And We're Back

Poor Grandpa Tom is probably suffering horrible withdrawals from the lack of grandbaby pictures, but there is an explanation. Several, in fact. First, the boys had awful colds starting about two weeks ago. Jack got it first, and on the worst day he woke us up at 4:30 in the morning to tell us that his body hurt all over and that "I hate being all sweaty." We put him in bed with us, gave him Motrin and eventually we all got a little sleep, but I've been feeling a little like I have a newborn baby what with the middle-of-the-night parenting and lack of sleep. Matteas came down with the cold about four days after Jack, and had it for longer. There were several feverish nights when even Motrin and the comfort of Mama's arms weren't very comforting. To cope, we had lots of tea parties. The weather outside was awful so we couldn't go outside anyway, but it made the feeling of being couped up worse. I had to let the boys do whatever I was doing in order to get anything done, and it was slow going. To celebrate our recent wellness, on Saturday we went on a family hike. Matteas kept putting his hand out to pet the back of Daddy's head. It was 2 1/2 miles roundtrip which isn't a big deal for me and Aaron, but I was really impressed that Jack made it the whole way. Especially because about three days earlier, I took them both on the same hike by myself. It's a great trail near our house that goes down to a lovely beach, so you get to look at different kinds of terrain. It's hikes like this that make me so glad I live in the Northwest, and convinced that I couldn't be happy living anywhere else long-term.

And just because they're cute, two random pictures.

The other reason I haven't posted in weeks is because my memory card threw a fit and refused to surrender any of its pictures. I tried and tried, but to no avail. Aaron eventually succeeded in eeking a few pictures out of it by downloading a few at at time, but there were over 1,000 pictures on the card and I wasn't prepared for that kind of time investment. This morning I left the boys with Madeleine and took the rebellious memory card to the mall, where I met a heroic man at the camera store who recovered all but three of my pictures. He did this by doing some tricky things on his own personal laptop, above and beyond the standard camera store experience. I'm going to write a letter to his manager and suggest he be given a raise, extra paid vacation, and whatever sort of gold medal they have for remarkable employees. He also gave me instructions on how to treat my memory card with more respect(it had nothing to do with how many pictures were on it) to avoid future mutinous behavior. He also pointed out that my camera's resolution was set unusually low(hmm, I wonder how that could have happened?), so all in all it was a very useful and productive experience. Kind of embarrassing considering the fact that I took photography in college, but not with this camera. So I should be posting again soon, complete with great pictures.

