“You don’t stop laughing when you grow old, you grow old when you stop laughing.”
— George Bernard Shaw
If you know anything about me, you know that I live to laugh. I credit this quality with helping me lead a happy, mostly peaceful, and unbothered life. I’m the kind of girl who would rather watch silly sitcoms than movies, prefers clever podcasts to dramatic series, and there’s nothing I love more than chatting with a quick-witted friend. So as I celebrate 50 years of life, I’m quietly chuckling at how little my personality has changed over the years.
I was a smiley kid, and I had a wonderful childhood. Comedy was built into our family—though I’m not sure every member of the household remembers it that way. I mean, I found a lot of things absolutely hilarious. I have too many funny memories to count, and thanks to my brothers, I was often the target of their practical jokes. One of the funniest parts now is looking back and laughing at the times I took myself way too seriously. My siblings will gladly tell you how ridiculously clumsy I was, making you belly laugh over the countless times I injured myself trying to do something sporty or just walk in a grocery store. Even today, the best part of going home is all the laughter. It’s in our DNA.
And speaking of DNA—one of the silly routines I’ve carried with me from childhood to adulthood is the importance of breakfast. I think it would warm my mom’s heart (and maybe even get a proud little smile) to know how her breakfast mandate stuck with me over the years. I even harp on my own kids about it. I can’t make travel plans without calculating when and where we’ll get breakfast AND coffee. I go to sleep thinking about breakfast AND coffee. I’ve even said out loud, more than once, “You know what I’m excited about?” That’s right: breakfast AND coffee. You’re laughing at me, but it’s true.
I hope I never stop laughing—especially at myself. Which brings us to the inspiration behind this blog post. Here’s a quick giggle for you. I remember being a 20-year-old college student, rushing into a campus building (coins in hand) to buy a crummy cup of coffee from a vending machine. All the while, I had scrambled eggs wrapped in a tortilla (protected by aluminum foil) tucked into the small pocket of my bag. That was my daily college breakfast. No amount of money could persuade me to drink vending machine coffee today. I still like my coffee strong, but it’s name brand and a whole lot more refined—and yes, I’ve definitely upgraded my breakfast burrito game, too.
At 50, I have leveled up, but make no mistake—I’m still that same girl laughing at her own clumsiness, with a heart full of gratitude, coffee in hand… and probably some salsa on her shirt.
ABOUT THIS SERIES: Still Me at 50 is a lighthearted look at life through the eyes of someone who’s not trying to reinvent herself—but maybe just tweak the coffee order. As I celebrate this milestone year, I’m reflecting on all the ways I’ve stayed the same (for better or worse), and laughing at how my younger self would probably high-five me for keeping it “real talk real.” These posts are part celebration, part confession, and all in good fun.
I started taking piano lessons sometime during elementary school, though the exact year escapes me. I recall learning finger placements, scales, and, of course, how to read music. I had truly wonderful piano teachers who were both encouraging and straightforward. Practice was not just necessary but absolutely required. Whoa, the child who showed up unprepared! I took seriously the idea of practicing every day and it wasn’t until adulthood that I realized what an undertaking that was…not for me, but for my family!
I have a feeling that my personal practice policy was not a directive from either of my teachers but more a process of self-flagellation that I created all on my own. It went something like this, miss a note…start over…from the beginning. Repeat. This may not sound like a horrible methodology, but when you’re a child and prone to mistakes, practice sessions could go on…and on…and on.
My mom had this one joke that she liked to tell over and over. It was probably extra funny because it went right over my head. She would say, “Can you play far, far away?” I naively thought that was the name of a song rather than a location. I’m certain she made this joke for years before I finally got it. Did I mention that our piano was in the living room?
And all that long lead-up to get to another one of my favorite Christmas gifts—my Casio keyboard. Oh, how I wanted a keyboard! Oh, how I loved that keyboard! Oh, how wild it is that 37 years later I still have that keyboard AND IT STILL WORKS!
The keyboard was a gift when I was 12 years old. I wanted a keyboard so bad…think Ralphie and the Red Ryder BB Gun. I would hint about it, talk about it, scheme about it, write about it, and I would lay out my case about why this would be such a good Christmas present. And then on Christmas…I got it!
I certainly didn’t deserve a Casio keyboard. I can play piano but I am no virtuoso. Our family budget didn’t warrant it, not by a long shot. Undoubtedly, I probably wasn’t extra good or anything like that. That’s one of the most remarkable lessons about love, sometimes we get what we don’t deserve (good or bad).
