Sleigh Bells in the Air... Beauty Everywhere...

Christmas has come and gone in a blur of twinkly lights, carols, sugary concoctions, jingling bells, sticky kisses, whispered prayers, and yule tide cheer.  Here are a few of the highlights that I was able to catch with my camera.

The night before Christmas eve, these jolly little elves worked diligently to construct this delightful-looking gingerbread house which served as a perfect centerpiece to our holiday table for the next few days.  Never mind the fact that my two-year-old ate 37 gumdrops and 24 M&m's for dinner that night.

On the morning of Christmas eve, George managed to make festive pancakes even though we couldn't scare up any food coloring.  Sophia and her little sister were rather impressed...

At four o'clock, we all went to church, dragging Pawpaw and Uncle David along with us.  Emma rang with the Prime Chimers, Sophia had a lovely reading during the sermon and George and I made it through the Minuet Noel before my voice completely frogged-out on me.

Making beautiful music...

It had been a LONG time since I had sung with my husband.  We thought we should take a photo to mark the occasion.  Perhaps the new year will hold more musical opportunities for us both.

After our traditional Christmas Eve spaghetti, we opened a few presents...

And I remembered my dear friend Myrt by topping her Christmas cookie plate for Santa with her favorite "doo doo balls".  She undoubtedly would have approved of my sock monkey nightgown as well.  It was also apparent that Santa approved since ALL of the doo doo balls were gone the next morning.

On Christmas morning I traditionally make something a bit naughty.  This year's cinnamon rolls with chocolate icing were no exception.  Lili thought they were spectacular... finger-licking-good to be perfectly  descriptive...

Mimi arrived on Christmas Day just as Pawpaw and Uncle David were making their way home.  There were more presents and good meals to be enjoyed with her.  My favorite thing that I found under the tree was...

Can it be true that it is all coming to an end?  We are finally beginning to tire of holiday ham and cheesy made-for-TV Christmas movies.  It must be time to ring in the new year with countdown lists of the worst fashion faux pas and political gaffes of 2011.  Luckily we have a few photos and some sweet memories from this year's Christmas.  Mimi was only with us a few days, but while she was here, she conducted art classes in our basement for Emma and Sophia.  Both girls painted a stretched canvas flag for their rooms and are so pleased with this memento.

Happy Christmas to you all!

The Best Picture of the Day

Sure, the photos from Santa's House were wonderful, but this one takes the cake in my view.  Last night we went out for pizza with some friends and Lili insisted on sitting next to her buddy Riley.  He is an older man (at age 5), and constantly demonstrates for Lili how a true gentleman should treat a lady.

No, chivalry is NOT dead!

Keeping It Real at the Santa House

PawPaw and Uncle David arrived yesterday, and there were two little girls at my house who were none too excited about having to go to school this morning.  They sucked it up, however, and climbed onto the bus bright and early this morning.  To ease the ache just a bit, I picked them up a little early this afternoon.  School didn't seem all that awful when I got there.  Sophia's class was in the middle of a Christmas party with a very strong sugar-theme, and all of the kids in Emma's class were seated in the floor, eating popcorn and watching Ice Age on a big screen at the front of the classroom.  Emma's teacher suggested that this animated feature somehow tied into their science unit on prehistoric creatures, but I didn't require an explanation.  I used to be a teacher myself and know that on the last day of school before Christmas vacation, we teachers are allowed to use any means necessary to keep the peace.

Lili made herself right at home in Emma's classroom.  She helped herself to a cup of popcorn and found a spot on the floor that offered a nice view of the screen.  She was completely content during the ten minutes it took Emma to gather up all of her essential bits and papers and fashion accessories.  It almost got ugly when it was time to get Lili out of there.  I was afraid I might have to make a trail of M&m's for her to follow, but somehow we managed to get everyone out the door without any major hissy fits.

Sneaking out of school half an hour early on the last day makes vacation seem just a little bit more fun.  To add to the excitement, we gathered everyone into vehicle and made our way to the Santa House in downtown Midland.  There was a bit of a queue and a bit of Christmas grouching, but we were there in time to make it in before Santa took his break for milk and cookies.  Lili, however, fell asleep while we were in line, and we knew Santa wouldn't have a chance with her at that point.  My brother in law helped out by taking a photo which shows what we all really look like before we get ourselves together and say, "Cheese!"

And here is the whole motley crew with Santa's sleigh.  Pawpaw is wearing his traditional jovial smile...

And to be clear, Lili wanted absolutely nothing to do with that Santa Claus.  The rest of us thought he was quite wonderful.  When Sophia told him that she wanted make-up for Christmas, he told her she was much too pretty without it.  Good man, Santa!

"NO LIKE Santa Claus!!"

