Late bloomer, full speed ahead.

My two-year-old's been saying yes ("essss!") for a year or more, but just yesterday morning, he began to use its antonym for the first time.

Yep, that's right. I have a toddler so sweet and accommodating that he hasn't bothered to say "no" to his mama-- or anyone else-- for the first 2.25 years of his life. Now, we've heard him say plenty of other words, so we knew it wasn't a matter of ability... more a matter of motivation, I think. What burning issue drew the negative from his lips, you ask? A dire situation: I wanted to pull him up and out of his crib, and he had other plans. "No," he said gently, smiling, waving his feet at me.

Translation: No leaving the crib until These Little Piggies is performed on each foot.

Am I wondrously blessed or what? Naturally we did the Piggy Ritual before exiting the crib, and came on downstairs. Later on when I turned on the Netflix On Demand and began paging through our queued kids' movies, the word was used again, clear as day: As each video came to the foreground, he seriously but softly gave me his verdict. "No." "No." "No." When we stopped at one of the Thomas the Train videos, hopping, squealing, and flapping replaced the negative, with his adorable approximation of train sounds: "Chi Chi! Whoa Whoa!!"

My heart swells with love for this little boy. He's taken his time, but since he finally started walking just after his second birthday, there's been no stopping him.

He's growing like a weed, adding words every day (Today, his first sentence: "Ducks, PLEASE!" to his Poppop, begging for a golf cart ride to go see the course's ducks. Again, my heart: first sentence includes the word PLEASE?? How did I deserve such a sweetheart of a child?)

My baby suddenly has little-boy interests and passions: legos, trains, construction equipment, letters. He's a committed vegetarian, diving happily into his spaghetti tonight while expertly spitting out every last bit of meat that we tried to sneak into the sauce. He kicks his shoes off endlessly in the grocery store cart, laughing me when I groan and bend to pick them up AGAIN. He rests his head in my hand at the dinner table, a gentle moment of love before he proceeds to cover himself and everything within arm's reach with his dinner. He still prowls the house in search of letters, both his magnetic fridge treasures and any letter he can spot on a book, magazine, or piece of mail. "O! P! X!" he screams, pointing a hand nearly shaking with joy at the proper letter.

Oh, my goodness, I am so proud of him. After his surgery, his misdiagnosed infection, his slowed growth, his poor botched circumcision, his eczema, his milk allergies... he's been slow to take off, to really show us the Quinton that's been hidden underneath all these struggles and his contented nature. At last, though, he's starting to rip the curtain away, chortling and squealing and racing around with glee as he does so.

What a fella. And what a soft spot I have for him.

I am sad (in more ways than I can quite articulate) to lose my little baby, but this little boy that's emerging is so fascinating, so special. Onward we go... lead us into your next adventures, buddy. We'll be cheering you on.

Thoughts at Sleep Times.

Little eyelids droop, flutter, and drop. A moment later, she's gone. I watch her, listen to her breath as it lengthens and steadies. Four inches from her, her long legs touching mine, she finally (FINALLY!) starts her nap, and I marvel. Did really I give birth to this beautiful creature? How is it that seven pounds of mewling baby turned into this?

****

Six hours later, there's another sweet warm body next to mine, this one stockier, plumper, and almost comically earthy. Our relationship is often all about this little body: the Foods He Likes (cheddar bunnies, cheerios, bananas), the diapers he fills, the sleep he needs. But tonight, for a few moments, he leaves his body behind, flops backward onto the bed with a grin as we bring out the board books: Feel the Baby Animals, Hand Hand Fingers Thumb, and the ultimate: One Duck Stuck.

We read, point, flip pages. He grins with delight most at the pages that are most familiar, the comments he expects me to make each time we reach them. But when I ask him if he's ready for "RockaRocka", he grins bigger. "KKKK," he says firmly (meaning "OK"), reaching for my arms before I'm quite ready to pick him up.

We settle down into the glider, and his heavy little head nestles into my shoulder. He's big now; his legs are almost comically folded up underneath him so that his trunk can be as close to me as possible. I wrap my arms around this strong little fella, his broad chest and chunky legs, and again, I stop and steep in the moment.

****

They are so very mine right now: mine to feed, diaper, nap, clothe, reclothe, tote around town. Mine to read to, sing to, walk with, eat with, train, teach, cajole, force, bandage, mourn with. I'm an introvert, and there are moments, even as I exult in their love, their innocence and sweetness and joy as they pile on me like puppies, I sometimes at the same moment feel a bit smothered, a bit Never Alone. Oh my word, what I would give at times for a day or three to myself, with books and yarn and a fountain pen and camera and all those things I used to have time to enjoy.

But then I think about those tiny veins in her eyelids, and the way her long eyelashes wave up and down like little surrender flags as she gives in to sleep.
And I think about his grin as he gleefully sticks his tiny finger into my ear canal for the thousandth time, delighting in watching me cringe and squeal and pull it away.
And I think about how proud I am that he's finally decided he wants to walk, and that she's almost sure to be reading before she even starts kindergarten, and how excited I am to be there for the next steps on their journeys.

And really, this is exactly where I want to be.

(As long as there's hot tea and an hour or two of peace and quiet available each night.)

Out with the old (and cold).

Last week, my aunt gave us a steal of a deal on a fancy nearly-new "french door" refrigerator.

It's fantastic. It has an icemaker and a water dispenser, which we were lacking; it works better spacewise for our small kitchen; and it puts fruits and vegetables at my daughter's eye level, which has already been much better for her food requests. I love it. (Okay, I would love it a little bit more if it were a black Big Chill. But you can't have everything you want in life.)

Despite the windfall of a nearly-new fancypants fridge, though, I feel even happier about how we came to rid ourselves of the old fridge. After a week on Craigslist and several days on a local "bargain hour" on an AM radio station, I hadn't had a single bite. Odd, when I was asking less than $150 for the fridge, I thought. I found a local thrift shop that would take it, then posted a rather desperate request on the local Freecycle group for someone with a truck to come and help me move it there.

I heard back from several people who wanted to take it for free, and I resisted, until a shy woman called and told me reluctantly that their fridge had just gone out, ruining all their food. She has three kids, and can't afford the prices at rent-a-center. Could she possibly pay me $25 for mine instead-- on Friday?

