happy new year

A little over a week ago, I was feeling frustrated.

With my kitchen.

Do you know my kitchen is pretty bad to work in? Well, it is. Even though it might not look it at first glance (it's a decent-sized square room instead of being a galley or teeny-tiny space), it has a seriously deficient amount of cupboard and counter space. Trust me. I have to keep tupperware, sippy cups, baking utensils, etc. underneath my kitchen sink because if I put these things elsewhere, I would have absolutely no room to store things like, say, cereal or rice or dry beans or peanut butter. As if keeping cookie cutters beneath the garbage disposal isn't frustrating enough, this space issue also means I can't buy in bulk (which means I have to grocery shop more often, and you've all heard my nightmare stories about grocery shopping with the kids) and that when someone else comes to cook with me, she exclaims in shock as I dive headfirst into the corner cupboard for the tenth time, "You keep everything in there, don't you?!"

I have arranged and re-arranged my cupboards a zillion times as I try to beat the space issues.

I have come up wanting every single time.

So now you understand why I was so excited to receive one particular gift this Christmas. It will revolutionize my life. (I cook and bake quite a bit, you see.) It will make my kitchen more functional. And it certainly will make my kitchen more beautiful.

I know we're not supposed to have favorite gifts, since that would mean another isn't as favorite. But this year, I can't help having a favorite gift. Especially since it was handmade just for me by some very nice and favorite people. (There may have been others involved in the making of it, since their house is also home to other friends.)

My new plate rack/tea cup hanger/shelf. For above my kitchen table. To empty out the dish cupboard and fill it with tupperware and sippy cups and baking utensils. To be beautiful.

Don't you love it?!?!

My apologies in advance to those of you with dial-up internet connection: there are a lot of pictures in this post. But for those with high-speed and who call my children "grandkids" or "neice/nephews" or "good friends," this is for you!

Ready for the Christmas Eve service
(I didn't end up going because Jack was so sick, but I heard it was amazing...)

Spiffed up

So cute!


After the service, one last look at the tree with presents still wrapped and waiting...

Opening his gift from Jack (who'd had Tylenol and was by then sleeping)

Opening her gift from Gabriel

The tree and gifts as it looked just before Daniel and I collapsed in our bed!
(I really can't complain--we managed a record-early 11pm bedtime)

Christmas morning "Cheers!" (with apple juice??? )

Our gift to Gabriel was a train set

Our gift to Bronwyn was dollhouse furniture and figures
(the dollhouse is a hand-me-down from my sisters and me)

Jack's "big gift" from us was his very own toddler-sized bath towel
(I'm so sad he's outgrown his baby one... )

New pjs from Uncle Ry, Aunt Danica, and Jameson!

Reading Fancy Nancy, from Nana & Papa

New heels from cousin Jocelyn!

Jack managed to open this one almost completely on his own!

Trying out the new toy from Grandma & Pap-Pap

An official college-sized football from Mom & Dad P.

PlayDoh and accessories from Grandma & Pap-Pap!

A Little People boat from Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa P.

Jack is in love!

Altogether fancy, thanks to Aunt Beanz!

That's all for now. A video or two will come shortly...

A train set and a dollhouse. No snow and then snow. Cookies and pies and cakes and candies. Fevers and runny noses and minimal sleep. Red bows and St. Nicholas wrapping paper. Stuffed stockings and pretty gift bags. Mom and Dad and sisters and brothers. Home and travel. A thoughtful husband and really cute kids. Surprises and kind gestures. Work and rest.

He came that I might live.

Really live.

We've had a wonderful Christmas, and our two days in Cortland only seemed to lengthen the holiday celebrations. I must confess that I don't quite feel ready to re-establish regular life; this is all too much fun. I like gift-giving. I like long meals and burned-out candles. I like the pause we all take.

I like Christmas.

