**MAGIC**

I know it's not about the presents.
It really is not.
Especially now for me as an adult.
I love to give and am in want of nothing. Which I am grateful for everyday.

But the magic started with the presents.
It started with the anticipation of waiting for Santa to come on Christmas eve and the sheer, overflowing JOY of seeing our living room on Christmas morning. The spilling of the gifts from under the tree that stretched across the room was AWEsome. Truly.
And thinking back on that time I know that this is how I learned to appreciate the magic that is surrounded by Christmas.
Because when Christmas comes we can be together.
When there is an underlying excitement and suspense and BELIEF then other stressors and anger and real world type stuff can be put aside for a while. Because when we feel this good we want others to feel it too, and we try to spread out cheer the ways that we can.


When Kara posed the question at the beginning of the season about what inspires us could only think of this.
This time of year will always be magical for me, and now with a child it has a renewed spirit and life. I am thankful everyday of the work that I do and the people I get to meet doing it. On the day before Christmas eve I met a patient who was POW in Germany for two years during WWII, and his wife was telling me the story of going to his funeral. I sat in awe of their story and had in the back of my mind how blessed I have been. I am moved by everyone around me, and will try to share their stories, good and bad, to help inspire others. And I will try not to do it only around Christmas.

I will remember seeing our Christmas tree from the olden days, and build magic for others like was done for me.






btw...despite a brief ER visit...X had a GREAT christmas

Crisp Bills.

In my heart of hearts I know I'm supposed to be a philanthropist.
The thought comes to me two, three, sometimes even four times in one day.

I think that is why I got so much joy out of watching the garbage man pull the Christmas envelope off the lid of the can yesterday. And tonight, I held the thank you card from our postman in my hands when I came in from work.

We don't give much, in terms of Christmas "tips" to those who make our days and weeks run more smoothly. But we give what we can. And, we do give.

This year, like every other year that we've owned Happy House, I watched the garbage man walk the Christmas envelope to the door of his truck and place it on the seat. Just before he set back out to work - dumping our can and recyclables, he did what he always does:

He turned toward the Happy House, kissed his right fist and held it high to the heavens. Then he gave a wave and a smile in my general direction.

As in years past, this is when I stepped back toward the curtain in the living room - not wanting to be seen. But certain I'd been caught.

I don't even know his name and yet, this annual exchange is one of the most powerful I've come to know in the Christmas season.... and with that, his truck drove out of sight.

***

It is my Dad who taught me that the Christmas envelopes should carry crisp bills (not wrinkly dirty ones). So Dec and I went to the bank yesterday. He pushed the buttons while I navigated through the ATM prompts.

Crisp bills in hand, we ventured home to write out our envelopes. Mostly they just said "thank you" and "merry christmas". Most were in Dec's darling 5-year-old handwriting.

***

For a few years, I sat with Dad at the dining room table in our old house while he wrote the XMAS cards. Several times I was given the job of labeling all his Christmas envelopes in MY handwriting. I proudly stuffed them too, with bills so crisp just looking at them was grounds for a paper cut.

***

Will Dec do the same with his kids?

While he stuffs envelopes alongside his son or daughter will he be thinking:
"It truly is in giving that we receive."

Is that what Dad thought while I worked on the Christmas envelopes alongside him?



I've never thought about it before now.

But I'm pretty certain it was.



(That image isn't mine but I found it here: http://www.noveltieswholesale.com/holidaycheer.html)

no picture today because

I decided not to shower this morning.
No, don't stop reading.

It's only because I showered before I went to bed last night.

Anyway, by the time I looked at the clock on my work computer this morning I had already said "I am sick of this day". That was at 7:12. I'd been up for approximately 2 hours.

What really stuck the fork in me was when one of my girls said "it's weird, some days your eyes look different" I am thinking, oh does this shirt make them look bluer... "like today they look more tired." That was at 8.

Tomorrow morning, I will shower.

toothbrush tunes.

this evening i made up the funniest song about brushing teeth.

dec and nonie laughed and laughed and laughed.

it was great.

now, for the life of me, i can't remember any of the words.

something about brushing to the right...?

brushing high, brushing low....?

i can't even think of the tune...

...and protect us from all anxiety...

I would love to write you something that will transform you. Move you. Resonate with you. But I am just too worn out, too beat down, too uninterested. All I can think of, all I can imagine as the lining on this cloud, are eight sweet weekdays free of the kids.

The problem, you see, is that I can't seem to put 1/2 my effort into things. Not even 3/4 of my effort. Sometimes Eric laughs when my eyes start to droop during dinner.
"I just left it all on the field" I tell him.
Like I am still an athlete and I played my heart out. And I have nothing left of myself to give.
He smiles, but I think he is worried. Worried that my work will always drain me of my energy. That I will always bring home projects. That weekends will be filled with glitter and gluesticks for the rest of our days. He asked me if I was going to heat up my soup for lunch today. "Of course", I said,  cold soup? He said "Good, because I don't think you take care of yourself at work".
When I had the time, I put that soup in the microwave, and I ate it nice and hot.
It was, you see, my dinner.

As I shoveled the snowy driveway this evening I thought, at the outset, that I'd just do a little.
Maybe just the part by the door. But then I was at the car. Ok. Just a path around here. Alright, half the driveway will do. Well I might as well do this part, too.
Next thing I knew I had shoveled the whole thing. And I mean, there was hardly a speck left.

The trouble is, I know that something's gotta give. The teacher next door tells me "Oh I used to do that WHEN I WAS YOUNG". And I hear the bitterness in her voice. But, the fortuneteller, too. Like after a certain point, she couldn't keep up with herself. And she knows I'll get there. And I know I will, too. Because I don't think I can do it all, and I don't want the things I let slip to be the things that should fill me back up again. And I don't want it all to come caving in at once.

