a call to joy

In the middle of a solemn discussion Daniel and I were having the other evening, in hushed tones away from the kids, this little note was delivered by our eldest son (who wears the same black sweatshirt every day, and who goes by the name of Bright Eugene).

I mean come on! Who can get a note like this from their third-grader and not drop everything for a game of Christmas bingo?

Right now, I can't remember what it was Daniel and I were discussing so solemnly that night.  But I will never forget the way our son Bright...ever in a black shirt, his brown eyes ever-twinkling...lit up our world this Christmas.

Thank you, son, for your call to joy. 

hearts all aglow

Houseguests.  Leftover-turkey pot pie.  Sinus infections.  Inner ear infections.  Shots in the buttocks.  Lentils in the crockpot.  My mom beating me at Words With Friends from across the world.  Pumpkin-sunflower centerpieces by Kelley.

Amy in my kitchen, baking pies with her eyes closed, calling mandatory coffee breaks, keeping me sane.  Some friends are life-sucking, and we need those friends, or else we would become lazy and selfish.  But  other friends are life-giving, like Amy and Tim, and we really need those friends. 

Charlie Brown.  Coffee with whole cream.  Bing Crosby.  Pine-scented Glade.  Ornament hooks lodged in the carpet.  Nutmeg.  Cooking spray.  Up-And-Down-The-River at the card table.  Mandarin orange peels everywhere.  Late-night laughter.  Teenagers in my home with cute hair.

Poinsettias in the entryway.  Jubilee on dish duty.  Zion in an Indian headdress.  Popcorn poured all over the table.  Little House on the Prairie.  Construction paper.  Ginger.  Pollution index.  Terrycloth robes.  Lists.  Place cards.  Facetime calls.

 
And finally, this pic was taken this afternoon.  Bright and Zion are learning the local language from an adorable little newlywed named MengMeng.  Teacher and pupils took their picture together after class today by our tree.  Holding two fingers in the air for a photo, by the way, is a VERY indigenous thing to do.

I love November/December in East Asia.  And I love that my kids can read more Chinese characters than I can.  Thanks a lot, MengMeng;)

man of the house

We've entered a stage of our lives that takes Daniel away from home for 3-4 days at a time, while his perfectly calm wife stays behind and cares patiently for their four angelic children.

eh-hem.

The thing is, no amount of extra stress on me matters when Daniel LOVES what he is currently doing.  How many married dudes can actually say that?

And besides, our 8-year-old assumes the role of man-of-the-house when Daddy is away.  Watching him act sooo big makes my heart swell nearly to bursting.  Yesterday Bright kept telling his siblings, "Guys, let's have manners at the table," and "Guys, Mama doesn't feel well today.  Let's not keep asking her so many questions."

Then when evening came, Bright decided we would have a B1BLE study in the living room.  He read aloud from the book of Jude and we all listened reverently.  He also led us in an interesting discussion about spiritual gifts, and when we got stuck on a question about hospitality, he took it upon himself to ask Siri.  Siri did not have the answer.

I love my little man-of-the-house! (The brown-eyed tough guy, fourth boy from the left.  The cutie in glasses is our vice man-of-the-house)

pink-haired llama

The zoo in our city is awesome; rundown and creepy, but totally awesome.

Admission cost is the equivalent of just over 3 US dollars for adults, while kids are free!  The cages (and a very large tortoise) date back to the 70s, as do many of the buildings on its campus.  What is most impressive about our zoo, though, is how WELL the animals are cared for.  No doubt they receive the freshest meat and vegetables every day, as well as supplements made from herbal health remedies.  Heck, they might even undergo the cultural cure-all, acupuncture.  Who knows?  One thing is for certain: Daniel and I have never seen happier, healthier, wilder, more alert, more energetic, more spectacular beasts in all our lives.  It was just plain FUN to be there.

And perhaps the very best part of all was the hokey and hilarious photo booth.  In particular, the props.

There was a camel, of course:

An overly accessorized miniature horse:

And for group shots: a swing with a tethered peacock, a stuffed monkey, and a pink-haired llama.  Yes, the peacock and llama are real.  The monkey, and the blue sky with puffy white clouds, are not.

 (I don't know...the pic's not half bad.  If it weren't for that poop-pan under the bird, we might just send you all a copy for your refrigerators back home;)

five seasons

In our family, there are five seasons: spring, summer, fall, winter...and eggnog.

Right now is eggnog season.  It begins on Daniel's birthday, which is October 18, and ends on Easter Sunday.  Hey, I tried to make it shorter, but I had to fight to keep it that short.  If it were up to my man, he would have a hot cup of the stuff every evening of his life.

So here's the recipe, though I think I've posted it before.  And here is a picture of me in my bathrobe making this season's first batch.  Embarrassing, I know.  

EGGNOG
3 cups milk
1 cup cream
4 eggs
1/2 cup sugar
dash salt
2 tsp. vanilla
ground nutmeg

Whisk first 5 ingredients in a saucepan. Simmer over low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until a film of eggnog stays on the back of the wooden spoon (any more and it will curdle). Remove from heat; stir in vanilla.  Pour into four large mugs or six regular size mugs.  Sprinkle with nutmeg.  Serve.

lipstick on a paper cup

Our moms are everywhere.  I see them on the couch, where they sat every morning drinking coffee and reading to the kids.  I see them in the guest bath getting ready for the day, clicking closed their makeup compacts and zipping up their toiletry kits.  I see them in the kitchen washing dishes side-by-side, lightening my load.  I see them stopping at the fifth floor to catch their breath before continuing their ascent to our home, looking down from the stairwell window to the courtyard below. 

I see them on their ipads, Mom playing Words With Friends and trying so hard to beat her friend Michelle. 

I miss them both dearly, with something very near a sting in my chest, but I am reminded of and comforted by the wise words of my eldest son recently. 

"We have a time machine, Mama," Bright said.  "Our memories plus our imaginations."

So even though I have now thrown away the lipstick-stained paper cup which Mom used the morning she left, all I need to do is close my eyes and think about her and I can feel her cheek against mine, powdery soft and still without a wrinkle.  I can hear my mother-in-law's delightful southern drawl.  I can see Mom's green eyes twinkling, I can feel the cool skin of her hands covering mine as I tearfully bid her goodbye.

Because those are the keepsakes I will always have.  My memories, brought to life by my imagination.

Everything else is just lipstick on a paper cup.

These twig fire years

Not too long ago, my six-year-old asked me, "Mama, what is TV?"

Yeah.  I know.

My kids may not be able to tell Dora the Explorer from Polly Pocket, but they can tell you how to stoke a twig fire beneath an iron wok.

You probably won't see them throwing in a soccer ball from the sidelines, but you just might find them climbing through a November fruit tree in search of a certain type of citrus which is used in medicinal tea.

Our four little ones don't carry book bags, lunch money, or gym shoes, but last weekend they all carried armfuls of fresh-picked winter vegetables to the table.

And my husband, who has never even cooked from a box of Hamburger Helper, was seen stir-frying pork under the watchful eye of our friend/party host.

So even though our kids would trade places with your kids in a second, our hope is that someday, Bright, Zion, Brave, and Jubilee will look back on these twig fire years and thank G0D for them. 

Daniel and I sure will.