It's raining in Rome

It was one of "those" days when I was trying to make fun memories with my child but everything was going wrong.  Everything from my youngest waking up too early to my word being contradicted to cookie dough sticking to, well, everything.  This wasn't what I had in mind when I thought of making holiday cookies.

"That doesn't look like a snowman, Mom," my son told me with disappointment dripping from his voice.  He had his hands poking around in the dough and then into the flour and then into his mouth. 

While I was trying to instruct him in the ways of germs and hygiene, my little sound-track kept repeating herself behind me saying, "Mommy, look!"  I stood there with cookie dough gooping up my fingers, the table, and the rolling pin, a snowman leaning precariously on my cookie sheet, my mess widening by the second...and I sighed.  This certainly held the potential of becoming a lasting memory, but not necessarily a positive one.

The good news is that in that critical moment I remembered a phrase offered to us during our parenting classes:  Rome wasn't built in a day.  

We'd like to see our children "get it" immediately.  But usually they won't.  They are children, after all, and it takes time (and consistent parenting) to develop good habits and solid character. 

The phrase was meant to encourage us in our parenting but it went beyond that for me.  It pertained to me directly and to the parent I'd like to become someday.  And it pertained to Fun-Things-Gone-Bad.

Thanks to those well-timed words, I managed to take courage in the middle of my cookie episode. "It is only raining in pre-Rome today," I told myself.  

I imagined the work on Rome being halted during untimely downpours.  The mud, the set-backs, the delays...it wasn't what they had hoped for. But the master planners didn't despair.  They knew the sun would shine again --and Rome eventually became an empire. 

Somewhere in our kitchen the sun must have started to shine because our cookie dough consistency grew workable with more flour and we eventually had trays full of cookies that passed the approval of my junior assistant.  Even the baby grew happy playing by herself.

So the next time I'm losing heart over a child (or a mommy) who isn't "getting it" at the moment or if I'm disappointed over Fun-Things-Going-Bad, I'm going to remind myself that it is only raining. 

After all, Rome wasn't built in a day. 

5 of our Seasonal Traditions

1. Gingerbread House  

Yes, we're amateurs, and no, our house wouldn't win any prizes.  Unless, of course, there are prizes like The Most Fun We Had All Week.

2. Pomander Balls

I may be seriously behind times but I was only introduced to oranges decorated with cloves when last year at my sister-in-law's house.  This year I did my own and had so much fun with them that they became an instant tradition.  According to what I read online, these aromatic balls can be kept from year to year, but considering oranges and cloves are cheap entertainment, I plan to do fresh ones each winter.

3. Cut-out Cookies 

Ok, why can't bread be seasonal?  Bread dough and I get along much more nicely than cut-out cookie dough and I. Which is why I rarely make cut-out cookies and why they turned out like the picture below.  I'll tell you later about cookie dough sticking to rolling pins and other tragic tales in a later post.  But, hey, if you close your eyes when you bite into them (saves yourself the pain of seeing what you are eating) they taste amazing. Plus, my sprinkle-happy four-year-old had a ball decorating them.

4. The Slumber Party

No holiday would ever be complete at our house without our traditional family slumber party in the living room.  The children love it. 

5. Holiday mail  

Okay, so whether this can be filed under the category of "tradition" is debatable, but it certainly is a sign of the season.  We get three-fourths of all personal mail in the month of December. To us it feels like mail by the truckload.  I mean, sometimes we get two whole pieces of mail in one single day.  That is worth celebrating.  

So tell me, what traditions do you have at Christmas time?  

A Gift for the Season

Sometimes gifts are boxes all wrapped up in shiny paper and bejeweled with ribbon.  

But sometimes gifts look different.  Very different.  Sometimes they look like an unidentifiable black spot that grows on your skin.  The finishing touch isn't a pretty ribbon but a concerned mother. 

Right, Brother of Mine? 

The "thing" was noticed a while ago.  But what mother is going to take one look at a tiny but unusual black spot on her strapping six-foot-three son who is swamped in work and convince him in a minute to get it checked out by a doctor?  Not our mama. At least not when we're working with this Brother of Mine.  

So it was forgotten.  At least until Mom saw it a month later.  "This thing is growing, Son.   You really should get it checked out."

"I can't right now." His words were decisive.  He wasn't buying into her concern.  "We are in our busiest season at work and there is no way I'm taking off for this.  You worry too much."

But isn't concern for her child part of a mother's job description?  Especially this mother.  She buried a sister, a best friend, and a father-in-law all to cancer and she wasn't going to let a suspicious looking spot on her son slide by unchecked.

