Christmas Weekend Menus

Whenever we get together with our kids and grandkids, food is a primary concern. It's also a cooperative venture, with all three couples contributing. Some of the grandkids are also now making and bringing their own contributions.

Our plan is to meet at our daughter's Friday night, and be together until Monday morning.

Here is what we plan to eat:

Friday night: chili and cornbread--Jeana

Fixins: Jamie

Saturday breakfast: pancakes (make batter night before, cook as people get up) Syrup-Jamie, bacon Mom & Dad

lunch/dinner: Turkey (Mom and Dad frying the turkey)

dressing, mac and cheese, green beans--Jeana Corn casserole, fruit salad and relish tray-Jamie

Supper: leftovers; meat, cheese and cracker platter, raw veggies and dip (Mom & Dad)

Sunday morning: breakfast casserole--Jeana

lunch: ?? work on leftovers?? Mom is bringing beefy vegetable casserole and a cheese ball; Chips and dip-Jamie

supper: enchiladas--Jeana

spanish rice and beans--Jamie

Jamie will also bring sour cream and extra cheese as toppings, we will bring drinks and lots of

snacks.

Mom and Dad are also bringing banana bread, apple muffins, chocolate chip cookies, Heath bar cookies, and chocolate chocolate chip cookies, and sugar free cheesecake.

Latest bulletin: Jeana has bronchitis, a carry-over from Katoushka's bout with it during Thanksgiving, which I then took home with me, and passed on to Wick. So we may have to freeze everything, and postpone until Jeana is feeling better.

The date on the calender doesn't matter; being together is what is important.

We found a crate of games in the barn, so we will spend a good bit of time sorting through those, and deciding what to keep and what to trash, and then the great debate about what we are actually going to play.

Some of us are hooked on Settlers of Catan, so I'm sure there will be a Settler's tournament. Then maybe chicken foot, which all of us can play at the same time, or a scrabble tournament, or maybe Risk.

Doesn't matter much what we play; we always have a great time. The trash-talking, teasing, singing badly, and family stories will make new memories to go with the ones we already have.

Christmas is for Family

Last Saturday, we met with my extended family to celebrate Christmas.

My parents had four kids. All four of us married, and had among us 11 kids. All 11 have married, and had kids.

The current count is 54, with several couples still in the child-bearing years, so that number may go up.

Obviously, too big a crowd for anyone's house, so we met at the community center where my folks live.

For years, we all congregated at my mama's house on every occasion, and often just to visit. Her house was Family Central. But we finally had to concede there were just too many of us for her house. My folks now live in a one-bedroom apartment, and there are no large gatherings there, although we try to visit at least once a month.

With so many of us, even a whole day is never enough to visit with everyone as I would like to.

But with phone calls, e-mails, and facebook, we manage to stay in touch, to keep track of the important events in everyone's lives.

All of this to say, after all, Christmas started with one family. A man who took a wife who was already pregnant, and the Child who was born to them on that night so long ago.

That Child came to save us from our sins, and our Father God says we are adopted into His family, brothers and sisters to Christ, co-inheritors of the Kingdom.

So, brothers and sisters, a very merry Christmas to you all.

Our Chihuahuas

This was Cassie's first major family holiday. She was a bit overwhelmed.

In the photo above, I am holding Sissy, our shy baby. Wick is holding Cassie, who has a black muzzle, as if she has been into the chocolate pudding.

She did not get into any pudding or pie, but tasted every crumb that dropped on the floor.

Our daughter has a large Golden Retriever, Emma, and two cats: Boots and Spencer. Our son has a Boston Terrier named Oreo. Cassie wanted to play with all of them.

Some were more enthusiastic than others.

The cats stared, hissed, and finally ambushed her. They never touched her, but to hear her shrieks, one would have thought she was being skinned alive.

Emma wanted desperately to play. But one little pat from a paw as big as Cassie's head sent her rolling across the floor.

Oreo is bouncy and playful, and a bit closer to Cassie and Sissy's size, but still big enough to send either of them sprawling with one mis-aimed leap.

They mostly played with each other, as they do at home, slept in their bed by my feet as we played Settlers of Catan, and did their best to charm bits of turkey and ham from unwary family members.

Sissy spent as much time as she could wheedle out of me, sitting in my lap with her head tucked under my arm, shivering if anyone else spoke to her or touched her.