Prepare Him Room

I've never really understood the purpose of prayer. I've done a lot of it, mostly when things are going either really well or very badly, but I've always been a little fuzzy on just what the point of it was. For instance, I find I pray a lot when my kids are sick. But does it really make a difference? Do they recover only because I ask God to heal them? Would God let my babies remain ill because I'd failed to pray for healing? I find myself increasingly confused when pondering life's harder questions, like terminally ill babies or infertility or suicide. I was standing in line at an ATM in a grocery store near Children's several years ago when I spotted a young dad with his son. They were both bald, the son from chemotherapy and the dad from compassion. I said a prayer for them, but the prayer I'd say now would probably be very different from the prayer I said at the time. Several things have influenced my ideas about prayer over the past few years. One particularly bright spot was a single line from a sermon. I don't remember most of the what the priest said, but I pulled a pen out of my purse and wrote on a collection envelope this single line: prayer doesn't change God, prayer changes you. When I've prayed for things in the past, I always felt like I was nagging God, asking Him to change His mind about whatever I was currently unhappy about. Clearly I was missing several pieces of the puzzle. A huge piece came to me when I was least expecting it. While reading Eckhart Tolle's A New Earth, I came across his teachings on what he refers to simply as "space." Everyone needs it, but it can sometimes be hard to come by. He says that our job as human beings can really be summed up as a single task: to give each other space. The example he gave of a frustrated child spoke to me very clearly, as this is something I deal with on a daily basis. Eckhart says it can be easier to have the right response to the child if you see clearly what they are asking for, if you can look beyond the whining tantrum and see the child's real need: they need a listening space. They need someone to hear and understand how they are feeling, to empathize with their feelings of frustration and sadness. You cannot have understanding if you do not first make space. This is a thought process which has served me well over and over again, because it makes me aware of how I am interacting with that person. I ran into someone a while ago who I personally find very irritating, and to make matters worse, this person really likes to hear themselves talk. Every time I see this person, I'm guaranteed to get at least fifteen minutes worth of boring anecdotes and corny jokes, and the whole time I'm trying to look bored so they'll get the idea that I'm not interested and leave me alone. But at our last meeting, just as I started to tune out the seemingly-endless drone of their plodding voice, a thought came into my head. A question, really: can I make space for this person? I decided that I could, and the simple act of engaging my conscious will made listening to much easier; I wasn't just waiting for the story to end, I was deliberately aware of what I was doing for the person and I actively chose to do it. This technique also works well to avoid unnecessary arguments. I'm a very opinionated person, and when two opinionated people who don't agree on something get together, things can easily get nasty. Instead of beating the other person over the head with reasons why my ideas are so much better than theirs, I try to consciously ask myself if I can make space for the other person's ideas. It is important that I always do this in question format, because it gives me the opportunity to answer; I'm not merely hearing a voice in my head ordering me around, I'm actively and consciously making a choice. Space isn't just a way to avoid unpleasantness, it is also the definition of hospitality. Having two active boys often prevents me from spending as much time on cooking as I would like(or as is reasonable, to be honest), but I always try to make something special whenever we have friends over for dinner. I do my best to clean up the days' mess before company arrives, get out a tablecloth and have dinner close to ready. I like to do things that say, "I anticipated your arrival, and I made space for you so that you would feel comfortable and welcome." I've never actually used them, but for this reason I find place cards very charming: here is your space, specially designated for you personally. It has occurred to me that there have been times when I've asked God for something, but have failed to act in a way that indicates I was ready to receive what I was asking for. One of my sisters shared a quote(I don't know the original author) about prayer that said "Pray as if everything depended on God; work as if everything depended on you." In other words, if you're praying that God will give you a house, it's a good idea not to blow all your money on other things. The concept of space really struck me this Christmas, as Aaron and I stood in the back of the standing-room-only church and listened to the Christmas readings. The priest didn't raise his voice, but louder than all the other words I heard "There was no room at the inn." It seemed especially profound that, where once that had been no room for the Christ child, on the night commemorating His birth there was very nearly not enough room for everyone who had come to receive Him. Which brings me to the picture of the baby at the beginning of this post. His name is Jack Michael Fanning, and he is a sick little baby. He was born prematurely due to severe complications and is currently in the NICU at Evergreen hospital. His parents are Mike and Tricia Fanning, and they are asking for prayers for their little boy, that he will find the strength to live and to thrive. I am asking for your prayers for him, not because I think he will die without them, but because I think it is important that the world let God know that we are making space for baby Jack. Or in other words, "Let every heart prepare Him room."

Brotherly Love

Brothers shopping together.

Dancing.

Getting cozy.

Matteas has been VERY interested in doing everything big brother does, including getting a bottle of milk and snuggling in Jack's bed. He screamed when it was time for Jack to go to sleep and I had to take him out. Their relationship has really been blossoming; anytime Matteas hears Jack cry, he drops whatever he's doing and immediately runs to comfort him.

And a solo of Matteas. Baby in one hand, tractor in the other; my kind of man.

Matteas the Garbage Man

He shoots, he scores!!!

Sun Peaks

Wow I'm behind. This trip is part of the reason for that, so I don't really have any regrets. On December 14th we packed up the car and the kids and embarked on a six hour drive up to Sun Peaks Resort in Canada. The boys were amazing, and only got a little squirrelly after we'd already been driving for four hours. We really couldn't have asked for better road-trip behavior. The views on the drive up were pretty amazing. I'm a chicken about driving in the snow, but Aaron is all coolness and calm control. He drove, and I took pictures and handed out snacks and coloring supplies. It was so unbelievably cold that we only took Matteas out once, on the warmest day, which was a sweltering 7 degrees. Fahrenheit. Yeah, it was cold. The second you stepped outside, your breath would freeze in your nose. Tiny ice crystals, all up inside your nose. It was disconcerting, but after a while you sort of got used to it. Daddy and Matteas during his fifteen minutes of outdoor time, about to sled down the hill next to the house. Matteas, screaming angrily at Daddy after getting snow sprayed in his face while sledding. Two years ago we had enough snow on the ground in December to sled. Jack loved the slide at the park, so I thought he'd like sledding. I was mistaken. He wouldn't even get on the sled, and freaked out at the sight of anyone else on a sled. We're talking full-on hysterics. No amount of coaxing would get him anywhere near a sled, and he preferred to stay inside whenever it snowed. It's hard to know when to push your kids to work through their fear and when to let them set their own boundaries, but I'm really glad we didn't try to force Jack that winter. It made it that much more rewarding to see him fearlessly tackle the sled run we made next to the house, shooting down the hill at break-neck speeds over and over again. It was one of those distinct moments in parenting when I thought to myself, here is a breakthrough. And it wouldn't be a proper post if it didn't include at least one picture of food. We had some amazing meals; the above shot was from our second night there, when Briana and I made roasted pork tenderloin with wine-poached apples, mashed potatoes and a tomato, cucumber and blue cheese salad. The house came pre-decorated with a fake tree. You can't really tell from this picture, but the tree was about twelve feet tall. The fireplace was gas, and it stayed on pretty much the entire time.

