Seven Quick Takes: Christmas Movie edition

There are a lot of Christmas movies out there, and it seems like everyone has that one movie more than any other that makes it feel like Christmas to them.   Some people go for "A Miracle on 34th Street," some go for "A Christmas Story."  There's "Rudolph,"  "A Charlie Brown Christmas," "White Christmas," and "The Bishop's Wife" (Cary Grant/Loretta young version, thankyouverymuch).  

I like them all (well, most of them anyway), but my hands-down favorite is "It's A Wonderful Life."  I just have to see that movie one time during the holidays or I feel like something is missing from the festivities.

Here are seven reasons why I love it:

One:  Dad is the Man

I love the way fathers are portrayed in this movie;  they are upstanding citizens, valued for their wisdom, and looked to for answers.

When George realizes that Mr. Gower has accidentally poisoned the capsules marked for delivery, the first person he runs to is his father.  The sign in the pharmacy says it all:  "Ask Dad, He Knows"  (I really want to find one of those for Rob's office.)

Even as an adult, George seeks his father's counsel and respects him for his values and opinions.  After expressing all his hopes for the future to his father, and accepting his father's encouragement, he tells him, "Pop, you want a shock?  I think you're a great guy."

Two: The Mr. Gower Defense

I have a friend who often invokes what she calls "The Mr. Gower Defense."

Poor Mr. Gower was deep in grief over the sudden death of his son when he accidentally substituted poison for medicine intended for a house full of sick children.

George, after realizing the mistake and failing to get anyone to listen to him, refuses to deliver it. When he finds out, Mr. Gower strikes him in anger and sorrow, thinking George lazy, until he discovers his mistake.   He apologizes and embraces him while George cries, "I know you didn't mean it! You were upset is all!"

So my friend, whenever ill-treated for no reason, liberally applies "The Mr. Gower Defense."  Maybe that extra rude bank teller has just lost her husband or child.  Or maybe she really is just rude.  Either way, it can't hurt to respond with kindness.

Three:  "George Bailey, I'll love you til the day I die"

That's what young Mary Hatch whispered into George's deaf ear while he was serving her ice cream at the soda fountain, and she meant it.  She never let go of her love for him, never compromised, and she loved him through the worst night of his life.

It's easy to think that Clarence was the one who saved George from suicide on Christmas Eve, and in a big way he was, but it was Mary who really brought him back.  When George saw his life as if he'd never been born, he was certainly troubled, but the breaking point was when he saw life without Mary.  That's when he begged Clarence to take him back.  "I've got to get back to my wife!," he cries.

I know Jimmy Stewart has been in many great movies, but I'll never love a role of his more and it's because of one scene.  When he realizes everything has been made right with his past, George rushes home to find Mary.  After they reunite, and people start coming in with donations, Uncle Billy shouts, "It was all Mary, George!  Mary did it!  She told everyone you were in trouble and they came!"

George looks over at Mary with a look of such tenderness, gratitude, humility, and reverence, and I cry every time.

Four:  "This is what I wished for."

Mary whispers that to George on their wedding night as they embrace in their new home.  They only thing they have is each other, and it's enough.

I love the portrayal of the Bailey's marriage, especially the early years.  A lot of modern movies don't do justice to a marriage; most of the time people aren't even getting married, they are just "involved" on some level.   That's the easy way out.

Marriage takes guts, and the Bailey's have them.  As they are leaving for their wedding, there is a run on the bank and George has to stop and save the building and loan.  He and Mary use all the money they had planned for the honeymoon to keep the business open.

They start their lives in a house that is less water tight than the Titanic, with everything they have tied up in the building and loan, a business that George never wanted to run and that often depresses him.

While their friends and family leave Bedford Falls for brilliant careers and fascinating lives, George and Mary make the choice to stay in town and build a life little by little.

They had nothing but each other when they started, but they stuck it out because that's what you do when you commit yourself to someone.  You don't cut and run when the going gets tough.

Five: "You call this a happy family?  Why did we have to have all these kids?"

This is the flip side of a real marriage.  After Uncle Billy loses the money he was supposed to deposit, George comes home depressed and hopeless.

Of course, he is greeted by the normal chaos of a house full of children on Christmas Eve.  Zuzu is sick, Janie keeps playing the same song on the piano, Pete wants to know how to spell "frankincense," pieces of the house are breaking off in his hand, and just like life, all of this happens before he is inside the house for ten minutes.

He's out of control, he knows it, and he's sorry for it, but he still hurts those closest to him.  In a real family, it happens every day.


Six:  You can't always get what you want.

If there was ever a guy who didn't get what he wanted, but got exactly what he needed, then it's George Bailey.

George had always planned to "shake the dust of this crummy little town" off his feet, and travel the world.  He wanted to see places and build things and make a lot of money.

Of course, he went on to do precisely none of that.  He stayed in Bedford Falls to earn money for college, and then, after his father died, stayed to take the helm of the building and loan while he sent his brother to college instead.

At every turn, his desire to leave town is overruled by his responsibility to his family and his desire to help them.

But the best instance of the immovable object meeting the irresistible force is when George visits Mary and realizes he loves her.

"Now, you listen to me! I don't want any plastics, and I don't want any ground floors, and I don't want to get married - ever - to anyone! You understand that? I want to do what I want to do. And you're... and you're... oh, Mary . . . Mary . . ."

He may not want to stay, but he needs to.

Seven:  "Do small things with great love"

Mr. Potter, the resident grinch, accuses George of being a "chump" and a bad businessman, like his father before him.   From one point of view, Potter is correct.  There's not much to show for all of George's hard work.

Except the love and gratitude of everyone he had ever helped.  That's no small potatoes.

