Mixed blessings

Sometime close to Christmas last year, someone in our family decided it would be a good idea to spend Christmas in Colorado and have everyone come to us for a change. In my naive mind I was thrilled with the idea of not having to pack and travel. But about a week before Christmas this year, I realized that not traveling meant hosting, and I wasn't sure I was ready for that either! But alas, we survived. We had a wonderful Christmas with John's parents and both sisters and their boyfriends in our home. I made my first official holiday dinner (all the big ones have been in other places so far in our 9 1/2 years of marriage) and ended up being less stressed than I had anticipated. We even had snow all day on Christmas -- it was beautiful and white!

Having all this family in town has definitely been a blessing -- but a mixed blessing. It has been great to catch up and spend time with my in-laws that we haven't had in some time. The time I've spent with my youngest sister-in-law (who feels like a little sister to me) has been refreshing and good for both of us. Lucy has had playmates galore, and I've had several extra sets of hands to hold and entertain Josiah. It's been great for all of that.

On the flip side, this is the first chance I have had in more than a week to sit at the computer, to think in sweet silence, and to type my thoughts. Being an introvert, I haven't had that essential time to myself to recharge, and that has been hard, especially in a 2-bedroom condo. I've discovered over the years that I'm really good at faking it for a few days, but when I start to wind down, it gets harder for me to make decisions (especially for groups of people) and to initiate conversation. I don't get to spend my time alone in God's Word like I want to, my prayer life falls apart, I become emotional much more easily, I can't achieve the order in my home that I thrive on, and recently I also noticed it gets harder for me to tame my temper with the kids.

So, for a few moments, both kids are napping, and everyone else is out of the house doing other things. I'm sure that after everyone leaves to return to their various dwellings, I will return to feelings of isolation and loneliness, but for this moment I'm going to cherish this sweet, sweet solitude and silence!

Chestnuts roasting

I've been testing a theory this week, and now that I'm convinced of its validity I'm going to share it with you.

Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire is a song with magical powers!

I remembered a few days ago that I sang this to Lucy when she was a baby. I was trying to think of a lullaby one night when she was 6 or 7 months old and, because it was near Christmas, I had carols and other Christmas tunes rattling around in my head. I started to sing this to her, and it fit nicely with my side-to-side sway as I rocked her around the room, so I stuck with it and realized she loved it! It put her to sleep before I had even reached the "for kids from one to 92" line. I stuck with it long after the tree had been taken down and the lights put away, though I felt a little silly singing "Merry Christmas to you" in the middle of March.

So as Joey was fussing a few nights ago, this memory came to me and I began to sing, in my best throaty lounge-singer voice,

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,
Jack Frost nipping at your nose...."

I tell you, he had been crying nonstop for over a half hour and nothing I had tried was working, but by the time I reached "Yuletide carols being sung by a choir" he had stopped and his eyes were closed! I thought it was just a fluke, or maybe he was thinking, "Okay, okay, I'll stop if you stop!" But the next day, it worked again! I've used this rediscovery almost every day this week.

So, I'm telling you, something soothing, something calming, something magical about those chestnuts....

Adventures in shipping

Picture this: me, two big boxes filled with Christmas gifts, an energetic 3-year-old, 17 pounds of baby in his car seat, and a busy UPS counter. I survived!

Over the last couple of days, I have spent a good deal of time wrapping, writing notes, and boxing up Christmas gifts for our family members who we won't see during the holidays. It's something that I rather enjoy, making sure to label and stack everything like puzzle pieces in the box and filling it with packing peanuts and those fun little bags full of air. That, to me, is the fun part. Getting it to the "box store," as Lucy calls it, isn't as much fun. The thought of it kind of stresses me out. So when I woke up this morning and realized that I forgot to send the packages with John, I knew it had to be done, and I started to psych myself up for it...and pray.

