I am well protected from the monsters...

So, my very sweet, shy and cautious boy has never wanted to dress up for Halloween.  He doesn't want to go Trick or Treating, he's very skeptical of Halloween generally.  But two years ago (this would be 2014 now) he wanted to go to the Trunk or Treat festivities at church, but he didn't want to dress up.  So Chris and I packed up Cameron and Lilu and they had fun going from trunk to trunk, but they skipped the scary ones.

Then last year (2015) he asked me (about 2 weeks before Halloween), "Mommy, I think I want to dress up this year."  And I fought the urge to lay my head down and CRY.  Seriously?  I've had 7 years of EASY Halloweens, and this year, THIS year that Daddy is in med school and Mommy is drowning, THIS year is the year you want to dress up?!  But I was very grown up about it, I said, "Really?  What do you want to dress up as?"  And he thought for a moment and said, "Percy Jackson." 

We had read the Percy Jackson books for bed time reading the year that we studied Ancient History because he was completely obsessed with Greek Mythology, and he especially enjoyed the stories about Poseidon.  So I thought, "Well, it could have been worse."  So I started to think about what we could do for a costume that would require minimal creativity and monetary expense.  And because Lilu MUST do everything that Cameron does, it immediately escalated into "I want to be ANNABETH!"

After a few hours of searching on the internet, I came up with a plan that I liked well enough.  I ordered Camp Half-Blood t-shirts from Etsy, and I bought the stuff to make them bead necklaces.  Chris watched a tutorial on how to make a wooden sword and we got to work.  I painted the beads to match the descriptions in the books, and once Chris had shaped and sanded the swords down, I painted them in the garage (in the aptly named Antique Bronze).  When the day of the Halloween Carnival arrived, I thought they looked pretty awesome (for a totally apathetic mother)!

They look pretty happy, right?  Let me tell you, tooling around with two kids armed with wooden swords makes you feel pretty safe...

Look at how ferocious they are!  I can't imagine where they could have learned THAT. 



But this picture is probably my favorite.  It totally sums up this child's role in our family:

She makes us all laugh.  When we're stressed out and overwhelmed, when everyone is tired and fractious and impatient, Lilu pulls a mug like this or says something odd and goofy and gets us all laughing again.  She does her fair share of crazy-making, but she does MORE than her fair share of happy-making too.

Chris gets a New Coat

So at the start of every school year, the new crop of med students participates in what's known as a White Coat Ceremony.  They go up on a stage, group by group, and they are presented with their White Coat, the outward symbol that they're a med student.  It's a really cool ceremony, actually, because it celebrates their potential.  And it's a time for family and friends to gather and cheer on their med student.

So last year (that would be August 2014, if you're having trouble keeping up), Chris had read about it and thought it was the coolest thing ever.  So when he found out that he'd been accepted, he called his parents to invite them up and told them that this was a big deal and he would really appreciate it if they could be there.  As it turned out, his Mom was traveling that weekend and couldn't be there, and his Dad was non-committal.  So I braced him up as best I could and promised that the kids and I would be there with bells on to cheer him on.

So a week before the ceremony, his sister and I were texting back and forth and she asked when the ceremony was and for more information generally, so I gave it to her, but thought nothing else.  I just figured that she would call or text the day of, because she's very thoughtful that way.    A few days after this exchange (Wednesday before the ceremony to be precise) she called me and said that she and Dad (and maybe Chris's brothers) wanted to try to come up on Sunday, but wanted it kept as a surprise just in case they couldn't make it, so would I help them?  And I said, "Heck yeah, and nothing easier since Chris is never around!"  So we started plotting.

I planned a BIG family dinner for Sunday, to celebrate Christopher (of course), we made  a traditional NC barbecue and all the sides.  Chris said, "Isn't this kind of a lot of food?"  To which I replied, "It's a lot of people, and also shut up, it's delicious."  He had no argument for that.  I sent his sister details on when to show up and where to park and made sure that we would park in the same parking deck so that Chris could see his family BEFORE the ceremony.

So the day arrives and he and I are both a jumble of nerves, though for very different reasons.  We left Church a bit early so that we could make it to the ceremony on time.  At the last minute, Chris decided that we would drive together and then, THEN he tried to change where we were going to park.  And to that I refused in Diva like fashion.  He looked at me funny, but then headed for the parking deck.

As we drove up the road towards the deck, I looked up and saw his family (all but his Mom) standing on the second level watching for us and I pointed them out and said, "Who are those crazy people?"  He glanced up and said, "I don't know...WAIT!  WHAT?!"  And I started to laugh because the look on his face was PRICELESS and then he started to tear up and laugh all at the same time and he said, "Did you do this?!"  And I said, "Your sister and I make a MAD team!"  He was so touched that they drove all the way up here just to be with him to celebrate.

There were hugs all around and exclamations and lots of pounding on the backs and the kids were squealing with delight and jumping up and down because they got to see Paw-Paw AND Jenji AND Mike and Rusty AND Daddy all in the same wonderful day!  My father in law was thoroughly impressed with my secret keeping skills and Chris really was knocked off his feet.  I don't think I stopped grinning until we got our seats and got settled.

At which point Maggie decided that she had had ENOUGH.  Enough of dresses, enough being quiet, enough sitting still, enough not napping, enough enough ENOUGH.  So I took her out and tried to nurse her to quiet her down and tried to rock her and cuddle her, and she would calm down for a few minutes.  Long enough for us to go inside and see where they were in the program, and then it was more screaming and more out in the hallway.  I went back and forth with her until it was time for Chris's group to go up.

Then I handed her off to Mike and I took the big kids down to edge of the mezzanine to see their Daddy.  (Lilu had been crying for him basically since we sat down.  I think she thought he'd be sitting with us.)  So they saw him walk onto the stage and Lilu chirps up, "Hi Daddy!"  And I started to giggle because (of course) it echoed through the whole theater!  So then they call student by student and one of the faculty puts the coat on the student, and Chris was the second one, so they call his name and both kids shout "YAY DADDY!!"  And the whole theater erupts in cheers and applause, and that right there is where I lost it and started to cry and cry.

