December Hath A One Year Old

There is a little baby in the house who is responsible for my weary lids and my full heart.

She is now a one year old. And she has me absolutely smitten.

Today, for the very first time, she said "Mama".

Well, okay, she has said "mama" before but it doesn't count because 1) she said to to an inanimate object and 2) she said it with a whiny, tired voice.

Here's why today's version counts: I came into her room to pick her up from her nap. She jumped up and down wildly in her crib and said, "Mama" in a happy voice.

I spent a great deal of the afternoon marveling at this child.

I do that. I marvel.

And I usually do it one child at a time.

Plus, Morgan was playing with a friend and not around. It was the "Mommy Marvel at Eve Hour."

I marveled at how Eve has learned to get our attention from her play yard.

Sometimes she poops her pants and smiles at us expectantly.

Sometimes she throws her toys of the yard and gives us a puppy dog look.

Much to our chagrin, she has recently discovered that if she sticks her little index fingers far, far down her throat she will make a very gross gagging sound. And gross gagging sounds sometimes accompany gagging liquid. But most importantly, it gets attention.

Can she walk, you ask. Yes and no.

Can she? Yes.

Will she? Uh-uh.

My stubborn sidekick will only step sure-footedly when big sister is around and she doesn't actually know that she's walked to her. She prefers to remain a quadruped for the time being.

But I do have this: She dances. A lot.

Any slightest beat or sound make her cock her head to and fro like a clock pendulum. Help her if she's listening to something faster; she could put Eddie Van H*alen to shame. Or so I gather.

This age is endlessly fun. The smallest change in octave to my voice will cause her to crawl wildly away from me. And then, just when I'm about to catch her, she becomes scared and runs AT me. It's a technique that I hope she kicks in the near future as it signals daredevilish tendencies.

She's smart, I just know it. Sometimes her eyes give off that glazed expression, but only when she's plain tuckered out. She manages to say Dan's name ("dada") with a sing-songy tone that begs to have his credit card. He responds in such ooey gooey fashion (who wouldn't?) that I check our credit report regularly to make sure he hasn't done so. Seriously, it's a love fest here.

But the frosting on Eve's cake is definitely Morgan. I'm pretty sure that Eve would grow another set of arms if it meant she could touch Morgan all the more. She loves her. She wants to be like her. She plays with Morgan's toys and follows her around the house. It's absolutely precious. And while I'm loathe to admit that the coming years will have me begging for Eve to not follow her sister, for now it's darn cute.

So there you have it. In the midst of a crazy December, there was given to us a one year old.

December

It's been a very different December.

Other Decembers began with a slow crescendo on December 1st featuring Christmas music and baking of cookies and became progressively faster with Christmas parties and cookie swaps. By December 23rd, the flurry of activities turned into a mad dash for the last perfect gifts, a resolution to not spend quite as much the next year and culminated into a joyous frenzied Christmas Day.

But this December, I am worn. It started with a family funeral. Somehow funerals tend to sap more than just a day of visiting loved ones. It's so much more.

And then the month snowballed into a bevy of bereavements from there. I managed to putter into Christmas Eve a bit threadbare. I took a moment to pour some melted chocolate onto a cookie sheet, sprinkle it with crushed candy canes and crack it into pieces for our Christmas Eve night. An hour later we were calling the plumber due to our basement which decided to flood.

With God's help I managed to keep my head screwed on straight throughout this December. And by God's grace, I walked through it. He held my hand at my grandfather's grave. He enabled me to show love to friends who are very important to me, who are struggling. And in a large, watery puddle in the basement, He kept me from crying as my husband and I held each other in the flood.

In retrospect, there really isn't a more appropriate way to spend Christmas Eve than threadbare, poor and tired. There just isn't.

After Christmas, I was reading Morgan a new Bible. It's the Storybook Bible and it's perfect for the kid who says, "I've heard this story before." Absolutely perfect.

As I read Morgan the story of Abraham and Sarah, I wept. I've heard this story 100,000 times if I've heard it once. It was brand new to me. The book refers to God's saving hand as "the Secret Rescue Plan" and calls Jesus the "Rescuer"... It's an adventure book about love. It sees the big picture of each story. It's marvelous.

I read her many stories from this Bible. I couldn't stop. "Why are you crying, Mom?" my daughter asked. "Because I'm happy," was all I could tell her.

Because I'm threadbare.

And poor.

And washed out.

And He rescues me.

Three a.m.

It's in the 3 o'clock morning hour here at the Dykstra House.

