It's Saturday, right?

No, wait.

Atticus is home not because we're having a freakish time warp of consecutive Saturdays, but because it's Christmas vacation.

Ah, yes.

So, we're catching up on some reading:

The Mysterious Benedict Society books (Anne, Betsy, me)

Rebecca Stead's When You Reach Me (thanks, Lissa, for recommending it -- Anne, Betsy and I really loved it)

Pioneer Girl and On the Banks of Plum Creek (Ramona's read aloud) and various Christmas books 

The Titan's Curse (me -- I promised Anne and Betsy that I'd get caught up on the Percy Jackson series, as they've read them all and can't wait for me to finish them)

Nick Hornby's How to Be Good (me -- not for young readers, by the way, and a language warning for those who will want to know -- my favorite line so far {in reference to the narrator's eight-year-old daughter}: "It seems to me now that the plain state of being human is dramatic enough for anyone; you don't need to be a heroin addict or a performance poet to experience extremity. You just have to love someone.")

Atticus may be reading the Graham Greene I gave him for Christmas, or he may just be watching some sports. I think some team called the Something-Husker-Something did something last night on TV. Some Bowl thing.  I'm not really a fan.

I was reading.

Favorite Version of "A Christmas Carol"?

Well, certainly the 1951 version is a classic.  Alastair Sim makes a marvelous Scrooge. Delightful, really. However, I've always had one little gripe about this version. Actually, it's a big gripe about a thing that should be little but isn't.  Tiny Tim.  In this version, he's a very tall-y Tim, and it annoys me.  Scrooge should not look as if he's about to fall over from the weight of Tiny Tim.

The 1962 Mr. Magoo version? Okay, it's not really in the running, but I had to mention it because when I was four, it was in the running and even that badly animated Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come gave me nightmares.

What about the 1984 George C. Scott version?  Yes, yes, the score is heavy-handed and downright silly in a few spots (such as when Belle tells Ebenezer she hopes he'll be happy in the life he's chosen and the music pounds us over the head with the significance of what is to come) but I can forgive it all its flaws because of Scott.  I think he's the quintessential Scrooge.  And I love David Warner and Susannah York as the Cratchits in this one, and Tiny Tim is actually tiny and very cute and I adore him.  This version wins the "brings me to tears" tally, and it's my number one.   We just watched this one with the girls on Sunday night, and they loved it.

What about you?

Feast of the Holy Innocents

When [the Magi] had departed, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, "Arise, take the young child and His mother, flee to Egypt, and stay there until I tell you; for Herod is going to search for the child to destroy Him."
 

When he arose, he took the young child and His mother by night and departed into Egypt. He stayed there until the death of Herod, that what the Lord had said through the prophet might be fulfilled, "Out of Egypt have I called My Son." When Herod realized that he had been made a fool of by the Magi, he became furious. He ordered the massacre of all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity two years and under, in accordance with the time he had ascertained from the Magi.

Then was fulfilled what had been said through Jeremiah the Prophet: "A voice was heard in Ramah, sobbing and loud lamentation; Rachel weeping for her children, and she would not be consoled, for they were no more." ~~ Matt. 2:13-18

*****
Today the Church honors the innocent children slaughtered at Herod's hand, the martyrs who died for Christ without even knowing of Him in this life. For a beautiful commentary, see today's reading at Universalis (scroll down to "A sermon of St Quodvultdeus.")

And today, I also think of the holy innocents killed each day through abortion. St. Quodvultdeus wrote

"You destroy those who are tiny in body because fear is destroying your heart. You imagine that if you accomplish your desire you can prolong your own life, though you are seeking to kill Life himself ..."

and in these few, powerful words reached the core of the issue. The issue, frighteningly often, is fear. Fear drives many women to abortion: fear of one's own failure, fear of the responsibility of parenthood, fear of financial, health or emotional problems, fear of the father of the baby (do you know how many abortions are coerced? See links such as this article at The Eliot Institute, but please be forewarned that it is difficult reading.)

A woman considering abortion might imagine that if she "accomplishes her desire" she can "prolong her own life" -- in other words, she believes the lie (as Herod did) that removing the child from the picture will solve the problem.