Because here's the thing.  Chris has wanted to be a doctor his whole life.  It's the only thing he's ever really wanted to do.  And not because he likes the lifestyle or wants to show off and drive a fancy car or anything, but because he likes to help people.  And when he didn't get in (years ago, when we were fresh out of undergrad), we talked about different career paths where he could still help people, but it just wasn't what he really wanted to do.  He tried different paths and different jobs, but he was never happy, and I think it was because he only ever wanted to be a doctor.  And here he was, getting his white coat at long last.  He had worked so hard and here was his dream of what he wanted to do and to be and he had made that happen.  I could not have been prouder of him than I was in that moment.

(Oh, and when I turned around to take the big kids back to their seats, Maggie was sound asleep on Uncle Mike's shoulder.  I should have handed her off an hour ago!)

So we sat through the rest of the ceremony, and then joined the masses to try to find Christopher.  We met up and went to shake hands with a few faculty members, and everywhere we went, Chris was greeted with cries of "YAY DADDY!"  by his classmates.  It was sweet and endearing and so many people told us what a great moment it was.  And it was a great moment, but for more reasons than just the kids.

We took some pictures (Jenn's turned out MUCH better than mine), and then headed back to the house where we were met by my parents and Sherry and Jeff and my nephew Joshua.  We ate and talked and laughed and had a wonderful time together.  And Chris looked at me and said, "This is why you made so much food!"  And I said, "Yes!"  He was still completely surprised and it was thoroughly fun to tell the story over and over and over again.

(BIG thanks to Jenn for taking such great pictures!)

My Mountains

Rather a possessive title, no?  I love mountains.  Give me mountains and you'll find me in a perfect state of happiness.  I love the jagged edges, the abrupt beginnings and endings, I love trees and rocks and rivers that run through them.  So when Chris suggested that we spend a week camping in the mountains (July 2015) I jumped at the chance.  I knew it would be tricky with the 3 kids, but even if you do nothing at all in the mountains, it's my happy place.

So we loaded up the kids and the dog and headed West.

Chris's Mom keeps a trailer over in the mountains west of Asheville, so that's where we stayed.  It was hot over there, but who cares?  You're in the mountains!  We settled in and the kids had to share a sleeping space, which they weren't wild about, and Chris and I shared our sleeping space with still, very wee Maggie.  It was cozy...or would have been if it hadn't been 90 degrees every single day.

Still we hiked, and may I just say?  Cameron blew me AWAY.  He was a champion.  He hiked the whole length of the upper and lower falls of the Yellowstone river, and didn't complain, not once.  I think he rather enjoyed himself because the trail offered lots of variation.  Sometimes it was an easy boardwalk, sometimes it was a smooth dirt path, and other times, it was a stone staircase carved into the mountain itself.  Lilu rode in the backpack with Chris, and Maggie was in the sling with me.

Highlight of the trip?  We got to the top and stopped to snack before heading back down the trail, and Maggie started to fuss, so I loosened the sling and latched her on and we continued hiking, Chris turned around and saw me and said, "We can stop!"  And I said, "Naw, I'm good, I'm a Mama and a canteen!  Life is good!"  Though, some of the other hikers looked at me a little strangely.  I just smiled and said, "I love my little ones!" 

Other highlight?  Chris NOT careening over the edge of the precipice with our middle child.  So we were headed down said trail (this was before the breastfeeding) and Chris stepped down wrong and his ankle turned, his knee buckled and Lilu is heavy enough that the forward momentum pushed them both down.  The edge of the trail was only 12 inches from the side of the mountain, so I immediately thought they were going right over the edge.  But he stopped them and then hobbled back down the trail on a completely sprained and quickly swelling ankle. 

Kids best highlight?  The s'mores in the rain!  We had promised them s'mores.  REAL s'mores, over a FIRE s'mores.  So even though it rained every night, Chris dutifully built a fire, with lovely oak wood, and we roasted marshmallow after marshmallow after marshmallow until the kids were so sticky that no amount of wiping would clean them EVER.  So we took them in the showers and hosed them off before putting them to bed.  That was really fun.

Life is Good

Oh hello.

Sorry about that delay...we've been busy trying not to melt.  The summer is brutally hot, we haven't been hiking, not once, not yet anyway.  I keep watching the weather and hoping for a slightly cooler day to take the kids out, and there are hopeful signs for this week.  In the meantime we've been trying to finish up with school (we took a long break when my wee-est arrived, so we're trying to catch up from that).

My big accomplishment of the week?  I made some decent pictures of my lovelies...

The wee one looks a little worried, but she always looks a little worried when her siblings hold her.  I usually just kiss her and remind her that siblings build character.

Saturdays

I thought you would all enjoy seeing what Saturday mornings look like in Burnstopia...

Children?  check! 

Bed Sweet Bed?  check!

Everyone in their jammies?  check!

Mama?  Only one that's up for the day?  CHECK.

The Week in Review

We're 1 week into having 3 kids and so far so good.  Of course, I didn't get home until Thursday, and I'm in copious amounts of pain, so mostly we do a lot of this:

I need to tell you the story of Her Birth, it has some harrowing moments, but I'm really tired.  I was worried before she was born that I couldn't remember anything about taking care of a newborn, and now I know why.  Because you never get to sleep, so you can't remember anything once it's over.  I promise I'm getting there.

In which I get Older...

My own birthday was a quiet, creamy affair this year.

Since I have this policy of making my children MY favorite cake (my Mom's marble cake) for their birthdays, we had celebrated the Girl's birthday with my family and marble cake the week before my own birthday, so Chris and I felt at liberty to branch out a bit this year.

He gifted me with a new cookbook for Christmas that's entirely different kinds of Pie.  Since Pie is pretty much his favorite food on the planet, it was sort of a gift for himself, but we decided to go ahead and celebrate my birthday with a Pie extravaganza. 

