The Gravelly Taste of Eating One's Own Words

Periodically (more often than is comfortable) I find myself "eating my words." And even after repeated opportunities, it has never begun to taste any better. ::sigh::

I am quite confident that God allows this to happen to make sure that my sanctimonious, smug little self stays in check . . . under control.

So, it was no surprise that the end of April found me, once again, enjoying the gravelly mouthful.

I have always looked askance at kindergarten graduations, thinking them gratuitous, ridiculous, and a thinly veiled excuse for a heart-tugging Kodak moment.

That was until this year.

Until Youngest Daughter's kindergarten class participated in this exact event.

Until the Thursday night which found me pinning a pale blue mortar board on her little head, glowing ecstatically as she reached out for her "diploma," and jostling other parents for the best spot in which to photograph our little scholars.

At that moment kindergarten graduation became a precious transitional moment; a not-to-be-forgotten sweet marking of growing up; a time to feel my parental heart swell with the love and joy this little one brings.

(Guess who has a 6'5" dad???)

Eating your own words . . . a little hard on the digestion . . . wonderful for the continual pursuit of a humble heart!

A Sweet Easter

This year as "Easter Eve" rolled around I kept the egg dyeing all to myself. I had seen a lovely idea on Southern Living's web site, and I wanted the egg dyeing process to be all mine.

Thankfully, none of the children minded.

The blue eggs were just dyed with food coloring, and the tan eggs were dyed in a strong tea mixture. The eggs were then splattered with dark brown acrylic paint by dipping an old toothbrush in the paint and running my thumb across the bristles.

Then with the finished eggs nestled down in a little Spanish moss "nest" and a name tag tucked in, they were perfect "place cards."

I did not hard boil the eggs. I do not like egg salad. I do not like hard boiled eggs. I left them raw.
Now this did present a challenge, in that there was a little bit of question as to what to do with one's raw-placecard-egg once the meal had begun.

Oldest Son took this in hand. He stood up to announce to the table-ful that the eggs were not hard-boiled and that everyone should be careful. He picked up the two corners of the napkin on which his "nest" was laying to demonstrate how the raw egg could be lifted in its sling and placed to the side.

I was in the kitchen when I heard the crack, the splat and the resulting gasp from the table as the egg slipped neatly from its sling onto the wood floor and oriental rug. Ah, yes, everyone should be careful . . . very, very careful.





On a brighter note, the day also included an Easter egg hunt. Here, Youngest Son contemplates a clue leading to a surprise.

And it's always fun to see all the grandkids together clustered around My Mom and My Dad. I just love 'em all!!

Sweet, sweet Easter Day.

The Risks of the Circus

Our every-once-in-a-while excursion to the circus, although an eagerly anticipated event, is always fraught with risk!

It begins when we walk through the front door of the stadium, when the Man of the House and I will immediately be accosted by little people to purchase the $35 glow-in-the-dark spinners that are currently selling at Dollar Tree for $4.99.

We run the risk of being considered spoil-sport, stingy, incomprehensible, insensitive, and out-of-touch. We joyfully accept such risk.

This harsh stance will also extend to $10 bags of cotton candy, $15 snow cones in plastic elephant cups, and $50 small stuffed tigers.

I can pretty much be assured that the day following the circus,Youngest Son will again attempt to teach our 2 large, aging dogs to perform feats of dexterity and daring.

This will involve the disappearance of large amounts of Milk Bones and an increase in our golden's arthritis.

Middle Son, on the other hand, will come back from the circus totally convinced that he can tightrope-walk the deck railing . . . and then free fall to the trampoline 1 story below.

Youngest Daughter will have reawakened within her her life's calling to some form of entertainment career involving skimpy outfits with lots of sequins and long, flowing hair.

There are many reasons for which this career path seems undesirable and ill-advised.

In the face of these risks, our crew of 7 continues to press on, enjoying the circus every couple of years.

The joy, excitement, and adrenaline rushes while enjoying the three rings, make the risks a small price to pay.

