Queen Kelley

Today, a dear friend told me he’s ready for Jesus to come. “I have a lot of questions,” he said. This man, who has lived a couple of decades longer than I, has already experienced a lifetime’s worth of misery, horror, and disappointment. Despite this, he’s neither sullen nor depressed. He’s actually quite jolly and a big kid at heart. He’s also a deep thinker, one who ponders the mysteries of life without fear and poses the unanswerable questions just for the sake of starting a meaningful discussion. He believes, even in all his uncertainty and wonderings, that when he dies he will go to be with Jesus, that he’ll get to ask all the questions that plague him.

On this Easter Sunday, listening to my friend, I nodded. I, too, have a lot of questions. I could write a list of them here, and they would make for a lengthy post indeed. They are the questions of many people, of the believers and the seekers and the curious and the wonderers. Most of these questions are unanswerable, at least on this side.

A disciple of Jesus—one who spent hours with him, ate with him, watched him interact with people, and heard his teachings on the great mysteries—had his own questions. Some call him “Doubting Thomas,” seeing his desire for proof as a negative characteristic. As recorded in the Gospel of John, he didn’t believe his friends when they told him they’d seen Jesus, alive and well, only days after his lungs stopped working while he hung on an instrument of torture. Thomas knew they’d put Jesus’ dead body in a tomb and sealed it. Despite his master’s hints along the way, he didn’t get it. Neither did they. Neither do I.

I don’t think Thomas was a habitual doubter. I think he doubted because of the overwhelming events he had witnessed. Limited in a human body just as we are, confined to a finite moment in time, he had difficulty understanding what Jesus meant by his teachings. I think he had a bold desire for the truth. I think he wanted to see for himself rather than basing his faith on hearsay. He had a need to connect with Jesus personally and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his Lord was truly alive again. I’m with him.

Fortunately for Thomas, he got his chance this side of the afterlife. He saw his friend, his master, his Lord—Jesus. In the flesh, in person, face to face in a real body. He even touched him. “Do not doubt but believe,” Jesus told him. Then comes the comment that pains me: “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” (John 20:24-29)

For most of my life thus far, I’d have placed myself in the latter category. I have never seen Jesus Christ in the flesh, and yet I believe. As time rolls on, though, and as my list of questions grows longer, I find that I long to see him so I can believe more fully, more deeply, more certainly. 

I will continue to believe in a Higher Power, and I will continue to believe that part of that Power is Jesus. As for the details, though, I find that my brain mulls them over and over. I yearn for clarity. I know that, one day, I’ll either get clarity, or I’ll find that clarity doesn’t matter at all.

Is anyone with me?

As my King mentioned on his post about our gift-wrapping date last night, we watched the Mel Gibson movie The Patriot. I decided that, rather than renting movies we think we want to see, we might as well utilize our significant DVD library and rewatch a few proven favorites. It will be fun to see how they look on the new TV. When I mentioned my list of possibilities to the King, he was keen on my war and special-effects suggestions but slightly less interested in the ones that featured Johnny Depp or Brendan Fraser. Hm.

Anyway, we popped in Gibson’s flick about a motherless family during the Revolutionary War. The movie is not without a large helping of cheese. It’s full of moments contrived simply to make one feel a big dose of American pride. (Though, as I watched the scenes with the African American soldier, I couldn’t help thinking, “This brave man is fighting for a country who won’t give him true freedom until the 1960s, at which point the damage will be so entrenched in the lives of his descendants that they’ll spend years struggling for equal treatment.”)

Even with its problems, though, there’s no doubt that this film, and others like it, pull at my emotional heartstrings and make me ever grateful to those who serve our country, then and now. I may not agree with the initiative for our current war, and I honestly don’t advocate war as a way to solve problems, but the fact is that our world is fallen, and war is the way we deal with our issues. As long as that’s true, women and men will continue to leave their families and journey to a faraway place. They will risk their lives daily in hopes that their many sacrifices will somehow help the world.

The most memorable quote from the movie last night came from Benjamin Wallace (Mel Gibson’s line paraphrased): “Why do we think we can justify death? Is it because we’re arrogant?” I thought about that. We do try to justify the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people who have been killed over the centuries on both sides of our wars. And it does indeed seem like arrogance.

