-year-old.  This is my idea of replacing it.)  I just marched in there and bought it. 

The lady said, "Wow.  Did you know what you wanted before you got in here?" 

 I said, "No, I just had a really bad morning."

Confused, "So...you really need a dresser?"

I sighed, "No, I just decided it was time to get paid for doing the hardest job in the world.  I needed a reason to stay."

She cocked her head and said, "Oh, honey, I hear you."  

At which I burst into tears again.

So now I'm broke and swollen and ready for bed.  And my kids are on their way. (* Sniff, sniff.* And one of those little shuddering sighs that you get from hard crying.)   The cavalry is not coming.  I am here in the gap.  I am here still. 

(Though I may have to high-tail it out of here before our Sunday budget meeting.)

Word of the Week: Liberally

Liberally /adv./ 1.  I love to make apple pie and I consider it one of my gifts.  The secret:  three kinds of apples (one of which must be Granny Smith and one of which must be Golden Delicious) liberally piled so that your top crust climbs at least four inches above the top of your pie plate.  A mountain of sweet, apple-ly goodness.  I also eat these pies liberally (another gift)...it is good for breakfast, lunch and dinner, with snacks in-between...I can't let my blood sugar drop too low, you know.

Liberally /adv./ 2.  We found out this month, once again, how very liberally the Lord has blessed us.  We copied Annalisa's idea and made a chain of thankful leaves, adding to it every night.   When I announced the "last night" all the kids begged to continue it through the end of November.  I gave in.

 Some of my favorite "leaves" were:

"I am thankful for food."  (This was found several times in the chain...when I told them to think of something besides food, I got lots of variations like "breakfast" and "mom's cooking."  Apparently I'm not the only one with blood sugar issues.)

"I am thankful for cheese.  P.S.  I love you."  (I'm not sure if the "I love you" was directed at the cheddar or the gouda, but...)

"I am thankful to be a Primary teacher."  (I told him so.)

"I am thankful for the sacrament."  (I am humbled by my own son, every day.)

Liberally /adv./ 3.  I am most thankful for my Savior's constant goodness.  His love and grace liberally offered are always extended "in a generous manner,  openhandedly, munificently,  unstintingly, freely and generously."  He is truly my fount of every blessing. I cannot adequately express the depth of my gratitude, so I offer this song instead.  It says what I cannot.

Thanksgiving Leftovers

Here is a rather lengthy recap of our Thanksgiving festivities...

WEDNESDAY...

Wednesday was "pie-day," which is really one of my favorite days of the entire year.  I absolutely love the domesticity of it...the apron, the smells, the chopping and stirring, the nurturing feeling of pies cooling on the counter.   Other than my September canning days, nothing compares to the simple joy of this kind of creation for me.   Plus, I have a gift for apple pies.   Really.

Amidst all the cooking, Olivia was afraid I would forget her little Thanksgiving program at school.  And I found a number of these in strategic locations around the house.

I did not forget. 

All of my brothers and their "extensions" were in town this year for Thanksgiving, so we all went bowling on Wednesday night.  I actually tied Dave's score on one of our games!  This is significant only because he is extremely competitive when it comes to bowling scores, tennis games, or scrabble tournaments.  (Even if we are playing strip-scrabble...he hates to lose.)

Here are Olivia and Savannah with their cousin Emma squeezed in between.  They had a big "sleep over" after the bowling.  (Not much sleeping, of course, but lots of cousin-time.)

THURSDAY...

Dave and the kids got up bright and early to run in the Turkey Trot, which is such a big tradition here.  

We did get a picture of everyone together on Thanksgiving afternoon...which was surprisingly painless and long overdue.

(There were three pregnant ladies in the picture this year.  I was secretly thankful I wasn't one of them.)

FRIDAY...

Another bright and early morning.  My brother, Christian, is getting married in January and so we had a bridal shower for his bride-to-be early Friday morning at Crackers and Co.  It was obscenely early, but Jared and Jacob were flying out with their families, so we made it work.  And on the plus side, it wasn't quite as early as Kohl's opened.   (I will never understand that madness.  I am a completely converted online shopper.) 

Most of the rest of the weekend was games and eating, all with family.  My kids were in heaven and we are all tiredly happy.  I did get to go fabric shopping at Zoe's with two of my sisters-in-law and my mom on Saturday afternoon...and we even got in a bit of quilting.  (We were working on our block-of-the-month quilt.  My sister, Emily, said, "So which month is this...November or December?"  We said, "Uh, September."  Oh, well.  Better late than never.)  My quilting was sadly sloppy, but I've decided just to make it work.  I'm tired of cleaning up, even after myself.