Best of all two brothers were able to re-live a childhood memory, and Santa happily indulged...

Monkey See...

In case you  hadn't noticed, I am one of those moms.  I am the mom who pulls out her camera in order to document "Baby's First Dental Appointment" or "Baby's First Meatball."  I have numerous photos taken of my children when they have fallen asleep in unusual places or in comical positions.  Heaven help you, if you are a child of mine.  Your mama will take photos upon photos of you in the bathtub, pictures of you pretending to decorate the Christmas tree, and she will require you to pose and reenact the really cute thing you did just a second ago when she wasn't ready with the camera.

My adoring two year old has picked up on the fact that we should document every moment of our lives through photography.  Lately she has really been getting involved.  She has such confidence and passion.

 

"I'm gonna getchew, Sophia!"

"Beautiful!  Beautiful!  Show me 'Exuberant'!"

"SAY CHEESE!!"

"I just LOVE it when a photo shoot goes well!"

And now, for your enjoyment, here is a sneak peek at some of Lili's latest work...

This one is entitled, "Sophia's Smile"

This one, entitled "My Feets," is a bit more artistic.

Of course I adore my budding photographer and believe that she exhibits great potential.

"Photography is a way of feeling, of touching, of loving.  What you have caught on film is captured forever... it remembers little things long after you have forgotten everything." ~Aaron Siskind

    

Haircuts are Contagious Around Here

I had been noticing over the past week or so that our resident toddler's hairdo was becoming a bit wacky and unmanageable.  On yesterday she agreed and declared, "I want Kasey to take my haircut!!"  Kasey is a good friend who also happens to be pretty great cutter of hair.  We were really in luck because it turned out that Kasey was working an had an appointment free just for Lili.  Hooray!

"I am ready, Kasey!  Take my haircut!"

There at the salon, the little person who terrorizes me night and day, sat and behaved like a perfect angel throughout the entire haircut.  The little person who, ten minutes before her appointment, had been standing atop a chair in my kitchen, waving a magic wand and commanding, "YOU MAKE ME EGGS!" stayed still and on her bottom with a perfectly cherubic look of innocence on her face like this...

Of course I am not complaining.  I am glad that she is able to exhibit self control and that she doesn't behave like an ornery warthog every moment of the day.  The results were beautiful hence Lili's frequent declaration, "I so so cute!"

Post-haircut Lili came home and took this photo of herself.

I guess she actually is "so so cute."

In fact Lili apparently looked so doggone cute that my daughter Sophia insisted that she too needed to visit Kasey for a new 'do today.

Of course she had to have the full salon experience.

Lookin' good!

And because the day hadn't been girly enough already, George and I took Miss Sophia to get her ears pierced tonight as well.  She is pretty pleased with her new little silver studs.

"New Earrings" was the "treat" inside today's Advent calendar drawer.  When Sophie read the news, she was so excited since she knew this meant that she was actually getting her ears pierced!  Emma got to pick out a few new pairs of earrings too, so do not worry.  There was absolutely no sister snarling or reverse "Marsha! Marsha! Marsha!"-ing.

And perhaps the best thing of all about today is that it is now snowing! And I am STILL dreaming of a white Christmas.  I am pretty sure that my husband promised me white Christmases when we moved to Michigan.  He may be in trouble this year.  (And don't even get me started on the almost white Easter we had this year, but I digress.)

Happy Festivities, Friends!

Love,

Meredith

Using Our Words

Have you met my narrator?

Yes, I live with my very own personal life-narrator.  As I go about my daily business, her little voice punctuates each activity with helpful comments like, "Mama, you cleaning up cat throw up," and (as I'm climbing into the shower), "You naked, Mommy.  You got a booty."  I do my best to reply affirmatively to each of these conclusive announcements.

Not only does she narrate my each and every movement, but she has also found herself to be a very worthy subject..  My two-year-old likes to give us up-to-the-minute reports about her state of being.  In keeping with the style of a proper narrator, she keeps it all in the third person.  "Lili needs chocolate milk," she might broadcast or, "Lili doesn't WANT to take a shower!!"

Earlier this week, I found her struggling to get out of a pair of footed pajamas in her bedroom.  She was easy to find as I simply followed the sound of her passionate screeching, "Get OFF Lili's legs, Lili's JAMMIES!!"  When I entered the room, she looked up at me, her face full of rage, and exclaimed, "Lili's jammies NOT WORKING!!"

(This is a very artistic photograph with a balloon in case you were wondering.)

A growing vocabulary and the ability to express her feelings should reduce the frequency of temper tantrums, right?  I am not, however, exactly sure that this is the case.  Sometimes when things don't go her way, words fail her, and the only sounds she can manage are grizzly bear-like growls.  Often she is not impressed with the way I have expressed my feelings as her caregiver, and she reverts to her two most favorite and treasured words: NO and MINE.  The narrator is still a two year old.