After three days with 14 people, four dogs, and two cats, Sissy was doing her happy dance as soon as we got inside our house. Cassie ran around excitedly, sniffing to see that everything was exactly as she had left it.

They are sleeping the sleep of exhaustion as I write, snuggled together under their fleece blankets, noses still twitching at the scent of the left-overs we brought home.

They have no idea that in a month, we will be doing it all over again for Christmas.

Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

Rainy Afternoon

We are still in the midst of a drought, according to statistics, which indicate we are shy 20 inches of rain for the year.

Our county and those around us have been under a burn ban for months.

But this afternoon, it rained.

The back wall of our cabin is windows, about 25 feet of windows, looking out onto the lake. It is so beautiful to watch the rain as it starts on the other side of the lake, and gradually moves over the water, like the Spirit of God moving over the face of the deep.

Both our front and back porches have tin roofs, so we enjoy a symphony of rain falling on the tin and running down the ridges, dripping off into the earth. The lightning flashes, the thunder rolls, and we cuddle with our chihuahuas under a hand-made quilt, and watch the blessed rain pour down from heaven.

Let us praise His name for His goodness endures forever.

More Photos

Here we are with our Sunshine, at a football game, during half-time. Isn't she just adorable?


This the quilt I made for Pie for graduation from high school. It is made of jerseys and t-shirts from her club soccer years. Now, each of the other six grandchildren want one. So I will be doing a lot of quilting over the next few years.

Actually, they don't all want t-shirt quilts. Katoushka has already said she wants an Irish Chain pattern, in green and white, the colors of the university she plans to attend. Buddy and Sunshine do want t-shirt quilts. He graduates next year. Sunshine and Katoushka graduate the next year. I better get my sewing stuff organized.

I guess I should explain that these are not my gradchildren's real names.

Pie is the oldest, and in college, on a soccer scholarship.

Buddy is next, a junior who plays left tackle on the football team our son and my brother coach.

Then Katoushka and Merideth, who are just 3 months apart, currently in 10th grade.

Next is A-man, then Lolly, and last but not least, Big D.

K. and L. play piano, and A. and D. play violin. They are our daughter's kids, and are home schooled.

The nicknames are based on the pet names I have used for them since they were babies.

Their parents want to preserve as much of their privacy as possible, so I don't use their real names.

They are my babies, and my darlings, and we love them immensely. In them we relive our own children's childhood, and through them we glimpse our future. We are so blessed.

Pictures I Should Have Posted

I have already blogged about these subjects, but never posted pictures. So herewith I offer you, from the top:

Mother and Pa

Son and grandson on the football field

Our front door

Our back porch

I have tried five times to upload a picture of us with our cheerleader granddaughter, but failed. Sigh.

I never said I was a computer whiz.

This Is Important Stuff Right Here

I believe that life should be lived every moment. Life never goes on hold. The moments spent with loved ones are the foundation of life, and we should never waste an opportunity to be with them.
I believe in prayer. Constant prayer. Giving thanks for all things, because we never know what lessons we are learning until we live them out.
Treasure every minute with your babies. They are grown and gone before you know it.

I believe in chocolate. Chocolate makes everything better.
I believe in real food:
Real butter, not margarine, or oleo as my grandmother used to call it, which makes it sound even more gross.
Real cream, not whipped topping made of vegetable oil . Ugh.
Real vanilla extract, not imitation, which definitely alters the taste of anything.
Real potatoes, not flakes.
Real rice, not instant.
Real eggs, not stuff in a carton or box. What's really in there, anyway?
Real food, not fat-free. The manufacturers usually replace the fat with sugar, because fat carries the flavor, and sugar is what they use instead, so it isn't really better for anyone.

If it is man-made, in general it is crap. There may be a few exceptions, but I can't think of any right now.

I believe that children are a gift of God, and a blessing.

I believe that mothers who sacrifice their own desires in order to stay at home with their children are blessing them for their whole life. These mothers are raising their own children, instead of paying someone else to do it. I realize that some mothers have no choice but to work, but I believe that God designed us so that two parents, both mother and father, are the ideal people to bring up their children, not paid strangers.

I believe that family comes first.

I believe that it is possible to forfeit one's place within a family. I believe it is possible to renew the relationship, with true love and repentance.

