I wanted not to feel stuck and hampered coming into the Christmas season.  I wanted quiet in my spirit, and I wanted some sense of deeper meaning than overeating and overspending and why did you give my kids all that noisy plastic crap?  So here’s what I did:

I pulled out my Advent wreath.  My kids look forward to this every year; we light the candles every day at dinner, and they really like the candlelight and blowing out the candles.

I set up two containers on the table next to the wreath: one with blank slips of paper and a pen, the other empty.  (Although it doesn’t matter what the containers are, I used half-pint canning jars because that was what I had on hand that matched and was not continually in use.)  The slips of paper are actually handmade paper from when I was in college, which means that it’s been sitting around waiting to get used for, uh, 12 years now.  Which is dumb.

On a blank card, I wrote a thinking question for each week of Advent. Anyone can write responses throughout the week, including a signature or not.  Adam and Becky thought this was pretty cool.  The plan was to read responses at Sunday dinner, before starting the next week.

• The first week was about hope: What do you hope for in this season or the coming year?  As you might expect, we got some “one million dollars” answers and some “world peace” answers.  One of my big kids wrote, “I hope Christmas goes well.”  I’m not sure what that means, but I found it interesting.
• Week two was about peace: What makes you feel peaceful?  How do you (or can you, or have you) spread peace where you are?  We haven’t actually read these yet, because we left town last Sunday and talked about joy today.  They are waiting for a peaceful moment.
• Week three was about joy, and the questions were substantially the same as week two: What makes you feel joyful? How do you bring joy to someone else?  This week started three days after my father died, and as you’d imagine, it was HARD for me to focus on joy in the face of my circumstances.  But here’s the deal: I have a daughter who sings; and her rendition of “Holly Jolly Christmas” got me through Thursday. Friday and yesterday, she has been all about the Christmas tree - and yeah, she’s a little pestery at times, but mostly she is just vibrating with enthusiasm.  Although the jar was nearly empty, we had a nice chat this evening about joy and taking care of each other and appreciating each other.
• Week four starts today, and with input from the peanut gallery, I wrote down these two questions: What do you love about any particular person (answers have a prescribed form: I love [blank] about [blank])?  How did you show love today?  We might read these after breakfast on Christmas morning; Christmas Eve night and the evening of Christmas day are taken up with extended family stuff.

I don’t know if this whole thing is making any impact on my children (though I like to think it is - Adam in particular seems quite taken with it), but I can tell you that it’s working for me.  I feel ready for this Christmas in my heart, motivated by love and gratitude rather than obligation, and confident in doing the simple things that truly make me happy.  I want that to be the kind of thing that my children remember about Christmas when they grow up.  This year I am pretty sure I’m doing it right.

May 13, 2002: My phone rings on a Monday morning.  It is my aunt, my mother’s older sister, calling to say that my grandmother is hospitalized with sepsis and congestive heart failure.  I drive an hour and a half to see her in the hospital, and to tell her that her daughter is coming, don’t go yet until Julie gets here.  I drive back home to Minneapolis. I pick up my parents and assorted siblings at the airport, and drive back to St. Cloud with them.  My mother says goodbye to her mother.  My grandmother dies.

May 16, 2002: At the visitation prior to my grandmother’s funeral, much of my extended family learns that my husband and I are expecting our first child.

May 17, 2002: Having moved mountains to reschedule my 18-week ultrasound to accommodate the funeral, I decide not to go to the service because the scan showed catastrophic birth defects in my eldest son.  Due to multiple collisions with fibers within the amnion, many of his internal organs have developed outside his body.  He has an omphalocele and an encephalocele and one completely perfect left hand, which has slender fingers like my husband’s.

July 25, 2002: Based on information that it is getting harder for my son to breathe in utero, we induce labor at 28 weeks gestation.

July 27, 2002: Christopher Daniel is stillborn at a few minutes after four in the morning.  He is too little to have anything of his own (one pound, six ounces; 12 inches long; you don’t forget these things except on purpose), so he carries my name and my husband’s name with him.  He has a fluff of dark hair.  He is not beautiful, but we have a plaster imprint of his perfect left hand.

