In one hour it will be Christmas. I think my children are still lying in their beds, wide-eyed, listening, waiting, anticipating. Really, it's the same thing I am doing, except I am allowed to stay up a little longer, if only to put the finishing touches on the egg casserole for morning, or finish cleaning up the kitchen from our Christmas Eve dinner. I, too, am waiting for Santa to come. But that won't happen until they fall asleep. And that gets later and later every year, while it's harder and harder for me to stay awake.
But I like that time in the late evening. The lights are low, the tree is on, 'It's a Wonderful Life' is playing on the TV. I enjoy the serenity, because I know in a mere 7 hours it will be chaos. I would normally enjoy a glass of wine, or perhaps a hot chocolate, but I am still so full from our Polish dinner. (By the way, the pierogies were a big hit!). I feel as if a big dose of de ja vu has hit. Our children are such creatures of habit, so into the traditions that we have started. It's the same year after year. We have our dinner with friends, exchange little gifts, rush off to Christmas Eve church service, come home to read Christmas stories, give them one gift to open and send them off to bed, while we finish the clean-up, the wrapping, the waiting. We awake in the morning, they pounce on us to get up, we open gifts, play awhile, then eat our cake and eggs for breakfast. Yes, I said cake. This is the best tradition I think I have passed on to our kids. Every Christmas morning, BEFORE eating breakfast, we celebrate the birth of Jesus, our Savior, by having a birthday cake in HIS honor. It's actually a healthy version of cake, a cranberry quick bread (made with wheat flour) that I simply put into a bundt pan. I put 3 candles in it (enough for each child to blow out one), and we sing Happy Birthday. It's such a simple way to remember the reason for this season, yet it's such a part of their life, that I can't even change the type of cake I make. It's a tradition that I grew up with and am glad that my children love it so much.
As I settle in to wait for Santa (or at least try to stay awake), and enjoy the glow of the Christmas tree lights throughout the room, I'll also enjoy the anticipation of the early morning wake-up and the start of our morning traditions. Happy Birthday Jesus!
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Don't Miss the Blessing
Today, I have been blessed to be a part of God's handiwork here on earth. I love it when I see things from a different perspective after the fact. A lot of times, the perspective changes for the better. I'm glad today was one of those times.
As part of my church, my family belongs to a "Life Group". A life group is, at it's basic, a group of families that come together and "do life". We spend time in studying the bible together, we spend time having meals together, our children play together. We get to know one another on a deeper level than the passing "Hello" in church. As a way to bless others this Christmas season, we as a group "adopted" a local family, a family in need this Christmas. We spent time shopping for the presents together, as well as spending another night together wrapping and sharing cookies.
I must confess here that I did not enjoy the process of shopping and wrapping. Usually I am the first one in line to shop for others, willing to take it for the team, willing to spend hours wrapping and singing. However, the night we went shopping I had to have all of my children with me in the mall (mothers - thank you for that collective groan I just heard). The boys are not shoppers by nature, so of course spent much of the night running in and out of the racks. I was tense and on edge much of the evening. Also during this timeframe, I was on prednisone for unexplained nasal swelling that had stayed with me for 3 months. So I had sleep deprivation, as well as irritability, from being on that. The night was long and chaotic. Then the following week, we as a group wrapped all of the bounty we had collected from the week before. There was nothing there that made the night unenjoyable, but it was one of those nights where I had to drop one kid off here, another off there, run to this house and wrap, run back and pick up one child while my husband left early to pick up the other child. It was just easier to stay home.
Getting ready to deliver the presents, I realized that I was one of two of us that is home during the day, therefore having the flexibility to be able to deliver at the family's request. I was dreading it. I am a behind-the-scenes kind of person - I'll shop, wrap, bake, run around, but I would rather not be the main player. However, I saw no way out of this. And do you know, I almost robbed myself of this blessing because I had such a negative attitude. I didn't want to see the people whom we were blessing, because what if they were ungrateful? What if they hmppphed a Thanks and sent us out the door? Or what if I went into their home and found more things, newer electronics, better this or that, than my own home? Would I still want to give in the nature it was intended?