I found out later that my mom and dad bought the last keyboard in the store. It was the demo keyboard on the shelf. Mom said they almost didn’t sell it to her. Yet, she persisted. There was no stand, no box, just the keyboard, and the plug-in adapter. Since it was opened she was cautioned that the purchase was “as is,” no refunds. I should tell Casio just what a quality product they made back in the 1980s.
I don’t have to tell you I was the happiest kid in the whole world that Christmas. Oh, I had big plans. I was going to practice more than ever, I was going to be able to play everything from classical to pop music, I was going to write songs like Debbie Gibson…. Then my mom told me, “You know there’s a little plug-in on the back so you can play with headphones…in your room.”
I guess that counts as far, far away.
GIFTED is a three-part series about the best Christmas gifts I received in childhood. Take a walk with me down memory lane as I unwrap the magic of Christmases past.
“A typewriter is a portal to worlds waiting to be discovered.” – Neil Gaiman
When I was eight I marched right into the kitchen and told my mom that I was going to college. She asked if I even knew what college was and I said, of course I do. It’s where you go after high school. And that was about as much as I knew about that. It wasn’t long after when I declared that I wanted to be a writer. I’m sure she wasn’t too surprised. I had been writing and illustrating my own books and telling bedtime stories to my siblings for years. Around 4th or 5th grade, I decided that I wasn’t going to be just any kind of writer, I would be a reporter and a reporter needs a typewriter.
At Christmas time I received a Petite 600, a portable little typewriter complete with a learner’s manual. I’m not sure how much of an odd ask it is to request a typewriter at Christmas time, but I’ll admit now that I was an odd kid. Opening that present was the beginning of a new era for me. And while I was not a good typist, typing was a heck of a lot faster than writing things out and that was good enough for me.
I remember writing stories and even creating my own family newspaper. I would play “newsroom” and “reporter” all the time. I would use carbon paper when I typed so I could create multiple copies of my newspaper to distribute. My sister and I even secured a Barbie 6 O’Clock News Play Set. The determination level was high.
I did go to college and became a reporter and as a blogger today, I’m still writing. Receiving a typewriter was one of my absolute favorite gifts. It was more than just getting what you want under the tree. The magic was in getting the typewriter you wanted because someone believed in your dreams just as much as you did. You can’t buy that kind of gift.
GIFTED is a three-part series about the best Christmas gifts I received in childhood. Take a walk with me down memory lane as I unwrap the magic of Christmases past.
“Christmas is a piece of one’s home that one carries in one’s heart.” – Freya Stark
The nostalgia of Black Friday shopping rears its head this time every year. Most people glorify the event, and as someone who tiptoed into these waters in the early 2000s, I never really experienced its full heyday. I’ve waited in pre-dawn lines and weaved through the crowds, but no punches were thrown, no shoving of any kind, and definitely no arrests. Still, whenever I think about Black Friday my mind immediately goes back to the 1980s when I was a kid and my Mom somehow managed to secure Cabbage Patch Kid dolls for me and my little sister.
I regret never asking mom for the full story, but I remember minor details. It went something like this: We desperately wanted Cabbage Patch Kids. We likely kept mentioning it and basically annoying my mom to no end. Miraculously the dolls showed up under the tree that Christmas! However, we both received boy dolls. First, I didn’t know Cabbage Patch Kids could be boys as all of my other dolls were girls. Second, my mom was prepared for our shock and confusion as she immediately told us we could adopt them as girls…if we wanted to. Her exact words were, “Peyton and Ramsey can be boy or girl names. So you get to choose.” Who knew?
Amanda had Ramsey and designated her doll a girl on the spot. This was easy to do because Ramsey had a gender-neutral outfit on. One hair bow later and she was all set! Peyton was another story. My doll was wearing a full-on football uniform. He had a helmet, a green jersey and white pants with a green stripe. Then my dad said something along the lines of maybe he’s named after Walter Payton. I knew who Walter Payton was and although my doll’s name was spelled differently, it all made sense to me. My doll stayed a boy. It was love at first sight!
We took those silly dolls everywhere. Back and forth to our grandparents, on car rides, and to bed with us every night. We snuggled them and dressed them in baby clothes. We took them to the grocery store. One of my favorite memories is that Amanda and I put both our dolls in the front of the cart and strapped them in like real babies and then we wandered off leaving my mom pushing around a cart of dolls while shopping. I remember that she wasn’t happy with us after all the strange looks she got that day in the store.
