Recovery of the Heart

I almost lost this picture. When my computer crashed in the summer, along with it went pictures taken over three years. Long story short, Cutie Pie is my hero and the Saver of This Picture. Look at those cheeks, look at those sweet pudge-alicious arms. Ahhhh. That is my aunt, by the way, smooching on Small Fry. That is my parents' backyard. The occasion was Big Stuff's 4th birthday. The other picture saved from this day shows her in a Snow white costume licking the icing from her birthday cake.

See how well I remember it? But memory is faulty, and you can't show it to your kids when they grow up. You never know when the memory hard drive in your head will crash. Better to have the pictures. Backed up. In four different places. Baby smooching and Snow White backyard birthday parties will never happen again, you know. Thanks for the memories....

Southern Snow Bunnies

Rain boots, pajamas under blue jeans, sleds of all varieties + a big hill = southern-style snow days. Now this is something we won't soon forget.

Raw

I suppose it is inevitable. If you live long enough, your holidays begin to be affected by tragedy and loss. Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's: When we're children, they are characterized by pure excitement, anticipation and joy. They tend take on a deeper meaning each year, like the year when I saw Mary with a new heart as my baby jumped inside of me at the sound of the Hallelujah chorus. The holidays may even spark a new, raw emotion, which you are unable to name. Three years ago, our Thanksgiving brought news of cancer returning with a vengeance. Our Christmas was characterized by a final meal and one last Christmas tree, followed by a pain and suffering we had never known before. Our New Year's Day was a strange juxtaposition of a new start and a last goodbye. Today, one dear friend faces the first Christmas without her mother. Another gives her 4-year-old early Christmas gifts to help cope with a shocking diagnosis of cancer. Another stands by her family in a hospital room, savoring every smile and sign of appetite. At our church, we are reminded that human beings are curled under bridges, in below-freezing weather, hoping that they will wake up to see another day. This is hard. This is more than we can take. But this is the greater meaning and what inspires me and infuses my hurting heart with hope:

Graceful strength in the face of tremendous loss
Faith and trust in a big God to do big things for a little girl
Unwavering loyalty to family, implicit trust in God's plan
God moving in the lives of thousands of volunteers and setting compassion's fire within their hearts

And, AND... an improptu manger scene, now built in my playroom...where Barbies and Polly Pockets are dressed as wise men (and women), shepherds and angels. Where the baby's gifts are Chuck E. Cheese coins. Where the Littlest Pet Shop animals keep watch over a silent, amazing night of long ago when God came down and walked among us - Immanuel. This is why Christmas belongs to children. Excitement, anticipation and joy. They've got it all, and they're willing to share. Merry Christmas!

Please Pray for a Beloved Family Friend!

http://www.prayingforansley.blogspot.com/

Missing Italy

A few days ago, Small Fry joined Cutie Pie and me on the couch as we were watching television. She crawled up into my lap and announced, with a tremor in her voice, "I miss Italy!" We took a family trip to Rome, Florence, Lucca and the Cinque Terre in September, and I, too, miss Italy. I think I know why I miss Italy, but I wondered what a 6-year-old missed about Italy.

Was it the massive amount of time spent on planes, trains, buses and automobiles?
Or the people we met along the way?

Was it the food?

Or the way our waiters made us feel like honored guests?

Was it the priceless artwork?

Or the way angels popped up when you least expected them?

Was it the fine restaurants, full of ambience and perfectly prepared Italian delicacies?

Or was it the gelato, twice a day?

Was it the historically significant buildings and architecture?

Or the things that made us go hmmmmm?

Was it the unique, warm, child-centered culture?

Or was it sister time?

Was it seeing Michelangelo's breathtaking masterpiece?

Or was it feeding the pigeons outside?

Was it the churches?
Or the way Mary held Jesus like any grieving mother would hold her beloved child?

I guess it was all of these things and more that we all were missing about Italy. I hope she'll always remember, and always miss, Italy.

Crickets

The quiet in the house is deafening. When Cutie Pie came in the door from work today, he made the sound of crickets. We laughed, but still...it was odd. My kids are off visiting family for a week. The first day of freedom brings an uneasy feeling. CP and I walk out of church and straight to our car without stopping to pick up Sunday School girls, without pausing to chat with other families, without passing Go. My mommy brain surveys the scene suspiciously and whispers, "Aren't you forgetting something?" We feel out of place, like a pair of single people being given a wide berth on our awkward first date. We wonder if we are allowed to go home together to an empty house. We do it anyway.

The next day is better. We go to work, and I hang around the library afterward browsing books of my choice, far away from the children's section. An hour slips away, and no one cares. I go to the grocery store without a list and remember everything I need to buy. I don't yell at anyone to stop running or to cease and desist punching their sibling. This makes me smile secretly to myself because I think how funny it would be if I actually did yell at a fellow shopper to stop running and threaten her with no free sugar cookies if she keeps behaving in such a manner. I relish the knowledge of my ability to embarrass total strangers as well as close family members. My grocery bill is $32.76. This is a small miracle, and it is enough to keep CP and I in food for a whole week. It's like fishes and loaves.

We make dinner at a leisurely pace. I don't have to refer to a recipe 90 times because I am distracted. I go with the flow and cook on a dime, the process feeling kind of organic and fun. I don't require alcohol to get through it. We eat grilled salmon, lemon parmesan risotto and a fresh cucumber and tomato salad. No one says ewwww. No one says what's this green stuff. No one says why don't you ever cook something that I like. No one begs for dessert or cries when they are told they aren't getting any. Life is good. But it's still quiet. And I still miss them.

What will I do when they leave me? What will I do when I can't hear their little voices and running footsteps filling all the rooms of my house? I guess I will be reduced to reprimanding strangers in the grocery store and remembering the unspeakable fullness of these days.

More Clever Than Ever

Our conversation as we shopped for birthday party items:

Her: "Mom, I don't want to get older, but I have to. I want to still be your baby."

Oh, how I love that girl.

Me: "Yeah, but 6 is a great age. Not too young, not too old. It's a perfect age to be."

Her: "Okay, then I'll be 6 forever."

Me: "Okay. Or at least for a whole year."


Happy Birthday to a sensational 6-year-old! May you enjoy all 365 days of it.