I hurried to get myself and Lucy ready while Joey was sleeping, knowing that our amount of time once he woke up was limited to about 1 1/2 hours -- the amount of time he is usually awake and happy before getting ready to nap again. But he woke up a little early (of course) and it took me nearly an hour after that to finish taping and labeling the boxes, to get our shoes and jackets on, to get the boxes down the stairs and out to the parking lot, and to get us out the door. Time was ticking! But so far so good.

We arrived at the UPS building, which is just a little over a mile from our house, and [insert angelic choir here] there was a parking place right in front of the doors! I unloaded the boxes first and took them inside to the last open computer (no line!). I went back out and got the kids and brought them inside. Joey was mesmerized by the lights on the ceiling (got to love the simple pleasures of a baby!) and Lucy was taking very seriously her role to 'guard the boxes.' I raced through the computer shipping station questions and headed over to the line to pay. It felt like a Red Sea experience -- what seemed like a crowded room and long line suddenly opened up before me and we only had to wait behind one person!

Lucy continued to entertain herself by playing hopscotch on the tile floor, until she suddenly stopped and looked at me and said, "Mommy, I have to go potty." Uh oh. I looked around. Nothing. We had just gone before leaving home, so I knew it couldn't have been that urgent. I encouraged her to take a deep breath and try her best to wait, and the moment passed without incident. It was then that I realized I had left my diaper bag at home and had no resources for dealing with a potential potty disaster!

Well, the man at the counter took care of us quickly and politely, and he even returned my wishes for a Merry Christmas with a smile. With my arms free of boxes, I picked up Joey in the car seat and took Lucy by the hand, and I turned around to see the line behind us extended all the way to the door. We had come at the perfect time! We were back at home in a grand total of less than 30 minutes.

God gets all the glory for this one! I could pretend it's because I'm SuperMom, but with the kind of Bah-Humbuggy mood I've been in, and the ornery behavior we've been seeing from Lucy lately, and the sheer unpredictability of having a 4-month-old, there is nothing I could have done in and of myself to make it happen. My kids' cooperation, the front parking space, the short line when we arrived -- it was clearly a gift from God! I've noticed that when I pray, even for the 'little' things and God shows me He can do it, then I have no choice but to give Him all the glory! And I'm give Him thanks for leaving us all with smiles on our faces and a dreaded task completed.

That Night

We received a printed poem a few years ago that I framed and have aimed to display each year at Christmas, but because the artwork is brown and black (not red and green) I usually end up putting it back in the box in lieu of more festive-looking decorations. Despite how silly that sounds, I love this poem, so this year I thought I'd share it with you here and hope you enjoy it, too, as you contemplate what Christ's birth means to you....

That Night
(Author unknown)

That night when in the Judean skies
The mystic star dispensed its light,
A blind man moved in his sleep
And dreamed that he had sight.

That night when shepherds heard the song
Of hosts angelic choiring near,
A deaf man stirred in slumber's spell
And dreamed that he could hear.

That night when in the cattle stall
Slept child and mother cheek by jowl,
A cripple turned his twisted limbs
And dreamed that he was whole.

That night when o'er the newborn babe
The tender Mary rose to lean
A loathsome leper smiled in sleep
And dreamed that he was clean.

That night when to the mother's breast
The little King was held secure,
A harlot slept a happy sleep
And dreamed that she was pure.

That night when in the manger lay
The sanctified who came to save,
A man moved in the sleep of death
And dreamed there was no grave.

Traditions

I knew our fate was sealed at lunch today when my daughter prayed: "...and thank you that we can go to Georgetown today to cut down our Christmas tree..." John and I exchanged a glance before the Amen, a knowing glance that said it didn't matter if the snow had begun to fall, or that there was a windchill of 8 degrees, or that it would mean skipping her nap. We had to go.

