Sometimes, Angels Walk on Asphalt (part 2)

..."What?! Are you serious?!" I said out loud to no one in particular. "They are out of cream?! Are you kidding?!" This could not be happening.

"My husband just went to check," a kindly, older woman responded.

She must have seemed sympathetic because I found myself continuing. "I can't go to another store today. Not with my kids." I wasn't really talking to her. Not really. I think I was really talking to Jesus, as in, "Dear Lord, I am having a really hard time being the mom you want me to be. And, as a side note? Your birthday is really wearing me out..."

"Looks like you're headed for a melt down," she said as she took in my screaming baby.

"Huh? Oh, we're already there. (Sigh.) Well, thanks." I couldn't wait for her husband's return. Besides I had no faith that he would come back with any good news. What? They were stockpiling cream in the back? Highly doubtful.

"Good luck," she called as I walked back to my kids.

"Alright, guys. Let's get out of here. Stay with me." They sensed my short fuse and obeyed as I moved as fast as I could while trying to distract and quiet a baby who was past naptime.

The checkout line wasn't much better. What I needed was another couple of arms. The baby was still fussing, the others, while trying to help, mostly managed to trip over one another and end up in my way more than anything else. Just then my bishop from church walked by.

"Wow! Just in time. I'm in need of some service!" I was only half kidding.

"Oh, really?  How can I help?"

Although I thought the answer was obvious, I said,  "I'll let you have my baby today."  I was still only half kidding, but he declined the offer by saying he had five of his own or some such nonsense.

Left on my own, I was gearing up for the trip out to the car and trying to figure how I was going to rearrange the entire afternoon schedule to nap the baby ASAP and somehow still get the cream to make the dessert that needed overnight refrigeration.  Not to mention the thousand other details of Christmas which I refused to think of just then.  Sometimes being a mother is akin to planning the details of a Navy Seals mission with the happy addition of doing it while someone continually screams in your ear.

I could feel my blood pressure rising and the beginnings of a headache coming on, and that's when I saw the stupid firewood.  The stupid firewood that I needed to buy for the stupid firepit I had bought for Thomas for this stupid holiday.  It had been on the list for days.  The list that was still in need of completion. But I just couldn't go back in there.  Bone weary, it was all I could do to get the baby to the car.  I was desperate.

I turned to my children.  "Do you guys think you could buy that wood right there?  Take it into the register and pay for it?"  They looked at each other unsure.  "C'mon.  You can do it!  Here.  Here's some money," I said adjusting the baby on my hip with one arm and digging through my purse with the other while using one foot to keep the cart from rolling away.  "It'll be fine...Where is my wallet?  Okay, here!  Just stay together." They began to walk away.  "And watch for cars!" I called after them.

I worried and watched for them while buckling the baby in the car and distracting him with snacks for a moment while I loaded the grocery sacks in the trunk.  Relieved, I finally spotted them tugging the bundle of wood between them.  "Good job, you guys!" I called across the parking lot.  Right behind them I noticed the sympathetic woman from the dairy case.  I silently hoped she wasn't judging. 

Instead, as they drew nearer she called, "Did you get your cream?"

I couldn't believe it. "No!  Did they really have some?" I questioned as I moved to the children and relieved them of their burden.

"They did.  In the back."

"Well, wouldn't you know it.  Just my luck today," I complained, finishing with the bags and closing the trunk.

"Here.  You can have mine," she offered holding a large bottle of whipping cream up high a couple of cars over.

"Oh, that is so nice of you!  But no, that's okay," I gushed as I pushed the empty cart to the corral. 

When I turned around she was coming toward me, cream still in hand.  "No, really.  Here take it," she offered again.

My arms shot out reflexively, my hands waving her off.  "No, no.  That's yours! I can't take your whipping cream!  What will you do then?" I asked as she neared me.

"I can get some more.  I don't have any kids with me.  All of mine are grown now," the kindness in her eyes disarmed me now that I really saw her.

"But I--"

"Take it.  It's yours," she insisted and thrust it into my hands.  "Merry Christmas," she said, really meaning it.

