A little merriment for the New Year

Morgan came into my room this morning while I was still in bed and half asleep.

Morgan: "Mom?"

Emily: "Hmm?"

Morgan: "Gingerbread houses are for eating."

pause

Emily: "Morgan, did you eat our Christmas gingerbread house decoration?"

Morgan: "Can I?"

Emily: (Trying not to laugh)- "You can have a part of it after lunch."

BUT WAIT... the story continues downstairs with Daddy.

Morgan: "Dad?"

Dan: "Yes, Morgan?"

Morgan: "Mommy said I could have this gingerbread cookie after lunch."

Dan: "Okay."

Morgan: "I want breakfast to be my lunch."

Dan and I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

__________________________________________

Dan was busy in the basement. Morgan yelled downstairs to him.

Morgan: "DADDDD!"

Dan: "What is it, Morgan?"

Morgan: "Smell my feet!"

And would you believe it? The big guy came upstairs and did as he was told. Giggling ensued.

__________________________________________
Morgan: "Mom!!! Mom!!!"

Emily: "What's going on?"

Morgan: "Is this an '8'?" (She puts her thumbs and forefingers of her two hands together to make two adjacent circles.)

Emily: "Why yes! It is an '8'."

Morgan: "Yea! I made an '8'! I made an '8'!"

The child was more happy than Christmas day. Go figure.

Top 12 Lessons Learned

This is the kind of topic that doesn't fit neatly in Christmas card well wishes. I specifically avoided the Christmas letter this year for this very reason. Doesn't make for good dinner conversation. You understand.

My fertility struggles over the past year and a half have been immensely spiritual and time consuming. Like most trials, we never desire the pain, but are changed forever by the lessons learned.

Here are My Top 12 Lessons Learned from Fertility Issues

or

Top 12 Reasons Why I Won't Give Up

1. Because no matter how many losses I experience, no amount of grief can water down the pull to raise more children. I will keep getting up so long as God allows.

2. There is no magical prayer, diet, pill or exercise that can make God change our situation. He hears every prayer, no matter how simple.

3. Because I've never been a particularly patient person, but now, every time I dust the dirt from my fall, I become more resolved to see the ending to my fertility journey in the way that God wants.

4. Because I'm not dead.

5. Because I've "threatened" God that if he does not grant us more children, I will buy all Morgan's clothes from Nordstrom and they will not be on sale. (Oh, c'mon. Laugh.)

6. Because God told Hosea to stay married to a woman who would leave him again and again. Sometimes God allows failure to show us a deeper truth.

7. Because God loves children. Especially my babies... they're really cute.

8. Because God Himself gave and hoped repeatedly for His own children to appear.

9. Because the whole Judeo-Christian faith is steeped in infertility. Plus, I'm only 1/3 of the way to being 100 yrs. old like Sarah. :)

10. Because people like Anna and Simeon dedicated their whole life to waiting for a special child. "Waiting on God" does not mean "forgotten by God".

11. By jove, His grace is sufficient in my weakness.

12. I love God.

Theology 101

Theology 101: Morgan Style
or

What Happens When You Jump From the Christmas Story to Other Biblical Stories and Don't Hear About Jesus Growing Up

Morgan: "Mom, is Jesus a baby now or a big boy?"

What I could have said: "Neither and both."
What I said instead: "Um... a big boy."

Morgan: "What about God? Is he a baby or a big boy?"

What I could have said: "Neither and both. By the way... God and Jesus are the same. And separate."
What I said instead: "Um... a big boy."

Morgan: "But only kids can say 'Jesus' and only big people can say 'God'?"

What I could have said: "For the love of Pete, will you stop bringing that up?"
What I said instead: "Righto."

Slippers

Ah, the joys of winter. Being a pent-up, home-bound, cabin-fevered child of four requires a mother to be creative.

Crafts.

Painting.

1 hour of Sesame Street

Tea parties.

Dance parties.

*sigh* And, invetibly, the childhood game of tag.

I try to avoid the game of tag whenever possible. It involves exertion which is something I don't feel like doing, even if it will take the edge off my high-strung, hepped-up-on-fruit-snacks daughter. It's work.

The game of tag in our house goes something like this:
1. Morgan yells "Tag! You're it."
2. I run after her at a steady enough clip where she thinks I'm really trying. She giggles incessantly.
3. We both forget we have stocking feet and Morgan slips on the hardwood floor.
4. Crying ensues.
5. The wounded is comforted.
6. Repeat steps 1-5 about 10 times.

Last night I wised up. "Dan," I said, "Let's go out and buy our daughter some slippers with grips on the bottom. Her feet will stay warm and she won't slip on the hardwoods." Good idea, self. Good idea.

Well apparently some major gift giving holiday just passed because Target had a selection of only two slippers that would fit Morgan. I was gunning for the little ducky slippers, but Morgan found the Dora ones. I tried to sell her on the idea of the duckies, but I'm no match for Nickelodeon's marketing tentacles. Dora it was.

Let me describe these slippers to you: They are everything a little girl would want in a slipper. They're pink and purple. They have all manner of glossy, irritating graphics on them. Most importantly, they have a Dora bust mounted on the front. Let me rephrase: These overly stuffed foot gear looked like two miniature cruise ships with Dora figureheads on them. My daughter looks like she's about to set sail for the port of "Gawdy". Her delicate feet were transformed into two vessels of shameless Nickelodeon marketing.

What's more- they have a little miniature backpack (important feature to ANY Dora marketing) mounted towards the back of the shoe. Now, what in name of all things purple she's going to do with a backpack that small is a mystery to me. But it's there. Big enough to hold a quarter.

To be fair, the slippers had the grippies on the bottom which was my only technical stipulation for these puppies. Note to self: add more stipulations to future purchases.

And this morning, Morgan eagerly donned her new slippers for the breakfast table. It was a success.

In the end, I learned something that I already knew: I love my daugther so much that I'm willing to go against every sensible design fiber in my being to make her day a little happier. Oh, for the love of Morgan.

Dan Dykstra: MIA

Oh where, oh where is my husband Dan?

I'll tell you where: the basement. Dan is preparing a place for a home brew station. You heard correctly: home brew.

Banish thoughts of wood grain alcohol and blindness. And while you're at it, toss out conceptions of abolitionists and raids. It's perfectly legal and, from what I understand, pretty durn fun.

Dan got the notion to brew his own beverage from Jason Short, a friend in Michigan. On our visit in September, Jason offered Dan a superb beer which I can only describe as sophisticated. Fantastic. Unforgettable. Dan's been dropping hints like B-52s, so it wasn't too hard to figure out what the big guy would like for Christmas. Check out his blog later. I'm sure he'll mention it.

Meanwhile, Dan is currently taking suggestions for the name of his beer. "Brain Boy's Brewsky" was mine.

Christmas Fun

It's the evening of December 26th and the Dykstras have all arrived safely home. The last minute gift wrapping and buying frenzy of December 24th was soon followed by 5 adults enjoying the evening of Christmas with one nightcap each. And then, not 24 hours later, we're home. Safely.

We celebrated our homecoming in a way befitting the travel-worn: Potbelly's subs and a cheap Merlot I had on hand. The fridge didn't offer two scraps of food for dinner. More correctly, the fridge didn't offer two scraps of food that made sense together: ranch dressing and olives, for instance. We had clearly raided and purged the appliance before we left. Sub sandwiches hit the spot.

