Fun For a Gray Day

It's dreary outside and too quiet in. Our houseguests departed this morning after six days with us and it's noticeably different in our house. Not that they were noisy, but I notice their absence after having them here for that amount of time. And given that our doggy houseguest arrived just before they did and also left today, it is a bit of an adjustment.

So what to do on this rainy day in March when we're on Spring break? Well, following the headline news in our local paper today, we're searching for report cards and hoping for a break in the weather to cash in on the girls' good grades (maybe breakfast at Wendy's tomorrow).

Spaghetti Sauce & Chocolate Milk & Red Jello - Oh My!

The other night one of my daughters got spaghetti sauce on one of her favorite shirts. She immediately began to cry. And it's all my fault. You see, I'm terrible at laundry. I make sure to sort darks, lights (I call them mediums, as in pink, and in our house they make up the bulk of our laundry) and whites. I also sort them into warm and cold, which baffles my husband, but it's what the tags say so I do it. And I search for stains and dutifully spray treat them.

But half of those stains never come out. Even if I scrub the stain spray in, no matter what brand, the stains stick. Chocolate for instance, particularly chocolate milk: that never, ever comes all the way out. Nor does red spaghetti sauce. Or mud. Sometimes even red jello leaves behind it's mark.

Which makes dinnertime a stressor for my kids. I'm thinking I should just designate "eating clothes" for everyone and let them enjoy meals again. I try not to moan or gripe or harangue them (although chocolate milk spills nearly send me over the edge every time). But they know my lack of laundering ability. When they slop on a treasured piece of clothing, they're aware it may be that way forever.

It makes me feel like a bad mom. After all, what are my primary duties? Feeding and clothing my family. Cuddling and reading. And when I can't properly perform one of those jobs, well it just makes me feel bad.

So I'm making an apeal: just what on earth does it take to get chocolate milk out of a shirt? Any hints? Any?

A Long, Hard Day

Today it has been tough going. I woke up in pain from my right shoulder (the one I injured two years ago). This happens to me from time to time. It starts as a stinging ache and builds to a burning background roar. From past experience I know it will continue all day. Maybe it will travel to my other shoulder. Probably it will go into my wrists. I can still move, still talk, still do everything like normal, but slower and more haltingly.

On days like today I start off with an Advil. But like today, it usually doesn't help. So I take another a little bit later. And often still other until the pain is dulled to a whisper. I don't go to the doctor. What will she say? "Take an Advil", probably. There's nothing actually wrong with me. The pain will be gone tomorrow or maybe the next day. But for today it's here, distracting me. Occasionally I will forget about it and then wonder why I am on the verge of tears. All day I am on the verge of tears.

It's so tiring too. And it's hard not to get snippy or short with my children. I haven't today and I'm glad for that. Of course they'll be home soon. And there's a chance I'll get that way then, although I always hope not, always try not.

The pain makes me think of other people I know. People with real illness, real disease, real pain. A friend with rheumatoid arthritis comes to mind and I pray for her, glad that she has medicine that helps her condition. My fingers go cold and then numb from pain shooting down my arm and I think of someone from church battling a crippling, life-threatening disease. I pray for him, for healing, for mobility.

It's a hard day, a tiring day. I'll be glad for tomorrow. I'll be glad for the chance to wake up pain free. But I'm also glad for the chance to learn a little more compassion, to see a glimmer of what others go through day after day, to pray a heartfelt prayer for healing and comfort on someone else's behalf. It's a hard day, but not a wasted day. And when the next day of pain comes for me I hope that it will be profitable too.

"Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." Romans 5:3-5

Schools' Rules Schmools

Today was kindergarten round-up...for the Uber-Princess's friends; not for her. And I feel like it was one of those days of no turning back. You see, her birthday is 9 days after the official cut-off. So she must spend another year in preschool (or at home) and wait to be five the day she starts kindergarten. This shouldn't bother me. Many moms of July and August babies fret over them being the youngest in their class and the challenges that brings. The Uber-Princess won't have those problems. However, I anticipate other problems, like, say...boredom.

