This Christmas

I'm sitting down and taking my first break on this utterly grey and gloomy Monday. I'm trying to refocus,
           trying not to look at my To Do List, which seems to have grown longer
           (probably when I wasn't looking),
           trying to just sit here quietly and enjoy this moment.

Easier said than done.

What is it about Christmas that seems to shorten days? Suddenly I find myself scrambling amidst tinsel and trimmings to get too many things done in far too little amount of time. I just want to throw my hands up and scream, "STOP!"

Again, easier to wish that than to will it.

As I get wiser (notice I did not say "Older"), I find myself learning to slow down a bit, and take things one day at a time. And to that end, it's a lot easier to observe this wonderful Season and actually enjoy it.

My baking will get done. Eventually.
My house can wait another week or so to be cleaned. I hope.
Those To Do Lists will be full of check-offs. At some point.

And in the meantime, we have two very eager 7 year olds awaiting The Big Day around here this year. Seeing their excitement grow every year, their anticipation starting a bit earlier each year, is pure joy for me.

And seeing Christmas through their eyes is a miracle. Each year they show me something different because they are a little bit different. A little bit older, a little bit changed. And they share that with me.

I keep a running record of  it in my heart, filing it all away in those secret places Mother's have in there, just for memories that are both seen, felt, and relived. The Year I Held Them In Their My First Christmas Outfits. The Christmas They Toddled About With Their Dress-Up Pig & Tiger Tails Tucked Into Their Pants. The Year All They Wanted Was A Choir Of Sing-A-Ma-Jigs. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Every year, a little bit different. Each year special in its own way and for its own reasons.

It's a gift in itself to be able to sit back and observe it all. And I will make time for it. I will.

This is the year.
No more fussing.
No more worrying over what is done and what isn't.
No more trying to do more than I can.

Nope.
Nada.

Not this year.
This year I watch.
I observe.
I laugh.
I smile.

I take mental pictures of it all and store it.

Because it's all precious.
           

And another thing..

Today I'm trying to remember all the things that don't really need to be finished right now. Right. This. Second.

I'm trying not to add to my list of TO DO's that needed checked off yesterday.

I'm really, really, really attempting to keep in mind that I am, in fact, just one person.

Just little old me.

It's okay to let that laundry sit in the laundry basket another day. (It's folded, after all.)

It's acceptable to fore go steam mopping today if it means I have a 15 minute break to sit and breathe and think amidst this otherwise hectic day.

There's nothing absolutely wrong with having a mishmash of books and errant toys covering most solid surfaces of the downstairs. (At least, for right NOW there isn't).

It may not be on par with who I am, generally.

But on this day---this one right now---

     it's who I have to be.

Here's hoping that tomorrow will have an extra couple of hours added to it.

Ball Pit Joy

I packed up the girls' Ball Pit today; rescuing it from its dreary resting place in our attic, and sending it forth to an exciting new life in the land of Younger Cousins. If toys can have feelings, I believe I sensed a sigh of anticipation wafting off that carrying bag. An air of excitement for being played with once more.

Ball Pits. You know, if ever a toy had been the embodiment of a past childhood memory, I think this would be it. How great are ball pits? Either you've had a grand experience with them, and thus want to recreate it with your children, or you've been deprived and seek to save your own offspring from a similarly dire fate.

My situation was the former. Glorious memories of Ball Zone Happiness abound in my mind's eye. Having children was like a green light for trying to relive those days of yore and not seeming to be completely and utterly insane along the way.

When I was a kiddo, knee high and a bouncy, happy little mite, my favorite place in the entire world was Cedar Point. More specifically, I adored a long gone treasure inside Cedar Point called King Arthur's Court. Anyone else remember this? It still semi exists today as Kiddie Kingdom, but it's been upgraded to a mass of Snoopy inspired rides and games. But back in the day, it was  home to Ball Pit glory. There were two different ball pits to choose from. There was a little kid pit where in the average 4 year old could pounce about under the watchful eye of the parent, completely seen and observed. And then there was what I adoringly called The Big Kid Pit. This pit was bigger. It was deeper. In this pit, it was possible, should one desire it, to disappear completely in a sea of multi-colored bliss.