I have thus far made mention of everyday words and angry words, but I have saved the best kind of words for last.  Lilianna also has wonderfully loving words tucked up in her brain now.  I cannot explain how extremely loved I feel when this little person whom I spend a great deal of energy taking care of asks ever so gently, "You okay, Mama?" anytime I utter an "ouch."   It goes without saying that her sincere "I love you's" make the grizzly bear moments far more bearable, and the occasional unsolicited "thank you" causes my heart to skip a beat.

Sometimes she even accidentally utters prize-worthy phrases in the midst of all of the mayhem that goes on at our house.  Last night, while I was trying to organize my two older kids and get them into bed, I realized that I had an over-tired two year old on my hands.  She even announced (in the first person), "I'm TIRED, Mama!" as she rolled around on the floor.  A couple of minutes later, she pulled me away from what I was doing, climbed onto my lap and  declared, "I want more mama."  Can you guess what happened?  I dropped everything , and gave her more of me.  I do so like to reward well-chosen words, particularly the sweet ones (even when they are unintentionally sweet.)

"Words are also actions, and actions are a kind of words."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Now I Am Ready...

I have been doing a bit (and hearing a bit) of Christmas griping lately.  I will admit that I was annoyed when the Christmas music was playing on the radio and in the stores well before Thanksgiving.  I have bristled at the Christmas-themed commercials on television telling me and my children that we need to go out and buy holiday-scented toilet paper, battery-operated, musical earmuffs, and the like.   I have rebelled against my own Christmas-loving nature since I do not like to have commercialized Christmas jammed down my throat before I've even had time to properly digest the Halloween candy that I stole from my kids' trick-or-treat bags.

But today felt different since a somewhat unexpected winter storm converged upon us last night.  When we woke up, it looked like this in my front yard...

School was delayed two hours, so there was extra time for morning chit-chat, hot breakfasts and crawling back into bed with our resident-little squirt to watch Blue's Clues before the school bus came.  Later in the day, Lili's best buddy Mae came over for a visit.  I cranked up the Christmas music voluntarily and the three of us danced like crazy in the kitchen for nearly half an hour.  It looked and felt like Christmas, and I didn't even feel the least bit compelled to go online and buy a digital talking blender/ bread machine.  Imagine that!

After I'd had my fill of squealing, singing, and delighted jumping with the wee ones, we decided to go down to the basement and start bringing up the Christmas decorations.  Decorating for Christmas is always a process at our house.  It happens bit by bit, and the first bits have begun to happen now.  I carefully unwrapped a few of my favorite Christmas things like the slightly ugly, green macrame "Noel" sign made by my grandmother as well as the six blond choir boys that adorned that same grandmother's Christmas mantle every year.

How I love those choir boys!  Each year they stood above my grandparents' fireplace, surrounded by plastic holly leaves, holding their little hymnals whilst silently singing their hearts out.  Now they stand on my living room mantle with their same innocent faces, wide eyes, and mouths rounded into perfect O's.  Today I happened to notice that one of the boys had a crack in his face and a chipped hymnal, and it made me love him just a little bit more.  He has lived through many Christmases, and I think it is somewhat appropriate that he no longer looks perfect.  Christmas is not about perfection.

The little cracked choir boy will not be dismissed to the trash because, in many ways, his cracks and chips make him more lovely and interesting.
  

The very first Christmas seemed far from perfect according to our modern holiday standards.  There weren't any singing, ice skating snowmen or hot deals on the latest electronics.  There was a humble girl giving birth in a "nasty barn" far from home.  The scenario hardly seems worthy of celebration, but we do celebrate in all sorts of unusual ways.  When I think about the first Christmas (not the version that we've romanticized in storybooks with rosy-cheeked shepherd boys and carol-singing livestock), and when I compare that scene to our modern day, materialistic frenzy, I realize that my annoyance at this time of year does not reflect a lack of real "Christmas Spirit."

Yes, we will have red-nosed reindeer, twinkling lights, and bouncy children who are hopped up on candy canes at my house.  Of course I will embrace all of those things, but not because my television told me that it was time.  In addition to cookie decorating and jingle bell ringing, we will have times of stillness for reading and reflecting.  We will share our cares and our questions about the great mysteries of this life, and we will quietly marvel at the faith and hope expressed by those characters who were part of the very first Christmas so many years ago.

My sincerest gratitude goes out to the snow for opening my heart as I opened my front door and felt its silent, wintry beauty fill my senses.  Now I am ready for Christmas.

