and breathe...

So. I've been a little busy lately. Tired and blissfully busy. The two biggest Littles and I did a production of The Christmas Carol with the Actors Theater of Minnesota- The Christmas Carol Feast - it's my 11th year, Via's 4th year and Noni's 2nd year. They're old pros.

We did several performances of The Christmas Carol Feast at a smoky Casino (does anyone else see the irony?)...
We saw Santa and our dear friend, Albert the Elf and had a fancy lunch...
We played in the snow...
I was observed by my principal...
The girls sang in the Christmas program at church. They were lovely, the "Christmas Program," not so much...
Via played a piano recital brilliantly...
Via played her cello on stage with the Minnesota Orchestra for two sold out performances...
I've been working on some script ideas for a project with my brother, Uber Uncle...
We've celebrate birthdays...
We've shared a wonderful, annual Christmas dinner with good friends at a great restaurant in an old Victorian mansion that is thought to be haunted...
We've gone Christmas Caroling. Outside. In December. For cash...

I'm too tired to write more now, but please know that I am thinking of all of you and miss you tons - I'll catch you up soon. In the mean time, here are some pics to give you a peak into what we've been up to.


Yaya just gets prettier and prettier. Here, she is wearing a fabulous cashmere cap that was crocheted by my friend, Hillary. I love the hat, but can hardly keep it off my girl's head!












Here are the Littles, waiting for Santa and our friend, Albert the Elf. They got all fancied up for the event. We even had a lovely "fancy" lunch to cap off the whole Santa event. The best part? Santa didn't ask any of them what they wanted for Christmas!











Here is the man we've begun to fondly refer to as Red Papa. He and Oma came to see The Christmas Carol Feast. They were joined by Auntie Tata and Daddyman. They loved the Littles, and of course thought I did OK. (I performed both as Mrs. Fezziwig and Mrs. Crachit.) The Littles were on cloud nine that they had "fans." Papa and Oma are going to take the two Biggest Littles to see The Christmas Carol at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis. It's very good. Just different... like, oh, no food.

sister winter winks

Daddyman has the big girls and the dog outside on the sled. It is snowing. Again.

But this time, it's that big, fluffy, theater snow - you know. The kind that you can see from the back row. The kind that some poor sap has to sweep up after the finale so he can dump it back into the drum so that it can fall again for the next performance.

It is as sultry and sensual as a snow fall can be. It is big and round as it lays itself heavily across the earth. It hides a multitude of secrets beneath the voluptuous white blanket that is laid across the lawn. It's gentle shoulder bends around the tree trunk and caresses the street lamp and teases the tufts of ornamental grasses that are still bristling through the drift, embarrassed to be lingering so long in such an unsavory locale. This seductive snow makes the false promise of fun and pleasure with a wink and a flutter, but she only gives a dangerous ride down the lane.

Hang on! Here comes Sister Winter. We'd better buckle up - we're in for a wild ride!

that happy shiny weather guy

OK, it has happened. What of it?
"So?" I ask with the attitude of a sulky, sullen teenager. There will be no polls or pithy queries about this one, for I am merely despondent and disenchanted... my heart yearns for the certitude of those facts espoused by such as should know better.
What, you ask, has stirred such a blase' attitude in this writer? And for goodness sake, who does she think gave her the authority to sling such big, misspelled words about with so little passion or regard for accuracy? I will tell you.

SNOW

For the past 3 days, the charming and attractive weather guys and gals on all of the local news stations have been talking about the Amazing Snow that we are going to experience together in the Great Northern state of Minnesota - like a big frozen love-in. "It's coming! And it's coming this Saturday. Now, we can't really predict when and how much, but we think that we are looking at 6 to 8 inches of that gorgeous, fluffy, white stuff." Even that big, round, chocolate lump of love on The Today Show chimed in with his big toothy grin - "It's gonna be a big one for the folks in that neck of the woods."

Like the flibertyjibit that I truly am, I believed them. I looked into the eyes of these well style weather professionals, and I trusted what they said to be the truth. I locked onto the words "gorgeous and fluffy" and stayed there, blissful in the promise of a Hallmark weekend.

And then, like a child awaiting Christmas, I counted the days.