A Post to Peppermint

No, not the candy.

But everything else.  I love all things peppermint.

The Patty.

My favorite line from last night's holiday special:  "Let's not play games, Chuck."  She is so fabulous.

The Shampoo and Lotion.

 

Last year, my good friend Merri gave me this combination for Christmas.  I LOVE it.   Bath and Body Works only makes it at Christmas time, though, so you better stock up.  I went back for more in February and was inconsolable.  The shampoo makes my brain tingle every morning.  I'm so happy it's back in my shower.  As for the lotion...I love smelling like candy and winter and snow.  Once when I was wearing it at church, I heard the lady in front of me whisper, "Something smells delicious! What is that?" I thought, "It's  me!"   I grinned all through the meeting. 

And my new find:  The Method "Peppermint-Vanilla" Fragrance.

I love Method products, the "people against dirty."  I found these refills for their air freshners and they are, happily, the perfect holiday scent.  Not too cloying and thankfully, not piney, which drives me crazy.  I just found out they make a countertop cleaner in this same flavor.  I've got to get to Target. 

Monday, 1:43 a.m.

Our Stake Center burned to the ground on early Monday morning.  Which was completely surreal.  I had just been there the night before at a Stake Standards night. 

David and Caleb drove by on the way home from swim team and after viewing the charred remains Caleb said, "Is it the second coming?"

The girls, of course, heard on the bus on the way to school.  (Their little "network" is always up and running with the latest news.)  When they got home Savannah asked, with a little tremor, "Does this mean I can't get baptized?" 

I was as surprised at their tender comments as I was at the news of the fire.

The FUN in DysFUNctional

Okay, I have issues. (Incidentally, one of them is my overuse of the word “okay.” I have already started two posts with “Okay…” When I was student teaching, my professor came to evaluate my teaching and the only feedback he gave me was, “You use the word “okay” a lot. Try something else.” I said, “O-kaaayy.”)

Another of my issues is this. I have conversations with myself…well, actually two of my selves: reasonable inside me and crazy inside me. Whenever crazy inside me starts talking in my real life my husband always says, “Let’s make you a sandwich,” or “When was the last time you ate?” (I have blood sugar issues, as well. Tends to make me bit unreasonable.)

Anyway, here is our conversation last night after typing the Plagiarism blog:

CIM: That blog doesn’t make any sense to anyone but me. I think I better go push “unpublish.”

RIM: It’s fine. Stop freaking out.

CIM: Everyone is going to think I’m a dork.

RIM: (under her breath) You are a dork. (And then out loud) No one’s going to think that.

CIM: Ha! I heard that.

RIM: Of course you heard that. We share the same brain.

CIM: I’m pushing “unpublish” and you can’t stop me.

RIM:

CIM: What? Aren’t you going to stop me?

RIM: I was just trying to think if we have any chocolate in the house. You need a little fix.

CIM: Why do you always have to go there? Can’t you just listen to me for once…I might be right one of these days.

RIM: (only eyebrows)

And right now, RIM is saying, “You’re not really going to put this on your blog, are you?” And CIM is saying, “Just watch me!”

Some Thoughts and Some Plagiarism

(I'm warning you...this is a mess.) 

A few of your posts have got me thinking. 

As I reread Kelly's "3rd post ever," it reminded me of one of my favorite poems by Denver Butson.  I hope you enjoy it:

Tuesday 9:00 AM

by Denver Butson

A man standing at the bus stop
reading the newspaper is on fire
Flames are peeking out
from beneath his collar and cuffs
His shoes have begun to melt

The woman next to him
wants to mention it to him
that he is burning
but she is drowning
Water is everywhere
in her mouth and ears
in her eyes
A stream of water runs
steadily from her blouse

Another woman stands at the bus stop
freezing to death
She tries to stand near the man
who is on fire
to try to melt the icicles
that have formed on her eyelashes
and on her nostrils
to stop her teeth long enough
from chattering to say something
to the woman who is drowning
but the woman who is freezing to death
has trouble moving
with blocks of ice on her feet

It takes the three some time
to board the bus
what with the flames
and water and ice
But when they finally climb the stairs
and take their seats
the driver doesn't even notice
that none of them has paid
because he is tortured
by visions and is wondering
if the man who got off at the last stop
was really being mauled to death
by wild dogs.