“Let us keep Christmas beautiful 

Without a thought of greed, 

That it might live forevermore

To fill our every need, 

That it shall not be just a day, 

But last a lifetime through, 

The miracle of Christmastime

That brings God close to you” 

~Ann Schultz

Turkey for Me, Turkey for You...

We've had another beautiful Thanksgiving and hope that you have too.  Lili celebrated the day with a festive neck scarf which she insisted upon wearing at the dinner table.  Friends shared the cooking duties (and feasting joys) with us, and we dined on all of the traditional favorites including a large turkey who previously lived less than a hour away and was gobbling his little heart out a week ago.  He was very fresh indeed, and everyone agreed that he tasted like he had led a very happy life.

We are continuing the celebrations all through this weekend with leftovers, board games, special blessings, and public reflections on gratitude.  Emma and Sophie have enjoyed the Thanksgiving Alphabet Game wherein we go through the alphabet naming things for which we are grateful.  Lili contributed that she was thankful for "Elmo's World" even though the rest of us were on letter "P."

None of us engage in the frenzy of Black Friday typically.   Today was spent playing games, clearing out things we no longer need, and enjoying a lovely afternoon in the November sunshine.  Sophie and I took and walk and daydreamed aloud about our holiday menu fantasies while Lili, being pushed in her stroller, finally succumbed to an afternoon nap.  Nothing terribly mind-blowing about the day, but I think we all feel nourished and content.

"God has two dwellings; one in heaven, and the other in a meek and thankful heart."  ~Izaak Walton

Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

Hey Boys and Girls! The Word of the Day is: Conundrum!

Children are a conundrum.  I said it.  When they are babies, they require every ounce of energy a mother can summon...and then some.  When they are babies, we mothers find ourselves wishing on occasion that we didn't have to do every bloomin' thing in the world for them.  We rejoice when our babies complete tasks independently for the first time.  Recently I have found myself becoming ridiculously impressed with my two-year-old's jumping skills.  One day she just learned to jump with both feet like a professional kangaroo, and I was dazzled.

Now my two year old can do all sorts of things independently.  She can feed herself for example.  The little genius peels her own bananas and clementines.  She also pushes a small chair around my house and gains access to "up high" things that used to require mom's help to acquire.  She dresses herself in completely mismatched clothes and cowboy boots.  Most of the time this is all great.  Most of the time I applaud her independence and cleverness, but I confess that I sometimes miss that little person who needed me just a little bit more.  I miss the agreeable baby who accepted my help and my choices regarding what was best without any arguments.   And maybe I spring to my feet and respond to her impassioned shouts of, "I NEED HELP!!" just a little too quickly since those requests seem to come less and less often.

Fast forward a few years.
I have been reading bedtime stories to all of my children since before they were old enough to understand what was even going on.  My oldest daughter Emma and I have been climbing into bed with great works of children's literature every night as part of our evening ritual for the last nine years.  We've read about big hungry bears, big red dogs, and little houses in big woods.  Within the last couple of years dragons and wizards have become part of our reading repertoire and have gripped my daughter's interest quite earnestly.  Truth be told, I really like reading about the dragons and wizards too, which is why it pains me so greatly to admit that our nightly reading ritual has been crumbling over the last six months or so.

It seems that I have, over the course of the last nine and a half years, fostered a love of reading in my daughter.  This was, of course, the main objective of our ritual story times.  I remember saying to her a year or so ago, "One day you won't want me to read to you anymore, and that will be very sad for me."  She insisted that that day would never come. Twenty years from now I will surely be driving to her house each evening and crawling in bed between her and her husband so that we can all enjoy the next chapter of the latest Jackie Collins novel read aloud by me (with all of the voices), right?  Perhaps not.

Actually, most definitely not.  She informed me quite casually one evening this summer, "I don't want a story tonight.  I'm just going to read to myself."  And now she does this just about every night, sometimes staying up far later than she should to find out how things will turn out for Harry, Ron and Hermione.  And although my heart breaks just a little bit when I think about the fact that I am not attending Hogwarts with her through the pages of those fantastic novels, I remind myself that I have helped my daughter discover the joys of reading independently.

There are still some nights when she asks, "Could you read me just a few pages tonight?"  And I spring to my feet perhaps just a little too quickly because I never know when the last request will come.

When I was a teacher I had the same laminated poster on the front of my desk each year.  The poster showed a photograph of a monarch butterfly and this motto: The object of teaching is to enable the child to get along without the teacher.  That declaration inspired me when I was a teacher.  It reminded me to think of my students and future-adults, to inspire them to ask their own questions and think for themselves.  Being a parent is much the same except only a million times harder.  As a teacher, I got a fresh batch of adoring fourth graders every year.  As a mom I get to watch that kid who used to be my adoring little buddy, roll her eyes and me and declare, "Ugh!  You just don't understand me!!"