The holiday was a little difficult for my husband; I'll be honest. This may have been the last Iowa Christmas we spent in the house in which he was raised. There is a lot of sentimentality about it for him. I can understand. His parents are making plans to sell the house in order to move to a more maintenance-friendly establishment. Understandable, certainly. But it is no less difficult for Dan.

This was the first Christmas that Morgan will probably remember. We arrived in Iowa on Friday. It is the habit of the Dykstra family to put gifts under the tree before Christmas. Morgan thought is was time to open presents when we arrived. We had to firmly implant the days of the week in her head. Christmas was on Tuesday. We had to wait for Saturday, Sunday and Monday to pass. We must have been fairly effective in our lessons, however. Morgan woke up Christmas morning with the announcement: "IT'S TUESDAY!!! IT'S TUESDAY!!!" So much for "Merry Christmas" greetings. Years from now, Dan and I will be rocking in our chairs at the nursing home bickering about memories and dates but we will both remember that this year, Christmas fell on a Tuesday.

It's safe to say that we ate too much, slept too much and drank too much for Christmas. But it's the holidays and I, for one, have a firm policy of celebrating irresponsibly when it comes to calorie-counting. My sister-in-law introduced me to an unforgettable drink called "White Christmas". It calls for a low-ball of nog with a shot each of Southern Comfort and White Chocolate Liquor. Heavenly.

I was a bit of a hypocrite, however, when it came to my daughter's eatings. Morgan has a chronic constipation problem so I monitored her food intake like a hawk. No corn. Less bread. And no sweets unless she had adequate fruits, veggies and constipation medicine. By the end of the trip, she kept touting her menu of "helfy" foods in order to earn a piece of chocolate. Earn is an apt word, by the way. There was no way I was going to go through a 17 hour bout of constipation with my daughter again if I could avoid it.

But now we're home. Morgan has unpacked her loot and is particularly enjoying the baby doll high chair. In fact, she invited me to a homespun tea party tonight in which the high chair played center stage. Boy, that was fun.

There's more unpacking to do, but it can wait, now, can't it? Technically, it's still vacation.

Morganisms

Morgan: "Mom, when people die do they have x's on their eyes?"

Too much TV?

___________________________________

Morgan: "Daddy, does you arm feel better?" (Dan got blood drawn from Red Cross the other day.)

Dan: "Yes, Punkin'. It feels a lot better."

Morgan: "Why did you get a shot?"

Dan: "Well, some other people needed blood, so I had plenty and I shared some."

Morgan: (Recalling her flu vaccine the other day- she hated it.) "Well, I share toys. I do NOT like shots."

Out of the Mouth of Babes

Morgan noticed there was a burnt light bulb in our dining room chandelier:

"Mom, look! It's a burnt out light bald! We need a new light bald!"

_______________________________

I was printing out some documents in the office. Morgan loves to watch the paper come through the printer. She poked her head inside the printer and asked, "Is there a stamp in there, Mom? Is there a stamp?"

Christmas Party

Have you ever had one of those moments where, while you were experiencing the moment, you were acutely aware that you would never forget this experience, this slice of time?

I had one today.

I dropped Morgan off at preschool, like I usually do on Tuesday mornings. The teachers invited me to come a half hour earlier when picking her up in order to enjoy a Christmas party with the kids. I told them I'd see how the day went. All parents were invited for Christmas songs and cookies. Awwww. That's nice, I thought. I hope those parents have fun.

But something didn't sit well with me after I dissed their offer.

I flashed back to every choir production, school play and art show that I had ever participated in as a child and remembered that the ONLY thing that mattered to me was that Mom and Dad were there. Recall any elementary school play, and you'll remember a stage full of kids who fumble through their half-memorized lines but somehow manage to scan a crowded auditorium and see their Mom and Dad. Their parents could be costume clad and sitting in the back row of stadium seating, but their children would sniff them out like a heat seeking missile and yell, "Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!". Kids know.

So I went. I shed my layered "stay at home mommy t-shirts" for a pretty glittery top. When I arrived, I scanned the crowd of already hyper children for my blond headed daugther. There she was. I saw her scan the crowd until she saw me. A shy smile came over her face followed by much jumping. So this is why people become parents.

The audience then watched their offspring perform numerous carols and some newer songs which I had never heard of. The later songs involved a lot of jumping, twirling and yelling which may be why one doesn't hear them on, say, any adult radio program. Each child locked eyes with his or her parents while they sang. It wasn't hard to see who belonged to who. Smaller children bellowed "Hi, Mommy!" while squirming in their teacher's laps.

After the production, we were invited to cookies, which was a good idea seeing as how the children must have spent half their blood sugar in screaming at their adoring fans. Morgan and I obliged.

At the end of the party, a mere thirty minutes, I clad my daughter in her winter regalia and we were off. I winced, thinking that I had entertained the thought of not coming. It was worth every minute.

Hope

Today I had an interesting take on church.

Anyone going through fertility trouble will agree with me: December church is tough. There is much talk about hope and the whole season revolves around the coming of a baby. It's immensely strange to be able to relate SO much to the weary Israelite community as they longed for their Messiah, their baby king. I feel the strain of their hope.

As I was explaining to my husband today, I'm not as much baby obsessed as I am hope obsessed. There is a hairline of a difference, but it's an important distinction to make. If I was told tomorrow that I as unable to have more children, I would go through a process of grieving and then I would move on with life. But since there is such a large unknown which looms above my head, my only option is to hope. Like I said, it's a hairline distinction.

As I was sitting somewhat uncomfortably in the pew today trying desperately not to focus on myself, I wondered if this season is difficult for anyone else. I thought of cancer patients. Would hope be difficult for them to carry? What about unemployed people? Divorced people? Homeless? What about people who simply feel caught in a rut of life and don't know how to wake up and live every morning? How do they own hope?

I don't have an answer that fits neatly in a blog posting. For me, defining hope is like nailing down jello.
Hope is longing for something which is currently invisible.
It is striving towards the unknown and doing so as if it WAS known.
Hope is simultaneously fuzzy and solid.
Hope is passive and aggressive in the same breath.
You can't hold it in your hands, only with your heart and mind.
And when one finally attains what one has hoped for, hope vanishes; it's mission has been accomplished.

Today as I sat in church, I allowed myself to feel the hope in that great sanctuary. It stung a good deal at first. But the choir sang with great might and enthusiasm. The readers spoke their lines carefully, allowing the fullness of their words to penetrate. And the pastor's benediction was given with renewed vigor.

I left knowing a sense of hope, whatever it is.

He's Coming to Town

I'd better get ready! He's coming to town!

Nope... it's not Santa... it's my dear husband who has been gone since Tuesday morning. Yeah! He's on a flight now for CHICAGO! What a week!

It never seems like much to say, "My husband is out of town" but even my domestic goddess friend Ann (who has one in school and 2 twin boys aged 4) was going bonkers last week when her husband was MIA, er, out of town.

I have a lot of friends who have husbands who travel a bit. I can kid of tell when they're in their "single parent" mode of operation. They don't return calls as much, they don't blog as often and their emails are very brief. In short, they're in survival mode. They're never off duty from the beckons of little ones.