I suppose the reason colds and flus and high temperatures never come at a convenient time is because, well, they're just plain old inconvenient. Most certainly I wouldn't have picked last night to be waking with Jackson more than once an hour, beginning the day with him before 6am, and then staying home from church because he's feverish and fussy (though, really, he's very good-natured when sick and I am blessed by this)... But then again, I wouldn't really have picked another day, either. And as I search for the silver lining in this cloud--which goes against the grain of my negative nature but is something I am trying ever-so-hard to do more of these days--I think of how nice it is that he's taking a good nap (30 minutes so far, which is a longer stretch than we managed throughout the night) and of how glad I am to be making something chocolate-y for Christmas dinner dessert. Yesterday I made two apple custard pies and two pumpkin cake rolls (one with walnuts and one without), but I just didn't manage to find time for the "rich" dessert I had in mind; a morning with the older two children off at church with Daddy and my little man catching up on much-needed Zzz's gives me just such the opportunity!

My favorite part about Christmas is how constant the reminders of God's goodness are. From the carols playing on the loud speakers at Wal-Mart, to the nativity scenes set about my home, to the Christmas story being read over and over again, I am refreshed in the knowledge that my Father is my Provider. He made a way where there was no way.

And with this knowledge comes such peace and contentment. It is inevitable! The difficulties of today, the pain of yesterday... It all melts away in light of His tender love and care. The future may have been unsure and a bit frightening before, but when considered with His plan in mind, it is only bright and victorious. Because of this little Babe come to earth, this obedient Son who gave Himself up, we will one day reign with Him forever. It is settled and sure.

I am so very glad!

Gabriel and Bronwyn tell me daily how much they love "Christmas-time," and their faces glow. We talk about what Christmas is really about; and why we give gifts to one another. And as we talk about the Greatest Gift ever given, I breathe a prayer, offering with feeble heart the rather small but greatest gift I can give: myself. Again, I ask that He would take me as I am and spend me as He will. It is only reasonable, after all.

Joy to the world! The Lord is come
Let earth receive her King
Let ev'ry heart, prepare Him room...


Edit: Happy Birthday, Jesus!

For homemade eggnog:

1. Wash eggs with soap and water. (I'd use about 6 eggs for a batch of eggnog; we used 18 when my family was here and had leftovers.)

2. After beating the eggs in a mixing bowl, add milk, sugar, vanilla, and a little imitation rum flavoring. This is all done to taste. (Sorry--my family doesn't use a recipe.) We like a good amount of milk (at least equal to the eggs) since none of us like our eggnog thick; and we don't use as much sugar as you would taste in the store-bought stuff either.

3. Pour into small glasses and sprinkle lightly with nutmeg (The fresher, the better. Go to the co-op for the good stuff.)

4. Enjoy thoroughly!

Every gift is wrapped. The cookie tins are still pretty full, even after hosting Family Dinner here on Tuesday. Sunday morning and Sunday evening clothing has been mostly determined, including my two eBay "steals" of size 3T dresses (one Gap, one Gymboree) for $1.99/piece. (For all you eBay'ers out there, you'll be pleased to know that I even got combined shipping since they were from the same seller!) Plans for the weekend are coming together and they are all of them fun. I know what we will read together come Christmas Eve, what I will serve for breakfast Christmas morning, and how we will give gifts. (We'll be handing them out one at a time, like my family and Daniel's family has always done.)

Now all that's needed is a good snow.

Or not. I suppose I can handle yet another "green" Christmas.

(Who ever coined "green" Christmas? It sure looks brown out there to me...)

I find Christmas as a mom to be far more exciting than Christmas as a kid--and that's saying a lot! Excited or not, I am planning on getting a lot more sleep Christmas Eve than I did last year. Not being 37 weeks pregnant should help that cause.

I'm sure the thrill of winter will soon wear off--maybe it's just because it's been so unseasonably warm to date--but I am excited for so much more than just Christmas Day. We'll soon be ushering in the boot-stomping, rosy-cheeked season of funky snowmen, wool sweaters, hot cocoa, and cozy aphgans. What's not to love???

With every holiday, we transition more and more to our own family traditions. Many of them are borrowed and blended and some of them are altogether new; the sum of them all makes us us. Last year, when out of state travel wasn't a good idea considering my quickly-approaching due-date, Daniel and I looked at one another in awe as we realized that our days of joining others' Christmas Day celebrations are most likely over. At least for the next 15 years or so, we've got to figure this thing out for ourselves. Our own stockings. Our own Christmas morning breakfast. Our own method of gift-giving. Our own traditions.

And, yes, our own gift exchanges.