We took two vans of presents to this house. We pulled into the parking lot, and Mrs. was at the door ready to greet us. She came out, sans a coat, and helped us carry the packages into her home. Mr. was at the upstairs window, with it wide open in this 15 degree weather, watching. He is disabled in some form, and therefore could not come and help. We made several trips back and forth from van to home. At one point, after putting the gifts down on the floor, I came eye to eye with a picture on the coffee table. It was of one of the three children from that household. The face was familiar to me. As I stood, I turned and looked at the pictures she had hung on the wall of all of her children. There he was, the one that was familiar, at various ages. My eyes felt the sting of tears as I realized that her baby, and my oldest, went to elementary together. I couldn't remember which grade they spent together, but knew he was from one of the early years. I remembered that boy - not a lot, but enough to think of him as quiet and polite. I remembered enough to see his little face, framed in glasses, in the classroom. I thought of the innocence of those years, the wonderment that this time of year must have brought to him, as it does to every small child. Does he still feel it? Will he again because God's hand has touched their lives?
That's what I now see. Our group didn't buy those gifts, wrap them, and deliver them to make us feel good about blessing others. Who am I to judge what they need and don't need? Why should I care what they have and don't have, or what they say to me or don't say? God has blessed them through us - we were merely the ones doing the work. Those children may never know who we are, and that's OK. We were the carriers that took God's love to their doorstep. We were the ones to deliver the gifts, with God's message coming back to us from that open upstairs window - "Thank you and Merry Christmas to you". I locked eyes with Mr., smiled, and knew that I was the one that had just been blessed.
As part of my church, my family belongs to a "Life Group". A life group is, at it's basic, a group of families that come together and "do life". We spend time in studying the bible together, we spend time having meals together, our children play together. We get to know one another on a deeper level than the passing "Hello" in church. As a way to bless others this Christmas season, we as a group "adopted" a local family, a family in need this Christmas. We spent time shopping for the presents together, as well as spending another night together wrapping and sharing cookies.
I must confess here that I did not enjoy the process of shopping and wrapping. Usually I am the first one in line to shop for others, willing to take it for the team, willing to spend hours wrapping and singing. However, the night we went shopping I had to have all of my children with me in the mall (mothers - thank you for that collective groan I just heard). The boys are not shoppers by nature, so of course spent much of the night running in and out of the racks. I was tense and on edge much of the evening. Also during this timeframe, I was on prednisone for unexplained nasal swelling that had stayed with me for 3 months. So I had sleep deprivation, as well as irritability, from being on that. The night was long and chaotic. Then the following week, we as a group wrapped all of the bounty we had collected from the week before. There was nothing there that made the night unenjoyable, but it was one of those nights where I had to drop one kid off here, another off there, run to this house and wrap, run back and pick up one child while my husband left early to pick up the other child. It was just easier to stay home.
Getting ready to deliver the presents, I realized that I was one of two of us that is home during the day, therefore having the flexibility to be able to deliver at the family's request. I was dreading it. I am a behind-the-scenes kind of person - I'll shop, wrap, bake, run around, but I would rather not be the main player. However, I saw no way out of this. And do you know, I almost robbed myself of this blessing because I had such a negative attitude. I didn't want to see the people whom we were blessing, because what if they were ungrateful? What if they hmppphed a Thanks and sent us out the door? Or what if I went into their home and found more things, newer electronics, better this or that, than my own home? Would I still want to give in the nature it was intended?
We took two vans of presents to this house. We pulled into the parking lot, and Mrs. was at the door ready to greet us. She came out, sans a coat, and helped us carry the packages into her home. Mr. was at the upstairs window, with it wide open in this 15 degree weather, watching. He is disabled in some form, and therefore could not come and help. We made several trips back and forth from van to home. At one point, after putting the gifts down on the floor, I came eye to eye with a picture on the coffee table. It was of one of the three children from that household. The face was familiar to me. As I stood, I turned and looked at the pictures she had hung on the wall of all of her children. There he was, the one that was familiar, at various ages. My eyes felt the sting of tears as I realized that her baby, and my oldest, went to elementary together. I couldn't remember which grade they spent together, but knew he was from one of the early years. I remembered that boy - not a lot, but enough to think of him as quiet and polite. I remembered enough to see his little face, framed in glasses, in the classroom. I thought of the innocence of those years, the wonderment that this time of year must have brought to him, as it does to every small child. Does he still feel it? Will he again because God's hand has touched their lives?
