It's been a long year

New year resolutions never really come true. They are lists of day dreams that we might work on for a few days or weeks until the grey, cold, drudgery of January swallows them up into reality.

But something about the end of a year and the start of a new one makes me feel hopeful. That change can happen. That I won't fall into the same behaviors that make me too busy, too tired, too chubby, too worried, too late, too overwhelmed. However, after 33 new years, I realize that on my own, even with the most well applied efforts and charting systems, I will be all these things probably before the first week of January is over.

Here are my day dreams anyway. Because it has been a long year. And a girl can dream.

In 2010, I want to

cook simple, tasty meals for my family
wade through a couple thoughtful books on art history
linger in the stack of delicious unread novels on my bookshelf
grow something that my family can eat and share with our friends
pretend with Audrey
immerse myself in the gospel
snuggle with Vivienne
order my photos and make baby books
go to a concert with Jay
play with my friends
take day trips with my girls
adventure in NYC with Audrey
be intentional at my work
plan my days
rejoice always; pray continually

My sense of things, 3rd edition

I see stacks of soft pink erasers and shiny, sharpened silver pencils with dark black wood being readied for the children at our Christmas eve service. I hope they will love the magical pencils as much as I do.

I hear the heavy breathing of two little girls in afternoon naps. I wonder what they are dreaming? Is Audrey thinking about the toy washing machine she wants or her last minute request for a doll named Carver? Is Vivienne seeing the twinkly lights we drove by last night and smiling?

I taste my favorite granola, made by a friend and her girls, creamy milk, and the last bites of our Cowgirl Creamery batch 14 cheese.

I smell the faint sprucey scent of our Christmas tree lit with golden lights and frosted with candy-colored ornaments.

I feel light and happy and tired and full.

Merry Christmas to all.

(Note: I made a four hour round trip to the Cowgirl Creamery in Point Reyes Station at the start of December with a friend and 5 little girls. It was my idea, and it was a little crazy. I was a giant undertaking that meant a couple very late nights because I lost a day, and some difficult moments with tired children, but fully worth it for the treasure bag of cheese I brought home and the treasure it always is to adventure with our friends. Batch 14 was a test batch of a new hard cheese they are trying out. It was amazing, and the fact that it is the only Batch 14 I will ever be able to have made it all the more wonderful.)

Lessons and carols

Yesterday had me asking a question I really never thought that I would have to ask. "What is the proper etiquette for when your baby's diaper leaks all over your friend's couch?" And not just a little leak. One of those when everything comes out of the top of the diaper. So the fluffy cushion and I are both covered in poop. Covered. And I have to say to my friend, who has kindly invited us for lunch so Audrey and her daughter can play, "Uhm, Vivienne's diaper has leaked all over your couch." And she is so gracious. And this kind of makes me want to melt into the floor even more because I would have been freaking out if it were my couch, and in fact, I am sort of panicked about her couch. So I clean up myself and Vivienne. She cleans up the couch. We have lunch. I profusely apologize. I feel sick about it.

After the playdate, I feel that I must run my errands that I didn't get to before the playdate because of course I was late. Driving down the road, I look down at my hand, and I realize that there is poop on my hand. I forgot to wash my hand after I cleaned everything. I am gross. I am out of wipes. I feel sick about it.

We stop at Babies R Us. The parking lot is full because it is attached to a Toys R Us, and it is Christmas. I spot an empty place for expectant mothers. Well, they don't really need such a close spot, I justify to myself, really, it is the moms with little babies who are now screaming and must run their errands that deserve them. I am racing in with a screaming baby and a poopy hand, dragging Audrey along, when I hear someone calling me. It is my very kind, beautiful friend who is pregnant with her first child. She is shopping with her husband and mother-in-law for her baby's things. She introduces me to her mother-in-law, who puts out her hand to shake mine. I can't, I tell her, I am covered with baby poop. Vivienne is still crying. I don't like the image I am projecting. I feel sick about it.