When I was good about filling my cup, when I had the luxury of time and my work stayed at work, I would say to myself "enjoy this, enjoy this..." to get me through the lows.
I stopped myself the other day when I found myself saying "and protect us from all anxiety, and protect us from all anxiety..."

When did that change?

Do Your Best.

Back in September this was the theme we introduced for the kids' 2010-2011 school year.
And I promised to reveal this great theme in my post here.
But then I didn't deliver on that promise. Until today.

Today I read this sign, carved by the hubs and hanging in a prominent locale in our kitchen.
I must scurry by it a gazillion times a day.
But today I paused, spun on my heels and read it.
Seconds passed on the clock as the words sunk in.

"Do your best".
(I can do that)

It doesn't say "Do it all"
(Which is good, cause I can't do that)

I carried on and realized quickly that I'd accepted these three words as my theme for today.
And actually, after mulling it over in the shower this afternoon,
I've decided to ride this theme straight into the New Year...

'Cause I can do that.

gotta go gotta go gotta go

I got a Kindle for Christmas.
It got shipped to a man in the next town over who happens to have the same name as Briny.
And when he left us a voicemail saying he thinks he has our Kindle I knew Santa had come early.

I am still feeling it out.
Still getting used to flipping with a button.
In our days of an abundance of technology, this new "toy" will take some time getting used to.
I love books.
Booksth, as Xave calls them (his lisp is great). There is something about the weight, the smell and the feel.
And there is an unknown reaction that happens in the body when surrounded by books. For me it is the bookstore.
And for Xave, it is apparently the library. The sudden "gotta go" type urge.

For the past several weeks, as Xave and I pull into the library, he starts shouting, "PEEPEE! PEEPEE THERE!"
Huh?
And the first thing we do is head to the potty seat, pull down the diaper so he can yell and scream at me that he does not, in fact have to do peepee. BUt after about 10 minutes pulling out every 4th book in the children's section asking "firetuck? firetuckbookmom? He gets the gotta go urge. And goes. And tells me after. And no, not PEEPEE.
And I can't say I blame him. There is not a bookstore I have met where the same thing hasn't occured to me.

So I slowly enter the realm of the bookless books.
And wonder about the relationship between books and bowels.
And am happy that at least one of my traits was passed on to my son.
So when people say "he looks just like his dad", I can always come back with:
"yes but he does THIS, just like me..."

These are Sheep.

And a friend in the field sent me the picture - cause when something amazing happens in the environmental sector - there is a ripple effect.

These are big-horn sheep who are being moved to an area, where just 3 years ago the natural habitat was too degraded to support them - their herd.

But, the land was restored to the point where it could naturally sustain the herd.

And so, ewe see, the sheep arrived via air mail...

The end.

Why are you throwing snow on my head?

Sometimes I wonder what Drake would say if he could talk.

Today I think he would have asked me why I was throwing shovels-full of snow at him.

I can't help but be sad about where he might have been this time last year. As I deck the halls, the walls, the windows, doors, his crate... I wonder if he was out in the frosty wide open. Struggling to stay alive. Or maybe he was in a mansion in Nashville. With little kids swinging from his floppy ears. I will never know. But now he's here. unamused by being buried in snow, getting it caught in his paws, me trying to get him to eat it.

There are just some things I can't do for him. "Butter will have to teach you how to play in the snow" I told him.

But can she teach him this?

And the floor shook beneath us.

A Sister.
A Sister-in-Law.
A Cousin.
A Might-As-Well-Be-My-Cousin.
A Best Friend.
And Me.

Snugged in to a NYC Winery to listen to never-heard-before-tunes.
A sweet soothing voice. An introvert, we mused. We laughed about his promise of "hits".
And that Sarah would marry him.
Specially crafted wines. And lack of kinder appropriate tunes.

A very memorable way to spend an otherwise cold, cold Friday eve.

And every time the subway ran under the winery - it shook the floors.

And I'll always remember it. All of it.
Including the giant Xmas trees awaiting the perfect SoHo lofts.

And how they smelled in the crisp air.

And then home by 3 to give way to sleep and dreams of brand new sets of wings.

Good to Each Other. When I'm Gone.

Sometimes I wonder if my children will be good to each other when I'm gone.

You know, when I'm not here to keep the peace?

Because sometimes a peacemaker is necessary.

Actually, a peacemaker was needed about 2 dozen times today. But who's counting?


Tonight and twice, I was reassured that they will be. (Good to each other when I'm gone.)

The first time I re-tucked Nonie into bed I made her cozy in a sea of flannel bedding with skiers on it. I kissed her forehead, complemented the ornament she hung on the tiny Xmas tree in their room and told her I loved her. Twice.

"Mommy kiss Dety", she ordered before I tiptoed out of the room.

So I did. For a second time this evening, I found his smooth forehead tucked in to his bed - asleep for a good 15 minutes already. And I kissed it - nice and loud so that Ms. Bossy would know I obeyed her.

******

But the second time she needed to be re-tucked in (do the math, this is her third time being kissed goodnight - darn those late-day naps) - I found each of her sleeping pals, tucked them in cozy under the hand-knit blankets and smooched her on her forehead.

We rubbed noses for a while and I tried to find her big blue eyes in the glow of their Xmas tree lights but I couldn't.

So I giggled. And got up to leave.

Halfway to the door I heard it again.

"Mommy kiss Dety", she reminded.

So I went to Decky's bed, found his smooth forehead and smooched it again.

******

There is a bond between my children that I get glimpses of but do not fully comprehend.
I guess that's to be expected, because the bond hasn't fully established itself.

Many days, all I hope for is that my children will be good to each other when I'm gone.

And tonight. And Twice. I was given a glimmer of how it will be.

