All Because We Said Yes

July 11, 2014 / Julie / 13 Comments

This morning a little blonde-headed boy appeared at the foot of our bed, asking for his daddy. “Downstairs,” I mumbled, half-asleep. A while later – no idea how much – a little brown-headed boy woke me with a “Jude’s hurt. He’s pwobabwy bweeding.” “Is he actually bleeding?” I asked. “Nope. He’s just pwobabwy bweeding.” Silence. No screams. It can’t be that bad.

The boy climbed onto the bed and crawled over to his baby brother, who was jerking his arms around, chirping at the ceiling fan. He cooed over the baby, smiled sweetly, and said good morning.

All because, five years ago today, we said yes.

I brushed my hair and tried to look less morning-ish, but didn’t get far before the blonde one was back (unhurt), needing a diaper change and a nice, long hug. The diaper was taken care of, clothes were unearthed from the pile of clean laundry, and the boys were dressed.

I wandered back into our bathroom and looked around blearily. I should get myself ready. But the baby was hungry for his bottle, so I turned toward him. I saw you, instead. You looked happy and alert, fresh from your morning work-out. You picked up the fussy baby and we kissed good morning.

Breakfast and more diaper changes and teeth brushing and make-up were gotten through. We gave you hugs and kisses and then some more, and we told you to have a good day.

We dropped off a meal to a friend, picked up her little boy, visited my family’s animals. The boys held chickens and petted goats and cats and turkeys and cows and they pointed at the pigs. We went to another friend’s house for lunch and I nursed the baby while we chatted. The boys rode scooters and ate popsicles and shouted “Watch this!” as they jumped off the sofa.

All because, five years ago today, we said yes.

~~~

Five years ago this morning, my stomach was in my throat. My mind raced over all the details I no longer had control over. My good sense fought my mind, telling it to relax and to absorb as much as I could.

Then I saw you down that aisle and you looked so handsome and you smiled. And everything changed. I was still nervous; I was in the middle of the biggest day of my life, transitioning from one phase of life to another. But I was doing so with you.

We were made one that day. We became partners; we undertook the same path.

~~~

Today we rush from one task to the next. We wipe mouths and we pick up forks that have been dropped on the floor. We step over dinosaurs and airplanes. Sometimes we admonish a “ROAR!!!” and sometimes we join in. We work hard. We sleep little. We go through phases when we don’t fit in more “us” time than the moments it takes to kiss good morning or goodbye or goodnight.

But we’re better partners now than we were on the day we married. Each year, each struggle, each big decision has taught us how to better work together, how to be more patient, how to be more respectful, how to better support each other.

And look at what we’ve done: three gorgeous boys, a beautiful old home, friends who are becoming our community. We have much to be proud of and more to be thankful for.

Especially when it comes to each other. Today I want you to know how thankful I am to have you in my life. I want you to know that I appreciate you even when I don’t say so. I want you to know that my favorite time of day is when you walk in that door. And I intend to be more deliberate about showing you that.

I intend to smile your “hello” and hug you more warmly and sit next to you on the sofa. I intend to act like I love you as much as I do, even when the baby’s screaming and the boys are fighting.

All because, five years ago today, we said yes.

And because that “yes” is the best thing I’ve ever done.

P.S. Remember all those things I told you I loved about you last year? I love them even more today.

Few Things Are Better Than A Cross-Stitching Biker: Answer Me This (Vol. 2)

June 30, 2014 / Julie / Leave a comment

I made a few stabs at posting last week, but pretty much all I could think about was the fallout from our oh-so-lovely stomach bug. And by fallout I mean I pulled my neck muscles so badly that the pain migrated to my head and my ear and it felt like somebody was stabbing me with an ice pick. And I couldn’t stop crying – in the car, at the urgent care clinic, and (most dramatically) at the pharmacist’s counter, waiting for my muscle relaxer.

I wrote up a whole post on the matter, and then thought better of burdening you fine people with that tedium. Aren’t you relieved?

So to get myself over the obsessed-with-debilitating-pain-in-my-ear hump, here I am with another round of Answer Me This, a link-up with Kendra at Catholic All Year. She asks the questions, we answer them. Be sure to head over to Kendra’s to see who else did the answering.

1. How often do you take public transportation?

These days, just about never. Once in a great while I’ll get on the Washington Metro to do touristy things with out-of-town visitors, but that’s pretty much it.

When I lived and worked in the immediate DC area, however, I took the Metro almost every day. I mostly loved it. I didn’t like the hot, crowded, stressful days when you couldn’t get a seat and you barely made it onto a train, but I liked the boring, slower-paced days.

Not only did Metro give me great access to parts of the city I would never have attempted driving to (or parking in), it made commuting easy and (at times) even refreshing. Both my apartment and my office were within walking distances of stations, so once I grew accustomed to my route, Metro allowed me to not think much about the process of commuting. I had the freedom to daydream and read (I read far more in that period of my life than I’d done before or I’ve done since) and engage in some fabulous people watching.

When you commute on public transportation, you tend to see the same people over and over again. There was one gentleman who dressed all in white and had a head full of the craziest gray hair. He looked just like Mark Twain. Another man, immaculately dressed, would stand stock-still, so close to the doors that you swore his nose must be touching them. Once they opened, off he would go with maximum efficiency. And then there was a great, big man – a burly, biker-looking guy – who did the most beautiful cross-stitch on his commute.

Hands-down, the happiest day of my DC-commuting life was the day that Mark Twain sat next to Cross-Stitch Guy! I just about skipped into my office and squealed the news to my colleagues, I was so excited.

On my evening commute, I loved watching one young family with a small daughter. Sometimes her mom picked her up from daycare, sometimes her dad did. Regardless of which it was, they would pull out some beautiful picture book and read to her the whole way home. It was entrancing. I loved watching the parents’ tenderness, hearing their gentle voices, seeing that little girl so well cared for. And it was nice, just for a moment, to feel the warmth of being read to, even if the stories weren’t meant for me.

I also, unfortunately, can’t help but associate my metro-commuting days with September 11. I saw smoke rising from the Pentagon from one of those trains. I spent weeks being rushed past the Pentagon station, smelling the acrid smoke. And I spent years wondering what happened to the people I saw get off at that station on that awful morning.

2. How many cousins do you have?

More than you can imagine.

To begin with, I have 32 first cousins: 21 on my mom’s side, 11 on my dad’s. Though I’m one of the oldest grandchildren in both families (my youngest first cousins are only seven years old!), we already have quite a few cousins in the next generation: between the eight of us grandkids who are married so far, there are 22 great-grandchildren. Imagine how many there will be when the rest of my generation marries! (My boys, by the way, have twelve first cousins.)

Then there are my mom’s cousins. She’s got a boatload (I don’t know, 60 or so?), quite a few of whom I know, and some of whom I know well. And then they have kids, so I have those cousins too. (Again, some of whom I’m close to – one was even one of my bridesmaids.) And of course, some of them also have kids.