I believe that we are born into a biological family, but we also create family as we grow older.

I believe that I am not a particularly interesting person, and I am always surprised when people remember me after not seeing me for a long time.

I believe that God gives each of us a gift, and that we have a responsibility to use it for His glory.

I believe that I am still alive because God still has a plan for me, something I am supposed to accomplish. I'm not sure what it is, but I am always listening for His guidance.

I believe in marriage. My husband is my best friend, my lover, my greatest fan, and the love of my life. I don't think I could live without him.

I believe that I have talked too much, and should stop now.

Adventures with a Toddler

Holy Mama asked me to write about the time when Scott was a toddler. There are several stories I could tell, so this may turn into a series.

When Scott was a toddler and Jeana a baby, we lived in a two-story house that was more than 100 years old. The bedrooms were all upstairs. I put the kids down for naps every afternoon after lunch, and usually lay down for a little while myself. Because of Scott's propensity to run off, I locked all the doors and put on the security chains before I lay down.

One afternoon someone knocked on the door about half an hour after I had put the kids down for their naps. When I opened the door, there stood my sister-in-law with Scott by the hand.

She and my brother-in-law were driving down a busy street just a block from our house. They found Scott in the middle of the street, with a rolled-up newspaper, "directing traffic" by swatting at the cars as they passed.

They threw on the brakes, grabbed him up and brought him home to me.

The curious fact is that the doors were still locked and the security chains still latched.

How did he get out of the house? I never found out.

But this is why, when we went out in public, he wore a special harness, with a leash. It was the only way I could keep up with him. I'm not saying it is ideal, nor is it for everyone. But for Scott, it was the only safe option.

I swear the child could climb a straight wall. Maybe he could even walk through them.

Mother's Day 2011

Dearest Mother in the world,
Once a year our nation celebrates mothers. I celebrate you every day, praising God for letting me be your daughter.
You are a beautiful woman inside and out, full of love and grace.
You are the foundation of my life, the rock to which I cling when sad or hurt.
You have shared your faith and your love like a bottomless spring of sweet water.
Your happiness since marrying Pa overflows to all of us.
Thank you for being you.
We love you.

Jan and Wick

Sew What's New

I've been working on Pie's quilt for almost a year. I have ten days to finish it.

Naturally, nothing has gone smoothly. When I sewed the first seam of the backing to the top, one side puckered up. I had to pick out the whole seam.

Then I had to go to the sewing center to buy a walking foot to do the quilting.

When I went to use the walking foot, I discovered that it required an adapter.

Of course, I didn't have the adapter.

So I had to go back to the sewing center to order one.

While waiting for the adapter to come in, I decided to work on embroidering her bath towels with her name.

I discovered that I couldn't remember how to embroider towels.

So I had to go to the sewing center and get a refresher lesson on how to embroider towels.

Then I realized that I didn't have the materials I needed.

So...I had to go back to the sewing center, where I bought sticky paper. And Solvy. And new needles for the machine.

This morning I did a practice towel.

It actually turned out pretty well.

So I did one of her towels.

And it turned out pretty well.

So what is the trouble now? I'm too tired to do the rest.

So I'm going to take a nap, and do the rest of the towels this evening.

Assuming I don't run into any more shortages, problems, or missing parts, and have to go back to the sewing center.

Oh. I forgot. I do have to go back to the sewing center to pick up the adapter.

I wonder if they are getting tired of seeing me yet.

Hello, Goodbye. Come back soon.

Last summer, Wick bought me a fancy new sewing machine that has all kinds of bells and whistles. The sewing shop offered free lessons. I'm all over anything free.
Then I heard that my niece was expecting, so I thought I could make a quilt for the baby, using the quilt project to practice the skills I was learning in my sewing classes.

I couldn't find a pattern that was exactly what I wanted, so I sketched out a little house, complete with chimney, clouds, cartoon sun, flowering trees, and a little red path to the door.

A baby quilt is about 45" by 60", so I was able to handle it quite well.

This became the central panel, a sort of "welcome home" for the new baby. The surrounding panels were patchwork, and I was very pleased with the outcome.

Then my son and DIL approached me about making a quilt for Pie, who would be graduating this year. They had a big pile of soccer jerseys, jackets, shorts, t-shirts from all her years of playing club soccer.