And it looked comforting and good. And full of love.

ME.

I think I suffer from mild to severe Christmas light decoration jealousy.
And this is only the beginning of the list of things that just aren't right about this week.

A co-worker handed me a piece of paper and told me to do with it "what the spirit guided me to".
It was a piece of paper. A simple newsletter.
What the spirit guided me to?
I can't get it out of my mind.
The spirit?
Of course, yes, I know what she means.
And of course, yes, I do believe in her message.
But I get so caught up. In life. Stinking, sometimes. Especially the week after a vacation in a room of 24 six year olds who seem to be on some personal quest to say my name as many times as they can without going hoarse. They never do seem to go hoarse. But it's a mystery to me how that is.
Oh anyway, I just take it all so personally. Where have a failed the child who opened up the bottle of glue and poured it all over the desk on Wednesday morning? How have I misled him? No worry that his father is in jail. It is my shortcoming that has gotten him to this point.
At would point should I have explicitly told those boys that they shouldn't punch a classmate in the stomach at recess? And the boy that got punched? When did I show him what putting up your middle finger means?

I get so self-centered. So wrapped up in me-ness. I assume I am the epicenter of all these actions and the roots behind them. But it is hard to separate the time, effort and money I put into making my room happen at all from the actions they choose while they are with me. They are with me for more waking hours a week than they are with their own families. Of course I take it personally.
But like I've said so many times before, and then forget once the words slip off the keyboard, I cannot think I am in this alone.
I am not in this alone.
Something is guiding me through it. 

And it's not all bad. There are silver linings, I just have to look harder for them.

Like... "Ms. H" (ugh) "here's you in your wedding dress"...

And, well, I still got my looks.

Charades

(Or as I like to say Sha Rods, sometimes it's fun to put the emPHAsis on the wrong syALLble.)

Family traditions. Some are traditional, say our (non)secret santa tradition.

Some should remain within the family and not be shared. (perhaps the quarter game of ourleen's future in-laws).

Then there are the ones that some families are great at and enjoy.

And others should not do.

Charades is one we are not so great at.

We are not actors.

We try, but it is pretty pathetic.

Fun? Yes... but a little sad.

And as I was thinking of this I have a vivid memory of an MV night, when another set of in-laws started a rousing game of charades.

And papa got this to act out:

To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar.

Even the best actor on his best day would struggle with this.

Poor papa.

I am not sure what he came up with. But I'm sure it wasn't pretty.

And I know I will never forget the name of that movie.

Here's to the holidays and all traditions, new and old.

This one I learned at the first Thanksgiving I spent with my in-laws.

A toast to the President.

Happy Holidays.

'Tis the Season....

'Tis the season....

when I take stock of what I have

been given.

And I think

Oh!

WOW!

(ALL FOR ME?)

THANKS!

***

It is also the time of year when I wrap the outside of Happy House in Christmas.

And that comes with its own set of Oh! WOW! moments.

Like, the other night I was on a step ladder hanging from the front tree where we've hung about 1,000 strands of white lights and 35 gold ball christmas ornaments.

I bent down the tippy top branch and hooked a gold ball to it. Yes! (I thought) I got a ball on the very top branch!!! (don't even ask me why this would be important to me. it just is).

Well, about 10 seconds later I heard the ball bounce off the roof of a neighbor's car - a good 30 yards down the road!!!

I'd launched that sucker right through the air and I nearly fell off the ladder with laughter because of it.

I mean, if anyone saw these antics they'd have me arrested - and the hubby would have dragged me inside telling me my decorating for the day was doneski.

Thank God this all happened in the cover of dark.

'Tis the Season.

be nice... or leave

I need to be nice. I know that. But it's not always easy.
I need to bite my tongue.
And put on a fake smile once in a while.
But it's not always easy.
I need to say "great idea"
or "I'll think about it".
But it's so hard.
So hard to have opinions these days.
And keep them to myself?
I am so bad at that.
Because I know it will just stew inside me.
And I'll marinate in negative emotion.
Then I'll bubble.
And you know what happens to bubbles?
They pop.
I got sick of popping a little while ago.
But I never used to be this way.
I was QUEEN of the smile and nod.
But I am changing.
And perhaps at the occasional expense of others-
I think I like it.

Even if Santa is watching.

Can you tell I had a weekend at the outlaw's?
Three months before the wedding?

Can you?

Hugs to MY people. My sweet, let-me-be-myself, people. 

10 Giving Thanks.

When there are 10 giving thanks at the homestead on thanksgiving...

T's pumpkin snowman looks to the drive and wonders where all the cars are.

And when we gather round the fire, we're all close enough to feel some of the warmth.

The cousins are controllable, quiet even -

And there is no Marky standing guard over the turkey plate.

And "who's missing?!? something's missing..." rattles in our heads... Our hearts.

And there is elbow room at the table, with conversations that are audible.

With just 10, there is room in the dishwasher for dessert AND dinner plates.

I can't recall the last time that has happened.

The dogs don't dodge oil splatters back by the pool, and they miss hanging with the boys amidst the fried turkey excitement/chaos.

There is no mention of hat parties - no pinatas are hung. But a few times, people do comment on how "small the group is this year...".

There was no line at the buffet!

In fact, the three cousins present ate dessert in the shadows of photos - pics of the missing four cousins.

There's the turkey plate Marky - see? No one dropped it.

When it is just 10 of us giving thanks together at thanksgiving,

the food tastes delicious, of course,

but none of us can shake the fact that

2/3 of the clan is missing.

And 2/3 of the clan is missed.

tricks

It is nice to have a minute to catch a breath.
I haven't had a minute to catch my breath in days.
Weeks?
No. Maybe two months.
Even weekends have been filled to the brim.