I had this awful cold that pretty much everyone in my family had had at some point during the holidays, so it was hard to care about much.  Chris took me out for Thai food for lunch, we took the kids.  That wasn't very relaxing, nor did they enjoy it very much.  (They have no appreciation for good food, they'd just as soon eat chicken nuggets or hot dogs, and WHY when they could have Pad Thai, or tempura fish with chili sauce, is beyond me.)  Anyway, for dinner my folks joined us for a big pot of soup and our Festival of Pie.   We made 3 different kind:  butterscotch cream (a family favorite, and proper butterscotch where you burn and candy the sugar before hand), my Mom made me a chocolate pie, and then we tried a new one from the book:  Custard...oh my.  It was so good. 

I am moderately embarrassed to admit this, but the 4 of us ate 3 whole pies in 3 days.  A PIE a Day.  It was a really good weekend.

Since I was sick, I had no qualms whatsoever about spending the whole weekend in my nightgown and watching a long Lord of the Rings marathon.  Which, in hindsight, was maybe a little bit scary for the kids...but which was thoroughly enjoyable for Chris and I.

And I tried not to think about how many years I have lived on this planet.   This pregnancy has me feeling very, very old. 

Apres moi, le deluge...

Christmas eve...may I just say, that when Chris and I were looking at our town house, one of the first things we talked about was how great the layout of the kitchen/dining room/living room would be for our Christmas eve party? 

So it goes without saying that we were super excited for our party this year.  Chris agreed to do most of the food prep, if I would do the cleaning/organizing/decorating.  And since I had long since ceased to care if the house was beautiful, I readily agreed.

For those of you who are new, we host my family every year on Christmas eve for a Nabs Party.  Nabs are what Chris' family call appetizers, so everything is casual and fun.  In years past, we've just ordered up a chicken nugget tray from Chick-fil-A, but for the past couple of years, Chris has stepped off the verge of crazy and decided to COOK our own nuggets.  And this year was no exception.

So the night before, we're in the kitchen and he says to me, "How many chicken breasts do you think I need to thaw to feed everyone?"  And I say, "I don't know...one each?"  And he says, "No way!  We need more than that!"  So he pulls out our bag of frozen chicken breasts (we buy the big kahuna bags at Costco) and starts counting them out...at TWENTY-TWO I stop him and say, "Whoa, nelly, you're going to be cooking ALL NIGHT!" 

Please to remember there are only TWELVE of us, and 2 of those are 6 and 3 years old respectively!

So Christmas eve dawns, and the kids and I get to work cleaning the house and Chris gets to work in the kitchen.  Our running joke with each other was that, Christmas 2014 was brought to you by cream cheese, cheddar cheese and jalapeno peppers because here's what was on our menu for the night:

• chicken nuggets
• steak bites
• boursin cheese (made with cream cheese)
• jalapeno pimento cheese (made with cream cheese and cheddar cheese)
• jalapeno poppers (made with cream cheese, cheddar cheese and bacon)
• cold spinach dip
• warm spinach dip (made with cream cheese)
• chips and salsa
• cheese and cracker tray
• homemade cheese ball (made with cream cheese and cheddar cheese)

and for dessert!

• mini-cheesecakes with cherries
• pecan tassies
• cherry blossoms

So some of these things Chris had put together the night before, but he still spent the bulk of Christmas eve in the kitchen, which is why it wasn't until later in the afternoon that we noticed that our roof was leaking.

Oh, yes, you read that right.  It poured rain the WHOLE day, and I had noticed what appeared to be a water stain on the ceiling in the Girl's room, and mentioned it to Christopher as a cause for concern, but we had been so wrapped up in med school applications and worry with that, that we sort of just ignored the ceiling in the hopes that it would go away on it's own.

No such luck.

But water dripping through a heating and cooling vent onto the floor, will awaken you to a sense of the reality of homeownership faster than anything else, so we set a bucket underneath it, Chris stormed up into the attic to marvel at the inadequacies of the roof, and I called the HOA and left an urgent voicemail because it's CHRISTMAS EVE, no one is in the office.

Then we went back downstairs and had a party!  Because what else can you do?

Everyone came, it was SUPER fun, my sister and her whole family had been sick since before Thanksgiving so we hadn't seen any of them in a looooooooooooong time, and we had really missed them.  So we talked and laughed and ate and laughed at Chris making this MOUNTAIN of food for all of us.  We read the Christmas story from Luke 2 and the kids opened presents from their Nana and Popper.  It had been such a long time since we had all gotten together, that I was just happy sitting on the couch surrounded by most of my favorite people in the whole world.

Needless to say, we were eating chicken nuggets for DAYS and DAYS.

Oh, Dear me...

I am drowning y'all.  Drowning in the holidays and not nearly enough energy to keep everything all together.  I should tell you about our Thanksgiving trip to Savannah, and the fun that was had.  I have some darling pictures of my little ones with their MeeMaw that need sharing.  I should tell you about my good intentions for a streamlined, well organized holiday season, that would be high comedy, for that has not materialized...well, it's streamlined, but it's not very well organized.  I should be able to show you pictures of Chris' Christmas socks for this year, for they are wonderful and my own design, but alas, NOT finished yet.

So instead, I'm going to share with you two of my THREE favorite things about Christmas this year, they are both videos and both promise to lift your spirits if you're feeling a bit frazzled and irritable.  The third favorite thing I can't share with you, but WISH I could and that is the experience of watching my two babes who are OBSESSED with these videos watching them over and over and over and over and OVER again, and sneaking off with my phone to watch them again, and begging me in the morning and at rest time and at dinner time and before bed to "Pease watch Angels one more time?!"  Both of them have both videos memorized and listening to them sing or read along with them is pretty much the highlight of my Christmas season.  So while I can't give you that Third favorite thing, here are the first two.  Grab some cookies and milk and enjoy.

Happy

I have been thinking about the little things and how things come back around again, if only we wait long enough.

