Checking In

Yep, we're still here. I haven't had much to blog about of late, and today is no different. This should hold us over until I'm feeling more inspired:

Behold, our seven year-old teenager.

Also, Willem reads now. He totally reads. Which is great and amazing to me, but it's hard to get used to.

Willem is in a phase in which he follows me around the house from room to room. All day. And when I sit down at the computer, I can't tell you how disconcerting--and annoying--it is when he sidles up alongside me and starts reading aloud from the monitor.

Of course I wouldn't have it any other way. But I do miss the days when I could take a quick jaunt through the lingerie department at a store without Willem pausing to puzzle out a word and then asking in his most confident, ringing voice, "Mom, how do you say BRA?"

Books and Movies

I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but at some point I stopped reading books. There was a time in my life when reading was so important to me that to say I stopped reading books would be like saying I stopped breathing. But I started reading fewer and fewer novels (I've always been a fiction girl and a bit of a plot junkie) until finally, when I had my first baby, I just about quit books entirely.

I couldn't not read--I subscribed to a bunch of magazines and journals, because I knew I would be able to read to the end of something and put it down when duty called. Duty called often and with a very screechy voice.

Well, not long ago, Shaun took up reading in his spare time in a way that he hadn't ever done before. And I saw him sitting down with his book, and I thought how has this happened? How can it be that I don't read novels anymore?

So I started in. And now I remember. I picked up Little, Big by John Crowley and it took me a while to get going, but once I did, I was back to my old habit of staying up all night because I couldn't stop turning the pages. And despite the book's shortcomings, it was so successful at creating its world that I got crabby when I finished the book and it was time to say good-bye.

Because Shaun was so enthusiastic about it, I read Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses next. Well, that was different. The first several pages were hard for me to get through; the language felt suffocating and I seemed to be reading with the lights out. After a bit, though, it opened up and I was sucked right in. The whole deal; up too late, mad when it was over, trying not to talk like a cowboy.

I haven't dared to pick up another novel this week; I've been reading some short stories and my new issue of First Things. I guess I will have to institute a strict bed-time if I'm going to let novels back into my life. Self-discipline is not my strong suit.

Weirdly, I have also stopped watching movies regularly in the past several years. I used to love to watch movies. In the past two weeks I've seen four movies. Between those and the books, I feel like my head might explode.

Shaun was in a western mood, so we watched Rio Bravo. And I liked it. Who knew Dean Martin was such a good actor? We also watched the movie version of All The Pretty Horses. It was interesting to see what they did with it, but I didn't think it was worthwhile apart from that.

Departing from our theme, we took the boys to the cheap theater ($3 tickets!) to see Despicable Me, and for maybe the first time in the life of our family, all four of us equally enjoyed the movie. This review says a lot of things I was thinking about it better than I could. It's good fun.

Shaun's folks took the boys this weekend, so on Saturday we spent our gift certificate at Powell's (thanks, Nancy!) and loafed about at Clyde Common. The excellent Jeffrey Morganthaler was behind the bar, so we decided to stay put rather than rushing off to catch a showing of True Grit.

When we got home we watched Exit Through The Gift Shop. Is it weird that the narration was my absolute favorite part? Anyhow, it is an engrossing (and occasionally very funny) documentary that raises significant questions about art without being preachy or taking itself too seriously. You don't come across movies like that every day.

So, that's the year's worth (for me) of culture I've taken in in the past few weeks. I'm also reading The Borrowers (a book I somehow skipped when I was a kid) to the boys. Willem usually loses interest in books written at Nels's level, but the notion of tiny people grips him, so he's following right along. I don't think I'll ever count it among my favorites. Nevertheless, it should come as no surprise that I still find it hard to resist that perennial plea: Just one more chapter!

Catching Up

I would not have thought it possible for anyone with a googly eye stuck on his forehead to look so serious.

I did no pre-Christmas baking this year, so when Shaun got a hankering for holiday cookies he had to fend for himself. I found him a recipe for "Christmas Nuggets," which was the only thing in the house we had all of the ingredients for. They tasted much better than their name suggests.

The pre-school Christmas program was better than it has been in the past, but I'm glad it was our last one. Nels played games on Shaun's iPod until he could no longer control his audible outbursts ("Oh man, come on!") and we had to cut him off.

Saddest Christmas kangaroo ever. (Yes, the kids sang a song about Roo Roo the Red-Nosed Kanga. Yes, they're wearing reindeer antlers. No, it makes no sense.)

Shaun built us a lot of nice fires in December. Willem settled down alone in front of this one. Sometimes even a five year-old needs some space.

We had a great Christmas with cousins at Grandma and Grandpa's. I like to call this photo "Unusable Signal."

Now this is a Christmas Eve outfit.

Boys are great, but we definitely enjoyed having a little girl around.

No shortage of Christmas cookies here.

Somebody stole the curlers right off Grandma's head.

It wouldn't be Christmas for Shaun without krumkake.

And here's our little cyclops again, slightly less grim this time and wishing you all a happy new year.

For Those of You Not on Facebook and Who Therefore Missed This Announcement

My very short story Rainy Day was published at the online Journal of Microliterature this week. Fiction is not my forte, so of course it's all just real-life stuff rearranged and condensed to 1000 or so words.

Thanks to friend of the blog Oleg, whose friendly short story contest prompted me to write it.