Thursday - no snow. But that's OK. The cute guy in front of the blue screen on Chanel Five said it was coming. So I took a deep breath and continued my vigil.

Friday - no snow. I checked the calendar. Of course there wouldn't be any snow today. That sassy Belinda at Chanel 11 said "Saturday." I drank a glass of wine to help calm the nervous anticipation.

Lots of gorgeous, fluffy white stuff means plows and salt and slow driving and digging out and...
sledding and snow forts and hot chocolate and laughing and skating at the Depot and...
sore backs and bad driving and shoveling the side walk and salting the side walk and boots and mittens and...
cute new boots and hand made mittens and...

You can clearly understand why a glass of Marietta Old Vine Red was consumed for purely medicinal reasons. The second glass, well, that was for fun!

So today is Saturday.

Like a child looking for Santa, I hopped out of bed full of anticipation and curiosity. Today is the day. Today is the day. I struggled to wrap myself in my red knit robe while shoving my ice cold feet into my warm, woolly slippers. I hop/scuffled to the window, threw back the heavy, room darkening velvet curtain sending up a swirl of dust and dog hair and I gazed my first upon a field of Saturday's Promised...

Ice?!

Wait one stinking minute! This is not what those good looking, well groomed people had promised me. This is not "gorgeous" nor is it "fluffy." This is a hard, driving ice/snow. It tings against the glass of my original-to-the-house glass windows (Translation: these old panes could be shattered under the battery of relentless ice pellets) Those big, fat liars - weather guys are cute, but they can't be trusted. I'd learned my lesson.

Swathed in disappointment, I slunk back to bed. I didn't bother to remove my robe or slippers, I just shoved my wool wrapped body back into the flannel sheets of warmth and disbelief. I quickly became entangled in competing fabrics, so I stayed there another hour or so, until one of The Littles flung herself on top of me, bouncing out her excitement in a sort of toddler morse code - It's snowing! It's snowing! Dot dot dash! Dot dot dash!

Luckily, her bouncing released the flannel from the wool and set me free. After a quick trip to the window with the littlest Little, I realized her joy and together we bounced on the Daddyman. Dot dot dash! It's snowing! Dot dot dash.

"Let's get the sleds out."
"Can I have hot cocoa for breakfast?"
"Is it snowing on the other side of the house, too?"
"What time IS it?"

So, it is snowing. It's neither gorgeous nor fluffy, but it is "That white stuff" and that has to count for something. The weather folks get a B- for todays weather. Perhaps we'll venture out into this truly blinding ice/snow storm to play some winter games. Or, if mama gets her way, we'll gather 'round the family table and play board games whilst sipping tepid cocoa. Then we'll play that age old family favorite called "Let's put shrinking plastic up on the rest of the original-to-the-house-windows to baffle the wind and muffle the dangerous sound of ice hitting glass" game.

I hope that where ever you are you are warm and happy and surrounded by the people that you love and who love you back... and that your flannel doesn't grab your wool.

this is where it begins.

Well, it has happened.
My little girl, my first born daughter is officially growing up.
And I am officially not prepared.

No, she has not gone boy crazy.
No she is not insisting on wearing cleavage bearing, butt sharing "clothing."
No, she has not begged to wear make-up, own a cell phone, have co-ed parties, drink beer or smoke pot.

No, my sweet, innocent 8 1/2 year old daughter is getting her period.


I'll give you a minute to let that sink in...


(Do you really need to ask how I know?)

You bet your sweet potato that I freaked out. I cried. I laughed like a crazed monkey. Then, I got on line and checked every source that I could think of.

Here's what I learned: most girls are getting their first period between the ages of 10 and 12 years old, and some as early as 7 years old or as late as 14 or 15 years old. Most sources think that the earlier onset of menses is due to the stress that more and more little girls are under today. When I asked Via's 3rd grade teacher if she was seeing this in school, she said that by the time the year ended last year, 5 girls had gotten their periods. That means five 8 and 9 year old girls had seriously started to become women.