Drakey wagged his tail all morning, through his unusual mid-week daylight in the morning run, and gave me a dirty look when I went to get dressed.
He is smart,
I think as I walk to the pet store to buy him some bling.

I strike up a conversation with the owner of the store.
You should bring him in! She says.
I go on to tell her that while he does have a tendency to eat other dogs,
he is smart.

In my head I am thinking... because he doesn't pee in the house while I'm at work.
And he knows the difference between a weekend and a weekday morning.
Oh, and he can sit, and lie down, and stuff.

She tells me about her customer who has a golden,
who can read.
The dog can read.

I go home with a new enormous rope-and-ball contraption, and my head hung low.
Some genius I've got.

And then, he surprises me again.

He has taught his turtle to sit.

I breathe a sigh of relief.
He is smart.

Sunday Silhouettes & Big, Salty, Tears.

The biggest melt-down of his life (to date).

Followed by an exchange between two crying kids and one sick-as-a-dog mother.
And for the cherry on top? I cried too. Big salty tears.
Yup, I'm chalking them up to just pure exhaustion.

Sunday afternoon plans threatened to be canceled
(by me, the feverish mom).
Then Sunday afternoon plans most definitely canceled (by me, the feverish mom)
egged on by another tag-teamed tantrum.
Those are the events that lead to our (unscheduled) Sunday respite at the lake just down from Happy House.

And while we were there:
1. The kids forgot all about me being there.
2. I forgot about their tantrums. (Not quite as easily or as quickly as the kids forgot all about me being there - but I did my best to let it all go in a balloon - is that what we say sisters? I'm new to this balloon lingo)


3. My blessings became as clear to me as two beautiful silhouettes against a fading sun.

(oh, and Dec grew a halo and I spiked an even higher fever).
The End.

First Came Una.

In the order of things: First Came Una.

She arrived in a wrinkled bag with wrinkled tissue and looked like she'd been that way since she was packed up in Ireland. She made us laugh when we first saw her because at the time, Una's recipient (Dec) was a 2 month old boy of a boy.

So, when we unwrapped Una, her pinkness was somewhat shocking. It was the first pink present he'd received. But it came from Auntie Una, with love from Ireland. So this pink bear soon became Dec's crib mate. Una, the bear, is quite like the real-life Una (the dear Auntie). She's ever-present in this house (as the real Una is in our hearts and minds), she's so squeezable and lovable. The real Una can give quite a lovely bear hug too. But mostly Una is comforting to be around. Una helps us relax - just like the real one.

Next on the scene was Murphy.

His story has a bit more color. Red comes to mind.

He came by way of the Hospital ER when Dec sliced his fingers (almost) off. Once Dec was stitched up and sewn back together, we were handed Murphy. A small white schnauzer.

The hospital had received cartons of Murphys to give to children in the ER from one generous donor who wanted his beloved pet's legacy to continue. Murphy was an easy addition to our family, for Murphy is Dec's middle name. What are those odds?

The last on the scene was Sheila

Sheila was her given name sewn to her bottom. She came from Granny Tess' dear friends who handed the package to Dec while whispering to me "our grand daughters just love these stuffed animals!". When Dec unwrapped her he tossed her aside without even a "thank you" or smile and continued playing with his trucks. Sheila would be a tough sell.

That first day, Sheila didn't come close to winning Dec's attention.

But that tiny white poodle held her own.

***

Sheila was missing.

The other night when I tucked the kids into bed, Sheila was missing.

After an all-out search (with my butt in the air and crammed under beds for most of it) she was found minutes later squeezed behind our globey pillow and a lego tub.

Sheila! You silly doggy!!!

Sheeeeeeeeiiiiiiillllllllaaaaaaa!!!!

Came the happy hugs.

She was placed into her spot between the kids for story time.

***

You see, I'm not a huge fan of stuffed animals.

Unless they are special.

Luckily, these three happen to be.

Murphy. Sheila. Una. - they've absorbed more of my kid's tears, hugs, and spilled bottles of milk than any other things in Happy House.

Since the first few days I met the hubby I'd heard captivating stories of his extended family living in the emerald Isle.

Two Aunties (Sheila Murphy & Una) were among the wonderful people he spoke of with great admiration, fond memories, and laughter.

***

As it happens, the day after Sheila went missing from the children's bed -

Sheila Murphy' died in Ireland.

It felt quite right that we'd lead the all-out search for the missing piece of our incredible fun-loving trio and that she slept that night tucked into Nonie's right arm.

Just as it feels quite right to surround the children with warmth from their relatives who love them from afar.

And from above.

from the horses mouth

i like to get ideas.
from others.
especially ideas about food. and dinner. and stuff that is yummy.
if you tell me something is good, chances are i'll try it.
here are some things i have appreciated recently that were suggestions,

they are good.
from the horses mouth.
(going back to that post from t....again...WHAT IS THAT THING YOU ARE HOLDING?!)


1) spinach pizza roll: baby spinach, mozzerella, pepperoni and ricotta rolled up in pizza dough. yum.
2) keeping in the pizza theme: butternut squash sauteed with onions then add gorgonzola (thanks t)...put it on crusty bread or...roll it up in a pizza roll- delish.
3) coffee from a percolater. i had it at a patient's house and thought for sure she was using gourmet beans. turns out it was chock full o'nuts...super good and HOT.
4) cooking a whole chicken in a crock pot (ok, haven't done it yet but i pretty much ANYTHING that can be cooked in a crock pot and am intrigued- cooking whole anythings is scary)
5) the avett bros- some awesone brother keeps sending me cd's, i am a fan


ok...i'm tapped.
can't think of any other right now but i am tires and just made about 100 turkey cookies.

count your blessings

My days are strange. I find glitter in the radiator vents. I eat my turkey sandwich at 9:30 when my kids go to art. I clean up bloody nose-drippings off the floor.  I laugh it off when my student points to the word "Mass" and says that the last three letters make a bad word. Does your six year old know that? Or have I just done an amazing job teaching phonics?
But today I looked out on my domain and my heart smiled.
I felt it.
There they all sat. Engulfed in their work as I sat with three girls for a reading group.