But the child -- like Jesus in Herod's life -- cannot simply be removed. Jesus is Life Himself. The child in the womb, so intimately connected to his mother (even to a mother who does not want to, or is afraid to, acknowledge the connection) is a connection to Life. Removing the child does violence not only to the innocent baby's body but to the mother's relationship with Life Himself. She becomes a modern-day Herod, driven by a fear that destroys her heart and her soul.

A post-abortive woman, if she doesn't come to see the reality of the act, reject it, and repent of it, will sink more and more deeply into a defense of it, to the point of irrationality. But, if she turns to God, to Life, He can and will restore her heart, her life and her connection to Him.

There is hope. There is healing. And all the saints in heaven, including the Holy Innocents, are praying for it.

For more on the aftermath of abortion, see the following links:

The Eliot Institute
Rachel's Vineyard
Hope After Abortion
The National Office of PostAbortion Reconciliation and Healing
Operation Outcry.

For a beautiful shrine dedicated to the unborn, see The Shrine of the Holy Innocents.

*****

Finally, when I think of Holy Innocents, I also think of those babies lost through miscarriage, stillbirth, and sudden infant death. I think of every parent who has ever lost a child of any age, in any way.  So, today, I am praying for all the grieving parents of all holy innocents everywhere, children who have died too soon ... for all who, having been open to life, have suffered in seeing a life lost.

May you feel God's peace and comfort on this solemn but beautiful feast day.

May you feel the assurance that we will see our lost children again.

from the archives: Christmas Every Day

An old post, but something I always think about during the Twelve Days of Christmas and beyond:

Christmas Every Day?

We hear it all around us: “I love this time of year -- people are so generous! Why can’t every day be like Christmas?"

I asked the same question before I became a Christian. For me, "Christmas time" began right after Thanksgiving, when I started shopping, baking and getting caught up in “the Christmas Spirit.” It held no religious meaning for me, but there was something so attractive about it ... something warm and glowing, something that whispered community and love. Whatever the something was that made people feel so good -- and in my unbelieving days I wanted to think it was nothing more than a good story by Charles Dickens -- I wanted a little piece of it.

After I was baptized, I fell in love with that “something” -- Jesus Christ. I finally knew the Source of all that community and love, and I wanted to share the good news. When people wondered why every day couldn’t be Christmas I said, “It can! Become a Christian!” Jesus was the wellspring of the generosity, the love, the desire to give. He was the very definition of Christmas that I had been missing all those years.

I started to see everything about Christmas in a new way. When the Christmas season ended and people complained of how dull and gray January can be, I thought about how we could carry Christmas into every day of the year, because Jesus is always with us. The things that make Christmas special are the things we are called to do in our daily Christian life: love, give of ourselves, share with the poor, and celebrate our Lord. However, though I tried to keep “that Christmas spirit” every day, I instinctively knew that real life wasn’t like that. “All good things must come to an end,” and so it seemed with the joys of the Christmas season.

Five years after my baptism, I was received into the Catholic Church, and I learned that we can live our Christian lives even more fully than “trying to see every day as Christmas” (which wasn’t quite working for me anyway.) Through the liturgical year, we enter deeply into every aspect of Jesus’s life. We wait with anticipation through Advent, live with joy through Christmas, fast in the days of Lent, and rejoice again in the Easter season. We experience the joy of our Savior’s birth, and we feel the desert of life without Him, the suffering of His passion and death, and the joy of His resurrection more deeply when we live our lives in rhythm with the Church’s liturgy.

The Church, our earthly mother left to us by our Lord, knows what we need. In giving us a liturgical calendar she has given us a prescription for how to live each and every day. Are we getting dry in our prayer, losing touch with God? She gives us Lent, to help us examine our lives, make a new sacrifice, renew a promise. Are we struggling through the desert? Just in time to save us, the beauty of Easter arrives, with the joy of delighting in what was “lost” during Lent. Easter is celebrated for a full week on the church calendar, an “octave”, because one day is not enough to contain this great feast. Are we caught up in the “commercialism” of Christmas? Mother Church gives us Advent, to slow us down and teach us to patiently watch and wait. She then gives us twelve days of Christmas -- again, the joy of the celebration cannot be contained in one day. Then there is the twelfth night, and the feast of the Epiphany -- we get to celebrate again, and observe the day that the Magi brought gifts to Jesus. Even in “ordinary time” there are feasts, memorials, and observances of saints’ days that help to remind us of our vocation, the state of our relationship with God, the depth of our prayer lives.