That's what I now see. Our group didn't buy those gifts, wrap them, and deliver them to make us feel good about blessing others. Who am I to judge what they need and don't need? Why should I care what they have and don't have, or what they say to me or don't say? God has blessed them through us - we were merely the ones doing the work. Those children may never know who we are, and that's OK. We were the carriers that took God's love to their doorstep. We were the ones to deliver the gifts, with God's message coming back to us from that open upstairs window - "Thank you and Merry Christmas to you". I locked eyes with Mr., smiled, and knew that I was the one that had just been blessed.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Pierogies
The Pierogi (or Piirohi)...such a staple in the life of my Polish husband. Fried in butter and onions, I admit they are quite delicious. My children have grown to love them, as it is always included in a meal when we are visiting my in-laws. We get dozens to take back home with us after a weekend visit in their home - except the one time I truly need them. We left after Thanksgiving without them. It's not that I need them for the satisfaction of my own palette, or even for that of my family's. I need them for our annual Polish Christmas Eve dinner, which we host for dear friends who join us every year. I make fish (though not 7 varieties), mashed potatoes, piergoies, kielbasa and kraut, haluski, etc etc. And as of right now, I have no pierogies.
I have gone over my many options: buy frozen (to which my husband's nose wrinkles up), make my own (to which MY nose wrinkles up), have my mother-in-law ship them up (the most favorable option), have a Polish neighbor, whose name I don't know, make them for me. I've even talked to the head chef at Wegman's, our local grocery store, to ask if they could make them. I was told I could find some in the freezer section. I replied that my Polish husband did not find that as a preferred option, to which he replied that I haven't yet trained him right. I've gone to local specialty markets, in the hopes that they have them. The best I have come up with is a recipe from a friend who makes them with her mother every year. Her mother was so excited to pass along this recipe. I can't help but think that she has very fond memories of making pierogies with her family - the bonding, the conversations, the laughter, the eating. I have visions of being in their kitchen, flour up to my elbows, making sure I am pinching the edges just so. In this vision I am actually ENJOYING making the pierogies. Then like a mirage, it fades out enough that I see reality - a long day in the kitchen, by myself, muttering under my breath that I see nothing wrong with the frozen kind, wondering if I am pinching them enough so they stay shut in the boiling process. I know what to expect because I have made them before. Just once.
Many Christmas Eve's ago, I was in the same predicament. I ran all over town doing the same things I have done the past several weeks. I had my mother-in-law's recipe and thought, "I can do this. I will do this for my husband." I spent all day in the kitchen, boiling, mashing potatoes, rolling out dough (the recipe called for flour and water - just mix it until it's doughy - no measurements), cutting, filling, pinching, and finally boiling. As I watched them boil, I also watched the potato filling leach out of the dough. I watched the water turn murky, and I watched the dough flop. I pulled them out of the water, and what I had left was basically a noodle. There was no time to make more, as this was the day before Christmas Eve. So I kept them. On Christmas Eve Day, I made more mashed potatoes, fried my "noodles" in butter and onions, threw some mashed potatoes on them, and called them pierogies. I thought they were fine, even tasted pretty close to the same, but...and here's where every wife would be justified in any action she chooses to lay out, they were "not quite like my mom's". I'm not sure I remember what happened the rest of the night, but I'm sure Silent Night, Joy to the World, Peace on Earth, Fa La La La La's were not to be heard that night. Which is why I am willing to take all of my ingredients to the Polish neighbor, whose name I don't even know, and beg of her to make them for me.
I am going to attempt it one more time, the day long process of making the beloved pierogies. I now know, from the friend who sent me her recipe, that the secret is in the pinching. Maybe it's time to start a new tradition with my children - having flour up to our elbows, peeling, boiling, rolling, talking, laughing, singing Christmas carols, and making sure that the edges are pinched just right.