What George discovers is that what you put into other people - your love, your time, your compassion, -- is what will come back to you ten fold.  Even the smallest deed, done with love, will multiply.



It really is a wonderful life, my friends.  Merry Christmas.

Nom-nom-nom

I bet you'll never guess what I've got on the agenda for today.

I think four boxes of butter should hold me.  For now.

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence

I am sitting here in the stillness, the only one awake in a sleeping household, with the tree lights as my only illumination.

The only sounds are the whirring of the heater and the occasional white noise from the baby monitor.  I can hear Baby softly snoring in her bed, and I keep the monitor on even though she is still in our room and Rob is there.

I should go to bed, but this kind of quiet is so rare in my home that I feel like I need to savor it.  Even early mornings are not this quiet because someone is always fitful or stirring.   This is the kind of quiet I long for in the middle of my very loud days.

People keep asking me if I'm ready for Christmas.  I don't mind the question, but I don't really know how to answer.   If they are talking about the gifts and the cookies and the classroom parties and the pageants, then no, I am not ready.  I learned a long time ago that there is always something I want to do at Christmas that will have to go undone, and I am usually the only one who knows.

If they are talking about having my heart prepared, I'm not sure of that either.  I can't tell if I've made my heart as ready as possible for the birth of our Lord.  My guess is most likely not.  It's been my experience that as soon as I start thinking I've got the hang of something, the farther I am from it.

This week has NO MERCY written all over the calendar.  I will be running and running from the time I get up until the time I collapse into bed each night.  I have two different calendars going because I can't fit everything on one.   Despite all my attempts to keep things simple, I know it will be a marathon run at a sprinter's pace.

That is why I am sitting here tonight thinking of the lyrics of one of my favorite hymns:

Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded,
For with blessing in His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.

King of kings, yet born of Mary,
As of old on earth He stood,
Lord of lords, in human vesture,
In the body and the blood;
He will give to all the faithful
His own self for heavenly food.

Rank on rank the host of heaven
Spreads its vanguard on the way,
As the Light of light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.

At His feet the six wingèd seraph,
Cherubim with sleepless eye,
Veil their faces to the presence,
As with ceaseless voice they cry:
Alleluia, Alleluia
Alleluia, Lord Most High!

My favorite verses are 3 and 4.  I can only imagine the hosts of heaven spread as a vanguard for Christ, with even the angels shielding their faces from the presence of the Lord.  It makes me want to keep absolutely still.

But now it's very late, and I have to turn myself over to the stillness of sleep.  I'm sure I will be scarce around here this week.  I have to find the time to be still even while I'm not.

I'm Not Dead Yet!

I must apologize to you, my friends, for making the last post sound like I am barely clinging to this mortal coil.  I got a few emails asking if I was all right and what in the world was wrong with me?!

My own mother even called to ask, and I talk to her nearly every day.  She thought maybe I was suffering with some kind of illness that I had decided not to disclose.

I'm okay -- I really am.  I am just . . . tired.  And I feel too old for my actual age.  Does that make any sense?

It's like that scene from Monty Python, where they say "You! Old woman!"  And the actor replies, "I'm only 37!"

Exactly.  I'm only 35, but sometimes I feel like an old woman.  Much older than I should be feeling, anyway.

(And if you are unfamiliar with Monty Python, I'm sorry but I don't have a better analogy.  Get thee some Python.)

I have yet to make it into my doctor for a checkup and blood work (not stalling, she was out of the country), but I strongly suspect a thyroid problem.  I know Rob hates when I consult Dr. Google,  but that was actually my last resort.  I have also been reading some very interesting books, written by real doctors, about thyroid disease.

I don't know if I have true, permanent hypothyroidism, or if I am more in a state of "thyroid fatigue", but either way it's doing a number on me and I need to address it.

In reading about thyroid irregularities, I came across those risk factor/symptom checklists, and although I knew about my family history of hypothyroidism, I was still surprised to see how many I was checking off on each list.

My energy levels are through the floor, and even though I have six children, none of them are routinely waking during the night anymore (thank you, Baby!).  There is no reason for me to feel like, at any point during the day, I could just lie down and sleep for about three hours.  I feel that way more times than not.

My hair has stopped growing, which is more upsetting to me than I thought it would be.  I've always had a lot of hair.  So much hair, in fact, that I've never been one to worry about it.  But now that it's not coming back in, I'm sad about it.  Does that make me vain?  Most likely.

I cannot lose weight, despite all my best efforts.  And I am not fudging about the best efforts.  I have been exercising more than I've ever exercised in my life -- every single day, in fact.  So much so that a 2.5-3 mile jog on the treadmill at 5 miles an hour and a steady 3% incline is a lighter workout for me.  That might not sound like a big deal to a real runner, but for my body that is really something.

I've also tracked all my calories, which has always worked in getting rid of the weight in the past, but not this time.  I haven't lost a pound in four months and I feel like I'm killing myself.

And if anyone out there ever asks me what NFP is good for, besides being able to be at ease with my conscience, I can tell them that all the effort has been worth it just for the past few months of information that I've learned from my own body.

Maybe this is oversharing, and you are welcome to stop reading now, but that temperature reading and ovulation tracking has saved me so much trouble and guess work.

One of the symptoms that can be indicative of thyroid dysfunction is very low body temperature.  I can go into my doctor with the information that my basal body temperature is abnormally low.  I'm talking practically reptilian.   My temps are usually right around 97 degrees, and they have been lower.

My metabolism isn't just sluggish, it is at an absolute standstill.  I am fighting against my body.

I can also tell her that I have stopped ovulating, which after two babies back to back might seem like a nice little break, but it's not normal.  It tells me that my hormones are really out of whack.

