Happy New Years Eve!

This being the last day of the new year, I am taking a moment to bid it a proper adieu.

And to say good-bye to these little people, who will be inches taller, and sassier and more independent and all together different, come this time next year.

I'm looking forward to seeing who they become in 2010. Because they were pretty awesome in '09.

Happy New Years Eve, friends.

I *think* we might be able to handle snow this year and keep our sanity.

Snow day! Sort of.

Because we really only saw about an inch, and it was melted by 5:00 p.m. But, for a 60 minute span this morning, it was magical.

And I say that, because we managed to locate a size 10 pair of purple boots, that appeared in my closet as if the holy spirit just knew that forcing Big J's feet into a size 6 was borderline torture. I consider this a divine miracle for him, less for me.

Though. Not losing his four-sizes-too-small boot in the one inch snow had definite benefits for
yours truly.


We headed to a park near our home, and enjoyed it all to ourselves. It appears parks are not highly sought destinations on snow days, which is interesting, considering that we all THOROUGHLY enjoyed it, decked out in our cozy snow gear and all. We were free to swing and slide and play...and yet stayed completely warm. I'm beginning to see the benefits of puffy, synthetic clothing for outdoor play, all winter long.

However. The playground equipment was EXTREMELY slippery. As in, you-could-get-an-incredible-amount-of-air-coming-off-the snow-coated slides kind of slippery. Whoa, extreme toddler sports.

But also, the stairs and general walkways were more slippery than ice, and speaking in terms of physics or chemistry, or whatever science dictates the properties of all things slick, I didn't think that was possible.

So. Snow + playground metal = major possibilities for head contusions.


And then we headed home for hot chocolate, because that's just what you do (even though I KNEW, it would be a disaster). Hot chocolate, for young kiddies, always sounds better than it really is. Because there is a small window for which the beverage is neither too hot, nor too cold. And if they don't happen to spill all the hot chocolate before/during the temperature climax, it's a small miracle.

Today, one shirt, one baby blanket and one bowling-pin kitty were scarred with cocoa.

And suddenly, it's about to be New Years. And I have this incredible bug to clean the house for a fresh start in 2010! But let's be honest, that kind of project will take years.

So it looks like we are a go for a fresh 2014.

Who's with me?

Being INTENTIONAL.



It's today's theme, and you know me and themes! I just can't rest until I've beat a dead horse with streamers and tissue paper pompoms! Only today, we're talking about intentions-- Less fondant-decorated cupcakes, more purposeful thinking.

And I'm going to encourage you (and myself) in this idea and hope you'll join me.



I love the idea of being intentional. Purposeful in my attitude, my plans, my goals, my time and how I chose to spend my minutes, particularly when it comes to my family. But for all of my great intentions, I'd say that I am purposeful with 10% of my everyday life. And only then, because I plan for it, which some might think sounds Type-A and nerdy and calendar-dependant and the total opposite of spontaneous fun.



Which, is kind of true.



But spontaneous fun with four young children often results in some sort of food spillage, rampant hyper-activity, behaviors warranting drug therapy, AND a total lack of self control that ultimately ends in a frustrating, sobbing mess. For everyone involved. So calendar dependency it is.

I will also note, that as a parent, I am not naturally inclined to be patient and forgiving and gentle. It takes a lot of work and mental preparation and PRAYER and total intervention by the holy spirit. And then there's still the 92% of all parent-child interactions that I manage to get all kinds of wrong.



I'm going to back up for a second, and tell you about the "big" gift I gave my husband for Christmas. He is hard to shop for, (not including large, expensive electronics). And he hates clothes as presents--so that leaves taxidermied animals, chopsticks and chocolate cake as options. Which have all been done.



For this one, I am always thinking ahead. And somewhere around Jan 1, 2009, I came up with the idea to write him letters throughout the year and give them to him as his Christmas present. It was, perhaps, the best and most personal gift I have ever come up with.



And it has been FASCINATING to re-read what I have written in the last year.



Which got me to thinking about how different those words sound once time has passed, verses the moments in which they were written. The intentions verses the actual results.



I have never been into resolutions. I don't have that kind of attention span, to stick with a plan for an ENTIRE year. Please. I'll might as well admit defeat now and gain an additional 20 pounds to show you I am serious.



And yet, I am all about being intentional...maybe not so much in the details, but in the attitudes. Not the specific crafts, but the creativity I hope they encourage. Not the particular family outings, but the memories I hope they make.



My problem (ONE of many, I know), is that I lose focus. Quite a bit, actually. I am purposeful when I am prepared and rested, but less when I am amidst the battleground of school and feedings and carpool and nap schedules and meltdowns.



So my goal, in the next 2 days, is to write myself ONE letter. Nothing overly ambitious, just one. To be saved on this here blog and dated for July 1, 2010 (which JUST happens to be my 10 year wedding anniversary). In a couple of weeks, I hope to forget about it as it gets lost in my list of posts to be published. And six months from now, it will just appear as an INTENTIONAL reminder to myself of what I INTEND my year to be about.



It'll be interesting. To see where I am, how far off course I've gotten, how stressed/not stressed I am, how distracted, how focused. And then to have 6 months to do something about it.

I am fairly certain no animals will be harmed in this experiment, young children will not be tortured, substance abuse will not be encouraged. I've had ridiculous, hair-brained, sleep-reducing ideas before. But I don't THINK this is one.

Who knows, though. I have been known to mod podge for hours on end without explanation.


C'mon bloggers. One letter. To you. From you. For the future.

Mod Podge optional.

I am trapped between years and kind of all over the place

I might have a small problem. Might.

Because this little baby was on sale today, for 59 cents. 59 CENTS! I made these cookies early on in the Christmas season, and they were yum-o. And then I got rather distracted with my brownie making obsession, and the cookies sort of fell off the radar. Until 59 cents.



But for that price, you can't have just one. You need at least 4, maybe 20. I would have bought the entire bin if I had any kind of space to store it. Though it is good to know, that come year end 2009, my dependence on hoarding and large amounts of random crap is still in tact. Phew.

