Distraction Is a Mother's Best Friend

Q:  What was Eliza's first word?

Me: Mmmm....I really don't remeber.

Q: What was my first word?

Me: Ah, honey, I don't remember this stuff.

Q: You should really write things down so you don't forget.....What was Rafe's first word?

Me: Cookie.

[Pause]

Q: Why do you remember Rafe's first word but not mine or Eliza's?

[Pause]

Me:  Ooh, hey!  Look at that giant Christmas Star over there?!

Deep Thoughts

Why is it that I can studiously examine my chin and the right corner of my mouth for those three dark, thick hairs that crop up from time to time and never find one, but as soon as I'm far away from my mirror and tweezers, usually driving somewhere with all my children in the van, I find one and it's about 1/2 an inch long? 

Gifts from Heaven

I was rifling through the pantry to find something to make for dinner when I stumbled across a bag of Ghirardelli's dark chocolate squares with caramel.

*mmmm*

Better than finding a random $20 in my coat pocket.

Old Things Are New Again

I discovered recently that a number of films I like (notably Notting Hill and Wimbledon) are produced by a company called Working Title Films.  They also produced Four Weddings and a Funeral.  I watched the movie back when it came out and was horribly disappointed.  But the movie was playing on TV and I like dark chocolate and bleu cheese, which I didn't as a child so, why not?

I watched the movie and was still horribly disappointed (well, maybe only disappointed) but there were moments of brilliance that I failed to appreciate as a youth.

My favorite was at the one funeral in the movie.  Matthew, Gareth's partner, mourns the loss of his love and recites the most perfect poem about grief and loss.  He had me at the first sentence as I remember feeling that exact feeling at the loss of my mother.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

So while the movie was a waste of two hours, for the second time, the poem was well worth it.  I can now express verbally what's in my heart when I have my moments of grief and needing words I don't have for an emotion I can't wish away.

Coincidentally, in one of those great circle of life moments, the poem is by W.H. Auden, my senior year roommate's favorite poet.  I should have known she was on to something; she was a brilliant woman who took seriously the proper use of adverbs, knew a great deal about diamonds and could make an amazing gorgonzola cream sauce.

Feeling the Need

...the need to blog.  I know, it would be so much better if it rhymed but somehow I think "the need to bleed" would not quite convey my current craving.

The only issue is, I haven't much to say.  "But when," you cry, "when has that ever stopped you before?"

Too.  true.

So, I'm here to tell you that my toes on my left foot are sticky and I have no idea why.

I'm here to tell you that I have found a new Christmas tradition that has brought the whole season into my heart; I chase my cat and yell, "Run Fuzzy Butt!  Run!"  It's really quite fun. (And to all of you card carrying members of PETA, may I say that I only do that when she begins to enter my dad's cat's territory; really it's for her own safety.)

I'm here to tell you that my daughter is finally wearing size 6 clothing.  It's weird, but this new wardrobe makes her look all grown up.  No babies at my house.  Is it wrong to sob with loss while I party with glee?

Mmmm....what else could I possibly add to this utterly scintillating post? 


I have decided that my daily light therapy is a fabulous excuse to nap early morning.  Hobbits eat all day; I find excuses to sleep all day.

I guess that's it.  I'm trying to overcome this innate need to make all my posts looong.

So, adieu. I'm off to sip my delicious dark chocolate cocoa and wait for the Mentalist to start.

What a life.

Of a Certain Age

I've been adjusting to being the mother of older children; there are no babies in my house, no babies to come either. There are no toddlers. All of my children are potty trained (Thank you Lord!). I only have school aged children. In fact, I'm only two years away from having a teenager, which, in parenting years, is really only a heartbeat.

But I'm growing and accepting and I'm even finding glorious benefits.

Not only can they each pee independently and wipe their own butts, they can get their own snacks and even make a few simple meals.

They can answer questions about their day (occasionally even more than just a grunt - boys start training so young!).

Last week Q and Eliza came home from church talking about their lesson, which had been all about prayer and fasting. Their were both quite excited about this new power particularly since it seemed to be something that was in their power to affect.

Q has requested that we fast next week for their dad and his bad back. He also wants us to fast and pray for people with breast cancer and that "they" find a cure. (I'm not sure what all the lesson talked about, but Q has been obsessed with helping people with breast cancer and he includes them in all of his prayers that he offers.)

One of our dear neighbors got sick and Eliza requested that we fast this past Sunday for her. And for dad. It was a wonderful thing to see. Living out their ideals was a bit harder than they imagined (we fasted for one meal) and there were quite a few discussions as to what we would be eating after church, but overall it was a good start: child led and everyone wants to do it again.

Of course, added to these wonderful, spiritual breakthroughs are also the ever extending length my boys take in the bathroom; does 8 seem a bit young to be primping and worrying over hair?

The Obligatory Post

I am thankful for glazed ham and other fine smoked pork products.

I am grateful for my Chevy Astro van with AWD. Mostly I am grateful for the fact that my deep and abiding love for my van has rekindled a long dead relationship with snow; I am coming to appreciate the winter wonderland of the north.

I am thankful for tampons and all sorts of modern feminine hygiene products.

I am grateful for the wide variety of food available, even in Alaska, even in the dead of winter. I'm sure my ancestors could not have made a chocolate haupia pie for Thanksgiving even if they had wanted to.

I am grateful for bedtimes and that every day ends.

I am grateful for Facebook and the easy way I can now breeze in and out of friends' lives with just a few keystrokes.

I am thankful that my husband loves bright sunny yellow (you'll never guess the color of the new flooring at the shop....) and I'm equally grateful that we currently have no home of our own to paint.

I love the rain. I love the fact that rain melts snow.

I love watching the winter storms, knowing I am warm and inside and dry and safe from all the fury of the outside.

I am thankful for family and for the joys of family living blocks away or hundreds of miles away. I am grateful for phones, computers and other technologies that make moves to Alaska less isolating than they were 50 years ago.

I am grateful that the power of the sun can now come in a small, convenient to carry box.

I am equally thankful for happy meds and pain killers, without with, I might just be single.

I am grateful for God and the fact that He has more patience for me than I do for myself.

I am grateful for blogging and for comments from random strangers. (ahem. hint. NUDGE.)

And I am grateful for tryptophan (although I wonder if they make it in pill form yet....).