It is, after all, the greatest show on earth!

Valentine Vignettes (And Giveaway Winner!!)

It's 10:00 p.m. here in the Eastern time zone, so I have exactly 2 hours to post the winner of the Giveaway and still keep my word to post today : ) !!

But first, I'll show you a little peek into our Valentine's Day.

Piped chocolate hearts ready to be popped into the freezer:

So that even strawberry jello can look festive:

The Valentine I made for the Man of the House:

Favorite pink tulips for the lunch table:

A Valentine's place setting:

Youngest Daughter's handmade cards for her friends:

Aaah, yes. And therein lies the beauty of blogging. I can show you all my sweet, romantic, happy pictures.

And I don't have to show or tell you that I had to get up at 6:00 a.m. Sunday morning to get the bathrooms and kitchens company-presentable. Or that I completely forgot to buy napkins for dinner and when I mentioned that we had no napkins to my sophisticated dinner guest all the children chirped up, "But Mom, we never have napkins for dinner!" I also don't have to show or tell you that I had to stop at the grocery store on the way back from church because the entire household had run . out . of . toilet . paper! Or that the Man of the House and I had words . . . words the night before Valentine's Day . . . that sacred day of all that is loving and sweet and tender. Not nice words.

Nope, I don't need to show you all of that. I can just show you the sweetness and light and beauty and romance.

But of course you know the messy and the imperfect and the struggle are there. Just like at your house : ) !

That's where we all are. Cleaning the messes . . . enjoying the flowers . . . speaking the truth in love . . . making chocolate hearts . . . letting love cover faults . . . gluing on sparkles and glitter and sweet sentiments . . . hurrying to buy toilet paper before the guests arrive . . . receiving warm hugs and kisses . . . living with imperfection.

And that's where the joy is. Not just enduring or slogging through or muddling along but living! Always and only with His grace . . . always and only!

And now for the winner! The Random Number Generator tells me it's #5, which is

Sue@MyArtsDesire

Check out Sue's blog. It's beautiful! Send me your address, Sue, and the package will be on its way.

Thanks so much to all of you for participating! Here's to another fun year!

Glorious!

The middle of December brought the Man of the House's Company Christmas party.

Now, I wish I could say I was mature enough to grab something out of my closet that was acceptable, jump in the car and head off to the party without a second thought about my attire.

But, no, I cannot say that I am mature enough to do exactly that. There's just something in me that wants to shine on the night of The Company Christmas Party.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that every morning when the Man of the House leaves, I'm in rumpled pajamas, often mis-buttoned, one eye half-open, mind foggy, and hair at a rakishly non-symmetrical angle from trying to hide my head under the pillow. He, of course, leaves this vision and enters the world of women in Ann Taylor pantsuits, heels, and French manicures.



And yes, I know there's something I could do about this comparison, but I also have not evolved enough to shower, dress, and do my hair before the ungodly hour of 7:00 a.m., so let's not go there.




Simply put, when placed next to the women he works with . . . all at one time . . . all in one room . . . all in Christmas beauty, I would like to hold my own.

So, there you have it, the unvarnished truth. And this is why I found myself halfway through December with approximately 1 hour, limited funds, and the need to find myself something glorious for The Company Christmas Party.





Attire: Dressy Casual. For me, I wanted dressy . . . casual . . . glorious.

At such moments of need, T.J. Maxx has always been my go-to place, for all things quick, budget-friendly, and (hopefully!) glorious. I stacked my arms full of sheath dresses, usually a win for me. But no, too tight, too large, too frumpy, too sequined, too young, too plain, too . . . too . . . too . . .

Ack! Down to 15 minutes. Must find something. I turned reluctantly to "Tops," assuming I'd do the boring old blouse and dress pants thing. ::yawn::



And then, there it was. There they were. On the rack of medium tops, half had been pushed to the left side, half had been pushed to the right side. And there in between the two clumps, was the most beautiful, silvery-grey angora sweater. Soft ruffles fell down the front, open, scalloped lacework edged the bottom and sleeves.