My Morgan gently knocked on the door and asked to open her Christmas presents. "Just your stocking," I told her. Aw, heck, I'd show her. I got dressed and came downstairs.

Little sister cried; she wanted to be part of the action. I gave her a warm bottle and watched Morgan open her stocking. The excitement, the glee... it was all worth it.

Now little sister is back in bed and momma is soon to follow.

But the excitement of my Morgan will be treasured in my heart.

Christmas Spirit

This morning, in the true spirit of Christmas, I barked at Morgan. *sigh*

I made "crazy face".

Not familiar with "crazy face"? T'aint pretty.

It's the face of a momma who is on the brink of insanity. If you take a roll of Scotch tape and apply it to your face haphazardly in order to rearrange your features, then you'll have perfectly imitated "crazy face". Add a convincing growl and you're on your way to the funny farm.

I knew at the moment that "crazy face" made its appearance that I needed to mend my relationship with Morgan. Fast.

I asked Morgan, "Would you like to go on a date with Mommy?" She did. (Thankfully, whew!)

Then I called the sitter across the street and asked her to come to my house at 11:30.

Because the Christmas movie I wanted to take Morgan to started at 12:30.

I grimaced at the freezing rain. I said a prayer of safety and we were off.

I forgot how wonderful it was to be alone with Morgan. I forgot the feel of her hand in mine. And I forgot how much fun it is to let her choose her very own candy at the theater. *Big, wide eyes of excitement.*

We found our seat in the theater. We saw a lousy movie. It was scary and not Christmassy.

But it didn't matter. We were in it together. Disappointing movies and inclement weather. Together.

It's been a crazy December, but I think I found a Christmas spirit in that moment. She was under my nose all along.

Advent

Recently it has been difficult for me to blog. Somehow, the blogs I love to read in bloggyland make me feel as if life, though difficult, can be easily summed up in a few paragraphs. That which is distasteful to blog about can be easily omitted. Cute stories of my children can gloss over other feelings which are boring to blog about. And to read.

So, I don't blog.

I don't have cute pics of children, festive recipes to share or a humdinger of a revelation. But I do have this:

I am a wicked-tired stay-at-home mother.

Can I say that in bloggyland? It's not comforting or funny or exciting and there's nothing redemptive about it... but it's true. I'm tired.

Each day I make choices to keep my day more simple and each day I'm completely humbled by how much craziness is in the air.

Snow pants. Seriously. Who knew snow pants would cause so much havoc?

And baby nap schedules. Or worse yet, skipping the nap.

A husband who is overly active in church.

A deep pang of grief at the loss of two people in my life.

A hellfire anger for the miscarriage of my friend.

Schedules. Responsibilities. Feeling lost.

It's too much. The prayers have barely left my mouth when another wave comes.

So my husband and I have been taking small steps towards sanity:

We decided to skip the company party.

And another Christmas get together.

We decided to watch a movie together at home. It took us three sessions and two days, but we finally finished a 2 hour movie we had been wanting to watch.

This morning I sat on my couch, opened the word of God and wept. I said a prayer in my heart that went something like this Christmas carol:

"Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Emily."

For everyone who asks receives,

and he who seeks finds,

and to him who knocks it will be opened.

Luke 11:10, The Bible

Fog

A little fairy came to me and granted me one wish.

"One wish?" I clarified.

"Just one," she said.

"Then I wish I could remember the past month."

"Impossible," she said and exploded into a thousand pieces of light.

_______________________

Here's what I can gather from the evidence:

There was some sort of big festivity that happened here last week. There were pieces of a large, cooked bird in my fridge and little containers of leftover side dishes. Must have been a big dinner as far as I can tell.

And there are new toys and clothes scattered here and there along with bits of wrapping paper. An early Christmas must have arrived as well.

From the near-empty chicken nugget bag in my freezer, it's apparent that a certain child has been trying out her new teeth with great vigor. Hard crumbs of food under the high chair also indicate some life form with a voracious appetite has been there. A knowing bend in my back suggests that I've been bending over to clean up said floor a lot. Just a hunch. (Couldn't resist the pun.)

From the "size 7" youth pants in the laundry, I deduce there is another little girl who is growing quite tall. There are crayon drawn pictures sitting on various high tables around the home... obviously an attempt to keep littler hands of prey from them. There are little stories as well, written in a language locally known as "kindergarten-ese." It's adorable.

There was a very handsome man in bed with me this morning. He has a wedding ring on his finger (as do I) and appears to be nonplussed by my presence. It appears we are married. He's very cute.

It's a little foggy around here, but I'd say we're hanging in there. And that's probably all a mother can hope for at this moment.