The following Christmas we received another Cabbage Patch Kid doll. Girls this time. Wanda was a cheerleader, the perfect match for my Peyton! I have a zillion stories about these dolls. We had so many adventures and eventually, I passed them on to my own daughter. While I’ll never know the full story of how my mom managed to snag our Cabbage Patch Kids, I do know that the magic of Christmas extends well beyond the day. It lives in these precious memories.
GIFTED is a three-part series about the best Christmas gifts I received in childhood. Take a walk with me down memory lane as I unwrap the magic of Christmases past.
Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.
Alphonse de Lamartine, author
The Thanksgiving Table (November 2020)
I did it. But I wish I didn’t have to.
I made a full Thanksgiving meal on my own. I roasted a turkey. Peeled a mountain of potatoes. Used the drippings to make gravy. Baked a pan full of dressing, green beans, dinner rolls, an apple crumb pie, plus loads of turkey-themed cookies. I even opened a can of cranberry sauce (it’s okay, you can laugh at me). In all my 45 years of life, I’ve never done this before…never attempted to, never wanted to, and never needed to—but these are strange times that we’re living in and strange times apparently demand complete turkey dinners on Thanksgiving…especially when your Mom is gone.
The duality of living in today’s pandemic is evident everywhere you go. In one day you can see groups of friends hanging out and carrying on without a care in the world and turn the corner to see fully masked families heading into the local grocery store. Our elderly suffer from isolation in their golden years and our healthcare workers are overwhelmed and stressed while millions of others continue to call COVID-19 a hoax to their faces. Daily, Americans walk through temperature checkpoints to get to school, work, or to travel while others plan block parties and the like. There are rallies and protests. I even read about some well-meaning parents who hosted a homecoming dance and now dozens of kids have tested positive. I’m not judging. My own family walks in this duality. We occasionally see local friends, we work outside our home, my kids go to the gym, play sports, and try to maintain normalcy all while walking this line with masks in hand. I jokingly remind them “it’s COVID out there” and ask them to stay socially distanced as they head out the door. When they come home, I greet them and immediately send them to the sink to wash their hands. We’re not perfect. At this point in the pandemic, we’ve all had moments where we’ve let our guard down and subsequently prayed that we don’t pay the penalty. Strange times, indeed.
Nine months in and I can no longer count the number of family members who have contracted COVID-19 on my fingers. I don’t want to attempt to count the number of people in my circle who have had it and my heart breaks when I think about how the Coronavirus has affected my hometown in western Kansas. I have prayed for a number of individuals who have battled, struggled, and won. Praise God! And I have cried for those who weren’t so fortunate. As I write this the death toll in the United States is 267,000+
My mother is one of them.
It’s bizarre to grieve in a pandemic. The normal grieving process is both individual and communal, but when you can’t see family members for fear of contracting or spreading a virus, the grieving process becomes even more peculiar. And when your lost loved one is a victim of that same pandemic, you proceed cautiously and carefully. Honestly, there are days where it feels like you’re barely proceeding at all—like you’re standing still while the world has moved on.
You know the saying, “once bitten, twice shy?” Those are the eggshells that I walk on daily. I know how devastating and life-changing this virus can be. There are hundreds of thousands of people who should have been at the Thanksgiving table with their families this year, but they’re not. Empty chairs, not just in my home, but everywhere. Traditions not just broken, but shattered. Those of us who have lost family members and friends to COVID-19 are experiencing this heartbreak over and over as the narrative has gone from “we’re all in this together” to “there’s nothing to see here, folks.” And yet the pandemic and the loss of life go on.
There are hundreds of thousands of people who should have been at the Thanksgiving table with their families this year, but they’re not. Empty chairs, not just in my home, but everywhere. Traditions not just broken, but shattered.
a Life Interrupted
As we move into this unusual holiday season I can feel myself picking up the pieces of my broken heart non-stop. Normal Thanksgiving meant a road trip across the state with my kids. Normal Thanksgiving meant consulting with my mom, sister and sisters-in-law about what we would each contribute to the meal. Normal Thanksgiving meant hugs and seeing my nieces and nephews. Normal Thanksgiving is game nights, snacks and cousin sleepovers. Normal Thanksgiving is coffee with my best friend. Normal Thanksgiving meant going to my mom’s house instead of making a complete Thanksgiving meal on my own.
I did it. But I wish I didn’t have to. In fact, I would have traded anything for it not to be the way that it is.