Now what to do?  Well, blood work and a physical now that my doctor is back.  But even if all my levels come back in the normal range, I still know how I feel and what's going on in my body and it's not good.

So what else?  That's where all the changes come in.  

I honestly feel like the last two babies threw my system into a tailspin.  I'm not grousing, and I'd do it all again for those little girls, but being pregnant for 18 out of the last 22 months has done a number on me. I am not bouncing back this time like I have after the other children, and my body is telling me so.

I have started working with a nutritionist to help me create a diet that will be thyroid supportive.  There are certain foods out there that will help to repair your thyroid -- or at least alleviate some symptoms.  I didn't know enough to create the diet on my own, so I found someone who does.

She is a really great woman, and she has designed a lovely meal plan for me.  She is supportive and helpful without being overbearing, and I am learning so much about how absolutely mistaken I've been about what my body needs right now.

I'm not going to lie -- it's not easy.  I'm not living on twigs and grass and honey, but neither am I having the afternoon cup of coffee and cookie in which I used to indulge.  And I am about ready to slap my granny for a piece of chocolate cake.

(Not really, I love my granny.  But I have felt close to inflicting bodily injury a couple times this week.)

I've only been doing this for a week, and I'm still sorting out a lot of these changes -- especially my extreme emotional attachment to my particular comfort foods.   I've been berating myself for so long for not having enough self control or will power, and at the same time I've been denying myself so many good things.

So there you have it; the answer to the big mystery!  I told you it wasn't really that bad.

Do you even want to hear updates on my progress?  It might make me more accountable, but it may also bore you to tears.  It's a toss up, so I guess I'll just see how I feel about it as I move forward.

Changes

So many things are changing around here, that I thought I'd just go whole hog and change my template.

 I feel like I've changed this template more in the past few months than I have over the life of this blog.  I just wanted something a little less autumnal, and I thought the cranberry color was pretty. A little Christmas-y.

What else is changing, you ask?  Sigh.  Too much to go into for a Sunday night, and besides, we all know how well I do with change.

Never fear, it's not all bad.  In fact, I wouldn't even say that any of it is really bad at all.  More like growing pains. Necessary but uncomfortable.

A lot of it has to do with my health, and some very necessary changes I need to make in my life.  I promise to write more about it when I have the chance to let the changes sink in a little.

But to focus on some of the more fun changes:  I am typing this on our brand new iMac and it is fabulous.  Beyond fabulous -- I feel like we've gone from the dark ages and stepped straight into the brightness of midday.

I can't say we didn't get our money's worth out of our old computer since it was nine years old.  Nine! Its age impressed the heck out of the tech geeks (said with big geek love!) at the Apple store.  They couldn't believe it lasted that long.

We knew the end was coming, but when the kids were unable to use the computer for their homework assignments, we knew it was upon us.  We tried limping along, but in the end we couldn't do it any longer.

We had been saving up the money, so we took a deep breath and took the plunge.  I don't know about anyone else, but it still makes me wince when I see a big chunk of money going out, even if I know it's been specifically budgeted for use.

The kids have pretty much figured the whole thing out already, and I am enjoying even the simplest features.  This is the first time I've seen my whole blog on a screen in three years.  That's a nice change.

Sometimes it's the little things, right?

Happy Gaudete Sunday, friends.

7 Quick Takes: Checking it Twice Edition

The lists are piling up thick around here.  Okay, maybe not exactly piling up since I have them all categorized on the iPad, but there are still multiple lists going.  Baking, shopping, things the children would like (bow and arrows, anyone?), they just keep scrolling through my head.

Then Rob asked me what I would like for Christmas and I have no idea.  All year long I see little things that I could put to good use in my daily life and I think, "That's a great idea for a Christmas gift.  If someone asks me what I need, I'm going to tell them this is it!"   And then I promptly forget.  Until December 26th. I am so annoying.

On the other hand, I've seen enough commercials to know what I would not like this Christmas, and what I will not be buying anyone else:


One:  Pajama Jeans

Have you seen these?  They are supposed to be as comfortable as sweats so that you can go from lying in bed to a swinging party without having to change your pants.

First of all, if I am going to a swinging party, then I AM CHANGING MY PANTS.  I go to maybe two parties a year that are not held at a bounce house or Chuck E. Cheese, I think I can handle popping up off my duff and putting on something nicer than what amounts to elasticized jeans-looking stretch pants.   Maybe these are great for that gal who has a packed social calendar, or at least a very spontaneous one.  I have neither.

Besides, I need my jeans to be constructed out of the highest quality denim, preferably with some kind of girdle sewn into them.  I have too much to be held in to risk it on Pajama Jeans.

Two: Dreadlocks Santa Hat

Why?  I'm sure that Santa comes to the islands, just like he does the rest of the world, but I highly doubt he dons this cap.  

You know this was only invented to part college guys from their pizza and beer money.


Three:  The BangO

No. Nonononononono. 

I have six children who are all pathologically attracted to scissors (well, I'm not sure about Baby yet, but I'm playing the percentages).  And when they get those scissors, there isn't enough paper in the world to satisfy them.  Nope, they need curtains and bedspreads and Barbies and hair.  Especially the hair.

If this ever fell into the wrong hands, of which there are SIX PAIRS here, the results would be unimaginable.  Actually, I can imagine it, so no.  Nonono.


Four:  The RoboStir

Theoretically, I should be able to put this to good use.  If there is anyone out there who has burned something in a sauce pan because she was distracted by mayhem, then that girl is moi.  You would think that a device I could clip onto my pot to stir and stir the soup while I deal with whatever Lord of the Flies situation is going down would be a genius move.

But I can see it all going awry.  The RoboStir won't stop stirring, or it shorts out and splatters soup all over the kitchen.  Burned soup in a pan is easier to clean up than perfectly fine soup sprayed all over the back splash and the wall.