I found myself hugging the cream to my chest.  A lump had suddenly sprung into my throat, and I had to swallow hard to get my thanks past it.  She just smiled, and I stood there, overwhelmed, watching her walk back to her car.  Unexpected human kindness is a beautiful thing, and on this day, for me, nearly miraculous.

My kids even felt it.  When I got into the car we all sat there for a minute until Logan said simply, "That was really nice."

"Yes, it really was," I wholeheartedly agreed, blinking back a couple of tears.  "That was a very Christlike thing to do."  I started the ignition and slowly backed up.

"She doesn't even know us," Griffin joined in.

"Nope, and we'll never be able to repay her...I guess the only thing we can do is to help somebody else like she helped us." 

And as we pulled away, I remembered that I really liked Christmas after all.

Karma and Penance: part 3

...Giddy with excitement, I pulled the tissue paper back and discovered, instead of the dress of my dreams, the dress of my mother's dreams; that is no small gap at 15, the toddlery of teenhood.  That age when one is determined to do it herself!  To find her own way!  To like what she likes, without the interference of anyone, and maybe most of all her mother, whom she is determined never to become!

I was not this self aware at 15.  I could not make any sense of these feelings nor put words to them.  All I knew was that I hated that dress.  Really, really hated it.  It was 1985, and I was completely converted to the church of bigger, blingier, shinier, and shoulderpadier.  This dress was from a different era altogether.  The 1960's, perhaps, with its paired down and quaint cut.  I could not fathom was she was thinking.  Mercifully, despite my selfcenteredness at the time, I was not mean.  I didn't want to hurt my mom's feelings, so I feigned delight.  I thanked her, but then--and this is the behavior that will haunt me to my death--when she asked me to try it on, I...would...not.  Oh, I didn't outright refuse, I just...uum...postponed it.  "Oh, I will--later.  Mom!  I will.  Just not right this minute..."  And then I NEVER DID.  Not once.

I know.  It's awful.  I don't even know what became of that dress.  It hung in my closet as a silent accuser which I ignored.  Sure, I had stabs of guilt every now and again, but I was a determined soul and pushed it further into the dark recesses of cast off clothes, as if I could erase it's existence.  As if my mother, not seeing it, would forget.  As if I would forget. 

I have not.  Twenty-four years later I am more embarrassed by my truculence than ever.  Now that I know what it is to be my mother.  To sacrifice my most precious resource, which is not money, but time, the one thing that I never have in abundance, because I believe it will make my children happy, because I love them, because I would do anything for them.  And I do, which often includes absorbing their inexperienced, unintended, cruelties and loving them despite them--no, loving them through them.

Beyond the hundreds of Christmas gifts that my mother has given me, some that I remember, some that I do not, that is her real gift.  And though she would never require it, I do feel there is some penance to be paid her.  Some payment for the million sacrifices of her life for me, but I know that it is impossible to be even, except in this:  Love.  I don't know where it began, but it seems to flow from one generation to the next.  My love for her is expressed in the way I love my children.  At fifteen I was so determined to never become her, and now I hope I can be all of the things I love and adore about her.  This Christmas I sewed for my children, and whether they appreciate it or not, this kind of karma is a really good thing.

Karma and Penance: part 2

I was a teenager when it happened--most likely in that awful year for girls that is fifteen: When you still know everything, before you have truly contemplated flying the nest and therefore still believe that you are the center of the universe. I must have been that age.  That is my only excuse.

It was Christmas. And my mom was busy with a sewing project. She was visibly excited, and so was I. She didn't know, but I had taken a quick peek at the material, just to get an idea of what she was up to, and I loved it.  Remember, please, that it was the 80's when I say that it was pink lame. That distinctive shimmery fabric that defined the decade. Now, gold lame had been done: It dripped from the solid gold dancers and from half of the prom dresses sold in 1985, but pink lame with a silver shimmer? This was unusual, and beautiful, and soon to be mine!  Christmas could not come soon enough, at least for me.  Mom, on the other hand, probably needed some extra time.