It was the first Thanksgiving without my Mom and at every turn, we paired our grief with gratitude. I miss my mother so much and my appreciation for the time we had together has continuously grown. Today, I am even more thankful and grateful for her love and influence on my life. Often times I feel like my mother’s memory lives in the kitchen which was so appropriate as I prepared the meal. And while she has been on my mind constantly, in missing her this Thanksgiving I felt like she was very present…somehow still mothering me…urging me to make the most of the holiday, not just for me, but for my kids. That’s the kind of mother she was. Give, give, and give some more. Grieve, but be grateful. In the back of my mind, I kept hearing “keep the traditions.” In my heart, her memory confirmed the feeling that forward is the best option, the only option.
If you know me, you know I take tons of photos and videos. I document everything. (It’s the reporter in me). As Thanksgiving approached this year and the memories started popping up on social media, my daughter said to me, “Mom, I’m so glad you take all the photos and the videos so we can see and hear each other. It makes me sad, but it also makes me happy. We laugh a lot.” Taking photos and videos to share this Thanksgiving seemed extra important. And Casey is right, we do laugh a lot. In many ways, sharing photos and videos are the only way for the whole family to be together while we continue to grieve miles apart.
In the mix of photos I took this year is this one of me at our Thanksgiving table just before the meal was served with an accomplished grin on my face. And guess what, Mom? I didn’t break the oven like I did that time I tried making strudel! I know you’re proud…and maybe even a little bit relieved. We saved you a seat.
“In the day when I cried out, You answered me, and made me bold with strength in my soul.”Psalm 138:3
“A Life Interrupted” is an ongoing series of blog posts dealing with the loss of my mother to COVID-19.
When you stop believing in Santa you get underwear. –unknown
Okay, so I’m not really a member of the official Santa Claus family, but Christmas is my FAVORITE time of the year! I am well versed in all the songs of the season, I know the “Code of Elves” verbatim and I’ve successfully completed several Christmas-themed Buzzfeed quizzes online. So OBVIOUSLY I’m practically an adopted member of the Claus household! As a self-appointed Christmas authority, I feel obligated to share these twelve little goodies with the planet to ensure you and yours experience your best Christmas yet! In no particular order, I cheerfully present to you Anna Claus Holiday Must Haves…
Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris. I read this collection of short, satirical (and politically incorrect) stories every December for many, many reasons. Mostly because who doesn’t love the escapades of a grown man parading around Macy’s as an Elf, the unlikeliest Christmas Eve houseguest EVER and the snarkiest review of children’s Christmas pageants you’ll ever read? Nothing gets me in the holiday mood quite like this fun (and funny) book. Complete brain candy, it is good for continuous laughs.
Ella Wishes You a Swinging Christmas If you love jazzy, upbeat Christmas music this album is for you! The 60s style jazz offerings are traditional yet they possess that special “zing.” CAUTION: The “cool cat” vibe this album induces may cause scatting! Wonderful background music for doing just about anything holiday-related.
Candy Canes Nothing says Christmas like candy canes. Sweet and pepperminty I try to consume as many as possible. Between Thanksgiving and New Year’s, it’s not unusual to find these tasty treats (and their tiny crumbs) in my purse, in my pockets or in my mouth!
Pandora’s Swingin’ Christmas Radio Station This is the ONLY internet radio station I listen to during the holidays. On the computer and on my phone this is my go-to background music for the holiday season. Here you’ll find everything from the Rat Pack Christmas album and Louis Armstrong offerings to Michael Buble and everyone in between.
Santa Hat (Reindeer Antlers optional) My all-time hat of choice, the Santa hat comes out right after Thanksgiving and lives among the coats all Christmas season long. This year I’ve decided to add reindeer antlers to the list of approved December head-gear. Very festive!
Starbucks Christmas Blend and Peet’s Holiday Blend Warm, sweet and spicy…this is what Christmas tastes like! For a coffee lover like myself this is a terrific blend that gets the day going…also serves as the perfect addition to an evening dessert. Would I like another cup? Of course!
Nativity Nativities set the scene for a Christ-centered holiday. Our family nativity is my all-time favorite and I love to share the story about how we acquired such a unique set. I also love visiting the homes of family and friends and seeing their nativity displays. Most times it leads to another wonderful story as well.
Cookie Baking I am probably guilty of too much cookie baking during this time of the year, but I love it!!! I wish we could live off Christmas cookies, but I’m afraid of what we might look like if I got my wish. Too many favorite cookies to name, I especially love making treats to give away to family and friends.
Hallmark Channel Christmas Movies The Christmas season would not be complete without the Hallmark Channel! Who can resist seeing all your favorite teen heartthrobs return in these fun and romantic Hallmark movies! Nothing says it’s officially Christmas like the picture-perfect Christmas towns and tales of true love conquering all. It’s the gift that keeps giving…round the clock with a new opportunity to spread a little holiday cheer every other hour!