Then there are my grandparents’ cousins (again, scores of them), some of whom I know. This summer, I’m on a family reunion planning committee with several of my grandfather’s cousins. (It’s mind-boggling to me that the patriarch and matriarch of the family who will gather for the reunion are my great-great-grandparents.)

Crazy stuff! My college friends used to say, “Can’t we go anywhere without running into one of your relatives?” Umm… nope. Not in this region. That’s what you get when (1) your family is good at – ahem – propagating and (2) your family has been in the same place for hundreds of years.

My mom’s side of the family at our wedding five years ago. Something like ten more family members have been added since then!

3. Have you ever fired a gun?

Yes, but I did not enjoy it. My family are very into hunting and shooting, and each year on Thanksgiving morning, my uncle and aunt host a “Turkey Shoot” – that is, a trap shoot for the adults and a turkey-shaped target shoot for the kids. My husband and brother and most of the menfolk (as well as some of the women) love it. I just love that they love it.

One year, the guys insisted that I give it a go. So I – begrudgingly – hoisted up a big ol’ shotgun and pulled the trigger. I liked absolutely nothing about the experience: the gun was too heavy, it was too loud, it kicked too hard, and I didn’t come anywhere close to hitting my clay pigeon.

Never again. (With a shotgun, at least. I do have a modest desire to learn how to shoot a handgun, just because I think it’s one of those skills that would be good to have.)

My preferred way of spending Thanksgiving morning.

4. Do you ride roller coasters?

Absolutely not. I rode a few, many years ago, but they were not happy occasions. And as my motion sickness has gotten progressively worse over the years, I’d better not try them again.

5. What’s your favorite flower?

Lily of the Valley: they’re so dainty and refreshing and they smell so sweet. I tend to prefer other flowers that are clusters of small blooms too, like hydrangea and lupine and lilac. Oh, and I just love peonies and roses – what’s not to like about them?

6. Are you allergic to anything?

I’m allergic to three or four antibiotics and what feels like almost every skincare product I encounter. I have one soap, one lotion, one perfume, one brand of make-up, and one brand of hair products that I’ve been using for years. I dare not try new ones because it seems like every time I do, I have an allergic reaction.

That said, I am very grateful that neither my boys nor I have food allergies. Boy, does that make life easier!

And with that… we’re done! Stop over to Kendra’s for more!

Single Lady Gets A Family

June 10, 2014 / Julie / 5 Comments

A few nights before the baby was born, as I placed a stack of clean, folded laundry outside my boys’ room, I decided to peek in on them while they slept. I crept in and saw each sprawled out on his new big-boy bed, looking so small surrounded by all that space and all those covers. I listened to their quiet breathing and watched them rustle and twitch, snuggling ever deeper into sleep.

I stood there in the quiet and I felt it wash over me: a profound sense of gratitude. The feeling was nearly physical: gratitude washed over my head like a wave, down my body, dropping my arms to their sides and stilling every movement save my head, looking from one boy to the other.

I have children. I have a husband. I have a family of my own.

Seven years ago this month, I could hardly have thought that possible. Seven years ago, I was well entrenched in my life as a single (single) young professional. I lived alone, I worked a lot, I hung out with friends sometimes, and I dated not at all. So it had been for years.

It was a good life, overall. I loved my work. It was interesting and fulfilling and on precious rare occasions, got me into a swanky black-tie dinner or two. I lived in a beautiful town full of brick-paved sidewalks and comfortably brooding cafes, where I could set out in any direction from my cute basement apartment and end up at the water. Many evenings, I’d close a stroll through town with a few quiet minutes sitting on a pier, listening to the dull knock, knock, knocking of sailboats bumping against their docks.

My life could be busy, invigorating, peaceful… but it was always lonely.

I had long wanted to be married with children, so as much as I loved that interesting job and those beautiful environs, it all felt glaringly insufficient. Night after night, sitting home by myself (enjoying a great book and a nice glass of wine, so don’t pity me too much) I’d hear the sounds of couples and families walk past my apartment. And it was clear to me: what matters more than anything else in this life is relationship.

Relationship with God, relationship with people… growing one’s relationship with God by building up loving, life-giving relationships with people. Relationship.

And I was lacking in that department.

Yes, I was blessed with a wonderful family of origin, whom I loved and whom I tried to see as much as I could. Yes, I had lovely friends, some of whom I saw regularly, others I kept up with from afar. But deep down, I felt called to marriage and motherhood. And feeling called to that vocation, all other human relationships paled in comparison.

I longed to move through life alongside people. You don’t do that with friends or with your extended family. You cross paths with them, you touch base, you might walk along with them for a while at arm’s length. But your future is not intimately tied to theirs. Your paths don’t depend on each other.

I’d had enough of independence. I wanted to be in dependence with someone.

So at the beginning of that summer seven years ago, I decided to make a big, conspicuous effort at changing my circumstances. I ditched a bit of my pride, signed up for eHarmony, and waited. It didn’t take long. Glory Be and Halleluiah – before the summer was half over, I’d met my husband.

Hiking at Antietam, September 2007

Everything changed so quickly. In June, I was beginning to come to terms with the idea that I might always be single. (Indeed, I was working hard to embrace the idea.) By August, Brennan knew that I was “the one” for him. And I knew that Brennan made me feel happier, more hopeful, and more at ease than anyone I’d ever met.

A year later, we were engaged. The next year, we were married. We welcomed sons in each of the two following years. Two months ago, we greeted another.

It all happened so quickly that sometimes I’m tempted to ask myself whether it really happened at all. At my core, I suppose I still feel like that single lady, moving through life alone. Not to be overly dramatic, but I’ve come to realize that the experience scarred me.

Which is strange to think about while sitting at the center of a writhing heap of boy. These days I’m so smothered by touch and noise and activity that I crave the very solitude I once found depressing. I find myself daydreaming about that cute little basement apartment, those boats knock, knock, knocking against their docks.

For a moment.

Then I recall the realization, one long-ago weekend, that left me feeling hollow: I had not made physical contact with another person in over a week. The last time had been an impersonal handshake at a work meeting. I had no one in my daily life to hug, to nudge, to lay a hand on my shoulder. (See “Our Starved For Touch Culture” for an interesting read that jives with my experience.)

These days, my skin crawls with the over-stimulation of nursing, of small hands grabbing, of boys climbing, of baby holding. Yesterday my two-month-old was having a rough day. I don’t know what was bothering him, but I know he was unhappy or uncomfortable and he just wanted to be held. All day. In certain moments, I found it maddening. I was responsible for so much more than just that cranky baby: I had meals to make and a house to clean and two older boys to care for. My back ached and my arm went numb from nursing him so long. I was hot and sweaty and very ready to move around independent of that heavy, wailing bundle.