Seriously, though. You add a tiny bit of flour and some butter to these puppies...and you have AWE-SOME sugar cookies. For 59 cents.



There were a lot of projects happening around here last week. A LOT. My plan was to have the kids make gifts for each other, which would be great if I started in June. I forgot my attention span for projects.

But here is L's gift to G, which I had a *small* hand in...I picked a font on the computer that I liked, and enlarged a "g" to about a 250 font size. I then cut the letter out and traced it on to freezer paper. If you're interested, search out a tutorial online for freezer paper stencils--you will find results in abundance. That is basically what we did here, BUT, L applied fabric glue to our adhered stencil, and sprinkled glitter on top of it to produce our sparkly "g".

It turned out great, but we'll see what kind of sticky power that glue has come wash time!

This is a weird week for me, coming off of the busiest season of my life. I LOVE Christmas, and the purpose to it and the magic of Santa for my kids. I LOVE celebrating my family and my friends. I am wired to show love through gifts. And so, I might be a tad-bit tired, and over-extended--but it is REALLY hard for me to draw the line with things I love. Because none of it is a pain in the ass until 2 a.m. on December 22nd.

But this week is strange in that I am tying up small lose ends, and finding a place for new toys (and cookie mixes)...there is nothing crafty happening here, and the side effects of that kind of withdrawal can only be equated to quitting a 25+ year cocaine habit. AND, I'm thinking about 2010, but having no definite plans in store for the new year.

I'm kind of at a loss without a plan. Or intentions.

And I am processing through whether that is good or bad.

I'll tell you what I come up with.

Are you still looking back on '09 or forward to '10? Just curious as to where your at.

T'was the night before Christmas...

Our Christmas Eve service at church this year was at 4:00--it was planned as a Christmas pageant, telling the story of the birth of Jesus. G was to be an angel, and once she found out that her best church friend was also a part of the heavenly choir, she was on board with it. At the age of 7, the strength of her faith is directly proportional to the amount of peer pressure exerted upon her at any given moment.



I bathed our children that morning around 10:00, and whilst I was toweling them off, I noticed that G was a really bad shade of white. Changed in an instant, as if there was some sort of blood-letting I was unaware of.



But.



She said she was fine, just that her side hurt.



Not to worry, I checked for vampire bites AND leeches. And in their absence, I jumped to the only logical conclusion, appendicitis, and watched her carefully whilst she was in my care. FYI, I have indefinitely substituted the plain English word "while" for "whilst". More dramatic flair, me thinks.

Also TOTALLY possible that I am confusing my British and pirate accents, WHILST I tell this story, mateys. Aaaargh.



Christmas Eve, for us, is a lazy day by nature--as I am so foggy from nights of very little sleep and still running about town for last minute items, that I have NO CHOICE but to park the children in front of the TV. I get no complaints from them.

At 2:30, I start barking orders for clothes to be put on--for G only, who has to be at church early, in preparation for her angel performance. Mike is really dealing with the clothing issue, but I have ironed (my one time in '09) and laid everything out by child. G gets dressed, but wants to sit down a lot. I figure the appendix is about to blow, but not until we get those shots of her as a beautiful, pageant angel, damn it.



I get her to church. We save our seats. We head back for the costume change. G is sloooowy morphing into a strange green/gray color. Hmmmm.



"Do you want to go to the bathroom?" I ask.



"Do you feel okay?" I question.



"Where does it hurt?" I ask MORE specifically. She points to her throat. I'm now thinking leech down the esophagus OR head cold, less appendicitis. Until she starts swallowing. A LOT.



"Let's go to the bathroom," I say. To which, she agrees.



At this point I am knocking shepherds and angels to the ground in an attempt to get her OUT of the room that is packed with biblical royalty and parents who believe in the Christ child, but not his ability to provide protection against infectious diseases (or leeches) on CHRISTMAS EVE.



We make it, we are out, and I am dragging G by her angel wings as fast as I can, but I know that we are seconds from nuclear annihilation...and there is not a bathroom in sight. We are in a long hallway.



The mind of a mother is amazing. Stellar. Technology the government WISHES it could replicate, screw that stealth bomber. Because in .5 seconds time, I calculate: my current speed, the amount of food consumed by G and her rate of digestion over a 4 hour period, the length of the hallway in precise steps divided by the leg-span of a 33-and-7-year-old, the location of the nearest bathroom, AND the maximum speed at which we could hope to travel in 45 seconds, given my bunyan causing heels and G's large tread Ugg Boots.



Lock and load. I AM the terminator.



And we reach our target, a trash can, with less than .00001 seconds to spare.



And that trash can just happens to be RIGHT at the front door of the church. As families are pouring in. For Christmas Eve service.



Merry F-ing Christmas.



98% of the vomit makes its way to the trash can. All of it stays off of her clothing (small miracle, save the SKIRT). One of our best friends happens to catch the scene and brings back an intense wad of toilet paper (here is where I tell you it is a BAD idea to have hand dryers and NO paper towels in a bathroom).



But G seems to have her color return just a tad, and we are responsible for saving our seats for the entire family, so I decide G will NOT be participating in the pageant, but we can have her sit with us in the service WHILST carefully making sure no one french kisses her in the spirit of the holidays.



And that, is how you arrive at our opening picture. Because WHILST it appeared that G was fine for the time being, I spent the next 30 minutes PARANOID that she would blow chunks during the service (and we would find the leech responsible for all the hoopla). I'm pretty sure Mike was hoping for that scenario as he chuckled every time I suggested taking her out to the hallway.



Crisis averted, we managed to get her out to the car and three-quarters of the way home before she barfed again. And that was the end of the flu, as G was concerned. We never saw another chunk (or leech).



But Big J. Let me tell you.



You'll remember that I CLEARLY organized outfits for the children, prior to my departure for the pre-pageant puke drama. Mike said he had it.

Uh-huh.



Because when Big J arrived at church that evening he was wearing L's red corduroy pants. Which she had worn all day, prior to putting her pretty dress on. And when Mike told him to put on his pants, that's what he came up with. Five-year-olds cannot be held responsible for dressing themselves, unsupervised, in proper holiday attire.



