A Valentine-y Weekend

This weekend marked my first days in the 5:00 AM Club (TM Girl Talk blog, which is a fantastic place to visit if you haven't already, and you can find out all about the 5 AM Club there). In my case, it's more like the 6:00 AM Club, but I'm working on it. Anyway, it was a great start to the day. Lucy came tip-toeing downstairs around 7:00, and I heard Miss Thing chatting away up in her crib, so I went and got her too, and we started on our Valentine cupcakes (after a brief prayer that we would all be kind and not fight. Don't laugh. There was frosting and candy and sprinkles involved in this operation. Fighting opportunities abound.) Let me back up: each year on the Saturday before Valentine's Day, my dad takes all of us out to lunch (usually Cliffbreakers), and we all exchange cards. Then we stop back at our house and have dessert. The cupcakes turned out very cute, and there was no fighting. (I would have taken a picture, but the card on my camera has to be cleaned off before it will allow me to take any more pictures so that's one thing I've got to get to soon.)

Because I got up so early, I got a lot of cleaning done as well plus got the girls bathed and dressed and the table set for our little dessert party (ding ding ding! THIS is what can happen when you get out of bed in the morning!) Since it was (was? IS) so cold out, I had warm pants ready for the girls, but Lucy said, "Mom, I want to wear a dress and tights" and Elaine said, "Me too. Tights. Dress." so they wore that instead. We had a great lunch and a beautiful view of the frozen, snow-covered river. Everyone liked our cupcakes too!

Before we had lunch, Darren had gone to help some friends from church move, and Pastor W. was helping as well. He asked us spur-of-the-moment if we could come for dinner, so that was a nice social addition to the weekend as well. The girls had never been over to his and Vicki's house, and they wanted them to come and meet Lucy the Dog as well. Lucy the Girl loved Lucy the Dog, but Elaine was not sure at all. It took awhile for her to warm up to her, but eventually she peeked at her, then watched her eat her dinner, then finally got up the nerve to pet her.

Vicki has worked with Elaine in the nursery, but I think Pastor was under the assumption that Lucy is quiet and Elaine is silent. [I'll pause a moment for a group laugh.] Elaine set up her Samantha doll on his lap right away. He kept her there for longer than most men would, then gently moved her over to the couch. It took Elaine about 12 seconds to realize that, and she went over and moved her back to his lap. Lucy went on some long 4-year-old stream of consciousness to him that involved opening Christmas presents a day early to cupcakes to the fountain at the restaurant where we had lunch to Stuart Little and any number of other topics in between. We had a great dinner, then I had brought some (new) activities for the girls to do to keep them busy "and so we don't get bored" (according to Lucy). They were supposed to play by themselves, but they spotted an easy target in Vicki, so she got the added bonus of glitter painting and decorating a Strawberry Shortcake sticker book.

Sunday we spent just trying to stay warm, and the girls indulged their mania for the movie "Meet Me in St. Louis" by watching for the gazillionth time in the afternoon. They know all the songs and spend a lot of time casting themselves and various people they know in all the different roles (though Lucy always gets to be Esther and Elaine always gets to be Tootie). Lucy informed me that that's who they're going to dress up as for Halloween this year (she likes to think ahead). We'll see.

So, that was our weekend. Oh and apparently Juliet taught Elaine how to say "hillbilly." I'll be waiting to hear it from her, since I'm sure that's inevitable (since she already told me the other day that something was " 'diculous.") Thanks, Juliet! :-)

ETA: Oh and if there was ever typecasting? It is Elaine as Tootie. We have found her alter/movie-ego. If you haven't seen Meet Me in St. Louis, you must. It is so much fun. And if you have--watch it again. I am.

New Friends, Old Friends, and Imaginary Friends

I never wanted to have a blog. It feels sort of dorky, and I hate the word "blog" too. I was just one of those moms who was always lamenting that my kids said funny things, and I wasn't writing them down. That would mean I would have to be organized enough to have a notebook and a (working) pen at all times, and I'm just not. So my friend Jacqueline said, "You should just keep a blog, Alice. No one needs to read it. It's just an online journal, and it's much easier." Now in some ways, I'm kind of a Luddite. I hate cell phones (well, really any phones) and I lurve good quality paper and getting handwritten letters and writing thank you notes and stuff like that. Oh, how I love the email though. Now that is instant gratification--and I can type a lot faster than I write. So, that's basically how I ended up with a blog. I love the instantaneous nature of them saying or doing something funny, and I can just dash it off immediately and publish it. And the fact that I can post pictures is an added bonus too.

In the process of starting my blog, I've stumbled across many, many others, and now I'm a blog addict. I love peeking into the metaphorical windows of people's lives. I've got people I've never met who feel like good friends. I've got good friends who I can keep up with because I read their blogs. And I've met friends through (and here's another word I hate) the "blogosphere."

[Wake up! I'm still talking about blogs on my blog!] On the side of my page, I keep a blog roll. This is by no means all the blogs I read. I read a bunch of theological blogs, but I've actually stopped lately, because man. Those guys are MEAN. And argumentative. I prefer my roll because they're all funny and some are inspiring, too. Plus, the people who comment are nice and not jerky. That's basically my criteria. A couple of them are my famous imaginary friends: James Macdonald (Walk in the Word) and Beth Moore (Living Proof Ministries). They've got beautiful, fancy blogs (especially James--with music and audio/video clips!), and of course there's a lot of good stuff to read on there too.

Then there are my non-famous imaginary friends: Amanda at Baby Bangs (she's Beth Moore's daughter and very, very funny in her own right), Melanie at Big Mama, Veronica at Toddled Dredge, Sarah at In the Midst of It, Ree at Pioneer Woman, and (please don't miss this one) Jack at Confessions of a Trophy Husband.

Lastly, there are my real life friends: Juliet at Retired and Loving It, Ann-Marie at the Left-Handed Rabbit, Melanie at Apropos of Cole, and an old friend who is new to the blogging world, Alysa at Little Things In Life. Each of those is a great read, all diverse, all fun.

A word on Alysa--we met on our very first day at Moody Bible Institute. Neither one of us knew a soul there. We were standing by the elevator in Houghton Hall as hundreds of other girls laughed and shrieked and chatted around us. I'm not sure which of us uttered which words, but we looked at each other and here's how the conversation went: "I don't know anyone here." "Yeah, me either." "So, do you want to be friends?" "Sure."

And we've been the best of friends ever since (cemented over our love of 80s music of course). We had four years of MBI, then living in Chicago and being in the working world, then I got married and Alysa left to be a missionary in Irian Jaya, Indonesia, (shout-out to any other Moody students who had to read "From Jerusalem to Irian Jaya" in Church at Work in the World I!) When she came back from the mission field, she moved back to Chicago and married her husband, Jack. They have two children: Maddie Mae (who is 10 months older than Lucy) and Jackson (who is 2 1/2 months younger than Elaine).

We have been on this crazy friendship ride for over 20 years--through late nights and finals and many conversations at the Pizza Hut on Chicago Avenue and boyfriend disappointments to weddings and pregnancies (she threw me a shower when I was expecting Lucy, which has come to be known as "The Golden Standard for Showers") and raising kids together and the never-ending struggle of sanctification. Our conversations are now mainly confined to email since we both have crazy schedules and our older kids are in school. But last fall we started a tradition of a Moms Getaway Weekend, which hopefully we'll continue for years to come. (The agenda is basically: laughing, talking, eating, laughing, sleeping, laughing, and...well, laughing.)

Every once in a blue moon, a kindred spirit just drops into your life seemingly out of the blue, but then you realize God's hand has been in it all along. That's Alysa. I am so, so thankful for her. And I hope anyone who stops by here, also stops by her place too!

So...I guess this is kind of a public service announcement. For blogs. Which I hate. And didn't want to have. But I do. The end.

Right, OK then...

[prayer for supper from Lucy]

Dear Jesus,

Thank you for our food. Thank you for this lovely day. We got to watch "Charlotte's Web." And uh...now we're just focusing on eating.

Amen

Someone to Watch Over Them

I'm having a lot of trouble sleeping. I'm quite sure it's because of this. My old bosom enemy is back, fear. Sometimes during the day, but always at night. I used to have them regularly, those nighttime panic attacks, and now they're back again--heart pounding, sweating palms, my thoughts churning around and around and always taking me to the absolute worst places.

Last night while I was giving the girls supper, we were listening to an old, old, old, old album by Amy Grant called "Straight Ahead." (Definitely my favorite one she's ever done. Actually, it was the first album I ever bought with my own money, when I was a freshman in high school. I bought the LP--I've since gotten the CD. There're these hilarious photos of Amy inside doing glamour shots, clad all in denim and sporting red sunglasses. Oh, I do love the 80s. How I miss them.)

Anyway, there's a great song on the album called "Angels." Now, angels have kind of fallen out of favor lately--I mean, you just don't hear about them much anymore. Back in the 90s, they were huge. It was embarrassing. There was so much angel merchandise and angel-sighting societies and crazy superstition and middle-aged women testifying how an angel found them a parking space, you name it. But last night as we were listening to this song, Lucy said, "What does it mean, Mom? You know, when it says, 'Angels watching over me, every step I take'?" (A sidenote: at the supper table is where most of our deepest theological discussions take place. I just better be prepared to discuss death or heaven or something right along with the mac and cheese.)