But I didn’t resent the situation – not really. I’ll take it. I’ll do it again a hundred times over, because independence is overrated. Because no amount of peaceful solitude can compare to the beautiful weight of walking through life alongside other souls.

A week after standing in my boys’ room while they slept, I sat on the sofa during a rare quiet moment in our home. I stretched my newborn son out before me and examined him closely. I looked at his round cheeks and his long fingers and the way his chest caught while he breathed his little newborn breaths. And I thought of it again: Children, husband, family – at once the most simple and the most amazing of things.

I have been so blessed.

Seven years into the most important relationship of my life, five years into marriage, and four years into motherhood, I suppose I should move past feeling like that single lady. She is no longer who I am. I’m grateful for the experience of my single years – so much more grateful than I could have imagined at the time. But the tugging and calling and clamoring I experience these days has gradually helped me to realize: It’s time to own my vocation. It’s time to feel like the wife and mother I now am.

SOTG, Mommy Triumphs, Personhood For Animals, Feminism, And More: 7 Quick Takes Friday(ish) (Vol. 28)

May 4, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

—1—

Yes, I’m more than a little late to the 7 Quick Takes Friday game this week. Right now my free time seems to come in five to fifteen minute spurts. And my two-handed free time comes about once every six hours. (I know, I know… such is life with two preschoolers and a newborn. I know.)

As I mentioned in my {phfr} post the other day, this week I received a certain little book in the mail, one the Catholic blogosphere is all kinds of excited about – “Something Other Than God: How I Passionately Sought Happiness And Accidentally Found It” written by none other than Ms. 7 Quick Takes Friday / Ms. Conversion Diary herself – Jennifer Fulwiler.

Anyone who reads Conversion Diary regularly will know that Jen has put an incredible amount of work into this book (SOTG). And let me tell you, even from just the first few chapters, it shows. I’ve been enjoying Conversion Diary for several years now, so I suppose I’m not the most unbiased reader. But seriously, this book, which tells Jen’s atheist-to-Catholic conversion story (and, um, how she “passionately sought happiness and accidentally found it”) is so well written. It’s captivating – the kind of book you don’t want to put down.

Except that, given the two preschoolers and the newborn, you kind of have to. Which is why it will take me longer to finish this book than any page-turner I’ve ever read before.

Also. Jen’s running all sorts of contests right now to celebrate her book’s launch. A couple of them involve taking pictures of the book – one is for “the most epic selfie” with SOTG, the other is for a picture of it in the weirdest place. I don’t have a chance in either category. I’m way too self-conscious to try for an epic selfie, and I’m sure that other folks have way weirder places to take book pictures than I do. All I can think of is to take pictures of my book on a big pile of laundry, or a counter covered in dishes, or like this:

Are you calling me weird?

—2—

Speaking of the two preschoolers and the newborn, let me tell you about a triumph I had the other day. At the grocery store. (Anybody who’s not currently a mommy to small children may as well just jump right over this take – I won’t blame you for being uninterested in the minute triumphs of life with littles.)

We were smack dab in the middle of a very busy day, just finishing up at the barber’s shop (both boys taken care of!), and everyone – especially the baby – was getting hungry. But we needed just a few things at the grocery store. So I took a gamble and decided to risk it. We walked straight into the store without stopping to stow the stroller in our van. Which left me with a conundrum: how to get a three-year-old, a two-year-old, a newborn, a stroller, and a load of groceries (too heavy for the stroller) through the store by myself?

Answer: You’re not by yourself! Put the littles to work! My three-year-old pushed the cart (a small one, but still!) by himself, with just a little help on the turns. My two-year-old pushed the stroller with some guidance from me.

Our little caravan must have made quite the sight, because people kept stopping to stare. “How old are they?” a few of them asked, looking bemused.

But the boys did great! They didn’t crash into anything or run over any toes, or even fight or take items off the shelves. I was quite the proud little mother hen. Especially when we returned to the car and I thanked the boys for being such good helpers. “Anytime, Mommy,” my older son told me. “You just wet me know when you need me.”

—3—

After developing something of an aversion to it at the end of my pregnancy (why? I have no idea), I’ve fallen back into my old NPR habit. So you can expect me to resume sprinkling random NPR-gleaned tidbits into my 7 Quick Takes. This week, I’ve got two:

First, for the amazing and courageous amidst the horrible. Last week, Fresh Air aired an interview with Tyler Hicks, a New York Times photographer who was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for his photographs of the 2013 mall attack in Nairobi, Kenya.

I found the interview to be more moving than I expected, especially the story behind the photograph of a mother and her two young children. The image shows them lying quiet and still, on the floor next to a counter covered in cups and saucers.

Of course Hicks had no way of knowing what became of the three. Shortly after he was awarded the Pulitzer, however, the woman made contact with him. She’d seen coverage of the prize and recognized herself amongst the photos.

It turns out that she and her children – a 10-year-old girl and a 2-year-old boy – had spent five hours lying on that floor. Five hours of fear and the most incredible stress. The woman had spent the entire time talking and singing to her children, focused on keeping them calm and still and quiet.

I have a two-year-old boy.

Two-year-old boys are busy. They are not known for their ability to remain still and quiet. I have no idea how I’d get through that situation with him (and another child to boot!). No idea. Just thinking about it makes me sick. What an incredible mother. And what awful, horrific circumstances she found herself in.

—4—

This past Monday, the Diane Rehm Show aired a discussion on efforts to grant legal rights – indeed, personhood – to animals. At first I was puzzled to hear that Robert Destro, Catholic University law professor and director of their Interdisciplinary Program in Law and Religion, would be one of those participating in the discussion. Then, ahh, yes – it came to me:

Legal rights – personhood – for animals. Animals that are deemed sufficiently sophisticated on a cognitive level. A personhood that is based on intelligence, on ability, rather than on humanity. What a dangerous thing, to attach personhood to a set of cognitive criteria, to maintain that being a person is somehow distinct from being human.

Yes, this (false) person/human distinction calls to mind the debate on abortion. But it also begs us to consider those who have already been born. Newborns, perhaps even older infants, wouldn’t meet the criteria discussed for personhood. Neither would some people with cognitive disabilities. Do we really want to live in a society that grants legal personhood in such a way that a chimpanzee would qualify, but my four-week old would not?

Definitely a person.

—5—

I’ve never thought of myself as a feminist before, but I might just start doing so. Because Simcha Fisher is right, as usual:

Yes, some evil people call themselves feminists, and do dreadful things in the name of feminism. So what? People do dreadful things in the name of democracy, and people do dreadful things in the name of beauty. People do dreadful things in the name of Christ our savior. That doesn’t mean we abandon the name. That means we rescue it, we rectify the misuse.

—6—

You know one of the things I love about my husband? In the evenings when he’s playing around with our boys, he captures them and holds them tight and when the little one yells, “Wet me det down! I wan det down!” He responds, “Oh, you want to get down? Okay!” and then forces the kid into a little disco dance, complete with music and hand motions.