Today my daughter did her normal morning routine, but something snapped in me that caused me to either 1. Scream like mad or 2. Count slowly to ten to avoid screaming like mad. It went like this:

"Mom, I don't want to eat my cereal in this chair. I want that chair.
And I don't want to eat at the kitchen table, I want to eat on THAT table. (Living room folding table was set up.)
I can't drink my medicine because it won't stir. Can you stir it?
I need a straw.
Now I need a napkin.
Can I have some more cereal? I want to eat with THIS spoon.
I want to go upstairs and get dressed. I want to choose my clothes.
Let me win, Mom. Let me win. (Let me be first in line.)
Now you stand over there by that sink while I stand here."

I know the above dialogue doesn't sound like much, but multiply it by 3 nonstop days of "do this my way" and you'll get my drift.

Now I'm going to take her to preschool. It's for her own safety. I'm tapped out.

For the Birds

Earlier this week Dan and I had a special event happen at twilight. Dan woke me up and told me to look out the window. A horned owl was perched on our bird feeder in the back yard. By the pinkish pre-dawn light, we could make out its squareish head from the silhouette. I've never seen an owl outside of a cage.

We watched it for a few moments and then marveled at how it suddenly pounced on something below, presumbably a mouse. After its pre-dawn snack, it spread its great wings and smoothly flew away. It was better than watching television. Amazing.

_______________________________________

A few days later, I heard a loud *smack* on our living room bay window. I thought someone threw a snowball. I was disheartened to see a little bird on its back lying in the snow. Ugh. I tried to distract Morgan in the event that our flying friend would no longer be airborn.

After a little while, I was relieved to see that the little guy had flipped over on its stomach. He still wasn't moving much. I went outside and threw some pretzel crumbs in the snow for him. He gave me one of those confused, cocked-head looks.

I wanted to make sure he knew where he was. Summoning my knowledge of how to treat a patient with head trauma (none), I used a loud, clear voice and said the following: "You're a bird. You've had an accident. Birds fly. Now fly away."

About a half hour later the little guy vanished. I'm glad my words of encouragement worked.;)

Number Your Days

402 Number of posts I've written on my blog

17 Hours it took Morgan to get through her constipation today

10 Approximate number of times I've already ridden my minivan

66% Christmas shopping done

9pm Time Dan and I actually got to eat dinner last night due to Morgan's constipation

4 Number of grandparents I have

500 Estimated amount of extra calories I eat each day in holiday treats

11 Years I worked at the beach during summers

<2 Years I've been able to consecutively hold a job since working those marvelous summers

4 Siblings I have

2 Nephews I enjoy

231 How old I am in dog years

28 How old Morgan is in dog years

231 How old Morgan will have to be before I let her date

3 Approximate number of pets my brother accidentally killed (1 frog, 2 fish)

17 Last count on how many different treats my mother made for Christmas one year

>2 How many other friends I hope will do a numbered account of their day

Insurance Broad

The other day I was on the phone with my health insurance company. They asked me what my relationship was with the primary cardholder. I was in a jovial mood.

"Loving wife" I told them.

"Loving wife?" the representative laughed. "You must be a newlywed."

"Actually, I've been married 7 years. It's great."

I feel really blessed to be able to say that.

Dan's Google Christmas Video

Pop some corn, 'cause this one is over 5 minutes. The Google offices each did a Christmas video to send to their clients. Dan wrote the script and also performed in it. Not too shabby, eh?

Do you Craigslist?

Some may think I was spoiled rotten this weekend. In truth, it was a bit of a rough one, but I did get some nifty consolation prizes.

First of all, tell me you craigslist. If you're not familiar with craigslist.com, you're missing out, I tells ya!

A couple of weeks ago, I was on craiglist.com looking at antique dining room furniture. Craigslist is like ebay, but generally you have to pick items up. It's a little different. Mostly it's cheaper than ebay. You'll recall the swingset we purchased off this site earlier this year.

Anyway, I found this great set for a price that I thought was unbelievable. I called right away, scheduled to see it and committed to buying it. My seller wanted a cash deposit, so I did draw up an agreement which put everything in writing.

This weekend, Dan rented a U-Haul and with the help of his friend Kris Tukker, brought the whole shebang home.

I feel really grateful for this set. It would be uncouth to say publicly how much I spent on this set, but after hearing the price and seeing the good condition of the buffet and table, I asked the seller, "So WHY are you selling this?" Turns out that she's moving to Florida and wants different furniture. The set reminds me of holiday dinners at my great-grandmother's house. I hope that it will not just be a piece of eye candy, but show many years of hospitality. As I bought it, the seller said, "It's nice to know it will be going to someone who will appreciate it." I'll say!

So, I ask you again... do you craigslist?

Minivan

Well, well. Look who's joined the hearty throng of minivan owners.

Introducing our white 2006 Toyota Sienna. I named it "Oliver", but something tells me Dan will call it "Em's car". Just a hunch.

We like it. When we asked Morgan how she liked it, she asked if she could paint it blue. After asking on three different occasions if she could change the car's color, Dan made it very clear to her that she should leave it alone. Visions of blue crayons came to mind apparently.

A sheepish thank you to all friends who have let us borrow their minivans in the past.

Morganisms

Morganisms, or "So you wonder why I'm so brain dead at the end of a day"
_________________________________

I broke one of Morgan's crayons. As she was taping it back together, I received this lecture from her:

"Mom, if you break anymore of my crayons, I'm not going to tape it again, okay? I'm going to have to ask Santa to bring some more for Christmas. 'Cause my other crayons are very very getting old."

_________________________________

I took Morgan to an indoor carousel. She was riding on a horse.

Emily: "So, what's your horse's name?"

Morgan: "Her name is Lamey."

Emily: Ruh roh. "Lamey? Lame means that she can't walk. That is not a very good name for a horse."

Morgan: "No, 'Lamey' means that she CAN walk, Mom. Her name is Lamey."

Right. You won't find me on a horse named Lamey.

Ten Questions

Thanks to Sarah for this ten questions idea:

Ten questions of the day:

1. There are 16 waking hours for me in a day. Where do they go?

2. Is "keeping the house in a state of equilibrium" the same as cleaning it?

3. Why do I go to the grocery store so often? How does this happen?

4. Did people in the past really like sugarplums? Or did they only tolerate them b/c really GOOD dessert wasn't available?

5. Does every single family and friend of mine know that I love them?

6. Is there any couple in their 30s with children who are able to juggle well the stresses of home responsibilities, work, cars, bills, being fun with children, trying to stay healthy and being spiritually active? I'd need to meet them desperately.

7. Is it wrong to want another child because I want another chance?

8. Are people tired of me talking about fertility stuff? I can't seem to help it.

9. Why does the Bible say we should hope by "eagerly waiting for it with perseverance." Shouldn't it say, "fidget and fuss with whining"?

10. Does my husband know that every day I do everything in my power to make his life easier? Does he know I'm crazy about him?

Snow Day

About 5 minutes ago, I finally cleared the growing laundry that had been on the floor of our living room for the past 2 days. I was beginning to think that we had invented a new version of the shag carpet. At least, that's what I was going to tell anyone who stopped by.

Pre-child days, I may have thought a person slovenly* who did not pick up their laundry for 2 days. But there's a little wisdom to the thought which says that a house that is too clean is not really lived in and loved.

I plead sledding.

That's right, us stay-at-home mothers occasionally have to peel our hindquarters from the couch and put down our bon bons in order to play with our children.