Some views from the living room windows.

It was an absolutely amazing time; Briana and Shane were so generous to share their vacation with us, and the kids got along really well. We made sure to get them outside at least once a day for some sledding time, which helped a lot. Then the couples took turns watching each other's kids so everyone got to log some time on the mountain. Shane taught Briana to snowboard and Aaron took me skiing for the second time, which I'm pleased to report went much better than the first. I attribute my greater success to two things: chiropractic care and the words lean forward. The first time Aaron took me skiing, I hadn't had my back adjusted at all. After skiing with entirely the wrong technique for a few hours, my lower back was so tired that the muscles simply gave up and I would fall over no matter how hard I tried to stay up. This time, my back felt great and was able to give me the support I needed so that when I was finally driven inside it was from cold and not exhaustion. Thank you, Dr. White. The first time Aaron took me skiing, I borrowed boots and skis from my aunt who is a little taller than I am. This time I rented skis, and a little chat I had with the guy fitting my boots was the beginning of a light-bulb moment for me. He was a friendly little French-Canadian guy, and after measuring my feet he had me try on a killer-looking pair of red and silver ski boots(think Star Wars). "Your boots, they feel okay, no?" he asked very Frenchly. "My toes feel kind of pinched," I replied very naively. "Oui," he said patiently, "lean forward." I complied. And felt really stupid as I pressed my shins into the front of the boot and my toes slid back to a place of comfort and control. In my defense, it's a little counter-intuitive to lean that way when you're facing down-hill. Also, skiing feels totally different than it looks. I was under the impression that it would involve a lot of turning with my hips and upper body. Turns out, not so much. It's mostly about which foot your weight is on, and leaning forward. I cannot emphasize enough how useless it is to try to ski without doing this. This time, something clicked and I became ten times the skier I was before. Which isn't really saying much, but I was still happy. Aaron was very patient with me as I took baby steps down the bunny hills before braving the chair lift, which as far as I'm concerned is the scariest part of skiing. Aaron is an amazing skier(he can ski backwards, people) and instead of shooting expertly down the mountain and leaving me in the frozen dust, he kept me company all the way down, patiently giving me non-condescending instructions whenever I needed them. It was a pretty incredible experience to stand at the top of a snow-covered mountain with my husband and then ski all the way down together. My only regret about the trip was that we got home on the 19th, and it cut into my Christmas preparations a bit. If I had packed better I could have taken some things with me to work on, but it seemed a little absurd to take my sewing machine all the way up to Canada.

For Grandpa

Last night we took the boys over to the grandparents' house and went on a date. My father-in-law mentioned that it's been a long time since I updated my blog; I have some good posts brewing but it's been pretty busy around here, so in the meantime I thought I'd just share a little bit of what we've been up to. Matteas is obsessed with the fireplace. He loves helping Daddy bring wood inside and then, with Daddy's help, putting it on the fire.

Matteas takes his work very seriously.

Waiting for Daddy to come help...

Focus, focus.

Another thing Matteas takes very seriously is his oral hygiene. He has nightly flossing sessions, also with Daddy.

For his next trick, Matteas will start baking. He likes to put on my oven mitt and rub the oven with it.

They haven't seen Lady and the Tramp; I guess this is the sort of thing that just comes naturally.