So, I went to the real source and read her a couple of verses: Psalm 91:11 & 12 "For He will command His angels concerning you, to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone." Then I immediately thought of the verse in Hebrews about "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for thereby some of you have entertained angels unaware," but then I thought better of it, because right now I'm all about teaching her not to entertain strangers, so that's a lesson that'll have to come later with maturity. Frankly, Darren and I are still trying to get that one right--we've been burned a number of times by strangers who definitely were not angels.

Instead I turned to one of my favorites, Matthew 18:10, when Jesus has called the little child to stand amidst the disciples and tells them: "See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven."

I really didn't sleep any better last night than I have in the last few weeks. It's just going to take some time, I guess. But I am greatly comforted that those little girls have watchguards over them who always see the face of the Father.

Is that cool or what?

Wise Words from a Big Sister

The setup: Girls are sitting at the kitchen island, having breakfast. I have given them sliced bananas and toasted crumpets with butter and honey (they're on their seconds). I've also made some breakfast for their dad and am sadly wondering in my own heart when it's going to be my turn to get something for me.

Elaine: More, Mommy. More nana. More toast.

Lucy: Elaine, please don't urge Mom to keep getting you more things. Mom, can we have some tea?

-----
The setup: Girls are playing dress-up in Lucy's room. I hear a loud scream followed by sobbing.

Lucy: (crying) Mommy, I was just trying to help her get her Sleeping Beauty dress on and then show her how to make it not drag on the floor. And she screamed at me and wouldn't let me help her. She hurt my feelings so bad and she's ruined the whole dress-up time and Mom, she's just SO WICKED!!

------
The setup: Elaine climbed up on the toilet and started fiddling with the light switches in the bathroom. One switch is for the fan, which is broken and makes a horrific grinding noise if you turn it on. She turned it on to catastrophic results.

Elaine: (screaming) MOMMMY! SCAWEE NOISE!! AHHHHHHHHH! I WANT MOMMMMYYYY!!!

Lucy (after running over to turn the switch off): Elaine, I just saved your life. You really should thank me.

A good weekend and some random quotes...

Friday night we went to a play at Lucy's school, "Madeline and the Bad Hat." We had to sit on bleachers (there's a blast from the past), which were completely uncomfortable, but both girls just loved the play and sat mesmerized for an hour, so I didn't mind.

Saturday we went to a one-year birthday party for a friend. The girls made cards for him and brought him small gifts, though it took some persuading to get Elaine to part with the Curious George puzzle she was giving. I would ask her periodically throughout the party, "Do you want to give Caleb (she calls him "Clay-leb") his puzzle now?" and she would nod; we would walk over to him; she would stretch out her hand with the puzzle, then retract it, shake her head, and walk away. I finally just distracted her with some pigs-in-a-blanket and birthday cake so she would put it down.

I think this is common with most parents when they're expecting their second child, but you just wonder if you'll ever be able to love them as much as your first one. Then when they arrive, there is just no doubt. And each day as she grows into her own little person, I see how crazy I was to even think that.

Now when I'm in the kitchen, like I was yesterday on a big cooking jag (making beef stew and corn & potato chowder thankyouverymuch), all of a sudden I hear the sound of the kitchen stool being dragged over, then the sound of climbing up the steps, and a little blond gosling head pops up at my elbow and peeps, "Why you do dat, Mommy?" I talked her through what I was doing, and she grabbed the little cookbook that was on the counter and said, "I read dis to you. It says, 'Nine.'" (I'll be very sad when she can pronounce "th." I almost want Lucy to bug her just so I can keep hearing her say, "No bodder me please Lucy!") Then later I was peeling a number of grapefruit and she kept running in and saying, "Please Mom, I want some dat pumpkin" then after I gave her a mouthful she'd say, "I go play now!" until 30 or 40 seconds later she'd be back for more.

Both girls also started watching "Cinderella" together this weekend. Lucy's seen it before but had fortunately forgotten that we own it. I HATE that movie. It should really be renamed "A Bunch of Mice Get Chased by a Cat for an Hour and a Half." It's so annoying. But...they both love it even though Elaine can barely contain her distress and shouts at the screen, "No no you naughty cat! Don't do dat!"

Afterward I heard Lucy say to her, "Elaine, did you know that cat is named Lucifer? And after he was a cat, then he became an angel. Then he was turned into a snake."

Happy days...

If I had known how happy it would make Lucy for me to be a Mystery Guest, I would have done it a long time ago. I went yesterday right after the initial drop-off and stood outside the door to her classroom until her teacher summoned me in. Let me tell you, I've been less nervous on job interviews. Four-year-olds can be a tough crowd. She finally came out and got me, and when I went in, all the kids had their Madeline and Pepito hats on and their eyes covered. (Indulge me for a moment: It was just the CUTEST thing!) I went and sat in the Mystery Guest chair, and they got to open their eyes. Lucy was over the moon. She ran to me and threw her arms around me (and also? Don't think I'm not really savoring the moment. I know there will come a time when the last person on earth she wants to show up at her school is me). She got to sit in a special little chair next to me. Her teacher said, "Lucy, what is our mystery guest's name?" and she said, "Alice." Then her teacher said, "Well, what should we call her?" and she answered, "Mommy." (Yes, neither one of us does very well under pressure.) We finally all settled on "Madame Daniels." I brought some little things to pass around, such as a mini creche, some pot pourri, and a sign with "RSVP" on it, we talked about French words we already knew, and she was my proud little helper.

Then we herded everyone over to the table and passed out the French-bread-and-chocolate-bar snack. One little boy said, "You know what would make this snack even better? If you put two pieces of chocolate with the bread." I offered to become his honorary mother on the spot. Then Lucy's teacher asked me to give the correct pronunciation in French of various words, which I willingly did since she admitted she doesn't know French, therefore, she would never know if I was saying it correctly or not. So...a big success all around. When I was tucking Lucy into bed at night she said, "Mommy, I was so surprised when you were the mystery guest. And happy. I'm going to have a good dream about you tonight. When are you going to do it again?"

In other news, I don't want to complain, but I must go on record to say how much I loathe winter. Detest and despise it. My Spring countdown officially begins on December 27. I'm scanning the stores for Easter merchandise just to give my spirits a little lift. The all of two people who might have been reading my blog last year already know this since I wrote at least four entries on this topic. And yes, I still repeat to myself, "There is no after the snowsuit. There is only the snowsuit."

But to get me through these dreary winter days where I'm stuck indoors and can't go outside and don't want to go outside when I have to, this CD is helping me along. I highly recommend it. It's all piano music and has lovely spring-sounding, happy songs on it such as "Frog Park," and "Captain April."

And lastly, yes, Elaine is still with us. She hasn't been in the news much lately, I guess. She has a little best friend at church named Isabell, aka Issy. The lady who took care of them in the toddler nursery at church on Wednesday told me that she had smelled an unpleasant smell and asked the two girls, "Is one of you smelly?" and Elaine said, "Issy did it."

That's my girl.

C'est la guerre...

My parents were never those Type A high-pressure parents who demanded I get straight A's in school. They were the sympathetic, kind type who said, "As long as you do your best, the grade doesn't matter." Of course, this kindness was wasted on me since "do your best" translated into my head as "leave your books in your car or in your locker as long as you don't get an F." My high school career was spent thusly (and not necessarily in this order): 1) thinking about clothes/hair/makeup; 2) thinking about boys 3) figuring out ways to cut class and go to 7-11 on Main Street or Northside Park; 4) reading; 5) getting kicked out of the library, both at school and the public library; 6) procrastinating; 7) listening to Duran Duran and Phil Collins on my Sony Walkman, 8) talking on the phone; 9) looking at Seventeen magazine; and 10) cutting pictures of Huey Lewis out of Tiger Beat, Rolling Stone, and other illustrious music sources and figuring out ways to tack them up in my room without damaging the wallpaper and having my dad yell at me. There were other various activities in the same vein, but you get the gist.

In between my heavily demanding courseload of Independent Living, Speedwriting, and American Government, I took five years of French (the first year in junior high--amazingly, I wasn't in high school for five years). French was fun inasmuch as any class was fun for me--I liked picking up useful little phrases, meandering my way through "The Count of Monte Cristo," and not doing my homework. My friend Julie and I spent a good portion of our time writing and passing notes to each other (that could be added as another major activity to the list above), and somewhere in boxes we've kept old high school notes for posterity. It's astonishing how many of them (both of ours) contain the words, "I didn't do my French homework, did you?" (why we continued to ask each other when the answer was obviously "no" I'll never know). Our teacher, Madame Erven, would walk up and down the aisles checking homework, and would look at us sadly whenever she saw our empty notebooks. And if it was on a Monday, she would inquire reprovingly, "Le bon weekend?" which never failed to reduce us to giggles.

So, it might surprise you to learn that Lucy's teacher, having somehow gotten wind of the fact that I had taken five years of French, asked me to be the Mystery Guest in class this week. All of January, the class is learning about France. Despite my reputation for procrastination and underachievement, my desire to make Lucy proud and maintain my status in her eyes as Best Mom Ever won out, and I had great things planned. I was going to teach the children many of the words they think they know in English but are really French, such as art, blonde, ballet, restaurant, etc. (Don't think I wasn't tempted to discuss "aperitif" and "agent provocateur," but I resisted). And my coup de grace? I was bringing in a popular snack little French boys and girls have after school (so I hear)--French bread with chocolate bars on top. I was even wearing my Paris shirt with the Eiffel Tower on it.

