Well, the World Didn't End in 2012...

"It's been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last.
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass."
--lyrics of "A Long December" by Counting Crows

And so go the words sung by a beloved band from my teenage years. Decembers are long 'round here. The sun sets by 4:30 p.m. The sun begins to glint after 7 a.m. A few weeks ago after watching White Christmas, I wondered if we'd get a Christmas miracle of a cold white wonderland. It trickled into the upper valley on Christmas Eve and a few days later, BAM! I'm now living in a Vermont Christmas card.

It's been another year. It started high and ended...well, my feelings are mixed. I choose to live with faith and optimism, but the longer I live, I am exposed to more tragedy that frightens me for the innocent ones  living under my protective wings. But, we all carry on. Life is still a beautiful gift. It must be cherished until the last grains of sand slip through that hour glass called mortality.

So that is where my mind is right now: I'm trying to hold and appreciate all of life's little moments as much as I can. With this being the eve of a brand new year, I feel internal strings pulling me towards the keyboard--must be coming from the reflections from the past six or so weeks. Or it comes from the inquiries from family and friends who are concerned about whether I am still alive.

Hanging by a thread over here, but yes, she has a pulse!

Fact:  I haven't blogged since November.
Reality:  Oh, nobody has noticed? Figures.

Fact:  I'm growing a little human being.
Reality:  This human being is a boy. And he ain't little. Past experience has taught me that he will be born the size of a newborn elephant.

Fact: Most people didn't know this until after I was 20 weeks along.
Reality: This leads me to wonder if others think it's normal to see me walking around with my three chins. Am I really that chubby and frumpy when I'm not pregnant? Ouch. I'll ponder on that.

Fact:  To improve my repertoire in the kitchen, I took two more baking classes from King Arthur Flour.
Reality:  Baking beautiful things ends when I leave the doors of KAF. I won't be posting pictures from the pie crust I made for our Thanksgiving banana cream pie--grade F for presentation, but an A+ for taste.

Fact: My little Indy had her first trip to the ED for four stitches.
Reality:  She had her second trip to the ED three days later for croup.

Fact:  She wanted her pink blanket to comfort her through the pain.
Reality: Pink Blanket took a back seat when Dad met up with her at the hospital.
Bonus: Emergency personnel showered her with new furry bears; the names are as follows: Baby Stitches, Fuzzy Bear, and Doctor Bear.

Fact:  Dora the Explorer and Go Diego Go! are sensationally annoying.
Reality:  But nothing puts a smile to my face when Finn shouts jubilantly, "Swiper no swiping! Swiper no swiping! Swiper NO swiping!" and his sister's chipmunk voice answers, "Oh, maaan!"

Fact:  My two are best friends.
Reality:  But they fight like siblings.

Fact: I love the season of Christmas with children.
Reality:  Christmas with children is a lot of work. I was sweating like a hog anticipating any tiny sleight of hand while the kids and I admired the Hanover Inn's delicate gingerbread display.

Fact: I participated in a holiday boutique again--baby leggings, baby hats, tree ornaments, fabric notebooks, glass pebble magnets, jewelry...
Reality: I'm not cut out for this type of stuff. It's a low blow to my self esteem when passers by don't even give a sniff to my hard work. I think to myself, "not cute enough? is it junk? too pricey? fine, I'll use it myself." After so many hours spent crafting, I now appreciate people who do this type of thing for a living.

Fact: Christmas isn't Christmas without Pomegranate 7up, Pear Cinnamon Cider, and Candy Cane Joe Joe's.
Reality: For the third year in a row, I was deeply irritated to be unable to locate a trace of Pom 7up. Found a decent replacement in the Polar brand. Took care of the last two items after finding a new TJ location while Christmas shopping near the NH/MA border.

Fact:  I made a fascinator hat to wear to Boy's Christmas party with his department. Good thing I can count on my stretchy LBD for these types of outings. I even went all out and bought a $4 bling ring to fancy it out. Mama looked hot.
Reality: My dressy ensemble was overshadowed by Boy's mustache that he worked so hard to grow out for two months.
Bonus: No, neither of us won the contest for "best hat" nor "best 'stache".
Extra bonus: He's clean shaven once again. Hallelujah.
[No bonus: No photo of said mustache included. I refuse. I refuse. I refuse.] 

Fact:  My favorite part of Christmas were the lights and nativity in Sharon, Vermont.
Reality:  While my kids made friends a Palestinian donkey named Annie and admire baby Jesus for a moment, they would rather play with their new trains and doll stroller on Christmas morning.
Bonus:  I realize my kids are still young to understand the meaning of Christmas...passing up my oven-baked quiche lorraine and hot butterscotch rolls to play with toys? What blasphemy!