Here's an example from today of why I worry about this. As I was tucking her into bed for her nap she was commenting on being four-and-a-half (we marked this milestone about a week and a half ago with the ditching of her blankie, because "four-and-a-half-year-olds are big girls"). Then she announced that she could count to four and a half.

To which I replied, "really?"

So she demonstrated. "One, one-and-a-half, two, two-and-a-half, three, three-and-a-half, four, four-and-a-half!"

Need I worry?

Oh, and right before that she was working with our magnetic fridge letters, trying to find the one that says "whuh" as in "Wildcats". Now we have a Fridge Phonics toy that lets you insert the letters and says the sound they make aloud. So she inserted a few until she got to "W". But the fact that a four-and-a-half-year-old cares to learn the letter that starts "Wildcats"? And yesterday she counted to 112, with a few prompts. Need I worry?

I realize kindergarten readiness is composed of more than just academics. So let's see: she dresses herself, feeds herself, separates easily from mom, plays well independently, plays well with others... Now, I don't think she's overly brilliant. Sharp? Yes. Bright? Yes. On target to join other kids the age she'll be nine days after the cutoff? Definitely.

I've been told though, that the rules are the rules. No exceptions are made. No testing will be allowed, no looking at individual cases. So I quickly dropped my thoughts of championing her "early" admittance. And today another door was closed.

God has it all under His control. My daughter's birthday was decided long ago. And God knew the rules of the school she'd be attending. I will enjoy, truly enjoy this extra year with her at home more. I just hope she enjoys the year(s) following that.

Passion Week Meditation: Betrayed

My children and I are reading day by day the story of the week that Jesus went to the cross. Today we read about Judas being paid off to betray Jesus. On my own I'm reading meditations on the Stations of the Cross and started with number one this morning: the Garden of Gethsemane, which ends with the arrival of Judas to betray Jesus into the hands of His killers.

I went through my morning routine with those thoughts on my mind and it brought me back to a time in eighth grade when my best friend betrayed me. Here's how it went. We were at a "boy-girl" party, the kind where the entire class is invited (and shows up). The kind where some kids hang out playing pool or cards or something like that. By eighth grade the match-ups were going strong. This one was "going out with" that one, although it didn't seem like they ever actually went anywhere. It was more of an identity thing, a bit of prestige, depending on who you were paired up with.

My "best friend" took me off to the side during this party and asked me who I liked. Now, I was no dummy. She'd shown herself to be less than trust-worthy before. I was not about to reveal my true crush. So I named a boy in the class that I could care less about, that was currently "dating" a girl I couldn't stand. What could my friend do with that information? And what did I care?

Sure enough my friend scooted away a short time later and returned with the-girl-I-couldn't-stand. "You like Danny?", she asked. Then she continued, not waiting for my response, "well we're not going out any more. And I think he likes you too. He wants to ask you out. He's in the other room, waiting". She gave me a sly smile. My friend stood behind her looking as though she'd swallowed the Cheshire Cat. I rolled my eyes and played along.

I don't remember what happened after that. But I do remember coming out of the situation more triumphant than not. I'd known the betrayal was coming and so I'd been able to script it. Most of the sting was gone. Yet knowing I'd been chosen as the object of junior high trickery still hurt. To have a "friend" who'd behave so callously? It made me angry...and sad.

I wonder about Jesus. He knew, long beforehand, that Judas would betray Him. Yet He let Judas into His circle of friends. He acted on trust toward him. And I'd almost say that He scripted His betrayal too. But the scene in the Garden beforehand shows otherwise. It was His Father's plan and it grieved Him to know how it would go. But He chose to follow it through. His betrayal, even though He knew it was coming, hurt. It hurt a lot. It was part His being fully human.

As we approach Good Friday and then Easter, remember this: we have a Savior who knows the hurt we feel because He has felt it Himself. Even more, think of His love that He knew everything He would endure and still did it - for us!

Getting it right ... again

(Overheard today in the Musing Household)

Little Miss History to Uber-Princess: Do you want to be a teacher when you grow up?