But we’re human, and we need explanations for the horrors in our world. This Christmas, I can’t explain why a young girl will lie in bed missing her mother, why a teenage boy will sit in a tent somewhere writing a letter to parents on the other side of the world, why a mother and father will weep at the sight of an empty chair at their traditional dinner. This goes for all “sides” fighting in the war.  I can, though, say thank you to these families and individuals. I can remember them. I can choose not to take their sacrifices for granted. I can light a candle to honor them and say a prayer to a God whom I believe advocates the way of Peace.

Happy Holidays to all who sacrifice for their countries! May you be blessed no matter how far apart you are from your loved ones.

We have yet to celebrate Thanksgiving officially, but already I feel the Christmas spirit. It’s appropriate, I think, even now before we consume the turkey and dressing. To me, Thanksgiving is all wrapped up in Christmas and vice versa. They complement each other. Anyway, I am starting the season with a bang—taking my girls for repeated viewings of Christmas trees at the local Wal-Mart and Lowe’s, letting them push the buttons on the ridiculous animated toys as many times as they wish, and promising to add their latest toy request to the mythical “Christmas list.” (I know. I’m Supermom. Admit it: you’re jealous.)

It’s not only about them, though. I have found my favorite flavor of the holidays, and it’s delivered by Chic-fil-A. The peppermint chocolate chip milkshake is DIVINE. First, it’s pretty. Red-pink and thick, with flecks of dark chocolate and a creamy whipped topping spiral. Second, it’s seasonal. I’m not a regular consumer of peppermint (unless you count my mouthwash), and it never fails to remind me of Christmas. Third, and most important, it’s simply delectable. You take a sip, and it cools your entire throat all the way down to your stomach, where it settles comfortably. It’s not only cold; it’s minty fresh. Then there’s the added bonus of the chocolate bits, which mingle well with the mint. If you have any inclination toward peppermint, I’d recommend this milkshake. It’s like drinking a Peppermint Patty, only sweeter.

I have also found my favorite sounds of the season, and they come from the voices of the gorgeous Harry Connick, Jr., and the equally adorable Kristin Chenoweth. Harry’s What a Night! finds me jumping off the couch to dance around the room with my girls. As always, he combines traditional carols with upbeat secular songs and a few original compositions, and it’s ALL fabulous. This is his third Christmas album, and it’s another unique contribution to the group. Kristin’s A Lovely Way to Spend Christmas is exactly that. As I’m not familiar with most television shows these days, I don’t know Kristin from The West Wing or Pushing Daisies. No, I first heard her voice on the soundtrack for Wicked the musical, where she sang the part of Glinda the Good. Her vocal stamina is evident on every song she sings for Wicked, ranging from a nasally twang to high opera. On the Christmas album, her singing is sweet as sugar, smooth and warm and inviting. Both Harry’s and Kristen’s holiday recordings have me seeing visions of sugarplums and twinkling tree lights, though neither are in my home just yet. (What are sugarplums, anyway?)

So here you have it: my Christmas kickoff. Go get yourself a peppermint chocolate chip milkshake from Chic-fil-A (it’s never too cold for ice cream), wrap yourself in a blanket, and listen to Harry and Kristin while you drink a a little Christmas. I guarantee it’ll put you in the spirit.

In the spirit of a friend, I thought I’d write a so-long note to the rapidly depleted bounty my daughters raked in a couple of weeks ago.

Dear Halloween Candy,

I always knew we’d reach this point, but somehow I didn’t think it would come so fast. I mean, there was so much of you, and only one of me. Who could have known how quickly I’d consume you? Who could have realized how fleeting our time would be? You came in so many delectable forms—candy corn, Skittles, Laffy Taffy, Smarties, and, my favorites, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Snickers, and Butterfingers. I will never forget the powerful sweetness you delivered immediately, or the surprising way you left me always wanting more. I must be honest, though. Your hold over me was not entirely innocent. You drove me to do unimaginable things, like refuse candy to Butterfly while sneaking some for myself when she wasn’t watching, or consume six Hershey’s Kisses in a row, or eat three little bags of candy corn in one fell swoop. You could have been less overpowering, you know, and taught me more about delayed gratification. Instead, you chose to control me, and I let you. You’re nearly gone now, and I suppose I will get along without you. At least you gave me the dignity of keeping a few extra pounds. I think I’ve said enough to you, Halloween Candy. So go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. After all, Christmas Candy is already on the store shelves….

