Baby's First Snow Fest

Actually it was the first Snow Fest for ALL of the Carsons on Saturday in Frankenmuth.  The giant snow sculptures were certainly impressive, but the best thing about our day was reconnecting with an old friend who was in town with her adorable family.  She and I were pregnant together twice, and her boys and my girls seemed to pick up right where they left off about six years ago...but without the diapers and oral fixations this time.  Here are three of them frolicking amongst some typical Michigan winter scenery...

And here is another particularly impressive snow sculpture.  It kind of makes our anatomically correct snow dude from last winter appear inadequate.  Poor guy.

As spectacular as those snow sculptures were, we found ourselves even more captivated by the breath-takingly beautiful single snow flakes we kept finding on each other.  Here is a rather poor photo of a perfectly wondrous pair of tiny snow flakes that landed in Emma's hair...

After a few hours in Frankenmuth we decided we were cold enough and headed back to our cars.  On the way Lili expressed her extreme displeasure with the freezing temperatures.  Her little mittens just weren't doing the trick.  When George buckled that sad sack into her car seat and took off those mittens, he discovered that her fingers resembled icicles.  Oops.  Note to self: Buy Lili some better mittens,  Luckily she got over it.  All three of those girls recovered from our busy day out in the tundra....

"January brings the snow, makes our feet and fingers glow." -Sara Coleridge

Stay Warm, Y'all!

There's a new Lambie in Town...

...and his name is Monkey.

 

George bought this little guy many months ago in a shop called Mothercare in the UK.  Monkey got packed in a box and was rediscovered a couple of weeks before Christmas.  Since Lili didn't remember Monkey, George decided he would be a perfect Christmas gift for his littlest girl.  Since then Monkey has become a favorite.  Lili looks for him at bedtime and becomes distraught when he is not immediately available.  (Apparently he is a busy primate.)

George brilliantly suggested that we get a couple of other identical monkeys so that we wouldn't have as many panicked "Lost Lambie" moments as we did with Sophia during her tender toddler years.  George obviously forgot that Monkey was from Britain.  This explain all of the cups of tea and plates of biscuits he demands throughout the day.

Happy Weekend, Friends!

I Am the Grown Up!

I have this daughter named Emma, and she and I have had a passionate relationship from the beginning.  I told my husband earlier this week that she is like the boyfriend that I am head over heels for, but with whom I eventually have to break up because we fight too much.  Obviously I do not plan to "break up" with my daughter, but I do need to remember that I AM THE GROWN UP and when she pushes my buttons, it probably isn't the best course of action to stomp my feet and scream, "Arrrgh!!  EMMA!!" in the middle of the grocery store.

Hugging seems to help.  When I find that I have allowed myself to be dragged into the childish drama, when I realize that I am arguing fiercely with an eight year old, when I just want to vent and scream,  I remember: I am the grown up.  And I stop.  And I hug that impossible little girl for as long as it takes my blood pressure to regulate.  Then I say, "I'm sorry."  and "I love you."  Because I am the grown up, and I am the one who is supposed to remember and understand how difficult and awkward growing up is.  I am the one who is supposed to be compassionate when the drama erupts.  I am the one who is supposed to set a good example.  I am not perfect, but I am getting pretty good at hugging and saying, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I got frustrated and raised my voice.  I'm sorry you had to learn a hard lesson today.  I'm sorry that you don't have a perfect mother, but God put us together for a reason."

Who knows why Emma and I butt heads so regularly?  Why does it bother me so that her hair is always in her face or that she is constantly forgetting or losing things?  I am guessing that she and I have a lot to learn from each other.  Just like that boyfriend who was tons of fun one minute and then aggravating as snot the next, a day with Emma is both the best and worst of times.  Unlike that old flame however, she is stuck with me for good, and I wouldn't have it any other way... Let's keep hugging until I can say that with even more confidence.

"A daughter is a little girl who grows up to be a friend." -Author Unknown

p.s. Thanks to Molly Cook Photography for these fab pics of my beautiful Emma.

p.p.s  Thanks for allowing this mom to be so honest.