As a new Christian, I was on the right track when I discovered that every day could, in some way, be Christmas. But I was missing a big part of the puzzle. The liturgical calendar supplied the last of the missing pieces. I have delighted in the ways living the liturgical year deepens and revitalizes my spiritual life, including my prayer life.

A wise mother knows that her children can’t celebrate all the time -- every party has an end. Can every day be Christmas? No, but every day can be Christ-filled, imbued with spiritual meaning as we follow, re-enact and celebrate the events of our Lord’s earthly life. We can thank our wise mother, the church, for the wisdom of such a gift, at Christmas and always.

Get my drift?

Anne-with-an-e suggested that post title.

Because, of course, we've got drifts everywhere, thanks to the 18 inches of snow we've gotten:

 

 

And it hasn't stopped snowing yet. We'll see what today brings, but they're saying the snow should move on by tomorrow.  Plenty of shoveling and snowman-building in our future, methinks.

*****

We made it to Christmas Eve Mass.  The girls were praying all day that we'd be able to go and although the snow started here on Wednesday (I think -- at this point, it's all one huge, white blur to me) there was quite a lull on Thursday afternoon. So, we got to Mass without any real trouble, although by the time we headed home, it was snowing and blowing again. A lot.  We said a prayer of thanksgiving when we pulled into the driveway, and said quite a few more throughout the evening when we nearly lost power a number of times.  But, the power stayed on, we enjoyed our dinner of hor d'oeuvres (though I later got sick ... urgh ... must be a virus, because everyone else was fine, so no food poisoning) and Santa Claus came through. He left a lot of books this year -- always a good thing. He ate all of Atticus's fudge.  And he put Baby Jesus in the nativity set manger, as he always does.  Ramona checked to make sure of that. 

Good job, Santa.

*****

Grandma and Grandpa sent Ramona her dream doll -- an American Girl Rebecca doll. I don't think Rebecca left Ramona's arms yesterday, except for a brief art session that resulted in this portrait:

and to have her clothes changed about seventeen times.  At one point, as Ramona was showing me the versatility of Rebecca's shawl, I said, "Wow, you're pretty good at this accessorizing stuff," and she replied, "All it takes is a little imagination and the perfect doll."

*****

Happy Feast of St. Stephen!

On Christmas Day

And the Word became flesh
and made his dwelling among us,
and we saw his glory,
the glory as of the Father’s only Son,
full of grace and truth.

~~ John 1:14




(painting: Adoration of the Shepherds, by Caravaggio, 1609)

from the archives: Nat King Cole and Christmas Christians

Two from the archives:

How a Secular Christmas Song Became "Our Song" (or, Gifts from the Heart are Still the Best)

We hadn't been married very long and we didn't have much money. It was almost Christmas and although we weren't Christians we always gave each other gifts. The pickings would be slim this year, though, as the budget for presents was non-existent.

Atticus knew that I loved Nat King Cole's smoky voice crooning The Christmas Song. I had described it as "almost perfect." But this was in the days before digital music and mp3 players. I could hear my favorite song of the season only if it happened to come on the radio, as I didn't own the album. Atticus wanted to buy it for me, but our budget was so tight that even a new cassette tape (remember cassette tapes?) wasn't a possibility that year.

It was Christmas Eve, and I had to work. Feeling a little disheartened that we didn't have much to give one another, I was nevertheless looking forward to the meal that Atticus would no doubt have ready when I got home.

When I reached our apartment, I put my key in the lock and thought, "It's awfully quiet in there." I opened the door and found a candlelit room, heard a click, and then Nat's smooth voice. Atticus took my hand and we danced.

My dear, sweet husband had scrounged around our apartment, found a blank tape, and then waited. He had vigilantly stationed himself by the radio all day long as he cooked, waiting to hear and capture that song. He waited and waited some more, and finally hit the "record" button when the coveted song made its appearance.

He captured it; he captured me again. And ever since, when Nat starts to sing, we dance.

*****

Christmas Christians

They're planning their descent into the churches.