Morgan and I began the morning with some important (and boring) errand-running. I bribed her with the idea that we would go out and buy her a sled. She was ecstatic. We finally found one at Walmart and for a whole $2.00 and I was able to give Morgan the thrill of her afternoon. (Side note: Nevermind that I also bought her a $9.00 boogie board sled. She didn't want it. There is also wisdom to the idea that children tend to like the simplest pleasures.)

The snow was perfect. Somehow it was both powdery and dense. When I sent her sliding down the hill, I don't think she took a breath, she was giggling that hard. And if you've ever been around a giggling kid, it's kind of contagious.

Two of our neighbors were also on the slope. As I stood talking with the other two adults, Micky and Kathi, I watched the children sledding and my childhood flashed before me. It wasn't that dreadful, pit-in-the-stomach or I'm-so-old sort of remembrance. It was more like a warm gooey feeling, the kind you want to keep basking in. If it weren't for the fact that my tear ducts were already frozen solid, I may have shed a tear.

We were probably outside a half hour or so when Morgan complained of limb paralysis. Something about being cold.

I took her inside, stripped her of her wet clothes and brewed her some hot chocolate. She took a nice long nap.

In fact, the whole house took a rest. I propped up my legs on the couch. The laundry relaxed on the floor. The ice from our boots puddled on our hardwoods.

You can stop by if you like. But watch your step. Sometimes love looks like laziness.

*Slovenly- isn't that a wonderful word? Why don't we use it anymore?

Morning Mayhem Moments

It's 9:30am.

And I am totally exhausted.

Morgan wanted to know what some boundaries were this morning. She said so, not in so many words. As much as I wanted to take her to preschool and be alone for 3 hours doing errands, she was crying for attention.

Now, two years ago I was the type of mother who would have seen the WHOLE day as ruined b/c of the way the morning started.

But as I have been given the life lesson that Morgan is precious and each moment with her can be a teaching one, I have a different perspective.

Later today, I will teach her the important value of a nap. We both need one. :)

Chai Spiced Cookies

My digital camera is having trouble working (apparently it needs BATTERIES... who knew?) so I can't show a photo. But these are yummers. I modified this recipe from the Pillsbury Holiday booklet in the checkout lane of my grocery store.

Chai Spiced Cookies

COOKIES
1 cup softened butter
1/2 cup powdered sugar
2 cups flour
1.5 tsp. caramom
1.5 tsp. allspice
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. nutmeg
1.5 tsp. ginger
1.5 tsp. ground cloves
1.5 tsp. salt
4 tsp. vanilla
2 egg yolks
Mini chips- To your liking (1/2 or 1 cup)

COATING
1.5 cups powdered sugar
1.5 tsp. cardomom
1.5 tsp. cinnamon

Directions:
1. Heat oven to 350.
2. Beat butter and sugar until blended. Then add dry ingredients, vanilla, yolks and mini chips. (I add mini chips to taste... 1.5- 1 cup or so.)
3. Shape dough by tablespoons into balls. On ungreased cookie sheets, place balls 1.5 inches apart.
4. Bake 12-15 minutes until lightly browned. Cool 5 minutes.
5. Mix the coating. Gently roll warm cookies in coating.

And as always, cry for your momma. Yummers.

Christmas

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Wrapping paper. Sometimes I like to add little touches, like ribbon attaches in funky ways. Or miniature antique things.

2. Real tree or artificial?
I like them real. Maybe when I'm older and all about "low maintenance" I'll switch to fake.

3. When do you put up the tree?
As soon as possible. (When we got back from traveling for Thanksgiving.)

4. When do you take the tree down?
Sometime after New Year's.

5. Do you like eggnog?
Do I? Do I? I'm crazy about the nog.

6. Favorite gift received as a child?
I really liked anything that was crafty. One year, as a teenager, I got a sewing machine which I STILL use to this day.

7. Do you have a nativity scene?
Yes. It's a cheapo set I bought years ago for $20. It has 12 pieces to it and it's a cheap grade ceramic. I love it. This year, I let Morgan play with it. After doing our annual "glue all the pieces that broke in storage", she began role playing with it. For a while, Jesus was on the roof of the stable.

8. Hardest person to buy for?
My father. Definitely my father. One year he asked me for a "blue knit hat". Sounds easy, right? For THREE Christmases we got him the wrong hat ("too small", "too dark", "too tight")... After trying so hard to get him the right hat, we gave up. Now he gets whatever we give him. :) He's not usually picky, but Christmas brings out the best in all of us. :)

9. Easiest person to buy for?
My sisters.

10. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?
It was hard to be cool when well-meaning grandparents gave very proper Sunday dresses as a gift. I wouldn't say it was the WORST gift...

11. Mail or e-mail Christmas cards?
Mail them. We won't be mailing them this year b/c they're too much work for now, but I love to mail them.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie?
A Christmas Story, of course. :) ("Deck the harrs with boughs of hawrry. Fa ra ra ra ra...)

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
Um, now-ish.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
Yikes. No.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
My Mom makes AWESOME Christmas cookies. She makes this white fruitcake that is marinated in some kind of rum. She redeems the word "fruitcake".

16. Clear lights or colored on the tree?
Dan likes colored. Small colored. I petitioned for those large, supernormous ones this year, but he gave me that patient little smile of his.

17. Favorite Christmas song?
Shake Hands with Santa Claus.

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home?
Looks like we're going to Iowa.

19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer?
Yes. But I'd like to rename them to the more contemporary children's names: "Morgan, Madeleine, Madison and Mason. Then Jack, Jake, Jaxon and Jerome." Just a thought. ;)

20. Angel on the tree top or a star?
Star. We found a vintage looking one at Target and convinced Morgan we should do it.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
What fun would Christmas be if Christmas Eve weren't filled with that wonderful, nauseating, butterflies-in-the-tummy feeling? Christmas morning presents. Dan's folks like to open stockings, have a really nice meal and then open gifts. That's nice, too.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
Over-consumerism. Quality over quantity is my mantra.

23. What I love most about Christmas?
This more gentle, meditative time of year is so beautiful. I think Christmas in the summer would have a different feel. Being homebound-ish is fun.

Christmas Card to Grandpa Dykstra

"Dear Grandpa,

I want presents.

I love you.

I'm excited to come to your house."

(Morgan)

Fiesty Female

Morgan was disappointed b/c I told her to go up to her room for a quiet time.

Morgan: "It sounds like you're jealous." (Huh?)

Emily: "It sounds like you're not listening to me."

Morgan: "It sounds like we're not friends."

Emily: "Yes, we are."

Morgan: "No, we're not."

Repeat last two lines about 5 times.

Laughing... this testing of authority tennis match is a daily occurance. In fact, I have adopted an old adage my Dad used to say when it comes to disciplining Morgan: "choose your battles". I try to use humor, firmness, grace and consistency.

No matter how fiesty you are, little Morgan, I still love ya.

Ode to an Old Abode

I visit a handful of blogs each day. And today I was excited to read the blog of a lady named GiBee. You see, GiBee moved from a charming cottage style house a while ago into a more traditional/contemporary house. And she can't seem to stop pining for her old abode.Man, can I relate!

Dan and I put 5 years of sweat equity into our bungalow. (Laughing)... Little did we know that our house was a fixer upper until we rolled up our sleeves. In retrospect, we could have saved money if we would have just moved directly to the neighborhood we currently live in, but MAN was that fun... owning a bungalow and bringing it back to life.