Uber-Princess: No. I want to be a princess. (surprise, surprise!)

LMH to Timid Daughter: Do you want to be a teacher?

Timid Daughter: No!

LMH: Well, what do you want to be?

TD: I want to be a mom!

LMH: Well, I want to be a teacher. (Stops to think for a moment).
A teacher AND a writer AND a mom.

Uber-Princess: I want to be a princess and a mom!


All I can say is, it warms my heart. They all want my job!

Getting it right...maybe

Parenting at times seems so much like a bunch of guesswork. Sure, we've taken classes and formulated our ideas of how we want to parent (allow little or no tv but lots of reading, be involved in their school & sports, encourage good behavior, correct for bad...). But more often than not we find ourselves in that grey area (tv during illness? is tattling always "bad"?). And so it seems hard to gauge whether we're doing a good job or not as parents. "You're the best mom in the whole wide world" lets me know what my kids think (and oh, am I so very grateful to hear those words because they often come when I feel less-than-deserving). And compliments from strangers when we're out in public seem to second that. But...

There's all the day to day in's and out's. It's having to do the job of counselor, mediator, accountant, boss, and nurse, without any qualifications for any of them, that I get hung up on. Many times my husband looks at a situation ('cuz many times that's what we have in our house - "situations") and has a different take. Which makes me glad for a partner in this, but also makes me wonder about all the decisions I make (and possibly screw up) while he's gone.

Today though. Today I got something right. You see, yesterday and today our Timid Daughter awoke with pain in her calves. And yesterday she managed to hobble off to school. But this morning she crawled to my room to ask for help because it was too painful to even stand. So I trundled her back to bed with some ibuprofen, then later woke her for breakfast (and carried her down to it) and afterwards put her in a warm bath. After calling her in sick at school I got a heating pad going under her legs while we waited to hear from the pediatrician. Thankfully the pediatrician saw us right away. The diagnosis: myositis (inflamation of the muscles) caused by a virus she had over the weekend. And the blessed doctor prescribed (get this): ibuprofen three times a day, warm baths, and heat applications to her legs.

In my mind I was pumping my arms up and down saying, "Yes! Yes!". For once my instincts proved right. So do you think I'll trust myself any better when the next dilemma comes in...oh, a couple of hours?

My Really Interesting situation

I squeeze my eyes closed, arms crossed over my chest as I'm propelled into the machine. Air blows across my body and I attempt to slow my breathing by sucking in large gulps. I am trapped. Thick tape binds my feet together and my hips are strapped down to the table on which I lay. And now, inside this small tube of a tunnel, I can barely move my arms. I lay there, keeping still. If I can just do that long enough... A voice, tiny and distant echoes into the tube, "Can you hear me?". I answer back that I can. Then there is silence.

Back to my breathing. I notice it too much. It's too fast, too hard. So I try to slow it down again. But it just gets harder the more I notice it. Think on something else, I tell myself. Then the voice issues a warning and the loud noises begin. Very loud. First a few pops, then a series of clangs and bangs, more and more of them, some faster, some slower. There are plugs in my ears, but that doesn't matter. It's still loud. My thoughts jump around. Breathing too fast. Don't open eyes. Don't move. Too small. Too tight. I'm trapped. I swallow hard and suddenly my throat feels scratchy. On the right side. It itches more. And then more. I swallow, trying to sooth that itch. I swallow again. Then as the banging stops I begin to cough and to choke. The voice comes again, "Are you okay?". I answer with more coughs. "I'll bring you water", the voice responds.

Moments later the table shifts and I glide out of the tunnel, opening my eyes to see the gentle smile of the technician and then the bottle of water in her hands. I sit up as much as I can and take a few gulps. Then I lay back again and close my eyes as the table glides me back into place. There will be more loud noises, pops and hisses. This time my breathing will settle and my mind will gain focus for the time that remains. No more coughs, no more itches. Just vibrations and strange sounds. Just the passing of time in slow motion, where fifteen minutes feels like hours.