How I loved that Big Kid Pit. I eagerly awaited the growth spurt that would graduate me from the little kiddy pit to the place Where The Big Kids Play. And when my head at last tipped the measuring line and I was finally able to take that first joyful leap at the sound of the whistle, oh how tremendous it was. Just as I had hoped.

For 5-7 minutes it was just me, and 9 of my closest non-acquaintances, and what had to be a squajillion multi-colored, hollow balls. I remember the sound of them all; the bumping of the ones nearest to me, and the overall rumbling of that huge mass all moving as one. I remember that odd feeling of being suspended if I held still, supported by a solid rainbow; and the fluidity I felt while running straight ahead, launching myself and crashing down on a prismatic sea. There was, of course, the Other Child Hazard that always loomed; that risk of either smashing into a hidden person who chose to slink in the under layers of the balls, or to be smashed upon as you lay semi-covered and an eager leaper launched himself onto your person. But as with most of the happy games of childhood, I was fairly oblvious to the danger and just had fun anyway.

And of course the bacteria. (You know I was going to go there eventually). Can you even imagine how disgustingly microbial coated those things were? What if some kid dropped a number 2 in there?? You know it happened. Had to have. So what did they do? Did someone go in there with a rag and wipe each of the bazillion balls down with bleach? One by one? Was there some vacuum operation that sucked all the bacteria out of the entire area? I think no.
I shudder.

But of course, as a child I cared not for worries of germicidal nature. I just saw a Pit of Joy. End of story. From whistle blow to whistle blow, I was carefree and loving every micro second of it. After my turn had ended, I remember begging my parents to let me wait out the line again. Back in those days, it was actually safe for them to leave me there while they went on with my much more adventurous brothers, getting them on and off the (gulp) roller coasters and coming back for me shortly after.

Flash forward 20 years or so, and enter two little girls and a first birthday party that we weren't sure we'd even get to have for them. What better gift to celebrate the smoothing out of what had been a rocky start and usher in the start of childhood then with the hero of my OWN childhood?? Hello, Ball Pit Ball Zone. You rock.

They loved it. I loved it.

Did it recreate my joyful memories of Kiddy Land? Nah, not really. (We were short several squillion balls, it turned out). But it sure was a blast playing with them and watching them have a blast in it. And now that they've completely outgrown it, it's a pretty awesome thing to be able to move it on to a new group of kiddos to enjoy as well.

Memories are good.
Seeing your children get a glimpse of those same memories is even better.

Crispy Orange Chicken Happiness--A Recipe

This one is dedicated to Dawn, a fellow lover of orange-ish things.

I have mentioned before that I am a fan of Do It Yourself cooking adventures. I celebrate cookbooks that utilize the phrase Copy Cat. Sometimes I will sit at my laptop, spending my free time just idly seeking out copy cat versions of my favorite foods. I'll stare at the screen as mental images of All Things Delicious drift through my mind, mentally snagging a few and running searches on them to see what I can uncover deep in the bowels of the Cyber Vaults.

One such foray yielded gold. Sheer gold.

I <heart> the Crispy Orange Chicken Bowl at Applebee's. So very much so that it is what I get, almost every single time I go. I say, "almost" because I also like to get the Asian Wrap or the Santa Fe Wrap. But that is neither here nor there at this moment in blog-time.

But I digress.

I found a Copy Cat version of this most favorite of all things one day and was eager to try it out. To my joy and surprise, the sauce is exactly like Applebee's version. Exactly. I'm including the recipe for the sauce, but not for the batter-fried chicken. I'll explain that later, so read on.

Orange Chicken Glaze

What You'll Need:

1 TBS veggie oil

1 tsp. minced garlic

1 1/2 tsp grated fresh orange rind

1 cup orange juice

1/2 cup Hoisin Sauce

Dash of cayenne pepper

1/4 cup granulated sugar

salt/pepper

What You'll Do:

Heat the oil in a saucepan and add the garlic, sauteing for 1 minute. Be careful not to let the pan get too hot or you'll end up with bitter garlic, which is boo.

Add the rest of your ingredients and bring to a boil. Stirring constantly, allow to boil for 3 minutes. Reduce the heat and simmer, stirring from time to time, until it gets to your desired consistency.