Well, after the initial shock wore off, Via and I had a long talk - I explained as much as I thought an 8 year old would understand. I showed her the pictures from the human anatomy books so that she could get an idea of what her insides look like, and begin to understand why she had cramps. We went to the drugstore and bought pads. We bought some Jr. Motrin (She's not old enough for regular Motrin, but she is old enough to get her period. Huh.)
Then, we planned a date to get together with all of her special women and celebrate this right of passage.

So, now I need some help/thoughts/advice.

(As a girl, I remember getting my period and asking my mom what to do. She basically said, "figure it out." and walked the other way. I don't have the experience to know the best way to handle this, so I hope that you all have some ideas.)

When did you start your period? Do you remember-emotionally-how you felt? Did your mom step up the the plate and help you figure everything out? Did you help your own daughters? How much advice is to much to give to your daughter? A 8 year old? Anyone have thoughts on how to celebrate this milestone? I have heard that American Girl publishes a great book on the subject - anyone read it? Anyone know of any other good resources to help me? Via? our family?

I didn't think that this was a road that we would go down for several more years, but here we go. I just want to make the trip a good one. I don't want Via to feel embarrassed or ashamed in any way. This is such a wonderful change in her life - and I do mean 'wonderful.' She is on her way to becoming a woman, and I want to her to value her body and her self as much as she can.

WOW.

crazy wonderful

Today, like so many people in our country, I gathered with my extended family - both blood relatives and chosen family - to celebrate Thanksgiving.

As we stood together before our meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said. We took a moment to go around this multi-generational circle and share what we were thankful for this year. Health, friends, the return of children from Iraq, good food, laughter and forgiveness. All of those things were mentioned in our circle today.

Then, all together, we sang grace - our voices blending from years of singing the same grace together. Even my youngest child knows the words and the notes and can probably sing it in her sleep. There are always lots of interesting harmonies and improvised, competitive "Amens" at the end. I love it, and I couldn't imagine a family meal without this grace...

And as I looked around the room (from my vantage point at the CHILDREN'S TABLE!), I thought how thankful I am for this life I live.

I have parents who are healthy. They are friends and mentors to me now. They encourage me and laugh with me and play Christmas carols on the piano with me and, occasionally, scold me. They love my children and my husband. They celebrate our successes and mourn our pain. They are here for the littlest, most seemingly mundane moments of our lives. I am so very thankful.

I have cousins and aunties and uncles whom I adore. I can't remember a time in my life with out them. Their constant, unconditional love is beyond amazing. And, on top of all of that - I like them. They are smart and funny. My Uncle is a terrific cook, and has a wicked laugh when he shares a great joke. My Auntie is such a caring soul, and yet, isn't the slightest bit afraid to tell it as she sees it. My cousin - the only other girl cousin in the batch - is unbelievable awesome - smart and compassionate and good humored and brave. The best thing about all of them is that they love to laugh and talk about serious world issues and then laugh some more. They all seem to know how lucky we all are and how wonderful this world is. I am thankful that I was born into this crazy good family.

I have chosen family that I adore. There is a reason that they were chosen - they fit. And they bring a whole new look at life into this crazy group of people - my uncle's family, my mom's fourteenth cousins twice removed, the people that make the holiday so special.

I have children and a husband who, despite my best efforts, love me and need me. They smile when they see me. They kiss me goodnight at the end of the day. They leap into my arms when I return home from work - well the children leap, Daddyman just sort of collapses.

We don't have banquets, but we have more than enough food on our table. We don't have the fanciest, latest fashions, but we have all of the clothing we need to keep us warm. We don't live in splendor, but we have a comfortable home to shelter us from the elements. We have what we need and some of what we want. Most importantly, we have the love and respect of those around us.

I am so very thankful to be a part of this crazy wonderful world.
I wouldn't change a single thing about it, today. I'd like to hold onto this warm feeling forever, capture the moment for tomorrow when I feel lonely or forgotten.

And so, I wish for all of you, peace and a sense of belonging in your lives. I wish for you joy and laughter. I wish for you music and improvised "Amens." I wish for you happiness. And most of all, I wish this for you: That you have the time to look around at where you are and know that this world is a wonderful place because you are in it.

getting slightly stale and setting up

Sunday: What am I thankful for today? My husband's french toast.
It was the very first meal that he made for me when we were dating.
It is our go-to meal in a hurry.
It is the best comfort food ever.
The kids love it.