After all, she had Christmas goodies to make, decorations to hang, cards to address, dinners to prepare, parties to throw, and now, aditionally, a dress to finish.  My glorious, pink lame, party dress. All of that other stuff didn't even enter into my stream of conscious. That stuff just--happened. It always had, magically, and it always would, as far as I was concerned. What caught my attention as I came and went as was my modus operandi in those days, flitting from one event to another, was the drone of the sewing machine.  No, Christmas could not come soon enough.

Then, suddenly, it was here, and I unwrapped the box that could only hold the dress of my dreams. I had at least twelve different plans for that dress.  Giddy with excitement, I folded back the tissue paper and discovered...

(to be continued)

Karma and Penance

"You're sewing a little hat?" Mr. Wicke chuckled.

"Yup," I replied none too cheerfully.  I was on the second project of the 4-part Christmas Craziness Project.  The one that two months ago inspired cozy thoughts of homemade Christmases of years past.  The one that was soooo cute that I overlooked all the handsewing, handstuffing, handturning, and handcutting involved.  Little tiny pieces.  Little tiny stitches.  Big amounts of time.

"Is sewing little things easier?"

"What?"  Apparently he had never dressed Barbie Dolls as a young child.  I had.  Those little tiny buttons and snaps drove me crazy then.  

"Well, you hate sewing big things.  Is sewing little things easier?"

"Yeah, I know, and no, it's not.  I still hate it."  My fine motor skills have not improved since I was 10.

I may not have taken on this kind of project at all if it weren't for my Grandma Doty.  She had some of the coolest toys.  Old fashioned, quirky, and totally unique.  My favorite was a doll of Little Red Riding Hood.  But this was no ordinary doll.  No.  When you turned her over inside out, there was the wolf, dressed as granny.  I loved flipping that thing back and forth.  I played with it every time I visited.  I don't know what happened to that doll, and I've never been able to find one of my own.  But these little projects for my kids?  They kind of reminded me of that.  Quirky, unique, and special.

And it will all be worth it when my children open their packages and their eyes widen in delight.  They'll play with it...

...for about two minutes and then it will be on to something else.  Or more rightly, the toys will be sources of endless bickering:

"That one's mine!"

"I had it first!"

"She won't give me a turn."

"He's had it a long time!"

Karma tells me that they won't get it:  How sore my fingertips are, how many hours I've spent, how much love is involved.  Nope.  They won't fully appreciate it.

I know I didn't.  In fact, remembering one particular Christmas is cringe-worthy.  It may be the worst thing I have ever done to my mother.  And while she was visiting this past month, and helping with project number one, I apologized--again.  I don't believe for a minute that it made us even, but she graciously forgave me again anyway.  She's kind like that.  So kind that I doubt she'll even take pleasure in seeing me get my paybacks on Christmas morning.

(to be continued...)

Christmas Shopping

It's that time of year again.  You know.  The one where moms begin to say, "I'm going to be done with my Christmas shopping by the end of November." 

I want so badly to be done by the end of November...I won't be done by the end of November...because I never am...but I want to be.

I also want to buy things that are unusual, or unique, or beautiful, or extraordinary.  Maybe something handmade and especially meaningful.  That means I've got to get started!  And I may need some inspiration.

So I think we ought to start sharing ideas, y'all.  If you have a great gift idea would you let me know?  I'd love to hear it.

This is what I ordered from Etsy last night:

These are coming for baby Lincoln.  You can see them here, and while you're there you should check out all of their other really cool stuff.  I love the jumping grasshopper.  Delightful!

I also ordered the patterns for these:

You know I hate to sew, and originally I thought I was buying the already made set; when I found out I was just buying a pattern, I still couldn't pass then up.  My kids will love telling the stories over and over. (If I get them finished, that is.  Cross the fingers for me, will ya'?)  If you're into sewing, or if you're like me and you will do it even though you hate it, you should check out this seller's inventory.  She has some amazing things.

And I haven't ordered one of these yet, but I'm really loving them.

Isn't that darling?  A brooch made from vintage zippers.  Clever!  I think I need one.  (Merry Christmas to me?)  The only problem will be choosing; they sell them in every color and design imaginable, and I love them all.  A lot.