Oh, mes amies, it would have been tres magnifique. However, when I went to drop Lucy off, the school parking lot was deserted. No cars. No children. No school today. Apparently that six inches of snow we had in the night had an impact on the school system. And...Mystery Guests are only once a month on a Tuesday! I'd already procrastinated until January, even though Lucy asks me almost weekly when I'm going to be the guest. Now I have to think up something new and fabulous for a later date. Quel horreur. (And as we drove away, Lucy was almost in tears and said, "I just hate it when there isn't any school!" Could this possibly be my child? She must get that from her father.)

Oh well, in the immortal words of Robbie Neville, "C'est la vie."

Edited to add: Lucy's teacher called me this afternoon. She wants to reschedule me to Thursday! Who knew pre-school was so flexible?

MLK Day

Lucy is learning about all the holidays both at home and in school, and it's fun. So when this third Monday in January rolled around, I tried to explain why she has the day off of school and I don't have to work. Here's how it went:

Me: We're celebrating the birthday of a man named Martin Luther King, Jr.

Lucy: Why? What does he do?

Me: OK, you know how some people have lighter skin like we do and some people have darker skin like Osceana and Ms. Jackie and Mr. Michael do? Well, it's kind of unbelievable, but some people don't like the people with darker skin.

Lucy: (openmouthed in surpise) Why? Why wouldn't they like them?

Me: I don't know; it's crazy. But Martin Luther King was a pastor, and he stood up and said it was wrong, and that everybody should like everybody else, no matter what color their skin is.

Lucy: Did Martin Luther King have light skin or dark skin?

Me: He had dark skin.

Lucy: And tomorrow we're telling him happy birthday?

Me: (deep breath) Well, yes, but...here's the sad part. Some bad people who didn't like Martin Luther King and didn't like people with dark skin shot him.

Lucy: They shot him? With a gun? Did they kill him? Is he dead?

Me: (now realizing I'm in way over my head) Yeeeessss. But honey, this happened a long time ago. Even before Mommy was born. It's really a good day. It's a day to celebrate the good things he did.

Lucy: THEY SHOT THE PASTOR?!? AND HE'S DEAD?

Valentine's Day can't get here soon enough.

A Farewell Friday

First off, let me just say thank you to everyone who read and/or responded to "The Unknown Name," either via the comments, email, or in person. Wow. The very nature of a blog is pretty much memememememe, and I certainly didn't want to make that tragedy all about myself. I have a lot of prayers about that situation, but the main ones are for the child and his family who were so grievously harmed. But to those of you who wrote wonderful words of encouragement and those of you who shared your own stories of suffering at the hands of an abuser, I am humbled and grateful. I think my friend Katie probably summed it up best in a note she sent to me: "I've been reading the Psalms this year and have been struck by several in the early teens that speak about the weak and oppressed - that not one injustice has happened - not a drop of blood or tear shed - will not fail to be accounted for. My stomach is sick over your story but I keep thinking that one day all of this horrible stuff WILL end. God on that day WILL say "ENOUGH"."

Also, regarding Baby Lucy and her open heart surgery: the surgery was successful in repairing her valve, and the doctors were pleased. She is being watched carefully in intensive care, and everyone is happy with her progress. Thanks to everyone who is praying for her too.

As for me, I have farmed my family out for the weekend and am on my own until mid-day Saturday. Tonight some friends (I actually have no idea how many) are coming over for dessert and to make jewelry (it's what we call "fellowship" in the Baptist church, ya'll), and tomorrow I will be able to sleep in as late as I want. I've got some library books to catch up on as well.

I took Elaine over to my parents' house yesterday, and she made herself at home there immediately. She had cookies and tea and then went upstairs and got down some of the dolls who belong to the girls but live with my parents (Allie and Louisa, named for me and Louisa May Alcott respectively, dontcha know). Then she told my mom she wanted to watch "teebee" (forever shattering the illusion for them that I don't let my kids watch TV). When I said goodbye to her, she ran over, gave me a brief hug, said, "Bye-bye, Mom. Go to the store. I watch this goose on teebee," and ran back to her dolls and the tube.

When I got home, I prepped Lucy for her visit to Darren's parents (my mother-in-law is watching her while Darren goes hunting) and said, "Lucy, I know you'll be a good girl and won't cause any trouble. See if you can be a helper too. You could say to MiMi, 'Is there anything I can help you with, MiMi?' Now, can you practice saying that back to me?" and she said, "Sure! 'MiMi, is there anything you can help me with?'" So, we'll see how that goes.

I'll be back next week with more mundane and mediocre tales, especially since I'm slated to be the Mystery Guest in Lucy's class on Tuesday. And again, to everyone who reads this, a warm thank you. Several of you also said some very complimentary things about my writing, which is always nice to hear. And one person pointed out that I was misspelling "connoisseur" in my profile, and I realized that I was also misspelling it on my Facebook page as well, so it wasn't just a typo, I actually did not know how to spell that word and was too lazy to look it up. Nothing makes you look more pretentious and foolish than running around using fancy words you don't even know how to spell or pronounce. As I say often, "I'm so glad I'm an editor. It's such a help in my daily life."

Have a good weekend!

The Unknown Name

Most of the time I write on this blog, I'm pretty light-hearted, maybe sentimental, and sometimes a little more serious. But tonight I write with a sick and pained heart.

When Lucy was one year old, I was driving to work and heard a news story about a woman who was carrying her one-year-old baby into a store at a strip mall. A mentally ill man with a knife was approaching people in the parking lot and demanding their keys and stabbing them. He approached this woman and stabbed her baby girl. The baby died right there in her arms. By the time I got to work, I was so ill that I had to tell my boss I needed to take a sick day. I turned around and drove home. Darren was taking care of Lucy since it was a Friday, but I needed to be there and to hold her. I needed to make sure that he didn't take her out of the house that day. I spent the day alternately clutching her to me and running to the bathroom to vomit. What chance did she have in the world if she wasn't even safe in her mother's arms? For all the times I carried her into the grocery store or Target...she was not protected there. I kept crying out to God, "Where were You? I don't understand. I don't understand." Suddenly, a verse I'd learned from childhood came to mind, Proverbs 3:5 "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding." I had to put my hand again in His and trust Him as His child, though I'll never understand. I spent many tortured hours, days, and weeks, wrestling with that, but the fact that I do not have to lean on my own understanding sustained me through it.

Our former church, where we spent seven years and where both our girls were baptized, was as close to perfect (for me) as you could get. If I personally designed a church, it would come out looking like that one. It was large, and the friends we made were often the people who sat around us--quite a number of people sat in roughly the same spot each week. There was a man there, in his sixties, who sat behind us. He was quiet but friendly and seemed a little bit sad. We struck up a friendship, not a close one, but a friendship with him. When I became pregnant with Lucy, all of our "seatmates" around us were excited and then thrilled when she was born. I enjoyed showing her off after she was born and bringing her up from the nursery after the service each Sunday as she grew into a little girl.

Our friend particularly liked her and was so sweet to her. He bought her a little bear and made sure there was nothing on it that could choke her. He always let her play with his keys. Besides missing everything else about our church when we moved here, we missed him, and I was so happy one day when Lucy got a card in the mail from him that said, "Dear Lucy, never forget that Jesus loves you and I love you too." I kept it in her baby book.

Today I opened up the newspaper and discovered that our friend had been sentenced to 39 years in prison for four counts of aggravated sexual assault against an 11-year-old. And discovered this was not his first sexual offense either. He befriended the child's parents, gave gifts to the child, and eventually molested him repeatedly. Apparently there was a lot of brainwashing going on as well because the judge said at his sentencing, "You twisted your religion and Bible references to work these despicable acts."

In between tears and a heaving stomach, I try to think of metaphors--like I've just seen my daughter almost killed by a car but snatched away just in time. But nothing can convey the horror of the misplaced trust and the fact that, at 4 years old, my precious lamb has already met and been liked by a pedophile. Praise God, she is unharmed.

One of my favorite books is part of a fiction series set in the Church of England. This particular book, "Scandalous Risks," is about a 26-year-old woman who embarks on an affair with a married man who is also a clergyman. He twists Scripture and morality until this young woman is so confused, she consults a priest to help her discern what is happening. He says to her, " 'You both stand in very great danger.' 'You mean in danger of being found out?' 'No, in danger of spiritual destruction. Can't you feel the Devil caressing the hair at the nape of your neck?' Instantly my scalp prickled. In fact so powerful was the impact of his suggestion that my hand automatically sped to the nape of my neck to clamp down on the hairs which I felt sure were standing on end. Then reason reclaimed me. I said in a fury, 'You can't frighten me like that! No one believes in the Devil any more!' ...'Forget the little imp with horns,' Father Darrow said...'But think of Hiroshima. When the atomic bomb was dropped many were killed but some people did survive apparently unscathed. Yet they were not unscathed. They had been contaminated by a great pollutant. That was a very great pollutant, but there's another pollutant, the greatest pollutant of them all, and it attacks not men's bodies, but their souls.'"

I have a dear friend who is uncomfortable when I start talking about Christianity, particularly when I mention Satan. But when I opened up the paper today and saw the mugshot of someone I knew and trusted, who had loved my child, and who had perpetrated such evil onto another innocent child...there is no other way to put it. I could feel the Devil caressing the hair at the nape of my neck.