Holiday Flicks My all-time favorite is It’s a Wonderful Life, a classic with the lovable Donna Reed and her screen beau, Jimmy Stewart. Watching the Charlie Brown Christmas is a must. I also like to sprinkle in a little Christmas with the Kranks, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, A Christmas Story and Elf among others.
Christmas Lights Tour This is a tradition that goes way, way back for me. I can remember piling up in the car as a child and checking out the Christmas lights in my little hometown. Today, we continue to take (drag) our children out to look at the lights. This year we cranked our adventure up a notch with a Holiday Lights Scavenger Hunt. Great fun!
Snow Never a guarantee, but snow really makes it all perfect. It seems that whenever it snows the world seems to slow down a bit…offering us a moment to take in and savor everything around us. The holidays typically fly by…I need a little snow to take it all in.
A few honorable mentions to my list: holiday cards, cocoa, caroling and Christmas parades! They don’t call it the most wonderful time of the year for nothing. Wishing you the Merriest Christmas!
“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…just like the ones I used to know….” Bing Crosby, singer & actor
It’s the most wonderful time of the year, right? Exactly.
One of my favorite aspects of the Christmas season is the music. Growing up, I recall the local radio station playing Christmas music solely on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. That meant that we had to get out our little boom box and cassette tapes and record as much of it as possible. This served as “seed” music for the following Christmas. And boy did we wear those cassette tapes out! Today, it’s a different story. Often times I hear Christmas music playing way before Thanksgiving…and I’m not the DJ orchestrating this holiday magic! In shopping centers, restaurants, and even on the radio, the Christmas tunes are cranked up loud and proud early in the season. I don’t mind really…and then again, maybe I do.
I mind because it seems that every year (without fail) one song seems to capture the season for me. A Christmas song brain worm if you will. On good years the song is something fun and light-hearted…a sweet ditty sung by Michael Buble, Mariah Carey or even that little cutie, Justin Beiber. Other years, though, the song is something that stirs up a completely different (less cheery) feeling. I don’t necessarily want to call it darker or deeper or even more soulful (yes, I know I’m talking about music and not coffee!) There’s just something about that one song that touches the most tender part of my heart…a melody that evokes such profound emotion that it almost always manifests itself in near tears (ok, occasionally one leaks out.)
In the past, these “other” songs were always familiar Christmas tunes…but for whatever reason, they took on a new flavor. For example, a few years ago Elvis’ “Blue Christmas” could completely kill my yuletide joy. Still, that makes sense, although I love, love Elvis, the title is “Blue Christmas.” Other songs on this glum list include “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” by Josh Groban with its added military personnel audio (oh, the tears,) Dan Fogelberg’s “Same Old Lang Syne” with its resounding sad tale of lost love (more tears,) and need I say ANYTHING about those stupid “Christmas Shoes” by New Song? Boo hoo hoo. And then there’s the overwhelming “whoa” of “Please Come Home for Christmas” by Charles Brown…just to name a few. During these years, I can’t decide whether to avoid the song completely or just play it on repeat until the feelings subside (which doesn’t work by the way.)
Today, with the onset of digital music streaming, we can customize our own playlists in a matter of minutes. This is awesome because who doesn’t like personalized stuff? A “just-for-me” anything speaks to the most narcissistic part of our brains and makes us feel important and special. I’m all down for that…I have a zillion custom playlists. So basically, my game plan is to just avoid the song altogether. (Avoidance is one of my favorite psychological strategies.) Still, there are algorithms. And try as we might, people, we cannot escape them! Now that Pandora (such a fitting name by the way) knows ALL of my Christmas music favorites (thanks to the thumbs-up-thumbs-down buttons) I am at her mercy and this year’s song has been a doozy! A Christmas classic, a favorite among favorites, such a BASIC Christmas song that it is altogether inescapable…no matter where I turn. I’m talking about the beloved holiday staple, Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas.” Yes, that’s the one breaking my heart this year (can I say that out loud?)
Who doesn’t love “White Christmas?” I mean, I absolutely adore it! It’s the best-selling Christmas song of all time! But this year, whenever I hear it a sadness ensues. It’s like I’m hearing this familiar tune with new ears. I remember the song from childhood, fell in love with it AND Bing Crosby while watching the old black & white version of Holiday Inn…and the song was further impressed upon my heart when I discovered the movie of the same title a few years later. Bing sings the song so effortlessly. As I write this I can picture him at his piano…the debonair crooner drawing us in with this perfect song. His voice so melodic and rich…all the casual sophistication of an American icon just pouring out of every single note. Did I mention that I adore this song? One can only imagine how surprised I was to find that this song, this tried and true favorite could cause me such grief. It was like walking into a door…and I never saw it coming!