At Christmas time a lot of unfamiliar faces show up at Mass. They jostle for seats and are a little louder than the regular Mass-goers. They've forgotten when to stand and when to kneel. Most of us know we'll have to arrive early for Christmas Mass if we want to get "a good seat."

There's a temptation to get annoyed with these people. They show up only at Christmas and perhaps at Easter ... They may not contribute much to the parish, either financially or in the form of "time and talent" ... They fill up the parking lot, mash their coats and body heat against us in the overcrowded pews, and can be irritating enough that they leave us with the vague, uncomfortable feeling that we need to get to confession even though we were just there.

That's the temptation. But we don't have to give in to it. Now that I'm in the fold of the Catholic Church -- no longer a stranger and sojourner but a citizen among the saints and not-so-saintly -- I give tearful thanks for the gift of my faith, and I pray that at least one of those Christmas Christians will be touched by God this year, touched so deeply that he or she will be moved to venture back to Mass again in January. Maybe once more in the spring. Maybe on a weekly basis by June. Into the confessional by next September? Then, finally, back into full communion with our one, holy, Catholic and apostolic Church.

Which one will it be? Is it that sweet woman behind me, the one with whom I'll exchange a sign of peace? The bored teenager sitting in front of us and texting throughout the Mass? Will it be the man who scowls as we slide into the pew, forcing him to move down and relinquish his spot on the aisle?

Since I don't know which one it will be, I pray that I will not be a stumbling block to any of them. I pray that I will not be the reason they go home griping about churchy hypocrites who say they're Christians but don't act like Christ at all.

I pray that some souls, somewhere, this Christmas season, will be touched by the Christ Child.

And I pray that I will not get in the way of His hand reaching out to touch theirs.

The Most Important Thing to Do Before Christmas

We all got it done this weekend.

And it doesn't cost a thing.

You don't have to wrap it, put a bow on it, bake it or deliver it.

But it delivers you.

Confession.

Read a little more about it here, and here. 

In Which I Thank Al Kresta and Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle (or, "Atticus Remembers That His Wife Wrote a Book")

Atticus was driving home from work the other day, and turned on the radio to catch a little Kresta in the Afternoon.  Just as he clicked on, he heard, "So that's E-D-M ..." and Atticus thought, "That's funny, it sounds like they're spelling my name."

Al Kresta continued, "... I-S-T-E-N?" and Atticus thought, "Huh. Are they talking about a relative of mine or something?" Upon hearing, "The Rosary: Keeping Company with Jesus and Mary," he realized that, yes, they were indeed talking about his closest relative, his wife, and the book she wrote.

The show was Al Kresta's annual book recommendation special, and the lovely Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle recommended my Rosary book as a pick of the year.  Thank you, Donna-Marie! I'm surprised and humbled to be in such terrific company. And thanks to Al Kresta for including the book on his site.

The complete list of book recommendations is here. It includes picks from Dave Forsmark, Mike Aquilina, Teresa Tomeo, Carl Olsen, Rori Hoipkemier, Doug Keck, Steve Ray, Steven Greydanus, Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle, and Al Kresta. Great Christmas ideas there, either for giving or for last-minute hinting.

And, speaking of Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle, she is an amazingly busy woman (or should I say missionary?)  It looks like she's on the radio today, in a couple of different places, her new book is out, and she'll soon have a show for Catholic moms on EWTN.

Poetry Friday

This poem reminds me of Charlie Brown's Christmas tree, of small, needed kindnesses,  and of the way that children's eyes can pierce through a deceptive veil and penetrate something invisible to the rest of us.



little tree

by e.e. cummings

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don't be afraid

look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box

(read the rest here at The Writer's Almanac.)

The Poetry Friday round up today is at Susan Writes.

A Predictable Rerun

I wrote this in '05, my first year of blogging, and have rerun it each December since then.

I'm rerunning again, because that's part of what makes me so predictable. 

And, it's all still true, except that we no longer need babysitters, and Ramona now gets easily through the Mass. 

And the ending?

Predictable and true.


*********************************************

I'm So Predictable 

My husband and I have a holiday tradition. Every year, close to Christmas, we get a babysitter, go out for Chinese food, buy all the last-minute ...