And next to this feminine, soft beauty was a black chiffon tank with glossy black beading at the scooped neck. They were in my size; they stood alone, together; they were under my budget; they were waiting for me; they were mine.




Ooh, it was a sweet gift . . . a sweet, sweet gift.


And the next night, for one small Christmas-y moment, this stay-at-home, pajama-clad, sleepy-eyed mom held her own.

It was, in a word, glorious!

How We Wrapped Up 2009

We may not have many Christmas traditions, but at our house we do have a fun way to wrap up the Old Year.

It's the annual opening of the M family time capsule.





The New Year's Eve the year before we each fill out our Time Capsule form. We predict who will win the Super Bowl (no small chore for Youngest Daughter). We tell what our current biggest "pet peeve" is. We guess who will grow the most. And much more.

Then we seal up the hallowed time capsule and it sits moldering away, becoming fascinating, filled with unknown secrets on my closet shelf for a whole year.

The following New Year's Eve we open it up and have fun cheering those who made accurate predictions, measuring everyone to see who really did grow the most and laughing over who we were a year ago.





This year we enjoyed Youngest Daughter's prediction that her favorite vocalist at the end of '09 would be Kate Gosselin. And Oldest Daughter melted into a pool of embarrassment that her favorite singers at the end of '08 were The Jonas Brothers.

One child, not to be mentioned, thought the best thing that would happen to him in '09 would be the acquiring of a girlfriend. And the Man of the House had as his biggest wish a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

I think they're both still hoping.

I, for one, predicted that the best thing that would happen to me would be that I would knit my first pair of socks in '09.

Ah, well. There's always 2010.




After our laughter and congratulations had subsided, we filled out our 2010 sheets, and once again sealed up the Time Capsule, ready for another unveiling on the eve of 2011.

And now '09 is over; the excitement of both Christmas and New Year's are done. And even this last weekend of the holidays is hours from being completed.

Real life commences tomorrow.

Here we go 2010.

Take a deep breath . . . and jump!

And now to Him who can keep you on your feet, standing tall

in His bright presence, fresh and celebrating---

to our One God, our only Savior, through Jesus Christ

our Master, be glory, majesty, strength and rule before all time,

and now, and to the end of all time. Yes!

Jude 1:24-25 (The Message)

Christmas Ideals and Christmas Realities

As usual, my lofty, soaring ideals for this Christmas season far outstripped the abilities of my earthbound, plodding realities! You too?

Oooooh, I did have some wonderful plans. Just thinking about those idealistic plans gives me delightful, post-Christmas shivers. Do I really have to think about the realities?

Soaring Ideal #1 - Homemade gifts from the kitchen for all the neighbors. You know, Italian Bread Dipping Mix, Blueberry Salsa, Ukranian Braided Loaf. The kind of homemade gift that would make the neighbors comment to their spouse, as they quietly shut the front door after receiving their gift, "You know, we just don't realize how blessed we are to have the M's as our neighbors! Day after day they bring us joy and friendship, and it takes a time like this, a gift like this, to really sit back and appreciate them as they are due."

Yes, that's exactly what I was looking for.

Plodding Reality #1 - I have, instead, given large generous smiles to all the neighbors this holiday season. I have complimented their seasonal outdoor decor, wished them a merry Christmas, commiserated with them on the lack of snow. I have not delivered any home-baked goods to their doors. We'll have to wait for next year to get the appreciation we are so due.

Soaring Ideal #2 - 9-foot tree fully redone in the cocoas, coppers, golds and lime greens of my dreams. This really COULD have become a reality if along with my soaring ideal I did not also include that every ornament must be hung on the tree with a gold organza ribbon . . . necessitating the ironing, tying and retrimming of a ribbon for every ornament put on the tree.

Plodding Reality #2 - We had a tree. It had a star (and some really great twigs sticking out of it just like a real, live decorator!). Shimmering copper ribbon swagged down the tree. And half the ornaments got up . . . before time was up.