And my husband. God bless him, he didn't notice the pants were: 3 inches too short or boot-cut in a way that suggests women's fashion. So, Big J ended up wearing red corduroy, boot-cut capris in combo with his velvet blazer. Hot.



And all the effort to be that kind of eye candy resulted in this move:



So, we head home WHILST visions of white wine are dancing in my head. And I beeline up the stairs to prepare a place for my sick child when I notice...



The dog.



At the top of the stairs.



Son of a bitch.



You might remember the dog vomit fest of '09. Fat beagles only climb stairs for one reason.



Food.



Which I STUPIDLY left on my closet floor (again), after I had carefully separated all items for the children's stockings that morning. Which included bubble gum and large, magical lollipops.

Trinkets were scattered, at random, among the floor of our closet. The bubble gum was chewed THROUGH the package, though it was apparent that Bailey ditched that effort for the more easily attained, gigantic lollipops. Three of four were devoured, leaving large, splintered sticks stuck to our carpet with sticky saliva goo.

Oh. And all items going in the stockings were also covered in sticky, saliva goo. Awesome.

A large margarita, a heavy dinner, and one peppermint-ice-cream-pie later, it was all good.

Christmas pjs were unwrapped, and by golly, they fit.

We read the night before Christmas and threw carrots up on the roof, with G in participation, as our 2 hours of nausea had come and gone.

And then we wrapped a crap load of presents and I took a solemn oath to have everything wrapped by December 23, 2010 when Christmas rolls around again.

And that, friends, is how the Denckhoffs celebrated the night before Christmas.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Mele Kalikimaka!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Here's hoping you and your families are having a wonderful and amazing day, celebrating the birth of our Savior. We celebrate things ALL the time. Heck, in this house, we even celebrate going pee on the potty, and that happens every hour or so.

But today is something....special. Amazing. Miraculous.


This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life. God didn't go to the trouble of sending his Son, merely to point an accusing finger, telling the world how bad it was. He came to help, to put the world right again. John 3: 16-17, The Message

If you are luke-warm about "religion" or completely against it or think it's not for you, or don't really care to live by impossible rules--then chances are, you have been impacted by the "human-ness" of the church. I am a confessing Christian, and I know that NO CHURCH is perfect.

Because NO PERSON is perfect. We are prideful, and selfish and arrogant and apathetic and impatient. Hypocritical. Judgemental. Every one of us, Christians and all.

But Mary didn't birth an opinionated crowd. Or a stone tablet of rules (ye-Ouch). Or a Son of God who only cares about "looking" religious.

She delivered a Savior, who is perfect. Particularly in light of our imperfections--because that's kind of the point. Next to him we all fall short and SEE our need.

Because I could have lived forever not knowing. Thinking that a nice house and well-behaved kids and polka dot clothing and a million toys on Christmas was what IT was all about. Having IT all together. And most days, IT would have been more than enough.

But.

There is always a part of me that needs more. After the presents are opened and the house is decorated and the kids are groomed and the grades are given and the nails are painted (just kidding, I don't paint my nails). It's never enough. It never satisfies.

That is the longing in EVERYONE. EVERYONE. Whether we admit it or not, we're ALWAYS looking for something else. More time, more money, more toys, more clothes, more patience. What we need more of, however, might not be what you think it is....

It is a daily struggle for me to take my eyes off of what is in front of me. Most days I get it totally wrong. But he is forgiving. And patient. And gentle and loving and kind.

And I am thankful. Not just for Christmas, but that he PATIENTLY loves me when I get it wrong, almost all of the time. If I could give my kids that kind of gift, it would be amazing.

After they cried and whined that I forgot the train set or the cat house, of course. They are HUMAN, after all.

Merry Christmas Family and Friends!!!! We love ya and hope you are having a great, miraculous, amazing day!

Oh. And to leave you with a little gem that keeps you coming back for more: in the days to come, I will explain IN DETAIL, how Big J ended up wearing girls pants to Christmas Eve Church Service and the multiple ways we survived disaster. It's better than the office party stitches AND the dog vomit, I promise.

I can't make this stuff up.

The details.

Recently, I have dusted off the ol' sewing machine. And while I was at it, I decided to bring the embroiderer out of retirement.

And when I walked through Wal-Mart this morning (with four children, two days before Christmas, she adds) and I saw this $6 t-shirt, an inappropriately-timed, spur-of-the-moment craft was born.

Monogramming with a ruffle. A POLKA DOT ruffle I might add...because otherwise, what's the point. And let's face it, Mike is not going to learn to embroider anytime soon, so it's up to me to provide these kinds of personalized and thoughtful gifts.

Just kidding, honey. Anthropologie is PLENTY thoughtful. Please. PLEASE. Do not try to sew me a Christmas present.

Project #2 was started two weeks ago, but hit a snag with the U.S. Postal Service's late delivery of my no-snag nylon chiffon. It did arrive this week, in time for me to spend the last of my sanity cranking out G's Christmas skirt. I had plans for L to have a matching one in purple, but those dreams have been buried 100 feet deep and pad-locked with chains for which there are no keys. No chance of resurrection, is what I'm saying.


I LOVE this skirt, but when I read the tutorial online, it appeared to be really easy. WR-ONG. Wait, I take that back. It was easy, but time consuming. The skirt itself is 5 tiers, and then, there are probably 12 rows of ruffled chiffon sewn on top of it. None of it complicated, it just is a long process. Worth it, but I would probably have been better off starting in June, knowing my short attention span and need to keep it FUN.

Project #3: Christmas jammies for the kids, as their advent gift on day 24. I started these puppies back in early November, and finished them last night. Here's the deal, people--PLEASE REMIND ME OF THIS NEXT YEAR! When I start a project, I need to finish it before moving on! Otherwise, I am finding, I have 5 straight days worth of "finishing" all the loose ends. And that's the BORING part.



Christmas jammies came about because my boys are wearing pants sized 18-24 months to bed. No joke. Mike and I foolishly thought we would transition them to wearing big t-shirts to bed, however, we are met with great resistance in the form of screaming, snotty tantrums when we suggest sleeping sans pants.