Five:  Sauna Pants

This is the gift you get someone who doesn't want to reproduce. I am all about melting fat away, but I'm not real keen on that much heat being supplied to the general baby making area.


Call me crazy, but I just don't think it's a wise idea to wear pants that you need to plug in.   


Six:  The As Seen On TV Hat

This just looks ridiculous.  How are you supposed see where you are going when you are essentially wearing a View-Master stuck to your face?   Pretty soon, we won't even need this because we'll have movies played directly on our retinas thanks to the computer chips we have embedded in our skulls. 



Seven:  Forever Lazy



These might be a sign of the apocalypse.  At least a cultural one.

They are basically footless footie pajamas for adults. That are meant to be worn outside your home.  You know, to tailgates and such.  And here I thought the pajama jeans were too casual.  Why not just put on a prison jumpsuit?  It's the same design, just fewer color choices.

Look, there's a drawstring hoodie! And you can keep your hands a feet free!  You know what else keeps your hands and feet free?  Shirts and pants.  

But the "zippered hatches in front and back for great escapes when duty calls"?   Eww. 

I am no fashion icon, but I for darn sure know that this can't look good on anyone.



Have a great weekend, my friends.  And if you feel the need to be forever lazy, at least wear something that you can pull up and down in the bathroom. 

{pretty, happy, funny, real}: a character study

I've always felt uncomfortable with the question, "But is she (or he) a good baby?" when people were cooing over whatever little nugget I happened to be toting on my hip.  I don't subscribe to the good baby/bad baby school of classification. 

Are some babies easier to manage and less fussy than others?  Oh yes, and I've had a few of those.  But I don't think that's because they are good or bad.  They are just babies, and some of my fussiest babies have grown into totally happy, easy going kids.  

All that being said, Baby is a decidedly happy baby.  She is just a little lump of wiggly loveliness, who is easy to please and pleased to be surrounded by her nutty siblings.  She wakes up cooing and smiling, she babbles in her sleep, and she lights up the room.  She is like a powerful little people magnet; her brothers and sisters can't stay away from her.

Yesterday, as she jumped around in her exersaucer, I sat and snapped frame after frame of her delicious little face.  She was pretty, happy, funny, and real all over.

This is the face she makes when she wonders what the heck I am doing.  She makes this face a lot.

Baby likes to pull her bibs off and then stuff them back into her mouth to chew on them.  Makes her gums feel better, but it doesn't do much to protect her shirts.

This is what Baby looks like when the kids are running around like crazy.  You can practically hear her thinking, "What is wrong with these guys?!"

She is not very mischievous (yet!) but she can sure look it sometimes.

This is how she spends 90% of her time.  This gummy smile could power a small city.

I think this is my favorite face of all.  So sweet and serene.






Santa's Got Her Covered. So Does St. Nickel.

Quick, if you are reading this before your children awake on December 6th and you have forgotten to put out the shoes for St. Nicholas' Day, then you still have time. 

If you have children like mine, however, then there have been several different right shoes lined up near or in front of the front door for the better part of a day.  I don't know why they pick the right shoe, and I don't know why they line them up right in front of the door.  If they are thinking St. Nick is coming in that door, why are they setting up the shoes like a booby trap for him?

I don't question their methods.  It leads to my madness.

Baby has no shoes to put out, although Sally offered to put out an extra one of hers, but even without a shoe, she'll be getting a canister of rice cereal from St. Nicholas.  It's the best thing his helper could come up with during a late night run to the grocery store.

Besides, all she really wanted for Christmas was her two front teeth, as evidenced by her ferocious teething and drooling.  And although it is very hard to tell in the picture, if you look very closely and squint and use your imagination, you can see the glimmer of the razor sharp baby teeth that broke through this weekend.

No one better even hint that Santa doesn't deliver, because he so does. As well as St. Nick, St. Nicholas, and St. Nickel (?!?). All of which Sally has called him in this evening. She says St. Nickel is her own nickname for him.

Apparently, they are tight, which is why she put a boot put tonight instead of just a shoe.  She sure has friends in high places, that Sally-girl. 

{pretty, happy, funny, real}: riding the rails edition

 We had such a fun time on our Thanksgiving weekend train ride.  It was one of those rare times when a small amount of spontaneity, judiciously applied, worked out for us.

Of course, when I put it like that it doesn't sound very spontaneous at all.  But if you've ever tried your hand at mobilizing a herd of children, then you know what I mean.

{pretty, real}

My bookend girls.  When people ask me the fabled large family question - "but how do you DO it?!" -
I tell them my secret.  Ready?  They are not all six months old.  A set of teenage (or nearly teenage) hands can really come in handy.  And they can do so much more than what is generally expected of them in today's world.

{real, funny}

The swaying of the train car hypnotized Baby.  "You are getting veeerrry sleeeepy . . ."

{happy}

What we didn't realize, until just before we boarded, was that this was the Santa Train!  Bun was pretty excited when Santa came into our car.

Fiver looking pretty hypnotized as well.

{pretty, happy}

Sally was a little nervous as the train started, but she perked up when the candy canes came out.

{real}

This is how you know Mopsy is missing nap time:  her favorite fingers go in her mouth and she starts twirling her hair.

{pretty, real}

Sometimes I can't believe how grown Francie looks.  When I see a snapshot like this, or when I look over my shoulder in the kitchen and realize I am looking at her face at eye level, not down near the floor, it practically slaps me in the face.  When did my baby reach 5'3" and start wearing shoes one size smaller than mine?

Now head over  to LMLD and join in the {p,h,f,r} fun!