That house had SO many problems. We resanded the floors, replastered walls, built bungalow style columns in the living room, replaced almost all floors and finished the basement. There was a lot of less glam stuff too, like plumbing, electrical, new windows and doors... but it was so satisfying to see the result.

I know we made the right move. Don't get me wrong. I guess there's just something romantic about a drafty old house.

So, GiBee... thanks for sharing. This dame can relate. And with a little work, I'm sure we can make our new homes feel like home as well.

Thanksgiving

You know when you get back from a really big trip and try to summarize all the little wonderful things that happened but, out of fullness of mind and loads of laundry to catch up on, you can't? Whew. Here's some of the bullet points:

- Walking into my parents house, swearing that it smells like the fragrant kitchen my great-grandmother had and trying not to tear up.

- Watching Morgan tease her uncles and adore her aunt.

- Going shopping for Christmas presents with my Mom. Finding that we want to peruse the magazines for Christmas cookies for us instead. hehe

- Oooing and aaahhing with my Mom at Anthropologie and G Street Fabrics.

- Hugging my family incessantly.

- Enjoying a feast with my family. Being truly thankful. For my uncle's recovery from his stroke this year. For Dan's better job situation. For loving siblings and parents. For God.

- Watching my brothers, husband and father as they rib each other at poker. Watching them the morning after as they lament the money the lost or the drinks they had.

- Marveling at how my kid sister is now a woman. Marveling at how, although she has had her choice of men for ages, she is willing to wait for one in particular. She is learning love.

- Watching the glimmer come back in my brother's eyes after many hard years of searching for truth.

- Watching an Jane Austin movie with my mother.

- Marveling at the way my father can see the potential in an old house, flip it and make it someone else's home.

- Seeing a long friend of Dan's and grateful how God has given her a beautiful child and husband.

Buche de Noël

I made my first yule log cake. It wasn't as hard as I thought! Give it a whirl, friends. You can make it in stages.

We Likey Our Desserts...

...at Thanksgiving

Images of Maryland Thanksgiving...

Ahhh... Coming home...

Life Coaching

I mentioned in my earlier post that I'm enjoying an ecourse on the Energy Equation, a family of 8 lessons by life coach Lori Radun on bringing energy back into our lives. She spends the first part of the lessons talking about decluttering.

A little back story: As a stay at home mother, I spend approximately 50% of my day moving stuff. Seriously. Moving Dan's shoes from downstairs to upstairs. Moving Morgan's toys from the middle of the floor to a less dangerous setting. And, lest I sound too self-righteous, I pick up my own castaways as well. Stuff.

Living in a small house the past 5 years taught me to be choosy about the stuff I brought into my house. I miss my old house sometimes for that very reason. I liked the coziness of it all.

There is a point to this. I promise.

Ever since we moved into this larger house, there's a lot more storage for unused stuff. I'm trying to be vigilant about purging our house as often as possible from things that no longer fit our lifestyle or our future lifestyle.

I found it interesting, then, that Lori Radun has devoted the first lesson in her energy course to decluttering. I was surprised. I honestly thought she'd throw in some vitamin research, ways to workout better and a few wise proverbs. Nope. She has an action plan. Though a throughly spiritual person, she approaches this course from a very physical standpoint: get the junk out of your way that is keeping you from resting.

Let me show you two results from my recent endeavors. A few weeks ago I installed track shelving in my office. The shelving is modular in case I need to move it around. It's very strong... can hold up to 400 lbs per shelf. And as a result of this installation, I now have a sense of peace in my office; everything has its home.


Additionally, I finally framed Dan's September 11th airline ticket. Now it holds a precious place in his side of the office along with a reminder that our days are in God's hands.


I won't say that I'm bursting at the seams with energy, but it sure feels great to know that each item has a home and that I can find it easily.

Check it out. You may enjoy it as well.

Here's the syllabus:
Week 1 - Introduction - Identifying the Energy Drains in your Life
Week 2 - Clutter in your Environment - Why we hang on
Week 3 - Clutter in your Environment - Letting Go
Week 4 - Clutter in your Relationships - Energy Draining Behaviors #1 - #4
Week 5 - Clutter in your Relationships - Energy Draining Behaviors #5 - #8
Week 6 - Clutter in Yourself - Self-defeating Behaviors #1 - #4
Week 7 - Clutter in Yourself - Self-defeating Behaviors #5 - #8
Week 8 - Creative Ways to Refuel your Energy

Ch-Ch-Ch-Christmas?

I may be alone in this sentiment, but I have a small phobia. Of malls.

I know, I know-Crazy, right? I'm a woman who somewhat enjoys shopping, but there's something about the vastness of choice, throngs of people and- I'll be honest- "Made in China" labels on nearly every item that make me uncomfortable. I avoid malls like the plague. Maybe I overdosed on shopping as a teenager. Who knows?

What's more, I don't particularly like to have a lot of excess in my house, either.

So it follows that I have a tinge of anxiety when Christmas rolls around. Malls. Stuff I don't need. Decision making--eeek! For years, I haven't known quite what to ask for when my family requests my Christmas wish list.

What I really want sounds lame on a holiday list:
- A nap
- A baby. (Oh, c'mon, laugh. It's funny.)
- A good husband- already have that
- A darling daughter- got her!
- Uninterrupted time in the bath

I'd like to throw out some ideas to my bloggyland friends which may prime the creative pump of yours when giving or receivng gifts this holiday season:

1. A Class
You heard me right. A class. Dance class lessons. Swim lessons for the kiddo. Gymnastics lessons. Cooking class. My in-laws bought Morgan a class last year for Christmas and it was SO fun. It was the gift that kept on giving.

2. Something Homemade
I'm starting to get to that age where the best gifts involve memories of good times. Photo albums. Hand painted watercolors. A poem. A collection of black and white photos of deceased relatives who are special.

3. Life Coaching
I'm serious. Doesn't that sound like fun? I met a life coach last year named Lori Radun. She has fantastic ecourses on mothering and I'm in the midst of one now on energy... and why mothers lack it. It's pretty interesting.

4. An Experience
What does a tired business professional or weary parent need for Christmas? Forget the crock pot. A little buzz in the creative juices would do wonders. How about concert tickets? A swanky picnic in the park. A day downtown. A pedicure. A makeover. Something to remind one that they are not only human, they have a heartbeat and a personality.

These are just a few suggestions for those suffering from bulging eaves and support walls. A house can only hold so much stuff comfortably, right? Let China make a few things for their own country while you try some unconventional gift giving techniques. It's worth some thought.

It's DAN'S BIRTHDAY!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETIE!

He is 33 years today! Yeah!

Morgan and I will work hard to sing you a heartier version of Happy Birthday. Your 6:30 departure this morning did not leave time for our vocal chords to warm up.

Countdown to Dan's Birthday: 2 Days

Did you know that Dan is studying Russian?

Countdown to Dan's Birthday: 3 Days

Bet you didn't know...

Dan's mother broke 400 years of family tradtion when she named him Dan. Previously, parents had named their first born sons John and Clarence with alternating generations. Dan was slotted to be nominated "Clarence", but his mother saved the day. His middle name is John, after his father.