Oh. My. Goodness. It’s hilarious. Sometimes it can be so entertaining to have small children (and good daddies) around.

—7—

It’s also entertaining to have good grandpas around. And my boys have the best:

Happy weekend, everyone! Don’t forget to stop over to Jen’s to check out all the other Quick Takes!

Our First Days With Him: 7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 27)

April 25, 2014 / Julie / 6 Comments

—1—

Today, I feel every inch the mother of a newborn. Whooo-eee, am I tired. It’s a good thing I was blessed with some good sleepers (thank you, Lord!), because I am simply not equipped to handle a severe and consistent lack of sleep. After my solid three hours last night, I just about shed tears as I heaved myself out of bed this morning.

And I’ve been fighting them off the rest of the day.

—2—

So why in the world am I finally posting something to the blog today, rather than on any of the handful of lovelier, more happy and perky days I’ve had in the three weeks since the baby was born? Because today I’m tired enough that I just don’t care anymore.

You see, I’ve got a bit of an OCD/perfectionist problem. After posting the birth announcement, I reasonably and rightfully took a little break from thinking about anything but baby, boys, husband, and home. No blogging, not much reading of blogs, not much Facebooking or emailing. Fine. Makes sense.

Soon enough, though, I started to want to share some pictures and thoughts on the new baby and our new little family of five. (Six? I should say six now that my mother-in-law is living with us, shouldn’t I?) But I’d already built up a back-log of photos and ideas and I didn’t know which would be the perfect ones to post. So I didn’t post anything at all. It’s a very Julie thing to have done.

But today? I just don’t care anymore! I’m too tired to care! So I’ll just throw something up here, re-break the ice, and get back to blogging. It’s good to have your inhibitions broken down every now and then.

—3—

I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit it, but do you know what was majorly contributing to my perfectionist reluctance to post anything on the blog? (Anything less than perfect, that is.) This here post is my 100^th.

One-hundred posts! It’s a piddly number, I’m sure, to anyone who has been blogging for a while. But it feels like a big milestone to me and I wanted to find a great way to mark it. And… um… I couldn’t. So, this:

(They look thrilled, don’t they? Woo-hoo! One-hundred posts! Here’s to the next hundred excuses for Mommy to be chained to her laptop!)

—4—

Now for the baby photos. I’m sure that’s what you really care about anyway, right?

He’s sweet, isn’t he?

—5—

Of course he is! He’s wonderful. He spent his first couple of weeks as a deliciously sleepy baby, sliding straight from one feeding session (we’re having to supplement with formula again, just like with the other two – ugh) into sleep, then awake for a few peaceful minutes before beginning the cycle all over again. Pretty easy, really.

So easy that we were actually able to go out for a nice lunch on my birthday. Sleeping baby? Sleeping two-year-old? Check, check!

It’s getting a little harder now. He’s awake for longer periods of time and he wants to be held more. (Imagine that!) He’s also hitting that three-week growth spurt, so he’s hungrier. (HUNGRIER, I tell you!)

But he’s also starting to smile in his sleep. Which is one of God’s little gifts, I think, to get hormonal, sleep-deprived new mothers through these difficult first days and nights.

—6—

His big brothers have also been wonderful. They love their baby and have been trying hard to help take care of him. Sometimes they love him a little too much and he needs to be rescued, but that’s not such a bad problem to have.

By and large they’ve been cooperative, even giving me a stress-free first trip back to the grocery store and a couple of three-way naps.

They’ve also been saying some really funny things in the past few weeks:

My two-year-old, pointing at the baby, keeps saying: “I wike him widdle nose! I wike him widdle ears! I wike him widdle head!” Then, pointing at me, he says: “I wike your big nose! I wike your big ears! I wike your big head!”

He also comes out with, “Dat Baby Isaat! He my budder” over and over and over… All the time. To everyone. Including Brennan and me. (As if we didn’t know who the baby was.)

The three-year-old constantly says, “I sink Baby Isaac wikes me!” Or, “I sink he wuvs me.” Or, “I wuv da baby.” Or, “He’s so cuuute!” Or, “We have a funny baby!”

Also, one day when I ran into the kitchen, responding to the screams of the two-year-old, biggest brother assured me, “Don’t worry, Mommy! He’s not bweeding!”

After we got home from our Easter celebration at my grandparents’ house, the big guy sighed and smiled and said, “Dat was a gweat party.”

Of course, it was far less charming when, upon spotting a revealed bit of my midsection, he asked me, “Do you have a baby in your bewwy again?”

—7—

It’s going to be quite a while before I don’t look like I have a baby in my “bewwy” again.

That said, yesterday I glanced in the mirror while I was holding the baby and I thought, “Hm. You’re looking unusually photogenic at the moment. Take a picture, why don’t you?”

Sorry, I know: that sounds ridiculous. Arrogant, maybe. It’s just that I always feel so gross in all of my post-partum pictures that I figured if I could get one that I actually feel good about, I should go for it.

And, I figured may as well share the pic while I’m at it. (Please, though, ignore the detritus of random junk and dirty laundry on the periphery of the photo. Every single mirror in my house is currently sporting a similar view. If I waited until I had cleaned it up, I would have never taken the picture.)

I can’t go out on that one, though. How about… Happy Easter from the Walsh boys!

Okay, that’s enough low-quality ice-breaking for today. Head on over to Jen’s for lots of Quick Takes that weren’t inspired by “I just don’t care anymore!” And have a great weekend!

Announcing…

April 4, 2014April 7, 2014 / Julie / 22 Comments

Our newest little (scratch that – our newest BIG) bundle of joy: Isaac Charles Walsh.

Isaac was born at 4:11 pm. He’s delightfully pudgy and squishy, which shouldn’t be a surprise, given that he weighed in at a hefty NINE pounds, even. He measured 21 inches long.

I’m happy to report that this was my easiest labor and delivery thus far. We are oh-so-thankful that Isaac and I both made it through in such good health and safety.

We are so thankful, period. What an amazing blessing. Thank you to all who have been keeping us in prayer. We appreciate it, and you, so much.

Thoughts From This Side of L&D

April 1, 2014 / Julie / 3 Comments

So here I am, just days (hours? please?) before welcoming baby boy #3, and – surprise, surprise – I have a bunch of pregnancy/labor/delivery things stewing in my mind. I’m scheduled to be induced this Friday, April 4. (Though you’re welcome to come sooner if you like, little guy!) And I feel like I’m on something of a precipice:

I’m coming off of this (really, quite good) pregnancy a little tired and uncomfortable and ready to move on, but also wistful, not knowing whether I’ll ever experience another. I’m trying to enjoy and appreciate my littlest boy’s movements while I still have them all to myself.

