This sweet guy turned three in November.
I don’t believe in birthday parties with friends and favors anymore. I tried once, but I seemed to botch everything from the budget to the (lack of) pavilion to the sunburn. So now Nana reminds me each March and November that there’s a birthday coming up in a week or so, and it’s about time to plan something. And something always seems to turn out to be dinner and cakes at her house with just us. I’m so thankful.
Bubba’s only request this time was a piñata. This request, no doubt, was a direct result of la fiesta fantastica de su amigo Weston a few weeks earlier. Can I just tell you that Party City has a most impressive assortment of piñatas? Holy cow…..or pirate or bird or Elmo or….you get the picture. After wandering the aisles trying to talk myself into spending twenty bucks to buy a cardboard Jake for my kid to decapitate, I finally found the perfect choice….
Not only was it a lot easier for me to stomach the decapitation of this creature, but his remains could serve as a perfect prop the following Monday. Happy Birthday, Bub! And Happy Dinovember to me! : )
P.S. Pro-Parent Tip #1113 No need to buy piñata stuffing candies if you are lucky enough to have a November baby. Just use the Halloween leftovers. They’ll never know.
We had a pre-Thanksgiving weekend getaway with my family at a cabin near Crabtree Falls. No internet, lots of junk food, and game after game of Blockers at the kitchen table all made for a restful mini vacation.
My favorite memory from our trip, however, has to be the spontaneous hike that I took with Chica and Grandpa after checking out the frozen creek. On a whim we decided to explore the hillside that rose behind our cabin. After a while of up, up, and more up, we could see what appeared to be the top of the hill. Despite Grandpa’s better judgement, Chica and I just had to see what was on the other side. When we finally reached it, we discovered a road! This lead us to a new way back to the house and an exciting adventure story to tell when we returned.
Oh how it will make my mommy heart happy if at least one of my kids grows up to love hiking as much as I do. This day was a start maybe.
I think violin teachers have super powers. My kid, who has only been playing for a matter of weeks, stood up there and played her special part of Jingle Bells, and no one ran away screaming. It was all pretty magical if you ask me.
My very literal kid insisted on wearing both red and green for the evening performance because these were Mr. Claytor’s directions. “He said Christmas colors, and Christmas colors are red and green, Mom!” Got it, Chica. Got it.
Jay went out of town at the beginning of December for his
geek work conference. Whenever I leave town, one of the kids gets sick. When he leaves, I’m always the one that ends up under the weather. This trip was no exception. I hurt my back, and after one teary Skype call with my parents, Grandpa was on the way to help me make it through until Jay’s return.
He helped make lunches, took Bubba to school, folded laundry, wrapped presents, and returned library books for me. But perhaps the most miraculous of all was that I somehow convinced him to agree to put up my Christmas tree. Wow.
So for weeks it sat in our living room, ornament-less but twinkling proudly with each branch curved just-so in the way that only Grandpas know how to do. Every few days Chica would remind me that we needed to decorate it, and each time I gave her some lame excuse as to why it wasn’t a good time. Finally I told her on the Saturday night before Christmas that it wouldn’t happen until the den was clean, and I sarcastically added that she was more than welcome to help me work on it Sunday morning.
Whadaya know? That kid was up before the sun with her sweet little voice at my bedside, “Mommy, I’m ready to help you clean the den.” Heart be still….and feet on the floor! Chop, chop!
So we did it. She made trip after trip after trip to the sink and Bubba’s room and Mommy’s closet as we put away all the junk that had accumulated at the front door dropping spot for weeks.
Then we were done. And there was this…
Mostly Chica did all the work. I fulfilled my obligation of getting the breakable ornaments sufficiently out of reach, but I let her do everything else. Bubba lost interest pretty quickly, so the other three of us ended up snuggling on the couch while we encouraged her.
No worries that 3/4 of the ornaments are on the bottom 1/3 of the tree. No worries that the tacky beaded garland crisscrosses in odd patterns. No worries that more and more of the ornaments are made from recycled “treasures” like old CDs and toilet paper rolls. It is just perfect if you ask me.
Would it be crazy to say that this particular moment might be my most favorite memory of all Christmas break?
The week before, our life group discussed joy. I must admit that that night I was so mired down and worn out by work funk and the never-ending back pain that I just couldn’t conjure up a memory that I could definitely name joy. Happiness? Sure. Joy? Not sure.
But this moment? It was as if Bubba’s pink sleepy cheeks were screaming out to me, “JOY lady! Right here! Look around you! Wake up!”
This kid who never tires of snuggles.
That daddy who snuggles back so I could keep doing whatever it was that I was doing.
The other kid reading to herself in the other room.
A husband who folds laundry.
And that same husband who remembers to buy batteries well in advance of Christmas.
A tree strewn with presents that reminded us how to play together again.
But mostly joy in remembering in my core, in that moment, that not one of those things is something that I deserve, something I’ve earned. Each is a gift from a Creator that loves me in a way that is oh so much deeper and truer than snuggles and folded laundry and batteries. But He uses those things, the take-your-breath-away pink cheeks, to give us just a little taste. To remind us. To wake us up.
May your New Year be filled with moments that whisper or shout or just straight-up declare to you, “JOY!” And may we together learn how to look and listen.
P.S. I’m taking a Facebook break, friends. Mostly it’s about regaining some of the enormous amount of time I waste there. I’m thinking, though, that less time wasted means more sleep. And more sleep might mean eyes wider open to watch out for those opportunities for joy. I’ll try to let you know how it goes.