Of course I want my children to grow up and learn to be their own wonderful people.  That is my sincere desire.  The crazy part is that as I watch them grow and become, I feel proud, sad, jubilant and heartbroken all at once.   See?  A complete and worthwhile conundrum.

Seasonal Stupidity OR "Mom, You're Like the Opposite of a Vampire."

I have been stuggling this week.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I haven't even had enough "R" in me to struggle properly.  Thus, I stuggle.  Every year I stuggle right around this time as the days begin to get shorter.  It would appear that my brain and body truly need sunshine to function properly.  When the daily sunshine levels begin to decline, I feel as though a fog has settled over my brain.  All operations slow dramatically as my energy levels plummet.  I feel sad and overwhelmed.  This happens every year.

I've tried slapping myself in the face and shouting, "Snap out of it!" a la Cher in Moonstruck, but that hasn't seemed to do the trick.  In the past spending early morning time in front of my old friend, the light therapy box and upping my intake of Omega 3 fish oils has been helpful in combating my seasonal depression.  Early in the morning I shockingly do not feel like standing in front of a blinding artificial light source.  Every cell in my body seems to be pleading with me, "Just go back to bed!  It's so warm and cozy there!"

I am proud to say that I fight those persuasive, pleading cells since, in this case, the voices in my head are not telling me what I really need to hear.  I force myself to get out of bed.  Alley-oop!  I greet my two older children with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, and I make breakfast for them while that blindingly bright light box spills its artificial luminescence all over the kitchen.  On Wednesday morning my daughter Sophie turned on music, which at first seemed loud, repellant and highly inappropriate at such an early hour.  I immediately turned it off and then thought better of it.  I turned it on again and just stood still for a moment while I felt the light and the rhythm of John Denver thanking God for his status as a country boy fill my insides.  As the faux glow of my lamp and the musical elements of John's rollicking hymn of gratitude settled within me, I felt the fog lifting, and an energetic warmth returned to my core.

A couple of minutes later, scrambled eggs were on everyone's plates, and we were all singing along with Freddie Mercury, "Oooh, you make me live.  Whatever this world can give to me, it's you, you're all I see..."  And suddenly it was a great day.  I was just about ready to go and see a doctor to ask about anti-depressants and melatonin supplements, when my daughter inadvertently discovered the rejuvenating power of "Music Therapy" when coupled with light therapy.

I don't expect that this will be the end of my winter woes, but for now I plan to carry on with this regimen of self-care.  Anyone else out there experience Seasonal Affective Disorder?  (It sounds so fancy and important when we call it by its proper name.)  I am open to any other tips or helpful advice, so please, comment away!

A Bit of Seasonal Fun... Right on Schedule

My life has been a bit stressful and serious lately which is why Halloween came at a very convenient time this year.  It is difficult to feel gloomy when introducing a toddler to her very first jack-o-lantern.  Wouldn't you agree?

(The eerie shadow on the left was totally intentional.  I am an excellent photographer.)

And even though I am a self-proclaimed hater of crafts, and pumpkin carving is clearly crafty, gathering round the table with my family, each of us wielding sharp knives, made me feel very happy and loved.  With my husband's artistic pattern I was even able to carve this top notch Cookie Monster-o-lantern making my excited toddler even more excited...

My nine-year-old impressed us all with her super cool dragon-lantern.  She worked tirelessly (and probably a bit too late into the school night) on this fantastic design.  She is a little bit of a rock star fireball, you know.

All of this wonderfulness happened the night before Halloween, so there was still a whole other day and night of fun to look forward to.  I spent most of the day on Halloween arguing with my two-year-old, who was in rare form.  At one point, I snarled at her, "You are supposed to dress as a monster today, not act like one!!" 

She replied fiercely, "I NOT A MONSTER!!"  Later, after she kicked me in the shins and pulled my hair, I put her in "Time Out," and told her that she could just stay there until she was ready to be nice.  Moments later blood-boiling roars could be heard coming from her room.  "I READY BE NICE!!" those roars declared, but she wasn't.

Finally on the way back from dropping off a Halloween snack at my second grader's classroom, the monster fell asleep, and I felt confident that she'd be a new girl when she awoke.  Perhaps I shouldn't have been so confident.  The little girl who woke up informed me with great certainty that she, "NO like tricky treat!"  In the end, her sister Sophia convinced her to put on a costume.  At the last minute, she decided that she wanted to be a cow because a cow has a tail, and Lili is a bit obsessed about tails lately.  She will tell you all about her tail obsession (in the third person) if you ask.  She informed me at least fifteen times last night, "Mama, Lili have a tail now.  Lili a Cow!"

