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The six of us went to bed last night with similar and yet different hopes.  The children hoped for the promised snow, a world of white peering in at them at daybreak.  (And yes they did get up at daybreak just to make sure the longed for snow wouldn’t get lonely).  I crossed my fingers for snow, but with conditions. Yes to snow if it was thick, icy, and early enough in the morning to cancel Mr. Darcy’s day at work. No to snow if it meant piles of wet clothes, the roads clear enough to traverse, and the expectation that I would actually go out into the cold.  That’s Mr Darcy’s job, it’s my responsibility to take pictures from the doorway (or hand the camera to the husband) and make hot chocolate.

The early risers found a very non-ivory landscape when they awoke and they wore the snow’s betrayal like capes across their shoulders.  As Mr. Darcy left for work, I cut my losses since the snow was obviously not going to adhere to my conditions.

And then the snow slowly, steadily arrived like a late guest to a birthday party.

The kids greeted the tardy arrival with forgiveness and little minds made big plans.

And it rained down miniature marshmallows and the world turned white and the kids entered the enchanted land for a little while.

Mama look, my first snowball!

My first snow angel, Mama!

And the wet clothes piled up and the hot chocolate got made.

Cheesy toast just like my mom used to make

And after I got past the cold, I found  myself admiring:

the layers of color against a fresh backdrop

the transformation of simple things we see every day

the joy the kids found in the very moderate amount of snow that visited them, even their mini-snowman satisfied their dreams from the night before

Not the snow day I had planned, but magical in it’s own way for a short period of time.

“Every step in the dark turns out, in the end, to have been on course after all.”

John Tarrant

These are the words I first read as I started into one of my Christmas presents, The Gift of An Ordinary Day by Katrina Kenison.

I am in limbo, or atleast it feels like it as the last push and glitter of the holidays is swept aside and what we call this new year is shoving in, whether it’s invited or not.   I’d like put on hold this new beginning until-until the air warms up and the sun brings the evenings back again, until I have a clear inspiration and vision for the second half of our school year, until I’ve had several days to lay under the covers blissfully lost in a book, until I’ve figured out how to savor and be productive at the same time.

I’m in the middle.  Last year we had a really great beginning, Baby Sparkles.  We also had a loss that I’m still losing every day of every week, my beautiful Granny left us this last year.  We kissed goodbye the first half of Mookie’s life with us at home.  I can click through pictures of Drummer boy over the past year and see his round baby cheeks disappearing a little more in each frame. Jellybean pounced on her fear and said hello to confidence. In the big picture, there are only a handful of really great beginnings and endings and the rest is the in between.

I’m trying to figure out how to jump start my middle.

Until then, I’m making brownies and hoping for a snow day, party pants included.

We were waiting for our world to change forever.

A year later, she’s here, bringing us abundant life every day.

We’ve been living day to day, too busy, the chores piling high, and other things, New Years Eve as an example, just sneaking up with a firecracker pop.  As the last hours of the year began to dwindle, I had no greater aspirations than a snuggled spot on the couch with Mr. Darcy and my sister nearby, with a half-hearted thought toward the laundry currently blocking my side of the bed.

But then we do have 9 year old.  She had a completely different goal and it boiled down to a strong determination to see the ball drop for the first time.

So after her siblings fell unsuspectingly asleep and the clock marched on to 10:30, and she’d already been reading in bed with her booklight, we finally turned her loose in the living room.

If it weren’t for the 9 year old, the old people in the house would have been in bed.  Instead, out came a few snacks and bottle of dusty champagne(and eggnog for the under-aged party girl).  And although I did fold the laundry, I first put on what will from tonight and forever more be dubbed my “party pants”.

The 9 year old saw the ball drop, made some cards for her siblings and cousin(with no intention at all to cause envy, she included the message, “I stayed up until midnight!”), and kept the adults from letting the new year slip by unacknowledged.

Happy New Year, come back again soon.

Bring your party pants if you’ve got’em.

As I take another day to recover from the busy weeks of Christmas before I find words again…let me present:

Our house tonight.

Can you guess what Mr. Darcy got for Christmas?

Last night Mr. Darcy when out in the shadowy, chilled night to retrieve the trashcans from the curb.  Somehow, as if by a small voice inside him, he noticed by the light of the street lamp a transparent plastic bag with a card and rock in it.  When he brought it inside and and pulled the card out we found this:

Even more curious we opened the card.

That’s right! Holiday cheer spread from our trash man, what an unexpected source of holiday cheer.  How thoughtful of him and think of all the families that were smiling after they headed out to the mundane task of bringing in the trashcan.

The kids and I are already planning how we can give a card to him on his next pick-up day.  I hope we’re not the only ones.

I am a sun vampire.

I can survive without it, but only as a darkened version of myself.  And when I say darkened, I mean grumpy.  Not in a cute dwarf-with-a-long-beard kind of grumpy, but the kind where my kids start giving each other warning looks.

