Stop that man!

December is sneaking up on us. Every year I picture it the same way—a little old man shuffling through September and October… meandering through November then BANG! sprinting towards us all with a shocking agility and speed. Suddenly there he is bearing down on the last of the current year with all of anticipating Christmas and the holidays in his wake.

Sneaky old man.

Yesterday I kicked off my first round of Official Christmas Shopping. I picked up only a few things but it still put me in the mood for all the goodnesses to come. I want my tree up… I want garlands and sparkley things to hang from them… I want our little nativity family to rest again on the shelf with the lumpy little lambs and happy Baby Jesus.

And I want the JackRabbit to get wrapped up in all the fun of the lights and ribbons and Jesus babies and songs.

I also want that old man to slow down a little so it doesn’t all go by in a blur.

I sit on a throne of undone chores

Today I’m completely behind the 8 ball.

There’s an insurmountable list of things to do and Things That Must Get Done and I’m sitting here typing about it. There’s laundry and packing and shopping and erranding and cleaning and and and…

Last night I was up entirely too late. My nieces kicked off the start of the Christmas Festivities Season with a late night (and I mean late night) showing of Elf. Their mother, my big sister, let them have friends over since today is a half day and let’s all be honest, there’s no learning done on a half day. I love Elf and couldn’t resist the chance to recite all the lines aloud with the girls… so out went the To Do List and in went the gingerbread cookies and frozen pizza.

Okay. Back to that list now.
Did I mention that it’s on an etch-a-sketch and ends with “Eat a roll of tollhouse cookie dough as fast as we can then snuggle?”

Donna Reed just stepped out, Can we be of help?

We’ve been going to a different church for the past few months. It started with our week at Family Camp– the following Sunday wanted to see the friends we’d all made. And then it was another Sunday and another… We’re astonished at how much we look forward to Sunday mornings.

After 3 months we’re still inbetweeners. Not quite entirely the New Kids in the Pew (we know too many people from our week at Family Camp and from growing up in this town) but also not Members. The Pastor has been diligent about seeking us out– making sure that we feel welcome. The first week he sent us a handwritten note. A few weeks later he called to chat.

Last night he popped in.

Our house was in it’s usual waning weekend dissarray. Picture this: The stairs have mail and magazines and the Christmas catalog towers. The living room is a jumble of Jack’s toys and the two Sunday papers and circulars. Robby had just carried up two baskets of laundry to be folded.

Robby, by the way, was still in his good clothes– as was a dissheveled Jack. I, on the other hand, had changed into my old Tuba sweatshirt and flannel jammie bottoms.

I sighed, as I welcomed The Pastor in, and noted, “The house is a mess…” to which The Pastor had the kindness to apologize and offer to come back if it was a bad time… I countered that if he wouldn’t be offended it wouldn’t bother me to have him in– and so he stayed and we chatted. Jack bounced around and tormented the dog while we talked about our day and our lives and the paths that found us intersecting.

He’s a nice man. We like his sermons. We’re impressed at his quick wit and memory. It was nice that he would stop by and take an interest in finding out more of who we are and what we do.

Some days I’d like to think that you could pop in and find an immaculate house and a neatly ordered living room. That I’d have the foresight to have something simple to whip out of the kitchen and some refreshing and perfect drink… but most days I realize that this is just who we are.

Flannel jammie bottoms and all.

Jack the Artiste

Jack and I worked on a secret project today. His little hands were paint covered and we giggled a lot.

This, I realize, is the gift of life with a 3 Year Old Jack– that we can conspire and take glee over a secret together.

Shhhhh!

Mazel Tov to us

It’s our wedding anniversary. Each year I think of it– our marriage– as the year of it’s age. This year we are 13. I’ve joked a lot lately about us “becoming a man” and wanting to have a bar/bat mitzvah since, as a adolescent Baptist, I was screwed out of any rite of passage.

We’re an 8th grader this year. My youngest niece is, too… she arrived a few weeks before we walked down and up the aisle.

Tonight, to celebrate, we went out without the little bambino in tow. AunT came over to hang out with Jack. We forewent the gift route. Money’s tight right now and my Christmas surprise for Robby will have to encompass this day, too. Robby brought me home a dozen red, red roses and a sweet card. We went to a nice restaurant in town (courtesy of a gift certificate from my Mom for Rob’s birthday) and then to a movie. (Dan in Real Life, if you’re interested.) We stopped at the grocery store to pick up more white tea for iced tea and milk… then came home to thank AunT. Rob’s up putting Jack to bed now. He’s exhausted (Jack, not Robby) and it shouldn’t take too long… then we’ll look at our wedding pictures. We do that every year.

No big hoopla. No ceremony or pomp. Just a nice evening out (which, while ordinary, is extraordinary from the norm), a sip of champagne (albeit American stuff), and a chance to pause and be grateful that we are another year together.

Jack and I watched The Waltons today– a great episode from the late 70s in which Mama and Daddy Walton celebrate their silver anniversary. She is practical and has a phone installed as a surprise to him while he is romantic and builds her a beautiful gazebo on the mountain as a gift to her. CoraBeth is undone that they aren’t celebrating elegantly and the children are all arranging their own surprises… but it’s enough to just be still together. Olivia says that, “the first 25 years went by so fast it would be nice to enjoy the next…”

In all the hustle and bustle of life with Jack I get that. We’re so busy sometimes with him that we forget to look up and notice the other beyond getting all the necessary stuff done so that the house doesn’t pile up with unemptied garbage cans or unfolded laundry.

But, like I said, we’re only an eight grader. We’ve still got a lot of growing up to do.

Mazel tov.