So. 18-24 month jammies it is.

Until tomorrow night, when they will receive their new jammies. Which may or may not fit, as I didn't use any kind of pattern, and just eyeballed it. This technique usually goes REALLY wrong for me, so I will take a picture and you can laugh right along with us.

And finally. Santa made a guest appearance in our home tonight, and not one tear was shed--though you can tell that L is keeping the good half of her eyeballs on him at all times. Fear of costumed adults is subsiding, but not totally gone.

Up on deck tonight: addressing Christmas cards (yes. Christmas cards), finishing two super-hero capes and potentially wrapping some gifts. I've never wrapped before Christmas Eve, so that means we are slightly ahead of schedule!!!!

Here's to all of you and your elves who are working your tails off the next two nights!!!

When Christmas parties go bloody.

Freaking A, I am tired.

It all started on Saturday night, when I actually went to a bar to hear a band. Yup, really. They let me in, despite the fact that I am older than 23, because I am still young and hip, even with four children. Didn't know that, did you.

And then we had White Castle on the way home from seeing the band. Not sure if it was the many glasses of wine or the horrendously disgusting burger and onion rings that was responsible for feeling like death on Sunday. Most likely a combination.

Then. We had to clean the house in preparation for the office shin-dig being hosted here on Sunday night. At some point between the hours of 1 and 5 p.m., Mike went to retrieve a table we use outdoors, because we needed somewhere to put the bar. Big mistake, as the table had collected some water and was a wee bit heavy for his spinal discs, which all screamed simultaneously in mutiny. He is currently in labor negotiations with an angry spine.

Mike puts on a brave face, but he is sweating PROFUSELY and it is 25 degrees outside, so I am guessing that his body is in some kind of shock.

So, 6:25 rolls around, party is set to start at 6:30. We notice Big J has been dragging himself around the house since nap time, which is not uncommon if we have to wake him from a deep sleep. But now, he is full of dinner, which makes it excellent timing for puke.

Awesome.

First guest arrives.

I help the babysitter get 3 of 4 kids in the tub.

Head downstairs to see first guest watching my almost paralyzed husband clean puke off the floor.

What to do? Have a glass of wine.

It is hard for me to concentrate on anything but the fact that my child just vomited all over the main hallway of our home. So. I do what any responsible mother would, I keep drinking wine as a social coping mechanism AND as a preventative measure to sanitize my innards against the flu.

You are welcome for that very insightful look at the causes of alcoholism in stay-at-home-moms. If you didn't know, I am HIP and YOUNG AND I can solve major social/world peace issues.

Now, people are arriving. One brings me a bottle of Agave tequila, at the suggestion of my husband, who says it is my favorite. It is, kind of. But nonetheless, my husband painted a rather disturbing picture of me to the new guy in the office, who now associates me with the kind of hard liquor responsible for crazy, drunken blackouts in Mexico. And I can both defend and refute the accuracy of that impression, but mostly it's just reassuring to be thought of in fun, tropical terms verses sweats with food stains.

And then! There is a rush of people in the kitchen, they are all varying shades of green and looking similar to Big J before he lost his dinner, saying something about towels-for-a-flesh-wound-and-blood and-OH-MY-GOD- it-looks-BAAAAAD-it's gushing-I-can't-look-don't-look-OH-MY-GOD! There might be some dry heaving happening. Those details all kind of meshed into one tired, boozing sentence, but I gathered that there was a pooling of blood happening around the bar area.

Damn.

Someone bled in the Agave Tequila.

My favorite.


The bottle (which broke while being opened) has sat on our kitchen counter with streaks of blood on it, until today when it was returned to Schnucks for ANOTHER bottle of Agave tequila. Because when you are 33 with four young children, it is TOTALLY normal to love tequila that much.

Totally.



I can't make this stuff up. But I might exaggerate my love of alcohol a tad, for those of you who think I have a serious problem. I cling to the rules of basic story telling, and alcohol as a sensory depressor is an effective tool in keeping it real and interesting....but I really am SO TIRED it does play out like drunkenness or pot inhalation. You pick the toxin.



In the meantime. My husband and a few others attend to the wound, and it is decided that stitches are necessary. And I feel like we are debating hospital choices for an hour or so, and calling moms and discussing the merits of health care in Missouri, BUT in my state of exhaustion, the space-time continuum is the first thing to warp.

So we continue to eat and chat and drink, and 90 minutes later Ben returns with 8 stitches in his finger, like it's no big thang.

Around 11:00, the party whittles down a bit, so that it is mostly the office guys and A LOT of left over food. Which, I am learning, is a really bad, disgusting combo when you also figure in the bloody tequila bottle.

DON'T WORRY. No one chugged the tequila. But challenges were made for honor and pride as it relates to consuming large amounts of things.


Challenge #1: Finish a plate of tortilla rolls with a HOT jalapeno spread. Done.


Challenge #2: Finish the (almost completely full) bowl of guacamole/roasted red pepper spread/hummus in 15 minutes.

Nope. And the count on vomit/threats of vomit, in our home, over the past 6 hours now totals 4.

Challenge #3: Eat 2 tablespoons of cinnamon in one minute.

Not even close, but awesomely funny, as you will notice the CLOUD of smoke to exit Ben's mouth. Like baby powder, and I'm pretty sure you might die if you tried to eat that. So maybe it's not so much funny as potentially disasterous. And yes, that's Ben, as in the one with 8 stitches. It took him longer to recover from the cinnamon than the wicked slice that almost claimed an appendage.


Seriously. I totally expect this to be the holiday episode of The Office next season.

Merry Christmas, courtesy of The men of Savoy.

Proof that when I pick a theme, I run with it.

Gingerbread house day. And of course by gingerbread, I mean graham crackers, because that is how we ROLL. Only this year, I decided the kiddies were old enough to glue their houses together with royal icing, which still resulted in me doing 95% of the construction.

Look at that concentration!!

I had a thought to try painting the houses, because try as I might, I just can't get frosting to look good. So I cheat. There, you've got me on record. I use glue and graham crackers and PAINT!