I have gone over my many options: buy frozen (to which my husband's nose wrinkles up), make my own (to which MY nose wrinkles up), have my mother-in-law ship them up (the most favorable option), have a Polish neighbor, whose name I don't know, make them for me. I've even talked to the head chef at Wegman's, our local grocery store, to ask if they could make them. I was told I could find some in the freezer section. I replied that my Polish husband did not find that as a preferred option, to which he replied that I haven't yet trained him right. I've gone to local specialty markets, in the hopes that they have them. The best I have come up with is a recipe from a friend who makes them with her mother every year. Her mother was so excited to pass along this recipe. I can't help but think that she has very fond memories of making pierogies with her family - the bonding, the conversations, the laughter, the eating. I have visions of being in their kitchen, flour up to my elbows, making sure I am pinching the edges just so. In this vision I am actually ENJOYING making the pierogies. Then like a mirage, it fades out enough that I see reality - a long day in the kitchen, by myself, muttering under my breath that I see nothing wrong with the frozen kind, wondering if I am pinching them enough so they stay shut in the boiling process. I know what to expect because I have made them before. Just once.
Many Christmas Eve's ago, I was in the same predicament. I ran all over town doing the same things I have done the past several weeks. I had my mother-in-law's recipe and thought, "I can do this. I will do this for my husband." I spent all day in the kitchen, boiling, mashing potatoes, rolling out dough (the recipe called for flour and water - just mix it until it's doughy - no measurements), cutting, filling, pinching, and finally boiling. As I watched them boil, I also watched the potato filling leach out of the dough. I watched the water turn murky, and I watched the dough flop. I pulled them out of the water, and what I had left was basically a noodle. There was no time to make more, as this was the day before Christmas Eve. So I kept them. On Christmas Eve Day, I made more mashed potatoes, fried my "noodles" in butter and onions, threw some mashed potatoes on them, and called them pierogies. I thought they were fine, even tasted pretty close to the same, but...and here's where every wife would be justified in any action she chooses to lay out, they were "not quite like my mom's". I'm not sure I remember what happened the rest of the night, but I'm sure Silent Night, Joy to the World, Peace on Earth, Fa La La La La's were not to be heard that night. Which is why I am willing to take all of my ingredients to the Polish neighbor, whose name I don't even know, and beg of her to make them for me.
I am going to attempt it one more time, the day long process of making the beloved pierogies. I now know, from the friend who sent me her recipe, that the secret is in the pinching. Maybe it's time to start a new tradition with my children - having flour up to our elbows, peeling, boiling, rolling, talking, laughing, singing Christmas carols, and making sure that the edges are pinched just right.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Enough
I realize that not everyone believes in the same cause as another, and not everyone even has a cause in which to believe and support. Not everyone knows everything there is to know about every single illness or disease that is spread around this world. But I would think that a person would know a little something about Cystic Fibrosis to know that running drills in an elementary physical education class is something that a child with Cystic Fibrosis should not be forced to participate in. Cystic Fibrosis is an inherited chronic disease that affects the lungs and digestive system of about 30,000 children and adults in the U.S. (70,000 worldwide). A defective gene and its protein cause the body to produce unusually thick, sticky mucus that clogs the lungs and leads to life-threatening lung infections, and obstructs the pancreas and stops natural enzymes from helping the body break down and absorb food. Advances in research and medical treatments have further enhanced and extended life for children and adults with CF. Many people with the disease can now expect to live into their 30s, 40s and beyond.
I read a message yesterday from my sister saying that my niece, who was born with Cystic Fibrosis 9 years ago, had to be sent home from school because she "overdid" it in gym class. Not only was she sent home, but had to endure two back to back albuterol treatments. After about an hour, she went back to school. Now, my thinking is this: My niece is a pleaser. She loves to please others and does not like to disobey. She's a nine year old with an "older" spirit - she cares for others like no child I have seen. She ran 26 wall-to-wall drills in this class because, as I am thinking, she wanted to please her teacher. She could have stopped, she could have said that she couldn't do it, but she didn't. I'm sure she was given an instruction, and she followed through. At what point does an instructor think that enough is enough? I am not putting blame on anyone here, but I am bothered enough to say that not every child can be treated equally, and not every child should be treated equally. I can imagine her little cheeks becoming hot pink as they do when she overheats, I can imagine her coughing kicking in, and I can imagine her little legs pushing her to the other wall. When is enough enough?