We leave the store with the things we need. Our friends are leaving at the same time. The pregnant lady has to help me with my cart! She sees that I am parked in an expectant mother spot! I pull out of the parking lot. We are now rushing to McDonalds because Audrey needs milk so badly. I am kind of overwhelmed. I have to run these errands. My kids are kind of done. I am not ready for Christmas! I have so much to do. What should I do? These errands for work and home? Take these kids home? When will I do my errands if I go home? I put my head in my hands at the stoplight with a little sob. I look up into my rearview mirror to see the couple from Babies R Us and the mother-in-law in the car behind me. Did they see me breakdown? Okay, now they know I am incompetent. I feel sick about it.

O little town of Bethlehem
how still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
the silent stars pass by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
the everlasting life.
The hopes and fears of all the years
are met in thee tonight.

I am ready for Christmas after all. I am so ready it's ridiculous. I need that baby who was sent to rescue the world and even me. That sick feeling in my belly, the fear of what others think, the ways I fail must be met by that incarnational wonder that happened in Bethlehem so long ago. And a little bit of that deep and dreamless sleep, too, to be honest.

So it’s been a long year
Every new day brings one more tear
Till there’s nothing left to cry
My, my how time flies
Like little children hiding their eyes
We’ll make it disappear
Let’s start a brand new year

Darlin’ Christmas is coming
Salvation army bells are ringing
Darlin’ Christmas is coming
Do you believe in angels singing
Darlin’ the snow is falling
Falling like forgiveness from the sky

If I could have anything
What would I want this new year to bring
Well, I’d want you here with me
Tear these thorns from my heart
Help the healing to start
Let’s set this old world free
Let’s start with you and me

Well, it has been a long year. In the space of a month, my grandfather died, my second daughter was born, and my husband unfairly lost his position at work. We will have been married ten years on New Year's Eve. I see how God has changed us. I see so many thorns made visible by the past months. Set me free. Let me feel the forgiveness fall like snow gently settling on my body bundled in the truth.


Bring me a white horse for Christmas
We’ll ride him through the town
Out into the snowy woods
Where we will both lie down
Underneath white birches
Our faces toward the sky
We will make snow angels
With our white horse standing by

Hush now baby
One day we’re gonna ride
Hush now baby
Our white horse through the sky

Bring me a white horse for Christmas
We’ll ride him through the snow
All the way to Bethlehem
2000 years ago
I wanna speak with the angel
Who said do not be afraid
I wanna kneel where the oxen knelt
Where the little child was laid

Hush now baby
One day you’re gonna ride
Hush now baby
Your white horse through the sky

No bridle will he be wearing
His unshod hoofs they will fly
Keep a watch out this Christmas
For that white horse in the sky

Hush now baby
One day we’re gonna ride
Hush now baby
Our white horse through the sky
Hush now baby
Let every angel sing
Hush now baby
One day we’ll ride again

I want to spend this Christmas whispering such a lullaby to my little baby. To be telling my little girl about the baby God who came to make it alright. To be singing myself to sleep with a song about the day I look and behold "a white horse! And its rider had a bow, and a crown was given to him, and he came out conquering, and to conquer." (Revelation 6:2) One day when "heaven opened, and behold a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True." (Revelation 19:11) God become man, who sees my life and the world in sin and error pining, appear and "in your majesty ride out victoriously for the cause of truth and meekness and righteousness." (Psalm 45:4)

Note: Second and third carols are taken from Over the Rhine, Snow Angel. All scripture references are ESV.

Are you there, readers? It's me, Laura.

I never read that book, but I always wanted to. I remember thinking as a kid that somehow it was a naughty book? I have no idea what it is really about though so I withhold judgement. But the title always intrigued me so without knowing if it is really an appropriate reference, I will use it here to inquire as to whether anyone is out there reading this anymore.

The truth is that I don't really mind. I like to keep this little blog to chronicle the goings on in my little life. The trouble is that I want it to be lovely, and perfect, and beautiful. So while I post a lot in my head, I never, ever really consider posting here because I never take good enough photographs, or have the time for the exactly right words, or even spend time doing really interesting things.

I mean if I wrote about today, I would have to tell you about the unlit and undecorated Christmas tree that stands in the middle of my library which is full of interesting books I haven't the time for right now. I could tell you how good it smells when I pass by and how surreal it is to live with a real tree in your house and how guilty I feel about not having it decorated yet and how nervous I am to put the lights on because I never get them quite right. My dad used to put them on perfectly.