I know that I am not doing this alone.
I count my blessings.

I come home to a dog wagging his tail to see me. Even though I leave him for maybe a little longer than I should. He's been sitting on the love seat all day. I can see his butt imprint. I set it up all cozy for him (shhh). He's kicked the blanket off - straight to the source. He's sassy. I like that.

I have health and a bit of wealth that is maybe not as monetary as might be nice but it fills me up. It looks like parents and sisters and brothers. In-laws and out. Nieces and nephews.

Spending my day with 6 and 7 year olds help me remember the fundamentals. The really simple things. The pleases and thank you's. Your welcomes and I'm sorry's.  The wants and needs.

I know I have much more than I need.

And I count my blessings.

Model Behavior.

For a little less than 5 hours last week, I was a fashion model.

***
HAIR
My hair was straightened, curled, straightened.... then slightly curled again.
It smelled divine once the darling woman at the sophisticated salon had worked her magic on it.
And I had soft wavy ringlets. She even gave my last ringlet curl a little ribbon coated clip to wear on my way from salon to show. "You know? To keep it just so...."

Oh yes. I knew. I knew that even my one ringlet curl in the front of my head felt doted on.

***
MAKEUP
Once at the venue, the makeup artist made my eyes "smokin".
Every time I thought she was done, she reached for another glob of shimmer, or sparkle, or misty shadowy powder, and laid on an additional thick coat. When she was finished with me, I struggled to keep my "smokin" eyes open from the weight of the makeup.

***
RUNWAY
First, the obligatory champagne. Then, the walk down the runway.
I stood tall. I smiled. I tried not to race (gallop, sashay, swagger....)
Then the quick help out of - and in to - and adjusting the clothes.
Then the jewelry.
Then the escort down the step of the stage out to the runway for a stroll down the runway. A second time. (Wow! is this funny!).

Next comes the FINALE. Women spill out from behind the curtains.
Cheering, clapping, flashing cameras. Stepping in tune with the clubbing music.
Circle back.
More cheering.

***
NO REALLY. A MODEL.
I was a model and I didn't hang a piece of clothing nor did I wear Spanx.
(Bri, sorry - did that catch you off guard?).
Fashion show, fashion show...fashion show at lunch. (Someone had to write that).

And we all know it was an honor to be asked to strut my stuff to raise money for a great cause alongside 17 inspiring women.
And yes, let it be known that I (really) enjoyed wearing the fur.
Roar.



***
NEXT TOP MOMDEL?
So, I came home late that night, tucked my sore toes into bed and just a few hours later two of the cutest munchkins in the world woke me up.
Cherub smile faces with giant blue eyes were peeking at me. (Me, the model).

Nonie & Dec, good morning! Thanks for starting the day with your incredible singing (WAY) out of tune accompanied by crazy dancing in the kitchen. Both behaviors serve as a powerful reminder to me of my real modeling job. Smokin' eyes optional.

HEY-

SOMEBODY SAY SOMETHING

IT'S TOO QUIET AROUND HERE

musings....

no, we don't carry our peepee around the house...

no, we don't surf on our library books...

i find myself saying the craziest things.

i actually have to turn my head and not show that i am laughing at what i say.

i mean, it's obvious to me not to pick up the little pot out of of the potty seat and carry it around the house to "show" everyone my urine.

and it's also pretty obvious to me that i shouldn't pee on the couch in my underpants, creating a large pool of urine. (thanks goodness for BOB and his durable furniture), but it blows my mind that these things are LEARNED, and not only that, I AM THE TEACHER.

but then there are the rules that i have given up on,

batty is allowed in the house now, and the ball with it, but it is winter and there is no way i am going out to play baseball all winter, so there.

and batty is allowed in bed. why not? if he wants to sleep with a bat under his back go for it! i do draw the line when he wanders into our room, anywhere between 3-7 am and CRIES that batty did not make the trip into the bed too.

i think he finally got it this a.m.

i have been holding my ground, trying to resist getting up and enforce the fact that whatever makes the journey from you bed to ours is what you get.

so this morning he arrived...taco, baba.....and, batty...

all was well....

as for the couch:

BOB pulled through, a little dawn soap on the microfiber and PRESTO! no more wee stains

as for potty seat:

not so sure where the urine that was in the potty seat went too...it was carried from the bathroom down the hall...no evidence that pee was put into real BIG potty, will need to investigate further

cookies

Ran into a little trouble adding the flour.

Don't fret.

Drakey licked it up.

Naptime.

One by one Nonie strolled the grounds collecting each scarecrow.
She brought them to the front garden for a nap.

And when she was done tucking them in amongst the leaves and weeds, she seemed so content with her two-year-old-mother-hen-self.

Simple Demands.

Twice today Nonie barked orders at me. And twice today I was caught off guard.

The first time was when I stood outside waiting for Dec's bus and she wanted to come but (at that very moment) was without pants, shoes, jacket, or hat and had a terribly runny nose. So I didn't let her out.

"Come in!" she demanded. "Come in!" she barked once more.

When I turned to ask her who would get Dec if I came inside?

She answered quite emphatically: "COME IN!".

The second time she bossed me was when I raised my head after lying with her for 20 minutes telling her stories about how much I love her. I lifted my head to scratch it and she again yapped:

"Lie Down!". "Lie Down!". "LIE DOWN!"

Whoa Nonie.

But she had a day today. Not terrible, but rougher than most.