A Lite Brite Life

My children were playing with their Lite Bright the other day. It was fun to see them working so seriously at it. It reminded me of when I was a kid...until the Uber-Princess asked me to help. Thanks to upgrades to the modern version, I was able to help her complete it in the fraction of time it used to take. How is that? Cheater pegs! They now make the pegs fused together in groups of two's, three's & four's. So when you can pop them in four at a time, imagine how much faster it can go (and believe me, I made heavy use of those ones on Uber-Princess's design).

Afterward I began thinking about the Lite Brite and how it works. You start with a blank sheet, or maybe one with some lettered spots. Slowly you piece in the colored pegs and a shape begins to form. Yet even with all the pegs in place, while you can see the shape, the actual figure is still dull. But plug it in and let the light shine through and all sorts of details and dimensions come out.

Aren't we like that as people? We're born, albeit not blank sheets, but with a design imprinted on us by God that has no color or shape yet. Then we begin to live and one by one opportunities and circumstances begin to fill in our outline. Over the years our shape becomes recognizable, but perhaps still somewhat undefined. Then one day we find ourselves doing and being what we were made to be. Suddenly God's light shines through us and we're made aware of all the brilliance of color and subtlety of substance that makes us who we are!

Those cheater pegs? I think we have those in life too. Maybe they're shortcuts we take toward our life goals. Or maybe on the positive side they're people who have believed in us and invested in helping us grow.

What do you think?

WFMW: Alternative Cleaning Solutions

Today I ran low on my regular bathroom cleaning spray. As I stood staring at my other cleaning supplies, a thought occurred to me: why not put all the left-over glass-cleaner to use? You see a few years ago I started using micro-fiber cloths to clean my windows and mirrors. They work very well and eliminate the need for any chemicals. So my industrial-sized glass cleaner has languished in the cabinet ever since. However, necessity being the mother of invention that it is, I read the suggested uses for the window spray and low and behold it listed counters. Off to my bathroom I went with the window cleaner. And here I am a few minutes later to tell you - it worked! Which has me thrilled because I now have a means for using up all that cleaning solution that I hadn't the heart to throw out.

Another good alternative cleaner for bathrooms? Shampoo! I had gotten an off-brand shampoo in a gift basket once and never liked what it did to my hair. It has stayed in my shower, but now I use it for wiping down the shower walls. Hey, it's a soap and it gets things clean.

So next time you've got a cleaning solution whose original purpose no longer fits your needs, repurpose it. Remember it's just a marketing thing with the manufacturers where they position their cleaner to be used for a single function.

It's a different kind of "recycling". And it Works For Me!

You've Got Mail

I got the idea for these cute mailboxes from Jenn's Stamping' Corner. Can't say mine turned out as cute as hers, but since the Musing girls haven't seen hers, they won't care. And I tell you what, it's a good, but cheap Valentine's gift. A buck for the mailbox, less than that for paper, find a few embellishments in the scrap bin and you're all set.

A quick tip: do not try to seal with acrylic spray. It just soaks through the paper. Jenn's idea to use Mod Podge is probably the best route to go.

Then you just tuck a love note inside (or a coupon for a free Krispy Kreme donut, like I did - yum!) and you're all set. I know my girls will be thrilled because a) they love to play post office and have resorted to making do with flimsy paper mailboxes and b) these mailboxes are "American Girl doll"-sized and anything on that scale is a hit with them.

I Think I'm Starting to Understand Archaeologists

I cleaned out the bottom of my closet today. It had been much neglected since I'd done a wardrobe overhaul in it last April. Things were strewn about:shoes, boots, purses, beach balls (three), sunscreen, board games, and more. So I rounded up Uber-Princess to go on a dig with me. We pulled and hauled and tossed until the floor was empty on one side. Then I ran the vacuum and we sorted through what would go back. Simple enough. Not an eventful dig, but thorough and...done.

Then we turned to side two. This one didn't seem so bad. How could it be with a wedding gown box taking up over half of the real estate? Simply a few pairs of boots and a pile of magazines to dig out. So dig we did. And that's when the discovery happened! Sifting through the pile of magazines I came across a library book that had long been given up for lost. I turned to the Uber-Princess, holding the book triumphantly in the air.