I love the thrill that comes with a God Moment. They're not that common, hard to describe, hard to relate without sounding a little kooky. But I didn't even hesitate when this woman made her shy request. Something that I believe is the Spirit within me lept up and all but shouted in my head: YES. GIVE IT TO HER. It was out of my mouth before I even thought about it.

She was at our house within thirty minutes, beaming, a friend helping her load it onto the truck. Will she come back Friday with the promised $25? It doesn't even matter.

I had a fridge clogging up my life, looking trashy on my front porch. She had hungry kids with no place to store food for them.

Done deal. So satisfying, to be used to meet an unknown need like that. I just love it.

Give your balloons to the Lord.

This morning, as Q's eating breakfast in the kitchen and I'm putzing about with yarn swaps in the dining room:

Gracie appears with her prized pink heart helium baloon tied to her foot. "Okay, Mom, I'm ready for God."



I have her repeat herself a couple of times to make sure I'm hearing her right. Then I ask why she has her balloon tied to her foot.

"Well, I just want to make sure I can give it to him for a present. I want to give Him a nice present."

I'm now being instructed to pray/write messages to God and Jesus all over the balloon.

I'll take pictures and post them once we get finished.

(She was very persistent about this project, and a few days after we wrote on it, we released it in the front yard so that it could go "up to God". It's probably a momma thing, but I'm fascinated with her heart and her thinking about this. I did not prompt any of the messages on the balloon-- she dictated every one.

I want to give you a present, Jesus and God.

Also these are great:
pbskids.org
go.disney.com/princess

I love you, God and I love you, Jesus. And thank you for our food and macaroni and cheese.

~~

Thank you
I'm going to bring it (my money) to church for you and put it in the box.
I love the Fairies: Iridessa, Silvermist, Fawn, and Tinkerbell.
I want to give this balloon to God because I love Him. Now!

Love, Gracie
)

Why an Old House?

Why do I want to live in an old house? People ask that sometimes (or imply it with their eyes, as they see our somewhat chaotic life as we work to restore and update this home that we've chosen). I thought I'd take a little time and list some of my favorite details about this place. (I'd hoped to make it to 100, but I just don't have the stamina tonight.)

In absolutely no particular order.