Thank God for big sisters!

When it actually came time for the "tricky treating" to commence, Lili changed her tune.  Neighbors and strangers stopped to compliment her on how cute she was, and she didn't mind that one bit.  She very quickly learned to greet everyone, "Happy Halloween!" and helped herself to multiple handfuls of treats at each house.  After a round of trick-or-treating with Dad and another with Mom, the older girls decided they were cold and satisfied with their loot.  We headed back home.  When we hit our driveway, Lili stopped dead in her tracks.  She pulled my arm and declared defiantly, "NO!  Let's go more tricky treat!!"  I bribed her with chocolate milk to avoid a terrifying scene and got her back into the house.

Everyone got into bed eventually.  I was exhausted in that satisfying, contented sort of way, and I got to sleep next this this guy all night...

...and of course the little cow crawled in between us at some point in the wee hours.

Happy Halloween, Friends!

Lessons from the Littles

Toddlers are certainly not perfect little people, and today I am not planning to romanticize life with a two-year-old.  There are fits and tantrums, fierce battles for independence, and infuriatingly fickle preferences that cause severe mood swings at random moments throughout the day.  Earlier today my toddler begged for a banana, and then threw it on the floor and screamed, "NO WANT THIS BANANA!" when I handed it to her.  Earlier this week she decided that the only thing she was prepared to wear all day was a purple Dora the Explorer night gown, glow-in-the-dark pajama pants, and her pink cowgirl boots.  I'm sure everyone at the grocery story thought she was adorable in that get up.

All of that being said, there are some pretty wonderful things about these little people.  Two-year-olds simply do not hold back their emotions.  Sometimes the result is an ugly scene, but other times it is beautiful.  I am thinking specifically about the way my youngest daughter reacts any and every time she is reunited with her best buddy Mae.  They typically see each other at least a few times a week, but their reaction is one of exuberant, irrepressible joy each time.  They squeal with delight.  They jump and run and dance.  They chant each other's names.  They love without any fear or embarrassment.

At some point after the age of two, we stop doing that.  I am trying to imagine how my husband might feel if I greeted him toddler-style when he arrived home after a long day at work.  Even though I love him even more than my toddler can comprehend, I hold back because I'm tired and a bit weary.  Maybe I am even a little bit afraid of rejection.  How crazy is that?

So while my toddler leaps for joy and shrieks excitedly, "DADDY'S HOME!!" I barely look up from scrubbing the toilet or doing dishes to say, "Hi. How was your day?"  Having recently lost a dear friend, I believe my toddler friends have something to teach me.  Having best friends, funny friends, serious friends, caring friends, old friends and new friends is absolutely worth getting excited about.  Loving and being loved by my husband and my family should cause me to feel euphoric and gleeful.

I don't allow that glee to overtake me nearly often enough.  Somehow life has squashed the fearlessly-loving toddler that used to live inside my skin.  I love watching my two favorite toddlers greet each other.  I may even be a little envious of the fact that they "get it" and that suppressing their delight never even occurs to them.  Having a friend who loves you, a friend who is excited about the fact that you are present in the world is one of the best things ever (even if that friend shoves you and steals your favorite Elmo book later).

 So, dear friends, in case I haven't said it lately, I love you and the fact that you love me too and want to be my friend is rawther exciting. 

"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same."

~Elbert Hubbard

A Sad Time for the M&M Club

 

Of course I am not speaking of your favorite colorful chocolate candies.  The M&M club was founded many years ago when two young best friends marveled at the luck they had when their moms (who had been pregnant together) named both of them names beginning with the letter "M".  Miriam, my mother, tells me that her first memory of her best friend Myrt (who was actually named Merilyn) involved games of peek-a-boo played through the bars of their individual cribs in the First Baptist Church nursery about sixty years ago.


The two grew up together, Merilyn was graciously granted the childhood nickname of "Myrt," and my mother made certain that this nickname followed her to college and beyond.  At some point, in between numerous practical jokes and untold volumes of silliness that caused my mother to laugh so hard that the tears ran down her leg, these two friends made a vow that the M&M Club would endure throughout the next generation.  They promised to give their future children "M" names also.

I came along first, and poetically (since that is my nature), I was born on Myrt's birthday.  She is appropriately pictured above (at one of our mutual birthday celebrations) wearing the sparkling crown that she deserved every day.  Let the truth be known; she really was like my unofficial fairy godmother, and I am pretty sure they are supposed to wear crowns.

