Girly

Miss Katie and I went out in search of nearly-naked make-up yesterday. We found some shades that are so close to flesh tones that your mamas would all be proud of us. My not-so-little Missy ended up choosing mascara, lip gloss, and eye shadow for her first cosmetics, and she looked like herself but with a bit of highlighting. Once she's learned to apply the assorted powder and goo, then there can be more color. It's a process.
More importantly, we had a great afternoon together. We talked about the parts of our lives that have diverged somewhat since she entered the halls of middle school. The 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. stuff. We laughed. We rolled our eyes. We ate cake and sipped our beverages. We smelled everything in the Yankee Candle Co. We tried the samples in World Market and discovered we both like rooibos with spices in it. So we brought a tin home, and we will drink it to the general disgust of everyone else in the household.

Oh, Christmas Tree

Oh, my. Christmas blew up in my house. And the debris has yet to be fully surveyed, much less cleared. Christmas decorating used to be a fairly simple affair. Don showed Katie photos last night of the tree we shared for Christmas the first year of our marriage. One of us loved the small tabletop model purchased on clearance at a discount store, and found it a charming and festive addition. The other (who shall remain nameless except for the spelling of "D-o-n") not so much. He and Katie thought that wonderful little tree was pitiful. While that tree still has fond memories for me, it is not the sort of Christmas Tree about which I obsess.
The Year of the Teeny Tabletop Tree was also the year that I received my first piece of Spode Christmas Tree china. And so the seeds planted in childhood by an auntie who lived for a time in jolly, olde England where she began a collection of Christmas china began to sprout. Into the beanstalk of last Christmas when I discovered that *GASP!!!* my china had been outsourced to no longer be "Made in England". Wrong-o-moosebreath! So we found a temporary source, and then later my auntie sent me a treasure trove from her own collection. My mother and my mother-in-law were both greatly relieved to hear that the china set they and others had been thoughtfully building one Christmas gift at a time would feature enough dinner plates for our whole clan. (We are women who actually concern ourselves with this sort of thing. My daughters are being trained to a combination of concern over the dinnerware matching, and an understanding that paper plates do not have to be washed so long as one is okay with killing the planet. The girls are still a little confused, but they will get it all sorted out before they are responsible for such things.) Yesterday I assembled all of the booty amassed during last year's frenzy to find every possible piece of "Made in England" Christmas Tree china available within the state.

And then, I just sat in the dining room with the most foolish of smiles. And goggled. And giggled. And perhaps a bit too reverently held up pieces of china for my long-suffering spouse to admire. It was an occasion of such magnitude that the thirteen year old boy came into the room and managed a comment about all that Christmas China. Hee.

Sweet Celebration

Whoo-Hoo! The kids are out of school for a whole week! Instead of dragging them from their nice, warm beds too early, the option to let them sleep in exists for a few days. The school year brings a series of logistical headaches to start every day, but Thanksgiving Break is opening with cinnamon rolls. Hanging around the house enjoying sweets is so much better than rushing around the house and zipping off to assorted destinations!
I'm abuzz with thoughts of "What shall we do today?" because the possibilities feel so unlimited compared to ordinary days. Don has gone off to meet a friend for coffee, Erin has a choir rehearsal in less than an hour, and Evan has a friend coming over this afternoon. This is a real change from our typical day's jam-packed 6:00 a.m.- 9:00 a.m. and 2:45 p.m.-bedtime schedules for the kids. I think Kate and I will run off for a little Mother-Daughter bonding in the cosmetic aisle that ends with a trip to La Madeliene (because that's our girly spot).
By the time we return home, Don plans to have pulled the Christmas goodies down from the attic for me. We'll sort through the assorted pretties, and it will begin to feel like the holidays are imminent. (Because they are!) This year we're hosting a Black Friday open house so I have an excellent excuse for dragging all the Christmas goodies out a bit early. My hands are just twitching at the thought of unwrapping the Christmas china and ornaments for this year... oooh. Hooray!

Sharing is Good

Leanne over at Tired Mama says she will show me her Polish Pottery if I show her mine. Since my hands are stiff with arthritis this morning, today is another good day for a picture post.

