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.