Countdown to Dan's Birthday: 4 Days

What You May Not Know About Dan:

Dan is a pretty convincing actor. He played the Tin Man in his high school's production of Wizard of Oz. And from what I hear, he did a great job. In fact, early in his college career, he was thinking about going into theater. This is no surprise to me or Morgan. Dan is always doing funny facial expressions and has the uncanny ability to mime things that others would consider difficult. You should ask him to show you his miming impersonation of the day I put extra fiber in his morning routine. Let's just say that there's a worn path in the carpet from Dan's desk to the men's room. haha

On a more serious note, as talented as he is in acting Dan was unable to shake his nervousness when he asked me to marry him. It was a very touching and beautiful moment.

Countdown to Dan's Birthday: 5 Days

Another tidbit about Dan Dykstra:

He can't help himself from quoting verbatim snippets of movies and TV shows. It secretly irks him if someone misquotes a movie. He often laughs and gently corrects the person (me) by requoting the entirety of the quote complete with appropriate pauses and voice inflections.

I got your number, Dan Dykstra!

Countdown to Dan's Birthday: 6 Days

In celebration of my husband's birthday, I've decided to write one thing every day for the next 6 days telling the entire world tidbits about him. I don't think I'll run out of material.

DAY SIX: What You May Not Know

When Dan was 16, he lost part of his big toe on his left foot to a lawnmower. It was a terrible experience, but my humorous husband put it on his calling card, so to speak:
"Ten fingers and nine toes, but generally all there."

Overheard

After telling Morgan the story of Good King Wenceslas, I told her that "the story tells us we should take care of the poor."

Morgan's face lit up. "I'm four! I'm four!"

I clarified: "I said POOR, Morgan. Not four."

________________________

Morgan and I went for a walk at the park. There was lots of goose poop everywhere. Morgan had a great idea: "Wets ax Jesus to disappear the poops."

________________________


Emily: "Morgan, it's cold outside. You need your hat on. Is your head cold?"

Morgan: "My brain hurts."

________________________

Morgan: "Mom, can you open this can for me?" She shows me a can of olives.

Emily: "Why?"

Morgan: "So I can do this." And she pointed to this picture.

Sunday

Man! I haven't blogged since last week.

You'd think I had a lot to write about since then, but the truth is that I'm fighting a sinus condition that makes me feel falsely *yawn* sleepy. I rested most of the weekend.

A few months ago, Dan and I were visiting Sarah and Jason, friends of our from Grand Rapids, Michigan. We stayed on a Saturday night and really enjoyed our Sunday with them. Jason and Sarah have two youngins and the Sunday morning shuffle to church is not so harmonious in their home. They have the option to attend an evening service on Saturday night. So Sunday is restful family day.

Our time there was so relaxing. We weren't rushing to get dressed and go to a service. We enjoyed the fellowship of some pretty cool cats. Now we already knew that we loved this couple, but then Jason brought out some homemade brewsky. Dan immediately deified him. I normally don't drink beer, but this blend was nutty and fruity and wonderful.

Sarah treated us to an amazing savory egg dish that morning. I try not to love her only because she makes good food, but this dish was a humdinger. Dear Sarah, do share you recipe.

We talked theology. We talked children. And I'm sure we threw in a couple jokes. I'm loathe to admit it, but I think this is what God had in mind for Sundays. Ah, home church.

Dan and I took a page out of their book this past Sunday and stayed home. We were all sharing a cold and some sinus trouble. We needed rest. We made homemade rolls as a family. Dan is a good cook and his baking skills aren't too shabby either. There was flour everywhere as our resident baker decide to baptize the kitchen with powder. But for once I didn't fret over it. Could've been the drugs I was taking that made me slow to respond, but I think it was just plain Sunday.

We read together as a family. We baked. We rested. What a gift.

Car

*sniff*

Well, after getting new tires, a new battery and new brakes/rotors on my Corolla, we may very well be having to sell it. I had to get a new starter in it today. It's a TEN year old car and that starter is the only non-maintenance repair I've had to make. Sorry to my domestic car owning friends, but I love Toyota.

At the repair shop, the nice man who helped me gave me his phone number. He'd like to buy the car for his daughter when I'm ready to sell.

Dan and I are ready to turn in our "cool" cards and become minivan owners in the near future. Right, DJ?

Um, More Morgan Stories... Just Can't Stop!

Teaching Morgan the days of the week:

Emily: "Okay, Morgan, what comes after Sunday?"

Morgan: "Monday."

Emily: "And then?"

Morgan: "Tuesday."

Emily: "Right. And then Wednesday. And then?"

Morgan: "And then twenty."

Too much drilling of 123's and ABC's?


__________________________


Morgan: "Mom, are we going somewhere where they have lunch? Because if they do have lunch then we can get lunch. But if they don't have lunch, I'll have to share my snack with you."

YES! She is a thoughtful girl!

Overheard

I saw some spots on Morgan while she was in the bath. I asked her to show me if she had any other spots on her leg. (She didn't.) Instead, she pointed to her oval-shaped birth mark and said, "Mom, this isn't a dot. This is a bookmark."

_____________________________

Emily: "Morgan, get your coat on. We have to pick up Daddy from the train station."

Morgan: "Mom! I have blue hands! Like Cookie Monster!"

(You know those blue Color Wonder sheets that are only supposed to rub off with special markers? They also work with saliva and a little elbow grease from one fiesty 4 year old.)

We were not late to the train station, fortunately.

_____________________________

Morgan was talking to an imaginary child this morning in the bathroom. It went something like this:

"Now when Mommy tells you to hold hands in the street you hold hands in the street. Do you want lemon in your mouth? Now you won't do that again. Do you know what rhymes with wathtub? Bathtub! That's right. What rhymes with ploshcloth? Washcloth! Good job!"

Question: For the sake of recording these imaginary conversations for posterity, would I be infringing on any laws of privacy if I installed a video recorder in her bathroom? Just asking.

Meatloaf

This recipe is dedicated to all my domestic friends, esp. Pam, who wanted to know what to do with her extra ground beef.

American Meatloaf
By Marion Cunningham (aka "Fannie Farmer")
"The Supper Book"

T'aint pretty, but it's durn good.

2 T butter
1 large onion, finely chopped
3 carrots, chopped into round pieces 1/4" wide
3 celery stalks, chopped into "arc" pieces 1/4" wide
1 lb. ground beef
2 lbs. ground pork
3 cloves garlic
1.25 cups bread crumbs
1 tsp. salt
3/4 tsp. nutmeg
1/8 tsp. cayenne
1.5 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
1/4 cup ketchup
2/3 cup water


Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Melt butter in large skillet. Add onion, carrots and celery and stir until tender.

In a large bowl, combine meats, sautéed veggies and the rest of the ingredients.

Mix thoroughly with hands but do not squeeze into hard brick (like most loaves). Gently pat into oval shaped mound in a baking dish. This way it will stay moist and tender. Bake 45-50 minutes or until middle is no longer pink.

If you've been begging your best friend for a movie night, this meatloaf will have him/her knocking on your door every night.

If you've been nagging your mother to come visit, give her this loaf o' love and she'll move in next door.

or... if you've been pestering the hubby for, oh-I-don't-know, every item in Pottery Barn, then he'll still say you can't have it, but he'll at least let you look at the catalog. *ahem*

Point is: It's good.