Thanksgiving Blitz

The kids still had a vacation day yesterday (thank you, opening day of deer season in Pennsylvania!), but they are back to school today and I feel like this busy weekend is finally winding down.  Mama is beat, my friends, but in a very happy way.

Now that I think about it, I've been going full steam since last Monday so I guess it's a stretch to call it a  busy "weekend".  I think "busy week" is a more apt description.

Last Tuesday we hosted a good friend and her daughter for dinner.  Normally I would not be jazzed about having dinner guests during Thanksgiving week, but these are the kind of friends for whom you make an exception.  They live on the west coast, so their visits are infrequent.  Plus, this is the awesome woman who delivered Fiver, so there's that!

Tuesday was a busy day, because poor Sally threw up on her teacher's shoes (poor teacher!), and was sent home from school. She was very disappointed to miss the mini-Thanksgiving feast in her class (she was to play the part of Pilgrim girl), and I was very disappointed that her illness derailed a chance to meet up with Colleen of Martin Family Moments fame.

It would have been the first time I've ever met anyone I know solely through blogging, and we had hoped to meet up on Wednesday morning as they passed through our area on their travels. Alas, it was not to be. I would have been ejected from the Mommy Club if I had knowingly exposed five children to a stomach virus. Especially when they would be in the car and far from home.

Happily for everyone concerned, Sally recovered after about 12 hours. She recovered so well that she asked me for spaghetti and meatballs on Wednesday morning. Uh, that's a negative, good buddy.

Next time, Colleen, next time we'll do it!

Thursday was the big dinner here at the HomeFront Corp. We had our usual gang, as well as my parents, my brother and sister-in-law, and my other brother and sister. We've been doing this since we moved to this house, so my Thanksgiving prep has become a routine. I know what I'm going to do and when I need to do it, so I usually feel pretty relaxed about it all.

Rob had the day after Thanksgiving free this year, and I wanted to do something fun with the kids. We don't do spontaneity well with the children being the ages they are, but I really felt like we should take advantage of what turned out to be a beautiful weekend of unseasonable temperatures.

We decided on a train ride in the town of Jim Thorpe, PA. Jim Thorpe is very close to us, and it's so beautiful and quaint that it's called "The Switzerland of America."  Apparently due to the cute shops, homes, and gardens tucked into the mountains, and not because of its neutrality.  (I live in PA, and I know that us natives are rarely neutral about anything.)

It's one of those towns that I'd really love to just walk all around and explore. Except then I realize that all my children would also be walking around and exploring. Mostly with their hands and mouths, which is universally frowned upon by mothers and shopkeepers alike.

So exploring Jim Thorpe has gone on the extensive list of "Stuff that Aimee and Rob Must See Without Small Children In Tow." This list is primarily composed of movies, restaurants, and stores, but sometimes whole towns like Jim Thorpe make it on there.

In case you are wondering, Jim Thorpe, the town, is named after Jim Thorpe, the man. He was the consummate athlete, playing football, baseball, and basketball professionally, and he was also a decorated Olympian. The town used to be called by the Native American name of Mauch Chunk (pronounced "Maw Chunk"), but there's a whole story about how it became Jim Thorpe.  You should read up on it -- it's both depressing and inspiring.

Anyway . . . the train ride was fantastic.  We took the Lehigh Gorge Scenic Railway along the river and through the mountains, at one point crossing over the river on a very high and very narrow trestle.  It was so narrow that you couldn't see the supports from the train windows.  It made it seem like we were flying over the river.  So cool and terrifying at the same time.

We also found out that the weekend after Thanksgiving was the beginning of the Santa Train, where they pipe Christmas carols through the cars and Santa comes to visit each one.  We've been on Santa train rides in different towns, but this one was the best so far.  It was close to our home, it was low key and less expensive, and it was the perfect length of time for a ride.

But what really pleased me was that Santa said "Merry Christmas," and the carols really were carols -- everything my kids would normally hear in church.  And altough there were some signs around town saying the generic "Happy Holidays," there were just as many saying "Merry Christmas."    Good job, Jim Thorpe, PA, the Switzerland of America.

On Saturday, the kids' school held a movie night fundraiser where parents could drop off their children at the gym for a movie and then have two hours to themselves.  Since we are not at a point in our lives where we can take advantage of that anyway, I volunteered Rob to be a chaperone.  He was full of love for me on Saturday night, I tell you, but he did his duty cheerfully.

Sunday was new translation day, and we were ready.  We are so blessed to belong to a parish that took its responsibility of educating the flock very seriously.  We have been preparing for several months, and all of our homilies for the past six weeks have been about the history of the mass and how the new translation is better all around.  We've practiced the new music settings, and the kids have been doing the same at their weekly school masses.

And right out of the gate, I flubbed it by saying "and also with you."  Gah.  That's what happens when your attention is diverted by your 3 year old loose cannon who is trying to make a break for it.   And as I was saying the wrong response, I caught myself and tried to replace the words with the new ones, but it just came out sounding all garbled.

Luckily, I had Fiver right in my ear whispering, "Mom.  You said it wrong.  You messed it up.  You should have said 'and with your spirit' but you didn't."   Yes, thank you, dear.  Messed up.  Got it.

Once I got past that, I did pretty well, and I love the new translation overall, especially the creed.  So good.

After mass, I applied for a personal loan and took the four older kids to see "The Muppets", while Rob stayed home with the sleeping babies.  Now it was my turn to chaperone, although at least I had popcorn and candy to get me through.  Plus, the movie was cute and the kids enjoyed themselves.  We rarely get to the theater, so it's still a treat for all of us when we do go.

Which brings us back to the week at hand.  This post has become so long and boring that I hesitate to even publish it, but I've come too far to turn back now.  Also, the spell check is not working, so I cannot even begin to imagine what kinds of errors I've made, but it's too long for me to go back and proofread carefully before the kids get off the bus. 