I would have to tell you how even though I wanted to read her a short book and put her away in her nap because I was tired and wanted to be alone, I guiltily indulged my daughter's request for her longest library book for her before nap story time. The seemingly innocuous Here Come the Cottontails began with a story-like description of a mother cottontail and her four baby bunnies. Only three of the babies meet a sad fate by predatory birds and nasty weasels. So, in the middle of her nap, my sweet four year old calls out for me and tells me in her half awake state that she wants the bunnies to come back to their safe house of fur and leaves. I have terrorized my daughter.

I would have to tell you about how all of us, myself and two daughters are sitting around in our pajamas at four thirty in the afternoon.

I would have to tell you that I am going to an event tonight for which I am to bring a dessert, and I have absolutely no intention of bringing one.

I would have to tell you that my house is out of order even despite my best hopes for maintaining it after the birth of my little daughter in September.

And really, dear reader, if you are reading, do you want to read about that? Don't you want to hear about my well-ordered life, my to -die-for desserts, my excellent reviews of children's literature (and by the way, I fully endorse Here Come the Cottontails maybe just for older children and not before sleep), and even in my bad times, lovely essays that make you feel good at the end?

But I am tired of that. This is my real imperfect life. Where I watch soap operas in addition to actually liking opera, eat McDonald's french fries as much as organic, local produce, and have to clear my cluttered table in order to eat dinner more often than not. My fake, invented life, well-edited to create a finely crafted identity is over. So, here I am in my jammies writing about my today.

In remembrance of tomatoes yet ungrown

Our dreams for a vegetable container garden did not come true this year. Here is to some hope for next summer. This book comes out in February just when I begin to tire of winter squashes and long for fresh tomatoes.

A thought to tuck away

August is my favorite month. The smell of newly sharpened pencils. The rich, dark colors of sunset and night sky showing up in shops and flower beds. The succulence of dripping, ripe fruits in the markets. The tingle of coming fall and the muggy, warmth of ending summer mixing on my skin. The last days of swimming and beach and freedom. The promise of new ideas and toasty sweaters and cozy soups just around the corner. These words in a children's book we found in our library sum up August completely:

"The hazy, lazy rich
ripe taste of August."

from Harry's Song, by Lillian Hoban, New York: Greenwillow Books, 1980

My August this year feels hasty and exhausting right now as we prepare for our new little girl to arrive. I am tucking these words away for the last days of August when I hope to at last feel "ripe and lazy." Or maybe next year. Or maybe this minute I will stop to taste an in-between ,warm, muggy moment of quiet before it washes into the bustle of activity and falling leaves. Ah, I love hazy and rich and ripe.

My sense of things, second ed.

I taste black english breakfast tea.

I listen to my little girl offer her stuffed friends and dolls ice cream.

I feel like I wish my spirit was stronger.

I see vibrant green leaves against a grey, gloomy sky.

I smell the old, heavy, floral perfume my grandmother gave to me that we sprayed in the room just to see what it would be like.

The examined heart

Audrey was invited to a birthday party for her little friend today. We had chosen a perfect gift for the birthday girl just a few days ago. But this morning, I found Audrey walking around the house with a shopping bag asking what else we can give to Mei Mei. She had filled it with her own hair barettes, ribbons, animal cards, finger puppets...some of her little treasures.

"What else would Mei Mei like, Mama?"

"We bought her something already, Audrey. That will be enough."

"No, Mama, Mei Mei is special. She needs a special present. She will love these things."

She continued to fill her little bag. She presented these trinkets to her friend with little fanfare and true joy.

This evening, I told her that she was so nice to give some of her special things to Mei Mei.

"You have a kind heart, Audrey."

"No, Mama, sometimes my heart is unkind. I need Jesus to help me."

Her humility penetrates my own selfish heart. Her knowledge of her sin, her deep need of Jesus, that only his Spirit in us brings real kindness. Do I know so well what is true?

My sense of things, first ed.

I taste handmade raspberry chocolate fudge from Z. Cioccolato in North Beach.

I listen to bon iver, for emma forever ago.

I feel cold (which is sort of rare and enjoyable in Northern California) mellowed by a soft, hand-knitted blanket from our friend.

I see boxes of old things leaving my house, leaving blank places for new chapters of life to fill.

I am about to smell some muffins cooking in my oven.

Inspired by similar posts by Nicole at the Habit of Being.