Since she has received a soccer scholarship, what a great way to preserve the memories and look forward toward her college years.

Even though I had almost a year for this project, I had to start right away. I'm slow, and have to take frequent breaks, so I needed to get started right away.

The squares are 12" x 12", with two inch lattice strips. As long as I was working with a square at a time, I was fine. Then I started sewing the squares into strips. The pieces began to get heavy and harder to handle.

By the time I had 5 squares across, by 6 squares down, I was struggling. The top got really heavy. I still need to add the borders, and then quilt it, but I don't think I can handle it alone.

Thankfully, Wick has volunteered to help handle the quilt as I sew.

Two quilts.

One to welcome home a new addition to the family.

The other to say Goodbye, as our eldest grandchild spreads her wings, and begins a new stage in her life.

Yes, she will come home now and then, but she will be different every time, as she grows and evolves into young adulthood.

It's easy to say hello.

Hard to say goodbye.

Come home soon, sugar pie.

Loss

It's a cold, rainy, bleak day.

My niece, who had her first prenatal check-up last week, lost her baby last night.

True, it was not a planned pregnancy. And not the best timing. Her husband is on the short list to be shipped overseas with the National Guard. She has a year-old boy, and less-than-three-year-old girl.

But this baby was wanted, nevertheless.

Wanted by its mother and father.

Wanted by its grandparents.

Wanted by its aunts and uncles and cousins.

A beloved child.

Our great consolation is that this baby is back in God's arms today.

even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.

¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,

¹⁶ your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

What Next?

On Nov. 7, we will be looking back a whole year at the beginning of my hospitalization. I am still far from where I want to be, but still making slow but steady progress.
We have been talking about my progress, and how our relationship with each other has grown during this year, and how much closer we are for having this experience.

Thursday morning, my cell phone rang before 9 a.m., which is unusual. When I answered, a woman's voice said she was calling from the school where Wick teaches.

This is not a good sign.

And I was right. She was calling to tell me that Wick was being loaded into an ambulance as we spoke. He was pushed through a plate glass window, by a student. He was bleeding copiously. The paramedics were applying pressure to try to control the bleeding on the way to the hospital.

So far, up to now, not being able to drive has been just an inconvenience, mostly a matter of waiting for Wick to have time to take me somewhere. Now, I wanted--needed--to get to the hospital to meet him at the emergency room, and I couldn't.

I called Jeana, who agreed to meet him at the ER, find out what his status was, and call me as soon as possible.

It was a long wait, which I could only fill with prayers for his safety, and the skills of the people treating him.

I called his cell phone twice. The first time he sounded fairly normal, even though I could hear the paramedics in the background, questioning him and talking to each other.

The second time, he sounded tired, almost drowsy. He didn't know if they had given him something for pain, and I was afraid he was suffering from the blood loss.

Finally, Jeana was able to call, to tell me more details about what had happened, and what was being done in the ER.

Apparently, the student in question had been a behavior issue even before school started that morning, and Wick was taking him to the campus police officer to discuss his attitude and actions. The student didn't want to go. He struggled with Wick, finally pushing him hard enough, and catching him off balance enough to send him through the window.

He had several cuts that needed stitching up, and had lost a fair amount of blood. The worst news is that some tendons in his right arm were severed, and affected his ability to use three fingers on that hand.

His building principal and an assistant superintendent from the school district came to the hospital to see how he was doing, and to tell him they supported him. His principal brought him out to the RV park, where Jeana was to meet me.

Jeana brought us to her house to stay until Wick sees the surgeon, and we know what is going to be done. Right now, his right arm is in a splint, thickly covered with gauze and ace bandages from shoulder to fingertips.

For a "one-armed" guy, he manages pretty well, but I am having the opportunity to return in very small portion some of the help he has showered on me this past year.

So here we are, staying at Jeana's again, only this time is for Wick, instead of for me. We are hopeful that he will recover full use of the arm and hand, and be able to go back to work after surgery and physical therapy.

Not exactly where we thought we would be, a year ago. Praise God for keeping Wick from bleeding to death, or being injured much worse than he was. Thank God for the people at his school who tried to stop the bleeding, for the paramedics who got him to the ER so quickly, for the nurses and doctors who stabilized him and pieced him back together with all those stitches. And most of all, thank God for Jeana and her family, their willingness to take us in, take care of us, share their home and time and family worship with us.