** (WARNING: Santa spoiler ahead) **

... stocking stuffers and generally fall in love all over again -- with each other, with our children, and with the magic of Christmas. We talk about our days, about my parents and his, about holiday travel plans, and about how we'll keep the youngest child happy and calm during the long Christmas Eve Mass. And we talk about how we can't believe how drastically our Christmases have changed over the years.

You see, when we married, we didn't want children. Children were nice enough for other people, but not for us. We didn't want the mess, the commitment, the responsibility. We were happy to be "child free" as opposed to "childless."

Then something happened. I became a Christian.

Oops. Short-circuit in the selfishness department. I began to long for a child. Soon, Atticus's heart caught up with mine in the procreation debate, and we set forth to create a family. After some heartbreaking miscarriages, we had Anne. But only one child, Atticus said. One child is enough.

Then I became a Catholic.

Oops. Short-circuit in the "openness to life" department. We had Betsy. Several more heartbreaking miscarriages later, God awarded us with Ramona, and here we are. Falling in love again at Christmas time, and crazy, head-over-heels in love with our children.

And all because of of a Child born in Bethlehem two thousand years ago. Had Mary said, "No, thank you, I'd like to remain child-free," I would be childless. There would have been no conversion, no short-circuit, and most certainly, no joy. How does one thank God for that?

I always seem to do it in the same old, tired way.

I cry.

May you, too, shed some tears of ineffable gratitude this Christmas.

O Antiphons!

Start today!

What are they?

This page at Catholic Culture explains it all. 

This page includes a great activity (that will probably go in your Advent file, since I've given you no warning or time to prepare.)

And, see this thread on the 4Real Learning boards to see a parade of "O Antiphon Houses."

Ramona Said ....

As we were talking about babies, and about how nice it is to have them around, Ramona said, "Yes, babies are a common household object."

Here's Ramona, when she was a baby:

Sigh. We haven't had that common household object around for such a long time.

*****

While Ramona and Betsy were painting some Christmas crafts yesterday, Ramona asked if I could please change the water they were using to rinse their brushes.

"This water is vile!" she complained.

I would have simply called it "gray" but I like her passion.

Need Christmas gift ideas?

Don't miss Lissa's post at Here in the Bonny Glen.

Poetry Friday: Advent, by Thomas Merton

I love the fresh start of Advent.

Liturgically, we're in a new year, full of possibilities.

This is the time for "New Year's Resolutions." Advent -- a season pregnant with hope and promise, with anticipation, and with the fear and trembling of working out our salvation -- is the perfect time to assess our spiritual lives.

The liturgical calendar is such a gift. "Time falls like manna at the corners of the wintry earth," as Fr. Merton says.


Today, a beautiful poem from a favorite:

Advent

by Thomas Merton

Charm with your stainlessness these winter nights,

Skies, and be perfect! Fly, vivider in the fiery dark, you quiet meteors,

And disappear.

You moon, be slow to go down,

This is your full!

The four white roads make off in silence

Towards the four parts of the starry universe.

Time falls like manna at the corners of the wintry earth.

We have become more humble than the rocks,

More wakeful than the patient hills.

(Read the whole poem here.)

*****

The round up today is at Random Noodling.

Feast after Feast!

Two wonderful feasts are approaching! First, December 12 is the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.


My personal devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe began about nine years ago, and is chronicled here.

And, I began last year to try doing a bit more with the kids on this feast. My girls' godmother helped out in that department when she had the kids put together a little play about St. Juan Diego, which was just delightful.


This same godmother is the one who originally led me to the St. Lucia braided bread recipe that we always look forward to.  You can visit this post for more details and links on our St. Lucia celebrations, and this one for the recipe for the bread.

You can't ruin this bread! Don't be afraid of it. If I can do it, you can, too. And you'll be so happy you did. It's beautiful and delicious. And, it will be gone before you can say, "Gaudete Sunday." 

One way to know what Atticus did last night

is to make note of the first thing Ramona said to me this morning:

"Mommy, may I have a tiny bit of fudge?"

We love that fudge. 

Today's Spiritual Wisdom Brought to You by Ramona

Last night at Mass, I whispered to Ramona that the reading from Genesis was exactly the one we'd talked about earlier in the day.