And as I sit and type and she lies and sleeps, it makes me happy to know that home is where she wants to be.

And by home I mean nestled inside our cozy Happy House.

And by home I mean, nestled inside my arms.

Now - hours later, I replay her two simple demands of the day and know that they translate to so much more.

woah baby

Today was a rough day to be Drakeson Murphy. And when it's a rough day for your dog, well my friends, it's a rough day for you, too.
It all started with a run we went on Saturday morning. It was awesome! The longest one the pooch and I have gone on together. Which means, sadly, the longest run I've been on since we got him. Which is, sadly, not even as many miles as fingers on one hand.
Oh alright, anyway. Drake-Murphdog could run forever in this weather. So sometimes (especially up a hill) I yell "MUSH" like he is a husky running the ice-roads of Alaska and implore him to pull me faster!faster! up the hill.

All's not well that ends in this perma-limp I've had since I pretended to be Sarah Palin on her new TLC series.

Which's brings Ddog and I to a hobble of a run this morning in the 5:30 darkness. But also, isn't it supposed to be a little bit lighter in the morning? I forget every year how this all goes down. Dog did not appreciate the abbreviated hobble and refused to wag his tail for the rest of the morning (he hates Mondays).

After a sleeting drive home I rescue Murphdog and attempt to video-capture his maiden voyage into the snowy yonder. Psssht, please. He's seen it all before and was far less excited than I had anticipated. The only thing that really excited him was nibbling on other dogs' frozen poops. Which is when his bad day really took a turn for the worse. Woah baby did I tell him I was mad at him! My dog-whispering abilities tell me that this is what snow makes him think of... surviving on frosty terds in wild. Well let me tell you how much longer that will last.

Not much.

I hope.

Ddog and I were hardly on speaking terms when we got back to the house. Only long enough for me to brush his teeth and feed him peanut butter so his breath didn't smell like... well.

We sat in silence while I did some research on chameleons and seahorses so when pops got home we jumped at the chance for the Drake to go for another walk.

Well if he didn't come back with burrs from one end of his tail to the other than I just don't know what.

We spent the next hour picking them out. Woah baby does he hate anything going on near his tail!

My poor pup. He really doesn't care for Mondays (through Fridays) and I feel a bit helpless about it all. Not helpless enough to let him delight in eating feces, but you know, helpless. This winter weather has us dreaming of our summer days together when we frolicked for hours on end and ran often enough not to get gait-altering injuries. I just hope I'm doing right by him. There have been several e-posts on a community bulletin board lately about a family who's Tennessee-rescued pooch that they've had for a few weeks ran off and has anyone seen him. My heart has ached each time. I've seen these messages for a few weeks now and this morning there was, what might be, the final note. About a dog- that matched the description, having been spotted, lifeless, on the side of the highway. I looked at my Drake. With whom I have already been through a bundle of highs and lows. And I counted my blessings for each opportunity I have had to live his life with him.

And it gets me thinking.

Maybe the bad days aren't so bad afterall.

Cocktail Party!

I go to a lot of cocktail parties.
I do.

Cocktail partying is a skill - kind of an art form.
It is.

Communicating effectively when you can't hear anything.
That's hard. But I can do it well.

When I'm at cocktail parties I try to stand really tall and always be thinking about my next move.
It's like a game.

A tense, but fun, but stressful game of maneuvering, quick thinking, small talk....
"Check mate, another bacon wrapped something or other please!!!!"

I go to a lot of cocktail parties.
Like, a lot.

And usually by the last 1/2 hour everyone has their eye on the door.
But THIS EVENING?

The fabulous caterer at the party this evening sent her servers through the party with 1/2 hour to spare. They each wore an antique cigarette carrying cases (around their necks) filled with..........?
(Not cigarettes)

PENNY CANDY!!!

Brilliant! Suddenly, everyone was happy and no one had their eye on the door.
And my smile grew as big as those apple slices up there.

Oh, right - the apple slice smiles.
That happened last week when we made apple slice desserts (with peanut butter and marshmallows).

While I've grown to love cocktail parties, if given the choice:
I'd not hesitate to spend an evening at Happy House devouring apple slice smile desserts with my sweet ones. There simply is nothing finer.

Wednesday Smiles

Here are two pictures that should bring a smile to your face.


I've always wondered what "shape face" I have when you see those magazine articles about what kind of sunglasses to wear if you're oval or round or whatever it might be. I've wondered but I haven't really done much research. Well, my questions was answered today when one of my boys gave me this portrait of yours truly.


In other news.
Drake gears up for the winter cold.

let's do this

Well old man.
Looks like you're here to stay.
The winter pajama uniform of head to toe fleece is already well worn.
You have blown your cold breath of frost and snow onto the leafless mountains.You make me leave for work in the dark and get home pretty close to it.
My car has lumbered into its deep winter chill which requires my revving the gas pedal while turning the key. A little foot tap of support on my part to keep everyone's spirits up.
I do not dare to set foot out the door without tea in hand to ensure that my mitts don't numb from the cold.
Though I am wearing my gloves they are purely fashion over function and I won't let you take that away from me.
That's right.
You heard me.

Fashion
______

Function

Joy in Macaroni.

Last week, this macaroni sheet jumped off the school bus and walked into my house. And I?

I've never felt such joy or pride. In fact, I paraded it around the house for a solid 20 minutes.

I hope kids everywhere get a chance to create something out of macaroni.

I have such fond macaroni memories. This is joy defined.

Frustration of course, when the macaroni takes on a life of its own during the gluing process.

Then, nothing but joy (PRIDE EVEN!) when beholding the masterpiece.

Or should I say,

Pièce de résistance

.

(Oh Monet, are you turning in your grave?!) (Good.)

Now I'm just waiting for the macaroni necklace. You know, the one with huge purple and orange feathers?