Today, we joined my family for the traditional Family Shopping Day. You know, the day when we all exchange names and buy another a small gift (it started at $5, now it's up to a whopping $7) to be given Christmas Eve when everyone sits around the lit tree in their pajamas. But this year, instead of being part of the larger family gift exchange, we gave money to our children so they could have an exchange of their own. Tired toddlers don't do well with traipsing about all evening long, so this year we will retire to our own living room beside our own Christmas tree, eating our own cookies and drinking our own homemade eggnog (just wash the eggs
beforehand and, trust me, you'll live and--amazing!--you'll actually like the eggnog since it won't be thick and artificial-tasting like that stuff you otherwise buy in cartons at your local grocery store is) and sharing in our own Christmas reading following the traditional service at the church.

I liked having the children take time to buy someone else a gift. It's so easy for the day to become a self-centered event. I love that their eyes dance with anticipation of stuffed stockings and that their fingers twitch as they look at the brightly wrapped packages under the tree, knowing that soon the day to discover the contents of those packages will be here, but I loved hearing Gabriel's thoughts about what Bronwyn might enjoy receiving even more than I love hearing what he would like. True, Jackson didn't quite know that he was picking out a gift for Gabriel, but in just a year or two more, he will. And Bronwyn found out that, though she liked the book on the shelf much better than the truck, the truck will be more enjoyed by her baby brother.

But I digress.

This traditions-of-our-own-making thing can be daunting. What to choose? There are so many good ideas out there and, truth be told, I'd be worn-out and fried if I tried to do them all, though at times I sure do find myself wanting to try! Finding the things that are meaningful and yet appealing to young minds and attention-spans can be tough. Tougher than I thought, anyway.

But, really, it's been a lot of fun. To stop and realize that we are shaping our children's memories around this time of year. To know that what we determine to do now will quickly be insisted upon by them in the years ahead. To wonder what smells and sounds will be their favorites to recall when they are grown.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's served as a good and fresh reminder that my choices throughout each and every day shape my children. The words I speak and the tone I set in our home will leave an imprint. The things I spend my time on and the activities and events I put effort into are teaching them of my values. What will they remember about me? (I doubt it will be whether or not I vacuum my carpet everyday.)

This is not a fear-filled thing for me to consider--I know that I will make mistakes and stumble along the way--because I rest in His ability to lead and guide them and me. But it is a sobering and inspiring thing for me to consider. The potential I have for marking these three young lives with kindness, patience, truth, joy, and peace is unparalleled.


So the real question is: should they dive into the gifts or take turns opening?

She gave me the idea of taking some snapshots of my home decorated for the holidays. I was too tired to do a whole lot (read: didn't feel like making sure everything looked just right!), but I took a couple pictures and uploaded them to my flickr account. If you'd like to see a bit of my favorite house decorated for Christmas, go here.

As for pictures of my kiddos, they still get a place of prominence--right here where I write!

my two boys

he sure has learned how to perform for the camera!


the classic Brownyn-look


decorating cookies

"Am I allowed to lick?"


Yummy!

There's a lot that goes on in my house everyday. Within a one-hour span of time, there might be babies born, castles overtaken, Mack truck accidents, and breakfast, lunch, dinner and tea served. There are days I share my home with Spiderman, Nicole, Joseph and Mary, or The Cat in the Hat. We have our own version of wrestling matches (on occasion, Jack has been known to come out with large tufts of Bronwyn's curls in hand) and we must always be mindful of the three extra babies in the home, whom Gabriel and Bronwyn care for and require me to care for, too. In one day we might travel to Boston, Farmer Will's yard, New York City, and to watch a Christmas play--and more!

It's no wonder that come evening, I'm tired!

Raising children takes a lot of work. I feel I am only barely tasting how much energy and investment my offspring will require of me. Sometimes I like the taste. Sometimes (I'll be honest) I don't.

I don't like it when they don't sleep well and much, when they disrespect me to my face and/or behind my back, when they lie, when they cry hysterically, when they interrupt my projects, when they fling food onto the freshly vacuumed carpet, or when they break our belongings. But it happens. All of it. Sometimes all in one day.

My children cost me. Even when it's a pleasant investment--perhaps snuggling in freshly washed pj's with the scent of freshly washed hair and bodies while reading a comforting bedtime story--it's a denying of what I might otherwise be doing with my time for the sake of my children. I'll be yet again honest: sometimes I don't like being so generous.

