Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer....

for help in times of fear and upset.

for single parents raising children with mental illness.

for the great suffering inflicted upon the victims and the families of the victims of this senseless act of violence.

for the voices silenced, the children who lost their mothers at the hands of a very troubled young man.

for the children left behind without a best friend or a beloved teacher, without the prior sense of safety and of innocence.

for the mothers and the fathers in Sandy Hook and their paperboys, their newscasters, their truck drivers and nannies; their bakers and store clerks and city councilmen and women. for that community, please God, grant them peace. grant them comfort in each other in the face of unimaginable tragedy.

for all the teachers and the mamas and grannies and fathers and uncles everywhere like in Nashville and in Dallas and San Francisco, in St. Paul, Denver and Philadelphia.... the ones who are weeping and watching their children sleep, worrying about other families in other towns, or wishing their own dead children could come back from cancer or overdose or maybe a car accident.

there is such great suffering. it is hard to understand. to wrap even the most agile of hearts around....

please and thank you and help: these are the prayers today, yesterday, into the new week as laundry spins, fractions are added and subtracted, maps are studied, ornaments are hung, choirs sing and families gather to hold one another another day, another year, another little while.


we want things to be predictable here on earth with the excitement coming from things like roller coasters and new babies and chili cook-off winners and beautiful new postage stamps on love letters. we want all the rent hearts to be mended, the cleaving couples to come back together, the church to stop pointing fingers and fussing about who marries who because love is love is love. we want every man, woman and child to have plenty to eat and a warm place to go where he or she can get plenty to eat and the ones that love them open their arms.

we want to stop weeping at the brokeness and the senselessless, the confusion. we want to say, Enough!! Everyone brush your teeth and go to bed. Tomorrow will be softer, we will find an answer.

Mother-Father God, I'm not sure that can be. but it's what we want here.

I want my students to be safe and well fed, to learn how to read and multiply, to believe in themselves and to become productive citizens of the community. I want not to get out of work at four o'clock in the afternoon while I've been teaching children in a poor neighborhood -- one that knows violence and unmet desire well -- to learn that north of me by several states, a man walked into a school and shot up a bunch of people for reasons we may never understand. I want to get to my child across town fast, so fast, and drive him home even if it takes two hours through the traffic and he falls asleep.

thank you for that. for that small inconvenience of time, with the sweetness of my lightly snoring son in his booster seat while I am driving in quiet. thank you for no radio or television over the weekend, but instead Christmas carols and a husband who loves us and a place to call home. thank you for a safe place to be a family, and to cry for those that woke yesterday in a world where that was no longer true for them.


it isn't fair, God. any of it. and I've been pretty mad at you this year, anyway. but I'm still looking for you. still praying. still hoping.

Slimy foughts.

Ninth snow day since the school year began.

And the children at Metro Nashville Public Schools have been out more than in classes since mid December.

My kid's got a nasty cold with a snuffly snout, croupy cough. He was ruddy with fever and sneezy when I picked him up Monday.


I'm a bit out of sorts myself, with all this bending out of routine.


As we were readying for bed shortly ago, mid sentence my boy ran with a fury to the tissue box on the coffee table, after blowing, telling me, "I had to blow my nose!"

And then, said with the enormous smile of a happy discovery, "When your nose is slimy, your FOUGHTS [thoughts] are slimy. Because your foughts come from your brain, get it? And your brain has mucus!"

Very pleased with himself, he goes on to declare that the Valentine hearts we put up on the kitchen cabinets today "look really good, more loving," and "like they are made for a smaller house, like ours, but we have lots of space, and lots of rooms, like one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and Dad's special room!"

Cats fit on the windowsill, children fit in the snow....

Mornings.

Snacktime at Diggy's, over the holidays.

Having all the boy's standard school attire at last in one dresser upstairs in his room has proven a boon, and has removed the necessity of choosing clothing for the morning box. (Instead, the morning box contains the backpack, coat, mittens, hat, and any other items like library books or toys that need to be taken for the day or returned to someone / somewhere.) My big kiddo is doing a great job of dressing for the school day, with a choice from each drawer, no help needed. SSA trousers (in khaki, navy or black,) a collared shirt (solid color,) and often a sweater or fleece pullover on top (also solid covered.)

I must say: I love the whole SSA program. It simplifies the shopping and readying process greatly, and evens the playing field for children from all strata and income levels. Additionally, there's the frugal and environmentally / economically friendly exchange program. The kids look pulled together and have a sense of appropriate (as in, no heinies hanging out or Juicy wording on the booty) style for school, yet are given room to add a personal bling to add one's own flava. My boy often adds a headband, a necklace, newsboy cap, bracelets or rings.

The new parka from Diggy is grand, as are the specially commissioned hand-knit mittens in camouflage colors -- these most especially appreciated when the temperature is in the twenties and the back deck and stairs are coated with ice -- something which, asidely, prompted the Mister to put a "travel ban" on me, his oft falling wife.