I will always remember her sweetness, her selflessness and her one-of-a kind funniness.  I think she thought of herself as being a somewhat plain and ordinary individual, but she was anything but ordinary.  Her laughter was musical and contagious.  Her spirit was generous and uncommonly kind, and she loved wastefully.  She gave me my first nickname: Yakky Doodle.  (Apparently I had adorable duck lips as an infant.  They were adorable, I tell you.)  She was the queen of board games and silly songs.  She was one of the truest friends who was ready to laugh and play with you or to cry with you, listen to you and hug you if that was what was needed.  And with her recent peaceful passing, she has left a Myrt-sized hole in my heart.

My heart breaks for her two "M" daughters, Melissa and Maleigh, since I know they loved their mom even more than I did.  I am sad for those of us who are left here on earth without her, but I am also happy for the times I had with her and for the things that she taught me without even knowing it.  I have cherished memories of times spent with our hearts intertwined as she listened to my troubles.  She was as good at listening to kid-sized-troubles as she was at devoting herself to my grown-up-troubles, but mostly when I think of Myrt I will think of snort-out-loud, silly, celebratory times like this one...

Of course we were dancing in our underpants right before my wedding.

That is just what real friends do.

I love you, Myrt, and I'll miss you until we meet again, dear friend.

Finding Joy in Unexpected Places

Because he lives with me all of the time, I sometimes forget what a joy my husband is.  I'm not even being sarcastic.  Sometimes I just get the tired George who has been at work all day, who comes home and feels compelled to carry out various construction projects around the house.  That guy is lovely, but he isn't the life of the party... so sometimes I forget that "the life of the party" is who my guy naturally is.

I am not the life of the party typically.  I am the girl who makes a quiet witty comment in the corner at the party.  In the beginning our differences drew us together, and these differences have continued to serve us well through the years.  He appreciates my unusual sense of humor, and I very much appreciate the fact that he can help me take myself less seriously.  But I still often forget how positively fabulous he is.  It is nice to be reminded.  It is nice to see my husband through someone else's eyes and to remember why he stole my heart in the beginning.

Today's love story, like so many others, was inspired by a colonoscopy.  The word itself conjures up amorous feelings, doesn't it?  George had to have one of those this week.  (To confirm, the procedure was routine and everything apparently looked "perfect up in there".)  George seems to have an easier time than the rest of us when it comes to nearly everything.  Sometimes it's a little annoying, but mostly it is admirable.  He had been warned that the preparation for the procedure would be hellish, but he was not terribly concerned. 

After fasting for 18 hours, he spent a couple more hours working on rebuilding our deck.  I'm pretty sure I even heard him whistling while he was out there.  Then he came inside and drank copious amounts of laxative-enriched Gatorade.  And then he waited.  I went upstairs and busied myself with reading bedtime stories and getting our three darling children into bed.  I may have lingered upstairs for a bit while I facebooked your mom.  Assuming the results of the Gatorade cocktail might be unpleasant and embarrassing, I was trying to give the man some space.

I returned to our bedroom an hour or so later and found George tucked up in bed watching a foreign language zombie movie (his guilty pleasure).  I hesitantly asked if he was okay and he replied casually that he indeed was, and that it was really no big deal.  After three or four trips to the bathroom, he was basically done and had happily moved on with the rest of his zombie-tastic evening.

The next morning, his fast continued, and he carried on with his usual workday responsibilities until noon.  We were all set to climb into the car and go to the medical center when he stopped me and asked urgently, "Wait!!  Can you write something on my butt?"

"Why?"  I wanted to know.

"Because it will be funny."  He answered.

And this is why our marriage works... "Okay," I responded, "What do you want me to write?"  We had to go upstairs since the only color Sharpie we had downstairs was hot pink.  Obviously that wouldn't do, you know.  So we raced upstairs and found a permanent marker in a manly shade of blue.  George dropped his trousers and thought for a moment.  "Could you write... 'Be Gentle.'?"

I quickly got to work; then interrupted my writing to ask,  "Shall I write one word on each cheek?"

"I think so." George answered thoughtfully.

And then we were off.  He checked in with the receptionist and was taken back to be prepped for his procedure shortly after that.  Lili and I took a quick field trip to McDonald's for oatmeal and vanilla milkshakes, as you do when a loved one is being probed.  An hour or so later Lili and I were allowed to go back and see George, who was in high spirits as usual.  And now we have arrived at the part of the story in which I explain why my husband's colonoscopy reminded me of why he is so great...

Anyone who had come in contact with my husband seemed to have developed a sincere affection for him.  He knew all of their names and had even been invited to their staff party next weekend.  Seriously. Apparently right up until the moment he lost consciousness due to the anesthesia, he had the entire room in stitches laughing.  From what I could gather, my handwritten greeting was also well-received.  I sat in a chair by his bedside and just watched as various medical personnel fawned over my husband, and I remembered how I had felt when I first met him.  I admit that I did feel quite amorous in those post-colonoscopy moments.  The head nurse made a point in telling me he was the best patient they'd had all week.