Until next year, I remain your beloved Queen Kelley.

Blech! It was time to get that nasty roach off the top of the page. And what better thing to replace it than candy corn? Specifically, this new, incredibly yummy caramel candy corn by Brach’s. While perusing the tempting candy shelves at Wal-Mart yesterday, Butterfly and I oohed and ahed over the various offerings. “Let’s choose one thing,” I kept telling her, while secretly pining away for five or so different bags. “Candy corn!” she shouted, and I agreed. It’s long been my favorite Halloween-season candy. The King prefers the pumpkins, which I’ll admit are tasty, but the candy corn can be eaten by the handful, which is a significant criterion for me.

Anyway, I skipped the regular bags at first, searching instead for what I thought was a smarter choice—a large bag full of individually wrapped packets of candy corn. This way, I reasoned, our consumption would be limited, at least as long as our will power held out and we didn’t open a second packet. I found the trick-or-treat bag of candy corn and dumped it into the cart beside a delighted Butterfly. Then something new caught my eye. Brach’s has released a couple of new candy corn flavors, including caramel, caramel apple, and chocolate. I found the caramel especially attractive. Going against my earlier logic, I added a bag of it to our cart.

Later, while heading back to the house, I listened to Butterfly lick her fingers as she finished her tiny packet of regular candy corn. (Ladybug asked to “hold it,” and I let her have a small piece, but she soon spit it out. She hasn’t yet displayed my weakness for manmade sweets, though she’s a glutton for fruit.) In the driver’s seat, I tossed a couple of caramel corns into my mouth and enjoyed the supremely sweet, creamy, buttery caramel taste. Both Butterfly and later the King thought they were too sugary for their liking. This is okay by me. I could easily consume the whole bag within a week…though I really will try to eat only the amount that would fit into a tiny plastic packet. Really, I will. And then I’ll eat another. And perhaps another.

Having children takes a toll on one’s quality of sleep. There’s no doubt about it. Ask any parent. I keep thinking that once my kids get into grade school and are able to get up and go potty all by themselves and self-soothe after nightmares, I’ll get a decent night’s sleep. I’m not entirely sure I believe it, though. The thing about having kids is that once they become yours, they’re YOURS. You love them so completely and so intensely and so possessively that they basically take over your brain. Because of this, even when I’m not with my little girls, I think of them. They are a constant presence in the room of my mind. I can go nowhere that they are not. Even a weekend getaway when they sleep in a different location will not remove them from my thoughts. As many of you know and some of you can imagine, this is a bittersweet experience.

Sleep has been particularly elusive for the King and me lately due to both girls suffering various illnesses. When they have stomach bugs, I tell myself there’s nothing worse (at least among everyday illnesses) than your kid throwing up repeatedly in the middle of the night. Then, when they get persistent coughs or ear infections, like now, I tell myself there’s nothing worse than your kid coughing her head off until she’s barely able to pull in a breath. The truth is, a sleepless night is simply bad, no matter how it happens. The funny thing is that, when we are finally able to settle them into relative silence, I lie in bed with those little marathon runners of my thoughts setting new records trying to outdo each other. I simply cannot clear my mind. This is why I think I need to learn to meditate.

We spent two nights with my family and enjoyed most waking moments—the swimming, the eating, the catching up, the laughing, the eating. We did not enjoy my girls’ whining, clinging, coughing, snotting. We did not enjoy our nights in someone else’s bed while our littlest one tossed and turned and could not sleep. Neither could we.

Even so, I think the trip was worth it. To visit my dad’s brothers, whom I rarely see, my aunt and cousins, even my great-great-aunt and great-great-uncle (I think that’s right). To hug my grandmother and grandfather (Mom and Pop), who have been such a constant in my life. To spend time with my parents and sister, viewing photos and hearing stories from their recent trip to Scotland. To remember my beloved great-grandmother, Nana, whose birthday we celebrated every July 4. To watch my girls, overtired and ill as they were, being adorable with all my relatives. It was worth it.