Have you ever noticed that when you spend time shopping you find a lot of things out there that you didn't know you needed?  ...that's probably why I'm never done at the end of November. 

(Don't forget.  Show me some love and give me your great gift ideas!!)

Hello, Snow. Nice to meet you.

Over the vacation we drove six hours round trip to do this:











What I learned? I don't miss snow. It's fun to visit, but I'd rather shovel sunshine any day. My kids on the other hand wish that it "snowed in our swimming pool." Go figure.

Still On Holiday

Here at the Tea Party Place, we are determined to eek the Christmas spirit out of the entire month. I know some people are busy taking down Christmas and organizing, preparing for the new year. Not us. We are still playing Christmas music, lighting the tree, and drinking hot cocoa out of our Santa mugs. You know how I feel about New Year's resolutions. So I am quite determined that we are on holiday until we ring in the new year. That's just the way we roll.

Today our plans include a trip to the zoo and the movie Bolt. We are livin' it up!

Glimpses of Christmas

Believe

This morning, as I stumbled bloggy and bleary-eyed out of the bathroom, I beheld the familiar sight of little Griffin in his makeshift bed on the floor next to ours. He smiled.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

"Do I go to school today?" he asked.

"No. Today is Christmas Eve. That means tomorrow is Christmas!" I watched as his eyes lit up the way they can only in children. His face glowed from the inside out.

"That means Santa is coming tonight. And I get to ride in his sleigh."

"Wow! You think so, huh?"

"I don't think. I AM!"

May the magic of Christmas give us all such faith, and the birth of Christ all such hope. Merry Christmas!

Joy to Your World

We are seeking the joy of the season around the Tea Party Place. Seeking. Sometimes finding. Sometimes not. You might remember last year when I came up with our Advent Calendar Activities? Well, we are going strong again this year, despite the fact that most of the time what I imagine in my head is not how it plays out in reality. A couple of examples:

1) We made homemade Christmas cards for the Children's friends. In my mind it was going to be a happy craft time spent together. How it played out? Glitter everywhere. Griffin mistakenly drinking his painting rinse water. Copious amounts of glue that didn't always stay on the paper. Mommy saying things like, "Okay, already! That's enough." That sort of the thing.

2) We delivered treats to our friends. Keep in mind that it took me three days to finish because the baby is sucking the life force out of me. By the time we delivered I was pretty tired of cookies, frosting and mess. But we at least had some to deliver! In my mind I saw the four of us happily riding in the car listening to Christmas carols on the radio, the children excitedly running to the door, wishing neighbors and friends a "Merry Christmas!" Those things happened, all right. I just didn't also imagine the crushed boxes of treats due to the Christmas-crack induced hyperactivity of the children. Nor did I foresee the almost constant bickering: "It's my turn! You did the last one! Let me ring the doorbell! I'll carry it!..." There was a moment when Mr. Wicke and I locked eyes and questioned our sanity during that very long evening.

Sometimes I wonder if these Christmas events are even worth it. Oh, I think the kids have a good time; I can tell because their joy bubbles over into crazed mania at times, and I just wonder if I do a good enough job hiding the level of frustration I sometimes feel boiling under my skin and the relief I secretly find in saying, "Okay! Time for bed!"

But then there are the magical moments that surprise me. Comments like, "This is the best night ever!" or finding this in Logan's backpack:



"What is the Bob Board?" I asked.

"I forgot what it's called, but it's this," she said pointing the snowman advent calendar hanging in the family room.

And while reading her reasons for loving it, "It's a [great] way to spend the holidays...[because] we get to spend more time with [our] family," I felt it. A happy moment of joy and grace.

I find as a mother that those moments are not constant. No, motherhood is more like a symphony of chaos and low notes punctuated with highlights of brightness. I try to sit in those moments, to remember them, because they say to me, "It is worth it. Keep going. Love beyond your current capacity. I'll carry you. Joy to your world, after all."