1. I love the aesthetics of older rooms. Wood floors, big mullioned windows, higher ceilings. There's something peaceful about their spaces.
2. I love living WITHOUT homeowners' associations, because I'm an untidy yard person. Nobody's going to sniff at me if I leave my hose lying out in the side yard. If there's a bag of egg cartons on the front porch swing waiting to go to church (for a member's neighbor who sells eggs), nobody will be horrified. I do not have to water or weed my "lawn" or spray it with chemicals to keep the neighbors from being terrified of its dandelions. There is freedom in that for me.
3. We live on a steep hillside, but my backyard has a perfect garden-sized terrace built into it, because everyone used to grow their own vegetables. All I had to do was kill a little "grass" (see #2) and plant.
4. Our view. This was one of the first houses in the area, and we gaze over valleys in three directions. It's not a grand vista, but it's charming to have a little elbow room around us.
5. Our walls. Solid wood, 1" thick, where drywall would be in a modern house. Beat that for sound and weather insulation.
6. Our hooks and nails. Wherever I find a need to hang a robe, a cleaning brush, a picture, a plant... there's almost always a nail or hook already there to fill the need. And not just a boring modern robe hook, but a lovely patina'd wire one, full of character, or a chrome Art Deco model, sleek and striking. Makes me grin.
7. The flowers. The original owner was a hardware store owner, his wife a dedicated gardener. Come spring, our yard erupts with hundreds of pink hyacinths, daffodils, and some truly giant ancient shrubbery-- lilacs, a pink dogwood, and a giant fuschia azalea. It's gorgeous and fragrant, fodder for some truly amazing bouquets.
8. Mr. Perme's modifications. The second owner of the house was a WWII carpenter, and when something was in his way, he cheerfully altered it. The bottom stair to the basement, positioned to bang your shin terribly, has been rounded and sanded to avoid just that. A low ceiling beam in the porch's crawlspace has a notch cut out of it-- just tall enough, I imagine, for Mr. Perme to move through the space without cracking his head. Two closets were added upstairs (absolutely vital for modern life). A giant bookshelf was built in the dining room. The basement is full of wooden shelving, benches, worktables. I think Mr. Perme regularly as I move through the house-- we would never have time or attention to add all this ourselves.
9. The backyard's circular flower bed, ringed with a low wall of stones and cement, that I plan to someday make very useful (strawberries) or very beautiful (flowers).
10. Over an acre and a half.
11. The wild purple flowers that bloom in the thicket's shrubs on the side lot in the spring. I don't know what they are, but they're beautiful.
12. A neighbor who gardens and hangs out clothes on a clothesline and loves their old house like we love ours.
13. An enclosed back porch that makes a perfect playroom; the kids can play there, or bring their toys into the living areas, just a few feet from where I am in the living room or kitchen.
14. Old windows with wavy glass that we can easily repair ourselves. We've already repaired (okay, my husband has skillfully repaired) at least half a dozen of the old sashes, and the windows go from being impossibly heavy to lift to being able to raise and lower them with just a few fingers. We can replace broken glass, even repair rotten wood in the frames, easily, without having to replace entire windows. Incredibly sustainable. (Yes, they leak some heat and cold. It's worth it.)
15. The "E.P." childishly painted in a pseudo-stained glass "work of art" in the upper panes of Evelyn Perme's old bedroom. It's hidden by a valance, and I'm not sure I'll ever want it removed. It tells a story.
16. The smallest windows in the house are on the west and east sides, to shield the house from the freezing old and blazing sun. The largest windows are on the south side, to bring in light and heat in the winter, and light without heat in the summer. Every bedroom but one has windows on two walls, which makes arranging furniture a challenge but lets in wonderful breezes and air when the windows are opened. Double-hung windows will let cool air in the lower openings while letting hot air flow out the upper openings. Wonderful "green" design from 90 years ago.
17. Because of all this thoughtful design, and the fact that our living space is all downstairs and our bedrooms all upstairs, we've learned that the house is entirely livable 95% of the time without any heat or a/c on the upper floor. Enough heat rises in the winter to keep us cool, but not cold (as is good for health and good sleep); enough night air can be drawn in through the upstairs windows with fans in the summer to keep us cool enough to sleep. It's amazing, but I see no need to invest big bucks to install ductwork and a climate control system. 5% of the year, we're uncomfortable. That's a tiny amount.
18. The "J.O. Wilson, March 7, 1920" written in the concrete of the garden retaining wall. The original owner, leaving his mark. (The house was four years old by then; I think the date represents the day the concrete was poured...?)
19. The low stone wall on the south side of the house, lined with hundreds of iris plants that erupt in bloom twice a year.
20. The double-drainboard cast iron sink on its metal cabinet in the kitchen.
21. A cool basement for keeping potatoes and onions and such. (We're trying to grow our own this year and will need a place to store them.)
22. Wiring and plumbing that's simple and straightforward, and made of higher-quality materials than can now be bought at any normal price.
23. Insulation board that Mr. Perme has crammed into every imaginable crack and orifice of the basement and back porch. I'm sure it's part of why our utility bills are so reasonable-- but he was obviously obsessed.
24. The pull chains on the bare-bulb fixtures in the original closets upstairs, which turn on and off with such a smooth, flawless motion after 90 years. (I compare these to one modern one we have-- it's cheap, flimsy plastic and has to be pulled so hard that I'm afraid I'm going to break it each time I need to use it.)
25. The medicine cabinet oddly installed on the back porch, which has never been a bathroom. What on earth did they need to store there?
26. Woodwork that's heavy, thick, and elegant, on every window and baseboard and doorframe of the house.
27. The "pass-through" hole in the wall between the kitchen and the dining room, created by Mr. Perme when he got sick of bringing the telephone from one room to another via the doorway. (According to their daughter Evelyn, Mrs. Perme was NOT home when he knocked a hole in her kitchen wall, and she was NOT pleased when she returned.)
28. Mail delivered to the mailbox on our porch railing, rather than in a box out on the street.
29. A big front porch swing.
30. Big, big, big oak trees surrounding the house-- but not overhanging it. I especially appreciate the shade and privacy they provide in the summer.
31. A hook by the front door that's just right for a holiday wreath, and little cup hooks installed all along the front porch that hold a string of Christmas lights perfectly.
32. Our little one-car garage, made of local stone with the original tin tile roof still intact. (Now, I do wish we still had a door on that garage, but I guess one can't have everything...)
33. Gutters that feed directly into underground drains that dump rainwater far away from the house.
34. Concrete borders built on either side of narrow beds flanking the sidewalk leading to our front door: a perfect planting bed for hostas.
35. Old windows, hinges, window locks, panes of wavy glass, light fixtures, etc, all carefully preserved in the basement and shed.
36. A heavy old metal window fan, a gift from the Permes when we bought the house, that is strong enough to pull cool air in from every window upstairs on summer nights.
37. An old wood-handled flathead screwdriver, fished out of a window, that somehow works better for the old screws in our hardware and doorknobs.
38. Layers of linoleum and contact paper in the kitchen cabinet that tells the story of decades of decor changes. I'd never remove those.
39. Sweet pea vines that spring up, wild and crazy, and cover areas of the yard with blooms and fragrance in the summer. They're messy, but I can't bring myself to remove them yet.
40. Old glass storm windows on the playroom windows, that multiply the wavy-paned effect and make the room swim with light.
41. Rabbits that live in the thicket on the side lot and occasionally appear in our yard, nibbling clover. (I may change my mind about those rabbits now that we're trying to grow vegetables...)
42. Marbles dug up when we planted the hostas in the front yard: evidence of children playing on the sidewalk, long ago.
43. Oak floors downstairs, which refinished beautifully.
44. Original pine floors upstairs with lovely gaps between the boards because of their age. (Most of those floors are carpeted now for the childraising years, but someday, we'll refinish the rest of them too.)
45. A beautiful staircase with original dark wood on the railing and newel posts. I love how the finish on the posts is worn by the hundreds of hands that have rubbed against them as their owners traveled up and down the stairs.
46. Stairs that are markedly shallower than standard stair sizes today-- making them easier for little feet (and someday, old joints) to maneuver.
47. Funky old chrome handles on the kitchen cabinets.
48. Pocket doors on the living room and pantry doorways that still slide perfectly after all this time.
49. Old clown wallpaper on the back porch playroom's walls. I'll have to replace this soon, as it's getting fragile and discolored, but I love that it was obviously a child's place long ago, just as it is now.
50. A big, deep old cast iron tub in the bathroom, perfect for soaking.
51. A chimney that runs up the center of the house, with the perfect vent spot for a woodstove in the dining room already there. (Should we ever decide to invest in that.)
52. Flocks of bird visitors to our little feeders.
53. A front porch that's broad and deep enough for chairs and even a dining table, with broad concrete railings perfect for sitting on as well.
54. The beautiful original wallpaper still showing in my closet, and the unpainted original dark wood still visible on the trim inside the closets upstairs. Someday we WILL refinish the doors at least, to show off a bit of that beautiful wood that's underneath the paint.
55. Sturdy wooden ceilings that allowed my husband to hang my HEAVY choice of a dining room light fixture without ripping out ceilings to install additional bracing in the proper spot.
56. Soundproofing by the solid wooden doors and walls. So total, it's hard to hear my children crying from another room if their doors are closed. (Bad thing now, good thing in a few years!)
57. Windows that let in sunlight all day long, creating pools of warmth for my little old dog who loves to sleep in them. You can always find her on the east side of the house in the morning, the south in the afternoon...
58. The heavy cotton curtains decorated with Egyptians that are hanging over the utility shelving on the back porch. I wonder if they've been there since the US's Egyptian fad in the 1920s.
59. The little bars of soap I keep finding stashed in odd corners, even years after we moved in. Mrs. Perme's idea of air fresheners, I imagine... we find another one occasionally, like magic, even though we've certainly been over every inch of every closet already.
60. The giant glass bottle with pump sprayer that we found in the garage. It's perfect for spraying liquid fertilizer, and I love how it looks sitting on the old shelf in there.
61. The hilarious-but-very-useful utility shutoff valves that have been installed into the beautiful (but leaky) original exposed plumbing in our shower. It's very handy to be able to shut off the shower flow without adjusting the temperature knobs, but more than that, I love the sheer fuction-over-form ugliness of it: practical Mr. Perme strikes again, I'm sure.
62. The currently unused water cistern below the kitchen windows. It's dry and covered with concrete pavers and a birdbath right now, but should I ever get brave enough to fashion myself a rainwater catchment system, I have the perfect vessel right there to hold it.
63. A pole I just discovered this month near the garden. It probably used to support a clothesline, but will be perfect for me to mount a tall pole with my future bat house on it. (Bats eat thousands of mosquitoes every night, and that is probably my least favorite thing about this house... we are hounded by mosquitoes every evening here.

