Sunday, November 25, 2012

beautiful mess

Having abandoned the pile of dirty dishes that sit in my sink, a decision I will hate myself for in the morning, I have retreated to my bedroom in search of this here laptop. I've been a distant friend to our family blog lately.  It would be easy to pile on the reasons why, but who is really interested in that? So often I've claimed that I "write" so that my kids will know and remember how their Mother perceived their childhood or because its a means of staying in touch with whoever it is that doesn't even read our blog anymore. I confess, however, that after spending a few minutes (which turns into hours sometimes) reviewing older entries that I feel grateful for taking the time to do this for my own sake. Does this make me sound horrible? Don't answer that.

I've been in 'this business' (Motherhood, that is) for six and a half years. By comparison to the veteran Saints, a.k.a. Mothers, I've only scratched the surface. To the newly expectant Mom, I might be able to fool you that I totally know what I'm talking about when we discuss teething and/or forming proper sleeping habits. What I can say that is authentic is that I feel a weird sense of surprise mixed with a large dose of sadness when I see how my kids have grown. I am thrilled that they are growing and that we're expanding, but it's proof that this world that I live in won't remain the same despite the fact that there are many times during a week, particularly in that four o'clock p.m. hour of the day, that seem unending. The mundane daily tasks combined with really loud kids who are high on nothing but LIFE itself, forces me from the room and into another so I can hear myself think for a minute. But, there will come a time when the goldfish cracker crumbs disappear for good and I no longer write the words, "dino chicken nuggets" on my grocery shopping list (hey, don't judge). At Christmas time I won't spend hours searching for the best deal on Christmas pajamas and I'll wonder as I decorate the tree by myself if I adequately taught those young believers how to be Christ-like givers. 

In case you're wondering what the sam-hill point is of this post, I am afraid that there isn't one.
I'm hormonal and it's okay.
That's my daily mantra now. ;) 

It will be Andrew and me. I wonder if I'll find myself in a situation like I'm in tonight where I sit in bed and type up a load of non-sense while he cuts his own hair, like he is now, in our bathroom. It's true, he cuts his own hair. I think he is the only person on planet earth who actually understands his own hair, really... it's as complex and unique a situation as he is. Feeling a need to substantiate that last sentence, any guesses on what type of music he listens (and sings) to while he does it?

If you guessed Celtic folk music, you are CORRECT! This is the same guy who felt like he could lift a 300+ pound axle by himself and as result, ended up on the concrete of our driveway with said piece of equipment on his lap (yowzers!). Fortunately axles roll so he recovered once he was able to determine that all of his limbs still functioned in the proper manner. Hopefully though, this was a lesson in learning that it's sometimes important to ask people for help.

Anyway, Thanksgiving weekend was one of the best our family has shared. And while I wait to bum a few more pictures off of my family members who are more diligent in the photo taking department than I am, I will postpone that recap for another day.

I will say, since it's fresh in my head, that we decorated our Christmas tree tonight. Finding an old Christmas nightgown, Eliza and all of her, "LET'S DECORATE!' enthusiasm spread the spirit and excitement of the early season through the family. Henry's reaction to said merriment wasn't verbalized as much as it was expressed through his dance moves. His eyes said more than his mouth did as he sorted through the ornaments. As I would tell him about the special meaning behind his ornaments, he'd simply say,

"Oh my gosh!"

Lottie seemed so pleased to have us all together, away from electronic devices, homework and telephones. Or maybe that was how I felt. I'm not sure, but she was sure darling as she continued to evaluate and praise our beautiful tree. Having been caught by the Christmas bug himself, Andrew offered to hang some lights in the kid's bedrooms. While he did his thing, the kids played and sang 'ring around the rosey' multiple times... As sweet as they are, the song grew tiresome after the 20th round. I found myself initiating bedtime to escape it. Wow, I sound like the Grinch. It was, in fact, past bedtime. After prayers and singing the kids their first Christmas bedtime song of the season, we said goodnight.

Returning to their darkened hallway sometime later, I paused near Lottie's door. That sweet girl, who had taken a rather late Sunday nap, was still awake. In her crib she was singing,  "ring around the rosey' to herself. And yes, she was on repeat. That song that I'd been itching to get away from was suddenly my favorite in the world as I knew that Lottie was reliving the best memory from her day in her head.

Since I've clearly stated that this evening's post lacks a unifying thread to tie each paragraph together, I'll conclude with a grouping of photos that don't relate to much of anything that's been written. Just like my horrible kitchen downstairs, I give myself permission to be a mess.

For the sake of documentation ('Ya, whatever Ali' is right), this snow storm fell post Halloween, pre-Thanksgiving. The snow has long since melted, but if you were to ask any of these kids, they'd be thrilled if it returned soon. 
 Henry was kind enough to dig Lottie's car out of the snow with a hot pink sand shovel. 
What a guy.
 Can you spot Henry? 
It's a total win when Mom doesn't misplace the hand-me-downs such as
this purple coat. The pre-exisisting snow boots, however, have yet to be found.

1 comment:

Liz Green said...

Wow! That is definitely a lot of snow. Sad we missed out on that.