We're staying with my sister right now.  My lovely eldest sister.  And perhaps you don't know this, but it was she who taught me to sing and to love music.  She was the pianist for our little congregation when we were kids, so all week long she would practice the hymns for the next Sunday, and I'm sure I pestered her to no end because I was her shadow, but a wiggling, chatty, annoying shadow. 

And here's the good part, instead of brushing me off, instead of stomping off in a huff, instead of banishing me as was perfectly justifiable, she pulled me up on the piano bench next to her while she practiced, and she taught me to sing out the words at the right time and sort of in the vicinity of the right note.  My happiest memories from my happy childhood were made on that piano bench right next to her.  She is everything smart and talented and beautiful and I wanted to be JUST like her.  My favorite hymns today, are still the ones that she and I sang regularly in those couple of years before she left home.

So tonight, I was sitting and knitting on my daughter's interminable sweater for next fall and I heard the halting notes coming from my sister's piano downstairs.  And just as though it were yesterday, I started to sing quietly along.  But this time the Boy was asking me, "What song is that, Mama?"  And I would tell him and sing along for a bit.  Then the song would change and I continued to sing along quietly as she played, half longing to go and sit on the bench beside her as I had done as a small child, and half afraid that if I did so, she would stop playing.

Looking back from the great distance of 34 years, it seems like such a little thing.  To let a child sit next to you while you practice as needed, but for the child it was such a big thing.  A momentous thing.  A thing that made her Great in my eyes.  It makes me wonder about the little things in my own life, the opportunities missed or misjudged and how do I learn to look with better eyes so that I recognize them when they come? 

She has wept with me when I have felt defeated and she has celebrated with me on those few occasions when I triumph, including when both of my wee babes were born (though the picture is of my little daughter).

When I think about the things that mean most to me in the world, not a single one of them is currently in our storage unit.  And they all of them have names:  Christopher and my Boy and my Girl and my Sisters and brother, my Parents and my friends.  The sad thing is, that I think most of us take these people for granted so often that they come to resemble the little things in life, when in reality, there is nothing Greater.

I understand now...

From my adolescence onwards, my Grandma asked me what of her things I wanted.

It used to make me crazy.  I didn't really want any of her things. (And I took pride in my denial of material things.)  I wanted her stories, I wanted her to tell me about the places she'd been and the things she'd seen and everything she learned from those places and things.  But those were the things she wasn't readily willing to share.  And so for a long time we were at an impasse, she and I.

When I had the Boy, she sent me her rocking chair and I had grown up enough to accept it gratefully.  And every day, I would rock my Boy in that rocking chair.

And gradually over the last few years, her things have been creeping into my home.  Her knitting needles, one set at a time, pudding dishes and glass bowls, books, and cake pans.  So that now, there are bits and bobs of my Grandma in nearly every room of my small apartment.

Last night I was rocking my children in her rocking chair and thinking about my Grandma.  And that's when I think I understood for the very first time, why she was so eager to make sure that I would have something of hers.  Because our memories of people become tied to objects associated with them, because every time I rock my babies in her rocking chair I think of her.  Every time I knit my boy a pair of socks with her knitting needles, I think of her.  Because every time I see the bowls or the pans or the Thing, I think of my Grandma.

She died early this morning.  My Dad called me at dawn to tell me that she had moved on.

And while I still wish that she had told me her stories, I'm grateful for the things she gave me.  Because now there are memories of my Grandma in the most unpredictable places.  So that as I go about my day, I can remember her.

And maybe that's all she really wanted all along.

Christmas Reprisal

The longer I blog, the more I've come to realize that this space is my mental filing cabinet.  I store memories in here, things that made me laugh, things that made me think and things that we've done and want to do over again, or not as the case may be.

And since there were no pictures from the Christmas eve party, I'll just have to see what I can do in the way of words.

My Girl has been sick.  Again.  The Monday before Christmas eve, she spiked a 103 degree fever and there it stayed for the better part of the day.  I spent the whole day holding her and battling that fever.  I did my best with Tylenol and ibuprofen alternating through the day, but it stayed resolutely high.  I took her in to the doctor at the end of the day and they thought she probably had a secondary infection of bronchitis again.  She didn't sleep much that night and then ended the night in bed with us, a hot, sweaty, listless child in my arms.  Oddly, the fatigue of that night didn't get to me so much as the fear.  Nothing I could do helped, not the medicines, not the fluids, not even holding her.  I really was scared, which is partly why she ended up in our bed.

Tuesday morning dawned and I left her in bed sweet bed with Chris while I went to go feed and walk Hogan.  I came back and her fever was down, not back to normal, but certainly down from what it had been.  And that's when I breathed a great big sigh of relief and set about getting ready for the party that night.

I had long since ceased to care about the party, what we ate, what the apartment looked like, so long as there was Christmas music and everyone gathered and talked and had fun.  So Chris took the menu in hand and oh my holy heck, he went right over the VERGE with the food.  And I just let him.  I vacuumed and made sure that the decorations were looking decent.  I put away coats and shoes and toys and all the detritus of living so that there would be room enough for all the people!  Chris had done some food prep the night before, but here's what the table ended up looking like, are you ready?

• a large tray of chicken nuggets from Chick-fil-A (I made some non-breaded chicken nuggets for my niece who is gluten-free)
• steak bites with homemade boursin cheese
• roasted potatoes
• sausage balls
• raw veggies with ranch
• grilled veggie skewers
• my sister's homemade cheeseball with crackers
• dill dip to go with the veggies
• spinach dip (this one is for Chris since no one else eats it)
• 2 kinds of corn chips
• salsa
• bruschetta with fresh mozzarella
• mini cherry cheesecakes
• cherry blossoms
• gingerbread boys
• oh my heavens, my mother's homemade caramels!  These may have not ended up on the table, but may have been horded by me.

I think that was everything, it seemed like A LOT of food, and it was all delicious, the steak bites were particularly good, tender and juicy and perfectly cooked.