Okay. So it's still amateur hour, but at least we are looking a little less traditional. FYI--the turquoise house is my attempt to polka-dot it out. Eeh.



You might remember that I made gingerbread (graham cracker) houses for Big J and L's class party last week. We had some left over, so I was able to bring 4 houses home for our kids...which was awesome. Until Bailey (the beagle) sniffed those puppies out, nudged them off the table with her freakishly strong beak, and proceeded to scarf them down, glue gun-bits and all.

Oh, and she finished it off with the can of icing I had sitting next to them. Our endless hours of dog pukage 2 weeks ago did NOTHING to deter her desire to eat everything.

She's fine. Fat, but fine.


So, while the kitchen is a mess of frosting and powdered sugar dust, we decided to crack open a bag of gingerbread cookie mix, and replicate ourselves in baked goods. I am in LOVE with Little J's smiley face interpretation of himself! Big J has the flu (and lacks the fine motor skills to handle a frosting pen), so that's my handy work.

Once again, I aimed to polka dot myself. And, well, this is the result. Which is totally edible, but I fear that I look as if I have a glandular disorder which creates breast tissue throughout my entire body. Rest assured. The gingerbread "woman" was created with the BEST of intentions. And in real life, my ankles are not X-rated.

The finished, kid houses. I think I am going to place them at random spots on our bookshelves.

Darn daylight savings time...I meant to get a better picture of this, but wouldn't you know, it's dark at 5 p.m. So, we are reverting to a photo I snapped over a month ago, of the flat, frame-able gingerbread house. Perfect, if you don't have a lot of counter/mantle/table space for a house.

I took a 12x12 sheet of scrapbook paper and framed it, minus the glass. Next, I made the house...now, I made the majority of the house I out of paper, starting with a square shape as my base and tearing patterned paper to fill it. Once that was glued together and glued to my original 12x12 paper, I added the roof, cutting graham crackers to the sizes I wanted--they are SO easy to work with, using a serrated knife! The crackers even have holes on them, so you have good guides for straight cutting.

Next: I glued my "trimmed" crackers to the paper, making them look like a roof. The windows are doors are made of chocolate graham crackers, and also glued on. Icing for the roof and doors was store-bought, from a can. I think I added some glue to each of the candy pieces I decorated with, just to make sure they stuck...but honestly, you're probably fine without it, as you can dry this house completely flat before hanging! The snowflakes were a last minute embellishment, and the snow at the bottom are cotton balls. EASY!

I made this gingerbread house in November, for the craft workshop I taught... and it has hung on our walls ever since without a single gumdrop lost! The crackers may seem a bit "heavy" for the paper, but the frame helps to stabilize it. One last tip--I'd make sure you use a good craft glue (no Elmers), just to be safe and secure!!!

Final countdown to Christmas...last night we hosted my husband's office party here in our home, which was GREAT in that it made me clean our disaster of a house...but terrible, as Big J blew chunks 3 minutes before guests arrived!

And that friends, is just the start of the drama which included my husband throwing out his back, one guest going to the ER, and several late night food challenges that will FOREVER be burned in my brain. I will share more. Later.

I am all about Christmas cards tonight. That's right, I said Christmas cards. With any luck, they'll be in the mail by the 26th.

He is mighty to save.

I can tell you, without a doubt, that five years ago I was sitting on our Lazy Boy, in front of the T.V.

We had decided, on that night, that Elizabeth's middle name would be Eve.

Mike gave me a big, fat shot of steroids in the butt.

I was pregnant with triplets, and confined to house arrest indefinitely. It was a week before Christmas, and at this point in my 25 week pregnancy, I'd been monitored in the hospital three times, with plans to move in there permanently in three weeks, when the holidays were over.

From the very start of this ordeal, Baby B (Caleb) didn't look quite right. The potential outcomes, as they were presented to me, were that I would miscarry him, or he would be a healthy pregnancy like the other two babies.

And then.

I was 12.5 weeks pregnant when my water broke with Caleb. Did you know your water could break that early? Well, it can. And it was CLEARLY my water.

Enter, the worst 9 months of my life. Which consisted of a lot of sitting, a lot of eating and a lot of worrying. Wanting to be prepared, but hopeful. Realistic, but faithful. Let me tell you, it is HARD and EXHAUSTING to walk the tightrope that spans the entirety of human emotions.

And there were no answers, only possibilities--that all 3 babies would die, that Caleb would die, that all three would live, that all three would live with severe disabilities. And I was packing emotions like clothing for my hospital stay. Black shirt? Sweats? Joy? Grief?

So December 18th was the morning when the contractions WOULD NOT STOP. Contractions were normal, but these continued for hours, and were accompanied by strange pain in unmentionable places. Because, obviously, I was in labor (had NO idea, though). I mean, REAL labor. Unstoppable labor.

When we arrived at the hospital, I was 5 centimeters dilated. And pushing, apparently...as the nurse took one look at me during a contraction and yelled for me to "STOP PUSHING!". But that's what the body does when it is trying to rid itself of the alien children causing the worst pain OF MY ENTIRE LIFE.

Before I could even ask, my epidural was ordered, the perinatologist was on his way and the SECOND neonatologist was on his way from a neighboring hospital.

Did I tell you it was bad? As in B-A-D?

Blood work revealed my white cell count was up. Which meant infection. Which meant ticking time bomb for the babies--ALL THREE--and myself. There was no "consenting" to delivery, they were coming out. Or we were dying.

It was December 18, 2004. Their due date was April 2, 2005.

And this was Mike's view from the door of the operating room, taken by his cell phone camera. Keep in mind, the babies are undelivered and everyone in this room is attending to me alone.

7:44 a.m., 7:45 a.m., 7:46 a.m.--babies are born, no breathing, no crying. Lots of frantic scurrying. Someone is talking to me, making sure I'm not panicking. It must be working, as I am calm. Elated, actually, that all three are alive.

And my innards are being squished and suctioned and stitched. That's always fun.

My first look at my precious babies. Who were stabilized enough to move to the NICU, straight across the hall. I cannot actually see them, as the blankets are completely engulfing their one-pound frames.

