Merry Merry

We are tucked in at home with our children and our new toys, just basking in the quiet of the day after Christmas. Yesterday was the perfect combination of busy and visit-y, the smiles from our littlest ones lighting up the holiday better than even that one particular house on Glen Street.

And though we had everything we need - love, a home, our children, clean water, food - before the holiday, we are now quite spoiled with gifts that were thoughtful, inspired, and just plain decadent. So it felt really, really good to throw our money into a hat for those who might not be so lucky. Big Brothers/Big Sisters won our lottery this year; it was "my" charity* for the second year in a row (I swear I don't have it rigged) and though all of the entries were worthy, this one holds a special place in my heart.

Merry Christmas, everyone!


*Oliver, this one was for you, because although he was supposed to be making a difference in your life, you made a difference in all of ours. We've never forgotten you...your determination, your ability to survive the worst, and your beautiful smile.

You Are My Sunshine

We rise early, in the dark, and shuffle through our morning’s worth of controlled chaos that is the much the same as yours but ours alone.  We struggle into boots, jackets, mittens, and hats.  I remind them, for the umpteenth time, that we are going to be late and I wonder why it is that we are always rushing.  We rush to get ready, rush to get out of the door, rush to get to the classroom, with a stream of hurry-ups rushing from my mouth.  What my heart wants to do is pull them in, keep them close, to sit together on the big couch in our pajamas and read a gazillion books to each other.  It feels wrong to be heading out the door with my littlest ones when the sun has not yet appeared, but go we must and so we do. 
Each clear morning as we drive across town to school the sun peeks over the horizon.  Today it was spectacular, hidden at first behind clouds that were tinged with gold until it finally broke through to shine upon us and this little city we live in.  The light glanced off the faces of the buildings in town: the library, the stores of our friends, the coffee shops and restaurants were all aglow.  I pointed it out to Harry and Emma and we all watched, entranced by the first rays of the day.  It was silent in the car as we took it in, but finally Harry’s voice broke the silence:  “That part there in the middle -  the brightest spot – that part is where God is.”  The light changed and our car had to move along, but that moment stuck with me all day.  I stopped regretting our early mornings and started to think about how if we had slept in and stayed at home in our pajamas I would have missed this glimpse into his soul.  I might have missed knowing that he finds God in the sunshine. 
Today, I am remembering that my children are the brightest spots in the middle of my life.  I am slowing down to just be with them.  And if we are perpetually late for kindergarten because we make a habit of stopping to watch the sun come up together, so be it.  You can’t rush the sunrise.

Curtains!

The dining/living room is getting there!  The curtains are finished and hung and the furniture is more or less where we want it now.  We still would like to tweak things here and there: different artwork on the walls, perhaps someday a new sofa, like this one.  But the room is livable, the perfect place to snuggle up with tea and a good book.  We love it!

Before:

After:

Before:

 

After:

Before:

After:

    

Outtakes

What we were going for was this:

…or this:

But really and truly, I think the following shots better illustrate the essence of five-almost-six and four:
 


 
The outtakes always tell the better story, don’t they?

Holiday bonus

It started a few years ago.  We were all used to rushing around and trying to find something meaningful yet within budget to give one another: something pretty for Mom, something outdoorsy for Mike, something cool and interesting for my brother and his girlfriend  (now wife), something useful for Grandma Ann, as well as a little something here and there for everyone else who happened to join in our celebration that given year.  As it turns out, it is not so easy to churn out meaningful, useful, yet budget-able gifts year after year for the same people.  As it does for so many families, Christmas had become about the gifts, not about spending time with one another, or appreciating the season, or even lending a nod to the actual event which we were supposed to be celebrating.

Finally, someone said stop.

It might have been my Mom, or me, or someone else…I can’t remember.  But what followed the stop was something that brought a little meaning back to our holiday.  We decided, as a family, to nix the gifts.  The little kids (so far only my own two) still get a little something special, but the rest of us bring only our checkbooks or a handful of cash and our Christmas spirit.  Some people donate more than others and we don’t keep track of who brought what; we each donate what we can and that is enough.  We throw all of the money into a jar and as our holiday gathering gets underway, we each take a few moments to write down the name of a charity on a slip of paper.  We don’t limit the selection to local organizations, just whatever charity we each hold dear to our hearts.  We have had charities ranging from local soup kitchens and crisis pregnancy centers to homes for AIDS orphans in Ethiopia.  It’s a mixed bag of organizations that try to do good in the world, and we always find it interesting to see what everyone else has written down.