Overheard

Lately, in an effort to get Morgan to realize how bitter words taste (words like "I don't like you!" or "NO, I WON'T!"), I've been giving her a taste of lemon. Timeouts and other discipline were not proving effective, but the lemon tastings cause her to pause and think.


This morning she was playing with a pretend wooden lemon. She must have been thinking about my new discipline methods when she said:
"Mom, lemons would taste a lot better if they had M&Ms in them."


_____________________________

This morning, Morgan started the day with theology that went something like this:
"Mom, Jesus can't be with us because he's helping other people right now. And that's why I told Jesus to be with Daddy."

Anyone want to tackle omnipresence with a 4 year old?

The Gift

When my daughter Morgan was born 4 years ago, my parents were recently separated. It was immensely difficult.

Subconsciously I had reasoned that my parents gave their all to their 5 children and left none for each other; that was why they separated. And subconsciously I refused to let Morgan get in the way of the health of my marriage.

It didn't occur to me that I had these feelings for my daughter- these feelings of anxiety- as if she were a marital time bomb waiting to explode in a decade or two. In fact, it didn't occur to me at all until one day, when asking a friend how to take care of an infant, I added, "I don't want her to come between me and Dan." Yikes. Did I really SAY that? Did I really FEEL that way?

I decided it was time for counseling. I was having a hard time allowing Morgan in my life. I went to a great counselor who had me do a very special homework project. She asked me to go and buy Morgan a gift. Better yet, she wanted me to take Morgan with me (she was 1-1/2 years old then) and have HER choose the gift.

I took Morgan to a store. She chose a ball with a smiley face on it. It cost less than a dollar. I tried to get her to choose something more flashy, but she insisted on the ball. What a weird homework assignment, I thought. But when I saw my daughter light up when she chased the green sphere around the store, something grinch-like melted away in me. I'm not sure what it was. I delighted in HER being delighted.

Fast forward to present day. I was at Meijer buying groceries. Since Morgan was at preschool, I had the opportunity to browse the toy section for Christmas gifts. I picked up a Fisher Price doctor set, imagining her responsible first-born nature taking care of her Daddy and her dollies. I picked up a few other things. Each one I chose with thought, being careful to not just buy something for a gift's sake. It has to be special.

This lesson is immensely spiritual to me. Fisher Price had no idea how important this act of buying gifts was for me. It was a sign of growth and love. It meant that I cared for her and wanted her to be delighted and provided for.

And then I remembered:
"If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!"
Matthew 7:11
The Bible

There's a New Cat in Town

Some claim that the little feline resembled Sully from Monsters, Inc.

Halloween Fun

There are a contingent of people who really dislike Halloween. I suppose the glorification of spooky and bloody things is rather disconcerting. There is another spirit of Halloween, however, that is immensely positive. Allow me to share:

Last night was a brisk evening around the mid-50s. And when I stepped outside, costume-clad and happy for a special occasion, the evening did not disappoint. A few trick-or-treaters trickled in at the posted 4pm hour, little ones mostly. Very cute. Between the visits of each giddy child, I enjoyed the music of geese above my head and marveled at the way they know how to fly in formation. Amazing.

My own daughter, dressed like a kitten but as ravenous for candy as a lion, partook in high pitched screams to the neighborhood: "I'M SO EXCITED! I'M SO EXCITED!" she shouted to everyone who would listen. The uninhibited excitement is something adults rarely disclose to other adults. I laughed at her pre-sugar enthusiasm.

When Dan arrived home, Morgan promptly attacked him with information about Halloween. He gobbled down his dinner and made haste for the neighborhood beg. They claim they had fun.

I really enjoyed seeing the families of the neighborhood walking leisurely around the block, laughing and taking photos of their silly, cute and scary children. I anticipate that I won't see them much for the next 6 chilly months, so I welcomed the opportunity.

By 6:30, we had to turn off the front lights. We had given candy to 152 trick or treaters. I counted. (See list above.) We were plum out of candy. We all came inside with pink cheeks and full hearts. What a great night.

Veggie Soup Debacle

I've been married 7 years. It was a shock to me when, last night, my husband could not tell me that he did not like the soup I made.

We were chowing down on dinner when I noticed that he was only slurping the broth. I asked if it was okay and he said sure, digging his spoon in deeper only to pick up... more broth.

"You don't like it." I said.

"Hmmm?" He pretended he didn't hear me.

"As soon as I walk out that door tonight to see my friends, you're going to heat up some hotdogs, aren't you?" I asked.

"We have hotdogs?" he teased.

I explained that it was okay if he didn't like it. I had to convince him to tell me. Finally he buckled: "Okay, I don't like it."

"Great," I said, "warm up that chili from last night."

And then with pleading in his gentle eyes, he asked me to not make it again.

My gentle giant. Love you, Dan.

*And for my foodie friends, this was a minestrone-based soup with a lovely rosemary flavor. Yummers. Put some shredded fresh parmesan on top for flavor and *voila*... dinner is served.

Weekend Photos

Look at the shy widdle tiger. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Smooch.
Alex Miller, nearly 1 year new!


Nice pumpkins, Dan.

Overheard

Emily: "You're my favorite Morgan."

Morgan: "And you're my favorite disappointed Mommy."

Guilt.

________________________

Morgan: "How old are you, Mommy?"

Emily: "I'm 33." (I write "33" on a piece of paper.)

Morgan: "You're two 3's? I was one 3 but now I'm one 4."

I like that math. Two 3's is 6 years old. :)

________________________

Morgan was drawing a picture of a person. Lately she likes to draw a circle in the middle of the body for the heart.

As she was drawing today, she said to herself, "Oh no! I forgot the heartbeep!"

2006 Spookiness

Thanks to Kris for this photo last year at her Halloween party.
Dan was ice man.
I was a Chiquita Banana.
Together we were the unstoppable banana smoothie couple.

Okay, Kris- Strut your stuff. Show us your costumes from last year! They were awesome!

Halloween quiz

Can anyone guess what Miss Morgan is going to be for Halloween?

Daddy Void

What does a 4-year old girl do when she misses her Daddy (who has been gone two nights last week and two nights this week?)

She claimed she wouldn't eat dinner until he came home. But her hunger got the best of her.

She tried her best to insult her mother by saying, "You are expensive to someone!"

And then she poured syrup all over the kitchen table.

And somewhere in there she told her mother that she didn't like her.

All because no matter what the mother does, it doesn't take the place of a doting Daddy.

My hat is off to the single parents out there.

And what does the mother do? She blogs, of course, to know that she is not alone.

Overheard

"Mom, did you know that jellyfish make jelly?"

Thanks, Spongebob.

____________________________

Emily: "Morgan, you need to drink your medicine this morning before you have anything else to eat."

Morgan: (Begins to do a fake adult laugh...) "You're killing me, Mom. You're killing me."

Thanks again, Spongebob.
(Enter short lecture on why the word "killing" is not a good one to use cavalierly.)

____________________________

Morgan's head to my chest: "Mom! I can hear your heart bumping!"

____________________________

I asked Morgan where one of her friends were: "I think they went on bacation."

I love how she struggles to say "v's".