Tears of a Clown

Evan finally had the opportunity to tattle on Katie yesterday. He was positively gleeful about conveying the news that his sister was experimenting with Mom's make-up. I answered the phone to, "Uh, Mom?"
"Yes, Evan?"
"Um. Katie is into your mascara?
"Mascara... are we talking about the same sister?!"
"Yes!" (He's giddy.)
"Are you sure she's in the mascara?"
"That's the black, goopy stuff that goes on your eyes, right?"
"That's the stuff. Alrighty, then. I'll deal with it when I get home."
"Uh, Mom? Should tell her to wash it off?"
"Well, she can try, but that stuff is super waterproof. It's unlikely to come off."
*sigh*

Later that evening, I consult a group of Other Mothers on the wearing of make-up. I am consulting because Katie didn't break any rules by experimenting, but there probably do need to be some guidelines put in place. (Make-up is not something we have even discussed, so it's not as if she snuck off and put on great gobs of goo at school or a dance like I recall kids doing who were not allowed to wear make-up in middle school. ) The other moms do not have a daughter over five years among them though. None of them has gone beyond letting their preschool daughters wear clown lip gloss in pretty, pretty princess shades of pink and purple. So there are no opinions I can make my own. *sigh*

Later, Don and I curl into bed to watch a t.v. show about Windsor Castle while Katie finishes up her homework assignment. I tell him that the Other Mothers are not weighing in, and that I wish I had asked the mommies with older daughters what their family policies are on Daughters Wearing Make-up. Still thinking, I then say that it really doesn't matter what other parents are doing other than to get ideas, and what does Don think. Don proceeds to offer up his two cents consisting of, "I don't really care if she wears make-up, much less what kinds, but if she looks like a 'ho' or a clown, she's washing it off." He then throws in a rendition of the little song Ringling Brothers uses to announce the arrival of the clowns in their tiny car while I laugh myself into breathlessness.

So. We still have yet to resolve the questions of tween and teen cosmetic use. I am thinking that nail polish, cologne, and sheer lip colors are fine because these goodies have been allowed since the girls were still into Disney Princesses. Foundation, blush, and eyeliner are absolutely off limits. Mascara, a single shade of eye shadow, and powder are currently up for discussion.

Mom's Taxi

There is too much of this in my life.

I would like more of this instead.

To Market We Go

Oh. I married well. This morning Don and I ran away from home to have breakfast at our local Market after dropping off Youngest Daughter at school. After our meal, he says, without so much as a sigh, "Okay. Let's go look at the dishes." I am silent. Because I am soaking up the sheer pleasure of being with my Beloved who intimately knows how oddly pleased I am by wondering amongst pretty breakable bits of glass, china, crystal, and pottery. And that he loves me enough to wander with me almost weekly despite the knowledge that I might find some treasure I am convinced should share our home. And if I do, he will say, "Can we afford that?" or "Do you need that?" If the first answer is "No", then we will move on along. If the second answer is "No", then he waits for the inevitable, "But..." This is a man who has the patience of Job when it comes to me and my love o' dishes.
Last week after I ran away to Bargain Basement with Lisa and Shelley, I commented that he might collect bass guitars if we were ever independently wealthy. He responded that, no, he would not... but that he does apparently collect Polish Pottery. Hee. Yes, he does.

Basic Theology... for KIDS!

A friend has released an on-line version of a book he co-wrote with his son. Basic Theology for Kids is now available from Pastor Steve Lucas and son David! Steve is headed out to Costa Rica to support and equip other pastors through The Brook. AND. Steve is offering a freebie of his Kids' Theology text to bloggers willing to offer him a link. So. Here's a two-fer, Steve because we also appreciate your work to help equip parents who don't happen to be pastors. Sample download available at Steve's web site

Surprises

Oooooh. Friday night was full of surprises. My parents brought unexpected gifts of Polish pottery. A stunning batch of pretties including a coffee pot, egg plate, sauce boat and plate, and a flower-shaped bowl were all unwrapped just in time to put out for our first potluck dinner!
Mom and Dad with Katie also had a hand in a surprise for Don. His birthday is coming up, but since we had friends over, I figured a cake and "Happy Birthday" would be in order even if the date was a little off. The three of them went out to pick up a few things that I wanted for our guests... and a birthday cake. Dad slipped into the kitchen with the cake reading "My Dad Rocks!" while Don sat in the living room talking. Everyone headed into the living room, and the children started off the singing of the birthday song as the cake was brought into the living room. Don was looking around wondering who everyone was singing to as the cake was presented to him. It's pretty rare that we are able to surprise him!

Passages

A woman beloved by many who are precious to me passed away late Thursday after spending 2008 battling aggressive cancer that spread throughout her body costing her a leg and eventually this life. But what a life. I am tickled by the desire and level of activity going into developing a suitable way to celebrate a life well-lived. I saw the lady one time after she began her fight for life, but I never actually met her. Don knew her only to say, "Hello!" Yet our lives are strongly influenced by her effect on all the mutual friends who knew and were loved by her. What more can we hope for than to have loved so well that all who share our lives carry a bit of our torch forward to continue lighting the way to Christ?
An interesting counterpoint to the loss and celebration came an hour later when news of my sister-in-law producing a bouncing bundle of boy was relayed. Don and I were pleased that all went well for the mother and the little one. They should go home Sunday where my dynamo of a mother-in-law is waiting to help the family adjust to life with baby.
The news of these two common, yet once-in-a-lifetime, passages came an hour apart. There is an appreciation of the symmetry. We will pray for the peace of those who mourn, for the quick recovery of the new mother, and with all joy for the eternal life and the new life to be celebrated.