Applebee's serves theirs with stir fry veggies, rice, and some crispy noodles & slivered almonds.

Here's what I did to make this come together quickly and with amazing results. I used popcorn chicken to star as my Crispy Chicken in this particular role. If you get a good brand--the type that looks like fritters---you end up with the same result.It's quick. It's easy. And it keeps the Fry Daddy away and in the basement, which I consider a boon. I baked the chicken and then mixed it into the saucepan, tossing to coat well.

As the chicken was cooking, I stir fried some frozen veggies. Applebee's uses broccoli, snow peas, red peppers, and mushrooms.  To be quick, I used a frozen blend. Costco has a wonderful Stir Fry blend that has everything in it. By the time the chicken was done, the veggies were ready.

I served this on brown rice, in bowls, with egg rolls on the side.

My children, who traditionally hate all things that are not Peanut Butter, Pizza, or Yogurt, actually consumed the entirety of their bowls, and impressed me greatly in the process. They even asked me if we could make it again the next night. That's mighty high praise from these two Pizza Lovin' Ladies. So I mark this as a really good recipe.

The Closing Of The Year

The winds of November have blown the vestiges of October off the calendar page. Days have drifted into weeks, which have pulled us closer to that holiday of plenty once again.
Thanksgiving.

One week away.

Then Christmas. Just around the corner.

The closing of the year is always an interesting time for me. For our family. Probably for most families, each in its own way. For me it's a time of nearly perpetual motion; set in gear by that flip of the calender page back on November first. It always seems as though within days of that action, we're getting ready to sit down to The Feast. The one day wherein it's completely socially acceptable to be an utter glutton. For the the whole day. I read somewhere that the Pilgrims celebrated their Thanksgiving for three full days. Each one adhering to a rigorous schedule of eat, play, sleep; repeat. For three days. .

November comes and my house is bedecked in all things Holiday Cheer. Trees. Lights. Colors. Ornaments. All up and shimmering. A shiny way to smooth out this year and usher in the next. Christmas songs fill the house and our car, carrying us along our way, floating on a cloud of Yule Tide Cheer. I know everyone has an opinion about it, but for what it's worth, I actually like hearing Christmas songs played in the retail stores throughout the season. Even when "The Season" starts on November first. Along with that fateful page flip seems to come a strange compulsion for some people to become completely oblivious to the existence of other human beings around them. For an entire 2 months it seems, there are those in our realms who feel they are alone:

On The Road ---so let's feel free to cut over a lane without looking. Surely there is no one there.

In the Stores--- it's okay to push your way through, since surely there is no one there on whose toes you may have just stepped.

At the Checkout Lane---if there's no one in front of or behind you, it doesn't matter what lane you choose. And no, you haven't cut in front of anyone. Besides, you need to get home, right?

Sigh.

For the rest of us, those who don't disappear into a world of No One Else, we have to put up with the pushing, cutting, and rather aggressive driving. With a smile. Christmas Music helps me with that.

When a stranger, dwelling in the land of No One Else, runs their cart into my child, nearly knocking her down, and then passes us by without a glance....well, the happy rhythm of Jingle Bells goes a long way towards helping me keep my focus on my perplexed child, and not on trailing the offender and expressing something somewhat less than Christmas Cheer.

All season long.

Every year I promise myself we'll make the focus on The Birth that means more than brightly packaged presents. Yet it's so easy to get caught up in the fast pace of it. So I end my year promising to keep better focus next year.

A cycle.

Will this year be different? I have to hope it will be. There's always great hope in that pure intention. Our decorations are out, halls having been decked over the course of the last 2 weeks, thus saving me from an onslaught of sudden Christmas Season Fervor. Lists have been written up by two little girls who very endearingly informed me that they didn't really need more 'things' this year. And we're all gathered together, remembering why we have this glittery holiday to begin with. The story that goes back longer than the tale of St. Nick; back to a simple town, and a lowly manger, and the Miracle that was born there.

On this calm November day, I find myself quite peaceful and focused.

And ready for The Season.

The Art Of Laziness

I am not a lazy person by nature. At least, I like to think I'm not.