I went straight from recovery to the NICU, to meet my babies. They didn't even ask if I wanted to, because I realize now, the odds were that they would die. This is what Big J looked like, the first time I laid eyes on him, every mothers dream (nightmare) of tubes and wires and blood and machines.

And my Caleb, with nurse Angela's hand for size reference. One pound, six ounces is tiny. TINY. He is pretty bruised, due to the fact that he took the lion's share of the beating during labor, as the pain in my unmentionables was this man making his way into the world. Doctors had to pull him out of the birth canal, via my stomach muscles, quite forcibly.

And eventually, we heard news that Caleb was beginning to fade. His oxygen needs were increasing, his carbon dioxide levels were creeping up. Slowly, over hours, all the outcomes slipped away, until there was only one.

And we wore DEEP sorrow.

Friends, who had surrounded us all day, were still coming in and out of the hospital. No one called to see if it was a "good time" to visit. They just came and sat and cried. One wheeled me to the NICU when Caleb died. Two met us as we brought him back to our room.

It is INCREDIBLE to be loved like that.

It is apparent that our lives, which began that morning at 7:44 a.m., are often too sad, too dark, too heavy for A LOT of people. We do not have a light-hearted story. We share it, gladly and openly, but it is a lot for others to hear. And process. And respond to. It is stressful for those we tell it to.

But we were loved WELL and in AMAZING ways, by friends and family who survived it with us. We could never be grateful enough.

Because one baby went to be with the Lord, but two remained. And they were getting sicker by the minute. We made plans for a funeral, but had to wait over two weeks, for fear that Big J or L would not survive. Oh, and they came painfully close.

I mentioned in my H1N1 post that people have to try CRAZY things in the name of modern medicine. Now, it's one thing to debate pros and cons over a flu shot, when you have a choice...it's quite another to have to choose, knowing your child will NOT live without a drastic measure.

About 10 days after they were born, L looked terrible. Her lungs sucked. One was deflated, the other was hyper-inflated and sick. She already had one chest tube for a pneumothorax (collapsed lung). We were literally waiting for her to pop (again), and nothing was working to relive the pressure.

Until the doctors suggested placing a catheter into the opening of of sick lung and closing it off with a balloon, in the hopes that the deflated lung would take over and do all the breathing. Did you know you don't actually need two lungs to breathe? I did not.

This particular doctor had done this procedure twice before. TWICE! And always as a LAST resort. And it saved her life. Her spunky, tantrum- throwing, bowling-pin-kitty-loving life!!! I thank God for drastic measures. And drug trials, and heart surgeries, and ventilators and blood transfusions. And all the parents who took the chance on those crazy "experiments" that have now become common practice in saving the lives of children. MY children.

Because Caleb's death would have taken it out of me, in the absence of Big J and L. Who still needed a cheerleader. That kind of grief is overwhelming and downward spiraling, if you hold on to it for any amount of time.

But in his infinite wisdom God gave us two very weak reasons to hope. And be encouraged. And to fall on our knees in prayer, because we needed drastic, godly measures. Which he provided in abundance.

Amazing. That by his grace, I am full of joy and celebration on the anniversary of the worst day of my life. Because I CANNOT despair, when I see the lives of the two babies who survived. Who are FULL of life...and energy...and sass. Who should have died, but were spared by drastic, incredible, unbelievable measures.

And that, dear friends, is the cross. That saves us by the unimaginable, and turns our sorrow into full joy and celebration.

Happy 5th birthday, Big J and L AND Caleb...without whom, I would not have understood the depth of HIS love and his unbelievable power to save. I love you beyond words.

My theory on how holiday cheer is the major cause of drug addiction in SAHMs.

I might know why some housewives MIGHT be tempted to drink excessively and eat oxycondone.

School holiday parties. And the projects that accompany them.



Projects, which I just cannot say "no" to, as witnessed above. You are looking at my past 24 hours.



Teacher gifts, cupcakes, gingerbread houses for a party craft. But now (thank GOD), they are done.

Only to be replaced by the wondertwins birthday on Friday. For which I have no plans, no gift, no energy. But they are five, and I feel like that is kind of a milestone, having survived odds that said that they would perish within days after birth. So yeah, I am totally aware that we can just go to McDonald's and they would think it was GREAT, but there is a larger guilt factor at work here that is telling me I need to cherish them in terms of some sort of elaborate theme.

Crazy, I know. I am freaking CRAZY.

Oh! And in those boxes of teacher gifts? Brownies, baby. I kicked out a few pans and have been existing on the frosting alone for days.

And then. I found this AWESOME toy for Big J online, some sort of city/car ramp thing that he constructs like a train track. Only, I found it at like 3 a.m. one morning and forgot to bookmark it, thinking it really couldn't be all that hard to find it again, right?

Wrong. Because ONE MILLION car toys exist on the Internet, and not one of them are what I am looking for. Aaaargh. And that, is how I have spent hours on the Internet searching for something that may or may not be a figment of my imagination.

Tomorrow is the last day that all of my kids will be in school, before break. I'm considering a nap, but am up for suggestions that do not involve: brownie batter, graham crackers, wrapping paper, cleaning products.

How I slap a pretty ribbon on it.

In a fist-fight, I'm not sure which would win: My hatred of gift wrapping or my LOVE (obsession) with pretty packaging.

I suppose if the pretty packaging contains polka dots, it would win. Duh.

Wrapping usually gets the shaft here. Because by the time I buy it, hide it, find it (or not)...I'm to crabby to wrap it well.

So here's the solution. Pretty boxes!

Not a new idea, or my idea, I might add. Still brilliant.

Here are a few shots of the "secret santa" present I gifted this week...thank you Hobby Lobby for always having 50% off sales, as this box was equal to the price of a gift bag. Which to me, is not even a worthy comparison for the price!


Ornaments have also been 50% off this entire Christmas season, which makes zero sense to me. But I don't make the rules of retail, I just abide by them. Happily, if those rules include marking everything down by half.

Seriously, if you haven't been to Hobby Lobby at this point, I don't even know what to say.