And the absolute worst, worst part of it is that somehow he used the name of Jesus, the name that is so precious to me and my children, so revered in our household, the Jesus who is holy and pure, who created and blessed the children, to get it done. When I saw his picture in the paper, it felt like I was looking right in Satan's face.

This is a pretty dark night for me. I checked on each of my sleeping babies, but I don't know how much I will sleep. In between getting it all out on paper as it were (and anyone who writes knows how cathartic that is), I'm reading the comforting words about the triumph of the light against darkness in 1 John. And just as that day three or so years ago when I cried out to God, "Where were You?" and I was comforted by the words of Proverbs, I'm again comforted by His Word, this time from Revelation 19:12 "His eyes are like blazing fire, and on His head are many crowns. He has a name written on Him that no one knows but He Himself."

What an awesome, awesome comfort that is to me. Somewhere on Jesus Christ is written a name that no one knows but Him alone. No one will ever know. No one can touch it. No one can profane it. No one can twist it. No one can foul it. No one can perpetrate hideous acts of wickedness with it. It's pure. It's untouchable. It's holy.

Amen.

Weekly Book Review

I want to start a weekly book review. I read loads of blogs (far too many), and they're all either hilarious, or beautiful, or intellectual, or theological, or a mixture of all those things. Mine's sort of a mish-mash of pre-schoolers and Christianity and John Mellencamp, so I figure I better get some semblance of order going here. Either that or stop reading other people's blogs, but I doubt that's going to happen any time soon.

I try to read 3-4 books a week (emphasis on "try"). But unless you want to hear a mystery or a classic reviewed every week, I probably shouldn't write about what I'm reading (also, I tend to be a little bit behind. I just finished, for the first time, Alexander McCall Smith's "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency" even though everybody else read it about 8 years ago or something. Oh, and it was wonderful! But...you already knew that.) So instead I'm going to try and review a children's book each week, because not only is my ultimate dream job to sit around in my pajamas and read children's books full-time, but this blog IS called Guilford Road: IloveyouI'mcrying, which is about my kids, so I should have something that actually relates to them. Also, I concur with C.S. Lewis who said that the mark of a good children's book is that it appeals to an adult. Or something like that.

So, let's begin.

My inaugural book is Rumer Godden's "Miss Happiness and Miss Flower." Published in 1961, the story is that of Nona, a 9-year-old girl who has grown up in colonized India but is sent to live in a suburb of London with her aunt and uncle and their three children. Nona is homesick and heartsick, lonely and unsure of how to remedy that. Her two older cousins, while kind, don't have much time for her, and the youngest, Belinda, torments Nona whenever possible. Everything seems hopeless until a package arrives in the mail, containing two small Japanese dolls named Miss Happiness and Miss Flower.

Somehow instinctively, Nona understands that they need a home. It is not right for them to be thrown into Belinda's English dollhouse, Nona must learn how to make a proper Japanese home for them. She must first conquer her own fears and anxieties and actually meet people, people who can help her learn how to make a house for the dolls. Her first conquest is Mr. Twilfit, the bookstore owner down the road, of whom even Belinda is terrified. However, Mr. Twilfit is not unacquainted with loneliness either, nor is he devoid of sympathy towards children: "Will you be careful [of these books] if I lend them to you?' 'Very careful,' said Nona, and her brown eyes glowed. 'Then give me your name and address.' 'Nona Fell,' said Nona dreamily--she was thinking about reading those books--'Nona Fell. Coimbatore Tea Estate, near Travancore, South India...' 'You are in England,' said Mr. Twilfit very gently. 'Your address here?' Nona looked at him and the glow went out of her eyes. She could have fallen through the floor with shame; even small children, almost babies, know their address, but she had been taken into the house almost as if she had been a piece of luggage, and had never bothered to notice or find out its address."

Nona's course of self-study through Japanese culture, customs, festivals, and houses is always well-woven into the story and never becames drily factual. Of course through her creation of a home for the two tiny dolls, she is creating a sense of belonging for herself. And her joyful journey is not without impediment--Belinda nearly manages to ruin the whole thing.

Besides being a captivating story, (and Godden's style is unique--she traverses back and forth between inner and spoken dialogue with ease like I've never read from any other author) there is a wonderful amount of accurate cultural information. As well, at the end of the book, there are detailed plans of how to build a Japanese dollhouse as Nona did. In addition to getting Nona's perspective of the story, Godden also gives us the dolls' perspective (and I blame her for the fact that even when I'm in a rush to clean up all the toys littering the house up, whenever I put away Elaine's dollhouse, I make sure the two dolls are gently tucked into bed for the night).

The age range listed for "Miss Happiness and Miss Flower" is 8-12, though I think a perceptive 5-year-old would definitely be ready to enjoy it. The Horn Book calls this "A rare and perfect gem of a book," and I would certainly concur.

Another Lucy

If you get the chance, please say a prayer for this little one today. Currently, she is undergoing her fourth open-chest and third open-heart surgery (as I type). She is 8 1/2 months old and was born with a heart malfunction. She had bypass surgery (to put in a pacemaker) in November, but apparently all is not well with her valves, so right now they're repairing one and replacing another. I know her parents and grandparents could use all the prayer they can get too...

Holy Innocents

Sleep, little Baby, sleep;

The holy Angels love thee,

And guard thy bed, and keep

A blessed watch above thee.

No spirit can come near

Nor evil beast to harm thee:

Sleep, Sweet, devoid of fear

Where nothing need alarm thee.

The Love which doth not sleep,

The eternal Arms surround thee:

The Shepherd of the sheep

In perfect love hath found thee.

Sleep through the holy night,

Christ-kept from snare and sorrow,

Until thou wake to light

And love and warmth to-morrow.

-Christina Rossetti

Dancin' in the Dark

[Preliminary note: The girls call my brother and his wife "Tio" and "Tia." My sister-in-law is Filipina, and when she married my brother, I asked what children called their aunts and uncles in the Philippines, and that's what she said. What she didn't say is that her myriad nieces and nephews who actually live in the Philippines call her and my brother "Auntie Rome" and "Uncle Chuck," while my little Anglo girls are the only ones calling them "Tia" and "Tio." But...no matter, everyone's happy. And for the record, the girls also call each other "Ate" (pronounced ah-tay, meaning "big sister") and "Sanse" (pronounced sahn-say, meaning "little sister." Always doin' our best to be multicultural. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.]

When my brother and I were growing up, we took part in yearly musicals at Wheaton Bible Church. Anyone else out there remember these? Anyone? Bueller? OK, maybe not. They were Bible-story based musicals or stuff derived from Music Machine, etc. Chuck usually got some great lead part or at least the funny man part, while I was always relegated to the chorus and playing the kazoo. But...no professional jealousy there or anything. Our absolute favorite one was called "Cool in the Furnace." (I'll let you figure out the Bible story on which it was based. Take a minute. Got it?) Chuck got the main part: Daniel, who acted as the narrator.

My mom has audio cassettes of some of our musicals, and the girls discovered "Cool in the Furnace." They absolutely love it, and what a blast it was for me to REWIND and listen to our little selves circa 1981. Daniel's voice hadn't even changed yet!

Now every night right before bed, both girls start clamoring for "Tio, Tio!", which is code for "Cool in the Furnace." We turn out the lights, and the musical kicks off with me (and the other kazoo players) and segues into the first song, which the girls dance around to with wild abandon. I wouldn't say that the words are particularly deep theologically--"Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego learned some lessons they want you to know, they had funny names and they lived far away, but they set an example you can follow today"--but the story's all there, and it's presented clearly.

So why the other night when they were dancing and singing for the nth time to this recording, did my eyes fill up with tears when I heard Elaine lisp "Shadrach! Meshach! A-BED-NEE-GO!"? (And no, it wasn't because of my kazoo playing). All of a sudden it hit me--man, we are still talking about these guys. Didn't this incident happen in like, 570 B.C. or something? This meglomaniac king builds a big statue and every time the music plays, everyone is supposed to bow down to it, and if you don't? Fiery furnace. I can picture so clearly a massive crowd of people face down, and then there are these three young men--we're not even sure how old--maybe their voices had just broken...and they're standing up. Standing up tall. Alone.

I always love their response to the king too when he tells them bow down or go to the furnace and even their god won't be able to save them then, and they reply calmly, "If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and He will rescue us from your hand, O king. But either way, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." Either way.

Immediately they're seized and dragged to the furnace, which scholars believe was set into the side of mountain or hill. Any time God could have intervened and called a halt to the whole thing. But He didn't. He let those young men be dragged away and thrown into a fire so hot, that those who threw them in were immediately consumed by it themselves. The three men fell, tied, into the fire, and that could have been the end of it.

Except the king, who was apparently peering into the fire (from a safe distance), suddenly saw figures in the fire. Untied. Walking around. (Hey, I don't want to read anything into the Bible that's not there. But when I picture this scene in my head? Those guys are dancing around. Singing, too.) And of course there was a Fourth in there with them. When the king called into the furnace, the three men walked out, by themselves, unharmed.

There were a lot of different ways God could have played that scene. Maybe the split second before they were bound together and thrown in, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego accepted that He really wasn't going to miraculously intervene. Imagine their joy and surprise at the way He chose. Sometimes God works quietly, in the heart, in the attitude, in the aftermath. And sometimes He just flat out shows up. In a big way.

And because He did that day, those guys with the funny names not only set an example we can follow today, but some 2500+ years later, two little girls can dance and sing the story and its outcome to His glory. And their mom can look on with tears in her eyes.