My Week With Mitch

This week I have spent a good bit of time with Mitch the painter.  Mitch resembles John Jacobson (show choir choreographer extraordinaire) in manner and voice.  I am pretty sure he is constantly high on paint fumes as he becomes far too excited about ordinary topics of conversation.  Mitch also has a startlingly loud voice and has scared the crap out of me several times this week when he comes up the stairs and his flamboyant voice booms something like, "Hey!!  Do you mind if I use the slop sink in your laundry room??"   Mitch has been re-painting our basement after the flood fiasco of 2011.  The basement looks great now that it has been painted in the lovely shade of "Goodwin Court".  (Ah, I know you are just picturing it right now.)  The key to Mitch's speed and accuracy, as far as I can determine, is the horrifying death metal he plays in the background all day long.  I can only surmise that Mitch paints so furiously well due to his fear that the devil himself is about to drag him to Hades through the speakers of his portable stereo.

I am really going to miss Mitch.  I think we will have to have him back again soon to spruce up some of the upstairs rooms...

The Rules

Since I shared some of Sophie's diary, I thought it would only be fair to invade Emma's privacy as well.  I just found a notebook of hers open on the bathroom counter.  Here is what I read...

For What I'm About to do There are Some Rules.

• No hitting people with books.
• No slapping people on the bottom
• No doing things that involve someone else's underpants.

Thank You!

You might be wise to follow these rules yourself today. 

From the Journal of Sophia Carson...

September 28, 2010
Last Thursday and Friday I had a fever for two days.  I did not feel good.  Not at all!

September 29, 2010
I do not like waking up erlee!!

November 10, 2010
Today my mom cut my fringe*.  My mom cut it neat and not in an angle for once.

November 12, 2010
Today I had porridge for breakfest.  My mom made it.  She put in some relly sweet bananna and wallnuts and it tasted like cake.  (Yay Mom!)

November 16, 2010
I threw up on Sunday.  It was like a huge pile of green peas because I had macaroni and peas for dinner.  (This entry was accompanied by a detailed illustration.)

 December 10, 2010
I did not brush my hair today.  It is like a rat's nest.  It is tangled.

January 4, 2011
I went sledding on the winter vacation.  It was brilliant!  My Uncull came as well.

January 10, 2011
I had Irish oats for breakfest.  It was bitter.  My mom will make it difrent next time.

I see a BLOG in somebody's future!!

Hope you all have a great weekend.

*"Fringe" also known as "bangs" by you American Yanks.

The Beauty of Snow

I continue to learn about myself.  I have struggled with wintertime blues for several years, but up here in Michigan the snow actually seems to be helping me.  For one thing it reflects the sunlight, and this is major since we all determined while living in the UK that the absence of sunshine is what drives me into the depths of apathy.  But in addition to simply magnifying that all-important light, it also happens to be beautiful.  There is something wonderful about rocking a warm baby in the big red rocking chair while looking out her bedroom window and seeing hundreds of snowflakes fall gleefully toward earth.  Falling snow is so much more pleasant than the weeping frigid rain that saturated my last five winters.

Falling snow is truly joy-inducing for me.  This morning when I was driving with Lili to my Jazzercise class, I got so tickled seeing the multitude of snowflakes hurtling toward the windshield that I honestly had to pull the car over and laugh for about thirty seconds before I could safely drive again.  My drive through the falling snow gave me the same sensation that I get when I am at the top of a roller coaster.  Crazy, I know, but crazy is WAY better than lethargic and depressed.

So today in honor of the beautiful snow, I am including for your enjoyment, The Snowflake Poem which was brought to me by my lovely Sophia.  And I'll throw in a picture of her sweet face to boot.

The Snowflake Prayer

Thank You, God,
For the gift of winter.
For the cold frosty snow
And shimmering icicles,
For the frozen lakes and rivers,
And most of all for snowflakes,
Ever so beautiful, so special,
So one of a kind.

Let them remind me that
I am like that in Your eyes…
So beautiful, so special,
So one of a kind.
Thank You, God for snowflakes,
Thank You God, for me.