Happy New Year!

God With Us

I read this from The Anchoress today:

It’s what we’re called to, not merely as Christians, but as human beings. To be willing to ENTER INTO the pain, or the fear, or the tumult and whirlwind of another person’s life and say, “ssssshhhh, it’s alright, I’ll keep you company for a little while…” It is humanity at its finest.

And while it is, as I say, neither the exclusive calling or the exclusive virtue of the Christian (in fact in too many Christians it is all-too-lacking), I cannot help – in these final days of Advent – to think about what God did, in a lonely cave on the outskirts of Bethlehem, when He condescended to enter into the pain and fear, the tumult and whirlwind of the world…when he “set his tent among us,” not merely “dwelling” among us as lofty king, but literally “with” us, with hunger, the capacity for injury and doubt…

God entered in, not with a cacophany of noise and a display of raw power, but as the humblest and most dependent of creatures: a baby, lying in a manger, a place for the feeding of animals. He, who became Food for the World, entered with silence, as though he had put his finger to the quivering mouth of a troubled, sobbing world and said…”ssshhhh…it is alright, I’ll keep you company…”

Of all things, this made me think of an experience at Ikea I had a few months ago. I did a little shopping with the boys, and then we headed to the cafeteria for lunch. As the boys, eager for meatballs, walked a few steps ahead of me, I passed an elderly man. His head (not his face, but his bald skull) had something very wrong with it. It brought to mind a piece of fruit that had gone bad and then been dropped on the floor.

At first I was just shocked. Then I thought, Thank God the boys didn't see that. Then I felt terrible for my reaction. I imagined how hard it must be for that man to live in a world with people like me who don't know how to graciously respond to people with squishy-looking heads.

Still mulling over The Anchoress's words, another time came to mind. Shaun's Grandpa Chick was dying, and we went to see him for the last time. As far as we knew, he could not tell we were there; his eyes were closed, his body was agitated. And I felt ashamed at how uncomfortable I was, of how hard it was for me to be there.

There are so many things I don't want to think about. Orphaned kids; hungry kids; kids whose parents tell them they're stupid. I can hardly stand it. There is so much that is difficult and painful, and ugly in this world, and I often feel that if I don't avoid it, if I know too much about it, then sadness will overwhelm me.

Not Jesus, though. He came to live among us. He sees the diseased bodies. He sees the child soldiers. He sees the mass graves and the underground cities. He sees, and, unlike me, He does not turn away.

His name is Emanuel; He is God with us. Praise God for that. May He grant me the courage to follow His example.

Off To A Good Start

Today was the first day of vacation for the boys. They slept later than usual, so I did too. They did get up before me, though, and, after Shaun left for work, I could hear them talking in Nels's room, deciding what to do.

"I'll go get my stuffed animals!" said Willem, racing off to gather them up. He returned to Nels's room and climbed up on the bed.

"OK, but I don't want to play stuffed animals," said Nels.

"OK. We can just snuggle and look at some books," suggested Willem. It was agreed.

Though their quiet reading time quickly devolved into squabbling, the original impulse was a good one, and set the tone for the day.

After breakfast the boys and I went through all their toys together for the first time. (Usually I make things disappear when the kids are sleeping, but I suspected that I wasn't being ruthless enough.) We looked at every toy, one by one, and passed judgement: keep, toss, give.

My intuition turned out to be correct; the boys quite willingly (cheerfully, even!) got rid of a ton of stuff, and we all feel a lot better now. Ah.

Pleased with a job well done, I went to check my email and almost fell on the floor. My inbox contained an email from Breadline Press, telling me they'd accepted my submission to their first West Coast Anthology.

I was so excited that I couldn't even remember what I'd sent them. (Turned out to be a short memoir piece.)

I'm not much of a goal-setter, but this year I had decided that I would work toward being published in print for the first time by the time I turn forty. Maybe that doesn't sound like setting the bar very high, but it seemed plenty ambitious (bordering on presumptuous) to me! I'm thrilled to be two years ahead of schedule.

It's a good thing I had a productive morning, because I was worthless for the rest of the day. I did manage to order some bagels and lox from Russ and Daughters for my grandpa's Christmas present.

I also got to the vet's office before they closed so I could buy our cat the solid gold food that she barfs up less frequently than any other kind. (Hmm...just like that crazy expensive formula we used to buy when the boys were babies, imagining that perhaps they seemed slightly less miserable than they were with the cheaper stuff. I sense a theme.)

It just so happens that our fridge in the garage is fully stocked with chilled sparkling wine for a New Year's Eve party, and I was very happy to have an excuse to break into the stash.

To recap: the first day of Christmas break started with my boys reading in bed and ended with a celebratory toast. Now that's a good day.

What He Lacks In Self-Control, He Makes Up For In Self-Awareness

When I went to pick up Willem from preschool on Tuesday, I could only conclude that he'd been working on a Christmas present for me and Shaun.

I could see his lips moving as his teacher brought him out to the car. She slid the door open.

"Try not to tell. Try not to tell. Try not to tell," Willem repeated to himself fiercely as he climbed up into his seat and buckled himself in.

"Try not to tell." That was all he said until we'd made it out of the parking lot.

"I don't want to talk about anything because I might accidentally say," he told me.

"OK."

I hope he doesn't slip up--it would be a shame to waste such a monumental effort. So far so good.