Even on Christmas Day the ornaments were hiding behind the paisley chair in hopes that in some few duty-less seconds I could get the rest of them on.

It was not to be.

The tree was half-decorated. But that half sure was gorgeous!

Soaring Ideal #3 - Really, really beautiful wrapping of all gifts. The kind of wrapping that says, "I thought of you; I took my time; I love beauty; I am creative." Gift wrap the way the The Nester does it:

Photo used with permission: The Nester

Plodding Reality #3 - All gifts were wrapped in recyclable paper off the discount table at Target. But, hey, at least they were wrapped . . . even the gifts for My Mom and My Dad that I snuck off to wrap as they were finishing up Christmas brunch. They never suspected the last strip of tape was snapped on mere moments before their gifts were unwrapped . . . or maybe they did---they've known me for a long time.

Soaring Ideal #4 - Christmas cards. Sent out the first week of December. To all friends both past and present. To restablish connections with people who currently think we must have moved to a foreign country. Or gone into hiding.

Plodding Reality #4 - I'm really hoping to send out pictures that say "Happy New Year" . . . or some other holiday in the year 2010.

Soaring Ideal #5 - A stunning, breathtaking Christmas Brunch spread for my side of the family . . . highlighted by homemade Maple Cinnamon Rolls from Pioneer Woman. (Don't be too judgmental here. My brother is, after all, a professional artisan baker and chef. You can't blame me too harshly for overdoing it when he's on the guest list!)

I think there was also a vision of gold-edged placards at each dish along the buffet line to let the guests know the full, delicious menu.

Plodding Reality #5 - I actually served two sweet bread recipes that began with cans of crescent rolls . . . purchased at the grocery store. I intentionally avoided eye contact with my brother as he skimmed through the buffet line.

And I must also say that by the time we ate brunch at 11:30, the guests were so happy to finally have food that they didn't really care what they were eating.

They never missed the placards . . . gold-edged or otherwise.

So, there you have it. My Christmas ideals . . . and the realities. And somewhere in there we spent loving family time, ate scrumptious foods, reflected on what really happened on that Silent Night . . . and never missed those lofty ideals.

Not even for a minute.

A Thanksgiving Surprise

Okay . . . here's an "association" quiz.


What do sand and stuffing, crashing waves and cranberry sauce, and lighthouses and lots of turkey have in common?


This year . . . for our family . . . the common denominator is Thanksgiving!!


Do you remember I was trying to cheerfully accept no beach vacation this year . . . no golden sunsets with dolphins leaping in the bay . . . no gazing forever and ever across the ocean and into the horizon . . . no pedalling straight into the briny, salty wind across the sand. ::sob::



So, what a delightful surprise it was when the Man of the House began looking at our schedules and realized that all college classes, sports teams, and work schedules caught their collective breath over the Thanksgiving holidays and we actually had several days in a row to string together for some family time.


Did I want to go to the beach? Did I want to go? Did I want to go?


My hands were already packing while my mouth was forming the word "yes"!


So we'll be having a delightfully unconventional Thanksgiving this year. I won't be cooking a big meal. I won't be desperately cleaning the house at 3 in the morning so that everyone who arrives for the big dinner will think we live in that degree of spotlessness on a daily basis. I won't be picking turkey off endless bones and ziplocking it into freezer bags.

I'll be listening to the roar of waves and watching sunsets and pedalling furiously into the wind.

And I can't wait!

How The Mighty Have Fallen

When it comes to Halloween, I've always considered myself a woman of principle. And my principles have had to do with Halloween costumes.

Principle #1 - Never, ever buy a costume. Always have homemade or home "gathered" costumes. And, for goodness sake, if you had to stoop so low as to buy one, never, ever buy one of those hideously cheaply-made excuses for costumes at Wal-Mart and the like.

I used to want to weep at the poor little children crowded by my door on Halloween in unbelievably chintzy polyester and acrylic costumes. Where were the mothers?