Tulle has got to be the easiest ribbon of all time. And then, this years fun theme, the extra pieces of fabric tied to the tulle for a fun look. Since I've come to grips with the fact that I'm not so into traditional red and green, very few of you will be seeing those colors coming from me.

I like the black/white/green...that, GASP!, could be used the other 11 months of the year.

Well. I am off to construct 16 gingerbread houses, as it appears I am a glutton for holiday punishment. And teacher gifts for distribution tomorrow. Christmas party last night, Christmas party tomorrow night, wondertwins birthday on Friday. It's one of those weeks that's bringing my eye twitch back.

Happy wrapping!

What 13 years later looks like.

Back again!

Did you even know I was gone?

Well, I was. I was in Texas for a wedding. We arrived at 5:15 p.m. on Saturday, for a 7:30 p.m. wedding. Because that's how we rock stars do it.

I was FULLY prepared to change into my black-tie attire in a bathroom at the San Antonio airport. Thankfully, that was unnecessary, as we managed to rent a car, get to the hotel, shower AND have a glass of wine at the "Spaghetti Warehouse" (where we blended REAL well in a tux and gown), all before 7:30.

You might guess that a wedding ceremony that begins at 7:30 p.m. might go a little late into the night. And you would be correct, as my head officially hit the pillow sometime after 3:00 a.m. Yowza. I can check "dancing to a mariachi band in the wee hours of the morning" off my to-do list. Also, I believe I will no longer have full use of my feet (ever again), as I did some sort of painful and permanent damage to them in the 1.5 hours that I wore heels last night.

This was the wedding of a friend from college, which means that we saw friends we haven't seen in years. YEARS. As in, before children years, and I can barely remember that far distant past, as diapering and bath-giving and snot-wiping and general mothering make it impossible for me to recall that I was ever selfishly and independently inclined.

That was a joke.

But. There is nothing like seeing old friends to remind you of how different you are. Or were. And how INCREDIBLY immature I was back when I knew these people on a daily basis. Though, these are my husband's friends, who were always somewhat frightening to me, so it's completely possible they never heard me speak in college, and are now kind of fascinated that I am not a mute.

Why on earth would I be frightened of my husbands friends, you might ask? Particularly when we all went to the same college? And I am not really all that shy?

It had A LOT to do with the threat of taking a Frisbee to the head every time I walked in front of their fraternity house. And the constant Beastie Boys soundtrack blaring out their windows. I would associate other fraternities with lighter musical interests, along the lines of The Samples and Dave Matthews Band (circa 1994-1998). But the SAE's liked dark, angry tunes. And they held this formal every Spring that was a "funeral" where we all had to wear black and parade around the school with a coffin.

I am not kidding.

And then there was the basement of their house, which was STRANGELY reminiscent of the hole where the serial killer kept his victims in "The Silence of the Lambs". Granted, the SAE basement was bigger, but it had that I'm-gonna-lotion-you-up-and-skin-you kind of vibe.

And there were ferrets that lived down there. But, weird pets were kind of a thing back then, and DePauw alums will recall that there was an unfortunate incident with a crocodile and a male body part over at the Beta house. So Beta pretty much takes the cake on creepy animal stories.

Oh! And also, there was an SAE who was notorious for setting himself on fire?

And! Their infamous rush skit where another guy drank liquid dish soap and blew insane bubbles out of his nose/facial orifices?

I mean, you see where I am going with this. There are a million other stories JUST LIKE THOSE. And they were terrifying.


Anyway.

Today(Sunday), I got to sit around in 70 degree weather, on the San Antonio Riverwalk. With the same guys who previously lived in (and were responsible for) conditions that would warrant police investigations. Just sitting, for 4 hours. We ate some food, had some margaritas, drank some beer, ate some more food. Just chatted.

And I thought we would see the sights! And Christmas shop! And get stuff done! When really, I just needed to sit. And enjoy people. And behave like I am not responsible for four young children who would electrocute themselves/ suffer a head wound/ lose a finger if not for my vigilance on an hourly basis.

I don't know how to let my guard down enough to RELAX anymore. Without knowing that I am responsible for keeping my children alive. I don't know how to SIT STILL while they are napping or sleeping, because my time is so limited. I am just wound really tight with anticipating life and expectations and what comes next.

And I think about these people we spent 30 hours with. And how when I knew them, 12 years ago, I slept until noon and wore flannel pants to class. And I stayed up until 3:00 a.m., regularly.

I think one of the benefits of being a writer is seeing life as a story. A progression of small events and details that blend into each other but DISTINCTLY move along and change. One day I was watching 3 episodes of 90210 a day, and suddenly I'm driving carpool and surviving homework.

Sometimes, it seems like a choice I made. Choosing to be a mom, a wife--and not living a wildly, independent life. But I didn't leave that life for this one. It just evolved. And nursing the flu and supervising bath time may not seem glamorous, but I also know that any story that remains unchanging is boring.

So. I no longer drink $1 beer pitchers every Thursday night.

And, those 34-year-old men? They no longer live in a filthy fraternity house with a serial killer basement. Thankfully. Because that would be INFINITELY creepier today than it was in 1997. Guess they grew up too.

A little bit.

Santa baby.

It's been YEARS since I've written a letter to Santa, but for as much as I am on the Internet these days, it's hard not to notice all the fun stuff floating out there! So, here are my favorites for the season:

I want 10 prints by this artist on a huge wall in our house...check out my favorite HERE!

I'm not really a jewelry person...but I do love this look. Hubby, I would wear this everyday. CHECK IT OUT HERE...I picked the "eclectic" necklace, because I can't decide which shape I like the best!!


If I wore gloves that cost more than $3, or felt I would not misplace one of these within a week, I would completely splurge on THIS.

But while we are on the subject of cold-weather clothing, how about THIS? And THIS to go with it?

Definitely THESE! Been wanting this babies for a while. But it's a general rule in our household that if I ask for it, I am sure not to get it (because hubby likes the element of surprise). Not sure if blogging a wish list counts as asking...