Fact:  Over the weekend, our local airport (hint: small) had tickets to fly to Boston or New York City for $12 per person. Dost my ears deceive me? Twelve? My heart fluttered for the Big Apple.
Reality:  By the time we heard about this scream of a deal, all the flights were full unless you were flying solo. New Year's weekend down in Times Square wasn't meant to be.

This lengthy post doesn't guarantee a quick return to blogging, but to everyone I love--a very happy new year!

May 2013 be a good year...

Stuff

• My children's disobedience to Daylight Savings nearly killed me. Why didn't I unscrew the lightbulb in their bedroom and lock them inside? Maybe I should have used duck tape to strap them into bed.
• It is no longer effective to say, "Don't get out of bed until the sun is up." Naughty children. Especially that not-so-sweet Indy punk who has a way of persuading her brother how to disobey authority.
• I wish I could survive off 4 hours of sleep or less. Alas, it is not so. 

• If no miracle occurs tomorrow on election night, at least I witnessed one tonight at dinner when Finn the Finicky Food Eater declared, "Good job, Mom," after gingerly tasting a bite from his plate. One experimental spoonful turned into two, and so on...[silent fist bump from me].
• I still can't get used to Peyton Manning wearing an orange jersey. It's so wrong. Soooo wrong. And to think that I didn't care one iota about NFL football.
• I like the name Peyton. On the list.
• Boy still hasn't gotten rid of our Indianapolis Colts decal on our car window. Call it love. I've been waiting for some die-hard Patriots fan to blow up our car.
• As for blowing up cars, I recently forgot to turn my engine off when I filled my gas tank. No, we didn't blow up, but the thought crossed my mind.  

• I'm relishing rare naps with my Indy girl. Her fuzzy golden hair tickles my chin and her warm skin still smells of Heaven. She reminds me that she's no longer a baby, but it's in that moment that it feels right to be sending her off to grow up while I prepare for another baby. 
• I wish that somebody would put Halloween candy out of my reach. Sometimes having to be a responsible adult really bites.
• I am a Neti Pot convert. Overcome your stubborn fears like I did, and breathe happily. 
• I love it when Boy comes home with a paper bag from Panera: hot cheddar and broccoli soup in a sourdough bread bowl.

• Eating ice cream outside during this time of year qualifies us for some kind of prize. When it comes to ice cream, we are no wimps.
• What's better than ice cream? Homemade smoothies. And smoothie mustaches.
• We drink so much apple cider a week that we think it's starting to replace the blood in our veins. 

Which cider is better: Vermont or New Hampshire?

It all tastes the same.

For the record, local tastes best. Grocery store imported brands taste rotten.

A Haunting We Will Go...

These days, the enjoyment of blogging has slumped into a vast abyss of nothingness. I'm a moody writer/journal keeper/blogger/human being/slave driver/mother/wife. How did all the fun drain out? I rarely turn on my desktop--that has been collecting dust as of late. I slap on photo files to my external hard drive and never look at them again. I read political campaign news on the iPad until I get heartburn. I don't even read blogs as much as I used to--I'd rather watch reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond on Netflix because it takes zero mental effort and as a bonus, I burn all the calories from the 60 donuts I ate for dinner because I'm laughing out loud so freaking hard. Pure lethargic bliss. Fancy that. I don't know how or where to get a sensible mojo back. Either pregnant hormones are shutting out my happiness neurons or I need to find something else that prompts ambition in my spare time.

Eh, spare time? That's when my sacrosanct nap hour begins. I can never get enough.

Tonight, as the kids were trick-or-treating with their dad, I poked my head out of the front door window to see them galloping from house to house in our neighborhood. Man, I love watching childhood. Being in the thick of it is rough, but watching it from afar is sweeter than Halloween candy. Awww. I don't think I've seen more precious looking superheroes. Captain America and Catwoman Cat girl played their parts well--neither would dare shrug off their secret identities. It was as if their masks transformed them into the real deal. Indy insisted to be called Cat Girl at all times and wouldn't leave that rhinestone blinged-out black cat mask alone. I guess that leaves me with needing to start accumulating various dress-ups for these two.

Fortunately for us in northern New England, we escaped the wrath of Hurricane Sandy this week. The storm was howling in the grim October air, but we were safe and had power all night long. I never thought that I'd ever say this in my ENTIRE life, but I'm so glad to not be residing in New York City right now. The photos I've seen online make me depressed. We were very blessed to avoid the flooding and mess that we had over a year ago when Irene came through.

Oh, and we had a earthquake out here just last week or so. October hasn't failed in bringing scary surprises to our neck of the woods.

Happy Halloween.

boston lot lake--west lebanon, nh

world-famous pumpkin festival in keene, nh

Living With Trains

Clickety click! as out of town
The engine picks her way;
Where barefoot children, sunburnt brown,
In dusty alleys play.
All the summer early and late,
And in the summer drear, 
A maiden stands at the orchard gate,
And waves at the engineer.