I've been blessed in a wonderful mother example throughout my childhood that helps me set aside the me factor and make the right choice. After 19 years of living in Mom's home, I usually know what the right choice is even when I don't like it. She showed me.

I've also been blessed in always being in church families that esteem and treasure the role of a mom in her children's lives. I like that most of the Christians I know don't look down their nose at this 24-year-old mom-of-3 but, rather, tell me I'm doing a good job and that they appreciate what I do. (I suppose you have to be a mom to realize how priceless it is to hear someone say, "Thanks," when you've not done anything that immediately touches their lives.)

Sometimes role models and others' encouragement isn't enough, though. The overwhelming waves of insecurity, feeling incapable, wanting to quit, and self-centeredness can't be held at bay by any human effort.

That's when I look to Jesus.

He was a pretty good example of laying down His life, I'd say. His love stretches so far beyond anything I can comprehend. That God Himself would become a man... that He would subject Himself to the pain and sorrow of this world... that He would endure for years the scorn of others'... that He would die an awful death for me--for every single person... that He would do this, and that He would look to Heaven all the while...

Jesus' love is enough.

To hold the waves at bay. To guard me from the enemy's whispers. To protect and prosper my life. To help me lay myself down again. To teach me how to live. To bring me through this world. To carry me Home with Him.

He's enough. And I love Him for being enough.

I was reading the latest Above Rubies issue last night and was extremely surprised to see that one of the women who wrote an article has a daughter named Bronwyn. I pointed it out to Daniel saying, See! We're not the only ones who like the name!

More surprising, though, was the same-second realization that this family also has a son named Gabriel. I mean, what are the chances??

I've always thought there are certain names that seem to go together, like Sarah and Laura and Emily. (It often seems that if you meet a Sarah, she has a sister named Laura or Emily and vice versa.) Who knows? Maybe in the next ten years we'll start a new trend: Gabriels and Bronwyns making up sibling sets!

One more month.


Until we're singing Happy Birthday to my baby.

Until he's got a birthday celebration under his belt.

Until Bronwyn, when asked his age, won't say, He's just a baby.

Until my little guy--my round red-headed infant--crosses that 1-year mile-marker.


Is it okay for me to feel a little sad about this?


(Yes, Lisa, I cry!)

I feel like I should write. Not to make something worth reading, but to clear my head. Not because anything monumental has or hasn't happened, but because sometimes it's in the "norm" that I forget to process.

The activities of my days have been pleasant, actually.

Tuesday afternoon, while 6 eyes were closed tightly in a much-needed pause from the bustle of Christmas-y days, and as I baked cookies (peanut butter blossoms, which I'll have you know is a compromise leaning Daniel's direction since I don't think peanut butter blossoms look one bit holiday-ish and I make them only because they're an absolute favorite of his), Daniel sat in the kitchen and talked with me. We didn't talk about anything in particular. In fact, we took a break from thinking through next semester and promised not to mention 57 Market Street. Our conversation steered clear of child-training or house projects and we refused to discuss any organizational strategies that the worship team might benefit from. We just talked.

It's been too long since we last did that.

(Our Friday night "date night"  record was 4 successes, 12 failures. It was better than if we hadn't tried at all, we tell ourselves, as we promise to do better next semester.)

Yesterday I got out of the house for 3+ hours without any small children as I did some purely fun shopping with my mom and big sister. A younger sister stayed with the kids until Daniel got home and could take over. I reveled in getting out of the van without unbuckling a single carseat and in shopping without carting a heavy diaper bag around, among other things. I made it to the SLU bookstore for the first time since I moved here. (As I told my family on Tuesday night, it's not exactly a "kid-friendly" environment!)

It felt like a breath of fresh air, those couple hours.

And, you know, around such activities I've cooked some meals, cleaned a bathroom, scrubbed three heads and six feet, read stories, wrapped gifts, and washed dishes. I've cried twice, laughed a lot more, and wondered how life can be so beautiful and hard all at the same time.

My emotions are unpredictable. I am happy when circumstances would say otherwise. I am sad when everything around me would indicate gladness. Contentment, I continue learning, has less to do with what I have and more to do with who my heart is clinging to.