It’s sometimes tough for me on Independence Day. I can’t appreciate the sacrifice of so many United States service men and women without also thinking of the sacrifice of untold thousands of Native Americans. I can’t be grateful for my freedom without remembering the capture and domination of those people who first cared so deeply for this land. I can’t enjoy fireworks and barbecues without mourning in my heart those early peoples’ loss of the life they knew. So I am incredibly appreciative of those who have served our country through the years, winning us independence and keeping us that way. I am overwhelmingly grateful for the freedom we have to worship, speak, work, and live as we choose. I certainly enjoy all the celebratory aspects of our nation’s holidays, including fireworks and good food. But I also remember the original inhabitants of our land, and my heart is sad for them.

On Saturday morning, as we watched out the kitchen window while the King struggled with the bird feeder pole, Butterfly turned to me and asked, “Mama, is this the weekend?” “Yes!” I said excitedly. “Yippee!” she replied. “That means Daddy can watch my movie with me!” It’s like this every weekend. When Butterfly learns we’ve reached that precious part of the week when her daddy will be home from work for two whole days, her eyes light up and she starts rattling off all the things they can do together. Ladybug is just as excited, clinging fiercely to her Daddy or following him around the house. They enjoy their daddy every day, but it’s extra special when they know he won’t have to go away to work.

They feel this way about my husband because, when he’s home and in their company, he’s 100 percent present for them. My mind tends to wander, thinking ahead to what’s required for lunch, for naptime, for our outing in the afternoon, for bath, etc. I’m sure John thinks of other things when he’s with the girls, but his thoughts aren’t visible in his face and actions like they often are in mine. He is on the floor building “pillow houses,” twirling around with his little Cinderellas, telling fantastic stories that go on and on, playing the guitar and letting them dance and sing. His attention is priceless to them.

As the King said, we had a great Father’s Day weekend, enjoying time together as a family. John and I even planned for an in-house movie night, which we enjoyed after the girls went to sleep (along with microwave popcorn and Whoppers, I might add). We also had a blast with our close friends, Rickie and Sheri. (Rumor has it that they will have a blog of their own soon. Stay tuned.)

Here’s what I wrote to the King in a book we gave him (I hope he doesn’t mind my sharing it): “I can’t think of many times when you’ve been too busy to stop and dance with your Cinderellas…or their mother! You truly are an amazing father to our girls. I believe that, because of the time you devote to them and the genuine way you play with them, they’ll grow up knowing you’re a daddy they can trust with anything. Thank you for your incredible love to all your girls!” He truly is a treasure to us all.

I thought of my own father often over the weekend. He, along with my mother and sister, are away in Scotland with their church group, ministering with some of the Scottish friends they’ve met over the past few years. My family has never been this far away from me before, and it feels strange. They’re enjoying themselves immensely, though, and exhausting their bodies and spirits every day. Daddy was far away, but I still wished him a happy Father’s Day and felt grateful for the way our relationship has changed through the years. He still takes care of me, and his love for my daughters is a joy to watch.

I appreciate my grandfathers and my father-in-law as well—for the strong presence they have been and for the deep care they have shown. You’re all loved beyond words!

Our Mother’s Day began with a bang bright and early, as the weather siren started blaring around 5:30 am. The King hurried downstairs to check the weather radio, while I turned on the local news. The radar picture resembled Ladybug’s recent experiment with red paint—a large, disorganized blob. It was a fast-moving system that quickly earned a tornado warning. While I nervously watched the news, the King stepped onto the front porch to assess the situation. Do we wake the girls or not? When the power shut off around 5:50, we began scrambling for flashlights and candles (a bit late on our part, I’ll admit). My husband looked outside once more. “Get them! The rain’s blowing completely sideways.” [Photo by Jason Vorhees for The Macon Telegraph.]

Butterfly was already sitting up in bed in complete darkness, wondering what had happened to her colored lights. The four of us scrambled downstairs and sat on a pile of pillows in the short hallway between our dining room/guest room and the playroom. The King and I had argued, differing on what we viewed as the safest location (again, a bit late on our part), but had to choose quickly in the end. The girls enjoyed making shadows with the flashlights while the storm got eerily quiet, then boomed for a few minutes, then settled back down. Our power stayed off for a mere forty-five minutes, long enough for us to enjoy a cold breakfast by the light of smelly candles.