Whew, what a list. I'm sure no one is still reading at this point, and that's okay. It was lovely for my state of mind to write all this out. I'm feeling very blessed.

...those are also #27-90 of my gratitude items, because I've been grateful for each and every one of these old-house quirks as we've lived our lives in this home for the past two-plus years.

Thanks, J.O. and Mrs Wilson. Thanks, Perme family. You've prepared a lovely home for my family.

We are happy here.

We must have people over for dinner more often.

The toys are picked up.
The paper clutter's off the dining room table.
I MOPPED the downstairs today with a spare 20 minutes I had.
The bottom of the kitchen sink is even visible.

Is it possible for both of us, at once, to have had a little bit of the winter housebound blues this past month or so?

Things are different now, though. The daffodils are blooming, the garden's in the front of my mind (where it does not belong until taxes are filed), we've been swinging on the front porch and playing with the kids after dinner, and the whole world seems filled with promise.

My little boy's saying "I touch it!" and "Adda" (daddy?) and "bye-bye-bye" and getting closer to walking every day. He takes my breath away with the cuteness. My girl is becoming more and more a companion, and a fascinating and fun one at that.

It's a good evening to be in my own skin, is what I'm sayin'.

I'd rather be knitting.

Darn.

I logged in, opened this page, hoping to write, and realized:

There are too many things to record, moments to share, discontents, hopes, fears, joys, worries. I sit in front of the keyboard and am helpless amongst the swirl. How do I pick which one to focus on? (When I try to write about a little of everything, it turns into a list, not a piece of writing, and then nobody's satisfied, most of all me.)

Swirl. Swirl.

Oh, forget it. I'm going to go knit on that sweater.

27) Knitting, which is mindless yet productive, giving both time to reflect and new challenges to overcome, and which provides me hours of entertainment and a sense of community at ravelry.com.

Speaking of community... (Look! The swirling cloud has parted! Something's emerging!) Here's a little topic that's on my mind:

How do you, as a parent, navigate the confusing waters of forging friendships with other moms? I want my daughter to have regular playmates, but darn it, I also want to feel secure that I am genuinely liked by their parents. My previous incarnation as Working Ministry Wife meant that I pretty much haven't needed to MAKE new friends for myself in years (as the church and my job always brought people into my life fairly naturally).

However, there seems to be no natural way to meet other toddlers and their moms when I'm raising two at home, putting them down for naps every afternoon, and then doing the dinner/bedtime boogie once they wake up at 4pm. Our church has exactly one other toddler in it, but for some reason, that mom does not seem to interested in anything deeper than a Sunday relationship. (I play the Insecure Mom Mantra in my head when I start trying to figure that out: Is My Kid Ugly to Her Kid? Is My House Too Dirty? Am I Too Dull or Ugly or Unwashed or Old or Sinful or Condescending? Did I insult her without knowing it? Am I somehow UnFriendWorthy? I know of no way to get an honest answer to that question, or even of how to ask it without sounding like the pitiful nerdy kid in youth group who everyone had to be friends with because it was the Christian thing to do even though he was about as interesting as a used toothbrush.)

I want good friends to share coffee with while our toddlers run amuck in our houses. I had that once, back before I had a toddler; she'd come over, I'd brew the coffee and stick in the Superman videos, and we'd laugh and ponder and pray and chat all morning. She let me convert her to Lasagna Gardening and the lust of Other People's Organic Material, and we spent hours lugging home bags of leaves and grass clippings for our gardens. I went to the hospital with her during the late-night scares of her second pregnancy, and took off work for days to help when she came home with him (and a giant spinal headache from the epidural). I'm realizing now that it was, perhaps, the best friendship I've ever had, and possibly the best I'll ever know in this life.

Given that I still have fifty years or so left on the earth, that's rather disheartening.

There is no ToddlerMama Support Group type meeting in this town, as far as I can find. I have no time to join organizations based on my interests (knitting, historic preservation, the arts, etc) to meet women I'd mesh with. Leaving our beloved little church to attend big churches with lots of toddler families doesn't seem right either. I mean, I love our little church. I generally hate the big ones, and the ones who have delusions of bigness. I'm afraid that, to have a big enough pool to find the kind of friends I'd like to have, I would have to belong to a church that would make my stomach churn on Sunday morning. (Surely that's not God's idea of a healthy spiritual situation.)

All I really know to do is to pray my pitiful little used-toothbrush prayer to One who knows how insecure and isolated I'm feeling about this. Here is my heart's great need. I lay it down there, and just keep going through our days, hoping that less lonely ones lie ahead.

The Ice Storm cometh.

I'm shivering a little, either from my nasty sore throat/sinus illness or from the weather creeping into our home through the dining room window to my right.

The forecast is grim:

Tonight...Sleet in the evening. Light freezing rain. No snow accumulations. Ice accumulations around one half of an inch. Lows in the mid 20s. Temperatures nearly steady after midnight. East winds 5 to 10 mph. The chance of precipitation 90 percent.

Tuesday...Light freezing rain. Ice accumulations of one half to three quarters of an inch. Highs in the upper 20s. Temperatures steady or slowly falling. North winds 5 to 10 mph. The chance of precipitation 90 percent.

Tuesday Night...Sleet...light freezing rain likely and a chance of snow in the evening...then a slight chance of snow and sleet after midnight. Snow accumulations up to 2 inches. Ice accumulations of up to one quarter of an inch. Lows around 17. Northwest winds 5 to 10 mph. The chance of precipitation 70 percent in the evening...decreasing to 20 percent after midnight.

So... if my math is accurate... we can expect to have up to four inches of frozen mess on our hands, only two of that snow. May God freeze most of it on the way down, before it hits our trees and power lines. Right now, the metallic sound of heavy sleet is positively welcome.

If I were not so shivery, I would love to write more. But I must go brew more tea.