I may just faint when that necklace jumps off the bus and through my kitchen door.

But when I put it on, I might just be the proudest mother on the planet.

This macaroni? This is the good stuff.

When I Dance, You Dance.

This evening I put my headphones on, turned the Ipod up and chopped veggies in preparation for the big soiree tomorrow. With the hubby glued to the Michigan game, I blasted my eardrums and became absorbed in melodies.

Then, her tiny hands wrapped around my legs and I felt Nonie hugging me from below.
Up. She was up. (Not sleeping). Way up. And it was 10pm.

I carried about with my work as she dragged her stool across the kitchen. She placed it in front of the sink, hoisted herself up on it and sat. She was fascinated with my slicing, dicing, peeling, scooping - though I never really looked straight at her - I watched her peripherally. Is that a word? It is now.

I wasn't thinking about vegetables - I was actually thinking about Mom and her halloween birthday.

More specifically I was remembering the card Chris got for her when we were little that had a picture of a lost kid talking to a police officer on the front with the quote,

"Have you seen my mother?"

And on the inside of the card the police officer is scratching his head and saying,

"I don't know, there are so many places she could be hiding."

At some point during all this, I clearly started dancing to the music funneling into my head. And when I'm chopping veggies - boy, can I drop a beat. And so can Nonie.

Nonie, when I Dance, You Dance
(even when you can't hear the music).

And before long I was back to thoughts about Mom and her Halloween Birthday.
With Mom I laugh, hope, cry, learn, complain, love, question, and dream.
With her I explore the "Whys" and the "Hows" and find the strength to believe in the "What ifs".
And my mind raced with memories and highlights, all the times I turn to Mom for the missing piece...

And as I replay my childhood memories I see that:

When I Laugh, She Laughs.
When I Cry, She Cries.
When I Question, She Questions.
When I Dream, She Dreams.

And of course Mom,
When I Dance, You Dance.
Because, you are my music.

Happy Birthday.

I Now Pronounce You....

When we were in the pre-cana process of getting married we were told that marriage was a sacrament that we gave to each other. The priest and our family and friends were all witnesses as we exchanged our vows to one another. It was a beautiful, life-altering moment. And when you took the time out of the craziness that a wedding can be, thinking about that moment is grounding.
The priest, chaplain, minister, presider over the vows "pronounces" you as a couple. For better or worse, richer, poorer, sickness, and health. But the pronouncement was not for us. We had lived the moment. The pronouncement was for others.


Today I was the presider, the official, the witness. Today I made the pronouncement.


I watched a husband die, and a wife greave. I was witness to what might have been their most intimate moment. I heard words whispered that were loving and heartbreaking.
"I love you." "You are the best husband." "What will I do without you."
I pronounced him. After she had hugged and kissed and cried over his body.
After his son had a moment to hold his hand. After he had his moment with God and his wife, and his family.


I was not new to this. Not death. Not loss or sadness. Not the love of family.
I was to be there as the official.
I was trying not to cry, and mourn and breakdown.
I tried not to cross certain boundaries, but show my empathy at the same time.
And I did. For a brief period of time. Before I lost it.
As soon as I signed my papers and finished my "official" business I got in my car and wept.
And I picked up X and wept.
And I drove home and wept.


And I don't have any answers, and I don't have reassurances, but I feel blessed to have witnessed what I have.
And it brought me back to our wedding. And our "official" beginning. In the church.
And our other beginning, on the top of a mountain where we got engaged.
And our real beginning, on 9/11/01 when our lives merged. And how love grows into something so amazing and complex, it is atsounding and awesome and overwhelming.




And my brain reels with these thoughts as I drive to the gym to run, I hear this on the radio:














And that was my day.

"Hat Trick"-or-Treat Eating.

On Saturday, moments before his soccer game, Dec declared that he'd score three goals for Aunt Lily. It seems he's always trying to impress her.
Pretty aggressive chatter. But he did it. Scored One. Two. Three.
Hat Trick!

And on a remarkably similar note: Last Wednesday I bought 2 ginormous bags of candy and promised myself that I wouldn't open them until Halloween.
And I did it. I didn't open them. I just opened and ate one (entire bag). So far.
Treat Eating!

Nothing like setting goals to keep us focused, motivated and striving for excellence ....

* A note about the pic: this is Dec practicing his breast stroke, on the soccer field, while accomplishing his promised hat trick. He'll pretty much do anything to get Willy's attention.

Good vs trying to be good but falling a little bit short of goodness...

I really love Saturdays. I try to relax, but mostly I use my time at home to clean and organize places in the house that have NEVER been cleaned (sorry closet under the stairs, you are scary and full of spiders and I only go in you if absolutely necessary).

And I do try to play and be FUN, but Xave also does a REALLY good job at being 2.

The morning cuteness and sleepiness wears off as soon as daddy leaves to go to the football game.

I try to ignore "batty", but as soon as he is standing ON my computer smashing "batty" into it I lose it. Batty gone.

And as quickly as it happened we are sitting together eating pancakes and syrup.

And so the day goes.

Cleaning windows and removing screens (i.e. more spider webs).

X playing golf.

Attempting to blow some of the leaves.

X in my arms.

Cleaning the garage/basement/organizing recycling.

X taking all the styrofoam inserts from the boxes and turning them into potty seats while removing all the clothing from his lower half?! (peepee here mom?) ummm sure, is this in the potty training books?

Cleaning the gross light fixtures I never would have purchased in 1,000,000,000 years but am stuck with for the interim.

X watching football on mute/listening to classical music.

Cooking dinner, waiting for daddy.

X chewing carrots/meatballs/sweet potatoes and spitting them back out.

X dancing to classical music.

X playing Connect 4 with us after dinner.

X wanting to be read every book in sight.

