What We Carry

I have to say, I am feeling a little rough.

The sore throat, yeah, and a stuffiness in both ears. But it's more the hormones, I think. Out of whack! And yet I'm pushing myself through it. Only eleven sleeps 'til Christmas! And I do have a lot to do, but I'm trying to do it in a slow, enjoy-the-ride kind of way. I'm hoping this loveliness doesn't all end in a mad acceleration to complete the race. But my gut says slow and steady, and, after all this time, I've learned to trust my gut.

So it hurts to yawn, and I'm yawning. I think I'll let the pictures tell the stories tonight. But first, I want to tell you that I was watching a kids Christmas show--with my kids, of course--and I heard the following line, which has been with me all week in spite of the urgent last-chance sale emails, the lack of my outdoor Christmas decorations, the realization that we may not see a flake of snow before or on Christmas.....

"Christmas is what we carry in our hearts."

It isn't the gifts, the holiday bling, the car with the red bow on top. It's love, family, friends, memories. It's Jesus, faith and hope.




Christmas is the look on our believing eight-year-old's face as Santa climbed aboard our car of the Santa Train....

Better People

I had a fantastic weekend with my birthday girl and my family at the center. I lived in the moment, I celebrated my blessings. I saw the good in all things.

In doing all of this, I was struck by the fact that my little girl has grown into a wonderful person. She's funny and kind. She writes in a journal almost constantly. She draws, better than her momma. She says please and thank you. And she's adorable.

At one point, she wanted me to write in my journal while she wrote in hers. I was trying to nurse a fussy baby to sleep and led her on and on to believe I'd write in my journal with her, but--oops--fell asleep myself. But before I did, she was finding my place in my journal, and we came across a note in her writing. It was found by Daddy in August on the living room floor, and I taped it into my journal for all time. We read it together: "I snuk a book from my mom's closet. It is a high school musical Book. She was maybe saving It for my Birthday But to Bad I Have It."

And we laughed and laughed.... "Too bad, I have it!" she laughed.

It appears my girl has learned how to laugh at herself. And, while that might not seem monumental, it is. It took me a long time to not take myself too seriously. And sometimes I still have trouble with that.

Another thing happened this past week that got me thinking. I was in the basement, putting away clothes, looking for others in sizes and seasons I knew existed, and I ran upon a Pandora's box. It was a tote full of memories, mostly from my teenage and college years, but also an 8th birthday card from my Grandma and Grandpa Strahler, a letter from me ("Two-Ton Tony") to my dear Grandpa ("64-Ton Tony"), my First Communion Bible and all sorts of other precious things.

And that box grabbed me by the heart and wouldn't let go. I stood and read and cried and remembered for more than an hour. My knees begged me to give up but my heart gave in to the memories. In that box was a smaller box of letters from my father during a very pivotal part of my life. Reading them was like reading them for the first time. They were wise and sad and full of humility. And it reminded me of a driving force in my life, a hand that shaped me. There were lines of advice in there, in my dad's somewhat backward way and script, that showed me that, in spite of our differences, we both want the same thing: for our children to be better than we were.

These two events together tell me it's true: I've been saying, and others say it too, that I want a better life for my children than the one I've had. But instead, I think maybe I want my children to be better people. The life, the house, the wallet, those are all details. But If I can have a hand in making better people than I am, now that's something. Those better people will weather whatever they must. They'll shine up their places in this world, and they'll find a better way.

Here's to birthdays, to this day, eight years ago, when I became nearly everything I wanted to be. Here's to raising better people.

And to my mini-me, who spiked a fever on her birthday: Feel better, girlie. I love you!!

The World Belongs to Mothers

The baby-with-the-fussy-cries,-the-possible-ear-infection-or-maybe-it's-just-teeth-or-maybe-it's-a-virus? on his birthday. Isn't he a doll?

It's a very rare thing, but Mommy is going off the clock for a bit this weekend. I'm headed to a hotel with a good girlfriend for a scrapbooking, eating, shopping extravaganza! Yeah me! She's an amazing friend and mother of two, and we both need a break.

I often say it, and I really believe it: The world belongs to mothers. Good mothers are a loving, influential, resilient tribe. We're up six times a night, fine after that first cup of coffee and off to conquer the world. We're often the last one to bed and the first one up. We're the keeper of the Social Security numbers, the correct medicinal doses, the shoes sizes and the ever-growing files of our children's likes and dislikes. We're the cooks, the maids, the nurses, the chauffeurs, the seasonal clothes switchers: the choreographers of our childrens' lives.

But the heart swells never stop. Just now, at 7:32 a.m., after being awake since about 5:45 a.m. after a fitful night with the baby, I see my Maxwell headed down those oak stairs. And my heart takes flight. That kid is so cute!!!! And he's mine. And now, "Mommy, I'm hungry.... Mommy, I'm hungry..."

My heart sometimes feels two sizes too big.

Now, dear readers, sometimes under this mountain of responsibility that we call motherhood festers resentment. But it's a fixable thing. It's necessary for me to take my moments, to write in my journal, to read a magazine or paint my toenails. It's necessary for me to say, "So long, baby-with-the-fussy-cries,-the-possible-ear-infection-or-maybe-it's-just-teeth-or-maybe-it's-a-virus?, I've got to go for 36 hours and find my self."

Everyone will be fine, and I'll be back.

Oh, I'll be back.