"Look what I found!", I said.

"The Lion King!", she exclaimed and took the book from my hand, threaded her way through the debris to an empty spot in the room and sat down to read.

I was a little disappointed that the celebration was so short-lived, but I went back to the magazines...and found a SECOND missing library book!

"Woo hoo!", I hollered.

The Uber-Princess didn't even look up. So I tossed the book in her direction, figuring she'd devour it next and with another joy-hop, went back to my cleaning.

The magazines have been recycled and the closet put back to rights again. The books will go back to the library (which had graciously overlooked their misplacement) this afternoon. All that's left of that fortuitous project is the question: just HOW did those books get into that pile anyway?).

"Bummer"

I still remember trying to help my Russian friend, Dmitry, understand the slang term "bummer". He spent a lot of time hanging around us Americans and I suspect part of it was to glean some American idioms from us. In Moscow the English that is taught is purely British (they live in "flats" and take the "lift" to get to them, among other things). At some point though, he'd heard someone use the word bummer, but didn't get it's meaning, so he pressed me.

I don't remember quite how I answered him then, but if he were here today I might answer something like this:

Bummer: getting a rejection letter from a magazine that you submitted to six months ago? No, that's good news. It means you mattered enough to get a response.

Bummer: losing your glasses/sunglasses (again!)? Sort of, but not so much so if your vision coverage allows for a new pair this year (phew!).

Bummer: forgetting to thaw the meatloaf for dinner and resorting to chicken patty sandwiches instead? Naw. The meatloaf can wait.

Being this guy today?



Now THAT'S a bummer!

A Little Mid-Week Fun

I've been having fun playing my husband's new PS2 game: Guitar Hero Rocks the 80's. And while I'm not a superstar yet, I've managed to move up from Easy to Medium in the last month. Beast Mom & the Battered Ham posted something that has me thinking I should start planning my career in a rock band. I've dreamed up a band name and a cover for our first album. What do you think?


(cover photo by Mônica Fadul)

Wanna try it for yourself? Here's how it works:
1. The first title on this page is the name of your band.
2. The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album. Click the "New Random Quotations" button for more.
3. The third picture on this page will be your album cover. You then take the photo and add your band name and the album title to it, then post your picture. Please don't forget to give credit.

Not What It Seems

I took the Uber-Princess out to play in our back yard the other day. We were out there a half hour or so. The snow was too fluffy to build a snowman or snow fort, but we did get some good angels. Since then the temperatures have dropped horribly. Our days have started off sub-zero and gotten barely warmer. But the sun has been shining, making it look deceptively beautiful out there.

A good metaphor that makes. We go around all the time in our culture looking happy, satisfied. The common question of "how are you doing" is really just a waste of breath most of the time. We all answer "fine" all the time. But truth is, nobody is fine all the time. We're just too hesitant to be vulnerable enough to say "not so good".

I find myself wishing I could do more for others, to help in a constructive way. But I'm not creative enough to be able to think of what would be good. I don't pick up on the subtle clues the way some people can (Llama Momma, I'm thinking of you here). And the whole facade of being fine doesn't help me. I like the times when people open up and share what's really going on. Then I feel like there is some way I can be there for them, whether it is by simply praying or by coming alongside them in their troubles and actively helping carry the burden by making a meal, taking a kid to play, picking up groceries.

But as unwillingly flawed human beings we're reluctant to let on how we really are. We're afraid the reaction will be like what mine is on those deceptively sunny days. I might open the door and step outside, but when I find how frigid it is, I quickly shut the door and stay inside. If that is our reaction when people open up - to quickly shut out their pain or trouble, then no wonder the sunny facade stays up. I just hope I don't react that way. And I hope to continue to learn how to encourage others to be real.

I'm not sure if I've made any real points here. Just pondering...musing if you will. I don't do that often enough these days and I apologize for the frequent lapse in posts. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Maybe your comments can help me crystalize my analogy a little better.