Preoccupied: Me

A Poem on the Autumn of Life


When the days strung together
in blurry-eyed blunders
and the rain came again and again

When I questioned my place
and my face and my gender
and wondered if strength would regain

Then I settled quite nicely
in the cave of the lonely
and took claim of "Preoccupied: Me"

Then a sharp stream of light
in a form oh most friendly
materialized there in my midst

And the misty-eyed days
were just remnants of haze
on the cusp of the joy that would come

In her deep and strong eyes
Lay a message most strong:
That my gaze was "Preoccupied: Me"

So I took up the notion
That life was worth living
And living with vigorous might

I picked up my dreams
in the midst of that drought
And proceeded to live life again

For the days that proceed
A request still remains:
Farewell, then, "Preoccupied: Me"

Morgan the Mail Carrier

Morgan loves to write letters. She scribbles important looking messages on pieces of paper, cuts them out and shoves them into little envelopes. Then she seals the envelopes with her fat little tongue and puts a "Dan, Emily and Morgan Dykstra" address label on it. I hid the real stamps in the event that she thought they were stickers. This morning she stuffed about 10-20 of these messages in her purse and wanted to pass them out to her friends at church. She looked like a fashionable mail carrier.

She's not much of a Mastercard ad, I'm afraid. The envelopes were about a buck and the paper, pen and stickers were minimal.

The adult-like fervor on my preschooler's face? Priceless.

Weekend Waffle Makers

This is how Dan and Morgan start the weekend: morning waffles. Delish!

Serenity Now!

Okay. We've all been there.

Started the morning wrong.
Got up late.
The dog ran away.
The kiddo got up too early.
Came home from a rainy day of work, errand running, etc. to a messy house.
You know the drill. Chaos.

So here's my question: What's your secret for serenity?
It could be spiritual or materialistic. It could be downright goofy. Here's my top 5:

1. A nibble of Chocolate.

2. A morning run with a Starbucks stop.

3. 4pm Oprah on Tivo.

4. Lighting scented candles and putting on music that fits my mood.

5. Talking to any of my sisters on the phone.

Gots to be Thankful

It has been hard to blog lately, friends. In east coast language it has been "wicked hard".
Laughing... there's nothing glamorous about the "waiting" period of life. I prefer "waiting" to, say "grieving", but still...

I know exactly what God wants from me right now: Stillness. He wants me to enjoy His current provisions and be thankful.

I don't wanna be still. I want action.

I've tried doing massive house projects. Not a lot of satisfaction there.

I've tried keeping the house uber clean and organized. *yawn*

I've even tried working myself into a silly stupor of freelancing followed by maniac attention-giving momma loving and a chaser of Martha Stewart white-gloving my already-clean house. *Cuckoo*

But then I had a great heart-to-heart with my husband a week ago. He forbade us (and by "us" he meant "me") from taking on any more house projects for now. No painting. No buying of art or textiles. We're focusing on our family and putting the fun back into our home.

At first I didn't know what to do with myself. I am not a fun person. For the love of Pete, my very name means "diligent".

Plus, I'm a hound for the domestic. Telling me to only maintain my home and not improve it is almost like cutting me off at the knees. But I know why he did it. He's right: We need the joy back in our family. We need to rest. And above all, we need dance parties.

That's right. Dance parties. God wants me to be still and I'm getting jiggy.

If you were to peek in our house any given night, you'd hear Morgan yelling at us to keep moving. We're blaring music from the credits of movies. We're testing the limits of the SoundDock (impressive). We're shaking booty.

Are we good dancers? Probably not.

Having fun? Yep.

So what's the big deal? Well, we're smiling. All of us. We're grooving and wagging our carcasses to Morgan's Nazi-esque demands for more, More, MORE. And in the midst of the fancy foot work, all of us are grinning.

Somehow the flailing limbs and dexterous derrieres are emitting thankfulness. We're grateful for health and joy and family and home. We're thankful for love and faith. We're thankful for voices and hands. We're thankful for friends and laughter.

You're welcome to stop by. We probably won't let you in on our dance parties. But you can share in the joy.

Sippyless

Morgan has adjusted to sippy-less life pretty well. She misses them at nap times, but she's been a trooper. The only tricky part is getting her to drink her medicine-laced morning beverage out of a cup.

This morning I tried to give it to her in strawberry milk. She claimed that today she wants water.

So I gave her water with her medicine. I found her blowing bubbles in it.

I tried telling her that she couldn't get up from the table until she finished it. While I left the room, the speakers for my ipod "magically" began to start playing a-ha's "Take Me On". Morgan was jiving in the kitchen.

I sat wiggle buns down on her chair and held the cup up to her lips. She drank what she wanted and let the rest dribble down her chin as she smiled mischieviously.

I told her to open her mouth again.She opened it as wide as a lion, making it rather difficult to get the beverage down her guzzler. I was temped to pour it down her throat.

Finally, with one tiny resistant sip after another, she finished it. Nevermind that I had to gently push the back of her head up to the cup.

Aren't they supposed to be more independent by this age?

Morgan Stories

"Mom, if you suck on a lollypop, it'll shrunks and shrunks until it gets really small. Then you ask your Mommy and Daddy if you can bite it and they say 'yes' and then its done."

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"Mom, did you know that God is Jesus' Daddy?"

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After Dan asked Morgan if she had any friends at school:

"There's a girl named Bridget. Mrs. Donna (teacher) talks to her a lot. She tells Bridget to not sit so close to me."

"I wanted to know what a moustache felt like."

Tape + Straw = Facial Hair Simulation

Friday Morning Musings

It’s trash day. This involves a few extra minutes of morning scrambling. Actually, it took a bit more time than usual. I asked Dan earlier in the week to bleach out our trash can (the large city-issued kind- it’s mammoth!) so I could put the trash back in. Something wrong grew inside our bin and it needed the clear message of Clorox to convince it to not come back.

Dan had a big week. He was busy. And I didn’t want to nag him about it.

The trash can was drying out in our back yard all week. Which meant that the trash (10 bags?) was piling up on his side of the garage. He actually didn’t mind parking on top of it. I’m trying to not be so controlling. He works really hard during the week. I need to learn to let some things go. Besides, car transmissions need the fumes of overly ripe produce. Can’t hurt, right?

I looked outside to a beautiful, quiet fall morning. The sun was resistant to rise. Aren’t we all? But by 7:00, the sky was a masterpiece. I soaked it in, despite the feeling that I’m forgetting something. Enjoy the sunrise, Emily. Just one minute.

The nagging thought in the back of my mind was remembered: Morgan needs pants desperately. It’s cold outside. Remember to return her birthday clothes (a bit too big) for smaller ones. And remember to get her more socks and jammies. The kiddo is growing.

“Mom! I can’t drink my milk!” My thoughts are interrupted. She used to take a daily sippy cup of milk which I mixed with her constipation medicine. She’s one corked missy. But since we confiscated her sippys on her 4th birthday (under the guise of “graduation”) she is reluctant to drink her milk + medicine. It took 15 minutes. At least.

I bribe her with new, unopened packages of Playdoh. With each gulp of milk she negotiates with me: “Now, Mom? Can I play now?” Not until the milk is done. What to do tomorrow when the Playdoh bribe won’t work.

I negotiate with the 4 year old in me. I have easily three days worth of errands and tasks that I need (okay, want) to get done today. As usual, logic prevails and I engage in triage: women and children first. Er, that would be clients and Morgan first. Then Dan and Emily tasks.

The phone is ringing. It’s probably a family member wanting to greet us for the weekend. But this morning begs me to be quiet. I comply.

Hello, Friday. I’ll be your Emily.