I’m also looking out onto the always-daunting prospects of labor and delivery, not to mention the readjustment to life with a newborn. That’s some scary stuff, there. I’m trying not to dwell on it. (Praying? Yes. Dwelling? No.) I give you, therefore, mostly lighter thoughts from this side of the Labor & Delivery unit:

—1—

It’s really funny to see what search terms people use to find my blog. The other day I had “enormous belly pic week,” “huge tummy pic week,” and “belly pic comparison bigger.” Umm… what are you trying to tell me, Mr. Search Engine?

38.5 weeks — probably the last belly pic for this pregnancy!

—2—

No, really, it’s okay. I know that a lot of women have issues with how their bodies change during pregnancy, but as I’m naturally pretty thick-waisted and round-bellied (can’t believe I’m admitting that on the internet), I’ve never found that I have much to mourn in the figure department when I’m pregnant. So really, bring on the belly. It’s just nice, for those nine months or so, to be able to toss out a happy little response when people ask me when I’m due, rather than wincing and squirming and trying to find a non-mortifying way of telling them I’m not pregnant.

All that is to say: my “bump” doesn’t bother me and I’m not particularly eager to get rid of it. Except for one annoying thing:

I tried to get my feet in the pic, but honestly — there was no way.

Please tell me that I’m not the only pregnant lady whose belly becomes a magnet for bits of food. And water – I’ve found it impossible to wash my face without soaking my belly, even though I’m standing on my tippy-toes trying to bend (my short-waisted, 5’3” frame) over far enough to reach the sink.

—3—

I haven’t registered any weight gain at all at my past two doctor’s appointments (though baby boy has) and thank goodness, because boy oh boy, have I had an appetite lately. I’ve been finding myself ready for a meal just about two hours after finishing my last one. At first I think, “Nah, you can’t really be hungry again.” And then soon enough I’m conceding, “Okay, okay! You are hungry! I get it!”

The other night I was hungry as I got ready for bed – in spite of having consumed my second dinner not long before – but figured I should just push through and go to sleep. So I woke in the middle of the night, famished. I pushed through again, and sure enough, I just about bounded out of bed the next morning to make a dash to the kitchen. I’ll be interested to see what I weigh at my appointment tomorrow. Could my body be burning that many calories right now, or is baby boy gouging himself on my caloric excesses and my reserves?

—4—

Speaking of which… if, at around lunchtime today, you happened to see some very strange, very sweaty, huge pregnant lady actually buy food from one vendor while in the line to buy food from another – yeah, that was totally me. I admit it. I was in the middle of a blood sugar crash, desperate to make it through the line at Subway without passing out, when – behold! – I noticed that the new soft pretzel counter was open! And there was even somebody working there! I ordered a cup of cinnamon pretzel bites while standing in the Subway line; I had devoured them by the time our sandwiches were complete. I have no shame.

—5—

Need I even point out that today is April Fool’s Day? Between this being my late grandfather’s birthday and exactly ten days before my due date (which is when my water broke with my last baby), and it being, I don’t know, a date that just seems… fitting, today’s the day I’ve had a hunch about all along. But, as we’re already more than 18 hours in and I’m not feeling anything suspicious… I think April 1 is a no-go for me. Boo…

(Though – Yay! One of my cousins had her baby today! Congratulations, Bibi and Kris! I was hoping the two babes would be born on the same day, but we’ll just have to content ourselves with the same week.)

—6—

This one has nothing to do with baby, but everything to do with the date: Each year on April Fool’s Day, a bunch of my silly cousins call our grandfather to inform him that the cows have gotten out. (As in, out of the field, through the fence, and into the road.) Granddad’s last cows were sold something like 15 years ago and his once-beautiful fields now grow nothing but houses. Jolly good sport that he is, however, Granddad always plays along. I love my family.

—7—

You would never know it by the piles of unfolded baby clothes all over the nursery or the disassembled basinet and car seat pieces strewn across its floor, but I think this is the most prepared we’ve been for any of our babies. All the furniture is in the right room, a few things are even hung on the walls, most of the baby clothes are washed, and though not all the gear is assembled, most of it is clean. What a relief. As much as I was hoping that today would be The Day, it will be nice if we can get our few loose ends tied up in the next couple of days so we can bring baby home to a completed nursery.

—8—

Why, oh why can’t I experience that most amazing of phenomena: nesting? Everybody I talk to and read about lists off a litany of tasks they’ve completed and obscure places they’ve cleaned before having their babies. Me? I’ve never had a late-pregnancy energy spurt. I drag myself through a task, rest for a while, and then maybe attempt another.

Besides the aforementioned nursery stuff, I have several dirty floors and bathrooms that could use my attention before this baby is born. Hello… Nesting? Nesting, are you out there? How about you come by to pay me a visit?

—9—

Yesterday afternoon my mother-in-law asked me what I plan to do if I go into labor while Brennan’s at work. I replied something like, “I don’t know… call him to come home?” (He works 40 minutes away.) She made a funny face and said, “This is your third baby – what if your labor goes quickly?” Again, I stumbled. “Umm… I’ll just have to see who’s available?”

How could I not have given more thought to this scenario?

The honest truth is that I think I’ve always assumed that this pregnancy would end in another induction. It seems to be the only way my contractions will start. (Even when my water broke on its own last time, I needed Pitocin to start the contractions.)

And I guess I’ve also had in the back of my mind that if I needed help quickly, I’d probably just put out a plea on Facebook. I figure that would do as good a job as anything else of filtering out local folks who are available to help. And in the absence of any other game plan, that’s as good as I’ve got. Local friends and family: please be on notice.

(And yes, if I were absolutely desperate, my mother-in-law could drive me to the hospital. Though with her new to our roads and not a city driver, heaven help us if she has to get us through the Beltway while I’m in labor.)

—10—

To end on a more sober note, I’m going to just admit that I’ve been a complete and total sap when it comes to my boys this week. I look at them and think on how much I love them and how desperately I want to see them grow… and my throat catches.

Labor and delivery are scary things. Though I have no expectation that anything will go wrong – I’m in good health, I’ll be in a good hospital, I’ll have good medical professionals assisting me – you never know what will happen. I don’t forget that childbirth has always been dangerous for women and babies. And that sometimes it still is.

In my middle-class, 21^st-Century, semi-rural, American life, bearing a child is one of the most dangerous things I will ever do. I’m not so worried about the pain – I like to get an epidural if it’s possible; if for some reason it’s not, I know the pain is something I can get through. But, safety, health – those are what I worry about.

Not terribly – I don’t work myself up over it. The worry lingers at the back of my mind, rearing up a bit when I gaze sappily at those beautiful boys. I’m sure I’ll shed a few tears on Friday morning when I kiss their (probably sleeping) faces before I leave for the hospital. But then I’ll say some more prayers, grit my teeth, and get on with it all.

And, God-willing, some hours later my baby and I will be safely through his birth. I’ll hold him in my arms and know that every discomfort, every pain, every worry was completely worth it. Until that moment, I’d appreciate if you could send a prayer or two heavenward on our behalf.