Books, Books, Books

Jenn with 2n's tagged me to do this meme and since I love books I'm happy to play along.

1. One book that changed your life.
The Bible. 'nuf said.

2. One book that you have read more than once.
Chronicles of Narnia-the whole series. As a family we've been through the series at least once (we pretty much read it continually, although not daily) and I read it several times as a kid.

3. One book you would want on a desert island.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling. I just finished book five and while it would be nice to have both books six and seven with me, I'll settle for just number seven. It would take a long while to read and I'm itching to know how it all ends.

4. Two books that made you laugh.
Operating Instructions by Anne Lamott
Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller

5. One book that made you cry.
The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. It is an excellent, excellent book. If you haven't read it - do!

6. One book you wish you'd written.
If You Give A Pig a Pancake by Laura Numeroff. Great concept that is well executed. Kids love to read it and parents too!

7. One book you wish had never been written.
The Road by Cormac McCarthy - it haunts me and plays on my apocolyptic fears. I've had nightmares off and on since I read it, most recently for the past two nights. It was an incredible book, so maybe it's not that I wish it had never been written, but that I had never read it.

8. Two books you are currently reading.
Pop!: Stand Out in Any Crowd by Sam Horn. Good for speakers, writers and marketing. Gives simple processes for coming up with clever titles.

The Suburban Christian by Albert Hsu. I've had this on my nightstand for a while and recently begun reading it in earnest. I'm particularly enjoying his references to local places because those are places local to me, I know these places. Which, if you've read his book, might be a bit ironic.

9. One book you've been meaning to read.
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

10. Five people that I tag (okay, I've only got four):
Wilyhacker
The Battered Ham
Llama Momma
Michelle Gregory

Humbling: When Your Ego Takes a Tumbling

"Oh, Lord, it's hard to be humble when you're perfect in every way". I used to sing that song at the top of my lungs as a child, a crooked lilt to the words. And I remember my parents laughing at me when I did. But truth is, I often lived my life as if I believed it.

Then yesterday I learned a lesson in humility, thankfully in the privacy of my own head. I'd been getting bummed about my abilities as a writer and a speaker. Reading through writer's group threads and blogs by professionals in the field of publishing and speaking, I'd come to the realization that I was one of those relative "newbies" that they were all describing. After all, I have only one book to my credit and a handful of magazine articles. Sure I've attended a half dozen writing conferences and I've been "writing" since I was six. But a "professional" writer that does not make. As much as I hope it might, it doesn't. I was reading these posts to learn more about the industry and what I learned most is that I have a lot to learn. It made me depressed.

But in the moments of quiet, before I went to sleep I began to contemplate reality: I really do have a lot to learn. I am a "newbie" in many senses. And that was humbling. Yet in the midst of that humbling, my depression disappeared. I was glad to know that I don't have it all together yet. It was good to realize how much I have to learn without making a fool of myself in the process. It was freeing to start my day today knowing that my efforts now will hopefully be outdone by what I do next year as I learn more.

Being at (or near) the bottom of the heap isn't a bad thing. It's just a starting point.

Proverbs 15:33 "The fear of the Lord teaches a man wisdom, and humility comes before honor."

Domestic Diva I am NOT

Yesterday things were humming along the Musing household. I'd been up early, had a quiet time, exercised and ran a several errands before picking Uber-Princess up from preschool. Ah yes, the items on my list were being checked off at a feverish pace and I was feelin' mighty good.

Then it came to my attention that the comforter in my guest room needed to be laundered. So I stripped it off and took it to my laundry room, smug as could be about this task that I'd soon be checking off my list as well. Loading the comforter into my Super Large Capacity washing machine, I found myself pushing and shoving at the piles of fluffiness. I'd always washed the queen-sized comforter off my own bed in the machine, but it hadn't ever been such a chore to get it in. Still, the lid closed and I went off to do the next chore on the list, making a mental note to check on the washing machine part-way through the load.