Turns out that I shouldn’t be surprised at all with the heartbreaking aspect of “White Christmas.” It’s nostalgic. Wistful. There’s a sense of longing…and hope. A wartime favorite, “White Christmas” was the song American soldiers clung to following the attack on Pearl Harbor. It was a staple on Armed Forces Radio as soldiers tuned in while stationed overseas during World War II. For many, on the war front and at home, the lyrics told of bygone days and easier times…a reminder of a “normal” that they hoped to reclaim. For the songwriter, Irving Berlin, the lyrics were much deeper as many believe he wrote the song during a bout of extreme homesickness. Still, other music historians claim the song was actually written to memorialize Berlin’s infant son who is said to have died on Christmas Day. Given this history, the song certainly takes on a different significance and gains a depth that I wasn’t aware of before.
For these reasons (and so many more) Bing Crosby is slowly killing me…at least he is this Christmas. And while at first this slow, figurative death was limited to “White Christmas” it has moved far beyond. Now, it’s EVERY Bing Crosby Christmas song…and there’s no way to avoid it. I immediately recognize his voice and something just gets caught in my throat. My heart sinks a little. My eyes get damp in the corners. I can’t explain it. I’ve been jokingly (and seriously) blaming everything on hormones lately, but really I know it’s something more. It’s me. It’s today. It’s nostalgia. It’s dreaming. It’s gratitude. It’s a brokenness. It’s hope. It’s this present time and place. It’s perfect and imperfect all at the same time. It’s Christmas…just listen.
Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift! 2 Corinthians 9:15
MOMS. Because not all superheroes wear capes! -author unknown
WOW.
In case you didn’t know it, that’s MOM upside down!
Okay, all kidding aside, WOW is the only word that comes to mind for me this Mother’s Day. I’m not sure what made this year’s holiday different, but I feel very compelled to give a huge shout out to other mothers today. I feel like belting out a great big THANK YOU…complete with song and dance (not to mention a few hugs!) But mostly, I just want you all to know that I see you and I really just couldn’t do this mothering thing without you.
Some have said that being a mother is the most important job on the planet. Something along the lines of “the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.” And there’s plenty more sayings out there to describe motherhood (and, believe it or not, most of them are favorable!) Still there’s nothing like being deep in the parenting trenches to remind you that you cannot do this alone. We need each other…sometimes desperately. I need you to be my eyes and ears, I need you to catch my kids doing good AND to give me the heads up when they make poor decisions. I need you to double-check our kids whereabouts and sleepover plans with me…because communicating in the tween/teen years can be difficult and responsibility/accountability are crucial. I need you to share advice and help me navigate through tough situations. And I need you to be loving examples, safe places, and trusted adults whom my kids can turn to, if needed. And I promise to do the same…because motherhood is an interesting club. It’s not necessarily hard to join (although I’m sensitive to the fact that it can be.) There’s no pre-mom exam. No age limit. No “green light.” Some of us fit in from the get go. Others clamor to get in. Some of us enter hesitantly, if not reluctantly. Many of us trudge through. And some of us never quite find our place. Regardless, once you’re in…YOU’RE IN. And there’s no guarantee of success in this club. There’s no real manual. No graduation. And sometimes, in spite of the numbers, it can be a pretty lonely place. I can’t speak for everybody, but for myself I can honestly say I had no idea what I was getting into. Albeit the oldest of four, growing up in a very large extended family, having countless hours of babysitting under my belt and with a “mother hen” type personality…I never felt like I was ready. In fact, during my teen years and early twenties, I was pretty dead set against becoming a mother. I had this nagging feeling in the back of my head that I wasn’t up for the task. At age 26, my son was born…and while this was a well thought out and planned event I still knew on some level that I had no idea what I was in for (despite all my research)–and I was right!
We all know that our bodies change when we have a child. Hormones fluctuate, things shift, etc., but what happens to your heart has to be the most remarkable, extraordinary change of all! While the other changes occur over a matter of months, it seems that your heart changes almost immediately. Your priorities change, your instincts change, your thought processes change…basically, what I’m trying to say here is that EVERYTHING changes. What I was really least prepared for was the general roller coaster ride of motherhood. The wins and the losses. The ups and the downs. I’m pretty much a planner (and a bit of a control freak) and motherhood is everything but a well-defined plan and you can throw any hope of control out the window. Plan A quickly moves through the alphabet to Plan Z, and in no set pattern. What works one day (and for one child) quickly falls to the wayside in lieu of something completely different for another child (or the same kiddo down the road.) Uggghhh.