We ate and talked and my Girl hovered between her Nana and her cousins and me and after holding her for almost 48 hours straight, it was a positive joy to see other people holding her and her perfectly contented with the arrangement.

After eating our fill, we handed 'round the Christmas gifts.  It was always tradition in our home growing up that we got to open our presents from our Grandma on Christmas eve.  This was the first year I didn't have a grandma present to open.  It had occurred to me several weeks ago, so I had my nostalgia and sad then rather than Christmas eve night.   Sherry compensated for the lack with a lovely gift certificate to my favorite yarn shop, so there's nothing to be sad about.  And I got to open my present from my Mom.  She gives me wonderful socks every year (it's tradition!) and this year I was more particularly in need of them, so they were most welcome.  The kids opened presents and played and then we read the Christmas story from Luke 2 and Matthew 2, and my nephew played various Christmas carols on the violin.  It was wonderful.  Live music in my apartment!  It was almost miraculous.  We play recorded music every single day, but live music sounds so different from recorded music.  And it was utterly charming to watch my Boy figure out which carol it was that Joshua was playing and then start singing along.  But then, I am his mother, I'm charmed by all of his eccentricities.

After that we had a Christmas quiz, because we are a family that prides itself on random facts and unpractical knowledge.  And then it was time to tuck children into bed and clean up.  Chris helped me put food away (he had done a MUCH better job than usual about cleaning as he went along, so the clean up wasn't that terrifying) and then he went to go put Hogan to bed for the night, while I set about making cinnamon rolls to bake in the morning.  It was a long night, but seeing how Christmas day played out, it was well worth it!

***

I was up before dawn on Christmas day.  I headed out to feed and walk Hogan and watch the sunrise.  We've been doing this for so long that watching the sunrise on Christmas morning has come to feel like my own personal tradition.  I was so tired, but it was so beautiful that I didn't mind at all.  Chris managed to wake up before the kids could ambush the living room without me, so he kept the kids in their room until I got home, then we gathered around the tree to open stockings and presents. 

We're not the kind of parents that believe children should be spoiled at Christmas.  I try to hit my 4 main categories (something to wear, something to read, something to play with and something they need) and I try not to spend a lot of money.  Partly out of necessity and partly out of stubborn determination.

And here's where I digress for a moment.  Santa visits our house.  Our kids are really good, so I'm pretty sure they're on the Nice list.  But we don't play Santa up in a grand way (we don't take the kids for pictures with Santa, and we don't leave out cookies and milk.  The Boy wrote a letter to Santa this year, but it was more to practice his handwriting than an exercise in belief).  He brings the kids 1 gift each, and it's something FUN.  He also brings things for their stockings that their Mother doesn't supply them with.  So this year Santa put the small travel boxes of sugared cereal (we call it dessert cereal in our house) because my parents used to do that for Me when I was a kid and I LOVED it.  That said, Santa isn't the focus in our house.  Being good Mormon folk, we keep Jesus Christ as the center of our celebrations. 

So Christmas morning is a pretty tame affair in our house.  We opened stockings and the Boy was in charge of handing out the Christmas gifts, but because he's 5 and not the least bit methodical, it was a leisurely, meandering sort of unwrapping.  It was really nice, actually.  The kids would open a present and then get distracted playing and Chris would open something and marvel at the gift and I would open something and chuckle at the thoughtfulness of the giver, and then it would begin all over again.  About 2/3 of the way through, my Girl started to freak out and melt down, and tow Chris and I over to the piles of paper and wrappings so, we got out a trash bag and cleaned it up and then she was good to go again.  I had a good laugh about that one, and added "can't tolerate disorder" to the list of quirks she inherited from her mother.

I baked the cinnamon roll while we unwrapped and after the wrapping was all cleaned up we sat down to warm cinnamon rolls and leftover sausage balls for breakfast.  I restored myself to my cozy nightgown and we listened to Christmas carols and watched the kids play with their toys all morning long.

The miracle of the day was the 3 hour long nap I gifted myself.  It was heaven!

And that was our day, really.  It was quiet, small and uniquely Burnstopia.  And after all the work, all the stress, all of the hoopla and busy-ness that had been the whole month since Thanksgiving, it was a welcome relief. 

Lost and Found

So my Grandma is fading.  She's nearly 97 and so it's not entirely unexpected, but it's still sad.  She's always been this undeniable force of life, so to see her so faded is hard.  I've been trying to go down as often as I can to help her and my parents and to spend time with her.  Since, in the end, time is all we really have.

I was down last Saturday, and she sleeps quite a lot now, so I sat with her and held her hand and chatted with a friend of hers from church.  We talked about family, about life and death and about my Grandma.  She woke up just as her friend was leaving and I helped her eat some lunch and tried to make her laugh.  Grandma is a tough audience, so making her laugh is ALWAYS my main objective.  I know if I can make her laugh, then I'm doing pretty well.

When Chris and I finally left, I was feeling tired and sad.  I think we're all feeling tired and sad.  But the babies were at home and I had been away from them all day.  So we made a quick stop to pick up a carbonated beverage, and while I was in the little convenience store, I picked up an ice cream bar.  Not an ice cream sandwich, not a drumstick, but my favorite old fashioned ice cream bar.  Well, not my favorite.  My favorite are Brown Cows which are not sold this far east, but it was another brand equivalent of vanilla ice cream on a stick and dipped in chocolate.  I got back in the car and Chris said, "Oh, babe.  Is it that bad?"  And I said, "Yes and No."

See, I had watched this Documentary last week.  It's all about the British love affair with boiled sweets, or what we Americans would call hard candy.  And the presenter, whom I didn't recognize, but who is apparently a famous food writer, was talking about the power of sweets to take us back in time, to enable us to relive our childhoods.  In the course of the documentary, he sat down with Nigella Lawson and she made the most appropriate comparison.  She said that boiled sweets are for the British, what the madeleine was for Proust.  And after getting back in the car, I realized that for me, more than candy, more than cookies or cakes, it's ice cream on a stick.