(excerpt from "Clickety Clack," Cy Warman)

I like to see it lap the miles, 

And lick the valleys up,

And stop to feed itself at tanks;

And then, prodigious, step

Around a pile of mountains,

And supercilious, peer

In shanties by the sides of roads;

And then a quarry pare

To fit its sides, and crawl between

Complaining all the while

In horrid, hooting stanza;

Then chase itself down hill

And neigh like Boanerges;

Then, punctual as a star,

Stop--docile and omnipotent--

At its own stable door.

("The Railway Train," Emily Dickinson)

Trains are a part of our daily routine. They greet us at the same hour in the morning and they remind us when its time for story books and bed. Not a day goes by that we don't hear those whistles coming from the train tracks near our home. For these two siblings, life couldn't get better.

I'm All Grown Up

About a week ago, after I dropped my not-so-little three-year-old off to preschool, I was pondering on a flurry of thoughts as I drove through the parking lot in my car--thoughts of parental pride, excitement, and optimism of my preschooler's experience with his new routine and environment. That day, I explained to him that he would go on a field trip with his classmates.

"You're going to ride a bus today to visit the apple farm. Won't that be fun?"
"Listen to your teachers, okay? Please follow directions."
"You get to ride a school bus today...isn't that cool?"
"You're gonna love field trips, buddy."

It's hard to say which of us was more excited about the school bus because as I waited at the red light, I heard the low grumble of an engine with a half-sized yellow school bus that followed it. The bus passed me and continued its journey up the hill towards the school. My heart jumped and I immediately felt a thrill like electricity in my bones. Then, without a moment's notice, water started jerking out of my eyes. I wasn't being emotional because "my baby" was now in school and doing the stuff "big boys" do, it had more to do with the fact that I had arrived in that certain niche in adulthood.

"I am old. Like really old." I thought. An unexpected feeling, that's for sure.

I don't remember other milestones in adulthood that impressed me as much: living on my own in another state after high school graduation, leaving everything again to serve an LDS mission, getting my first job after college and becoming financially independent from my parents, getting married, having a baby--those events were expected to be life-changing. And I still felt young...young enough to continue feeling inexperienced and incapable as a growing adult. Now, I'm pushing 32 and my child has embarked in school--if you call less than 2 hours a day for three days a week "school". My world has now shifted from a controlled home environment of my constant teaching, disciplining, instruction, and love to a new environment with outsiders who are taking quantitative time to shape my child too. (That proverb of "it takes a village to raise a child" comes up to mind.) It's taking a little bit of bravery on my part to hand my most precious possession to someone else. And from what I've observed so far, I like what I've seen.

And her? Indy thinks she, too, belongs in preschool the way she sets foot into the classroom behaving like a pop star. Everyone there knows her name. From showing the teachers the hat on her head to being stubborn about heading out the door, this girl makes her presence known. School for her is right around the corner.

She's becoming an independent and vivacious toddler. I love it.

Maybe I'm oddly unemotional about my kids moving on to bigger things. I get nostalgic for their tininess like any parent, but I am more eager to push them to grow and learn about the big wide world out there. What has surprised me is this new chapter in life. The responsibility for my kids is now newly anchored with the involvement of others; our lives will be getting more complex from here on out. Parent Teacher Conferences are for those old and seasoned parents. Am I really there now? Gosh, I'm old. What next? Will I wake up to teenagers and feel really, really old? I have lines on my face and silver hairs spotting my hairline. I don't need any more reminders. I never knew that becoming aware of myself growing up could be, well, trippy.

Here's to getting old.

 

Finally Fall

Fall, at last, it's you and me.
I should compose a sonnet about you every year...but I'll have to freshen up on my Shakespeare first.
Because of you, my color of choice year-round is orange. Ooh, and citrus orange season is around the corner. Drool.
I still wish I could celebrate my birthday during leaf changing splendor.
I adore you more than those brown paper packages tied up with string.
I need you like apples + cinnamon need a buttery flaky pie crust.
I relish your mornings filled with chilled crisp air that pinken my nose, your afternoons that warm my face while my neck cozies into a soft scarf, and your evenings filled with haunting quiet stillness.
You're all I yearn for during the winter, spring, and summer.
You're the most wonderful time of the year--shouldn't there be a song for that?

Fall, I love you. Let me count the ways...

the notches/kancamagus highway/white mountain state park white mountains, nh

woodstock bridge, vt

watching apple ice cream being made at billings farm, woodstock, vt.

misty morning on the connecticut, dartmouth rowing, nh/vt border

norwich, vt

Fall is no doubt the best season of the year in New England. My home hosted two sets of visitors last month...I'm hoping to entice more. Let me know, and I'll book you on my wide-open calendar.

Fall, please stay a little while. Christmas can wait.