Exactly How They Need to Be Loved

There's just nothing better than loving someone.
Exactly how they need to be loved.

Though it's true that such activity sometimes lends itself to outright criticism, I know it still to be true. What others call spoiling or pampering or - on the frown side - neglecting or all-out failing to take care of, you or I call loving someone.

And, really, who cares what anyone else thinks?

I sometimes grade my success in this area by asking one simple question: "If I weren't me but, instead, was the husband or any one of the three bebes, what're the few things I'd want now and again?"

I'd want sheets that smell fresh from the laundry. And the smell of dinner cooking when I entered the door. And clean socks and underwear that magically appear and re-appear in my drawers each morning. And homemade treats in fancy tins. And a mommy who actually knows how to do my homework when I need help. Or a wife who makes just about anything from scratch...and does all the minor home repairs while she's at it.

But I find I'd want those things because, in large part, they're what my people want. In this way, I s'pose, I've figured out the prime ways to love them.

And I think that's marvelous.

Last night, I made Southern Pecan Pralines for my husband. He came home a couple weeks ago and said, "Babe, we're having a Christmas work party and have been asked to bring a dish to share. If you'll make something for it, I'll tell them what I can bring."

HAPPINESS TIP: It's all in the delivery. For some time, I've stopped "judging" how the delivery between long-married folk ought to work and, instead, focused on on how ours works. Now, I LOVE this delivery. It's perfect for me. Pointed, but still asking. And note that he knows I'll prefer to make something for it. Not buy.

So what's the point? Well, I love knowing that, after 14 years of marriage (not to mention another two of courtship), my man genuinely knows how to talk to me. And I to him. Makes me giddy.

It's also the point that homemade pralines are a candy Craig will most certainly love and enjoy taking. I picked them because of that. And wrapped them in a fancy tin...perched atop the counter, ready for him to scoop up on his way out this morning.

After he'd eaten the dinner cooking upon his return, slept beneath the clean sheets, wore the socks and underwear, and breathed clean air through filters he didn't even have to change.

Yes, there's just nothing better than loving someone.
Exactly how they need to be loved.

It Isn't Just a Coat

Thanksgiving Day was a happily quiet affair this year. With plans for the evening intact, our family plan was mellow, marked by all-day jammy-wearing and hot-from-the-oven fare. Since the day was just such, I planned to pop out that morning for some early-shopping deals at our neighborhood Old Navy. With its mere 6 minute jaunt door to door and opening at 9 am, I was happy to seize the no-kids opportunity without feeling I'm breaking the natural barriers of sleep to get a good deal (I guess my frugality does, in fact, have its limits).

I got some GREAT bargains, but this is my favorite.
It's a coat.
But not just a coat.
Nay nay, I say.

It's also a reminder that the ominous portal through which assundries of socks, scarves, hats, mittens, and - yes - coats, disappears is still good and active because, despite having all the others in a Rubbermaid container, I couldn't locate Elijah's 3T coat. So, either we lost it somewhere or he was really cold that winter.

It's a reminder that a $45 coat (yes, that was it's original price. I gagged a bit, too) should really be $13. And have lamb's wool on the inside for good measure. Along with a hood. And snaps, not buttons. And real pockets for his treasures.

It's a reminder that said $13 is some of the best spent when it means, in reaction to his coat, that one precious son insisted on wearing it - immediately and throughout the entirety of the morning.
And he smirked and smiled about it - stuffed, zipped, and sealed in the thing - the entire time.

But here was the best reminder of all...a question, really, to the very heart:

When was the last time you were happy about something so seemingly insignificant?
About something that reminds you all you have is all you need?

About something that isn't just a coat?

Reciting the Letter "X"

Just because teachers don't do nearly enough, spending hours of dumbed-down time twiddling their thumbs in a boredom-induced stupor (nope, can't drip with any more sarcasm there), Elijah's amazing 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Minette, organized her 3rd annual Thanksgiving play.

(Yes, this is late in coming. But it IS before Christmas, so I chalk the "win" column).

It just so happens that we - delightedly - had Mrs. Minette for Kindergarten, as well, with Grace. She's fantastic, and we're so blessed to have her again. When she transferred to 1st grade, she pieced together this wonderful alphabet story of Thanksgiving, and her kiddos work hard each year to have one morning parents & loved ones come to hear them perform it.

They even have homemade hats! I mean....phenomenal!

Afterward, we enjoyed some hot cocoa in the classroom - a little event that this age-group still thinks is like having rock stars come to their space.

Sigh. Before long, my charming guy will hover more than a foot above me, and I'll be marveling at how quickly time sped along. Yet, for now, I'll relish his excitement at Nana standing near, at having Grace skip class to see him, and at how happy he was in this moment...basking in the middle-child rarity of sitting smack dab in the center of attention.

Reciting the letter "X".

Hours

When chatting recently with Zee, I stumbled upon this truth, perfectly representative of the holiday season:

It's not that there aren't enough hours in the day.
It's that I'm not spending as many of said hours doing what I want.

Yes, yes. This is, arguably, true for just about any given 24-hour tunnel of chaos we call a day. Yet, I find that it is not (as a rule) the case for January 22nd or March 6th or August 12 as it is for pretty much the entirety of December.