Typical Interchange

"Mom, look what Elaine did! She broke my headband, my favorite one with the cherries on it!" (begins to cry)

"Elaine, you need to say, 'I'm sorry' to your sister immediately."

"Sow-wee, Luuuuuuucy."

"I forgive you. But it's still your fault."

"Lucy, is that a really kind thing to say?"

"Well, it IS her fault."

"When you broke my Snoopy Christmas ornament and you told me you were sorry, did I say, 'I forgive you, but it's still your fault'?"

"No, Mom."

[pause]

"But it really is still her fault."

Theme for a New Year

The other night I tucked Lucy in bed, turned out the light, told her I loved her, and left. I went back upstairs later on to check on her and saw the light was on under her door. I went in, and she was sitting up in bed, working on her Cinderella magna-doodle. I said, "Bedtime is bedtime. Turn out the light and go to sleep."

I went back up again almost an hour later. Once again, the light was on under her door. She was sitting up in bed, working on her Cinderella magna-doodle. I said, "What are you doing?" She was full of a lot of reasons why she should have the light on and be working away instead of obeying. I stood there and waited silently, until finally she crumbled and started to cry. I said, "Yeah, all you're really doing is disobeying. I'm putting this up now, and you won't be able to work on this at all tomorrow." That of course brought on more sobs and cries of "I'm sorry, Mom! I'm sorry I disobeyed you!"

So often, God uses my kids as object lessons for me. Oddly enough (coincidence?), I'm listening to James Macdonald's series "Going Down for the Third Time" on the life of King Saul. Just that night I had listened to "Turning from God"--the portion where Saul does not carry out God's instructions through Samuel and brings back King Agag as a prisoner of war as well as all the spoils left over from the Amalekites. He stands in front of Samuel and says, "I carried out what the Lord asked!" and Samuel replies (which would be funny if it weren't so tragic) "What then is this bleating of sheep I hear?"

Then Samuel asks him why, why he did this thing. "Produce your strong reasons why you did not obey the Lord!" Saul digs himself deeper and deeper claiming "I did obey!" and then "It was the people. They did this, and we brought back the spoils to make a sacrifice to your God." Samuel answers back with one of the key phrases in the whole Bible, "To obey is better than sacrifice." (Or a paraphrase from Anne of Green Gables? "Good behavior in the first place is better than theatrical apologies afterward.")

If you've never heard James Macdonald (he's on my blog roll, check it out!), he can really break it down. He can take a story that happened in 1050 B.C. and make it relevant to me today. I'm really not different from Saul. I've always got an excuse for why I disobey. It's always easy to produce all the strong reasons why I'm doing my own thing, working on Cinderella magna-doodle instead of being obedient and going to sleep.

But there's no excuse for disobedience. Never. None. Not "I obey most of the time" or "My heart was in the right place" or "Look at all the times I do obey!" During this whole debacle with Saul and the Amalekites, God said to Samuel, "I regret that I have made Saul king." Pastor James said something that really cut me to the heart, "Don't make God feel regret. Don't make God say, 'Is that it? Is that her response for all the grace and mercy she's been given?' "

I like the new year, the idea of a fresh start. And the big idea for 2008 for me? It's obedience. All the time. No excuses. No phony reasons. No regret.

She's Radiant!

This Charlotte's Web obsession might be going a little too far. Last night I walked into the bathroom while the girls were taking a bath. [A sidenote: Of course I'm always supervising while they're in the water. I had walked out for a few minutes to get some cleaning supplies. I've discovered that the optimum time to clean the bathroom is while they're bathing. That way I'm getting it done while keeping an eye on them AND they're not able to walk around on the floor while I'm washing it. It's maternal multi-tasking at its finest. I'm waiting for my Nobel Peace Prize nomination any day now.]

Lucy was carefully brushing Elaine's hair with her wet toothbrush (and surprisingly, Elaine was actually letting her). She said to me, "Mom, I'm giving her a buttermilk bath, just like Mrs. Homer Zuckerman gave to Wilbur. She's going to be some clean pig when I'm through!"

Two Quotes of the Week

(Interchange between Lucy and Ryne, my nephew)

Lucy: I like your spy kit you got. Tomorrow in the morning will you come and wake me up with it?

Ryne: Sure!

Me: Well, that probably won't work out. Why don't both of you play with it after you get up?

[Pause...with no reaction whatsoever to the killjoy mother in the room]

Lucy: Are you an early riser?

------
Christmas morning when Elaine decided to wake up at 5:30 a.m. aka the middle of the freakin' night

Me (in a whisper; getting into the guestroom bed yet again): Shhhhh. Lie down here. Go back to sleep. It's still night-night time.

(Lots of thrashing and flailing about as she gets into position)

Elaine (in her chainsmoker voice, after ginormous hawking cough one millimeter from my face): HI MOMMY!

Me: Hi.

Elaine: "MEET ME IN ST. LOOOEEEE LOOOOEEEE, MEET ME AT THE FAIR!"

Ready, Set....

So, I certainly don't want this to be one of those blogs that constantly talks about how our family is sick. One of my favorite blogs (which shall remain nameless for now) has at least one annual column about how everyone in the family gets the barfing flu. Since I've been reading the blog since I've been pregnant with Lucy, I've been reading about the barfing flu, oh, for five years now. (Yes, I know. I should just skip those columns.)

But....we were sick over Christmas. We had been sick before and soldiered on through all the Christmas and birthday activities, then got somewhat better, then suffered a relapse. The night before Christmas Eve, I stayed up until after midnight wrapping all the presents, then went to bed--only to be told by Darren at 2 a.m. that it was my turn now to deal with Elaine who was doing her personal non-stop rendition of Dogs Singing Jingle Bells, except it was all barking and no Jingle Bells. He'd done the 10 to 2 shift, so I got the remainder. I got into the guest bed with her while she thrashed and coughed and cried the entire night, and I felt my own sinuses gradually filling up until I could no longer breathe except through my mouth as I drifted in and out of sleep-deprived halluncinations.

She finally decided to get up for the day around 6, and I went back to our bed and collapsed and just let her potter around, riffling through my bedside table and running her doll stroller around the room. Then Lucy got up, so they decided to play together. The last thing I remember was hearing Lucy say, "It's Christmas, Elaine! It's Jesus's birthday!" I thought, how sweet, and drifted off.

Then, I felt a poke in my shoulder and a little voice saying excitedly in my ear, "Mommy, look what I found!" I opened my eyes and stared into the face of Molly, An American Girl. An American Girl doll. That I had wrapped up the night before. I leaped up out of bed and shrieked "Where did you get that?" to which she immediately started to wail. The uproar brought Darren up all standing, and he rushed downstairs to see all the detritus of Christmas spread throughout our living room.

Yup. They opened up all their presents. By themselves. On Christmas Eve morning.

Of course, saintly mother that I am, I simply hugged them and said, "It's OK, girls. You weren't to know. Let's wrap them up together and they'll still be a fun surprise tomorrow!" I absolutely did not sit down on the top step and begin to cry and say, "Christmas is ruined!"

But...if I had, then Lucy sat by me and cried and cried and kept saying, "But they were so beautiful, those presents were so beautiful!" Then she said, "It's Christmas today, Mom, and we even got Baby Jesus out and put Him on the table so you wouldn't forget about putting him in the stable.....waaaahahhhhhhhhhhhh....." And I might have said something like "....up all night....just wrapped.....no sleep....can't breathe.....Christmas Eve not Christmas......whose kids open presents without asking....waaahhhaaaaaaaahhhhhhh...."

Darren said it was like watching a Carol Burnett skit.

It will be gratifying to know that I finally did pull myself together and apologize right away for saying Christmas is ruined. I said that Daddy and I had some nice surprises that we had wanted to give them ourselves, but that Christmas is about celebrating Jesus' birthday and nobody can ever ruin that.

We mopped our tears and had an OK rest of the day. I spent most of it on the couch being miserable (with my cold, not with the opened presents) and holding Elaine. Darren took Lucy to church later on in the evening, while we stayed home. I did make scrambled eggs, bacon, and monkey bread so that we could have a picnic on the living room floor like I had promised earlier. And after the girls went to bed, I sat and rewrapped all of their presents.

Christmas morning was lovely, and they were suitably surprised at their new Sunday coats and hats, American Girl dolls (the mini ones lest anyone think we shelled out $100+ each on dolls for a 4-year-old and 2-year-old), and Lyle the Crocodile books even though they had seen them all 24 hours previously.

We spent the rest of the day with my family where I spent the day curled up in a chair and drank approximately 72 cups of wassail. The next day we headed down to Darren's family where, among other festive holiday activities, I scratched my cornea. AGAIN.

We got home yesterday and promptly took down the tree and all the Christmas decorations. I always love that day. Christmas is wonderful while it lasts, but I'm always glad when it's over. A snowstorm came, and the girls have been busy indoors playing with their new toys and alternately fighting and making up.

Right after the great Premature Present Opening of 2007, Darren said, "Hey, at least you'll have something memorable to write about on the blog!" and laughed. I said, "I think I'm going to need a little bit more distance for me to be able to laugh about this."

So...it's the 28th and I'm writing. And laughing. I guess my sense of humour heals faster than my cornea.

And for that, I am thankful.