Thank you.

Twenty-Three

March 26, 2014 / Julie / 6 Comments

In the interest of not completely neglecting my blog during this busy season of preparing our home for two new additions (not twins – just one baby and one mother-in-law), plus the actual welcoming of the mother-in-law and the ongoing prep for the new baby, I thought I should at least do a little catch-up post. But all I can muster is a list, so that’s what you get – a random collection of 23 goings-on, thoughts, and questions from the past week or so:

1) We’ve been working very hard here – harder than we’ve worked since we moved into this house a year-and-a-half ago. May this (please) be our last push of purging and organizing and moving furniture for some time. (For years. Plural.)

2) Everyone is very, very tired.

3) Pregnancy insomnia is one of the stupidest, most nonsensical things ever.

4) On Saturday, a few of my lovely girlfriends took me to a lovely lunch to celebrate the impending arrival of baby boy #3. I felt just about giddy to be getting out of the house on a beautiful, spring-like day to hang out with my friends and eat delicious, wood-fire pizza. Mmmm… Thank you, ladies!

5) There was absolutely nothing spring-like about yesterday, however. It snowed for something like ten hours straight. On March 25th. Will this winter never end?

6) Change is hard. Or, at least it is for me. Every first day of school, every move, every new job, every new phase of life, every new child – every big change, no matter how wonderful – has been difficult for me to process. I know this about myself and yet I’m always somewhat taken aback when a round of change triggers its inevitable, big, emotional, revelatory moment (which necessarily involves tears). This round’s moment came to me on Sunday afternoon in that most glamorous of places: the driver’s seat of my minivan in the middle of the Safeway parking lot. Boo-hoo.

7) In the scramble to get preparations wrapped up before Brennan’s mother’s arrival on Sunday evening – and the stress, and the exhaustion, and the pregnancy-related discomfort, I didn’t get to mass this weekend. I hate that. There’s no feeling of Catholic guilt quite like that of missing mass. Beyond the guilt-driven regret, though, I feel like I suffer a loss each time I miss Sunday mass. (Fortunately, it’s a rare occurrence.) Missing mass makes me realize how much I depend on it. Whether or not the little ones (or my own distracted brain) have let me pay attention to the readings, whether or not I’ve been wrestling a jumble of little arms and legs, whether or not I’ve been stressed out or agitated, the mass feeds me. Without it, I feel like I go into my week empty-handed. Missing this Sunday’s mass certainly wasn’t the way I wanted to go into this week of welcoming-the-mother-in-law and maybe-giving-birth.

8) All that said, Hilde’s move into our home went just about as smoothly as it could have. She’s got quite a way to go to get things unpacked, but she’s safely here and we’re all getting acquainted with one another.

9) Just about overnight, I have gone from feeling good-but-tired to feeling very uncomfortable and full-of-baby. I feel like this baby is coming soon – like, really soon. But what do I know?

10) I had my weekly ob appointment (and sono) this morning and all went well. My doctor offered to go ahead and schedule my induction for 39 weeks on the dot, which is… next Friday! As long as the hospital’s got room for me, it looks like I should be having this baby by the 4^th!

11) I still think I’ll go before then, though. My discomfort level has been prompting many a game of “Is Julie in labor?” The answer so far has, of course, been “no” – but I’m making good progress on the dilation front, so… it could happen!

12) Last week I bought the boys a copy of Frozen to occupy them after the baby is born. Yesterday afternoon I totally cracked and popped that sucker into the DVD player. I may regret it later, but at the moment I was glad to have bought myself precisely 108 minutes of quiet time in which to (finally) pack my hospital bag and (too soon) fret about whether I’m going into labor.

13) Instead, I started writing this post. Priorities.

14) Note: when you’re 8.5 months pregnant and threatening to go into labor at any minute, you should probably give your husband a little warning before venturing out at 6pm to give your mother-in-law a tour of her new town. Because when he arrives home from work to find no minivan, wife, boys, or mother on the premises, he’s likely to panic. Just a little.

15) Another note: eating dinner at 5pm is waaayyy nicer than eating dinner at 9pm. I mean, it gives you actual free time in the evenings that doesn’t involve falling asleep on the sofa.

16) I’ve got a little poll for the mamas out there: While in the hospital after having a baby, do you (a) change into your own clothes or (b) wear the hospital gown provided to you? My best friend and I were having a conversation about this yesterday. On the one hand, we’ve seen pictures of ladies in real clothes in hospital beds and all the cool mommy bloggers seem to dish out great advice on the comfiest clothes to pack in your overnight bag. But we, ahem, don’t understand the logistics of such a move. Real clothes seem awfully inconvenient for all the checking and prodding and poking everybody seems to want to do to you, like, every 20 minutes. And then there’s the not-wanting-to-ruin-our-clothes thing. Are we alone in going the practical, dowdy route or are there more mamas in our camp?

17) One more important question: Is gorging oneself on delicious, home-made (but not by me) bar cookies a sign of imminent labor?

18) We really enjoyed the brief visit from Brennan’s sister and uncle, who drove Hilde here from Minnesota. The boys especially enjoyed their aunt and uncle and were beautifully, pathetically disappointed to learn yesterday morning that they’d left before dawn. It was so heart-breaking/cute.

19) I had to carry my two-year-old (under my arm – just about the only way the belly will allow) out of his big brother’s preschool classroom yesterday, literally kicking and screaming, because he didn’t want to leave. It was also heart-breaking/cute.

20) Last week my three-year-old said two particularly cute things before heading to school. One morning, as soon as he woke up, he said, “Today is my wucky day!” Me: “Why is today your lucky day?” Him: “Because I get to go to school today!” His teacher loved that one.

21) Another morning, on the drive into school, he said, “I’m going to have so much fun at school today! I’m going to be happy and be nice and behave…” Then, to his little brother, he said, “I pwomise not to do bad sings to you anymore. I won’t kick you or hit you ever, ever, ever, ever again. Okay? Okay? Okay?” Finally, his brother gave the obligatory reply: “Otay.”

22) Big brother’s “pwomise” didn’t last long.

23) Fortunately, the little one’s tough. Fierce, we call him. He can take it.

The Thing About Having A Full Plate

March 4, 2014 / Julie / 3 Comments

This past weekend, my situation was clarified for me: I have quite the full plate at the moment. It’s not full of bad things or scattered, abstract things or things that are worth wasting time worrying about. It’s full of two big, hearty, substantial portions of meat, if you will. Two portions that simply must be dealt with. Now.

Here’s the deal: I’m due to have my third baby in a little over five weeks. And like all expectant couples, my husband and I have a lot to do before the little guy arrives. Here’s our (conservative, whittled-down-to-the-bare-minimum) list, because I’m a list-maker:

Finish the bigger boys’ Big Boy Room.
Transform this mess (I’m not even exaggerating, am I?) into a nursery/guest room/laundry sorting space/catch-all room.