The rest of our day was relatively carefree, unlike that of many Macon residents. We went to church, I got to take a nap, and then the girls and I spent an hour in the windy backyard, enjoying the sand and sun while the King cut the grass in the front. Mere miles from our neighborhood, a reported six tornadoes severely damaged homes and businesses, shutting off power and water supplies for hours. That evening, families swarmed to our side of town seeking open restaurants, grocery stores, and entertainment.

My best friends and I, who had made reservations at an elegant restaurant, eventually found ourselves driving from place to place looking for food. Finally, around 8:00, we settled for frozen pizza (for two of us), steak & veggies (for the other), and molten lava cake (for everyone!) from Kroger—all brought to my house for a few hours of togetherness. It wasn’t what we anticipated for our Mother’s Day gathering, but we made the most of it, chatting and watching the pilot episode of Gilmore Girls.

This Mother’s Day as all days, I’m grateful to God for my two precious little girls—for the joy they bring me each day, their laughter, their play, their hugs and kisses, and their innocent and unabashed delight in the world. I’m grateful for my amazing King, who supports my choices as a mother and helps me remember to be myself. I’m grateful for my best girlfriends, who not only share their parenting stories with me but take me away from the real world from time to time. I’m grateful for my grandmothers, whom I’m honored to know and learn from. I’m grateful for my mother-in-law, whose love and care for me are overwhelmingly evident. And I’m grateful, more than anything, for my own mother, who has taught me so much about living—as a mother, as a wife, and as a woman. I love you all.

On Tuesday, I had the unique pleasure of going to Butterfly’s school and enjoying a Mother’s Day Tea with her and her classmates. Heather was gracious enough to keep Ladybug, and I hear that Ladybug and Little Belle spent the entire time giggling at one another. It was special to be able to focus entirely on Butterfly for once. 

We moms were greeted by a teapot decorated with flower name tags for each of us. Then we filled paper plates with goodies—strawberries, cookie dipping sticks, petits fours, small chicken salad sandwiches, and of course butter mints. Finally, Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Tharpe welcomed us into the colorful classroom where our little ones spend 6 hours every week. Butterfly’s eyes shined when she saw me, and she pointed to an impossibly tiny chair next to her. “Sit here, Mama!” The children were all waiting patiently for permission to begin eating, but my Butterfly dove in as soon as I squeezed my hips into the chair. The others followed suit. Soon, she was pressing me for “another little cake.” We shared a second petit four, biting into the delicate sugary icing and fluffy white cake. I enjoyed being with my daughter in this place that is so “other” from me and our home. It’s one of the few times when she is completely separate from me and able to interact in a different environment (the other being church, though of course I’m always in the vicinity there).

My favorite part of the tea came after we finished our snacks. The teachers asked the children to stand in their squares on a large, bright rug, and we moms thrilled to their high-pitched voices singing three songs just for us. Seeing my girl up there singing along, doing the motions, in a sense performing her very first concert for me, was quite a milestone moment. I hope it was merely the first of many. 

After the concert, the children presented us with gifts. I left that day with a flower-filled pot painted with Butterfly’s thumbprint animals, a laminated place mat featuring her artwork of us playing dress-up

 (I am missing a body, but no matter), a large bunny picture whose ears are Butterfly’s footprints, and a tiny card with her thumbprint balloons. 

Then we drove to Heather’s and I got a sticky kiss from Ladybug, who, indeed, had enjoyed herself with Little Belle. I’ve already had a terrific Mother’s Day! My two precious blessings thrill me to no end and make my days ever interesting.

Though I didn’t post that day, our family did celebrate and honor one of our most significant faith holidays. Dressed in our brand-new finery, we ended up having to go to church in separate cars, as Ladybug decided to take a nap right up until the beginning of the service. Finally, though, we were all on the church grounds, though in different places–the King caring for preschoolers during worship, Ladybug in the nursery, Butterfly with her pals, and me in the pew next to some friends. Our interim minister, Johnny Pierce, gave an inspiring message about the Jesus story not being “an idle tale,” and I was reminded again of the strange, almost unbelievable mystery that forms the basis of my beliefs. I won’t say I don’t question everything frequently, but I’m beginning to think that’s the only way for me to have an honest faith.

