The Christmas Tree Tantrum, and Mittens

 

 

 

 

 

 

I've long said that our fake Christmas tree of the past 10 years has many times saved my marriage.  Long gone were the fights about how many lights to put on the tree, finding the 'perfect' tree, and what size would actually fit into our house.


Something nostalgic about having a daughter all grown-up possessed us to go cut down a real tree.  Our kids were thrilled, however, after getting it into the house I was reminded of all the reasons why we had a fake one in the first place.  I hated it, and threw a tantrum just like my two-year-old.  I wanted it to be perfect! It was not.  It wasn't full and even.  There was a large gap on one side, not hidden by turning the tree.  To fit it into the house, we had to cut off all the bottom branches, where the fullness had been.  It bothered me for days.  What I didn't realize, was that after all the lights were on, and the ornaments in place, it's natural beauty would shine through.  The imperfections of a real tree, of course, become part of it's charm.  It did finally grow on me, until I loved it, and I learned an important lesson, I think.


The 'perfect' tree, however, ended up being a tiny, two and a half foot, ugly, artificial tree in our son's hospital room this month.  We brought it with us, and hung some mini-lights and ornaments on it to cheer the space. It brought comfort to us, as well as joy to doctors, nurses, and visitors that came by.

I had never imagined or thought about what an extended stay in a children's hospital could be like in the month of December.  Our son had a scheduled, expected, procedure that went well, however as the days passed, I saw many things that opened my eyes and my heart: cancer patients in pain, little babies hooked-up to tubes and alone, and the best, most patient, nurses in the whole world.  I met mothers who had been in and out of the hospital for months with their little ones.

During my stay there, I managed to finish some knitting projects: some gnomes and some booties.  I ran across a baby Norwegian cap I had knitted this summer, and as you know if you are a knitter, all baby hats are cursed; this one about two sizes too small for a newborn.  It was stuffed into the bottom of the knitting bag, having been forgotten.  I know God puts us in the right place at the right time though, because that little hat sized for a doll, made it's way down to the Neo-natal ICU, where it was very gratefully accepted.  So, I knitted on, finally finishing my very first pair of Norwegian mittens.


They were hard, not so much because of the knitting, I'm sure I could make them again, but because all the tedious pattern following.  Keeping my place on the chart with all of those little squares, while keeping the momentum of four small needles going was tricky.  I could not have done it at home with a two-year-old tugging at me, and while I had imagined a garland full of different Norwegian mittens, this one pair may be it. As I look at them I will always remember the kind nurses and staff at the hospital, that commented on my knitting, and watched my progress, some saying, "I always wanted to learn to do that!"   I am convinced that all the best Christmas angels work in children's hospitals.

We were released just three days before Christmas.  By then, most of the rooms had emptied, except for the few patients that would probably be staying there over the holiday weekend.  The day we were to go home was such a joy for us, but I found myself praying for all those we left behind. I left a part of my soul there.  I came home a little different: a little more grateful, a little less selfish, a little more aware, I hope.


Our Christmas was lovely.  Our Charlotte wanted "those things that farmers wear" and put her new overalls on right over her polka-dot sleeper pajamas.  Our Cookie got a teddy bear bigger than she is, and cuddled right up.  Our boys got new minky-soft blankets.  Our oldest got a vinyl Heart record and a guitar pedal.  It was a Christmas I won't soon forget, one where my own heart grew a few sizes bigger. 

Merry Christmas to all of our dear friends and family, we love you so much, and we wish you the most Happy New Year!

There was always another baby.....

 

In 2005

I have tasked myself most-recently, in the wake of my oldest child's eighteenth birthday, of going through and organizing all our family photos.


The birthday parties.
The goofy moments.
The toothless faces.
And while looking through everything, I am seeing something in a different way.


There was always another baby.


I remember scrambling to pull off a summer zoo trip with the kids, my bump in the way, always in the way, and then baby pics to follow. The bump in the pictures doesn't always tell the real story - of morning sickness, of exhausted days, of illness, of waiting.
There was the kitchen remodel.  Garage racks full of our dishes and pots in the living room, kids playing around everywhere, and there, another newborn baby in the middle of the mess.
I went through a lot of pictures last week to find some for my husband's cousin, who was visiting.  He remarked that every time he came back to see us; 


There was another baby.


It hit me.  It's true.  I had never thought about it in quite that way.  We got pretty good over the years of making room for another little one, in some ways, even being pretty cavalier about it: by the time our last little one, #6 came, I was unworried about just about everything - where to put the baby, what they baby really needed, what the latest gadgets were (who cares?) etc. 


But, looking through all those pictures, I know that even in the middle of the tough stuff, I loved every single minute of it all.  Every baby smile, every first step, those little words, those first teeth, those school field trips.


Then later on the music concerts, the soccer games, the summer car trips.
Now it's the driving lessons, the dating scene for my older kids, marching band, and watching them become these amazing people: with the best and worst of you somewhere inside of them. 