Have Oven Will Bake for Love

Neighbor gifts...clearly there are people on both sides of the fence here. And while it is one more thing to do in a very busy time of year, I'm weighing in on the pro side because, for me, it's about recognizing and loving the people who make up my daily community. Those people whose lives intersect mine on a daily basis mean a lot to me, and while I can't afford to buy them all a gift that monetarily reflects their value to me, I can cook. And it's not really the thing anyway; it's just saying, "I am grateful for you. You mean a lot to me, and I am thinking of you specifically at this time of year." Although, I had to draw the line at the cement donuts. Those I could not bring myself to give despite the kind thoughts that would accompany them.

I like getting the neighbor gifts, too. It just feels so...well...neighborly. I like having my doorbell ring and wishing each other a Merry Christmas. Frankly they could hand me a brick, and I would still delight in their kindness, but I have to admit that I really look forward to Melissa's cookies, the Miner's Martinelli, and Becky's bread. And if I have a vote, I would use it to encourage Shilo to make the "Stupid Popcorn" again next year. It's yummy.

So, for my beloved friends and neighbors, today I baked. Like this:



(The messy counter behind me is an idication of serious work at hand. Please ignore it.)

And like this:



And ended up with something like this:



Which I hope is understood as an expression of a very full and happy heart. Merry Christmas!

Advent Update

We have fallen behind in our adventing activities, or oh-so-many-reasons. Reasons that I will explain in another post. Suffice it to say that Christmas is a full-time job!

But, back to the adventing. As most of you know, my goal was to do an activity a day. While that hasn't happened exactly, I have to say that I am loving the whole thing. It gives us something to shoot for, to help us remember and enjoy the little things about the holiday that sometimes get overlooked in the mad rush of just getting the to do list done.

Yesterday we bought candy-canes and ate them by the Christmas tree. The t.v. was off and Christmas music was playing, and we just enjoyed each other, laughing and talking for those few minutes before the kids' bedtime, and I found myself feeling so grateful for the important things that are so right in my life: The gift of my family and the joy we share together. And isn't that what Christmas is about? So I give adventing activities a big thumbs up! Yes, it is one more thing, but for me, it is the right thing for the season. Thanks to the many of you who gave me that nudge to go for it.

I'll be thinking of you tomorrow as we make our Christmas angels.

The Ugly Side of the Christmas Photo

Taking The Family Christmas Picture may be the part about Christmas that I dread. It's always stressful. This year was no different. Everything that could go wrong did. We were tired; Griffin refused to smile as usual; I had the great idea of wrapping Mr. Wicke and I up in Christmas lights so it looked like the kids were holding us hostage. I wanted them holding the end of the string; they wouldn't do it. Then when Griffin would finally smile, the lights quit functioning. Isn't that just typical? We did get one that will work. It's not my favorite. The kids are cute, the parents are a little less, the background still less, but I don't care. It's done. Check it off the Christmas to do list! That is enough for me.

Last year I avoided the whole mess with a brilliant idea: We went to the mall and took our pictures in a photo booth. All four of us crammed in there and had a wonderful time. Then we just used the photo sheet on our Christmas card. I was tempted to do it again, but I thought it might be a bit repetitive. Now I'm considering making it our standard. Who cares about repetitive when I can keep my sanity?

Two years ago we tried to snap a picture after Church one Sunday. Let's face it, getting all four of us in picture condition is not an easy task, so Sunday seemed perfect, but Griffin wasn't having it. We tried cajoling, tickling, and teasing. Finally Grandma Wicke, trying to entice a smile out of him, brought an Oreo from the kitchen. "Griffin...smile and then you can have this cookie." But it only brought wails, tears, and "I want the cookie" demands.

Irritated and tired, I said, "Oh, just give him the damn cookie!" Have I mentioned before that I am a bit short in the patience department?

Anyway, when the kids were just about done and I had recovered some of my good humor I said, "Okay! Let's go! Let's get this picture taken!"

"Just a minute," my sweet little 4 year old Logan responded. "I have to finish my damn cookie."

Yeah. Humble pie is a little tough on the way down. I'm still blaming The Christmas Picture, though. It just brings out the ugly in me.









Griffin not smiling in 2005.

Griffin not smiling in 2007. And mom looks as crazy as she feels.