X falling asleep, head off couch, face down, completely comfortable.

BTW, "batty" was returned. He used it in the car to Declan's soccer game to turn the over head lights on.... and off.....and on.....and off......and on..........................

Feeling Blue.

I thought I knew blue
until I met my husband.


And then blue was defined.


Blue.
Defined.




In one man's eyes.

but I always take the long way home

I had a pretty freaky ride home from work today starting at the highway exit ramp because a cop car followed me from there through town. I know it's not a huge deal. I'm not 16. I get it. However, the speed limit goes from 40 to 50 to 40 to 30 in about a 1/2 mile span and that can be very stressful especially when you're deciding what you want to listen to the on radio.

But that's not even the really freaky part.
Get this.

Who's the genius behind this one?
This is the scarecrow outside the gas station.

Drake saw this the other morning on our run.
Picture this: 5:30 am. Pitch black. Cold morning. Throwing away our poop bag in the garbage can.
See absolute sketchiest scarecrow ever.
Drake barks.
So we turn right and head down the street and a newspaper delivery car shines its lights on a garbage can.
What would you do?
I mean...
what would you do if you were a dog and just had yourself freaked by a zombie gas-pump scarecrow in the pitch black?
Would you bark at the garbage can for a minute?
Yes, you would.

There is another freaky scarecrow down the street hanging from a tree. I think there are laws against that. I hereby declare that I no longer like scarecrows. Another simple-ton one down the street in front of a lovely red house is headless. I don't care if they are just harvesting their pumpkin. Don't put a headless, tree-hanging, zombie gas-pumping scarecrow in front of your home or business when I am being followed home by a police officer while trying to find a good song on the radio.

Look at the Stars.

The other night Dame came home from a school budget meeting - a budget forum. (Yawn).

He was the best parent to send to this district-wide meeting and it made me feel like we were doing our household share by having him in attendance.

Plus, the meeting was held in the cafeteria of his old high school so I think he secretly wanted to be there. Or at least, this is what I told myself as I sat wrapped in a cozy blanket and sipped a warm cup of de-caf tea. At home.

I was somewhat startled by the sheet that he nonchalantly dropped on our kitchen counter after the meeting.

One of the areas the district is scrutinizing is transportation (busing) and the document indicated that "NY State law governs the maximum mileage that a district may require students to walk to school is 2 miles for K-8."

It goes on to indicate that "the school district community voted to reduce the maximum limits to .5 miles for K-8."

WHAT?!?!

****

On the same day, I got an email from Dec & Nonie's dental practice about Halloween candy indicating that they will "collect unopened candy (no bites please) on Tues Nov 2nd from 8-5 pm. Candy will be sent to the Troops serving our Country. For every pound collected our Ghosts and Goblins will earn $1 per pound and receive an electric glowing toothbrush!"

I'm sorry but, WHAT?!?!

****

Then there was the silent Saturday Soccer notice we got about parents being discouraged from talking (at all. to anyone.) at their children's soccer games and practices. You know, out of respect for the players... this one Saturday was devoted to silence.

So, sidelines sat quiet while
Players scored on the wrong goals.
Confused corner kicks.
And silently played a game of quiet soccer.

Just that one Saturday though, the rest of the season parents are allowed to shout at the kids from the sidelines.

What?!?
****

That very same day I had my recurring thought that I have (no lie) every day. This is the one thought that grounds me and forces me to not take myself too seriously. It is clear as day:

I picture God laughing.
I can just see God laughing at the crazy world. At us.
Laughing.
At all of us here on Earth.
I picture God looking down from above with the thought:
Really?
That is what you've all done with the wonderful world I gave you?
You worry about walking too far, eating sweets, coaching kids from the sidelines, and spend hours with your heads focused on electronic gadgets.
Really?
That is not at all what I'd envisioned for you. My people.
You're zooming from here to there in the blink of an eye and barely connecting with the incredible people I've surrounded you with.
You're worrying about money, social status, houses, cars, vacations, and all the things I never comprehended when I set you all down on that magnificent planet in the first place?

Really?
That's what you've done with all that I gave you?


****
The other morning we woke the kids early to head to Vermont.

It was well before sunrise and Dec was the first I scooped to carry out to the car.
During my first few trips to the car with snacks, books, clothes... I'd noticed the sky was glowing with stars. I paused. For the first time in a long time a gazed at the night sky and marveled at it.

In the moments it took to get Dec wrapped in Ba-Ba, snuggled under my chin and down the stairs, I had told him once and then reminded him two more times to be sure to look at the stars in the night sky once we were outside and heading toward the car.

The night was brilliant. It was vast. And I had been suddenly reminded of how seldom I venture out with the kids to look at it.

Just as we stepped out the door and as the crisp air circled us, Dec immediately lifted his head and looked up.

And I relaxed and found peace because I just knew he was seeing what I'd hoped he would see.


****

It is a really different world they live in. My sweet children.
Far different from the one I grew up in.
I ate every last piece of my Halloween candy as a kid.
And I know I walked far to bus stops and friend's houses.
(That was part of the fun).
And I'm not sure how'd I've improved as a soccer player without my Dad embarrassing me from the sidelines during games.

Sometimes I feel so helpless because I know there is no turning back.
And I get caught up thinking that our systems (most of them anyway) are fundamentally flawed (For example, if we ask kids to walk 2 miles - that's great - but AT LEAST provide sidewalks.).

I often conclude that there is nothing I can do to turn things back to the good old days.

But then I turn to the stars - and am comforted.
I turn toward the stars and I know.

The same night sky that I would turn to as a child for answers, hope, and inspiration
will always be there for my own children in their search for the same.

I Look at the Stars.
And when I take time to do this simple, simple thing
I feel in my heart that

God's laughter stops.