I forgot. Or nearly so. I jumped up during the spin cycle, wondering if the large load might throw it off kilter. And as I burst into the laundry room, a splash went up from the floor where two rivulets of water were streaming toward the wall. I stopped the machine and dashed to the basement. More water. Not lots mind you, but a puddle of some size.

And so commenced the mopping and drying. When I called my husband to check on the proper process for drying out a partially flooded laundry room I gave him the good news first: the floor had never been cleaner under the washing machine since we moved into our house. Thankfully the water was contained to a small area of the basement and things were dry relatively fast.

Well, the weather man called it pretty well yesterday morning: high potential for possible flooding. I just never considered it might occur inside!

Tuscany...someday

I've been searching the past few days for the "perfect" wall calendar. I actually know what the perfect one is and I've used it the past few years. It's the More Time Moms calendar. I love that it is really wide and has big squares with lots of lines for writing appointments. And it has stickers for things like doctor and dentists appointments and "mom's time". Best of all? It's got a pocket in the back for putting all those schedules and school calendars.

Now I saw my perfect calendar in the store before Christmas. But it was full price. I took the gamble and waited until New Year's. Bad move. They were all sold out. So I convinced myself that it was time to branch out and try a different calendar. There are tons of them out there and even a handful made just for "moms". Some of them have stickers. Some of them have pockets. A few even have lines. But none of them are as big or as nice as the More Time Mom's calendar. Unless it's the calendar that same company makes for teens which is identical except for the small pictures and sayings (and maybe the stickers). After taking home a different "mom" calendar and hating it I went back today to try for the teen calendar. It was sold out too.

I finally opted for a regular old wall calendar with photos of Tuscany. I made my own wall pocket to hang underneath. And I have a bunch of stickers still left that I can use. I'll just need to write smaller in the squares. So until the 2009 More Time Mom's calendar comes out in August (which I will get, full price), I'm going to dream of Tuscany. I've always wanted to go there and I'm sure gazing at beautiful landscapes every day will continue to inspire that dream. It won't guarantee a travel date written on any of those pages, but maybe someday...

In Which More Christmas Arrives, Belatedly

On the second evening after Christmas I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. Suddenly the thought occurred to me that I hadn't noticed a reaction from Timid Daughter to a certain gift I thought she'd particularly like. Then, being a mom of rather many thoughts, I promptly forgot that idea.

On the third day after Christmas I asked Musing Dad if he'd seen Timid Daughter playing with this particular toy. He had not. But he wondered if in fact, the toy still remained wrapped in the presents hiding spot. I gasped. Certainly it wasn't. It couldn't be. I went to the hiding spot. Deep in the bowels of the secret hiding place I found the toy, still wrapped.

How could this be? I'd done what I'd seen my mother-in-law do on several previous occasions, occasions where I had laughed at her forgetfulness. I'd forgotten a gift! And yet Timid Daughter hadn't noticed, had no reason at all to even consider it. She was content with what she'd received. Yet there was more...withheld. Oh how I berated myself for doing what I'd promised myself I'd never do. And yet there it was, a gift ungiven several days past the Date.

Musing Dad placed the gift prominently near the Christmas tree, in the midst of the detritus of Christmas Past. It wasn't long before Timid Daughter spied the bright wrapping and crept near to read the label.

"For me?" she asked.

I nodded, feeling ever more the rotten mom I suspected myself of being.

"Can I open it yet?" came the next request.

Yet? Yet!? Why would I ever make her wait a moment longer on a gift much delayed. Open child, open now! But we needed to await the presence of her siblings who rattled and clomped noisily in the room to see this oddity. A gift long after Christmas!

It was opened with glee and instigated a whole afternoon of new play. I only recovered from my mistake when I remembered the year that a whole pile of presents for my youngest brother were forgotten by an aunt for at least as long. And as that to me was comedy, I decided perhaps my own small mistake was not so much a tragedy. And perhaps I'm not so alone in neglecting to retrieve all the gifts hidden.

Editorial Note: on the eighth day after Christmas Timid Daughter came to me with a Christmas card she'd made and finally found. Touche, eh?