After resting and cleaning house, we were happy to welcome some of our best friends for an early egg hunt and Easter dinner. Three adorable little girls, ages 12 months, 17 months, and 3 years, traipsed around the front yard seeking eggs. Then we all sat down to a delicious meal of grilled pork tenderloin, creamy party potatoes, green beans, and then, the best–my friend’s incredible key lime cake. The kids enjoyed iced sugar cookies. The meal was tasty and the fellowship priceless.

On special holidays and every day, our family is grateful for the people we call friends and thankful to be part of a faith family that is open to wondering about, exploring, and questioning the great mystery of God even as we know deep within the truth of our hope.

The egg. It’s really a beautiful thing. Potential, density, perfection, goodness–all in one package. I realized as the weekend hit that I’d never even boiled eggs before. No matter.

My trusty Kraft “Food and Family” magazine had a simple list of instructions to follow. Who would have thought it would be so easy? Butterfly didn’t quite grasp what had happened to the eggs in the boiling water, but she was beyond excited about coloring them. I should note here that my local Wal-Mart offered NO white eggs on the Saturday before Easter. Greedy consumers like myself had completely cleaned the egg section of them. So we had to settle for cage-free, hand-gathered, brown eggs. I actually called the King and asked, “Will they color?” “Sure!” he replied. Which means, “Hurry up and get home because Butterfly’s wearing me out.”

My daughter was amazed at the bright colors the eggs displayed after we lifted them from their dye cups (with the exception of the orange and yellow ones, which still looked brown). She spent at least 15 minutes applying silly face stickers.

By the time we finished, we had a whole choir of goofy, grinning eggs. As for actually consuming our hard work, though, Butterfly has decided that she’s not sure she likes them. Upon her first bite into the soft white, she said, “These taste like Daddy’s eggs!” My husband only makes scrambled eggs mixed with a large quantity of cheese, so I think maybe she was trying to convince herself. Then she saw the yolk and exclaimed, “Yucky, Mama! I don’t like that part!” Two-thirds of the egg went into the trash.

We were expecting dear friends to join us for dinner the next day, and my husband said, “It smells like eggs in here. Open a window.” They do have a strong odor, and probably nothing is worse than the fragrance of a rotten egg. Fortunately, we haven’t experienced that from our cute egg choir. They are mostly still sitting in the fridge, though, and every time I open the door I find their smiles a bit unnerving. Wouldn’t you?

My daughter’s only three years old, and already I’m feeling that I can’t keep up with the preschool rat race, such that it is. Take, for instance, Valentine’s Day. Per the suggestions on Butterfly’s preschool calendar, I purchased Valentines for her classmates. After I wrote, “To my friend” and signed her name to each one (no specific names lets teachers hand them out more quickly), Butterfly helped me fold the already tiny cards and affix heart stickers to seal them. We even did the big ones for her teachers. I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then we arrived at school, with our measly grocery bag full of little cards and nothing more. To my dismay, mothers paraded their kids past us, arms full of elaborate baskets designed specifically for the teachers, laden with chocolates and mugs and other goodies. There was more. When I picked up Butterfly three hours later, she returned to me bearing her own huge bag filled with not only Valentine cards from her friends, but about six plastic baggies packed with candy. Great. More candy to tempt me. As we sorted through the prizes at the kitchen table later, I was relieved to find at least three other tiny cards that were just that–tiny cards. At least some other moms are like me, either too rushed or perhaps too naive to go to the trouble of preparing goodie bags.

Anyway, I thought the competition was over and that, at least next time, I’d know to get my act together. Then there’s today, the Easter egg hunt and party. We all signed up to bring specific items. When I got to the list, the only remaining items were cups and napkins. I chose napkins. Easy peasy. Butterfly proudly handed her Kroger bag, bearing two packs of colorful striped napkins, to her teacher this morning. All the while, mothers and children again paraded past, some carrying trays of homemade goodies, some offering–you got it!–goodie bags. And I’m sure there will at least be a few presents for teachers in the mix.