I know.

And then tonight, I read a beautiful (and awe-inspiring) post by Marie, who I do not know, but wish I did.  As I read her words about the mothers who came before her, I remembered something I read years ago in Martha Stewart Living and ripped out.  It hangs in my sewing room to help me remember just what it is I'm doing every day.  I will share it with you.  It was written by Stephen Drucker, Editor-in-Chief.  (The emphasis is mine.)

"The twentieth century, so eager to get on with the future, hasn't been especially kind to traditions.  In fact, much of this century has been dedicated to sweeping them away, which as it turns out, isn't especially difficult to do.  All it takes is one broken link--from mother to daughter, from country to city--and a little bit of hard-earned wisdom valued for hundreds of years is gone forever."

Last week I was practicing spelling words with my oldest daughter.  (Honestly, we practice so many spelling words around here, I've started to measure time by the "list of the week.") I always say the word and then make up a sentence to go with it...so she'll understand the context, and also because I really love making up sentences.  Anyway, we came to the word "author."  I said, "Author.  Author.  Your mom wishes she was an author."  Olivia started to laugh.  She noticed the surprised look on my face and said, in complete incredulity, "Do you mom?"  And then she shook it off and began to laugh again.

My life is secret even to her.  I have a secret history my own daughter does not know.  And I realized that my own mother's history is a mystery to me.  I've never thought to ask about her dreams.  I wonder if that is because I never thought (as Olivia does) that she had any dreams other than to bring me into the world and meet my every need.  Or if the asking would be too painful...to see what she gave up for me. 

But there is this:  Because of my mother's sacrifices, because she believes in traditions, I know part of her history in my own hands, in my daily life.  And not just my mother's history...it was her mother's before that, and her mother's before that.  There is something beautiful and quietly reassuring in that shared history.  Like we know the most sacred secrets...the ones only our mothers and our daughters will ever know.  

Word of the Week: Deluge

Okay, this may be dumb, but I thought I would do a variation on Lelly's self-portrait idea and share how the word of the week applies to my life...you can do the same, if you're so inclined.  Kind of a verbal self-portrait.  Here goes:

Deluge /n./ 1.  Yesterday it clouded up (big news here!) and tried its best to rain, but rather than the huge deluge I wanted...it just spit.  My disappointment was palpable and wrenching.

Deluge /vt./ 2.  My to-do list hit ginormous proportions this week and I was deluged by more obligations than I had hands or time or heart to take care of.  I am still waiting for the flood levels to recede.

Deluge /n./ 3.   Despite these things, the deluge of blessings that has filled my life and especially filled my heart is immeasurable.  On Monday night (right in the middle of some serious freaking stressing out) I was helping my kids practice a song they had to sing at a stake meeting on Thursday night.  Things had not gone right all day...and I was feeling a little put-out that heaven was not "clearing my path" to make sure things worked out for E of E on Wednesday.  As we sang the lines,

 "He is always near me, though I do not see him there 

And because he loves me dearly I am in his watchful care"

I had to swallow hard as I remembered how very true they are, and my heart swelled with thanksgiving at His constant grace and kindness towards me.  Thank heaven for these kinds of floods.

Ode to My "Baby"

I woke up to this:

(Technically, I went to bed with it like this, but we won't get into that...)

Ethan said,  "How many minutes is it going to take?"

"A lot."

"A hundred?  What comes after a hundred?"

"A hundred and one."

"What's next?"

"A hundred and two."

"Then what?"

"A hundred and three.  A hundred and four.  A hundred and five.  A hundred and six."

And then eyeing the dishes with his raised eyebrows, "Mom, what's the last number?"

Yes, it may take me that long.  I grinned anyway.

Ethan was born six years after Caleb and so I worried about their "connection."  But they have been remarkably good friends given their age difference.  On Sunday, the kids wrote thank-you notes in Primary.  They could choose anyone they wanted to thank.  Caleb wrote this:

Dear Ethan,

I'm thankful for you because you bring a light into my life and make me happy.  I'm glad your my brother. 

Love, Caleb

Oh, yes.  A light.  Caleb has it just right.  And my heart squeezed so hard it hurt.  To have a boy that is indeed a light, and to have a boy that conscientiously and humbly wrote this to his brother. 

And finally, there's this.  Last Saturday afternoon this is how I found my "baby":  gathering more evidence for his case.  He exclaimed, "See, Mom, this is why you should put me in the circus." 

 He doesn't yet know that I will never be able to let him go.