The names go in a basket, and before we part ways for other celebrations, gatherings, or quiet reflection, one of the littlest among us will choose a name from the slips of paper and all of the money we’ve collected goes to that charity.  The check is usually substantial, a Holiday bonus for an organization that has probably never heard of any of us.  A Holiday bonus that buys diapers or baby cribs or anti-retroviral medication or the simplest gift of all: food for the hungry.

And it is a Holiday bonus for all of us, too.  We don’t spend as much time at the mall, which means we can spend more time with those we love.  We have less stress, less panic over finding just the right thing.  Instead of ripping through a mountain of paper and ribbons and trying to feign excitement for something that we truly don’t want or need, we talk and laugh and tell stories and make memories.  And you know what?  It feels good.  It feels good to know that instead of another sweater or pair of earrings, someone who actually has need is going to be helped.  That is the very best Holiday bonus I can think of.


It’s Madhouse Wednesday…er, Thursday? I am always so late.   Here are the others who play along…some every week, others when they can (and some habitually late, but I won’t mention any names…ahem).  You can join in the fun, too!  Let me know if you want in and we’ll get your blog added to the list.
Allison – Allimonster Speaks
Barb – Spencer Hill Spinning & Dyeing
Batty – Batty’s Adventures in Spooky Knitting
Dave – Notes from the Field
Eileen - Art Deco Diva Knits
Evil Twin’s Wife – The Glamorous Life of a Hausfrau
G – Not-A-Box
Heather – She Flies With Her Own Wings
Jennifer – Ask Poops, Please
JMLC – Daydreams and Ruminations
Kate – One More Thing
LC – LC in Sunny So Cal
Louise – Child of Grace
Marcy – Mittentime
Melanie – usually, things happen
Nikki – Land of the Free, Home of the Depressed
Sara – yoyu mama

Mama’s Got a Brand New Bag

 

I never put away the sewing mess left behind from the great curtain project of 2010*  and I finally decided yesterday that if it was going to take up my entire dining room then then my sewing machine and it’s accomplices ought to be useful.  Did I create a flurry of handmade Christmas gifts?  No.  Did I finish sewing the Roman shades for the kitchen?  No.  I sat down with 1/2 yard of Amy Butler fabric from my stash and whipped up a bag.  For myself.  Oh, selfish selfish Mama!

I didn’t use a pattern for this, just sketched out a shape on paper and cut the pieces the way I knew they would fit, making an open topped messenger bag of the sort that I have been wishing for for months now. 

 

A little flap and magnet closure will hopefully keep things from spilling out too much, while still allowing me to slip my hand inside quickly for wallet, shopping list, cell phone, etc. 

 

It also has a nice wide strap that is reinforced with heavy duty fusible interfacing.  I tend to wear my bags out, so beefing this one up a bit was important.

 

Now, if we could all get well from this wicked pneumonia I would be able to get out shopping and try this new bag out! 

*pictures of the new curtains coming when I finally have four people free from pneumonia and have thoroughly cleaned the house. 