CLICK HERE, for one of the greatest children's books I have read in a long time, all about creativity and individuality...and I don't own it myself! Tragedy. THIS just might be my Christmas present to myself!!

I'm starting THIS TRADITION for my daughters, but won't actually gift it to them until they graduate from college or get married, I think. My plan is to add a trinket for birthdays or Christmases in the years to come!

And while we are on the subject of kids, I LOVE these t-shirts...and the prices! Seriously, I have seen similar styles for over $50, so I think this is pretty good, and the selection is fantastic. GO HERE to see what I am talking about...

I think I LOVE THIS! Not sure where I would put it, as it looks rather large, but I think it would be really cool.

THIS idea should not be limited to gifts for kids, because I would love to have 6 of them, for every member of our family. Maybe placed on each of our beds, kind of a theme running through the bedrooms?

I am drawn to THESE...maybe not to spell out the word "fun" but I could go for a big, flashy "D". Pretty sure my husband would hate it. But it's my wish list and I can add a big circus letter if I want to.

Two more weeks till Christmas...and our household will also see two more birthdays before that time! Five years ago I was sitting like a whale on our lazy boy...my, how times have changed.

Or maybe not.

As whale-ish proportions, these days, are coming via peppermint brownies.

Later.

Someone restrain common-sense mommy in the closet. She's threatening to ruin Christmas.

What to do with fuzzy pictures? The cute, action shots that are a perfect, if not blurry picture of life at age 7, 5 and 3?



What to do, what to do, what to do.







It's been a while since I've worked on a silhouette of my own. But I've come to realize that I REALLY love how movement translates. And the picture I took this from is total crap--the kids are jumping and it's all kinds of blurry, BUT, I love seeing it all crisp and sharp. My favorite, I think.



On to bigger issues.



Like the dueling personalities of Santa Claus. I am just diving into the depths of the *man* who makes childhood dreams come true, and his incredible gift for providing perfect joy to children worldwide. You scarcely hear a harsh word of criticism said against him, which is AMAZING feedback from a target audience that tends to cry over issues like the temperature of milk and name-calling.



So my sweet, first-grade daughter, who can now read and WRITE, actually scripted a letter to the big man. It contains 2 things: A house for cats AND a house for bunnies.



She is a stuffed animal lover, can't deny it.



However. This is our playroom:




And this, friends, is the space between her bedroom wall/bed...EVERY single box/basket/suitcase is housing an animal or two. Or ten-thousand.

I mean, I can't even clean it, because there is such purpose here, it's somewhat amazing. And it is quite obvious she is really into housing stuffed animals. But. How can Santa, in good conscience, bring another animal into this overcrowded home, which bears a strange resemblance to the slums of India??? Quite the dilemma.

I'm guessing Fun Santa trumps Practical Santa. Because I am pretty sure budgets and animal population control and general cleanliness are not the business of the jolly fat guy. He simply delivers and leaves it up to mommy to work out the logistics.

Thanks, Santa.

Curing swine flu and 10 other contagious diseases, one bathtub at a time.

Just curious as to how you clean bath toys? And while we're on the subject, how often might you do it?

Because today, I think I learned where swine flu originates. And it aint with the piggies.

And this hotbed of sickness happens to share the bathtub with my children at least a couple of times a week.

It may just be time for new bath toys. I mean, look at poor, dismembered Curious George--the SUCKIEST bath toy of all time, by the way. When purchased (2 years ago, I think), he CLAIMED to blow bubbles and never delivered on that promise. Instead, his arms and legs fell off within weeks and he awkwardly floats with the kids while they bathe. I mean, it's just a little creepy to see your children playing amidst monkey parts.


After last weeks puke-a-palooza and mysterious bug bite incident, one might say I have been on a clean kick. It lasts about 30 minutes a day. And I am finding all kinds of amoeba colonies, most of which are living to see another day because I cannot annihilate an enter new species of germs in just 30 minutes. I don't have an attention span for any longer, as cleaning does not offer any kind of polka dot, and that makes it BORING.

Also. Those freaking peppermint brownies have sealed the deal on me gaining 10 pounds this month and needing new clothes with elastic waist bands. Which also means that I WILL be passing these babies out like candy and inviting you all into my fat pool.

Two successes, one disaster.

After yesterday's fiasco with the eye doctor, I vowed to stay indoors this morning. As it has become obvious to me that unsuspecting evil is EVERYWHERE in the weeks leading up to Christmas. If an ophthalmologist can send me into a tissy, there is NO TELLING what a grocery store, or shopping mall might do.

Plus, we've been lining up projects. First up--Christmas lanterns.



This is pretty much a home run if your child is old enough to know not to eat glue. Ten minutes crafting time, minimal mess. And when you throw a tea light in them, they are beautiful! I would like 10 more on my kitchen island...not sure I have that kind of time.



On to project #2--homemade body scrubs. Found via Martha Stewart, no less, so I figured it had to be good. Hmmm.

My first hint might have been the $40 in materials. I should have backed away slowly, but instead, I caved without a moments hesitation...which leads us to today. And mixing sugar and oil to create an exfoliant for the skin. I bought some great essential oils in a sweet orange flavor...too bad I added a TON of it, and still the smell of the jojoba oil drowns it out.







Here's where I decided to wing it and add large quantities of pumpkin pie spice and cinnamon. And still the smell of jojoba lingered, which I guess tells me that jojoba is the odor champion of the oil world. Who knew.

All that spontaneity resulted in a lumpy, brownish mixture. Smooth for the hands, but mentally impossible to tell myself it is not a substitute for mud or poop.


And then. There was this little gem that caught my eye around 2 p.m. today. Had to have them.



And they are Well. Worth. The. Effort. We are talking about a homemade brownie, topped with peppermint icing, topped with a chocolate glazed, topped with crushed candy canes. OMG.

If you're like me and the peppermint icing scares you a little...let me tell you that this was, unexpectedly, the best part. De-lish. And you can have the recipe HERE, so long as you still act surprised when I gift them to you in the weeks ahead. Because I feel like I want to make these for everyone I know.

Don't know where I'll find that kind of time, but I will. Oh. I will.