That lovely crackle of the hard chocolate as you bite into the vanilla ice cream, it takes you back to a time when you were small, and the world was big, but you were surrounded with strong, confident people who would always protect you.  Back to a time when fathers were super-heroes, mothers knew just how to fix what ailed you, big sisters lived at home, and no one frowned on running around dirt roads absolutely bare footed.  A time when Grandmothers were strong and sharp, like crunchy lemon drops, and Grandfathers were indulgent (my papaw's treats of choice were old fashioned peppermints and those horrible circus peanuts, but it was from my papaw that I obtained that miraculous quarter that would buy me a Brown Cow down at the Piggly-Wiggly).

I ate my ice cream and had my moment with the past.  And then Chris held my hand as we jumped off the cliff and back into reality.  After all, it's a big world and my babies need their father who is a super-hero and their mother who always knows how to fix what ails them.  And so no matter how tired and sad we are, we keep going.  It's how we teach the Boy to be a super-hero when he grows up, and the Girl to know how to fix what's wrong. 

Yes and No.  It's sad and hard.  But life goes on, and the babies still need dinner and baths and blankets and books and kisses and a touchstone that is safe and happy, so that some day when they are grown and life is sad and hard, they can bite into something and come right back here.

Father's Day

People in this world talk a lot about women and how hard it is to be a woman.  And sure, it is.  But it's also hard to be a man.   Their choices aren't any easier than ours.  For my part, I'm grateful for good, honorable men.  Both the one that raised me, and the one I married.

Happy Father's day.

Easter Monday...

...I always think about the Easter Rising in Ireland.  It happened the Monday after Easter 1916, and Yeats wrote a beautiful poem about it.  But that's not what this post is about, this post is about our Easter.

It was a fun, but crazy weekend!

We started the festivities on Friday morning at my parent's house (that's Nana and Popper for the Boy and Girl).  We colored Easter eggs and made a highly decorative mess.  The Girl really wanted to participate but I didn't think it an appropriate activity for someone we lovingly refer to as DESTRUCT-OR.

Following the egg coloring, we HUNTED.

I foolishly assumed that it mostly would be the Boy that hunted, but no.  He wanted his turn at hiding them and we had to hunt for them.  It was hilarious and fun and dirty, especially since by "hiding" the eggs, what the Boy meant was burying them in the DIRT.  He cracked us up.

Saturday we gathered up at my sister's house for a Feast.  My nephew, Matthew (who just turned 16--Happy Birthday, Bro!), informed my sister that "Chicken is NOT special!"  So we had beef.  We ate and talked and laughed and teased Matthew (who antagonistically hates vegetables) that he was going to grow up and marry a vegan and he informed us (in no uncertain terms) that the eating of meat was a DEAL BREAKER for him.  I'm still laughing over it.

The kids had a wonderful time, as they always do with their Aunt Sherry because she gives them marshmallows before dinner and also because her house is a wonderland for small children (and adults).  We brought home two very tired children and put them to bed.  Chris had to work that night, so I made up the Easter baskets...

Nothing too special, a few pieces of candy, some odd little sundries from their Aunt Jenji in Savannah, and these charming Easter eggs from their Aunt Susie in Utah.  I found this adorable little lamb for my Girl (whom we lovingly refer to as Lamby-beth because the sheep is the only one of God's creatures looking for the quickest way to DIE), and so decided to add another bunny to the Boy's collection.  (For some reason he loves bunnies and rabbits of all kinds, stuffed and 2 dimensional as in the Tales of Peter Rabbit.)  For those of you who are wondering, in our house, the Easter Bunny brings chocolate, and Mama and Daddy (or the Aunties) give everything else. 

Sunday morning dawned cloudy and rainy and the Girl was decidedly unimpressed...

Once she realized there was bonafide SUGAR in that Easter basket, she perked up a bit.


The Boy, however, was thoroughly charmed.

 

Easter baskets were followed by breakfast and dressing up for Church and then Church all afternoon.  My sincere apologies for no pictures of my darling children in their Easter clothes, but I am living with a little Boy who sees the camera come out and turns on the GOOFY and my Girl is now a REAL LIVE Toddler.  She's started walking instead of crawling and getting her to stand or sit still for any length of time is an unrealistic expectation.  Her dress is pink cotton with tiny little embroidered flowers on it, and hopefully, I'll be able to get a picture of her in it some time before summer.

All in all, it was a fun weekend.  And now we're getting back to real life.  Laundry and cleaning and work and school.  We still have no idea where we're going at the end of this month, but hopefully by the 30th, we'll be loading our moving truck and I'll be able to tell you "Burnstopia is Relocating to ___________."

Now can we go back to normal?

We're finally ready to close out the holiday season in these parts. 

They generally last from Thanksgiving through my Birthday, but this year we added on Chris' extended family's After Christmas Party.  We spent the last weekend down in Savannah.  It was 77 degrees and sunny all weekend long.  In JANUARY.  The only clothes I had packed were long sleeved and layered. 

Needless to say, I'm never going to Savannah again without a pair of sandals.

Anyway, it was fun.  We got to see the whole family and everyone was charmed by my children, which always makes me happy.  Chris got to go shooting with his Dad and his brothers, which makes for a happy Chris.  My babies were showered with belated Christmas presents, so my Boy is happy, my girl is oblivious.

We had a familial revelation regarding our little girl.  She is NOT a good traveler.  There's just no excusing her behavior on this trip.  She woke up every two hours all night long, and by "woke up" I mean she screamed hysterically until I got up and rocked her back to sleep.  And she did this EVERY night we were gone.

Needless to say, we weren't sorry we laughed our faces off when we saw her do this...

Grandmama Burns had one of those chairs that you can raise, lower, or recline with a remote control.  Well, my darling girl LOVES remotes, and she got a hold of the one for the chair and pushed and pushed until the chair swept her right off her feet.