What do you think? Will my child forever be known as the one who never brings gifts for friends or teachers? Does it matter that I’m planning a nice end-of-year basket for each teacher, complete with gift cards, or should I have been pumping up my daughter’s reputation all along to keep her in good favor with peers and instructors?

For goodness sake, this is preschool. PRESCHOOL. I can only imagine what the future holds.

Well, the King did redeem himself. No Russell Stover (as I thought, he figured we could get it much cheaper today), but he did give me three bags of non-Valentine’s decadent chocolate–two Ghirardelli dark chocolate blends, and one bag of milk, dark, and white chocolate truffles. MMMM! What can I say? He knows his wife. This evening, my parents will watch the girls while we dine for free at Carrabba’s Italian restaurant (thanks to a cash gift from the King’s parents!). But I suppose our best gift to each other this Valentine’s is the commitment to set aside one evening each week to devote only to us–no work, no separate TV rooms, no cleaning. Just us. Maybe we’ll actually have a chance to talk about something besides household management. Our other stipulation is (at least) one date night a month, away from the house, with no kids. I think these commitments will nurture our relationship in a way we tend to neglect these days.

Call me a chocoholic (and you would be absolutely correct), but one of my favorite Valentine’s treats is a box of Russell Stover chocolates. I’ve tried Whitman’s, Hershey’s, and random no-name candies, but Russell Stover beats them all. I’m sure there are much more delectable chocolates out there, and I probably couldn’t afford them. Maybe one day I’ll get to try them. For now, though, I’ll just hope the King gets the tiny little hints I’ve shouted at him for the past week and hands me one of these, even if it’s on Friday when he can get it half price. Seriously, I was at Wal-Mart (unfortunately a frequent hangout for me these days) earlier, and they offered an enormous box of Russell Stover chocolates for thirty bucks. THIRTY BUCKS! That’s some serious chocolate. Of course, as soon as I saw it at the store, I immediately sent a text message to the King regarding my find: “thirty dollar box of russell stover here!” He responded, “Where…wal-mart or the house?” Now what kind of question was that? When I told him it was at “wm,” he wrote back, “Well get it so that i dont have to (:” HELLO! Not only am I not going to buy a thirty-dollar box of chocolate, but I’m certainly not going to buy it for myself. Geez. I’m sure the King will redeem himself. To be continued…

Having a 3-year-old at Christmas is loads of fun. I’m not sure who was more excited this year, Butterfly or her parents! She’s had a blast playing inside her little green monster tent, hearing her new picture books read to her, pulling rubber clothes onto her tiny plastic dolls, and showing Ladybug how to enjoy her toys. Speaking of our 9-month-old, she’s been all eyes and slobbery mouth, crawling to everything she can reach and tasting it. It’s thrilling to watch our children revel in the mystery, magic, and joy of this most wonderful of holidays. I pray that as they grow, they will seek to learn more about the mysterious, magical, joyful God we honor this day. Merry Christmas to all of you! 

I’ve blogged about Catie Wilkins, a four-year-old who lost her battle with a cancerous brain tumor this past January. Her sweet family misses her like crazy, and the holidays bring both joyful memories and even heavier heartache than normal. To honor their little girl and help other children suffering through cancer, I urge you to go to Host an Elf.com. Click on “Host an Elf,” and scroll down until you see a picture of Catie holding her mischievous elf. If you click on Catie’s button, the company will send an elf to a child with cancer and will donate 30 percent of the proceeds from your purchase to Cure Childhood Cancer. If you need more of a reason to donate an elf, please read Jenny’s blog entry about the way this idea evolved (scroll down to the “Silly Old Elf” post).

Just now, I ordered one for my girls ($25, plus shipping) and three for children with cancer ($20 each, no shipping charges). Please consider this as you buy Christmas gifts!

Enough of that depressing post.

This week and always, I am thankful (in no particular order)

-that my husband lets me sleep in EVERY DAY, even if it means he has to go to work tired or come home a bit later to make up for it.

-for every new skill Ladybug learns, from using her tiny fingers to grasp Cheerios (and thus sit at the table more happily) to crawling across the floor after something she wants.

