Mmmmmmmagic

Christmas, Oh Christmas. A blur of expectation, getting ready for this event and that one, enjoying this event and that one, creating meaning, living tradition. It's exhausting but I love the magical moments that happen, especially those that you least expect. Like tearing up in the American Girl store, knowing how happy Santa's gift is going to make one and yet feeling so melancholy in the knowledge that the other is way past such childish things as dollies with matching shoes and hats. Only six Christmases have come and gone, and yet Big Stuff is already "too old" for some of the "wow" toys! How did that happen?? More melancholy comes over me in the clothing store, when I realize that I can't really buy them matching dresses this year on account of the embroidered peter pan collar and soft brown velvet jumper with the pearl buttons that I'm getting for Small Fry will just be too little girly for my big girl. Who by the way, insisted on wearing a stained Silverbacks soccer T-shirt with camo gauchos on pajama day today because she was too "embarrassed" to wear her cute baby blue bunny Christmas pj's on the bus. And you're not embarrassed to wear that get-up, I kept wanting to blurt out. But I didn't. Because it's starting to be important not to be embarrassed on the bus. And I remember how that felt. Although I was probably in the 6th grade before I knew from embarrassment, but still. I remember. But here's something she's not too old for. Not yet anyway. Santa. Reindeer. The tooth fairy. Kitchen fairies. Wary and watchful (and beloved, don't you know) elves who bring messages to Santa every night. Thank goodness we still have some magic alive and well in this home. But for how long? Is it strange that sometimes I want to whisk my brood away and go live in Walnut Grove, in a little log cabin? On Christmas Eve I could tuck my girls, in bedcaps and braids, into their rope beds in the loft while a merry fire crackles outside my and Pa's bedroom door. Someplace far away from Hannah Montanas and Wiis and Playstations and Spongebob Scarepants? And they would be thrilled with candy canes and oranges in their stockings and those incredibly special rag dolls I made from quiliting scraps? Is that so wrong?? Obviously, I would never survive the bone cracking hard work it took to live On The Prairie but it's a nice thought anyway. And I shall savor these magical times, even if they insist on sliding through my fingers like running creek water.

Sexy Exits

Have you ever been sitting at Moe's, innocently eating your taco salad, pretending to listen to a 4-year-old trying to spell (Mama, how do you spell Exit? What does P-S-A spell? How do you spell Taco?) when all of a sudden, it happens.

Her, matter of fact-like: Mama, I'm spelling s-e-x. That spells sex.

Me, horrified: Say what, Small Fry? Are you trying to spell six, like the number? Please God, let her be spelling six like the number.

Her: No, sex like sexy. Oh no.

Me: What is sexy, Small Fry? What does that mean?

Her: You knnnnnoooowwww, like when you're all pretty with red lips and you're sparkly and you're wearing fancy clothes and like that. Waves hand vaguely in front of her face.

Me: Uhhhhhhhhhh.

Me, later: And where did you hear about sexy, honey?

Her: Duh, mom. The cheer? Boys are the strongest? Girls are the sexiest?

Me: WHAT?

Me, later, lame-like: Yeah, of course you know girls can be the strongest too.

Her: Yeah, of course I know that mama.

Annnnddddd I have nothing more to say. Continue eating taco salad and mourn the loss of innocence.

My Voting Buddies

Proud and honored to vote.

Things that Made Me Happy Today

Numero uno: Memories of Halloween. One of the
best nights of the year. And the seemingly unending supply of
Reese's pb cups and Hershey's dark chocolate that now

resides

in my
kitchen.

Numero duo: MY 4-year-old, that's right, MINE...who was possibly the only one in her class (at least that's how I heard the it) who knew the names of both presidential candidates. And their platforms. And their voting records. OK, maybe not. But she can pick them out of a line-up from a distance of 10 feet and that's

pretty

darned

cool.

Numero three: The mental prep my girls are doing to be sure they are prepared for long lines tomorrow. We have listed all items we will bringing to the voting place (Harry Potter book, a Barbie computer, drawing papers, Uno, fold up chairs and a pen. And possibly candy.) And we have figured out a plan for what we'll do if we need to visit the potty during our wait in line (we will go with our sister while mom holds our place in line). If you see us there, please feel free to

join us

in a game

of Uno.

Number Four: Lunch. Friends. Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion, honey.

Number 5: Coming home hugs and kisses from this one. Ahhhh.

That's better.

What Does God Look Like?

Enroute between church and home on Sunday afternoons, we sometimes are treated to interesting conversation. This week, Big Stuff asked, What does God look like? Apparently unsatisfied with my lame response - We don't know honey, but we'll find out someday - Small Fry immediately takes up the challenge with all the authority of a theologian. "He wears a long white shirt. His hair is like this (gestures), and he has a moustache." She thinks for a moment, then adds (for humility's sake, surely): "But I don't know what kind of shoes he wears." I'm going to go with flip flops.

Heaven Sent

I got a gift today. I'm watching Small Fry on the playground, and mulling hard and heartbreaking things over in my mind, when I notice a little girl of about 3, with Down Syndrome, was going around the playground giving out hugs. I smile and think, oh how cute. How precious. Her little polka-dotted bow was stuck precariously in her bobbed haircut. Her great big eyes were smiling and delighted. My mind, as it is apt to do, wanders back to my worries, and I look away. But wait... Here she comes, arms outstretched. Oh! For me? A sweet moon face turns up for a kiss. Now how did she know that is exactly what I needed today?

Monday's Provisions

Yes, I know the world is crashing all around us.

And our 401ks look like minus 401ks.
And the election. And the banks. And the layoffs.

And so on, and so on, ad nauseum.

Really, how could I miss the constant barrage of news and conversation on these very topics??

What an unfortunate time to get accidentally free cable.

But still I'm grateful.

Call me One Hot Pollyanna, but I'm actually rather stubbornly determined to be grateful.

I'm grateful for a husband who makes me laugh by saying, hey if the worst happens, we'll just go back to Florida and move in with your parents. (Just kidding, mom and dad!) And I'm grateful for a partner who nods and truly agrees with me when I say, as long as we've got the Good Lord and each other, we'll be fine.

I'm grateful for kids who are so oblivious to the world's woes that they can be happy for hours catching lizards and meticulously constructing fairy houses from sticks and rose petals.

Talk about trust.

I'm grateful for those kiddos, just in general. The opportunity to love on them. Pet them. Make them feel better when they are sick. Delight them with outlandish bedtime stories. Kiss their toes. Grant their wishes. (At least some of them). Cart them around and swell up with poorly concealed pride that I am, actually, their very own mama. Me!

It's easy to forget that there are people in the world who would give anything, anything to love on their babies tonight. And mine are right here! Within my reach. Ready for some good lovin' any old time. Can you believe my luck?!

Me either. But I'm working on it.