Time and Tied

Despite the officiant looking suspiciously like David Koresh, Don and I made it through our wedding vows to be introduced as husband and wife. We ate fajitas and cake, dumped our wedding clothes, tossed the garter and the bouquet, and headed off for our wedding night. Which was almost as ill-fated as my attempts to stay dry-eyed during the ceremony.

A couple who drove in for the wedding from another town were staying the night at our house. As were we. Shared quarters do not an intimate honeymoon make. As we unpacked my assorted toiletries on arriving at our first official residence (with our first official house guests), I discovered that something was missing. So I called my parents, and asked that they bring me the small plastic case left in the bathroom so we could avoid celebrating a honeymoon pregnancy a few weeks later. Mother said she would finds the missing pills before I was missing pills.

Except she could not find them. So she sent my Dad and his good friend (the father of the flower girl) over to the drug store connected to the home health agency where I worked. My father and his pal requested a refill of my prescription and explained the circumstances to my co-worker. (Oh, Privacy Practice laws how I love thee...) Dad and his friend delivered the by now much-discussed birth control pills to our house. We have wedding guests, and fathers of the wedding party all along on our wedding night. At which point the doorbell rings.

One of the nurses I worked with had been in the pharmacy and overheard my Dad broadcasting my birth control needs. Which she found very funny. So she proceeded to purchase every other method available in the store, tossed in pamphlets on everything from pregnancy to certain indelicate diseases, and came right on over to join in the fun. In case you are counting, there are now five more people involved in our wedding night than there ought to be.

Which brings me back to that study I joined a few years later hoping to find a cure for an all too common marriage and my husband's lack of attention and interest. Beginning to learn what Scripture had to say about marriage, I discovered that the pattern we set on our wedding night was still the one we were reproducing--- and that it looked nothing like what the Bible said our relationship could be. There were too many other people involved in our marriage. We needed to cleave--- both away from other people and to one another. While our children were directly affected by our marriage (and we remain responsible for loving and teaching our offspring), they were not participants in this particular three-legged race. And the race was bound to be smoother once we cut ourselves loose from our friends and parents. They were likely to have opinions, but not one of them was tied to the quintessential unit of one comprised by Don and I.

The long process began of trying to learn how to put Don in a place of higher priority than every other person. More challenging lessons came as we walked, ran, limped, and sometimes crawled along together. Sometimes we struggled against the ties that bound us together, but eventually we began to understand how to support one another while developing a fairly smooth gait by working together. Everyone else in this marathon is a spectator, coach, cheerleader, even companion, but none can be tied to us without hobbling our marriage by throwing off our rhythm or introducing a lack of harmony.

Radical Idea

I cried all the way through our wedding vows. And my nose ran. And I didn't have a tissue. And my maid of honor was all of 16, and she didn't realize I needed a tissue. So the most memorable moment I have from our ceremony was Don making the first of many sacrifices. During the prayer at the end of the vows, he let me wipe my nose on his suit jacket sleeve. (Ew.) To spare me from having great embarrassment before our guests. Except that the wedding video was rolling away to capture the moment forever. Hee.
No wonder that I have little real memory of the whole "in sickness and health", "for richer or poorer", and certainly I missed the "for better or worse" bit. I did catch the "to have and to hold from this day forward", and I was especially enthusiastic about the Mr. kissing his bride whose drippy nose was temporarily relieved. At twenty and twenty-one we were young... and really stupid. Which was good because our stupidity prevented us from giving up on one another and our youth left plenty of time to sort out our marriage.
I read a line in a book yesterday talking about how some kinds of love are "responsive", and I am drawn back through the haze of memory to the first three years of our marriage. Responsive love was exactly what we had signed on for, but neither of us was giving anything good to stimulate the other one on to love in response. Which means we were both miserable, and we each blamed the other. (Yeah, that helped.) I signed up for a group study thinking I would learn how to fix my clearly busted spouse at that point.
Except the other women in the room all seemed different from me. Different from any experience I had with examples of marriage. And the study was not at all what I expected. While I was ready to create my list of What's Wrong With My Husband, and it's sister How He Needs To Change, the ladies and the study all advocated something far more radical. And unappealing. They actually suggested that perhaps Don was not the Problem.