If I had my ideal way, I'd take the entire month of December off. Not from work. Or from school. Or from bills, dirty toilets, laundry loads, and ratty floors. But from it all!
And I'd take my closest friends, too.
And they'd get the entire month off.
These fictitious elves we're all so fond of watching in claymation would pour into my house while I slept and pay those bills (with money from the tree out back), scour those commodes, spin out those towels and sheets, and buff the wood planks to a blinding shine.

And, while they're doing all that (whilst singing Christmas carols happily), I'd handcraft projects, sew drapes and blankets, redecorate a room,
read the best books I own...again.
I'd go to the gym without checking the clock or packing snacks. I'd cuddle with my babies all the day long.
And I'd follow the sunshine over the passing hours of day, moving room to room to find the best chair, the best throw, to curl up...and just breathe.
To talk to Him.
Or to Craig.
Or to you.

Or even to myself.

But there are no elves. There are only the bills, the toilets, the laundry, and the floors. There are only the stacks of papers and manuscripts and students' emails.

Still...
 I lay in bed this morning and thanked God for indoor plumbing - who cares if it needs a scrubbing now and again? I'd much rather NOT go into the 12 degree frigidity to crouch on splintered planks.
I thanked Him for bills we can pay - with enough left for presents under the tree for our fam and for others, too.
I thanked Him for the husband breathing beside me and the purple of the Peak nesting exactly middle in our master window.
For Christmas lights and a furnace blowing heat.
For the promise of New Year with Spring and Summer, Fall and Winter - memories all.

Perhaps the tasks are not those I most prefer.
But the hours of life grow long.

Why not let who I am be what I want?

All I Really Need

Sorting through pictures, I caught this common thread.

I cried.

Actually cried.

My cup runneth over.

And I've never been more thankful for film.

One.
Then two.

Then three.
Then...



....and now.


What I have is all I really need.

Hallelujah!

What could we learn from a song at a mall food court?

That what you see isn't always quite what's there.
That faith comes in young and old and the hoi polloi betwixt.
That music is still the one art form that shivers your heart...
and that music of God pleases the very soul.

Here was a Christmas gift - freely given, without expectation of return and with no apparent design beyond the gift itself.

A true gift.
A moving one.

Hallelujah.

Along With a Good Booger

We love this family.

We've known them a decade (math Bee and I recently figured and still can't believe) and have made many the memory with them over the last 10 years.

But our holidays, I have to say, are some of the best. Some years, our time is made hodge-podge - as life events are prone to do - but we always seem to spend at least one or two together.
We pick the hour, the place, and decide who'll bring what. We've dressed in fancy duds, jeans, and even our jammies. But there's one component always present and never varying...
laughter.

With this family, we laugh and laugh and laugh. And then laugh some more. How could you not? They are quirky and loud. They are silly and true. They are huggers and kissers and, yes (now and again) criers.
They are family.
And we are the better for it.

One of our traditions is a Thanksgiving night of games and dessert. We drink warm coffee and tea and eat to our heart's delight -and our stomach's chagrin.
(Yes, we are thankful for gluttony...we don't lie about it.)
We circle the table, pick a game, and end up becoming the raucous commercial Hasbro wishes it had made.

Somewhere along the way, the leftovers get pulled, and we stand around in the kitchen recalling memories, old and new, as we chomp on cold turkey, rewarmed rolls, and remnants of Char's pumpkin pie.

This year, one of our game-time selections was Would You Rather? Not a favorite of mine, as it turns out, but it had this challenge category that proved hysterical. We played in teams of two, and there came a time when Jason and Char (son-in-law and mother-in-law, for those who don't know them) took a challenge to identify people by touching only their faces while blindfolded.

Easy, you might say.
Not so much.

Here's the hilarious outcome Craig caught on film. Take a gander...but put it to a soundtrack of uproarious laughter, bend-over-double giggles, and wipes of heavy tears as we all delighted in poor Jason's woes.

Here he is trying to identify Morgan (his daughter) and Bee (his wife). Of course, we resorted to all methods of trickery including stooping, puffing cheeks, and changing order.
We really are cruel people.

Jason took it all in stride, as his usual way.
And then there came this strange shot:
we think Jason became a pastor whilst we were rolling on the floor in a reverie of chuckles.
So funny.

Grace and Morgan's challenge was to hold their tongues for two turns of play - harder than you might think, between the dry lips and drooled chin.

And Jason and Mama Char got stuck with yet another doozie: holding spoons in their mouths for a couple revolutions of turn.
Say, come to think of it, they sure did get the short end of this game's stick!

Jason's best little buddy, Judd, just couldn't stay away. So he was delighted when his tall friend drew his hand on a piece of paper...proving that the smallest gestures provide the biggest dividends on the heart.

(I love the giant hands covering the little ones).

I'll finish with a shot so totally reflective of this family and our love for them because it reminds me of the best part of real relationship; namely, that being who you are isn't work. Or even planned.
It's simply welcomed. And, when it arrives, it's embraced.
Until love overflows.

Along with a good booger.