22) Sleet hitting my window instead of freezing rain tonight.
23) A dry, warm (okay, warm-away-from-the-windows) home to shield my family from that sleet.
24) A husband who'll be home from work for the next couple of days to help with the kids, which will keep me from losing my mind as we're holed up in here all together.
25) For Grammy, who turns 63 today. Her birthday dinner here was postponed, but we are still celebrating her. A tremendous gift, to enjoy my mother-- merry, helpful, loving, and hospitable to extremes-- on a daily basis, just a phone call or a short drive away. I am hugely thankful that my kids will grow up knowing her well and loving her so deeply.
26) Hot tea on cold nights and sore throats.

I never do these things.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
My middle name, Virginia, is the middle name of both my grandmothers.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
This is embarassing... about an hour ago. I listen to a country music station when frozen stuff or tornadoes are about, because it's the best local weather source we have. Today there was a song on it about a little girl growing up, and her Daddy weathering the difficult times... sleepless newborn nights, leaving her at preschool despite her tears, teenager era, etc... I'm helpless against this sappy kind of stuff now that I have babies of my own.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
It used to be fine, but now that I hardly write anymore, it's getting pretty sloppy. I wonder if it'll be antiquated and quaint to handwrite things someday, like calligraphy is now.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
I actually do like Petit Jean bologna more than just about anything. I hate turkey or ham if its slimy, but like it if it's dryish and smoked and sliced thin.

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Two. One of each, three and one year old.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
I hope so. I can be hard to get to know, though, and I worry that I'm thoughtless or neglectful of my friendships. So maybe I wouldn't?


7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
I hope not.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
I do.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Not now that I have kids. Roller coasters are about as death-defying as I'm willing to get now that I have two little dependants.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Homemade granola, or Cracklin' Oat Bran. I rarely have either because I cannot stop eating them if they're around.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Not if I can avoid it.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Emotionally/spiritually, yes. Physically, ha.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Mint chocolate chip, or homemade vanilla w/ fresh peaches. I'm not a huge ice cream person.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Where their eyes go.

15. RED OR PINK?
Red.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
My ability to distract myself from things I truly need to accomplish. (this is a fine example of that ability; I have QuickBooks waiting for me right now.)

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Jen Dove. And my sister's true self.

18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO DO THIS?
I don't really care. But it would be interesting to read.

19. WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Black mary jane Dr. Martens.

20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
french-pressed coffee made from husband-roasted beans. Superb.

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The sweet sound of silence. My kids are at Grammy's.

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
eggplant. (Is that a crayon color? Dark dark purple, I mean.)

23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Coffee. baking bread. clean baby. clean sheets. my grandmother's house. rain. the Buffalo River.

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
My haircutter. My hair, it is suddenly in sad, grown-out, lifeless shape. She is going to rescue me.

25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
I got this from Kim, who I like very much, although I've never met her.

26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
I will watch the Arkansas Razorbacks if I am with someone who is a fan. I can become a fan by osmosis (and alumni status) for short periods. Other than that, I'm entirely indifferent.

27. HAIR COLOR?
Dark brown, shot through with more and more silver these days.

28. EYE COLOR?
Green/blue.

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Not usually. I have contacts, but I mostly just wear them for dress-up. My glasses are my everyday wear.

30. FAVORITE FOOD?
GOOD pad thai. Indian curries. Recipes from Crescent Dragonwagon and America's Test Kitchen.

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Documentaries, actually, which usually are neither of those.

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
"The Queen." interesting but also slowmoving.

33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Blue

34. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Winter.

35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Depends on who from.

36. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Tiramisu from the long-defunct Pianalto's. (sigh.)

37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
no idea.

38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
no idea.

39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
"The Red Tent" by Diamant.

40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
Don't have a mouse pad.

41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT?
"The Queen." (We don't have cable and our antenna picks up three spectacularly cruddy stations-- so we don't watch a lot of tv on the tv. We do download a few things on the computers.)

42. FAVORITE SOUND?
My little boy's happy babbling.

43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles.

44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Geographically, central Europe.
Culturally, a shantytown in a dry riverbed/junkyard in Mexico.

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I used to bake and write and decorate pretty well, when I have the time. Time is rare these days, so those abilities are fading. I can, however, drop off to sleep at a moment's notice, in almost any location or position. Oh, and I love to customize databases. LOVE IT.

46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Arkansas

47. WHAT ARE YOU BAKING NEXT?
Nothing anytime soon... we're trying to drop some pounds.

48. DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR FIRST LOVER IS?
Yes.

49. WHAT ARE YOU DRINKING RIGHT NOW?
Cooling coffee. Need a warmup.

50. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Anybody's. Everybody's.

Open windows in January.

...and that's not on the computer, folks. I'm sitting here in bare feet, with breezes blowing through my downstairs, and it's nearly midnight. It got up to 77 degrees today, just three hours south of here (which is our nearest TV station in this state, believe it or not, and our source of info when we're at mom and dad's-- we don't have cable or a strong enough antenna to pick up legitimate TV station signals).

Wow. 2009 already. I remember imagining myself at 26, when 2000 would arrive, and thinking that was so far away. What happened?

Our gal has a new dollhouse, a new playhouse/supermarket thing ($15 on Amazon! SCORE), and a new tiny little Ariel doll which is apparently superior to them both (sigh. I can prohibit the movie, but I can't keep Santa from bringing an Ariel doll when it's the ONLY thing she wants in all the world).

(like all these parentheses? It's called LAZY WRITING. If I had time, I'd go through this, editing carefully so I could include all the info while removing 90% of the parentheticals. I won't. Suck it up and stumble through figuring out what I'm saying, please. Time alone in a quiet house is rare, and I won't spend it editing tonight.)

Our fella has... well, a huge multicolored dragon that has yet to leave the living room. A set of MegaBlocks, which he does seem to like in a chewy sort of fashion. An Oball. Not much else. This is the Christmas year of I Love Wrapping Paper for him, after all, and most all of his one-year-old toy needs are met by his big sister's stash.

Me? The best dining room chandelier in all the world, ALREADY INSTALLED. (cue hosts of angels triumphant here) A restored vintage stove, which we continue to believe (what amazing faith we have!) will be delivered in the near future. A WoodWick candle (candleish joy for those with no fireplace of their own), a scholarly book on the Ozarks which has turned out to be rather outdated and dull, and a gift card for Barnes and Noble, already spent in the clearance bins for next year's niece and nephew birthdays.