Photo of a soccer birthday cake (or at least what’s left of one) that a sweet “other mother” made for my son on his 15th birthday.
So for all this (and so much more) I continue to look to you, fellow mothers. Without other mothers, I’m not sure where I would be. I’m grateful to have my own mother to serve as an example and a guide. Grateful for a mother-in-law who offers love and encouragement. Grateful for a sister, who lovingly mothers all the nieces and nephews and her own stepkids with a natural mothering gift. I’m grateful for sister-in-laws who treat my kids like their own. And I’m especially grateful for the mothers of my children’s friends, the “church” moms, the “teacher” moms, the “neighbor” moms and other mothers in my community. You all ROCK! BIG thanks for your kind hearts, for the rides to and from practices/games, for the driving them through the fast food line and including them in your family plans. Thank you for the birthday cakes, countless sleepovers, day trips and shopping excursions. Thanks for bridging the gap when our family schedules were overloaded. Thank you for sharing photos of my kids and yours just doing their thing. Thank you for the “Walmart Updates.” Thank you for not judging them harshly, for understanding that they are in a unique circumstance (as are most kids) and for offering them grace and love. Thank you for including them in your family life. And thank you for your example…often times it’s your own mothering actions that speak volumes.
So let’s forget the mom-shaming, the parenting peer pressure, and all the other nonsense. And instead, keep breathing life and love into each other’s kiddos. Keep talking, keep texting, keep cheering, keep showing up and keep vigilant. Please continue to keep your eyes open…looking out for my kids and others. Thank you for filling my ears (and heart) with bright spots that you see in my children. I see the same bright spots in your kiddos, too!
We truly are on each other’s team. Happy, happy Mother’s Day!
She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future. Proverbs 31:25
“Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord.” Psalm 31:24
The Holy Spirit spoke to me while putting away Christmas decorations last year. “Leave this one out,” it urged, “Place it some place where you will see it. Leave it some where so you won’t forget.” This Divine nudge prompted me to leave the Dollar Store Jesus on the shelf in the dining room.
At first, it felt odd. Really odd. Not a lick of glittery, sparkly Christmas décor around and there sat the clumsily painted baby Jesus. A gift to my son from several years back. A tradition really, as I always try to purchase a little something for the kiddos to remind them of the true Reason for the season. Mostly I buy ornaments, but when the children were very young I wanted them to have a “hands on” experience with Jesus. The Dollar Store is perfect for gifts like this…it was a cost-effective way to teach the children to be careful with breakables while allowing them to touch, feel, and hold an item so precious. If it broke, no problem. We would carefully glue it back together or (as is prone to happen with little boys) we would sweep up the pieces. I wanted them to know that Jesus was always within reach and as a result various Dollar Store Jesus figurines would live among other toys, on their bedroom night stands or carried in a backpack to preschool show-and-tell…all December long. The collection grew larger each year with a few duplicates after Casey was born (whatever Sean had, Casey had to have, too) and then back in the box they would go. Until now….
Over the past year, this Dollar Store Jesus has lived among various other holiday decorations, next to the kiddos’ photographs, by the clock, near the plants, and on the piano. I laugh to myself every time I place Him in a new “home.” Will anyone notice? (They did.) Will anyone care? (This is yet to be determined.) Regardless, I know He’s there…reminding me. EVERY DAY JESUS.
Peace on earth will come to stay, when we live Christmas every day. -Helen Steiner Rice
The magic of Christmas is not in the presents, but in His presence. –Unknown
I’m just CRAZY about Christmas! I always have been. And somehow, I have managed to let both the secular and the sacred share space in my heart (with the tie going to the sacred, of course!) during this magical time of year. As a kid, I remember Christmas Eve worship and how I especially loved the nativity at my Mom’s house. I can recall that it was tucked away each year in its original box, every piece finding its place in the foam packaging. When my mother set it out…baby Jesus, Joseph, Mary and the gang all hung out in a miniature stable that my grandpa made. Examining each piece, I can still see the beautiful face of Mary and the baby Jesus…surrounded by hay…looking so heavenly and angelic. Both a baby and a Savior. The little set symbolizing an extraordinary and miraculous moment in time. Joseph looking so noble…the epitome of honor and faithfulness. There were farm animals, an angel, a shepherd boy, and the three wise men, of course. It was pretty wonderful.