Do all that baby-readying stuff like washing baby clothes and linens, digging the baby gear out of the attic, cleaning it, etc.
Clean out the minivan and rearrange the seats and car seats.
Pack overnight bags for myself and the boys.
Put away the Christmas decorations. (What?! It’s only March.)
Deal with no fewer than a dozen boxes of papers and junk.
Move/construct no fewer than 20 pieces of furniture. (That job is reserved for the hubby, which would be obvious to you if you could see the way I’m waddle-limping around the house these days.)

What’s with the last two, you ask? Why would any sensible person tackle tasks like that a month before having a baby? Well, it’s because having a baby is just one of the Big Life Changes we’re preparing for right now. It’s just one of those substantial pieces of meat I was referencing.

We’re also about to welcome my mother-in-law into our home. Permanently. Brennan’s stepfather passed away in January, prompting Brennan’s mother’s need to find a new place to live. So she’s moving here, all the way from Minnesota.

While we’re aware that this new living situation will involve a tremendous adjustment for all of us, we’re confident that we’re doing the right thing. And we look forward to many wonderful things about having Hilde (pronounced “Hildy”) living with us. (First and foremost, our boys will actually get to know their grandmother! Currently, they only get to see her once a year. Also, you know how newborns want to be held at all times? Solution: Grandma!)

The original plan was for Hilde to arrive at the beginning of June. But now it looks like she’ll be here in… two-and-a-half weeks. So it’s not like we even have five whole weeks to accomplish the tasks on that list. For most of them, we’ve just got 2.5.

Two! Point! Five! To ready our home and household for two new people. With one of the primary workers partially incapacitated by third-trimester fatigue, a big huge belly, and a bum hip joint. It’s a lot of pressure. It’s a full plate.

But the thing about having a full plate, I’ve found, is that it tends to do what it did for me this past weekend: clarify things. All-of-a-sudden, necessary things are made more obvious and unnecessary things fade into the background. You (or at least I) become more business-like, more matter-of-fact about what you need to do. Those tasks that have been swimming languidly along in your mind for months are suddenly lined up, alert, standing at the ready.

So, despite my fatigue (and another annoying post-nasal-drip, sore-throat thing), I’m ready to get this thing done. Yesterday afternoon, I finally finished up a task that I’d left hanging for months. A handful of more afternoons like that and we’ll be in good shape.

At this point in the game, I’ve got to believe that all this is doable. I don’t have the luxury of worrying about it or letting it overwhelm me. I’ve just got to move forward with purpose and determination… and love. We’ll get there. And we’re doing it for a good reason, for people we love.

Also, do you want to know a little bonus about having this particular kind of a full plate? I’ve been thinking so much about logistics in the past few days that I haven’t had any time at all to devote to the subject that had been lurking in my mind, making me uneasy: labor and delivery. Let’s just put that one off as long as possible, shall we?

Christmas Review, 2013

January 6, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

I know that many (most?) of you have taken down your tree and moved past Christmas at this point, but I’ve been trying for days to fit in one fully Christmas-themed piece before the season officially came to a close (Happy Epiphany!) and I allllmost made it. Almost. So, whatever. I’m posting this rambling thing anyway.

——

Plus, here I sit (for at least part of the writing of this post), in front of a lovely fire, with my equally lovely (if crispy, because we never remember to water it) Christmas tree in the background for the last time this season. And despite the detritus of stuff strewn about our entire first floor (a result of two consecutive days of Daddy on Duty) and the vaguely bleh feeling of recovering from a stomach bug (which sent me to Labor and Delivery for a not-so-lovely few hours Friday night), I’m still feeling that warm-fuzzy Christmas feeling.

Same set-up, less messy day.

So, here’s a little review of how our family prepared for and celebrated Christmas this year, as well as some thoughts on such things in general, and on how we can maybe do ours a little better next year. (If I write about it here, I can check back on it then, right?)

But, fair warning: much of this post (especially the stuff in the middle) is probably of interest to just one person – little ol’ me. This is how I’m choosing to get it all down, to remember it for next year. If you like pictures of Christmas decorations, details about how other families do holidays, and musings on how one might do holidays better, then settle right in and enjoy. If you find such things B.O.R.I.N.G., then maybe just check on back here in a couple of days, okay?

— Advent —

We… um… didn’t do much for Advent this year.

Last year, I made a little paper candle for each day of Advent and wrote on each the name of a loved one. I taped them to our kitchen mantle and set up a small Christmas tree in our dining room, decorated with nothing but white lights. Each day, we took one of the candles off the mantle, prayed for the person named on it, and hung the candle on the tree in the dining room. I meant to do the same this year. I set up the tree and pulled out last year’s paper candles. But, intending to switch the names around a bit, I never hung them up. Fail.

Last year — see the candles hanging from the mantle?

I also thought about doing that whole opening-one-children’s-Christmas-book-each-day-of-Advent thing. I even have nearly enough books. But I didn’t get around to wrapping them. Fail.

Didn’t do the advent wreath either. Pulled it out, set it on the table, and never dug out the candles. Fail.

I didn’t even do daily Advent reflections, which I’ve almost always done in the past. Fail!

So, what did we do? It wasn’t much: we brought out the nativity scenes at the start of Advent and we talked about them. For most of the month, we kept our decorations simple and our preparations quiet. We had nativity scenes (with Baby Jesus tucked away and wise men set off to the side) throughout our first floor and we had that simple little dining-room tree with white lights. We talked about Jesus’ birth and we sang Christmas carols.

You know how people display placards and memes admonishing folks to “Keep Christ in Christmas”? I’m a little turned off by them. I always want to answer, “So, do it! Take a look around at your home and your traditions and your stress level and do what you can to focus on the ‘Reason for the Season.’ You – not society at large – are in charge of how you celebrate Christmas.”

Personally (and I admit I’m at a pretty good place in my life for this – just a few years into parenthood), I’m trying to set the course for the way holidays will be celebrated in my home. If I don’t want Christmas to be about materialism, I don’t let it. If I want it to be a season of peace, that’s what I focus on. If I want to keep it about Christ, that’s what I do. I think we should orient ourselves to our goals and just go ahead and live them out the best we can. So, that’s what we did with Christmas. If the boys brought up Santa, sure, we indulged their excitement a little bit. But we didn’t make out that Christmas is about Santa and gifts. We made clear that it’s about Christ’s birth.

Next year, I’d like to have our Advent activities all planned out and ready to go before Thanksgiving. Maybe I should take things down from the attic, dust them off, and set them aside in mid-November, even. Then I could simply set them out the first Sunday of Advent and be done with all the “Ohmygosh I don’t want to go to the attic and dig into bins and deal with all that dusty stuff.” I’m particularly lazy with that sort of thing, so I should probably schedule it on my calendar now.