Principle #2 - No scary costumes. No problem for the girls, who always had a full range of safe options: cowgirls, ballerinas, cheerleaders, princesses. More problematic for the boys, but we could always stick with wholesome action figures, Indians, animals, careers, etc.

And I did feel proud to have steered clear of all manner of fear and evil. (Did I say "proud"?)

(Exhibit A)

Just to show you what a woman of principles I was, I would like for you to observed Exhibit A above. A picture from a Halloween 10 years ago.

Oldest Daughter dressed as an angel, Butterick pattern #4419, thank you very much. Oldest and Middle Sons dressed like the "worker men" they longed to be. All home made, home gathered, non-scary. (And could I say just adorably cute. Ooooh, I could just eat up those little faces!)

Yes, a woman of principle. Do I hear someone saying "a woman of pride"? Oh, no, my dear, not pride . . . principle, principle.

Please, now, fast forward 10 years. And I would like for you to feast your eyes upon Youngest Daughter and Youngest Son, ready to go out trick-or-treating several weeks ago.






Yes, how the mighty have fallen.


The morning of Halloween, I decided I really must do something about the costume dilemma. So . . . we headed off to Wal-Mart . . . to the half-price costume wall. And we picked up the most chintzy, cheap, poorly made costumes you ever saw. Not only that, Youngest Daughter's was even a licensed costume. I was hyperventilating.






Yes, that's Youngest Son in the outfit looking decidedly in the "scary" category. Some executioner or ring wraith or other dark lord of mystery. ::sigh::


And you know what I found out. That maybe my high and lofty principles aren't really principles after all . . . really just preferences.


This is what I found out about my preferences this year:


* I prefer this year not to spend the time making Halloween costumes that I could be cooking dinner . . . or keeping us in clean clothes . . . or (for goodness sake) sleeping!

* I prefer this year not to make a major life moment over the fact that my 10 year-old does not want to be Peter Pan or Frodo or any other character from a work of literature.

* I prefer this year to keep the main things the main things and let non-essentials be exactly that . . . non-essentials.

So, this year we made Jack-o-lanterns, and the Man of the House took the little cheesy Thumbelina and the slightly macabre robed and hooded figure out onto the streets. After a soggy half hour in the rain, they came back, divided their spoils among the other siblings, and Halloween was over. I was not stressed and uptight; they were laid back and nonchalant. The household was at peace.

Maybe next year I'll go back to my strong preferences. Maybe Youngest Daughter will be a full scale black and red lady bug and Youngest Son will be the best dadgum Tom Sawyer you ever did see. But for this year, it was time to find out what is essential . . . and what really just isn't.

Things to Delight The Heart of a Five Year-Old

Glitter shoes from the consignment store:

Destroying the competition in a fast-paced game of Kitty Memory:

Black olives on all five fingers:

Blowing bubbles at a wedding:


Six candles on a plate of cupcakes . . . celebrating that you're five no longer:

Happy Birthday, Youngest Daughter!

We Had A Wedding!

Oooh, we had a wedding! No, not in the immediate "Imperfection" family but in extended family. And it was a family affair!

We squeezed into dress clothes:

And took gifts:

(Now, that was worth it!)

We slowly walked the aisle and adjusted the bride's train and generally looked pretty:

We lit candles:

Dropped silky white petals in thick clumps up the main aisle:

And resignedly handed out programs at the door:

I directed the wedding, and the Man of the House shuttled people back and forth, ate pizza patiently for too many dinners, tried to ignore the fact that his shirts hadn't been ironed, and paid for all of us to look beautiful.

The wedding had all the things we love to love in weddings!

Beautiful bride:

(sweet niece)

The moistest, lusciousest, bestest wedding cake we ever tasted:

(This is all that's left of an entire cake round after a post-wedding brunch and then being generally attacked by my brood.)

Dreamy flowers:

It was hectic and exhilirating and poignant and exhausting. And it's over. But it sure was fun while it lasted!