She had mentioned that statues of Mary often depict Our Lady "standing on a snake." So, we talked about where we could find that in the Bible, and what it meant.

In summarizing, I said, "So, you see, Mary carried in her womb the One who would conquer the devil and save us."

"So," said Ramona, "that's almost as good as being the One who did it. In a way, she kind of did it, too."

Yes, sweetie, she did.

Mary said yes to God's plan.

Pray for us, today, Blessed Mother, that we'll always say yes.

Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Whether you have a picture-perfect day for the memory book, or one similar to what I've reposted below, I pray that you will feel the Lord's presence and the intercession of His Blessed Mother today.

Remember that He is with us in sickness, health, crankiness and cheerful days, in our plans and in the dashing of our plans.

And our Blessed Mother is praying for us through it all.



If you have young children, you might appreciate this repost from 2005, when Ramona was just three years old, and Anne and Betsy were eleven and nine:

We went to the vigil Mass last night, and as Mass experiences go, it wasn't one for the memory book.

Our day was packed with activity, but I had allowed enough time for us to sanely prepare for Mass. After all, as I told the children, "Mass is the most important thing we'll do today, so we work everything around that, not the other way around."

And yet, I somehow managed to end up with the family running late. And, because 5:30 is the bewitched hour for three-year-olds, of course Ramona Quimby cried as we left the house and she fell asleep on the way. Sigh. That meant she wouldn't be able to sleep later until about 9:30 or 10 p.m. We walked into the Church just after Mass had begun (something we never do, something I really dislike doing, and something that means we'll end up sitting in the back, which I also dislike.) We slipped into an available space in the back and I do have to at least credit Anne and Betsy with not complaining about the seating (they dislike the back rows, too.)

Ramona slept through most of Mass (meaning her bedtime was getting pushed back to 10:30 or 11....) It was crowded, and I couldn't hear the homily. Betsy kept coughing, and Anne was sniffling and Ramona would wake up only enough to protest that my tired arms were trying to transfer her to Daddy's strong ones.

But you know what? He was still there. I still received Christ -- Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. No matter how hectic the preparation, no matter how distracted I was, no matter how far back we sat -- He was still there for me. Oh, to be so faithful.

Oh, and one more thing. On the way to Mass, as we prayed the decade of the Rosary that we always pray on the way, I had asked the Blessed Mother's intercession for Ramona (who was still crying at that point) at Mass. Could we get through this with relative peace? I asked. Well, I see now I should be more specific, but I was still grateful for the answer to prayer. Yeah, yeah, she didn't go to bed until almost 11, but she did get through Mass very well. Next time I'll try to itemize my requests.

And, hey, Moms of Young Children: it gets easier. Mass last night was a breeze. And a delight. And beautiful.

Hang in there. Our Lady is praying for you.

Painting by Bartolome Esteban Murillo.

How to Make Me Cry

1. Be my child.
2. Be so lovable that I think I'll burst about 90% of the time. 
3. Be almost grown up, say, oh, 13 and 16.
4. Help me decorate the Christmas tree.
5. Leave the room before I find the cardboard and Cheerio wreath, and the popsicle stick star, laden with glitter.
6. Be busy elsewhere in the house while I tear up and wonder how motherhood can move at the speed of light. 
7. You're done. Mission accomplished.

And About Those Gingerbread Houses ...

... here are the results of the Gingerbread House Decorating Party (minus three houses, as that family left before we got a picture taken):

Thanks, St. Nicholas!

For the socks! How did you know?

And there were chocolate coins, new Christmas ornaments and candy canes:

Happy Feast of St. Nicholas!

(And please pardon the horrible quality of the pictures ... my camera isn't working well ....)

Help! I Have Gingerbread Back!

Because I spent the day  hunched over the kitchen counter making and baking homemade (for the first time ever ... please pat me on my aching back) gingerbread for our first-ever homemade gingerbread houses.  Who knew it would be so time consuming?

I got six houses put together:

and after tomorrow they will be beautifully decked out for the holidays.

And for eating.

In the past, Santa has always left gingerbread house kits for the kids on Christmas morning. We then put them together sometime during the Twelve Days of Christmas.  This has always worked well because Santa shops the after-Christmas clearance sales, picks up three kits, and squirrels them away for the following year. Santa never wants the girls to eat those gingerbread houses though, because -- yuck -- how good could they be after sitting in my Santa's closet for a year?