September, 2002: We are trying again, as soon as it’s physically possible.  At just six weeks’ gestation, we learn that it’s twins.

April 19, 2003: After 32 weeks of a largely uneventful pregnancy, Adam and Rebecca are born on a very eventful Saturday.  When I come out of anesthesia, the first thing I think of is that I am scheduled to play in a bell choir on Easter morning, and I want to call my choir director before I call anyone else.

(we are skipping a few years here; my children are having a fairly standard childhood)

July, 2009: We learn that I am unexpectedly pregnant.  The baby is in a family picture from the Badlands of South Dakota, but you can’t see her yet.

January 29, 2010: I share some thoughts about the pregnancy and learn that I do not have gestational diabetes. Yippee.
February 5, 2010: I am in a school Mass at work when my principal tells me that my sister has called from St. Louis and is on the phone.   On the long, long walk to the front office from the gym, I brace myself for bad news about my father.  Instead, my sister tells me that my mother died unexpectedly, and I desperately want to crawl under the desk where I’m sitting.  Initially, I think it would be a good idea to just go back to the library and get my work done, because what is there to do about it now?  I go home and curl up in my daughter’s bed, because she has a comforter that my mother made for me when I was seven.

February 9, 2010: My mother’s funeral.  Some people come who I don’t expect to see; it is touching.  I am seven months pregnant, and I find the wherewithal to speak briefly about how important my mom was in my growing up and becoming.  Driving back to Minneapolis through Iowa is a miserable, icy mess.

February 12, 2010: This.

March 9, 2010: Juliana Joy is born, at 8 lbs, 1 ounce.  The first thing I say, in my heavily-anesthetized, low-blood-pressure state, is “That’s a HUGE baby!”

Summer, 2010: At some point, I tell my sister that every time she calls me, I flinch a little bit, because I am never sure what she’s going to say.
August, 2010: Adam and Becky go to Camp Grandma and I travel with Baby J to St. Louis, where she and my father meet each other for the first time.  He is clearly smitten with her, and I am reminded that he is a guy who likes kids, that he was the very first person to be delighted when we announced our pregnancy.

November 25, 2010: Thanksgiving.  Like last Christmas, my brothers and sisters are sharing the holiday in St. Louis.  I am in Minneapolis.  I forget why, now.

December 9, 2010:  My phone rings shortly before 9:00 PM.  It is my sister, and she says, “You’re going to hate me.”  I flinch. And she tells me that my dad has died, that she walked into his house and found him not breathing, that we are parentless children, that his music is gone from the world.  I don’t feel anything right away; the first thing that comes is anger, and relief that at least we will not have to have these conversations ever again.  Other stuff comes later, is still coming.

(in the future)

December 11, 2010: A foot of snow is expected to fall in southern Minnesota.  Blizzard conditions are forecast for northern Iowa over the weekend.  My principal is kind enough to fill in for me at a weekend event sponsored by my library.  My husband is traveling for business next week and may not be able to be at my father’s funeral.  I need to get myself and three children to St. Louis without ending up in a ditch or having anyone’s head explode.  Things are not great, but I find that my grandma is one tough lady.
December 25, 2010: Christmas? Really? Can we put it off until next year?

December 29, 2010: For the first time ever, my sister (the other one) has her birthday all to herself, because she shared it with my dad.  I don’t even know what this means.

And that’s as far as I can see.   Now you know.

2. Safari and (this ancient version of) Wordpress do not play nicely together, as evidenced by the lack of a freakin’ TOOLBAR on the page where I’m working.

3. I had an idea this morning about a presentation topic for a professional conference. I am keeping the details to myself for the moment.

4. This particular time in my life is not the greatest. Unexpected things are turning out to be far more difficult than anticipated, on an ongoing basis rather than a daily one. (e.g. It’s been only in the last couple of weeks that I really got a handle on the routine of going to work and retrieving all my kids from the places they are.) It’s a lot of slogging, for a variety of reasons, and I want VERY much to claw my way out of it.

5. On a more positive note, I am looking forward to a Napa cabbage salad (a la Deborah Madison) alongside a veggie stir-fry for dinner. I am also looking forward to taking a walk this afternoon, since I won’t have a lot more opportunities this year. (It is gorgeous and 60, in Minnesota, in November. One would be totally justified in asking, “WTF?”)