This morning, the Mister prepared to take the boy to school  by walking the dog and warming up the car, while I packed lunches and prepared breakfast, sorting this and that for my own work day and carpool duties at school day's end.



"What would you like for breakfast, son? Cheerios with bananas and milk or yogurt, OR a breakfast burrito with eggs, salsa and cheese in a tortilla?" I asked my boy as he dressed for the day.

"Actually, I'd like Pancake Pantry," said my boy.

"Good one, but not a choice today, pal."

"What did you say my choices were again?"

Once more through the choices, and the boy suggests, "How about eggs and toast?"

"Done," I tell him, and scramble up a half dozen, make oven toast, and sautee up spinach and onions to add to my own breakfast.



Despite effort, father and son still leave late for school. (Last minute readying by the Mister, forgotten precious Lego piece by the boy, prompting one last trip inside from the car....)

I enter my own eats and water intake on livestrong.com -- a simple calorie counting tool I like for its ease and accountability. Move on to other tasks.



Now, if only I could find my phone charger....

In the Middle.

The boy's school has a talent show coming up at the end of the month. "It's a secret," he tells me. "What I'm going to do for the show, I mean."

I tell him that there's a form to fill out, so I might need to know, at which point he tells me, "I'm going to run around in a circle. With my hands on the ground. Jerrod can do it, too."

Whether this entertaining feat of daring do will be done to music or not remains to be seen.

++++

I've done it. Hired a babysitter for the first time ever. She's coming to keep the boy (notice he's not so much being called Ziggy anymore? He's really The Boy now) this weekend, the morning of the my and the Mister's first day back at school this semester. She was recommended to me by the sitter of a good friend, and she'll be taking the boy to a friend's house that afternoon where the mama of that household will take her son and mine and another pal from their kindergarten class to the Build a Bear Workshop in celebration of her son's sixth birthday. There will be pizza and maybe ice cream after. My boy is thrilled. A babysitter of his very own, and a party at Build a Bear with two of his best friends all in one day!!

++++


The boy and I returned fr0m Diggy and Papa's two afternoons ago. We'd spent Christmas there with the Mister, come home a few days, then returned without the Mister for New Year's in order to visit with my brother and his wife, and their beautiful baby girl. All was well. Then home. And I got the tummy bug. Knocking me out of starting my job yesterday (as science lab teacher at the boy's school.)

The good news? I am down three pounds as of the beginning of the year. With many more to go; a subject I'm sure to address more publicly (here) at some point. Suffice to say that I am keeping up with it all privately, and am deriving inspiration from far and yon.

++++


Seriously. I have the best friends ever. At church, in my neighborhood, from jobs, at school, from previous lives.

To wit: the gift card that arrived here in the nick of time, from "St. Nick" -- did I mention that previous? Some dear lovely friend (I have guesses as to who!) has done this on a few occasions when things have been particularly tight. Actually, this type of kindness has been offered up to our family on a handful of occasions. Amazing!

Having stated my health goals to a small clatch of folks in a very naked way, I've received a remarkable rush of encouragement, 'atta girl's and offers to meet up at the Y and for dinners and elsewhere. I've received emails and photographs and recipes and tips and workout routines. And such love and support that I am bolstered and emboldened.

I also came home from Diggy and Papa's to find a box of wonderful hats and a scarf, all from my dear friend Annie, who I've not seen since we became friends in Seattle a decade ago. We're both married now, and older. She's done a very impressive job of keeping us in contact, and this latest delivery of hats in support of my hair loss is completely typical of her loving kindness and thoughtful behavior.

I do, in fact, find myself surrounded by such thoughtful folks. How fortunate is that?!

++++



Big Time Rush plays in the car often, and prompts the response from the backseat, "Don't look at me, Mama. I'm practicing my secret moves."

++++



Home sick for a couple days, I've not bathed today, as is ordinarily true. After bathing the boy earlier this evening, post school pick up and our walk around the neighborhood with the dog before daylight's end, I really yearned for my own bath.

Drying him off, he smelled so fresh like Buzz Lightyear shampoo and Dr. Bronner's Eucalyptus. So I asked, "Do I stink?"

And the boy crawled up in my lap and got close to my neck and took in a big whiff, then announced quite seriously, "You smell kind of in the middle. That means sort of bad, but also sort of good."


Like life itself. Right smack dab in the middle.

Reflections and intent.

In this new year, I'll be spending less time on the computer in general; on Facebook and a message board for mama friends in specific.

I will exit the year fitter, stronger, healthier, and smaller than I've entered it. Also braver.

As with previous years, I will continue to be working on being a better steward of resources in all facets.

I'll also be looking to expand radical hospitality in the ways in which I am so led. With the twin focus being to hone in on service to my very own family.

Less time spent on junky / less essential and distracting stuff makes for more time spent really present, with my child, my Mister, and other loved ones. Even me.

I want to exercise and read more. Have more dates with my Mister, and in general make more time for each other -- have deeper conversation, renew efforts to do things we enjoy together.I want to publish to earn again. To bust out the sewing machine, to excel in my work and in my schooling by putting forth the effort and putting in the time.