There have been about 7 dark days in a row here, due to the menacing sky with its endless rain plus that horrid daylight saving time that makes it midnight at 4:15. This has to be the worst year since I moved here almost 10 years ago. It’s the first year I’ve asked Mr Darcy to move me somewhere that has summer, fall, and spring, but no winter.  I’ve had friends offer suggestions, a coping list for the next 3 months(3 months sounds like infinity). Extra vitamin c supplements, one friend recommended, and another offered a trip to the tanning salon.

Then, mercy, food for the vampire.

When I woke this morning, the sun was merrily greeting the yellow walls.  My skin already looked less translucent and I hadn’t even left the bedroom. Suddenly I was a disney character with the birds ready to light on my shoulder(if the windows had been open or if we had pet cockatoos) and the music almost visible as I moved(or it was my 4 year old with the drum sticks). Whatever was happening, my children looked cuter and my house not so much a monster designed to trap me in with chores.  Yes, it was still cold, but give me a scarf any old day as long as it’s accompanied with that great big ball of instant nourishment.

That was today.  But if tomorrow and the following days lead me back to, you know, the d-word, don’t be surprised to find me with a vitamin c charged orange juice tube in my veins and a magnificent natural bronze glow from Suntan City. It’s not just for myself, but for those that love me too.

It’s been a long week at our house. Sickness slowly passing from one child to the next, like watching milk inch across a tablecloth.  Add to that a wintry dull mix outside with no sun in sight to bring relief, and you’ve got itchy children and a very antsy mama.

I was holding out for Saturday.  A morning friend date to go shopping for some sparkling hot-mama clothes and a full on date with Mr. Darcy, Christmas party included, for Saturday night. Friday evening found the next morning’s plans canceled.  I saw in front of me another long day of being in the house, with the usual excursion to the grocery store. Saturday afternoon found a very cute and equally fussy baby who was breaking in a tooth. Cancel date in sparkly clothes, pencil in another 5 hours in, that’s right, the house.

This story ends well though.  Partly because Mr. Darcy is a patient man who could see I was feeling pinned down and he tried to build a little space around me. He gave me his understanding, and he brought me a Christmas tree. Secondly, because I have cool kids.  They adapted quickly to the change of plans for the evening and threw themselves into finding the perfect tree to bring home to mommy.  The lights, the candy canes, it brought back the old magic.  (It’s only honest to add that 3 strands of lights ended up dead and only the top of the tree is lit at the moment).  To fan the flame of magic that had begun, Mookie and I sat down at bedtime to read the first chapter of my favorite book.  She’s finally old enough to experience it with me, curled in our reading spot, something for just the two of us.

The other element that saved the night from crashing from bad to worse was a time to create.  Design, cut, arrange, paste, sit back and enjoy the creation while peeling the glue from my fingers.  It opens up my breathing, loosens my jaw, helps me to feel sane again.

Now if only I can figure out how to craft a sun of light and warmth and health for the rest of the winter months.

Note: The festive recycled cardboard wreath above was inspired by the idea found here and here.

It’s finally happened.  Well, it’s been happening for nine years, but it feels sudden to me. Her legs as long as a giraffe’s neck, a restlessness in her body, a smile that will break hearts way before she’s ready to give hers. Where’s the girl I held with awe and trembling for the very first time? Where’s the little person who flapped around in my shoes and called elevators, “alligators”? She brought us into parenthood and almost a decade later I can say it’s been more joyous, challenging, and hilarious than I imagined it would be.

When I look at what awaits her, I want to protect her.  I want to remind her that she said she would always live with us, and demand she keep that promise. I see her world widening, opening its arms to her and asking “What will you bring?”  I know that no amount of mama love will prevent her from moving awkwardly, excitedly, and blindly toward this ride from girl to woman.  The only life preserver I can think of is made of words. Names.

“When I was memorizing the names of the stars, part of the purpose was to help them each be more particularly the particular star each one was supposed to be.  That’s basically a Namer’s job.”

Madeleine L’Engle, A Wind in the Door

So today her Daddy and I named her.  We called out the qualities, the gifts, that we see present and shining in her heart.  We wrote them, and we glued those words to beautiful stones that make you want to rub and press them. We gave her 9 stones, for nine years, with plans to add other jewels over the years.  Before she was born we asked God what name He had already chosen for her. And now we ask again, “Help us see the shape of her heart.”

In Raising Girls, the authors suggest that we, and others, name our children every day.  An expression, a foolish comment by a friend, our own actions, and so quickly they take on new names.  Overweight, different, nerdy, dumb.  I know I’ve given her plenty of names I wish I could take back, just through my own broken glasses.  When her friends, her peers, a misguided relative, and even her own mom and dad lose sight, hopefully she can press her fingers into these stones and see with God’s eyes into her heart. Hopefully.

Happy 9th Birthday, Mookie.

(Click photo to enlarge)