But I do love some of the traditions often found in those who are lazy. The sacred rituals of The Lazy Ones.

......I love to sleep in.
            Really, if it were a sporting event, I would feel like a true athlete, able to sleep in with the best of them.

....I adore my pajamas.
            I have a pair of sock monkey jammies that hang out with me all year, despite their flannel material and Christmas stocking decor. They're just that darn comfortable.

.....I like the open-mindedness of no schedule.
           "No Schedule" was a kiss of death back when the girls were younger. Having a schedule and sticking to it every single day was the only thing that kept my sanity somewhat in tact. But now.....eh. Now I want to pad around in my jammies, coffee in hand, aimlessly wandering the downstairs of a quiet house. For as long as I want.

.....Nothing irks me more than having to get up and jump directly into the shower.
        This goes back to my adoration of No Schedule. After all, nothing declares, Something Which Must Be Done quite like having to get all gussied up for it immediately. Nah, slow down; stay in your jammies for awhile, friend.

It's not that I'm not a morning person. I pop out of bed chattering about the day and the plans from the moment my eyes open.
But I just love the coziness of doing nothing in particular at any given moment of time; the smoothness of a day spread out before you with no lines filled in, just waiting to be explored. You know, whenever.

And I find myself quite blessed that I married someone who shares my love of these rituals of possible laziness. Don't let the Monday through Friday alarm clock wake up call at 5:00 am fool you. On weekends and vacations, he's right with me in his pajamas and aimless, pad-footed wanderings.

And it's an abundant blessing that my offspring feel the same. What are the odds that two kiddos would be lovers of the art of sleeping in? (Must be that twin bond).

Here's to sleeping in. To hanging out in your pajamas for longer than considered socially acceptable. For not filling the day with plans, but winging it as you go, filling it with the stuff of adventure. For keeping that bed head just a bit longer than others might think appropriate, risking the possiblity of scaring the mailman.

And to being together while doing it.

Knowing

"Yes, but how do you know you are doing the right thing?"

I was asked this most important question recently as I spoke to a friend about teaching the girls at home. It's a good question, really.

I can't even count the times in my life when I've found myself staring down the barrel of A Big Decision; an action that needs to be taken, a cause and effect that needs to be dealt with. I positively hate that feeling of "Should I or Shouldn't I? Is this Right or Wrong?" that nags at me in nearly everything important that I decide to do. Or not do.

Whenever faced with a choice, be it an ugly or pretty one, I pray. I can't come up with the answers all on my own folks, and I don't really want to try. There's peace in that too, a sort of giving the pressure up and letting it go.

Sometimes God's answers aren't what I wanted to hear. (Yes, it's true.) Sometimes I get a no when what I desperately wanted was a yes. But even though I don't always get what I want, it's true what they say. I get what I need.
And that is just right, too.

Needless to say, the choice to school the girls at home was at the end of a path paved with many prayers. We didn't enter into this lightly.

But we sure are having a blast.
Yes, we sure are.

Everyday I wake up and pull myself together, snagging a few Me Moments (aka Coffee) before awakening the girls. After getting them ready, we head downstairs To Start Our Day. Our school day revolves around the dining room, the family room, the kitchen, and outside. We move when we need to move, pick up where we left off, and go with along with the ebbs and flow in our moods.

I teach. They learn. Heck, I learn. And they're teaching me in the process.

At the end of our lessons, it's all put away; books and pencils back on shelves, papers sorted into folders, activities checked off lists of things to do. We take a break from each other. They in one room, me in another; a quiet repast that, in the end, will bring is together again.

Then after dinner, when the table is cleared and my mind has wound down from one day's adventures, I set it all up to start again the next day.

And do you know what the miracle in all of this is? While I'm setting up for the next day, I'm smiling. Really, truly smiling.
I love this.
I love this.
I love this.

Every moment is teachable, my friends. And I'm grabbing them all, each and every one. Sometimes I have two students and other times  I am the student.

And it's all good. It's amazingly good.

When I can go through a full day that is mentally challenging and emotionally taxing, and still get ready for the next one with a smile on my face and a sureness of purpose in my heart......
                                                       I know I'm doing the right thing.