Needless to say, she was NOT happy about that.  But since she had been torturing us by night, we felt it was justifiable that we both laughed hysterically at her before rescuing her from her own curiousity.

We take Molly with us since she has this unabashed adoration for my father-in-law, she follows him EVERYWHERE he goes.  It's pretty amusing.  But we left Agnes here.  Don't feel sorry for her, she had the whole run of the apartment without children or the dog.  I'm quite sure she was happy.

I'm also quite sure she was happy when we came home because that first night home, she did this...

And if he hadn't been propped up reading, I'm pretty sure she would have laid right on his face.


And now we're back to normal.  The laundry is caught up, we've moved my Girl into the forward-facing car seat, she's had her 1-year check with accompanying shots, and today I baked 8 loaves of bread.  I'm finishing up the last birthday present that I'm knitting on tonight (I am determined), and then it will just be our lovely normal life until Chris' birthday.


(I'm nearly done with two knitted gifties...I'm totally posting pictures here as soon as their owners receive them!)

In Review

Well, it was sort of expected, wasn't it?

That amid the chaos of the holidays and dogsitting and a freelance project, that some balls would drop?  Right?  And as much as I love you all, this blog is pretty low on the priority list since it doesn't DIE if I don't feed it regularly.

But now that the holidays are over and the dust is settling from the Girl's first birthday, I'm starting to surface again.  I was thinking about all the cool things that I need to tell you, or show you in some cases--knitting projects that I've finished and am quite proud of.  But to do that I'd actually have to take pictures of the said projects and since it's been chilly here, we're busy wearin' 'em.

How about I tell you about the 3rd Annual Burnstopia Christmas Eve party instead?

It was lovely, really lovely.  I was very stressed out the Sunday before, just feeling really overwhelmed by everything and a bit bummed because I live with the Grinch.  Or Ebeneezer Scrooge, take your pick.  Chris doesn't get excited about Christmas until the Christmas eve party is in full swing.  But my Prince, he pulled himself up by some deeply buried Christmas cheer on Christmas eve morning and he cleaned and cooked and laundered like a Champ.

My family all came down, including my nephew who has been serving a mission in Denmark for the past 2 years, and my 96 year old Grandmother.  There were NABS in abundance...

Chris' favorite contribution (and my brother-in-law's and my nephew's) were these homemade jalapeno poppers. 

Here's the main spread:  chicken nuggets, bruchetta, shrimp, my favorite marinated veggies, chips and salsa, assorted cheese (and gluten free crackers for my niece) and a very yummy cheese ball.

And finally we come to the desserts:  mini-cheesecakes made by my mom, Sherry's pecan tassies which I SWEAR she puts crack in (I actually teared up when I ate the last one because I knew there would be no more until next Christmas) and Sherry's cherry blossoms (those are the pink cookie, they are basically butter and sugar and almond flavoring with a chocolate kiss and when they're warm from the oven there is nothing better on the planet.  Except for the aforementioned Pecan Tassies).  Not pictured:  the homemade caramels that my Mom made for me and my sisters.  I'm HOARDING those.  I occasionally ration one out to Christopher, but that's only when I'm feeling particularly benevolent.

We ate and talked and laughed.  It was rowdy and crowded, but I love looking around my small living room and seeing so many people that I love in that one small space.  We passed the Girl around and I took pictures of her with everyone, because every child in the world should be loved the way that she and the Boy are loved.

My Dad read the Christmas story from Luke 2 and the kids opened presents from Nana and my Grandma.  It was far from perfect, but just exactly what a Christmas celebration should be.

Telling the Truth

Chris' Grandma died last Wednesday. 

We spent the weekend down in Savannah for her funeral and burial services.  It was a long, exhausting and sad weekend.  This was the first trip in 10 years that we didn't go and have a chat with Grandmama.  She was just an integral part of our time in Savannah and I found myself feeling quite melancholic and silent about the change.

I also discovered a new challenge to motherhood.  As if there weren't enough already.  The Boy was full of questions during the funerary services and I found myself struggling to tell him the truth.  I have a strict policy of truth with my babies, I want them to feel confident in telling me the truth, so I try to do the same with them.  But I found it hard, this time around, not to dress this sad ritual up in fanciful clothes.

If only he weren't so perceptive.  He kept asking me why Grandmama was in the box.  And why are we burying her in the ground?  And why isn't she here if we're talking about her?  And where did she go? 

I would have loved to tell him that she went to live up in the stars and that she would shine out every night as he was sleeping.  I would have loved to tell him that we put her in the ground so that she could grow up into a beautiful tree in the Wood between Worlds.  I would have loved to tell him that she couldn't be at the funeral because she was off doing something amazing and adventurous.

But the truth is harder.  And harder still to explain to someone with a relatively rudimentary vocabulary and a pliable relationship with Time.  But I tried.  I explained to him the same things my parents explained to me when I was 5 years old and my Grandmama died.  I tried to explain the things we Believe and why we Believe them.

And as we made the long drive from the middle of Georgia back to Savannah, Chris and I talked.  We talked about the memories that we'll put into our pockets and carry with us.  The stories that we'll tell the Boy and the Girl and any babies we're lucky enough to have later on.  We'll tell them about Grandma's obsession with socks, and how we went to breakfast every time we visited.  How she would buy KFC to take to her family reunion and put it into her own serving dish so no one would know she didn't make it herself (everyone knew, of course, just no one said anything).  We'll tell them how she praised Dad to the skies and how much she loved her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  We'll tell them how hard she worked, and how when girls on college campuses were shouting obscenities and burning their bras, she and her sister (in Savannah, GA) went out and opened up their own Sporting Goods store.  Not two ex-football players, but two Southern Ladies!  How she worked until she was 90+ and would have worked to the day she died, if she could have.  Because those things are the Truth too.

A Very Festive Recap

Christmas was lovely.

Of course it was.  Amid all the other crap, amid exhaustion and frustration and discouragement, it would take a real Scrooge not to enjoy SOME aspect of Christmas.