But, last year, Santa struck out on the after Christmas clearance sales and there was nothing in the closet.  So this year, Santa got creative and domestic.  I suggested to Ramona that we try making delicious, edible ("We can really eat them?") homemade houses.  Then, I told her, we can just suggest to Santa that he skip the kits this year. She was all for it.

So today I baked. And assembled. And called my friend for frosting advice.  And asked Atticus, when he arrived home from work, if he came bearing wine. He hadn't.

"I thought you had some wine," he said.

"Not enough," I replied. And then made more royal frosting. Do you know how much of that stuff it takes to keep a roof on?

Tomorrow we'll add candy and other accoutrements and I'll soon report back on our progress. But for now I'm off to give my back a rest and enjoy a glass of something dry and red.

Poetry Friday: Reluctance

I really didn't get Robert Frost until I was older.

When I was in high school, I thought of him as the death poet, stopping by woods to think about that final nap, or as the rugged individualist, taking New England roads less traveled.

But as I grew up -- lived, moved, loved, worked, lost, made mistakes, grieved, hated, healed, and grew every year to love the shape and layering of words more dearly, I found that I also loved the roads Frost traveled.

I've been saving this one for the end of fall, for the real turn of weather that is winter upon us. Oh, I know ... winter may not arrive officially for a couple of weeks, but now that we are in the Advent season, and we saw our temperatures dive this week from deliciously mild to twenty degrees, I must reluctantly admit that my beloved autumn is gone.  Of course, Frost is talking about a lot more here than reluctantly letting go of autumn rust and woodsy bonfires.  He leaves me in awe, at times, with the way he can take the simplest subject and turn it into a metaphysical wallop. 


Reluctance
by Robert Frost

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended; ...

... Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

(Go read the whole poem here.)

The Poetry Friday round up can be found at Wild Rose Reader. 

Things that make me go, "Huh?"

Martha Stewart telling me how to host a cookie swap.

I've never hosted a cookie swap. I don't think I'll ever host a cookie swap.

Just give me your cookies and no one will get hurt.

*****

People who don't like chocolate.

My friend Andrea still laughs at me for the time I served two kinds of cookies (this was not a swap, I'd just been baking): "These are chocolate-chocolate chip cookies, and these are just regular chocolate chip cookies, for people who don't like chocolate."  (That is how Andrea tells the story. I maintain that I said, "... for people who don't like chocolate as much.") She roared. She pointed out that people who don't like chocolate might actually prefer a cookie without chocolate.  I blinked stupidly. Uncomprehendingly. Huh?

*****

Why is everyone so interested in Tiger Woods?

*****

When people say, "I don't read much."

Huh?

*****

Nebraska weather.

*****

Morning people.
People who say, "I just never use email."
Yelling at a football game on TV.

*****

Being asked, "What's your five year plan?"

My Godson, the Feral Squirrel

We laughed out loud.

But, in all honesty, we think he looks much more like an irresistably huggable bear.

Bits and Pieces of Our Post-Thanksgiving Days

The turkey was eaten, the oyster dressing relished (by Atticus, anyway ... urgh), the bonfire blazed.

Atticus rediscovered cigars and gave them up again (all in the same night), the Black Friday deals were had, the children slept in, the Super Sister-in-Law did all the driving (thanks, Super Sister-in-Law!)

I ate three kinds of pie, read Suzanne Collins' Catching Fire, did oodles of laundry, decked out the house for Advent (in true No-Panic fashion), told Ramona -- roughly seventeen times -- that the chocolate Advent calendar starts on December 1st.

We played Scattergories, and I laughed out loud at Ramona's answer to Things You Save Up to Buy That Start with the Letter F: "Faux Fur Lined Coats."  (And, yes, she spelled faux correctly.)   I laughed again when Betsy's "H" answer to Kitchen Utensils was, "Hey! Who took my spatula?!"  and yet again at Anne-with-an-e's response to Things (that begin with F) That You Keep Hidden: "Feral Squirrels."

And we went to Mass and thanked God for Him, and our family, Sabbath rest and work to get up for on Monday.

How was your Thanksgiving?