Aren't you so glad that my stick-to-it attitude has saddled you with this kind of mediocrity on Tuesday afternoon?  Maybe I'll get it together someday . . .

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'd love to be able to post a picture of my table, set well ahead of the big meal with pretty plates and sparkling glassware, but that's not how it happens here.

Even though it's a feast day, I still have lots of little bodies who want to eat their regular meals. At the table on their regular old plastic dishes, no less. And as much as I want to just throw them some crackers until dinner and call it good, the reality is that I'll find myself making ham sandwiches at noon, just like every other day.

Instead of a pretty table, I'm posting a picture of how it really goes down in this house and I'm coming clean about the half eaten apple crisp sitting on my stove. Rob and I cannot help ourselves - we are powerless when it comes to crisp. Happily, I made two so I could live up to the family motto of "go big or go home."

I pray that your tables are just as full as ours and that they are surrounded by the smiling faces of the people you love. Happy Thanksgiving from the whole HomeFront gang!

Motorin'



Hey, how you doin'? It's me, Baby. 



Me? Oh, I'm doin' fine.  Thanks for asking.

In fact, I have this new thing I've been workin' on.  I pull it out whenever I feel like the old lady needs a little awesomeness in her day.  I'm pure awesomeness, so I've got that going for me already.

Wait, I forgot what to do now.

Oh, yeah.  Pull up on my hands and knees and rock back and forth.  Told you, pure awesomeness.

She Bounced Back

For two weekends in a row, Francie has spelled her way to first place. First for the district spelling bee, and then for the whole diocesan spelling bee.

But what made us most proud was that she walked over and shook the hand of her final competitor at the end of each bee (with no prompting from us).

She's growing up, and there may be hope for gym class after all.

Life's Lessons

Francie has an amazing brain. I don't write that to brag because we never take it for granted. It's completely a gift and we usually just stand back and watch her go. She is a very self motivated student and she truly enjoys academic pursuits.

But with that great brain comes a price. She is a perfectionist in the extreme and that can be a hard way to live.   If something does not come easily to her she would rather abandon it than put more effort into it.  She has a hard time accepting that even if she is not accomplished at something, it doesn't mean she should quit.  The work she puts in is the important part.  

When she came through the door yesterday and burst into tears over her report card I was surprised to say the least. I never even think about Francie's report card; I just read it over, congratulate her and sign it.

Since I have seen and signed every test she's taken this year, I just could not imagine what could be serious enough to cry over. After she calmed down enough to tell me, this is what came out:

She had set herself the goal of Principal's Honors for the quarter, and she didn't make it. Because of a grade of "satisfactory" in gym class. Well, you would have thought that someone took a big red marker and wrote FAIL on the front.

The whole story is that to attain Principal's Honors a student must get a 97 average or higher with a grade of "good" in all minor subjects, with gym being one of those minor subjects. If you fail to meet those criteria, well, you can try again next quarter. You don't get busted down to First or Second Honors. It's all or nothing. Just like Francie.

Watching her cry, my first reaction was to try to make it better for her.  Should we talk to the teacher and try to get the grade changed?  I know plenty of people who would do that.

As I thought more about it over the course of the afternoon, I realized I was of two minds about the report card.

Half of my brain was saying, "Really? A satisfactory in gym is enough to negate an entire report card? Huh. That seems kind of cruddy to miss her goal for what amounts to a subjective assessment of her physical fitness skills. She got a satisfactory, which means she is average in gym. She did not get a "needs improvement" or "unsatisfactory,"  but it still kept her from earning any kind of honors."

Then the other half of my brain responded with, "Well, maybe this is a good time for Francie to learn this lesson.  Whether or not we agree with the criteria for honors is not the issue.  The issue is that she needs to put forth her best effort in all things.  The smartest brain can be wasted by a poor attitude and an unwillingness to make the effort.  Even though she felt like she was doing the best she could, her teacher thought not.  There will be times in her adult life where she will not meet the expectations of her superiors, and she needs to learn how to handle a setback like this.  I'd rather have her learn it now, in a place where people love and support her, than out in the world."

 In the end, Rob did end up writing a note to the principal, whom we respect very much and who has always been very supportive of our children.   He did not ask for the grade to be changed, but I felt like he was able to articulate our conflicted feelings.  He let her know that we expected Francie to be responsible for her own attitude and work ethic, and that we had advised Francie to seek out her gym teacher and ask him how to improve her grade.

As for Francie, she had a good cry and got it out of her system.  She decided to adjust her outlook and she got some good feedback from her gym teacher after class.  She got busy setting herself some new goals.

But I will admit that this one was tough for me.  I could taste the disappointment almost as bitterly as Francie.  I know how hard she works, and it was so difficult to just let her feel that and realize that what she says and does will eventually come home to roost.    

It was a tough lesson, but one worth learning.  Hopefully it sticks.

7 Quick Takes

Quick Takes, another easy back-to-blogging transition, courtesy of Conversion Diary.  Here we go! . . . .

One

Oh dear Lord my heart is broken and sick over what is going on, and what has gone on unchecked, at Penn State.   I am not even going to link to any news stories because if you haven't heard about it yet, then you are probably not anywhere near a computer, television, newspaper, magazine or another human being.  

See, we are big Penn State fans here.  I get it from my Dad, who listened to the games on an old gray radio while he worked out in the yard or the barn.  We grew up knowing what to say when someone yelled WE ARE! . . .   We cheered hard for the blue and white. 

And now my children are Penn State fans, and they cheer for the blue and the white, and when I say to Bun, WE ARE!, he yells back PENN STATE! 