Today after church, Daddyman dropped us off at home before he ran to the grocery store to pick up some staples and the fixin's for this morning's meal. The littles "quickly" changed out of church clothes and into play clothes, then Daddyman returned and got crackin'.

The whole French Toast Process apparently involves a certain amount of wait time. The bread has to "get slightly stale." (Is that possible in 10-20 minutes?) Then, the egg batter has to "set up."
He throws those words around like a real chef. All it really means is this:

Getting Slightly Stale
Yes, I know this sounds like my biological clock. It's not. Nor is it the time it takes me to fall asleep after a couple of beers. This refers to the time it takes for Daddyman to put on lounging clothes and return to the kitchen.
The real time version of Getting Slightly Stale goes like this:
Daddyman takes the cheap brown bread out of it's plastic bag and slaps it on the cutting board, fanning the slices apart slightly. This both allows the air to circulate around each flimsy slice AND give the illusion that he actually bought a great loaf of bread that he has sliced himself.

Setting up
Yep. I know that it sounds like a sports term or perhaps what happens when one is getting ready for a blind date. No. This refers to the time it takes for Daddyman to go to the bathroom. This time is variable. Naturally.
The real time version of Setting Up goes like this:
Daddyman, now in comfortable clothes, realizes that
1.) his bladder has been loosened from the grip that his belt held.
2.) No one is actually in the bathroom (a rarity in a house of all girls.), and
3.) He just bought the Sunday paper, and he'd rather read it all before anyone else in his family pulls it apart, section by section, with sticky fingers.
And away he goes! Again, I say - the time it takes for Daddyman's French Toast to Set Up is variable and may depend more on the amount of beer consumed the night before than the amount of time the egg needs to combine with the milk and cinnamon.

Please know this. I am not complaining. Remember, I am thankful for Daddyman's French Toast. I am only mock him slightly - after all, I know a good thing when I see it. That, and it's the only meal that either one of us makes that the Littles are certain to eat.

And so, today I am thankful for Daddyman's French Toast.

standard princess features

I am thankful that Yaya has found a new love - the pretty princess dress.
Ah, now simmer down there, ladies. Read on before you judge. This is not about creating the perfect little lady...

There isn't one favorite princess dress yet, but it must have a few standard princess features:
A bow that ties in the back.
A puffy skirt, preferably floor length.
Shiny fabric.
Sparkles.

It doesn't matter if this dress is clean. It doesn't matter if it is a hand-me-down. What does matter is this: It must fit over whatever outfit Yaya is wearing at the time. (ie, pajamas, tights and a turtleneck, swimming suit, puffer coat...)

Given the chance, Yaya will add onto this gorgeous outfit with a pair of sparkly shoes as well as lots and lots of make-up. She loves to decorate her body and face with color. It's not a girly thing, it's a color thing.

Last night, Yaya climbed into the bottom bunk of the bed that she shares with Noni. She was wearing her zip-up, fuzzy, footed pajamas. Over which she wore, an amethist satin and black velvet holiday dress complete with beaded cumberbun/sash. On her tiny toddler feet, she crammed her silver sparkly shoes - over the footed jammies. She wore her hair piled high on her head, with several silver clips randomly squashed in her hair. She had applied a fresh coat of make-up - purple powder on her lips, glittery lip gloss on her cheeks and eyes and bright blue powder accenting her delicate eyebrows. As she fell asleep, I gazed over at her sweaty little self and fell in love all over again.

This morning, she refused to change clothes. She is child #3, and I have learned to pick my battles. This is not a fight I choose, so she is still wearing this whole ensemble... through playdough and oatmeal and applesauce and peter honey. Her clips are matted and her purple powdered lips are sticky and she is gorgeous!

I am thankful that my Yaya has not been met with the disdainful look that causes her self-doubt. I am thankful that she feels beautiful all on her own, she does not rely on the comments or approving looks of others. I am thankful that she boldly goes out into this world wearing something that she loves and feels so good in that she simply has to dance. And I am thankful to be able to dance that happy dance with her.


Yaya and mommy with beautiful lavender lips.








This is what Yaya thinks is appropriate travel attire. I understand it, somehow.