Jesus, name above all names
Beautiful Savior, glorious Lord
Emmanual, God is with us
Blessed Redeemer, living Word

I've been considering writing a book directed toward toddlers and young children titled Things You Ought Not Say and Do. (If I thought it would actually help, I would. In truth, only one thing drives foolishness from the heart of a child and that one thing is not good books, reasoning, or philosophies.)

In the first chapter--maybe even on the first page--would be the following instruction:

When already in trouble for smacking your brother, do not say, "Daddy, you're stupid." This will not go well for you.

Ah, the eye-opening experience of watching a 2-year-old learn.




*Side Note: You know you're a mom when your favorite thing about your husband's day off is that he'll take on the kids' bad attitudes for a full 24 hours, thereby relieving you of the burden of training them for that period of time.*

Yesterday morning's sermon was good for me to hear. Dad talked about the cost that comes with choosing to follow Christ a second week in a row as we looked first as Mary's life and then at Joseph's. I think this theme comes up often because we need to hear it a lot.

Following Jesus does cost. It has cost me in the past and sometimes I have been upset by this.

And then other times, like yesterday, I look at exactly what it has cost me... and what it has cost looks like very little compared to what I have gained.

* * * * *

Our tree is beautiful. It's my favorite that we've had yet.

Our house is also beautiful. Perhaps I feel that it was made for Christmas because I moved in last year on December 13th so I knew it first as a holiday-home, but I must say that when I see it from the outside with electric candles in every window and wreaths adorning the windows and doors, it looks like something straight from Colonial Williamsburg.

(I love Colonial Williamsburg.)

* * * * *

The countdown has begun:

6 days until Louissa comes home.
14 days until Christmas.
21 days until 2007 begins.
34 days until Jackson turns 1 year old.
77 days until Gabriel no longer attends nursery.

This helps me see today as a gift. I will never have this moment again.

* * * * *

Coffee from the SLU bookstore is the best coffee to be had in the North Country.

Officially.

* * * * *

Good night.

Environment can be such an amazing conduit for peace. Dim lighting is an example of this. (Or maybe it's just me that is amazed at the calm that fills my house the minute daylight has been erased and candlelight takes its place.)

But peace is not contingent upon my surroundings.

In other words, I can be at peace even in a dirty, cluttered house that is loud with the sounds of whining and bickering.

This is a hard lesson for me.

I like order--almost too much. I am beginning to think that the sense of peace I derive from opening a clean refrigerator or a closet full of clothing hanging neatly (all facing the some direction and organized by type: dressy, casual, etc.) is a bit quirky, but I haven't been able to change the fact that it really does comfort my soul to see such things.

What I can change and need to change is my ability to be at peace even when my surroundings are not.

Peace isn't here. Peace is Jesus.

Am I full of Jesus today?

Picture-Taking with Toddlers

After Jackson's morning nap and some play time for Gabriel and Bronwyn, I drew a bath. All 3 children were soon splashing and grinning. Perfect. Everybody happy.

Green plaid, red corduroy, a hand-me-down reindeer sweater: the pile of clean clothing awaiting my children was certainly of the festive variety.

Hair was brushed, moisturizer applied to chapped cheeks. Every shoelace was tied, every collar adjusted. And everybody was still happy. Wonderful.

Bronwyn, stand next to Gabriel.

Nothing.

Bronwyn, did you hear Mama?

No movement, just a scowl.

That quickly, all my picture-taking efforts were thrown out the window. That quickly, a full-blown, 20-minute training session was begun. (Trust me, even after the obedience issue was dealt with, there was no way any nice pictures could be taken. Unless, that is, you want to record puffy and red eyes, standing tears, and quivering lips.)

It's mornings like this that make it difficult to answer questions like, What do you do all day?  Hmmm... What do I do all day?

Getting a Tree the Right Way:

Jackson in Merrick's old sled


Aunt Julia giving Gabriel a lift on the way to the trees


Jack and Bronwyn


Daddy at work


Proud Conquerors!


Bringing the tree home


Bronwyn and Gabriel rather pleased

What kind of lights should be on a Christmas tree?