~Anonymous

A Choir of Crickets at my Computer

All throughout the day I think of things that would be interesting to write about, and then I sit down here in the evening and listen to the imaginary sound of crickets chirping. I'd tie an ink pen around my neck and jot these brilliant ideas down on my arm when they occurred to me if it weren't for my precocious toddler who would immediately steal the pen and draw pictures of spaghetti on the wall.  I suppose if I didn't have such a wonderfully precocious toddler, I would just sit down at the computer and compose something brilliant when inspiration struck, but how annoyingly easy would that be?

So here I sit, waiting for Emma to come and declare that she is finished with all of her "getting ready for bed rituals," and that she is ready for her story.  Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets it  happens to be tonight.  Here I sit, wracking my brain for something interesting to tell you... Hmmmm....

I  have joined the church choir as of last Thursday evening.  Choir used to be such a huge part of my life, and I realized after sitting in that acoustically wonderful room and straining to reach those high soprano notes, that it has been a LONG time since this ole girl has done any real singing.  I have missed it.  Of course I never go a day without singing along with the radio or singing a lullaby or simply kitchen singing.  (You know "sung-to" vegetable soup just tastes better.)  But singing with a proper choir exercises a whole different set of vocal muscles.

Being a part of the church choir also means that I will get to have proper musical characters in my life again including the wonderful, larger than life choir director, Grace, and of course, the little old choir ladies.  You may know that there is a special place in my heart for "old ladies", and I use that term with great affection.  Having spent much time with my grandparents and their friends as a child, I developed a sincere affinity for geriatric companionship.  My brother in law tells me that I am an old lady in a "younger person's body."

All of that being said, the fact that I am now one of the youngest members of the Chancel Choir was not at all a deterrent for me when it came to joining.  This past Sunday Emma (my eight year old) came to the choir room with me for rehearsal before the early morning service.  She was impressed with our "Mum-um-um-um-um" warm ups and her visit to the choir loft at the front of the sanctuary.  The older members of the choir were impressed with her.  Celia, and adorable, diminutive alto with enormous glasses called out to her, "Do you sing, honey??" and without waiting for a response added, "Somebody get that girl in a robe!!"

On my way back up the hall after the service, Emma and I ran into (almost literally) Celia and Sally, another completely precious and tiny, elderly choir lady.  The latter was dwarfed by a three liter bottle of Pepsi that she was hugging to her chest.  Celia was looking guiltily over her shoulder as she shuffled purposefully back toward the choir room clutching an extra large box of ice cream sandwiches.  "Oh my goodness, ladies!!" I called out, "Is this the secret to all of your energy?"  The two of them giggled sheepishly and one of them answered,

"Yes, well we always have something in between the services.  I had some cookies at home, but I forgot them," she looked guiltily over her shoulder again and added, "I don't think anyone will mind..."   Then very quickly Celia opened the box as if it contained an illegal substance and said to Emma, "Would you like one?  I mean you DID come to choir today, so I think you can have one."  Of course Emma wanted one, and now she too loves the choir ladies.  When we got home, Sophia couldn't believe what a lousy choice it had been for her to stay at home with Dad and come to the evening service instead.  Choir rocks.

So how's that for the ramblings of someone with nothing to write about?  Hopefully I will be back again here again soon with or without something interesting to say...

Not Too SAD After All

Good news!  Although we have spent a large part of this past week dealing with the drama that ensued when we discovered that our basement had flooded, I seem to be coping  rather well with the dreaded Michigan winter and my seasonal affective disorder.  To be honest I haven't really been struck by the blues this year, but I did find that my sleep patterns were pretty disrupted throughout December.  Typically when I found myself wide awake and full of energy at 11:30 pm, I would entertain George by showing off my best Jazzercize moves in our home office.  He was impressed but seemed eager to hook up my light box so that I could get myself back into a more sensible Circadian rhythm.  Although I was full of fun late in the evening, I would be a groggy mess in the morning.  But I am pleased to report that the light box coupled with getting back into a more sensible routine seems to have fixed me.  Sometimes I can however sense that George yearns for my old second wind shenanigans, so I will oblige by throwing on  a little CeeLo Green and busting out some chasses and turned out triplets.  Nothing cheers a man up like a good Jazzercise demonstration after a long day at work.