-for Butterfly’s vivid imagination that entertains her and me as she invents stories and songs and plays contentedly in her own special world.

-for some of the best girlfriends a woman could ask for, who share my love for chocolate and, more importantly, who share with me and hear from me our deepest thoughts and most heartfelt desires with no judgment whatsoever.

-for Mama, whose willingness to listen to me and talk to me through the years has made me the confident, successful, content wife and mother I am today; and for Daddy, whose relationship with me has blossomed tenfold since the birth of my own children.

-for my mother-in-law who is, judging from the horror stories I hear from other women, a rarity–kind, nonjudgmental, complimentary, wonderfully entertaining to my girls, helpful, and thoughtful; and for my father-in-law, one of the steadiest men I know, sure of what he believes and completely unafraid to stand up for it.

-for my newly married brother and his wife, who live on a state park and love the natural world; and for my sister, who is only a year younger than me but who retains a lion’s share of the spirit of our childhoods and a shy sense of humor that pops up at unexpected moments.

-that I grew up living close to and knowing not only both sets of grandparents, but a precious great-grandmother, aunts and uncles, and nearly a dozen cousins, and that the bonds we formed continue today.

-for an extra-special husband and wife who once taught me Sunday school and now are some of my most treasured friends, always willing to lend a hand, spend time laughing, and love on my girls like a third set of grandparents.

-for my husband’s sense of humor that keeps me from taking life too seriously, which I am known to do.

-for a company that is helping me fulfill my dreams of editing books for a living AND being at home to watch my children grow.

-for a little group of writer friends who have provided immense encouragement, suggestions, and support as I struggle to find time to finish my manuscript.

-for my church that has been on the mountain and in the valley and continues to thrive, providing a place where we can explore our heaviest theological doubts and questions and spend time with our most cherished friends.

-that, even with all my wonderings and skepticisms, God is ever present in so many ways.

-that the King is such a fabulous father, going above and beyond any expectations in caring for our two girls, even giving up much-needed time for himself to be with them.

-for gorgeous, mild days spent on the lawn, watching the clouds, feeling the breeze, running through the crunchy leaves, exploring every nook and cranny of our yard.

-for Butterfly’s “big hugs” and kisses, her songs she sings at the top of her lungs, the adorable things she says, the way she is learning independence, her precious drawings and the descriptions she offers for them, her priceless individuality (a “mud” princess who likes dirt and rocks, prefers blocks and Mickey Mouse to baby dolls, and would listen to me read books all day), her huge hazel-blue eyes and long dark lashes, the small round birthmark on her back, the dimple in her left cheek, her blatant honesty, and much more than I could ever pinpoint.

-for Ladybug’s wide-open grin, her giggles when I tickle her, her sloppy wet kisses, the way she climbs all over me when I lie on the floor, the way she breathes hard through her wrinkled nose just to be cute, her striking blue eyes so like her Daddy’s, the dimple in her right cheek, her soft baby skin, her unbelievably fuzzy blond head that I could rub my lips on all day, the way she smells after a bath, those squeezable fat rolls, her pleasant attitude toward most anyone (as long as they don’t try to hold her right away), her laid-back attitude, the way she says “ma ma ma ma,” and much more than I could ever pinpoint.

-for the gift of watching my daughters grow.

-for my husband’s siblings and the beautiful nieces and nephews they have provided us.

-for the sacrifice my brother- and sister-in-law are making by serving as missionaries in Africa, a place that is starved for love as much as for basic needs.

-for the opportunity to work with the teenagers, elementary-aged children, and preschoolers of my church; knowing them all has been a treasure.

-for amazing writers who craft timeless stories.

-for good movies, simple as that.

-for the King, again, who is my true partner in every way–a fun companion, a fellow traveler on the journey, a great hugger and hand-holder, a true friend, an amazing leader in every venture of his life, a respected and hard worker, a protector and ever faithful supporter…always.

-for a refrigerator full of food and the money to buy more; for fresh, clean water even in a time of drought; for freedom to believe and worship as I choose if I choose; for shelter, nice, comfortable, spacious shelter that contains more than I need; for safe vehicles to drive; for two faithful, loving dogs; for a friendly neighborhood; for my education…

…and much more than I could ever pinpoint.