This is the million dollar question, I've found. It seems no married couple can quite agree on white/colored, small/big bulbs. For Daniel and I, the issue was simplified by a serious lack of selection our first Christmas (compounded by a serious lack of $$, but that's not unusual for most newlyweds). Small bulbs were everywhere in stores, but since Daniel and I both hate the miniature lights (at least we agreed in that), we hunted and hunted and were satisfied with the first big bulbs we found that weren't for outdoor use and were marked 35% off. They happened to be clear, which was my preference. Colored lights were Daniel's preference, but beggers can't be choosers and neither can people decorating their tree the week before Christmas, so we took what we found.

Five years later, I'm really glad we don't have colored lights since the big clear sparkles we've got somehow fit better in our formal dining room (where we set up the tree) than blue and green and red would. I'm not always sure Daniel feels quite as pleased, and I'm almost sure my kids wish our lights weren't so plain.

Actually, the only time I feel a twinge of regret about having settled on clear lights is when I see my kids' eyes as they take in a tree blinking with colored lights, but then I think about how much I hate blinking lights and remember why I'm the decorator and my 2- and 3-year-olds aren't.

Nonetheless, tomorrow we are off to cut down our Christmas tree and decorate it. In the afternoon, while our kids nap, we will string our three strands of big, clear bulbs around it. By evening, it will be perfect, especially since Gabriel is now old enough to really take part in the decorating, which means the finished product will have an uneven distribution of ornaments. (This, to me, is required for a tree to look right.) I will sit in my living room and wonder how the lights of a tree at night in my home makes the whole world seem more peaceful.

*sigh*

Too bad both spouses can't be so satsfied.

One Christmas dinner cleaned up.
Two siblings (and their baby) come and gone.
Three kiddies tucked in bed.
Four salt trucks passing by.
Five figurines gathered around the Babe.
Six dirty socks in the hamper.
Seven shoes lined up by the door. (One is yet on the loose.)
Eight candles still flickering.
Nine rooms making up a home.
Ten times ten blessings, today alone.

I've been thinking about Christmas. (Who hasn't been?)

About the Why and also about the How.

My tendancy, I confess, is to get caught up in the details. I like to make things work and I like things to work well. Food, gifts, the house? Not just food, gifts, and a house, but works of art. After all, I know the Why of these things, I know that there is meaning behind the traditions and rituals of Christmas. The problem is that sometimes I forget that my children don't know just because I know. And sometimes when I realize this, in the moment of desperate reaction, I let the pendulum swing a bit to forcefully.

Last year I wanted to throw it all out. You know, forget about the wrapping and special recipes and lights strung just so. It seemed to interfere with what really matters. But this year I am reminded of why we have traditions; why we work so hard to create moments.

This afternoon as I wrapped three gifts, pulled out the already-worn red tablecloth, lit the candles, and called for holiday music, the atmosphere of my home transported me to a hundred different memories, all of them full of colors and scents and sounds that, at first glance, might not seem to have much to do with spirituality but, because of how my parents handled those moments, are today rich for me with soul stirring and awakening. Red and green aren't just red and green. Candles aren't just candles. Special foods and pretty tables and wire ribbons and silver bells are all, for me, pointers to the Gift of Life.

It's not a new revelation that the How isn't the problem and that my focus is the problem. And it's definitely not a new revelation that my own efforts at changing simply don't work. What is new is the faith I have this year that He is changing my heart and, yes, my ability to lead my children.

You see, I've never considered myself a good leader or much of a visionary, but apparently He sees me as enough of one to have entrusted three lives to my care. And regardless of how prone I am to getting lost in the details--in the How--He wants to teach me how to keep the bigger picture--the Why--as my minute-by-minute, day-by-day goal so that my children are given the gift of experiencing Him in their humanity. The blessing is that He wants to teach. He doesn't expect me to figure it out on my own.

So this December 1st, I am not feeling a bit overwhelmed by the lists or hopes or Hows. I am looking forward to many a candelit evening and lots of tasty treats... I am looking forward to reading stories, snuggling in flannel pajamas, singing carols and Rudolf with gusto, and unwrapping the presents under the tree... I am looking forward to teaching and showing my children how every bit of human beauty, treasure, emotion, and sentimentality is a tool of the Spirit to draw our hearts back to the peace and hope of His Son.