Well-worn and well-loved

One of my favorite books of all time is Charlotte's Web. I have loved it ever since I was a child, and I love it even more as an adult (it's funnier when you read it as an adult). I have a worn, battered copy of it that I think my mom had when she lived in the West Indies before she was married. (And she's been married almost 42 years, so...hi Mom! No, I'm not telling everyone how old you are!) Anyway, I'm one of those horrible readers who dogears the corner of books to save my place, and if it's any indication how much this copy of Charlotte's Web has been read, there's a dogeared corner on almost every page in the book. And I have to confess--I never pass a spider's web without double-checking to see if it says, "Some Pig" on it.

Those adults who haven't read this book or haven't read it since elementary school, do yourself a favor and get a copy now. It's filled with the most marvelous quotes, which I try to work into everyday life as much as possible. Here's a sampling:

"This is the most terrible case of injustice I ever heard of."

"I only distribute pigs to early risers. Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result she now has a pig…It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly."

"An hour of freedom is worth a barrel of slops."

"'Will the party who addressed me at bedtime last night, kindly make himself or herself known by giving an appropriate sign of signal!' 'Stop your nonsense, Wilbur,' said the oldest sheep. 'If you have a new friend here, you are probably disturbing his rest; and the quickest way to spoil a friendship is to wake somebody up in the morning before he is ready.'"

"'I am sure,' she said, 'that every one of us here will be gratified to learn that after four weeks of unremitting effort and patience on the part of our friend the goose, she now has something to show for it. The goslings have arrived. May I offer my sincere congratulations!'"

"'Well,' said the spider, plucking thoughtfully at her web, 'the old sheep has been around this barn a long time. She has seen many a spring pig come and go. If she says they plan to kill you, I’m sure it’s true. It’s also the dirtiest trick I ever heard of. What people don’t think of!'”

"I am going to save you, and I want you to quiet down immediately. You’re carrying on in a childish way. Stop your crying! I can’t stand hysterics.”

"'Let Wilbur alone!' she said. 'He has a perfect right to smell, considering his surroundings. You’re no bundle of sweet peas yourself. Furthermore, you are interrupting a very pleasant conversation. What were we talking about, Wilbur, when we were so rudely interrupted?'"

"'If I can fool a bug,' thought Charlotte, 'I can surely fool a man. People are not as smart as bugs.'"

“'But Charlotte,' said Wilbur, 'I’m not terrific.' 'That doesn’t make a particle of difference,' replied Charlotte. 'Not a particle. People believe almost anything they see in print. Does anybody here know how to spell ‘terrific’?'”

"Templeton poked his head up through the straw. 'Struggle if you must, said he, 'but kindly remember that I’m hiding down here in this crate and I don’t want to be stepped on, or kicked in the face, or pummeled, or crushed in any way, or squashed, or buffeted about, or bruised, or lacerated, or scarred, or biffed. Just watch what you’re doing, Mr. Radiant, when they get shoving you in!'” [You'd be amazed how many times you can use this one!]

“One thing is certain, he has a most unattractive personality. He is too familiar, too noisy, and he cracks weak jokes. Also, he’s not anywhere near as clean as you are, nor as pleasant. I took quite a dislike to him in our brief interview.” [ha, this one too!]

When Elaine was still an infant, I got a number of books on CD to listen to while I was feeding her. One of them was Charlotte's Web, read incomparably by the author himself, E.B.White. He reads it in a soothing, emotionless, almost-monotone voice, and I have to say that I was late to work one day because I just had to sit and hear the end of it without interruption.

Every night when Lucy goes to bed, she likes to listen to an audio book. She's worked her way through Henry Huggins, Little House in the Big Woods, two All-of-a-Kind-Family books, plus quite a few others. Someone had given us the DVD of Charlotte's Web as a gift, but I held onto it because she really needed to experience the text first. She started listening a couple of weeks ago and loved it. This week, I let her watch the movie for the first time. When it got near the end, I came in and watched the rest with her. When it was finished, she got off her chair without any expression on her face, came over, buried her face in my lap, and began to cry. She cried and cried and cried and cried.

We talked a lot about it, and she seemed OK after a while. Later on when I was giving the girls supper, she asked me, "Mom, when Wilbur got to be an old, old pig, did he go back to the fair and die where Charlotte did?" She barely finished the sentence before she put her head down on the table and began to sob again.

Of course anyone knows it makes you feel terrible when your children are sad. But part of me also loved that she had fallen under the spell of this story of the greatest sort of friendship and was broken-hearted that an old gray spider had given her life for a little pig she loved.

The last lines of the book nearly finish me off every time I read them: "Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both."

That night when I tucked Lucy into bed, I asked her the question I always do, "What do you want to listen to tonight, Baby?"

She whispered, "Charlotte's Web, Mom. Start it again at the beginning."

Quote of the Day

"Today at school, we were going to watch this movie about bugs and I didn't say 'Yuck!', but Michael said, 'This movie is just for boys. No girls allowed!'"

"Then what did you say?"

"Nobody said anything. We just looked daggers at him."

"They had mismatched manger scenes at incredibly low prices..."*

We finally packed the kids off to bed, and I sat downstairs, watching NCIS and eating a sandwich and Doritos (that sentence holds a lot of nostalgia value. I've basically turned back into a 16-year-old babysitter. With extra wrinkles.) Anyway, Lucy came down and said in a stage whisper (I think she's afraid to talk after bedtime), "Mom. I need to go potty. And I need an adult to go with me."

So, we did that, and then she said, "Close your eyes, I've got to show you something." She ran into her room and got one of her Groovy Girl dolls in whose hair she had placed a lot of random ponytails. She said, "I was just thinking in my heart, Mom. I was thinking that Groovy Girl's hair looked kind of snouty. I thought she'd look better with some ponytails and a bun. In my heart I thought that, I really did."

When I went back downstairs, I saw our nativity scene in the hallway. Each night, we put a different figure in and talk about what part they played in the Christmas narrative. I bought an extra set so we could have more animals, more than one shepherd (why is there always only one?), and an angel.

Here's what I saw:

Apparently the shepherds are tired and need a lie-down. And the smaller cow and donkey aren't feigning indifference, in case you were wondering. They prefer to turn toward their husbands so they can see them better.

*Bonus points for anyone who knows what movie this line is from. I thought everyone (at least every woman) knew this movie by heart. Then I mentioned it to the girl who does my hair (major clueing!), and she had never ever seen it. I was shocked, until I realized it came out around the time she was born. And then I was sad.

Girls Live Here

Here is a teeny tiny miniscule fraction of the shoe collection at our house--basically only what our newly-placed back hall mat (which only appears after the first snow) can hold. (Though now that I'm looking at the picture again? I'm sure we can squeeze a few more pairs on there.)

Nary a pair of Dad's shoes in sight...

Some Winter Days

In addition to Elaine's birthday, Lucy had her Christmas program at church on Wednesday night. All the kids did a great job. They did an overview of what they've learned in Kids4Truth since September. They recited verses, sang hymns, and sang Christmas carols.

There must have been too much activity (and sugar) on Wednesday, because both girls were up and crying Wednesday night. They got to bed about 2 hours later than usual, and Elaine woke up crying at 2:30. Since I had to work the next day, Darren got the responsibility of her. Just as I was starting to possibly drift off again, Lucy came in my room sobbing because she couldn't find Rabbie. She had turned on all the lights, yet somehow missed him at the foot of her bed. She wanted me to rock her back to sleep, but we compromised with her just getting in bed with me (since Darren was in the guest bed with Elaine). We have strict policies about not having our kids sleep with us. Except for sometimes. It just gets to the point where you're too tired to soothe and rock them, so...I read somewhere that everybody's kids sleep with them, it's just a matter of how much in denial about it the parents are. And somehow that made me feel a lot better. So, with my alarm going off at 4:30 a.m., I got the big 3 1/2 hours of sleep that night.

However, on Thursday/Friday, I got the greatest Christmas present ever. Thursday after work, I dropped the girls off at my parents' for an overnight. Then Darren and I went out. To a restaurant. By ourselves. It was incredible. Then we went home and fell asleep. It was about 10:30. I did not get up until 10 o'clock the next morning. 10! It was fantastic. We spent a leisurely time getting ready without it being punctuated by the usual statements made during our getting-ready time when the girls are around. "Stop slamming that door! Are you allowed to play with doors?" "Please make your bed" and "I'd really prefer that my toothbrush not be on the floor by the toilet." Then we went Christmas shopping, then picked the girls back up (oh wait, after eating lunch together again at another restaurant!).

Saturday we were up early and at the mall for the Christmas sales (this is my idea of purgatory, but sometimes it just has to be done). Shopping with toddlers and preschoolers is virtually impossible, no matter how good they try to be, so Darren took them home and I headed back to the mall and actually got the shopping done.

It's been snowing all day, that pretty pre-Christmas snow, so Darren and the girls bundled up in the afternoon and went out to make snow angels and a snowman. Elaine had never played in the snow before, and she wasn't a big fan of it. After a few minutes, Darren deposited her on the back porch, and she came in the house moaning, "No thank you snow!" and "I got snot!" I took her outdoor clothes off, wiped her nose, and she's happily taking her new dolls on an indoor stroller ride around and around the house.

So, snow is here, the Christmas shopping is basically done, the Christmas cards are mailed, and Elaine's birthday went off successfully. Lucy's school program is this week, and the rest of the time before Christmas can just be enjoyed!