There is so much craziness.  The full calendar, the occasional fights, the clothes that they will outgrow in a just month or two, the fridge that empties itself magically every couple of days. 
Sometimes during the stress of all this teenager stuff, I dry my tears while snuggled-up to my two-year-old, and remind myself how fast it all goes by.


Thank goodness, there's still another baby. 


I'm so grateful for this extraordinary, jumbo-size family and larger-than-life experience.  But after writing this, I suddenly feel like I need a very long nap.

Happy 18 Naomi. Every day with you was a cherished privilege, and I can't wait to see what you'll do and where you'll go.  And as you break my heart by growing up and moving on, thank goodness:


There's still another baby. 

Roses and Remembering

Bolero

 

Eglantyne

 

Penstemon

Wild Foxlove

 

These lovely photos are the result of everything else pretty much falling apart. 

It's been a month. Water heater problems, coughs and colds, dog sprayed by a skunk, landed myself in the ER (much better now), meetings, birthdays, races, crazy. One kid nearly set our house on fire right before everybody came over for BBQ. It goes on. This week, I sat for a moment, silently praying to thank God for how wonderful it all truly is. Because even with the crazy it truly is. With the dynamic of our family shifting to the teenage years, it had been a few years since we'd all trekked ourselves over to Chuck E Cheese for a birthday. This month, we went to celebrate my daughter's sixth birthday. I can remember so many times going to Chuck E Cheese with my little kids that are now big teenagers.  We all got to take a step back and remember how short a good childhood is.


We also managed to make a visit to the Granpa's grave.  We still miss him, and we try to keep the memories alive for our kids as long as we can.


And then there's the roses.  Between all the mishaps, injuries, and illnesses; the quiet knitting needles, and the masses of unfinished laundry, I have squished in some time for one of my passions:  Old Roses.  I keep reading books about old lost heirloom roses, found in old cemeteries, or old forgotten European gardens, or along old homesteads or cabins. They read like detective novels.  Then of course, as I drive the kids to school, to scouts, to everything, I've been taking old country roads, and making discoveries of my own. I've been finding wild roses, and antiques, planted long ago, along dusty old roads, and in some private local gardens. Their names haunt me:   Ispahan, Belle Isis, Souvenir de la Malmaison, Queen of Denmark, Celestial, Great Maiden's Blush, Autumn Damask.  They are all fragrant in a way that no modern rose is - the smell is intoxicating!  In my own rose beds, I'm planting the newer David Austin English varieties that are bred to look old.  There's almost nothing that the smell and sight of a rose can't cure, at least for me. 


Long ago, roses were often cultivated for their healing properties, and they were always included in the old monastery gardens for that purpose.  This month, they've healed me.  And oh, how I've needed those roses this month!

Gertrude Jekyll and Abraham Darby

Munstead Wood

Wild Mutiflora Rose

 

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Mystery rose from some private gardens

Mystery old rose found on the side of a road

Flower heads left after taking old rose cuttings

Bittersweet Spring

 

There's nothing like sitting out here in the middle of a grove of Cedars during some powerful March wind.  It comes through the grove in a big roar, an almost frightening, primal sound, but a lovely one as well.  The soft and flexible cedar branches bend easily in the wind, and their lace-like fronds seem to dance and shimmer each time it blows.
March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, they say.


It has been a turbulent March for us as well.
Why do I trick myself into thinking things will ever settle down and become a little easier, or quieter, or less hectic? 
They don't.
And being part of a family, at least this family, means that while we wade through really tough stuff, we are also stopped dead in our tracks with the hilarious, the heartfelt, and the sweet. The fact that all this can happen within the same five-minute stretch of time never ceases to amaze me.  (Am I happy, yes, am I sad, yes, am I heartbroken, yes, am I laughing, yes, every single day, every single hour.)


Then a glimpse of rare spring sunshine comes through and everyone is giddy for a day. We are suddenly to be found picknicking on a blanket under a blooming tree.  No matter our age or stage, or what was on that 'to-do' list, we find ourselves playing outside, working outside, checking on things outside; suddenly needing to do anything and be everything out-of-doors.


I find myself confronting both the realities of a really difficult life and the great blessings of it all at once. It all just seems a little weird and changeable. I guess that's a little bit like Spring. 
New things are growing here around every corner.  Daffodils, primroses, camellias, cherry blossoms.  There is a lot of dirt and mud and rain.  The nights are still cold, too cold for the big bulk of garden plants and flowers, but the buds are all appearing.
My kids are growing up too.  Some days they bloom like flowers, other days, let's just say are pretty muddy - and there are lots and lots of storms, as they grow up and as we grow into parents and we all struggle to figure out this really hard growing-up stuff. 


All the good and the bad all at once  - so bittersweet.
Such is my bittersweet spring.


Also, I painted my very ugly front door blue.