Enough is enough when we have found a cure for this disease! Researchers and scientists are actually very close to this miraculous discovery! My niece's doctor believes it will happen in her younger part of life. It can only happen with people like you who believe enough in a cause to want to make an impact in the lives of others. The Cystic Fibrosis Foundation is a non-profit, donor-supported organization. Nearly 90% of every dollar in revenue goes to fund CF research, care and education programs. You can read more about CF and it's foundation at www.cff.org.
Enough is enough when 70,000 lives are saved.
I read a message yesterday from my sister saying that my niece, who was born with Cystic Fibrosis 9 years ago, had to be sent home from school because she "overdid" it in gym class. Not only was she sent home, but had to endure two back to back albuterol treatments. After about an hour, she went back to school. Now, my thinking is this: My niece is a pleaser. She loves to please others and does not like to disobey. She's a nine year old with an "older" spirit - she cares for others like no child I have seen. She ran 26 wall-to-wall drills in this class because, as I am thinking, she wanted to please her teacher. She could have stopped, she could have said that she couldn't do it, but she didn't. I'm sure she was given an instruction, and she followed through. At what point does an instructor think that enough is enough? I am not putting blame on anyone here, but I am bothered enough to say that not every child can be treated equally, and not every child should be treated equally. I can imagine her little cheeks becoming hot pink as they do when she overheats, I can imagine her coughing kicking in, and I can imagine her little legs pushing her to the other wall. When is enough enough?
Enough is enough when we have found a cure for this disease! Researchers and scientists are actually very close to this miraculous discovery! My niece's doctor believes it will happen in her younger part of life. It can only happen with people like you who believe enough in a cause to want to make an impact in the lives of others. The Cystic Fibrosis Foundation is a non-profit, donor-supported organization. Nearly 90% of every dollar in revenue goes to fund CF research, care and education programs. You can read more about CF and it's foundation at www.cff.org.
Enough is enough when 70,000 lives are saved.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Childlike
My day begins on a 2 hour delay. I feel like a child again! The excitement of getting to stay under the warm covers awhile longer, having time in the morning to enjoy each other, or breakfast, knowing my day will be "shorter"...it puts a little lift into my morning. Then the kids start bickering, fighting over who gets to play what game, wrestling on the furniture (too close to the Christmas tree, I might add), yelling through the house. I am suddenly snapped back into the reality of adulthood. Sigh...I push them to get ready for school, even though there is another forty-five minutes before the first has to leave. Get some chores done, get your bags packed, brush your teeth, do you have your instrument? Anything to take more ticks off of the clock. Why is it that 2 children are manageable, but 3 are out of control? Are the kids out of control, or have they succeeded in tiring me out? One leaves for the bus, and the remaining two suddenly are a sea of calm, sharing, playing together, laughing. I even add to the mix a neighbor who needs to catch the bus here, and not a wave is felt. Maybe it's the time of the year, and my oldest still has as much trouble controlling his emotions as my youngest. Then again, I look at myself, and I, too, can hardly wait another week for Christmas morning. No, I need to remember to think like a child, and remember the excitement of having a school delay, the excitement of having five more days of school before Christmas break, the excitement of actually having some snow on the ground in which to play. For the next week, maybe I should allow myself to wrestle on the furniture, a little too close to the tree.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
I decided to try this blogging thing after getting a facebook message from a friend of mine. The message content was one of those "survey-type" messages, you know the kind...Do you like this or that, list 25 things about this, etc. This particularly long message wanted me to list 25 random thoughts that others could read about. I admit that I am a sucker for these emails. I am usually the one listed as "most likely to return the email first". So the challenge of coming up with 25 random thoughts sounded like fun. The first couple were easy - as I was watching the snow falling outside, my first thought was of the beach and how my soul longs to be there. But as I went through the list, it grew increasingly harder to come up with random thoughts. Then I started thinking, "Are these really random thoughts if I have to sit here and think about them?" I managed to finish the list, but upon reading it, thought, "Wouldn't it be better if others besides my facebook friends could read some of these?" And the blog was born.
I plan to add some of these "random" thoughts and stories I have. Right now, it's time to snuggle in with the kids and watch a Christmas show.
I plan to add some of these "random" thoughts and stories I have. Right now, it's time to snuggle in with the kids and watch a Christmas show.
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