So, it sort of surprises me that I never had a nativity of my own. Not when I went away to college, not when I took my first job in Arkansas, not when I moved to California, and not when I got married. In fact, I didn’t have a nativity until after my son, Sean, was a year old. It all happened in another magical moment at Hobby Lobby (seems that this store is the scene for many Spencer Family Christmas memories!)
After moving halfway across the country from California to Kansas, my mother-in-law, Sean and I found ourselves in the Hobby Lobby in Salina…for what I remember was a brief and snack-filled trip to do a little Christmas shopping (by the way, Cheez-Its make for great toddler payola…just saying!) Strolling through a craft warehouse with a 1 year old BOY is no easy task! So when it looked like Sean was going to leap out of the cart at any moment, Karen suggested that Sean help us pick out a nativity for our home. This was a genius idea because it gave my toddler a sense of purpose and I was just thrilled with the thought of having a nativity of my own. In record time, my excitement turned to worry as I remembered that something as fragile as a porcelain nativity probably wouldn’t last but a second in our house. Sean was just so hands-on about everything! In the back of my mind I had planned to buy him a Fisher Price Little People nativity set for Christmas. It was important to me that he understand the Christmas story…and at an age appropriate level. He already had a few Little People collections…the train set and the airport. Still, it couldn’t hurt to look at the nativities on display at the store.
It was pretty amazing…an entire aisle with nativities in every shape and size imaginable. My thoughts were racing…where would we put such a fragile item? Karen must have heard the wheels grinding in my head. After explaining my thoughts, she said, “Sean will pick out the one that he likes best…and we will teach him to care for it and look after it.” My heart was touched as I watched her talk with Sean about picking out a baby Jesus to take to his house. She reminded him that he would have to take extra special care of it! And asked him if he was ready to choose one. Sean beamed! From an early age, Sean could tell a story with his eyebrows (a talent he inherited from Grandma Karen.) One second the eyebrows would be arched high as he caught a glimpse of something intriguing. The next minute the eyebrows would be furrowed as he inspected his options. Sometimes just one eyebrow would lift as if he was thinking really hard. It was a wonderful little dance. When he finally picked one, all three of us knew this was the nativity for us. It was perfect. A chunky little wooden nativity…not too big and not too small. Sean touched each piece and seemed very delighted with the farm animals in this set. Since all the nativities were technically “on display” we found a store worker who immediately set out to find us a boxed set from the storage room. However, when she came back, she wasn’t carrying a box. Uh-oh. She explained that they hadn’t ordered many of this set and that they were sold out. She had also checked to see if getting one before Christmas was a possibility. It was not.
Karen is always cool as a cucumber in these sorts of situations. Clearly, THIS was the set that Sean wanted. She didn’t want to disappoint her grandson so she did what ANY grandmother would do. She asked if we could buy this very set. The store worker said that in any other situation she would love to sell it to us, except that this set had been GLUED to the foam board it rested upon. She pulled off one of the wise men to demonstrate. Stuck to his base was loads of navy blue paper and foam. Both Karen and the worker tried to pull it off. It was no easy task. Even if we pulled each piece from the board we would then have to pull off loads of paper scraps. The lady said that the pieces might not even stand correctly given the amount of glue left on the base. She obviously didn’t know who she was dealing with…Karen said she would work all that out later if we could just buy this nativity set. And so, it was settled.
Sean held the wise man in his hot little hands as we arranged the foam board and the glued down pieces across the shopping cart basket. There were quite a few stares, but we managed to check out and make it to the car. From the moment we got home Karen worked on releasing each character from the foam…carefully pulling off paper and glue. Her beautifully manicured nails probably got the raw end of the deal that day as she scraped and scraped. Each time she finished a piece she handed it to Sean. His eyebrows went to work again…doing their little dance as he checked out each one. He would show it to me and then go and show his Dad and then show me again. I think Sean had already had a bath and was tucked into bed before Karen had finished them all. It was truly a labor of love.
Sean played with the nativity all December long. Each day he would rearrange them and make sure the animals were “fed.” Since our set didn’t come in a box, we lovingly packed them away in an oversized shoe box after the holidays, unpacking them with great delight the next year and the year after that. Sean never seemed to tire of “playing” with the set. When Casey came along (and was old enough to follow her brother everywhere,) he explained the cast of characters to her. “This is baby Jesus…His mom’s name is Mary and His dad’s name is Joseph…,” and on down the line. These are the moments that live in a mother’s heart for eternity.
Today, the nativity makes its home in front of the fireplace each Christmas and it serves as the centerpiece of our Christmas Eve dinner table. I still love taking it out of the shoe box each and every year…a flood of memories spilling out with each “sticky” piece.
hymningandhaing 