Read Aloud Role Reversal

Yesterday, thanks to the lovely little bug I've been fighting (Is it a cold? Just a cough? Sinus stuff? Who knows? Who cares? It's finally getting much better today), I didn't feel up to our usual, annual read-aloud of Madeleine L'Engle's The Twenty-four Days Before Christmas. 

We all love this book beyond measure, but my voice just wasn't going to cooperate. So ... grown daughters to the rescue!

Anne-with-an-e and Betsy read it aloud to me yesterday. To Ramona, too, of course, but I sort of selfishly reveled in the fact that my girls were reading to me. Read-aloud Karma, if you will.

That is all.

We will now return to our regularly scheduled reader.

Poetry Friday on the Fourth Sunday of Advent

I've been a little down with a virus, and haven't been getting much done beyond the essentials, but I still wanted to send you over to the round up at Buffy's Blog. Just because I didn't have the energy for a post doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy some poetry, so I'm sending you wandering.

A few highlights this week:

Jama, as always.

Laura Purdie Salas is never not delightful.

Linda, highlighting UA Fanthorpe (and The Wicked Fairy at the Manger is a must-read.)

Tabatha, of course.

Back later with more....

How a Secular Christmas Song Became Our Song (for Atticus)

from the archives:

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.

An Idea for the O Antiphons from My Girls' Godmother on this Gaudete Sunday

It's Gaudete Sunday! 

And here's something new for this Advent. I've mentioned many times that I have our daughters' godmother, Holly, to thank for the St. Lucia bread that we devour enjoy every year. Holly is so creative and artistic, and this year she surprised us with a sweet new tradition for the O Antiphons, which begin on December 17th. 

She sent chocolate coins, each with a symbol for one of the O Antiphons. 

She told the girls to say the accompanying prayer each day from December 17-23, and to know that she would be praying for them, too. 

Thank you, Holly! We'll be praying for you as well (but you already knew that.)

~~~~~

Updated to add: 

The prayers that Holly used are from Michele Quigley and can be found here. 

Holly found the illustrations for the coins at Catholic Cuisine and the artwork is here.

Feast After Feast!

Two wonderful feast days! 

Today 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.)

Tomorrow is the feast of St. Lucy. Go this post for the recipe for the bread we make every year.

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."

Poetry Friday: December, by Gary Johnson

No need to add much commentary here -- just a lovely, lovely poem for this December day. 

December
by Gary Johnson

A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,

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

~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up is at These 4 Corners.

It's the Second Week of Advent and I'm Not Lamenting Anything

Mind you, I am perfectly capable of lamenting the passage of time. I did it here, when Ramona was six and I wrote a poem about wanting her to never grow up. I worried about it here, when I wrote about homeschooling just one child. I pondered time's passing when I considered what life will be like "When They're Older."

And it's kind of expected when we're in a big countdown such as Advent that exclamations of, "Where is the time going?!" and "It's HOW many days until Christmas?" will ring out. And it's true that I'm regularly taken aback by how fast the days wing by (although if you ask my daughters, that's my natural state of being year round. I say things like, "The other day, when I...." and they correct me: "You mean that time three months ago, Mom?")

Ahem. So, yes, I'm not the one to ask about the sands of time. It's all wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff to me.

Still. I am not immune to the laments, the pondering, the desperate questions about why the timey wimey stuff has to dribble away. Just the other day, a friend of mine (a much younger friend) said that this past year seems to have zoomed by and I gave her an urgent, "Just wait! It gets worse every year!" (Further proving that we all become the people we were once extremely annoyed by.) She immediately dubbed me the Debbie Downer of the gathering, and she was right.

But this Advent, I'm living my "No Panic" advice (I always try to, but you know I'm not perfect -- witness this post from the original No-Panic series in which I talk about scrounging up tights at the last minute and grumbling about the gift bags not being on sale.)

This Advent, I'm trying not to: 

• Analyze how quickly time is passing. I have a predilection to analyze everything, so it's always a sacrifice to force myself not to analyze. 
• Live in the past. Christmas with older offspring is different from the way Christmas was when my girls were little. I don't want to focus on that because these days offer their own gifts. 
• Worry about the gift choices I've made, the presents I've already wrapped, the stuff I've already shipped ("Will she like it? Did I do enough? Will he think that's stupid?" Stop it, already, Karen.) 
• Worry about having a Christmas card that brilliantly summarizes our year or our lives ("Should I have taken a family photo instead of slapping those three snapshots into a collage?" Again with the Stop It.) 
• Berate myself for not baking for everyone I know. (I never bake for everyone I know. Am I a Grinch? I don't know, but I also don't know how this idea got started that we all have to bake for each other and take baked goods everywhere we go and give them to everyone we know. I mean, if we're all busy baking for each other all the time, then when will we find time to sit down and drink coffee? All that baking and all that tastefully-arranging-treats-on-a-plate is exhausting. And it leaves us less time to read Kristin Lavransdatter.) 
• Think that everyone should be like me. Do you love to bake for everyone you know? Do you find it fun and relaxing? Do you enjoy arranging things tastefully on plates? And delivering said tasteful stuff to me? I'll take it. 
• Waste time on the small stuff. And other than Jesus, it's pretty much all small stuff. 

This Advent, I am trying to:

• Notice time, but not be controlled by it. 
• Love the moment I'm in. There are so many to love. While it's fun to reminisce about what Christmas was like when my girls were tiny, or when I was first Catholic, or whatever, it's also bliss to revel in this moment, these ages, all this stuff that is right in front of me. 
• Watch and wait. 
• Bake. A bit. Gingerbread houses. Lucia bread. Things Ramona wants to learn how to make. 
• Read all of our favorite Advent books. 
• Pray. 
• Notice. 
• Love this wibbly wobbly timey wimey world that passes us by too quickly and not soon enough (which reminds me of this old post, in which not-quite-five-year-old Ramona told me why "earth is the specialest planet.") 

So, it's the second week of Advent. Have you noticed? 

The First Week of Advent

Advent is my favorite liturgical season. I love the newness -- a new church year, a fresh start, a time to deepen our relationship with Christ. 

And we've started decorating. The Advent wreath is on the dining room table, the nativity set is on the mantle. On Thanksgiving Day (we usually travel, but were at home this year), as we were listening to The Splendid Table's Turkey Confidential (Ramona's favorite thing to listen to on Thanksgiving Day -- beats a parade), I did a quick-change on the artwork above the mantle. I've done this for the last couple of years. It starts out looking like this: 

Then, some burgundy colored fabric. Staples. Pretty easy, even for me. 

Then it looks like this: 

Then I add a beautiful printable from Lesley Austin/Small Meadow, set up the creche, and ... it's Advent!