One morning before school, Jack said "Mom, I want you to spike my hair up crazy for school!"

It's cozy sock weather, especially since we have tile on our kitchen floor; it's chilly making breakfast in the morning barefoot. One morning I couldn't find my fuzzy purple socks. That is, until I looked under the table. And now, I'm off to pack our snow clothes. Along with every piece of warm clothing we own because we're headed to ski country on Sunday, and the forecast is -20F.

A More Meaningful Christmas

Aaron and I have been talking about ways to make Christmas more meaningful and simultaneously more budget-friendly. To that end, I've been working on beefing up my crafting skills. Something homemade might well come from the heart, but not everyone wants one of those woven loop potholders for Christmas. After reading about the Wal-mart employee who was trampled to death the day after Thanksgiving, my already budget-conscious gift ideas were given new resolve to actually mean something; it seems so anti-Christmas to turn gift giving into something so competitive and nasty. That being said, I think my gift to everyone this year will be to dispense with gift-giving entirely; most people can't afford much this year, and plus I'm really picky. So if you are dying to give me something for Christmas and you find something affordable that you think I'll love, I'd be happy to have it, but if the perfect gift idea eludes you just cross me off your list; if we are good friends it won't ruin our relationship that I don't get a gift from you this year, and if we're not good friends, even the most extravagant gift won't make up for it. I plan on simplifying the gifts I plan to give this year, inspired by some of the best gifts I've received. Personally, I don't like having a bunch of stuff that only comes in handy once or twice a year. I like things that I can use in every day life and think of the person who gave it to me. Soap, candles, hand towels, socks, something edible, a cozy throw blanket; these are the kind of gifts that really speak to me. Everybody needs soap and towels, so it's always nice to receive some extra-lovely versions of necessary things and turn an ordinary task like washing your hands into a pleasure-infused experience. Jack is forever asking me for art projects, so I'm always pleased when I come up with one that he can do all by himself and also do it more than once. One of my recent thrifting scores was a huge piece of beautiful green wool felt, and I've been putting it to good use. Most of the time I find that fabric at Goodwill is outrageously priced, often well above what I'd pay for it at Joann's, but this piece was three yards of wool felt for $3.99. I made Jack a Christmas tree, then cut out some ornaments from the cheaper synthetic felt I had from previous art projects.

I trimmed off the extra inch on the sides; I was still fiddling with my pattern.

This project I am particularly pleased with. I got the idea from(where else?) Soulemama's The Creative Family but since I'd already returned it to the library I made up my own pattern. It would be a great gift for any little artist in your life(I think several of my nieces and nephews will be getting one of these this year), and costs very little to make. Also, it was super easy, and I am an extremely amateur sewer/crafter. I bought Jack a dozen pencils for Christmas, so that's how many slots I made in my roll but obviously it can be made to fit any number of art supplies. I allowed 1 inch for each pocket and factored in a 1/2 seam allowance for each side. Using cotton fabric, measure a piece that is 13 inches wide and 10 inches tall. Fold it in half width wise, so you have a piece that measures 13x5. Press. Fold in the sides and the bottom 1/2 inch and press. Your piece should now measure 12x4 1/2. Cut out a piece of felt that's 12 inches wide and 7 1/2 inches tall. Cut out another piece of felt that's 12 inches wide and 10 1/2 inches tall. Cut a piece of ribbon 24 inches long. Lining up the edges, pin the cotton piece to the taller piece of felt so the folded side of the cotton makes the top of the pockets and sew around the three outside edges of the cotton. Then sew a seam at one inch intervals so that you have twelve pockets that are each one inch wide. Lining up the edges, pin the the shorter piece of felt to the back of the taller piece with pockets. Fold the ribbon in half and insert the folded end 1/2 inch, so that it is sandwiched between the two pieces of felt and lines up with the top of the cotton pockets. Pin in place. Using a 1/8 inch seam allowance, sew around the outside edge of the 12x 7 1/2 piece. I picked up a dozen colored pencils from a local toy shop for $1.90, and I'm guessing I used about .75 cents in materials for a grand total of $2.65. You don't have to use wool felt, you could use any fabric you have but using felt saves you a lot of time because it won't fray and you can leave the sides unfinished. This one's for the grandparents. I call it "Pinky and the Brain." I'm pretty sure they talk about how to take over the world.