George got himself dressed, and high-fived the orderly on the way out.  "Keep it real, Andre." he said.  (Okay, fine.  That last part didn't happen, but if John Hughes ever decided to make a movie about my husband's colonoscopy, that's totally the way it would go.)   I drove him home and made an excellent post-colonoscopy dinner for him since that is my way of saying, "You rock!"  But since I've been writing this, I realized that I still haven't used my words like a big girl to simply tell him that I think he's a little bit special.  I think I will go and do that now.

Good night, friends.

Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.  ~Winston Churchill

Fall in My Backyard

I am always a little sad to see summer go, but this past weekend upon returning from a wonderful getaway to Charleston, SC (more on that later), we had the best of fall and summer.  Summer-like temperatures accompanied beautiful fall foliage.  Sophia pulled the rake out of the garage and started making a pile of leaves simply because it sounded like a fun idea.  Lili quickly joined in, of course.

I am envious of the way that my youngest daughter is always ready to fully embrace a new experience.  Last weekend there weren't leaves all over the ground, but now they are every where.  Did she approach the strange new leaf pile that her sister had created tentatively and on cautious tiptoes? 

She certainly did not.

Happy Fall, Friends!

Love,

Meredith

Sunny Days, Everything's A-Okay...

Shortly after she came into the world, I decided that one of the reasons Lili was born, one of her important spiritual jobs in this life, was to teach me that it's okay to not be perfect.  (I wrote about that here.)  Sometimes I still forget, even with all of Lil's assistance, that I cannot make everything perfect.  I expect that there are mamas with multiple kids out there in the world who find that they are able to keep spotlessly clean houses, cook nutritious meals for their families, volunteer at their kids' schools and at church, sing in seventeen different choirs and still throw perfectly flawless birthday parties for their completely oblivious toddlers.  These mamas have excellent time management skills, of course, and they are a delight at dinner parties where they humbly show off their juggling abilities while wearing the same size jeans they wore back in high school.

I am not one of those mamas.   I know you're shocked.  I had big plans for Lili's birthday.  I made detailed lists and envisioned beautiful Sesame Street-inspired delights.  The night before the party, I stayed busy enjoying Lili's actual birthday.  I cooked dinner and we all ate together.  Then we enjoyed cake after singing "Happy Birthday" with numerous "Cha-cha-cha's" thrown in for extra excitement.  Afterwards Lili open her presents, and we watched her tickle Elmo (oh yes) until we'd all had enough.  That night I went to bed with dirty dishes in my sink, and I did almost nothing to prepare for the next day's party.  Gasp!

So you can imagine my horror the next day when, an hour before the guests were expected to arrive, I hadn't even put the chocolate Sesame sheet cake in the oven, my pepperErnie Rolls had not been prepared, all of the ingredients for my lime sherBert punch were still in the basement, and my husband was outside covered in mud and sweat and still in the midst of tearing down our old deck and putting up a new one.  (This is how George rolls.  He faithfully arrives fashionably late to all of the kids' birthday parties after working on a manly project in the hours leading up to the festivities.  We really don't even question it any more.)  The decorations were all in place, the tray of Super Grover's super foods had been prepared as had Oscar's trash with slimy worms and cookie monster's cookies, but I had decided at the last minute to add Rosita's vegetarian chili to the menu, and then everything had gotten off track.  Oh, the humanity!

Obviously the birthday girl couldn't have cared less about any of these theme-related menu snafus.  I heartily recognized this when it was fifteen minutes till party time, and I was sweating bullets and trying to shake her off my leg so that I could finish all of the stuff that I was doing to make her party so perfect....

  Oh hello there, my little karmic reminder!

So... I took a deep breath and remembered what Lili continues to teach me.  The small group of friends who were invited were coming to celebrate Lili and not to critique my party planning skills.  (One of those wonderful friends had already come over an hour early to rescue me from having a pepperErnie and mozzarella meltdown.  Thanks, Kasey!)  Then I changed into my party attire, took another deep breath and hugged my toddler.  The party guests arrived, and I wasn't ready, but it was all okay because this little monster didn't mind a bit (and it all got done in the end)...

Thanks to sweet Lili for helping me remember to keep things simple.  Gushing gratitude to lovely Lili for reminding me that it really is okay to forget to put Big Bird's birdseed bread sticks out on the buffet table.  It never was possible to be perfect, and being present is much more important that being perfect.  What would we do without you and all of the wisdom and whimsy you bring, little girl?

Happy Birthday (again!) to our littlest girl!

"Don't worry that it's not good enough for anyone else to hear!

Just sing!  Sing a song!" ~Joe Raposo