So when it was seen again this past week, she gasped.  It was an audible gasp, but an involuntary one. Catching her breath she said, "Okay! This thing has grown substantially.  Now you have no choice.  You will be going in to the doctor.  I'll even pay for the appointment if that is what it takes, but you need to get this checked out."

No amount of protesting or pinning valid excuses to the moment were going to buy him an escape route this time.  Eventually his moaning and groaning gave way to a reluctant, "Okay, then.  Friday is the only possible day it will work for me this week."

The doctor was no fool.  He had met tall young men before sent to him by a concerned mother and he read the undertones of this visit.  

"Actually, young man," the doctor said, "your mother is right.  This needs to be removed.  However, the spot you came in for doesn't look as dangerous as this one."

His finger traced a neighboring spot.  "This one I'm very concerned about and it needs to come off today."

Mothers are too kind to say "I told you so" but ours would have had full rights.  Yet in the following days, her concern swallowed those rightfully spoken words and exchanged them for prayers.  Family and friends joined in.  

Then came the dreaded phone call.  "The spot removed was cancer and we need to see you in our office tomorrow morning." 

Cancer?  Life and death flashed through his mind.  Her mind.  Surely this wasn't happening.

The appointment turned out to be encouraging.  "It is melanoma in situ, which means it is contained."  The doctor looked at my brother.  "In a year, you would have been in serious trouble."  

But which spot was the cancerous one?  No, it wasn't the black unidentifiable one that Mom had gasped over.  That one was just a decoy God used to get a young man to a doctor.   The cancerous spot was the one the doctor noticed.  

Gifts come in all shapes and sizes.  This time the gift was The Spot that God Grew.  It was all wrapped up in a mother's concern and tied in love's golden thread. 

Merry Christmas, Brother of Mine.  How about a miracle for a present?

My heart is full.

I blame it on the time of year.

I celebrate a birthday, Thanksgiving, a wedding anniversary, and Christmas 

all within two months time.  It is just too much.  

Too much happiness.  

     Too much love.  

                                         Too much of everything good.

So because we're still in that season, 

my heart is full.

I suppose as I age I'll be in great danger of my heart exploding

 into a zillion happy pieces during this time of year.  

As it is I think it comes pretty close.

I was given piles of birthday presents.

Ten, I think.

I didn't even know there were ten people

who would not only remember my birthday, 

but who would want to give me a present.

But there were.

And then there was Thanksgiving with its

turkey, dressing, and all the traditional aromas that go along with it:

Sage. Pumpkin. Spice.

Thanks.  Family time.

Sitting at a little table for two of a charming coffee shop,

sipping seasonal lattes,

talking and laughing,

dreaming...

"Happy Anniversary," he told me, grinning.  

We toasted with our cardboard and paper cups full of Chai.

"Here's to many more wonderful years."

We chose the Loft at the cabin where we were gifted two nights.

It was my zany idea to skip the luxurious Master Bedroom with its perks 

and to opt for the Loft with the Skylight,

but he seconded the suggestion immediately.

Stars would have twinkled through the Skylight

had they not been hidden somewhere behind the clouds.

Instead, rain danced on the skylight, our little Window to Heaven.

It played there for most of our two days and two nights

but we thought that it only

added to the charm of the dream-like Loft.

Rain also danced on the cabana roof 

where steam most likely was boiling out of the slat at the top.  

We reveled in the Hot Tub Room with all that 

curling steam and deliciously hot water.

Hours to soak up the luxury.

The children loved it.

Yes, the children.

I know.  I said I have some zany ideas.

But the children sleep so much and so well.

We could divide our days into fourteen hours of anniversary dating

and ten hours of family vacation.

The cabin was huge.  

The children slept on a different floor than we did.

We wouldn't even know they were there

unless they were hungry.

Which they were at seven every morning.

And at two in the afternoon when we thought they'd be napping.

Okay, so our days weren't the 14:10 ratio we expected.

But family vacation is worth something, too.

Our days were too soon gone

and too full of love.

So my heart hurts today.

It aches because John had to go back to work
and I to normal life

and the children needed a mother

not a starry-eyed dreamer

who is living off of coffee and sweet memories.

But Christmas is coming and I can't see my heart getting better anytime soon.

Because it melts into a puddle over seasonal sweet things

like volunteers who ring bells in the frigid cold

all to give gifts to the poor

and the college that forfeited its rightful income earned by parking violations

and had the violators pay in canned goods instead

so they could give to the poor.

Christmas. 
A time of giving and cheer,
Celebration and joy
and gratitude and loving
and peace and happiness.
All because of Christ.

As I said, my heart is full.

Maybe it is the season.
And I love it.