— Cards —

Cards were and weren’t a kind-of failure this year. On the plus side, we had family photos taken in October (October!) and I ordered the cards on December 4. (Which seems chest-puffingly early to this procrastinator.) On the negative side, the cards were delayed, then delivered to the wrong address, and so re-ordered and delivered to us just before Christmas. Also, blinded by a good Shutterfly sale and free shipping, I went a little overboard with the design. We ended up getting them done, though most arrived after Christmas day. Next year, as much as I hate to say so, we should probably order our cards before Thanksgiving. (Shudder!)

— Parties and activities —

This is where I think we struck the right balance. We did three simple, Christmasy out-of-the-house activities: we went to our parish’s Santa breakfast, we drove around one evening to look at Christmas lights, and we went to our town’s tree-lighting ceremony, where our 3-year-old sang with his preschool class. We attended our usual two family parties: one at my grandparents’ on Christmas Day, another at my parents’ on the previous weekend. We also hosted two parties and an overnight visit: a weekday, brunch-time St. Nicholas Day party for little ones, a post-Christmas open house for friends and family, and a New Year’s Eve/Day visit from my best friend and her family. The activities were nicely spread out over the month and other than pre-party house-cleanings (which are good to do in and of themselves), none were too labor intensive. I’d be perfectly happy if we did the same assortment next year.

I only get credit for the dark chocolate tart and the banana bread.

Now, that’s the sign of a good party.

— Decorations —

Well… we put up a tree! A whole week before Christmas! Though I think I might not have finished decorating it until Christmas Eve. We hung our Moravian star on the porch and put candle lights in the front windows, also (ahem) on Christmas Eve. Let’s see… what else… Brennan put up a pine garland over the parlor fireplace. There were the aforementioned nativities and the dining room tree. And stockings. And the Christmas cards we received. That’s it.

Last year I decorated our mantles, which I love doing. I’m sorry I didn’t get around to it this year. Next year, if I can manage it with an 8-month-old underfoot (not to mention a 4- and 3-year-old), I’d love to do the mantles up right again. Plus the assortment of basics we pulled off this year.

Last year!

— Gifts —

I have to say, given all that not-focusing-on-Santa-and-gifts stuff, it was pretty darned fun to have a child old enough to get excited about Santa this year. Our 3-year-old had been talking about wanting a guitar for months and he was delighted to learn that he could ask Santa to bring him one. Fortunately, good ol’ Santa Claus did not disappoint. Nor did he (I think) spoil the kiddos. He brought our older boy the guitar and a cowboy costume and our younger boy a fire engine and a fireman costume. He also brought each boy a puzzle and a wooden truck. They. were. thrilled. In fact, once they saw the guitar and the fire engine, they really didn’t care about anything else.

Santa doesn’t wrap our gifts, does he wrap yours?

And it’s a good thing that Santa’s gifts (oh, and Grandma’s too) were fun, because Mommy and Daddy’s were mostly practical: namely, we gave the boys the bedding they’ll need for the big-boy beds they’ll be getting this spring. The boys gave each other a toy: tools for one, a truck for the other. And this year, in a first, I think, my ever-practical hubby (whose past gifts have included a floor mat and a bed pillow) gave me a gift that is pretty. He gave me a lovely art print for our dining room. It’s the first thing we’ve properly hung on a wall in the 1.5 years we’ve been in this house. (Everything else has been stuck on nails that were already there when we moved in, because I’m too chicken to mess with plaster walls unless I’m really, really sure about what I’m hanging.)

Isn’t she so pretty?! I want sheep…

Regarding shopping for gifts, I did most of it at the last minute. Which you would think would be a recipe for high stress. Except that it actually wasn’t, and it even lead me to a new philosophy for Christmas gift shopping. Behold: Shop for tough people (i.e. out-of-town Godchildren, my hubby, and my dad) well in advance. That is, whenever in the year I can find something that suits them. And by Thanksgiving at the latest. But shop for easy people (i.e. my boys, my nieces, and my mom) at the last-minute. Tons of cool things can be ordered easily from Amazon and lots of good sales abound in the last days before Christmas. In short, get the stressful ones over with early and save the fun ones ‘till the end.

— The Christmas Season, Proper —

I’m actually kind of glad that we didn’t get a lot accomplished this year until Christmas itself was right around the corner. I feel like my default is to feel guilty the whole first half of December that I’m not doing more, then desperate to get it all done the week before Christmas, then let down as soon as Christmas day passes. Oh, and then guilty all over again, because I’m nowhere near ready to take everything down, but Christmas is… you know… over.

Except that it’s not. It’s really not. Sure, it makes sense for retailers to start hyping Christmas in November (Earlier? Ouch!) and then pressure you to DO! MAKE! BUY! in the final weeks that lead up to December 25^th. And sure, it’s natural for folks who have been immersed in that environment and that hectic pace to feel DONE with it all as soon as Christmas day ends. But it doesn’t have to be that way. It’s not even supposed to. If I view Christmas as a religious holiday, then I should look at it from the vantage of the religious calendar: December is dominated by Advent, not Christmas. Advent is a season of preparation, reflection, and penance. Christmas arrives on the 25^th and lasts for twelve days. Epiphany, the feast of the magi, comes in early January.

I feel like we kind of got the tone right this year. Next year, I want to be really purposeful about the days. We’ll still put up our Christmas tree during Advent, but we’ll never be weekend-after-Thanksgiving people. We’ll add to our decorations and shopping slowly, so that we’re ready (but not frantic!) on Christmas day itself. Next year, I want to mark each of the twelve days of Christmas somehow. Perhaps we’ll give our own Christmas gifts to the boys bit-by-bit, stretched over those twelve days. We’ll see. I also want to mark Epiphany next year, maybe with a fun little party for our (fun) little family. We’ll see on that count too. Regardless of how, exactly, we work it all out, I want to teach my boys that Christmas matters and I think that observing it fully will help to teach that lesson.

— This New Year —

I’ve never been a big New Year’s resolution person, nor have I ever landed on a “word of the year.” But this year, I felt like a few things just came to me naturally, that the past few months have pointed me in their direction. So, I guess I’d better pursue them. One relates to what I wrote above: I want to be purposeful about this year’s holidays and liturgical seasons. Another is more basic and more important: I need to (sleep and therefore) rise early so that I can have some quiet prayer time for myself each day. (No, I haven’t been praying daily, which I usually blame on the ever-loving lack of quiet in this house. Unfortunately, it’s become an easy excuse.) And lastly, I have a word for 2014. One that came to me clearly, one that has been coming for some time: Generous. This year, I need to be generous, I need to learn to respond generously, both in my mind and in my actions.

——

So, there you have it: My look back on Advent and Christmas 2013, my look forward at what those seasons should be in the years to come, and my outlook at the beginning of 2014. May you and yours have a peaceful, healthy, joyful year ahead of you.

These Walls

Sharing stories from within the walls of my home; encouraging discourse on the wider world outside them.

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