6. I need new snow boots, and so do my big kids.

7. I am near finishing a pair of boring black husband socks and contemplating what should be next on the needles. Trying to resist starting something for a kid, because I’m pretty sure it’s my turn. Also trying to knit a little every day, because I’ve been out of that habit for some months and it’s starting to wear on me to Not Make Things.

That’s all for now.

All that aside, one evening last week we enjoyed Greek pita pizzas from The Six O’Clock Scramble for dinner, and I needed an additional protein source.  Here’s a recipe for a garbanzo salad that I threw together (all amounts are estimates - I just eyeballed it):

1  (15 oz.) can garbanzo beans/chickpeas, drained and rinsed

1/4 red onion, chopped to about 1/4″ pieces - maybe 1/3 cup
1-2 oz. feta cheese, crumbled
about 12 Kalamata olives, roughly chopped
4 Tb red wine vinegar

2 Tb olive oil

about 2 tsp. dried oregano

salt & pepper to taste

Combine beans, onion, olives, and crumbled cheese in a medium bowl.  (Add fresh chopped herbs if you have them - parsley or oregano.)  In a measuring cup or small bowl combine vinegar, oil, dried oregano, S&P; whisk them together and taste, adjusting seasonings as needed.  Toss salad ingredients with dressing.  Cover and chill until serving time.  Serves 4-5.

Easy peasy, and a nice addition to a light meal. Both of my big kids enjoyed this dinner a LOT.

A colleague of mine mentioned last week that he memorizes a poem every month, and I decided I would join him.  I decided on Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that good night” — because everyone knows *of* it, but I didn’t really *know* it, and I wanted to understand it better.   Click here to read the poem and hear the author reading it himself.

Can I just say that this has changed my life?  The experience of having a poem under my skin like that, and the moment of reciting it for my colleague… this is BIG, and I love it.

Saw Crowded House on Saturday night.  Neil Finn is not only, um, attractive, he actually sounds like that in real life.  It was a great show, with lots of old favorites and a few new pieces.  I hadn’t seen them since high school, and I think I will remember more about this show than I do about that one, which in my memory is just overly warm and kind of blue-looking.  Fun fun.

School starts tomorrow for A&B, and in earnest for me as well.  Early mornings notwithstanding, things look promising.

I am half an hour past my bedtime, and I don’t know what I’m wearing to work tomorrow.  Gotta get on that.  Night, y’all.

Admittedly, I have some issues.  You know what, though?  This isn’t really about the cookbook.  It’s about being concerned that I’ll miss something, and it’s a little bit about my mom.  Not fair.  NOT. FAIR.

Ballet Blossom Cardigan from Vintage Knits for Modern Babies.  Karaoke 50% wool, 50% soysilk, in Mermaid (leftovers from this vest, which sadly met its demise in the washing machine some months ago).  I am pretty sure that this will be DSQ’d due to the safety pin that is keeping the back tie from drooping.  I’m really happy with the flower, though; it is Nicky Epstein’s T-twist garter stitch flower from Knitting Over the Edge and more compact than the blossom in the pattern.  Cute sweater, fun project, AND I learned how to make raglan sleeves.

Exhibit B:

Becky made this doll quilt All By Herself (cutting, pinning, sewing, quilting), and we submitted it for competition under Education.  Any kid in K-12 (including homeschoolers) can compete, and the project doesn’t have to originate at school.  We’ve talked about the fact that it is cool just to be involved, that she might not win anything or even have her item on display (it is a myth that they display every single item they receive), and she is okay with all of that.  She’s proud of herself, and I… well, I got a little teary for a minute this morning.

Speaking of teary, can I get an Amen on this? I am not a scrapbooker, cannot volunteer during the school day due to work or outside of the school day due to MY CHILDREN, deeply hate decorating.  But I like watching Adam play baseball, I like taking them swimming, listening to Roger Miller with them, being a Girl Scout leader, and making stuff.  I am not That Mom, either.  But I’m The Mom, in this house, and it mostly works out for all of us.