I want to move more, sit less. Listen more than I speak. Get plenty of sleep, eat green foods everyday, make fruit my favorite snack. Allow there to be room -- in my thoughts, my pants, my relationships. I want to know myself better, and how to address the realest longings of my heart.


Awhile back our Sunday Night group met. It was an evening of confession. I found something to confess to, and it was a real thing, but the thing gnawing at me that I couldn't bring myself to say aloud was, "Gluttony. I've been jamming myself full of biscuits and information and tasks and chocolate and Facebook and cups of coffee with half and half and none of it really feeds me, but I don't yet know how to be comfortable without all this -- there's a hole where I'm lonely and scared and sad and I'd really like to do it all differently. I am making myself sick with this way of being."

So, there. I've said it. And with each reflection and plan for the New Year, I state my intent to do it all differently, to thank my fat for protecting me, Facebook for its companionship, and so on. And let it go.

 It is well past time.

Shared history.

 

The pink tree and village are from our first married Christmas -- we found them at the Otsego Antique Mall in southwestern Michigan, a place we visit nearly each trip to the Mister's hometown. He wore a jacket from there for our wedding.

The Santa is from our second married Christmas, and comes from a little antique shop in Clinton, Tennessee. On the trip we also procured a lovely old standing lamp (very fragile and unweildy, given away when the boy began to crawl,) vintage choir boy ornaments that to this day hang from our tree, and a wind up rooster alarm clock from the late forties or early fifties. 

Our boy refers to any ornaments (and there are still a handful or two left: balls adorned with roses, green foiled pinecones, some spiral decorated balls, and a single precious acorn ornament...) we got for our first shared tree as our "wedding ornaments." Very sweet. 

The longer we are wed, the longer we are a family, the more history we share. The better we get at it all, and the more we're able to incorporate the multiple facets of who we are. 

Happy Christmas, my dear ones.

Traditions.

 
 We all have them. Traditions.



Especially this time of year. That's what I'm blogging about over at Nashville Parent Magazine's site, so check out this first in a series of holiday Tradition! posts.

Snow larder.

Yesterday we went to church, dropped a meal to a friend who'd just had a baby, picked up one of Ziggy's classmates, then headed to a birthday party way on the west side of town for another classmate.

By the time we arrived home, well after three, this is what it looked like.

Rain had turned to snow, and began to accumulate. Temperatures, like in many other places around the country, dropped steadily. In the late afternoon the Mister's work holiday party as well as our Sunday Night Group were canceled for the evening. By nightfall, Metro Nashville Public Schools and most of the daycares, preschools and private institutions in the metro area has been called off for today. Accidents abounded.

I tucked Ziggy into our bed, leaving his open for a friend who was to fly in late last night from a business trip, believing that if his flight wasn't canceled, he might have an easier time getting to our home from the airport rather than making his way out to his own, quite a bit further away, but holding the heart lure of his beloved wife, newborn son and two young preschool aged sons.

Near one in the morning, I woke. Made sure the the faucets were dripping. Assured myself that the cats were in, and the dog was settled. Then began to take stock.

On an index card, I wrote the meal choices I can make over the next few days or a week, if I'm very careful to ration a few staples. I did not make it down into the basement last night to inventory the deep freeze, though I do know it contains a whole turkey, a few whole chickens, a pork roast, select vegetables, pasties from a shop in my husband's hometown, and a few other bits and bobs.

My snow larder meal option list looks like this:

Pintos & tortillas or cornbread
Roasted winter squash with pasta and sage, cream and asiago
Black bean and sweet potato enchiladas with spinach
Taco Soup
Potato-corn chowder
Pancakes
Pasta with boiled eggs and vegetables
French toast
Chicken & dumplings
Chicken Tetrazzini
Rice and beans (black, pinto or kidney)
Lentil stew, or dal with or homemade naan
Deviled eggs
Fritata
Omelettes
Biscuits
Vegetable soup
Mackerel patties

The milk is the main item needing some rationing. We've also got plenty of peanut butter and apple butter and bread and oodles of good farm eggs. We've got Cheerios and baking supplies for Mexican Wedding Cookies and Cracker Toffee and Banana bread.

Plenty of coffee and tea and nuts and tuna in cans. A bit of cheese and plenty of cornmeal.

We're set.

How about you?

Annual letter work up.

I'm helping my mother cull and insert the edits into the long standing annual La Grone family Christmas letter. Some of us are more particular than others about which photographs and descriptions and activities are included. You know how this goes.


Too, I'm reviewing my own last year's letter which was loooooooooooong. And preparing a shortie from the Nashville Babcocks for this year.

I asked Ziggy to help me write it, telling him I'd come up with topics and he could tell me anything about them that he wanted, but beyond School: "It's great. No. Awesome. I'm in kindergarten," and The Flood: "Our old house flooded and it was bad and made really gross mold that made us sick," he is uninterested.
"Write it yourself," he tells me.

So I'm left on my own to chronicle our year.

Do YOU do an annual letter or list of some sort?