Morning Girl

She gets up so early. 
It is dark outside, the dogs are fast asleep, I am fast asleep, and her brother is still snoring away, but Emma is up and cheerful and ready to chat up her Dad before he heads off to work.  She likes having him all to herself for those precious moments in the morning.  I think she enjoys the quiet house at that hour, when the choice of where to sit is hers alone with no one to bargain or argue with her.  The choice of what to do belongs to her as well…she can watch NickJr without her brother constantly trying to convince her that a Star Wars movie would be a far better choice.  So much of her day is dictated by the whims of Harry, but the early morning belongs to her. 
When Brendan comes to kiss me goodbye at the early early hour of 6:10 he gives me the Emma Report:  Emma has already had breakfast and is watching cartoons or Emma is in the bathroom or Emma is reading in the living room or Emma is having oatmeal.  She is content to stick with whatever activity she has chosen for the little while it takes me to fully wake up and come downstairs, at which point she will call out a sunny, eager “Good morning, Mom!” as if she has been waiting around just to see me.  This girl knows how to make you feel special.
If we set out her clothes the night before, Emma will be up and dressed and ready for the day before I have had the first sip of my tea.  She tells me about her dreams the night before (often involving getting lost when following a stray cat, but being saved by Daddy and of course the cat comes home with her), about her ideas for the day ahead, and more often than not she will tell me, without any trace of laughter, “Mom, you look very beautiful today”.  This to my bed-headed, rumpled pajama, sheet marks still criss-crossing my face, half asleep self, but the seriousness in her delivery makes me believe it, too.  I love seeing myself through her eyes. 
Finally, an hour or so later, Sir Harrison will stumble down the stairs, groggy and cozy and still smelling of little boy sleep, and her wakefulness will be too much for him.  He will curl into me, trying to twist his lengthy leggy-ness into a pretzel that will still fit on my lap, and she will tell him all of the things she has already told me, and likely her Dad, too.  When he is ready he unwinds his long limbs and climbs down from my lap and they both try to convince me that Star Wars should absolutely be the movie choice of the day, that nothing else will do, and can we please have chocolate cake for breakfast?  And then they are off together, surely plotting against me, but so involved with each other that I cannot help but smile. 
And in the afternoon, our Morning Girl finds the consequence of rising before the dawn:

We Miss You

I have never met a dog who looked like you.  I’ve never known a puppy who whined so much, or chewed so much, or itched so much.  I have never in my life encountered ears as soft as yours.  I have missed your soulful, forgiving eyes for one year now…those eyes that told me you understood we were doing the very best we could for you, even when it was a battle, which it often was.  I just want you to know that despite the struggle, you were an awesome, awesome dog.  I miss you.  We  miss you.  You are so very fondly remembered and loved.

No Strings

How many of you just added the word “attached” to the end of that title?  I know my mind wants to, but for today’s Madhouse post I am going to take this in a different direction.  What if we all imagine, for a second, the literal ramifications of No Strings?
For me this thought almost immediately incites panic.  No Strings!?!  What will I do with my hands?  You see, I spend a considerable amount of time each week knitting and sewing.  Keeping my hands busy is what I do to keep myself sane…it’s not that I don’t love staying home with my children, it’s just that sometimes it doesn’t feel as though I am accomplishing anything.  I run them around to school and activities, try to keep the house on the honest side of the clean/disgusting boundary, and cook three or more times per day.  Sometimes it feels like treading water, rather than swiftly cutting through it.  On the days when it all feels like stagnation, the act of taking thread, yarn, and fabric (all of which are forms of string, no?) and making something new and useful from them helps me feel accomplished.  If there were no strings there would be no sewing, no knitting, no inner peace in my days. 
From there my thoughts head to my husband, my brother, and many of our friends friends – a musical bunch of people that we know and love.  No Strings has huge ramifications for that crew as well.  No Strings means no piano, no guitar, no bass, no orchestra, no music.  Where would all of us be without music?  How many times per day do you reach for your ipod, CDs, or car radio, looking for something to move you, to make your day shine brighter or just to sing at the top of your lungs because it feels good? 
And what about the smaller odds and ends? 
No rope for rock climbing and clotheslines, for tying your boat to the dock.  No string for kite flying or tying up a good roast.  No twine for mending, no fabric to clothe ourselves, nothing with which to make an area rug or carpet.  No curtains, pillows, or blankets.  Nothing to tie the Christmas tree to the roof of your car, nothing to tie your shoes.  No primitive fishing line.  No rigging for sails, nothing to hang our wind chimes. 
No Strings would be catastrophic.
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When I was a little kid my friend, Sarah, lived around the corner from my Grandparents’ house.  We spent much of our childhood climbing trees and scraping knees and trying to learn how to skateboard and playing in the playhouse her dad built in their backyard.  We also liked to build things, and our two favorite tools for building were duct tape and string.  We joke, to this day, about how with duct tape and a ball of twine we could build just about anything, and after taking a closer look at the idea of No Strings, I think we were on to something. 
So much of what we consider civilized and comfortable has a relationship to string, something that few of us probably think about.  And that is Madhouse Wednesday.