I was beginning to get used to the idea this morning. I even had our snow gear out of the closet and ready to go, with new plans on how to keep my son warm by making him into an immovable bundle. John has been bugging me for weeks about our newest "tradition." By this I mean we did it last year, so somehow having done it ONE TIME, it has become an annual family ritual. If you read my previous "Bah Humbug" entry, you'll know how I was feeling about this idea already. But I was beginning to soften and think that maybe it would be a fun family outing after all.

Then John went for a run this morning and came home with icicles on his goatee. Suddenly, he wasn't sure we should be going. But by the time she had prayed her prayer, the deal was sealed.

We piled into our CR-V with multiple layers of clothes, boots, hats, mittens, and scarves. The flurries didn't seem so threatening, but by the time we were entering the mountains, traffic was slowing down and the snow was drifting across the road in white waves. All told, it took us just a little over an hour -- a little longer than usual -- to reach Georgetown, but both kids napped on the way. Bonus!

Because we had done this last year, we knew where to go and what the rules were. By the time we arrived at the property that belongs to a friend-of-our-friends, the snow was falling steadily in clumps and we had to park on the road so we wouldn't get stuck in the plow drifts. I was ready to take the saw to the first tree we came to, but we walked about 5 minutes farther, found the perfect little tree, shook the snow from its boughs, snapped a few quick pictures, and high-tailed it back to the warmth of our car!

We were wet and freezing cold from those few minutes in the mountain air, but we had our perfect little Charlie Brown tree, and had done for the second time what may become a family tradition.

Unfinshed business

Just about anyone who looks at my daughter will tell me how much she looks like me. I even had a stranger tell me that if it weren't for the age difference we could be twins. (That might be stretching it a bit.) Not only does she look like me, she IS me in so many little ways. When my brother and his family were here for a visit a few weeks ago, he told me he could remember me at her age (he is 3 years older than me) and that it was uncanny -- almost frightening -- how much she was acting just like I did as a child. Sometimes I think I know a little too well what is going on in that little head of hers, and I can even remember doing some of the quirky things she does that now drive me crazy!

One of those fabulous little traits is being a saver. I'm not talking about money here, unfortunately. I'm talking about treats and other random items that apparently have special meaning to her. The reason I was just thinking about this is because I opened our freezer to find a half-eaten popsicle that we got two weeks ago from a nurse who was trying to keep her happy while my inflamed eye was examined. It was one of those 'twin pops' that has two sticks and can be broken in half. She enjoyed the part she ate so much that she decided to save the rest of it for later. It went into a styrofoam cup and into my bag, then into our freezer when we got home.

But that's not the only thing she saves. I find things like tiny remnants of suckers carefully re-wrapped, special coloring pages untouched by crayons, and post-it notes from daddy's office. Sometimes she will only eat half a cookie and want me to put the soggy uneaten half back in the bag. When she received a sticker yesterday for being a good girl while her brother got his shots at the doctor, she didn't peel it off its backing and proudly wear it; she asked me to put it in my bag "for later."

I have to reluctantly admit that I understand this mindset. I remember "rationing" the candy I got for Halloween each year so much so that I'd end up throwing most of it out on October 30th of the following year, just so I could have an empty bucket to get the new stuff in. I think I was afraid it would run out and I'd have nothing to fall back on when that sweet tooth craving came upon me. And I clearly remember when I was 12, saving one of my cat's whiskers in a special box along with the kleenex I used to wipe my tears when I found out he had been hit by a car. Don't laugh! At the time it meant something to me... Something...

So, yes, she gets it from me. But as an adult this kind of thing drives me crazy! I try to tell her, "Wear that sticker! You earned it!" or "Eat those last three M&Ms now because you can't have them just before bedtime!" Mostly I just don't want a house full of half-used or half-eaten stuff and crumpled wrappers with remnants of treats, but I don't dare throw them away because this girl remembers -- sometimes eons later -- and I don't want to be responsible for the tears!

Now, on to more pressing matters: who is going to eat that popsicle? Or is it destined to become a permanent fixture in our home?