Already, December.

Thanksgiving was wonderful, with the extended Babcock and Christenson clan. No snow. No cornbread dressing. But plenty of Christenson family traditional homemade cranberry sauce with whipped cream. Ziggy and I ate well more than our share.

There was tromping in the ravine, where the Mister and I first spent so much time together nearly a decade ago when we first fell in love, and where we return, year after year, to tromp and to chuck pumpkins. For the first time in years, I crossed the creek on a log without shaking with fear and tearing up, insgtead declaring triumphantly (and only half jokingly) that I was doing Outward Bound for Middle Age Out of Shape Ladies. It seems that my Mister and I are learning after this time of times invested, to work together, to hold one another up. Sister in law Ingrid, in from London, was a champ and didn't even need a supporting walking stick as I did. My boy is a little goat, just like his father and grandfather. I am grateful he is more comfortable in his body, more trusting of it, than I've ever been in mine.


Ziggy is telling jokes by the dozens, improving his handwriting by lots of practice, and loves nothing more than school and family time. His well child annual checkup reveals him to be in the 98th and 97th percentiles for height and weight, respectively. I love love love his pediatrician. And his kindergarten teacher. And the woman he has proclaimed his Christ Teacher, our church's Children's Pastor.

What great fortune for my boy to have so many adults who are invested in his life!

Asked his favorite part of Thanksgiving, our boy tells us, "My favorite part is what Mrs. Flynn told me about why she is thankful for me. She is thankful for me because even when things are hard for me, I try really hard." What a wonderful teacher to encourage him so, and acknowledge his truth. Seriously love her.

And the pediatrician? She notes, "He's beautiful and strong and healthy. And he's matured a lot in the last number of months, but as you say, he is still spirited and intense. And that's the essence of who he is. We don't want all that to go away!"




The Mister commenting on Thanksgiving and such deeply enjoyed family time, "There's no substitute for that."

Right he is.



Me, I'm still waiting on HR to finish up their part of things so that I can start my job as science lab teacher at the elementary school our son attends. The time between the start of this job and the one I just left at RIP has been a surprise. No income, but a gift of time never before experienced since my becoming a mother.

I am in preparation for holidaying and finishing my first semester of grad school.

There will be travel to see my folks, my sister and her family, and hopefully a rendevouz with my brother, his wife, and their sweet baby girl with whom I've yet to acquaint myself. My oldest dearest group of girlfriends and their children will gather here at our little house on Maplewood late in the month. My parents will celebrate birthdays. There will be Sunday School and community parties for Christmas and Solstice. There are secret and dirty Santa exchanges. Baking and tidying and crafting to be carried out. Stockings to stuff for children for whom these treats may be the sum total of their holiday gifting. The family Christmas cards to be designed and ordered, the letter to be written. Gifts to be repurposed, sorted, wrapped, parceled out, and posted. Potions to brew up and sell.


I am reading again, quite a bit. Novels. Back to back to back. Too, non fiction for school, and for pleasure. I stay up too late into the night, all snugged up under heavy blankets, reading and reading. Doing this, I am tired. And a hunger in me is abated all at once.


Recently, Ziggy told me that my face looks old. His father's does not, but mine does. "Ouch," I said. "Why ouch?" said he, "It's just the truth." He has also related that Daddy does everything well but my list of "cooking and making the bed really good" pretty much covers it. Until recently when I've also been deemed to accomplish "good handwriting and good cleaning."


A perpetual and exponentially growing To Do list accompanies me everywhere. The calendar is my brain. The bulletin board by the door is pruned regularly. I say no when I can. Agree to help out with this thing and that when possible. To blog over at Nashville Parent, to volunteer time to the school and to church.


Our Mealshare experiment with another family is so far wonderfully positive. It is my hope to continue it, for community, nourishment, economics, and inspiration. Also, of course the time it saves.



I speak to my parents near daily. They are older. I am, too. I wonder what it'd have been like to have begun my family in my twenties. What it'd be like to adopt another child now. I long for this, as does my son. If we can get through the next year or so, school for me and the Mister, get us gainfully employed, maybe the boy and I can convince his father. I long not just for mothering another child, but for a sibling for my son. Mine-- my siblings, that is-- are a great joy in my life, companions I know will be forever friends with a shared sense of how it is to be in the world.



Time, she is moving faster than a flying nun, faster than a boy grows in a night of restless sleep, faster than Mister and his wife right old wrongs and settle in for an eventful ride.



Advent is upon us. A readying for the arrival of the innocent infant, and, too, a darkening. A spirit cleansing, and acknowledgement of the small mean hardness of the human experience, the murder of babies by Herod, and the ways in which that reflects on the time of today. History. Current Events. Liturgy. Daily reflection. There are yule logs to burn, literally and figuratively. Greening and sprucing up, ritual candles to be lit. Slumbers to sleep. Prayers to pray. Bulbs to force. Loves to be loved.


Days to be lived, wild and alive and anticipatory. Welcoming of what is, and what is to come.