The Birthday Party

On Wednesday morning, Elaine woke up and opened some presents. (I think it's important to spread the presents out over the day. And is there anything more fun than opening up at least one present the morning of your birthday?) She got a book, a movie, and a CD from Uncle Scott, Aunt Denise, Drew, Ryne, and Joseph. Then she opened a baby doll in a raincoat, hat, and boots from Daddy and Mommy (as we talked on the phone on Monday afternoon, we realized we had forgotten to buy our child a birthday present. This is the plight of having a baby born close to Christmas, I think. So I ran out to Target that night and bought her a doll.) She was thrilled. We named the baby Jackie, after her favorite teacher at daycare.

She took a good nap in the afternoon while Dad and Lucy ran errands and I got ready for her party that night. Then she woke up, and I got her dressed in her party clothes.

"Her people" ("She has 'people'?!" our friend Michele likes to say) started arriving at around 4:30 for appetizers. Earlier in the day, my mom had called and asked what I was doing. "Making an igloo out of vegetable dip to go with the penguins I made out of black olives, cream cheese, and carrot pieces," I said. She just laughed at me. Then we had her favorite dinner (well, besides Happy Joe's pizza)--Daniels chicken, mashed potatoes (she and Lucy had brown rice because they don't like mashed potatoes. Yes, that sentence I just wrote is true. My girls prefer brown rice--BROWN RICE--to mashed potatoes.), sugar snap peas, and crescent rolls. Then we brought in her Maisy cake. She was a little overwhelmed and wasn't sure what to do with the candles, so I helped her blow them out. She loved Maisy though and tried to take a swipe at the frosting. We served it with eggnog ice cream (a perk of having a December birthday).

Then Lucy led her into the living room where there was a new Maisy rocking chair (from MiMi and PaPa), and in it sat a stuffed Maisy and a Maisy book (from Lucy). She went straight for the book, climbed up on Packa's lap, and asked him to read it. She got more books and clothes from Tia and Tio, a set of Christmas CDs from MiMi and PaPa, an Adidas sweatsuit and a new doll wearing a matching sweatsuit from Aunt Kimmie and Megan, and her own little robe made by Manga.

So, she successfully turned 2. I'm excited to have a 2-year-old in the house. I love 2. Really. I do.

Twelfth Night

The month of December always reminds me of two things: light and babies. I guess there are a number of obvious reasons for that! I know Jesus probably wasn't really born in December but rather the spring, but I love the idea of the Light of the World arriving at the darkest part of the year. I just finished a seven-month study on the I AM statements of Jesus (and I say "finished" because I completed the study, not because I've discovered everything there is to know about it because it is inexhaustible--in fact, I just found out some more stuff the other day). Each of the individual statements was so fascinating to study in its own right, but today I'm thinking about "I AM the Light of the world."

Thousands and thousands of human years after standing in the void and declaring “Let there be light,” the closing of the first day of the Feast of the Tabernacles had arrived, and Jesus was teaching in the Temple in the Court of the Women in Jerusalem. Great candelabra, with great golden bowls of oil, were prepared for the celebration. These were to represent the ancient cloud and the pillar of fire that had led the Israelites out of Egypt and through the wilderness to the Promised Land. As the evening approached, a large crowd of people arrived at the temple for the lighting of the candelabra. When darkness fell, young men in line for the priesthood climbed on ladders and lit the great torches. The blaze was so immense that suddenly the darkness was pierced with such a light that it is said to have illuminated every street and square in the city of Jerusalem. The light could be seen for miles around the city. It is in this very court, possibly the very moment of the lighting that Jesus cried out: "I AM the Light of the world." In effect, Jesus was saying, "You have seen the blaze of the Temple illumination piercing the darkness of the night. I am the Light of the world. The light in the Temple is a brilliant light, but in the end it flickers and dies. I am the Light that lasts forever." He declared, "I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life" (John 8:12).

In June 2005, I was 5 or 6 weeks pregnant. I was at my office, and, every expectant mother's worst nightmare, I started bleeding. I remember driving to the doctor's office for an injection and sonogram, tears running down my face, just praying, "Please let her be OK" over and over (for I knew even then I was carrying my little girl). I lay on the table as the technician put the cold gel over my abdomen and then began to press down with the ultrasound equipment.

She searched for a few moments, some of the longest moments of my life, and then said, "There!" As I looked at the screen, I saw a tiny light, flickering on and off, steadily. "See that light? That's the heartbeat. Your baby looks just fine."

My "baby" really looked like the tiniest blob, a small grouping of cells and tissue. But in the center of it, was that light, blinking regularly. The technician took a picture of it and told me to go home and rest. That picture is one of my treasured possessions.

And...on a cold night the following December, a little unexpectedly and kind of in a hurry, that little light joined our family. We named her Elaine, a French name that means "Light." She has lit up our little family for two years now, and we thank God--the author and creator of Light both immense as the Sun and as tiny as a newly formed heartbeat--for our precious girl.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." James 1:17

Happy birthday, sweet little Elaine. I love you!

Love,

Mommy

Chatterbox

For awhile now, Lucy's had the corner on the talking market at this house. Not for long though, because Little Sister is catching up. Each day we hear more and more of that froggy voice saying increasing and increasingly complicated words. Darren and I go around thinking up as many "why" questions as we can to ask her just so we can hear her say, "Because." (Or sometimes she steps it up to, "Because why.") Whenever there's trouble and I say, "What's going on, girls?" she comes back quickly with "Lucy did it."

She can say three-word sentences and sometimes will even combine a couple sentences. One of my favorite things is when she sits down and looks through her books. She'll come across Maisy Makes Gingerbread, which she ripped up in boredom one day (apparently the wallpaper had lost its lure that time), and I taped back together. Without fail, she'll hold the book up and say, "Uh-oh. I ripped it. No, No, Laine!"

Usually though, she practices economy with her words. She's kind of like a drill sergeant, or maybe more like a doctor. We're never in doubt about what she wants. Whenever I change her diaper, just picture a surgeon saying, "Scalpel. Clamp. Light" only replace the surgeon with a two-year-old saying, "Wipes. Diaper. Medicine. Powder."

I had a bad night last night and still wasn't feeling steady this morning, so I stayed home. Darren said, "I don't see any reason why Elaine should go to church either if you're at home," so she stayed with me. (Funny, because I could--so I could go back to bed? But...no matter.) As I got her dressed for the day, I said, "Do you want to stay home with Mom?" "No." "Do you want to go to church with Dad and Lucy?" "No."

"Well, if you don't want to stay home with me and you don't want to go with Daddy, what do you want to do?"

"Eat."

Alrighty then.

The Golden Compass

I've been getting emails and seeing news articles calling for a boycott on the upcoming movie, "The Golden Compass," based on the book by the same name by Philip Pullman. It is part of Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. One thing that discourages me from the outset is that Christians don't usually seem to get outraged unless a movie comes out--books fly under our radar for the most part apparently (Harry Potter notwithstanding). Pullman's books have been out for a number of years. They're well-written. They're not what I believe, obviously, since he's an atheist and the ultimate goal for the children in the books is to kill God, who turns out to be an old imposter who is barely worth killing anyway.

In my personal opinion, mass boycotts are kind of ineffective. Waiting for hysteria and outrage to build and then be told by Christian authority figures what to do--that's not really my style. As well, boycotts just seem to draw more attention to a given movie than it would have garnered in the first place (Exhibit A: 1986's "Last Temptation of Christ"). But...every person has to decide according to the dictates of his or her conscience.

It also surprises me when Christians get enraged and boycott movies dealing with heresy or blasphemy but don't seem to have much problem with other movies loaded with violence, humanism, or other kinds of Godlessness, but I guess that's a different argument.

Personally, we won't be taking our girls to see the movie. First of all, they're way too young and neither Curious George nor Strawberry Shortcake is appearing in it, so it wouldn't hold their interest at all. Secondly, at this age, we still act as the filter and control for most of what goes into their minds, and I just want to give them Bible truth rather than other world views. Time enough for them to find out about some of those later.

But...if they were older and they asked me what I thought personally about Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy and/or this movie, I guess I'd say the following:

In the last volume of the trilogy, a character known as Dr. Mary Malone explains her discovery to the two children/protagonists, Lyra and Will: "I used to be a nun, you see. I thought physics could be done to the glory of God, till I saw there wasn't any God at all and that physics was more interesting anyway. The Christian religion is a very powerful and convincing mistake, that's all."

A lot of people, intelligent people, believe that way, girls. But in C.S. Lewis's (who Pullman loathes) "The Silver Chair," Puddleglum the Marshwiggle and two children are trapped in a wicked witch’s underground lair, and she is slowly enchanting them, persuading them to believe that there is no world above the ground. They almost fall completely under her spell when Puddleglum stamps out her fire (burning his foot in the process) and says:

“One word, Ma’am” he said coming back from the fire; limping because of the pain. “One word. All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia.”

Maybe if you put some tinsel on it...

This past Saturday, I took the girls to a KinderMusik demonstration done by two of my friends, Becky and Kathi. Actually on Friday while I was at work, Lucy helped Becky and Kathi set up for it (they assured me that indeed she was a help, and I am choosing to believe them). KinderMusik is a great program, which allows children from 9 mos. to 7 years to join. Their claim is that by 3 years, not only will your child be reading music, they'll be composing. I choose to believe that too, though I would just enroll my kids for fun and hope they learn to sing "Kooka-burra Sits In the Old Gum Tree" because I'm all about low expectations like that. Anyway, they got to try out musical instruments to their hearts' content (cool instruments such as egg shakers, triangles, and sandpaper blocks), identify sounds, listen to a story, sing with motions, and march around the room.