Last year we took time to think through the Advent season with friends and Andrew Peterson's Christmas album, and it was fabulous. Husband performed some of that music at church, which further connected us to the deeper side of the holiday. I bowed out of giftgiving and cardsending, having a new baby to tend to night and day. It was refreshing.

This year was a bit too much about Santa and a bit too little about Christ, in my opinion. I'd like next year to be a little more thoughtful, a little less frantic. But that's okay. One good thing about the years flying by is that I know that we'll be upon the next holiday season before too long, and I'll have another shot and doing it more meaningfully.

Other goingson...

We're resisiting the urge to resist the cliche, and bowing to our shared desire to eat well and exercise beginning this week. There's a reason this happens for so many people in January... brimfull of baked goods and chocolate, sated with sauces and stuffings and Santa-shaped chocolate-dipped marshmallows and such, we're ready to strip the intake down to the bare minimums, enjoy some cleansing.

I must learn QuickBooks. Like, now. Our taxes depend on it, and I'm 12 months behind logging our expenses in this new business venture already. Eek.

21. Her songs.

Oh, how I love this girl.

Thirteen months.

You are over one year old now, sweet fella. I can hardly believe that. It seems like just a few weeks ago that I was nursing you in our chair, the copper leaves glowing on the oaks outside, as I ached for your struggling kidney and learned your face and the feel of your dear sweet body in my arms. You still lay in my arms for a while each night before bedtime, but now your arms and legs splay out from my body; you're so very big, but still we settle in for some nursing and a bottle, rocking in the dark. You are still my baby, just an evergrowing and everchanging one.

You're crawling now, at last, a sweet grabby little belly-slither that isn't quite perfected but nonetheless gets you where you'd like to go. Where do you most like to go? To our feet, to be picked up and snuggled in our arms. Your contentedness with our arms (and your bouncer, and exersaucer) is doubtless some of the reason that movement's coming late to you. And that's fine. All in due time, buddy. At your own pace.

We x-rayed your head at your checkup this week, just to make sure you did have teeth. They're in there, taking their time just as your movement is, hanging out, slow to appear. In the meantime, you're managing to eat an amazing array of food without teeth. Prunes; crackers; chopped chicken; cooked veggies. No problem for my fella! Gums of Steel!

Your laugh has two sounds to it: a lovely gravelly huh-huh-huh, and when you're seriously tickled at something, a lovely inbreath of a squeak. The squeak developed first, and the huh-huh followed a few months later, and both of them can make me breathless with love for you. You smile often, your eyes dancing with what looks like mischief.

Twenty pounds, six ounces. Three months ago, you were thirteen pounds. Apparently you needed some extra calories; we added some formula to your diet, and you've grown like a weed ever since. I'm so proud of your chubby little legs and your round little face now. It feels like we've conquered this together (along with your surgery, along with that nasty scalp infection last spring). You've been through a lot, little guy, and you just keep marching on, overcoming your hurdles and impressing the heck out of me. Out of all of us, actually.

Your hair was black when you were born, and you were almost bald for a little while, but now you're growing in a spiky, cowlicked head of dark blonde or light brown hair. Your once-blue eyes are turning brown, the same lovely deep brown that your daddy has. Your feet are still a little small (or is it that your sister's are huge and I'm unaccustomed to normal feet?). Your head seems big, since hats for your age group generally are too small for you.

The past month has been chaotic at our house; your mom and dad decided to remove some ugly paneling and add some drywall to parts of the house, and our world's been covered in drywall dust and mud splatters and primer and paint and (tomorrow, thank God) new carpet and re-installed moldings. You've hardly noticed; you soldier on, hanging out with us in the safe areas of the house, walking through the chaos just to get to bed. I sure hope that we're in this house for many many years, and that you'll ask someday to see pictures of how funky and dated this house was when we bought it, and be amazed.

Things you love: Your grammy and aunt Leigh. Your sister, always, even when she's bossing you around. Our sweet Clairedog. Being outside whenever possible. Toys. (No particular favorite, but you can sit with a basketful of toys for quite a while, playing with one and then another.) You love Cheerios, but seem to love pureed food and cereal a bit more, flapping and cooing with enthusiasm when we sit down with a bowl to feed you. Oh, and television, most especially the Fraggles DVDs at Grammy's house. Your binky (just like your sister at your age, one is absolutely required for bedtime). And always, always, you love to be held, love your milk (both kinds), and love your momma most of all.

And I eat that up. You are such a blessing, Quinton. The next year will bring your first steps, your first sentences, the beginnings of a relationship with you that's more verbal and less tactile. I'm looking forward to all that, but I must admit: I also love this gentle time of cuddles and bottles and watching you learn to crawl. Thanks for stretching your babyhood out a little longer; it is a treasure to me--

As are you. Happy Birthday, buddy.

More gratefuls.

9) For a half hour spent driving round neighborhoods after dinner, prowling for pretty Christmas lights, with my toddler jangling her new jingle bell ornament incessantly and insisting that we sing along. Headache-inducing, but glorious fun.

10) For living in the same town with my parents, and such close relationships between my kids and my family. It's impossible to imagine raising them anywhere else now, and I feel so blessed that I have a husband willing to suffer the indignities of finding work in a small town so that we could be here.

11) For blinds ordered off the internet (lowestpriceblinds.com) at crazy too-good-to-be-true prices, but it was true. They're high quality, they look fantastic, and I have been deemed Good Wife for having made the purchase (whew! Relief.).

12) For a handyman/carpenter that I can trust with my house, who's reinstalling 100-year-old woodwork beautifully over the drywall we just had installed. For a careful, slow painter who'll come in and paint said woodwork, because we do not have the time this month to do it ourselves. For a completely trustworthy flooring installation business, who'll be here Friday to replace the 50-year-old carpet. Things have been chaotic, but they're progressing nicely now, and peace is not far off.

13) For a gal who, when asked what she wants from Santa this year, replies ardently, "a candy cane." Lord, help us preserve this sweet innocence and lack of the gimmes as long as we can.

14) For Andrew Peterson's Behold the Lamb album, which has been deepening our Christmas season for years now. It centers me on the true celebration, helps me cut through the chaos.

15) For a husband who can whip up some blackened salmon and green beans while I'm out buying groceries.