With all of that said this week has been largely spent dealing with our swampy basement.  It really doesn't even feel interesting enough to write about.  Tuesday evening I went down the stairs to pull some chicken out of the freezer and discovered a complete marshland.  The rest of the evening was spent unpacking all of those now wet boxes that should have been unpacked months ago.  The next day Jim the plumber came and gave us a new sump pump and the Disaster Relief Dudes (not the actual name of their business) came and set up lots of giant fans to dry everything out.  Those fans are still going by the way.  We are slowly getting the basement back to normal and at worst it has all been a somewhat expensive inconvenience.

I remain hopeful that this week will present me with more inspiring writing topics than basement flooding.

p.s. Emma Carson is an excellent masseuse.  She has been exercising her talents on my back, neck and shoulders as I typed this.  Hence she is being honored with her photograph at the top of the page.  Thanks, Emma, and don't think I didn't notice that you also just put your bedtime off for an extra half hour.

An Old Problem, a New Year...

It's that time of year again, isn't it?  I didn't leave my Seasonal Affective Disorder across the pond in Wales unfortunately.  All week I have seriously struggled to drag my sorry behind up out of bed in the morning.  The fact that New Year's Eve brought us a balmy, rainy day that washed all of the sparkling white snow away hasn't helped my depressive moods, BUT it's new day and a new year, and I am choosing to fight my seasonal lethargy tooth and nail...as long as it's after 9 am.

As has been the case for the past few years, we do our New Year's celebrating on New Year's Day rather that the night before.  This gives us a chance to celebrate with our traditional New Year's meal, toast with sparkling beverages and make wishes for the upcoming twelve months, and there isn't even a small part of me that misses the late night celebrating.  As Danny Glover's Sergeant Murtaugh would say, "I'm too old for that $#!*."

I took the above photo (with my new Christmas camera) especially for my Welsh friend, Sonia.  Are you there, Sonia??  Notice not only the fabulous meal (with asparagus substituted for the more traditional collard greens), but also the fab Cath Kidston table cloth and the adults' champagne flutes with lovespoons etched into the glass.  We did it up right tonight.  In addition we added a new tradition to our New Year's repertoire: British Christmas crackers.  Those little devils are expensive over here, but they can be bought for 50% off after Christmas.  So...Bob's Your Uncle...new tradition: New Year's Crackers.  Cracking, eh?

Lili and George certainly thought the crackers were a grand idea.

So with celebrations suitably dealt with, I am still left with my dilemma of the annual winter time blues.  Sonia, yes, you again, could you just pop round here each morning and take me for a therapeutic walk round the City Forest?  No?  Well then, I am going to have to get creative.  I have too  many wonderful little people counting on me to be cheerful or, at the very least, awake for the next three months.  I shall keep you all posted on my progress this winter.  Last year getting out and walking each morning helped tremendously, but it is more than a little impractical to push a stroller and a shivering toddler through the snow.

I will continue to brainstorm as I take down the Christmas decorations and ease back into the non-holiday routine.  I am ashamed to admit that there was a large part of me that was relieved to take all of the Christmas music off my ipod today.  Since the shops started playing it the week after Halloween, I had more than my share.  Tonight in my New Year's kitchen we all listened to the playlist entitled "I'm a Little Bit Country," and while there is no Donnie and Marie on that list, there are all sorts of other country tracks.   This is a great departure back to my familial musical roots for me.  As a child and young woman I would have told you that I absolutely detested country music.  My college roommate and I would practically have simultaneous seizures in the cafeteria anytime a good ole boy in tight jeans played "Gone Country" on the video jukebox which resided there, but country music has slowly been winding its way into my good graces.  It started with kd lang followed by the Dixie Chicks and now includes Sugarland, Billy Currington, Zac Brown, the Wreckers and Patty Loveless just to name just a few.  Rest assured, Brother Drew, the playlist remains free from Alan Jackson strictly on principle.

Now that I've gotten that guilty little secret off my chest, I can share one last cheerful, happy new year photo with you...

Cindy Lou Who wishes you the happiest new year ever!!

"We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year's Day." -Edith Lovejoy Pierce