This weekend marks the half-way mark.
Friends, we are mid-way through the soul suck that is January! January is still such a hard month to endure, my SADness always feels so much more magnified, the wintry weather always swirls of endless gray, and jumpstarting a whole new crop of students for spring semester takes everything I've got. Spring Break seems an interminably long time off, as do any other holidays of note. Ergo, God knew what He was doing in giving me a daughter in January. There's more to which I can look forward in this month when I can focus on celebrating the blessings that she has brought to our family. As I toast my daughter this month, I'll also try to share a few other things that I'm doing to make festive during these first 31derful days of the year.
His banner over me is love...
This bunting was handcrafted by the talented artist Jenny at BlueMoonStudios. The quality is excellent and this little banner is surprisingly impactful! I recommend her work!
More Comfort Food...
I can attest that Laura's Peanut Butter Baked Oatmeal is what gets me out of bed on the wintry freeze your tochis off morning.
I remember babysitting jobs, Saturday after Saturday night, the flicker of the 2 a.m. television against my half-lidded eyes, wondering if these parents of the children who had used me as a trampoline for the last 8 hours were ever coming home?
This past week felt like one of those babysitting jobs. I could almost feel the stiffness in my jeans from floor surfing in them all day and cleaning up after children in the early evening and then beaching out on the couch in them until the parents came home. Oh to be in my pyjamas. Until I remembered--oh wait. Why am I not in my pyjamas? This is my home! And no one is coming to claim those children at the end of the night! Because they're mine!
Oh, dear ones. I've been a sad sack since Saturday. I've been teetering on the edge of sickness, while nursing a teething boy with a fever of 102, and wrangling a feverish girl who barfed a serious pile in her bed on Monday evening. I've been back and forth to Children's Hospital (more on this later) while trying to keep this household running and get ready for spring semester and the move and take a few more credits so I can teach a new class next fall and Loverpants has been working double shifts at the hospital, and THIS IS HOW TOM BRADY MUST FEEL! Yeah, to be the very important player. It's true that Mom is not allowed to get sick, but this past week has cracked me open and showed me that I am pretty hollow inside if not for the extra portion of grace I've been given. Oh how provident and merciful God has been to me this week. At one point yesterday, Baby Girl was whiiiiiining downstairs and Little Man was likely shoving some string cheese into his belly button in some forsaken corner of his room and I just stood in the middle of the living room and yelled STOP CRYING PLEASE! I CANNOT TAKE IT ANYMORE! I really couldn't. I just...oosh. I was throat-achy, silly-tired, and not even my usual cocktail of popcorn + mindless internet was making me happy. It's so easy to think of myself as indispensable to this family but then we get a string of days that just make us realize, it's so not about us, it's all about Him, thank you, Lord for caring about each and every strand of my prematurely graying hair.
Lovely from the Week:
- Being sandwiched by Baby Girl and Little Man in my bed every afternoon when we laid down to take "a wittle rest."
- Being told, "You're gonna live" after telling Baby Girl I was feeling a little sick.
***
Hey, Sister, look how I've commandeered your old ride-on toy!
This is the post where you decide that the person named Kendra you thought you really liked is actually a complete communist nutter and you should not only stop reading her blog but stop associating with her altogether.
Some people have recently asked if Baby Girl is excited for Santa to come. My response on the spot is, "Nah, not really, we don't make a big deal out of the whole Santa thing."
But my more expansive response is: "Nah, not really, we don't make a big deal out of the whole Santa thing."
Ahhh. It's all so unbelievably clarion now, right?
No, seriously, this was a very hard decision. Growing up, my old man Big Pops lived in a state of mania from October 31 to January 1. The man loves holidays, birthdays, and is particularly hysterical about Christmas. Big Pops has not outgrown this hysteria.
Exhibit A:
Exhibit B:
In fact, with the addition of grandchildren, I receive daily texts about imminent Christmas specials on ABC and reminders to send him my wish list. Because the statute of limitation for your holiday wish list apparently extends to one even when she is 30 years-old.
So as far as families in which to grow up, I pretty much hit the Santa jackpot. So why would I not want to carry on this tradition for my own wee elfin ones?
Here's the thing. I'm not opposed to the lore of Santa, of presents, of surprises on Christmas morn. But I have two chief goals as a parent, and they are:
1. To lead my children to Christ and
2. To always tell them the truth. Period.
I value these objectives more than anything, I feel the weight of them, I carry them as a burden.
I don't see how I can point my children to Christ, Christ who knows their inner thoughts and the intimations of their very hearts, if for a portion of the year, I am cautioning them that "Santa is watching..." I want them to know that Christ is always watching, but not in a way that determines a temporary reward, but with great interest for their eternal reward.
I also have a deep conviction for telling my children the truth. I would definitely say that for a good portion of my life, I had a problem with lying. I have lied to my parents, to the dearest of friends, to bosses, to myself. I was such a crafty liar that at times, I think I began to believe my own lies. Becoming a Christian for me has meant to put an end to dishonesty. To really come before God and be honest about my shortcomings and know how ugly it is to lie, and how beautiful and courageous it can be to tell the truth. I never realized how many opportunities there are to lie to children. When I was trying to ween my daughter off of her pacifier, everyone encouraged me to tell her about the "Binkie Fairy" that took the pacifiers to children in need. It was a surefire way to rid child of the binks. I was determined not to lie, though, and the process was surely painful (see also: How to Lose Your Mind in 9 Days) but for me it would have been more painful had I invented some fantastic tale, and for me, I could see how it would just become a slippery slope every time I needed to get my kids on board with something.
I have no judgment of parents who do the Santa thing with their children. As I mentioned, I reaped the rich benefits of a Santa-crazed upbringing. But I feel this is the right decision for our family. Our children will receive plenty of presents and enjoy many surprises in their lives I am sure. And we will tell them from where they came. I suppose some may say that I'm building an awfully tall soapbox while my children are still so young, but the view looks pretty good from here, so if you need me, this is where I'll be.