16) For a son who, on cue, waved an enthusiastic goodbye to his grandparents visiting from Georgia today. (Waves are rare.)

17) For the candles in our windows-- battery operated, true, but still lovely flickering things that burn all night and make our house look so festive from the street.

18) For the gallons of flat paint we're using on the walls being mysteriously marked down to $16.95. For my busy husband being willing to prime and paint walls and ceiling ourselves, which literally saved us thousands.

19) For a beautiful padded laptop sleeve from LL Bean's clearance online that kept me from having to create one myself.

20) For a warm bed upstairs that's calling my name right now. Goodnight, all.

Hold me, Jesus.

8) Gracie was watching some Christian cartoon on Aaron's computer this morning. I was listening from the living room-- I heard it explain the story about Jesus' resurrection, and wondered idly if she'd ever seen a kids' presentation of that before. (I know we've covered it at church, but lots of stuff goes over her head there.)

Afterward, she came straight to me, climbed up into my lap, looked at me earnestly (almost sadly), and said, "Mama, I want Jesus to come HOLD ME. Now."

I was a bit floored. I bumbled about with descriptions about how He holds us with his heart, and through our family, but she wasn't having that. Mama Holding was no substitute for Jesus Holding. When Claire began barking a few minutes later, she popped up, exclaimed, "Is Jesus here?!", and started running for the door.

My heart broke with thankfulness and something close to sorrow over this. I so want her to love him. I do not know how to explain him to her, though.

things a perceptive three-year-old might learn from the Little Mermaid.

Daddies are mean and yell loud. (We're talking through this one.)
Kisses should always be openmouthed with tilted head. (Ditto.)
You can meet a guy and immediately want to leave your home and family forever.
I will have Daddy's blessing if I defy him, meet the man of my dreams, and marry him in such a way that I can never be a part of my family again.
You find out if someone likes you by trying to get them to kiss you.
A good man could fall in love with you without ever hearing an intelligent thought from you or knowing anything about you.
If you sell your soul to the devil/sea witch, it'll still turn out Happily Ever After.

...I've seen this movie before, but never as a parent of a little girl. We bought it without much thought this weekend and let Gracie watch it twice. The more I think about it, the more I wonder what on earth I was thinking. For one thing, it's terrifying (particularly the Sea Witch scenes). For another, it's got some horrid social messages about adolescence/love/family/relationships.

What really set me off, though, was the music video (Ashley Tisdale) that plays immediately after the movie, which applies the "Kiss the Girl" song to what has to be a middle-school or junior high dance scene.

**Mommy twitching in horror at the thought of her girl applying this song to her first dance/date/crush/relationship**

I may be paranoid, but I'm resolute in my paranoia. We're retiring The Little Mermaid, thereby avoiding the whole Princess schtick for a bit longer, and returning to aiding and abetting her Tinkerbell fascination instead. (At least Tink's running around trying to help others instead of collecting fancy trinkets, sneaking off to forbidden places, or batting her eyes to try to win a man.)

The openmouthed kissing thing is absolutely hilarious, 'tis true. But it was scary how quick she picked that up. "This is how I do it now." No, sweetie, not for a long while yet... PLEASE.

Sunday night. Leafthought.

It's 1 a.m.(whoops-- I thought it was about 11pm). My husband never came downstairs after putting the gal to bed, so I imagine he's up there sleeping on hers, carefully balanced between her sprawled little body and the edge of the mattress. It's not the best way to sleep, but it is a great way to drift off. We both accidentally go to bed early occasionally because of her way of cuddling as she drifts off to sleep.

7) Today, I'm thankful for autumn leaves. In Orlando we had very few, and they tended to drop around December or January. I missed autumn terribly. I went out today with our gal and raked leaves furiously for about half an hour. It was good for my soul to feel the whispery cruch and smell the earthy scent that comes with disturbing leaves that have been too long on the ground. Good too to see her throw herself with abandon into my piles, laughing and running about with leaves stuck to her sweater and hair.

As I composter, I value leaves for practical reasons as well: Chopped leaves make awesome mulch and compost ingredients. I want to shred them all and add them to our garden spot, but with 1.8 acres and about 12 huge oaks, we have more than we could ever need. Best to leave today's big piles near the street for city pickup next week.

Our oaks don't turn bright colors, but the copper glow of the sun through their clinging brown leaves is something I'll forever associate with the first days at home with Q. I rocked him in his room with a view of those gorgeous leaves in the slanting afternoon light, prayed for his health, and felt so thankful to be holding him at home at all, whatever was to come with his kidneys. A year later, he's healthy, and I am so thankful. And I will always remember those leaves and prayer-breathed first days.

(off to bed. 1 a.m.! I am a glutton for punishment.)

Good Work, Good Messes.

5) I'm so very very grateful that my husband is doing work he loves, work that helps people AND has the potential to make us a good living.

We're leaping into our first "open enrollment" period for the products he sells, which means that Medicare recipients are going to be demanding much of his attention for the next two months or so. I'm very accustomed to having his help-- cooking, laundry, kid-watching are all things he's very skilled at. It's going to be an adjustment for me to have him occupied elsewhere. May I keep remembering what life was like when he worked for a ministry that wrang everything out of us and left us in a damp moldy unhappy heap, or when he worked in the office at the crusty outdated chalkboard manufacturer and made his supervisors look productive while they paid him in beans (well, not quite, but almost). A little sacrifice is well worth the benefits-- monetarily, but most especially in the way he thinks and feels about his life and dignity.

6) Hooray for progress on the home renovation front! Sunday the handyman/carpenter who my parents use called to let us know he was available for a project we've decided to do rather unexpectedly. Our 1916 American Foursquare house has had only two families own it before us, and it's badly in need of renovation in multiple areas. My husband needs a meeting place for clients during enrollment season, and we figured out a way to do it inside the house. This means that the renovation required to bring those areas out of "1970's fugly" into a presentable condition is a tax deduction. So bring in the handyman, to remove all the woodwork and the 1970s paneling; bring in a drywaller, to hang 1/4 inch drywall; paint it (ourselves?); and bring back the handyman, to put back what he'd removed. Voila! Non-ugly office and entryway/meeting room!