So here's a quick recap.

We hosted Christmas Eve at our place again this year.  This has become my favorite tradition.  There was quite a bit of discussion in Burnstopia as just how this party should manifest itself this year.  I am, after all, GREAT with child.

For 10 years now, my sweet husband, has wanted a TRAY of chicken nuggets from Chick-fil-A.  And for 10 years he has been DENIED.  I thought it could be fun, something whimsical to bring out his buried-deep inner child.  So I floated the idea of a "Nabs" party to my family.  They're all afraid of me at this point, I think, I may have had one too many meltdowns in the past month.  Anyway, they thought it was a great idea, so that's what we did.

What are Nabs, you may ask?

Nabs are what Chris' family calls finger foods or appetizers...not knife and fork food.  Stuff you can eat with your hands or a toothpick.  So that's what we did!  We had this huge tray of chicken nuggets (we are STILL eating nuggets) and bruschetta (my sister makes the BEST) and a meat and cheese tray (my family's been looking out for the emotional, pregnant, gestationally diabetic girl this season), a veggie tray, a fruit tray, meatballs, boursin cheese and spinach dip and fruit and some marinated veggies that turned out SO good!  And then there were the 5 different kinds of fingery desserts...mini cheesecakes and pecan tassies and 3 kinds of Christmas cookies.  And oh, everything was SO yummy and good.  And it was so fun to gather this group of people into our cozy apartment and eat and talk and laugh and tease. 

We opened the Grandma presents (this one is a tradition that's held over since my childhood, every Christmas eve we were allowed to open 1 present, the one from our Grandma), and then dispersed.  It was so fun, but I was pretty grateful it didn't go too late this year, I was exhausted.

Christmas morning dawned and the Boy slept until 8am which we were all grateful for.  We got up and opened presents and stockings and it was so much fun to watch him go from one present to another and then to try to incorporate ALL of his new toys into 1 homogeneous, imaginative play scenario.  There's nothing funnier than listening to a kid using his imagination.  And it really was such a fun morning that it was hard to get dressed and head out to church.  But that's just what we did.

After Church we headed up to my sister's house where we all got to say hi to my nephew who's serving a mission in Denmark...he looks good but he's so grown up now that there's no real resemblance to the little kid I fell in love with half a lifetime ago.  It was sort of bittersweet.  I'm sure my sister can still see it, Mothers have that special gift of being able to look at their child and see both the adult and the child.  But it made me a little sad.  He sounds amazing and he's doing good work and we're all so proud of him.

After wards there was yet another dinner, followed by phone calls from absent family, which was also bittersweet.  It would be so amazing, well, exhausting and amazing, to have us all gathered together for Christmas some time, maybe someday...but for now, we were all spent.  Poor Sherry was sick, her kids were fried, the Boy didn't get a nap and so fell asleep on the way home (at 6:30!).

It was a weird Christmas for us, well, at least for me.  I usually have plenty of energy to carry me through, but not so much this year.  Chris' socks are still unfinished, but so much prettier than the previous pair that I started and abandoned.  And it's ok because one of his gifts for me didn't arrive on time either, so he and I will get to have our own little cozy gift exchange in another week or so.  I was just so relieved to have it all over with this year, and I've never actually felt that way before.  I had the most fun putting together Chris' stocking (you'll have to get him to tell you about that!) instead of presents, which were undeniably practical this year.   And you know, I've given myself permission to just have an off year every now and then...it just happens.  And it's ok. 

***

And now?   Well, the Christmas stuff is down and packed away.  Chris and I, well, ok, just CHRIS did laundry for approximately 15 hours on Monday.  But Phase Two of the Nesting is complete.  The pack and play with bassinet is set up, sheets and all.  The clothes and diapers are all washed and ready to go.  I need to make one more run to the grocery store to stock the fridge with staples for the next few weeks and then we'll be all set for the entrance of the Girl into Burnstopia.

And now, it's your turn.  How was your Christmas?

A Weekend of Family Dinners

I grew up in a family that had family dinner basically every night.  Almost always the same time, so we always knew as kids when we needed to be home.  My Dad would be home from work and Mom would have made something--animal, vegetable, grain--for us all to eat. 

And so I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that we're not actually very good about having family dinners in our household.  Don't get me wrong, we WANT to have family dinners, they just don't always pan out.  Chris works 5 evenings a week, so most nights it's just me and the Boy.  And to be honest, the Boy has become a dawdling eater, and in my pregnant state of high irritability, it's hard for me to sit with him every night while he eats dinner.  It's easier (and a lot less shrewish) for me to work in the kitchen (cleaning up), or to work on the computer while he eats in peace.

So imagine my surprise when we came to the end of this past weekend and had had, not 1 but TWO proper family dinners!  One of them by candlelight, per the Boy's request. What can I say, at 3 he's very romantic.

Saturday night, Chris cooked what can only be described as Midwestern home cookin' (hamburger steaks, onion gravy, mashed potatoes and green beans), the Boy ate green beans BY CHOICE for the first time EVER.  And Sunday night, I cooked, herb roasted chicken, stove top and green beans with brownies for dessert.

We'll just leave you all to wonder at how many Tums I had to eat to balance out the heartburn.  The heartburn that has been RELENTLESS for the past SEVEN months.

The point of this post (aside from a little boasting on my part, TWO family dinners is nothing to sneeze at in these parts), is this...I could actually tell the difference it made for the Boy.  He ate better, by which I mean, GREEN BEANS!  An actual BALANCED meal!  It was shocking...usually his dinner is composed of the Carbohydrate of the Moment and milk.  And he didn't dawdle like he does when it's just him and I.  He chewed with his mouth closed and made intelligible conversation with us.   He was enchanted by the candles and pleased with both his parents at the same time. 

Which leads me to the conclusion that, maybe there's some kind of magic to be found in family dinners.  I'm actually looking forward to the day when Chris can move back to day shift and we can have them more frequently than just the weekends.