So hearing all of the news coming out of State College is like hearing about a death.  And from all the reports, there certainly have been deaths in the murdered innocence and trust of children.  The abuse allegations are horrific.

What has been beyond disappointing is the response of the adults in the situation.  It is sickening to think that a person could walk in on the rape of a child and still wonder about what course of action to take.  Are we dead inside?  The course of action is to do whatever it takes to stop it!  If that means standing there and calling 911?  If that means confronting the abuse in the moment, even if it means a physical altercation to stop it?   If that means not only reporting it up the chain, but also notifying police and weathering the repercussions?  Then DO THAT.  ALL OF THAT.

I know that I don't know all the details, but it certainly seems that, in addition to the evil perpetrated by the actual abuser, some good people made some very wrong decisions.  It is a betrayal of the worst kind.

So, will I still let my kids root for Penn State and wear their Penn State shirts?  Yes, I will.  Because I am proud of the students who are organizing vigils and a "blue-out" for the victims at Saturday's game.  Because the majority of students, alumni, fans, and supporters are sickened and outraged.  And because when my kids say WE ARE . . . PENN STATE, I want it to be true.  I want to believe in the good people there.  People of character who will do the right thing. 
And if they are in short supply, then I guess I just have to make some more.


Two

Sally is really enjoying kindergarten, but having not gone to preschool she has been relatively sheltered from the meanness of other kids.  Of course she has tussled with her siblings, but it's different with them.  Mostly because, underneath it all, her siblings love her and get her.  It's strange to contemplate a peer being mean to you just because.

She got a crash course this week when one of her table mates, after hearing her express pride about coming in second place in a game at gym, told her "well, you know that second place just means first loser." 

Nice.

Unfortunately, it backfired for the kid because Sally was still pleased with her effort and said, "at least first loser is first!"

I pray every day that she keeps her sunny disposition.  It's her best feature and I think it will serve her well in life.


Three

Speaking of Sally, we are all so happy that she is only two doses away from being finished with her 84 dose course of antibiotics.  A month's supply almost done, whew!

I hadn't mentioned it on here, but she has been battling Lyme Disease.  She had had a fever a couple months back, but it only lasted a few days and we figured she picked up a virus somewhere.  She did have a rash, but it was not the typical bullseye at the site of the tick kind of rash.  It was all over her body, and then it disappeared as quickly as it came.

But about a month ago, she complained of some joint pain.  Then one morning she woke up and couldn't bend her legs.  It was scary because a healthy and active 5 year old usually does not have severe joint pain unless it's something serious.

Rob took her in for an x-ray, and he also told me he was getting a lab panel for Lyme Disease.  Even though the lab usually re-runs the test as a precaution, her titers were so high that they knew right away and started her on antibiotics.

Even though it was sad to watch her miss her beloved dance class and struggle with walking, I realize that the other diagnoses that would explain her joint pain, like cancer or juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, are worse.   She has responded very well to the medicine and she is back to normal range of motion.

Thank you, Lord, for modern medicine! 

Four 

The little kids and I are getting a huge kick out of the Motown station on the Pandora app for the iPad (I also have it on the iPod).   I grab Baby, and Bun and Mopsy and I dance all around the kitchen while I sing at the top of my lungs. 

First of all, the music is upbeat and highly danceable.  Also, the lyrics are not horrible or full of bad words like most pop music these days.   It just makes us happy.

And also?  When Bun hears Sam Cooke or Otis Redding, he says "Now this guy is GOOD!"  and I just die a little from the cuteness. 

Five

This is Bun's pick for song of the day:





Six

Thanksgiving is almost here!   We are big Thanksgiving fans around here and we always look forward to celebrating it. 

I am starting to plan out the menu, even though we usually eat the same thing every year, but I like to have my ducks in a row anyway.   My brother is cooking the turkey, which I am very happy about since that's always the part I like least about cooking the meal, but I'm happy to do the rest.

Plus, it's really the only time of year that I make apple pie, since I am a glutton who cannot handle being around pies with any regularity.  Mmmmm . . .  pie . . . . 

 
Seven

Happy Veterans Day to all the vets out there.  We love you  and thank you for your service!  Now go find some free food and celebrate!


Have a great weekend, my friends!

{pretty, happy, funny, real}

I've been away from it for so long that I think I've lost the hang of blogging.  I'll think of a million different things to write during the day, and by the time I'm ready to blog they have all left my head. 

Oh well, I think that's a little bit of an occupational hazard.  I can only keep a certain amount of information active in my brain at one time, and I think keeping the kids alive may trump blogging.  Just this once.

Or maybe blogging is like anything else in life in that it requires practice, practice, practice.  The less I write, the more I fall out of the habit of writing, and soon I'm not writing at all.

And that is why I am thankful for things like {pretty, happy, funny, real}.  It gives me a graceful re-entry to my blog!

Bun and Mopsy went as a matched set for Halloween.  Peter Pan and his little pixie friend Tinkerbell were the hit of the library's preschool story time.

{real}

It doesn't get much more real than a pre-Halloween snowfall that left thousands in our area without power.  I like the winter, but I like it even better when it starts after Thanksgiving.

{happy}

iLove!   
Actually, this baby is like a really fancy stop-gap measure until we can go whole hog into an iMac for the family. Since I only do goof-off computer stuff, like blogging and Facebook and email, I am setting up this iPad as a central command for myself.  The kids are totally jealous.

{funny}

Fiver was Super Mario for Halloween.  I find the mustache alone to be incredibly entertaining.

{funny}

I love Bun's face in this picture.  It's like he can see Capt. Hook off the starboard bow!

{pretty}

Cinderella Sally, just waiting on the Fairy Godmother.  Have pumpkin, will travel.