(But yikes, the chaos that began in my house yesterday. Nails and splinters all up and down the staircase carpet. Pile of paneling on the front lawn, with no sure plan on how to dispose of it. Gaping ugly holes around my old windows and doorways, with cold air seeping in everywhere. Let's get this done asap, PLEASE!!)

7) I love that there is something this beautiful available for our dining room:

...of course, it's nowhere near affordable for us at this point. But there it is, my little (well, rather big) dream. It makes me smile. I am willing to wait for our opportunity to purchase it.

Saturday night gifts

4) That my two children have grown and changed and loved and blossomed for another year. Q's now one year old, and G's three tomorrow. (Three! That boggles my mind... how can it have been three years since I sat in that wheelchair, shivering and sore, waiting for the nurses to get her IV placed so that I could see my beautiful girl for the first time since she was whisked away from the delivery room? I remember picking her up gingerly, with all the wires and monitors and oxygen and feeding tubes hanging off of her like spaghetti, trying not to displace anything. And the wonder of her obviously recognizing me, nestling herself into the hollow under my neck, and sleeping, at peace because I was there. I knew right then that nothing was more important in my world than being present for her, helping her sleep or with whatever she might need.

That's still true today. After all the chaos of today, the frantic housecleaning (too cold for a park party! 20+ people coming to our house in four hours!! YIKES, that.) and cake-decorating (NOT my Primary Talent) and present-wrapping and visitor-greeting. After having to greet a college buddy I hadn't seen in ten years wearing my milk-stained pyjama top and jeans in my wretchedly untidy house. After Tinkerbell crowns and Little Blue Engine that Could party hats and apple cider and birthday candles. After putting away a mountain of leftover cake, a kitchen full of dirty bowls and icing tips, and a whole mess of wrapping paper... there was so much peace and joy in my heart as I curled up to nurse my boy and cuddle my girl as we watched her new Tinkerbell movie before bed. She put her head on my leg and said sweetly, "I just love you so much, Mommy," and my heart nearly broke for joy. What more could there be in life than this-- a beautiful sweet girl and a jolly little baby boy, with a husband who adores us all?

There's nothing I"d rather be giving myself to than this. I am tired, often flustered, often stained with milk and embarrassed about my house. My stupid belly is still stretched out and ridiculous-looking, and I rarely get more than four hours' uninterrupted sleep. But I am so unimaginably blessed.

A new take on this tired ol' blog.

Life with toddlers and babies does not give itself to writing very much. Even less, life with toddlers and babies and a new business in the house. All require constant care, overwhelming care, care that by its very nature always falls a little short of my ideal. We're scraping along, managing to keep everyone fed and clothed and the house from falling into the Filth Abyss, but just barely. So there's no time for the writing I'd like to do, the NaNoWriMos and NaBloPoMos and daily updates and hometown tourism writing and such that's lurking in the back of my mind. Someday, perhaps, but not just now.

But. I do want to record something of my life. This first year with Q has slipped by in a flash-- we've endured a birth defect, an operation, a nasty scalp infection, a lack of weight gain, a lot of things. And I have very little of my writing to show him about his first year. I have yet to write out his birth story; I don't know when I'll get around to creating pretty scrapbook pages that tell the story. I haven't written this month about G's glee the first time Q rolled a ball back toward her after she rolled it to him. I've not told you about his first word: "out,' he said softly, as he reached for me in his carseat. I have no pictures or videos of the adorable way he speaks, softly, out of the side of his mouth sometimes, a sweet soft baby with a John Wayne twist to his lips.

It's ironic that I have so little time to write when everyday life is so tip-top full with beautiful moments to write about. I think about all that writing I did when I was single, and then married and childless, soul-searching, restless, often unhappy writing, documenting what now seems like a fairly empty life. Now that my every moment is full, that my babies are changing and growing and making me laugh every single day, I am not recording it. How upside-down that is.

So. I'm going to try something new, something I think will help me record snippets of my life: my everchanging children, my everhealing husband, the home I love and want to nurture and design and craft.

I've been reading Ann VosKamp's words at aholyexperience.com for a couple of years now. Sometimes I stay away for a while, because her eloquence and centeredness and the simple beauty of her life can stir a sense of inadequacy if I'm not feeling good about myself. But when I return, I'm always overwhelmingly blessed again by her thoughts, her discovery of the unspeakably holy lurking and indwelling the mundane details of motherhood and home life. It's rich stuff, like Carmichael or Elliot is rich to me. She has a project called The Thousand Gifts that is simply this: she challenges us to list one thousand things that stir us to gratitude, little and large moments that find us amazed anew at the Hand that placed them there.

A gratitude journal is no grand new idea; in fact, it's a bit of a faded fad. But I'm going to try this and see where it leads me. (Obviously, my current course is getting me nowhere, writing-wise.)

Without further ado, my first Gifts:

1) A little girl who treasures the experience of having something special over the experience of consuming it. She sat tonight at the kitchen table, her small heap of Halloween candy spread out in a pile, and gleefully shaped it. "Mommy, it's a Candy Tree! It's a circle!"... and simply could not decide which piece to eat for dessert. After a great deal of time, and a fair amount of maternal pressure to please Make A Decision So We Can Get On With The Evening, she carefully selected a package of Whoppers... and gave me four pieces during the process that she wanted me to have. What generosity of spirit, what a joyful little steward she may be one day.


2) A little boy who wriggles in paroxysms of delight whenever his sister swoops down to interact with him. She may tug on his head, push at him, pull blankets over his face, steal his toy, bounce him too roughly in his jumper... and until the moment that he is either getting hurt or is absolutely terrified, he will beam and squeal and huh-huh-huh giggle just with the joy of having her attention. What good friends they are going to be.

3) A new laptop that makes me want to write and create again, that seems to open up all kinds of creative possibilities. A hard drive that's all mine, to fill with pictures and writing and design and research of whatever I please. And the doting husband who gently insisted that I have a Macbook instead of the less expensive PCs I would have chosen for myself, who finds such joy in giving me such an extravagant gift. Just wow.

That was fun to write. I want to keep doing this...

New.

No new blog changes; there just isn't time. I have things in mind and no chance to enact them.

But I do have a new treasure; my sweet husband, bribing me away from my database job, has purchased a new Macbook for me.

It arrived today; I'm typing on it now. Big pink puffy hearts. And still growing as I learn about what this thing can do.

And it's so, so pretty. And all mine.