By the time we left, the storm that was promised had started, so we got home quickly. I thought it would be a good afternoon to work on the gingerbread house kit my dad bought the girls at Thanksgiving. Lucy has been begging me every day. It was surprisingly easy. Lucy had a wonderful time decorating it. Elaine was under the mistaken impression that we were opening up a box of cookies and bags of candy so that we could sit down and eat them. So...not as good of a time for her.

The finished product:

And here is Lucy admiring her handiwork and Smoochie plotting one last effort to swipe at least some of the frosting...




Oh, and while I was gone at one point during the weekend, this transformation took place. Here is my mantle as it is currently decorated for Christmas (the picture is a year-round decoration).

And here is my mantle when I came home. (It's deer-hunting season, y'all.)

Nice try, dude. But...back to the basement with that thing.

Brought to you by the letter J

It's "J" week at school, so in addition to learning about jingle bells and Jesus, the kids made bead jewelry yesterday. I went to pick up Lucy from school, and she came flying out, all excited, holding a string of beads.

She said, "Look, Mom! I made you this beautiful necklace! It's your present! Put it on now! And wear it with pride!"

I know all parents say this, but...seriously? "Wear it with pride"?! Where does she get this stuff??

Oh, THAT'S why...

"Lucy, COME ON. We're going to be late for school! Get in the car. You're movin' like a herd of turtles!"

"Mom, do you know why I'm moving so slow like a turtle? It's because I had a honkin' big lunch."

Uh, does she know something I don't?

Lucy: "Mom, who's your grandpa?"

Me: "My grandpa's in heaven."

Lucy (in a business-like tone): "OK. When you go to heaven, please tell your grandpa how much I love him and tell him all about me."

Me: "Uh....OK."

Lucy: "I mean it, Mom. When you get to heaven, OK? Bye."

An Exchange of Letters

Earlier this week, Darren had lunch with Pastor Williquette. On the way out of the restaurant, Pastor grabbed two balloons for Darren to bring home to the girls. They were thrilled (especially since the balloons were from him). Unfortunately, Lucy lost hold of hers, and it sailed into the wild (gray) yonder. When I was tucking her in bed that night, she said, "Mom, I'm writing a thank-you note tomorrow and here's what it will say."

Dear Pastor Williquette:

I love you. Thank you for the red balloon. But...balloons don't last forever.

Love,

Lucy

And here is what he wrote back to her:

Dear Lucy,

You are right balloons don't last forever, and that can make us sad. But God gives us many other things to make us happy besides balloons. He gives us good daddys and mommys. He give us little sisters like Elaine. He gives us people in our church who love us. I am sorry you lost your red balloon, but remember that God has given you many other very good things. And remember most of all the God loves you more than anyone else and that if you are His child, you will never lose Him.

I love you too Lucy,

Pastor Williquette

p.s. Please tell your dad and mom and Elaine I said, "Hi."

In Memorial

We used to have these two dogs, Boo Radley and Gatsby. We got Boo Radley when we first got married. He was the naughtiest dog who ever lived. We could never have toilet paper on the roll where it belongs because he would pull it all off and eat it. He lived to be 12 years old and would still do it (if we occasionally tried to put it on the roll in a burst of optimism) even though he had arthritis. We could never use any wastebasket or garbage can that was not enclosed in some sort of cabinet. We could never leave any food out for any period of time however brief on any surface, including high-up countertops. Once we had some friends over for dinner and then had dessert in the family room. One of our guests couldn't finish his, and put his plate on the coffee table. We sat around and talked for hours, while Boo Radley slept deeply, snoring, on the couch. When our friends left, we of course walked them to the door. In that brief moment of time (he had been awaiting his opportunity all evening--what had we been thinking, talking for so long) he was wide awake, up from the couch, and calmly eating the remaining piece of eclair cake.

One time, at our previous house, Darren left the basement door open (unusual for him). Keep in mind that our previous house was huge. Cavernous. 3,000+ square feet with 11-foot ceilings. We had three living rooms and two bathrooms the size of living rooms. We had a full English walk-out basement. The basement was dark and used only for storage. At the far end of the basement, Darren had a cluttered work bench. On the bench, he had put the remainder of a bag of unshelled, salted peanuts he had gotten at a Kane County Cougars game. Boo Radley had never eaten peanuts. To my knowledge, he had hardly ever been in the basement and had no interest in going.

Yet, when we got home and went up to our bedroom on the third floor, our bed held the remains of an empty plastic peanut bag and all sorts of peanut shells. So. In our absence, Boo Radley had gone to the dark basement, gone to the farthest corner of said basement, rummaged through the various detritus in the dark basement, found the bag of peanuts, carried the bag in his mouth up not one, but two very long flights of stairs, hopped up onto our high, Victorian bed and eaten them. In comfort.

How I miss that dog.

But, this week, Darren and I have decided that Boo's spirit lives on. He has been reincarnated, if you will, into our youngest daughter. All of a sudden, in addition to her infamous wallpaper-ripping activities (and Boo so would have done that if he could have) Elaine can leave no roll of toilet paper left unrolled.

Every time I sit down to eat, even if she's just eaten a large meal herself, she will climb up on my lap, push her face by my plate, and insist, "Mine. Mine," until I give her a little tidbit. And on Wednesday, I left a garbage bag of trash just inside the kitchen door for one of us to take out on our way to church that night. I came down and found her sitting by the (now open) bag of trash with a good portion of the contents strewn around her on the floor and an empty Sprite bottle in her hand as she attempted to drink from it. I'd have pictures of it, but I guess you understand that the first thing on my mind when I saw that wasn't grabbing the camera.

Boo Radley. RIP, buddy. Or...maybe not.

Quote of the Day...

I went to get Elaine out of her crib one morning earlier this week. She had been at her wallpaper removal project again. She pointed at the wall and said, "Paper." I said, "Yes, I see you've been ripping the paper off again." She lowered her head and said, "Naughty." I said, "You're right. It is naughty. You're not supposed to rip paper."

Then she popped her head back up again with a big smile and said, "Fun!"

First Birthday Party

After the Fall Fest (and staying until 10 p.m. to clean up), I went home. Darren had left around 8:30 with the girls in order to put them to bed. When I pulled in the driveway, every light in the house was on. Bad sign. The girls were wandering around in their pajamas with sticky faces, teeth unbrushed, and bawling. Mama was not happy. I got them in bed finally and crashed too at about 11. At 2 a.m. I was awakened by piercing shrieks. I ran into Elaine's room--she was twisting and flailing and screaming. In the pandemonium, her shirt lifted and I could see she was covered with hives. I rocked her, soothed her, and finally took her downstairs to play. I realized at about 3 a.m. that I didn't feel much like continuing to sit up in the bright light and read "Ten Apples Up on Top," so I told her we should go back to bed. That didn't sit well. Darren left to go hunting in Peoria around 4, and I think I might have gotten Elaine calmed back down at around 5:30 or 6. (This included a repetitive prayer that went something like, "Dear God, please let her go to sleep, please let her go to sleep, please let her go to sleep.") She finally did, cross-wise in the middle of my bed. That really didn't leave much space for me, so I flopped cross-wise at the bottom of the bed.

At 7, I was awakened again, this time by a loud whisper about an inch from my face. "MOM. IS IT TIME TO PUT ON MY DRESS FOR THE PARTY YET?" I opened one eye and said, "No, and you better have some sort of caffeine with you, little missy." By now they were both awake and asking for breakfast.

At 10:45, I had Lucy bathed, dressed, and ready for her friend Isabella's birthday party at Lucile's Tea Room. She's been talking about it for weeks, her first real birthday party. I was nervous because I knew there would be 18 other girls there, none of whom she knew. I wanted her to have fun and feel secure and be nice. All those mom things. She looked so sweet and was so excited. We got to the tea room, and it was already filled with little girls. I was so glad I had bought her a new dress and shoes. She held onto my hand tightly, but she eventually let go and said, "'Bye, Mommy." When I left she had this little anxious look on her face that looked as though she wanted to be happy, but was also frightened and not sure how.

Elaine and I left and both started to cry on the way home. I think she was just mad though. She went down for a nap, and I started to clean up the house. Then I called my mom and told her everything from how annoyed I was that Darren left my crockpot full of chili sitting in the front seat of the car overnight and how my house was a mess and how I hardly had any sleep and how I just left my 4-year-old with a roomful of strangers and that I hoped I had sent her with the right kind of present and did I mention how tired I was and Darren was gone? Sometimes you've just got to have your mama to talk to, that's all.

I picked up Lucy at 1, and of course she had a fantastic time. She had her nails painted orange and her mouth covered in purple lip gloss. She was full of tales of the party, how they had had pigs-in-a-blanket, cucumber sandwiches, tea, and pink candle birthday cake (something might have gotten a little garbled there).

By the time evening rolled around, I had a clean house, two tired girls in bed, and Darren came home and we shared a pizza together. He had called a little earlier to say he was on his way and said, "I was thinking of Lucy most of today and hoping she had a good time at the party." The thought of him out there in his camo gear with his bow and arrow, thinking about his daughter and anxious that she was fine at a party made me completely forgive the crockpot-filled-with-chili-left-on-my-front-seat-overnight incident.

And...here she is. Doesn't she look just fine?