Limping Along

Our computer is dying a slow and annoying death.  It is very old . . . ancient even, when considered by technology's standards. 

Over the past few months, several key components have either not been working or working only in a limited capacity.  There are certain files I can't open, I have limited success with uploading pictures and video, and when added to a host of other little problems I end up with a big headache.

But now I think I've reached the last straw.  Now I can't comment on certain blogs.  And they are some of my favorite ones.  The horror! 

This is one situation where it can honestly be said, "it's not you, it's me!" and I'm still reading, even if I can't comment.  

We are looking at new computers, and hopefully I'll be able to start offering my two cents again soon.  (Is that a blessing or a curse?!)

Until then, here is a picture of Baby.  I feel almost as disgruntled as she does when I make her wear the mouse hat.

(Full disclosure:  Between the uploading and all the other issues, it took me 40 minutes to write this post.  Crazy.) 

The hat, Mom? Seriously?

Mommy's Done Gone Around the Bend

Yep, yep.  Still here.  Still busy.  Just like the rest of humanity.

I haven't been feeling the blog lately (no, really?!) but I just had to answer Colleen's call to come clean about the bad mommy moments we all have.  Except she calls them REAL mommy moments because she is nicer than me.

She was so sweet and earnest when she divulged her low points, but I found myself thinking, "Really?  That doesn't seem so bad to me.  Oh crap, I am truly awful."

Actually, I don't think I am truly awful, but I have had a summer full of REAL(ly bad) mom moments so maybe it's just a cumulative effect kind of thing I'm feeling.  Yeah, let's go with that explanation.  Definitely. 

I do think it's important to be honest, and that means sometimes going "warts and all" in public.  I know that there have been times when I have been just as inspired by a mom saying, "I am screwing this up royally!!" as a mom who has all her mojo working for her.  Because that is life with kids.  Sometimes you are on FIRE and sometimes you are just going down in flames.

And like Colleen says, if anything, this list might make you feel really good about yourself today!

ONE

Baby is a puker.  I am talking BIG TIME, people.  I change her clothes/my shirt/her sheets multiple times.  A DAY.   She has reflux and we haven't put her on any medicine because I just don't see the need for it.  She is so happy, not fussy at all, gaining weight like a prize fighter, and the reflux will disappear as she sits up more and starts solid food.

But still.  The spit up is apocalyptic and I am not kidding.  I don't even use burp cloths because they are too small.  I go straight for whole receiving blankets.  And to top it off, I'm convinced that she likes to save it up for public places for the highest ick factor.  

At the doctor's office while everyone is admiring her cute outfit?  Check.  In the grocery store checkout line where they had to get a mop? Check.  In my hair, down the back of my shirt and all over the pew at church?  Check, check, check.

You would think that since she's our sixth kid and we also experienced this with Fiver that I would roll with it?  Uh, no.  I find myself over-explaining on a daily basis.  "Oh it's reflux.  I'm so sorry! She has bad reflux.  REEE-FLUX!!!!"

Also?  After a particularly bad episode I have been known to look at my baby and say something along the lines of, "SERIOUSLY?!  You needed to do that on the THIRD shirt I've worn today?!  STOP PUKING!!"

Now if that is not a patented cure for reflux in infants, then I don't know what is.   

TWO

Along the same lines as the above, I have also been known to look at Baby and say, "What. Do. You. WANT?!"  when I can't figure out why she is crying.

Because I'm the adult in this situation.

What makes it even worse is that she probably spends about .002% of her day crying.  For real.  She's a dream.

THREE

While I'm on the treadmill, I pray along with the rosary and divine mercy chaplet on my iPod.   Patterning myself after the best mother ever, right?  So good, right?!

Um, not so much, thanks to lapses in patience and maturity like this: 

"I. Am. PRAY-ing.  the.  RO-SA-RY here!!!!  STOP ARGUING!!!  If I have to stop praying and get off this treadmill there is going to be crying all over this place!!!!"

So SUPER holy.


FOUR

Last week, a small child of mine did not make it to the toilet in time.   While said child was contrite, I was irritable and annoyed at the mess since he had fooled around until it was too late, even after repeated reminders to use the bathroom.

He was very upset about his wet pants, which I knew would be enough to curb him from doing this in the future, but I still could not stop my tongue from berating him.  "I TOLD you this would happen!  When mommy says use the bathroom, then USE THE BATHROOM.  Don't wait.  Now there's a big mess."

That's what my mom calls verbal diarrhea.  Not pretty, but accurate.

FIVE

When Bun asked me to open the big storage container of trains in the playroom, I told him to pick something else to play with because I didn't feel like walking down a flight of steps.  

I've also put him off about going outside because I didn't feel like getting Mopsy and Baby all ready to go out.


SIX

Let me just say that I love Baby like crazy.  She is the sweetest little lump of babyhood ever and I wouldn't trade her for anything.

In the interest of being honest, though. . . . sometimes my OCD side still gets a little itchy that she broke the Girl-Boy  pattern we had going.

Ridiculousness, but there it is.

SEVEN

I may or may not have said these things last week:

"Okay, bye-bye and have a good day. Wait.  Are you SURE that's how you want your hair to look today?  Totally sure?"

"I quit. I don't get paid enough for this s--t"  (although in my defense I did NOT say this when any children were present.)

"I don't care if your teacher did ask you to take the cactus home, I do not want to be responsible for one more thing around here."

"No, I don't want you guys to drag out any games right now.  Fun is too messy." 



So there you go.  Some real mom moments. 

Admit it. You feel better now, don't you?  Because at least you don't have to live in a house where fun is too messy.

Care to unburden yourself of any less than stellar moments around your place?  Or, conversely, care to inspire me with what's going fabulously well in your home?  Spill it.