How do people get through scary experiences, if they don't have God to talk to?

Child-speak, part 4

When Katoushka was two years old, she did not talk baby talk. She talked in complete sentences, in a very melodic voice, quite clearly, and not only seemed to remember everything she heard, but also to be able to use new words appropriately.

Her parents had a discipline plan, which I had not totally grasped yet, but it seemed to be working very well, and I had a great deal of respect for it, and for them.

So when they left Katoushka with us, I tried to do as I thought they would do. But one day Katoushka did something that she knew she wasn't supposed to do. I told her I was not sure how Mommy and Daddy would handle it, and we were going to wait until they got home and find out what they wanted to do.
She sat in the little red rocker quietly for a few minutes. Then she said, "Mimi, Mommy and Daddy say that those who love me chastize me."

I knew that chastizement meant some kind of punishment, so I called her to me, and gave her a couple of little swats on her thickly diapered bottom, saying, "Precious, I would not want you to think that your Mimi doesn't love you." She returned to the little red rocker, rocked vigorously for a few minutes, and wiped her tears.

I could hardly stand it. My precious little grandbaby was hurt.

But before I could say anything, she came back to my side, spread her arms wide, and said, "Mimi, can we reconcile now."

My heart twisted in my chest. I gathered her into my lap, hugged her, and we rocked until Mommy and Daddy came home.

Note: For clarification, I am adding Jeana's response: " We told her that we chastise her because we love her. I think the difference is important. We certainly do not expect everyone who loves our children to chastise them, nor would we be happy at all if they did."

Jeana wants to be sure there is a distinction between what they actually said, and what Katoushka and I thought she said.

I LoveYou More

"I Love You More" is a game we used to play with our children. Here's how it is played:

Press forehead to child's forehead. Whisper, I love you more.

Child responds by holding thumb and forefinger about a millimeter apart, and says I love you more than this.

Parent responds similarly, with thumb and forefinger slightly further apart.

The game continues until both are saying, I love you more than this, with arms outstretched as far as possible. Both then dissolve in laughter and hugs.

Antique Mommy brought up the subject of games we play(ed) with our children, and got me to thinking about precious moments with our children and grandchildren, and I may just do a whole series of these memories.

Right after I wipe away the tears.

Family Heirlooms

A few weeks ago a cousin was moving from one apartment to another, and found the pitcher and serving bowl pictured here among his stored belongings. He e-mailed me to tell me he was bringing them to me.
The serving bowl belonged to my daddy's mother. She passed away when my daddy was still a kid, so I never knew her. I have seen only one picture of her. My daddy said she was a tiny woman, with rich auburn hair. One of his most vivid memories was of her brushing her hair at night, as she prepared for bed, hair so long that she could have sat on it.
My aunt Ruth has told me that Grandma Lee was a sweet and gentle woman, who sang as she worked in her home, who gave birth to twelve children, and who worked hard to take care of her family.
Aunt Ruth also gave me Grandma Lee's cornbread dressing recipe, which I make for my children and grandchildren during the holidays.
I like to imagine her making that dressing, and serving it in that bowl.
The pitcher, on the left, was my husband's great-grandmother's. It is a lemonade pitcher. A hundred years ago, she may have served lemonade in it on a hot summer day.
These are the only tangible bits we have left of these two women's lives--two women without whom neither my husband nor I would exist.
What else do we have of them? Memories. Family stories. A heritage of faith in God and love of family, a tradition of building and maintaining family ties.
Without these bits of china, we would still have those memories and family traditions. The pieces themselves have little, if any, intrinsic value, but when our little cabin is finished, they will have a place of honor, to remind us ever day of those who lived before us.

What a Riot!

Back in the olden days, when our kids were little, we camped at Lake Texoma frequently. Our favorite area was Burns Run. Nowadays, that area is for day use only, and strictly monitored. Back then, it was pretty much a free-for-all, no specific camp spots marked out, just set up camp wherever.
One Easter weekend, along with about 15 other families of our relatives and friends, we set up camp in a big circle, so that we had a common area for cooking, visiting, and playing games. All around us were other family groups, and, as the weekend went on, large numbers of college age kids, many of whom were engaging in somewhat (ahem) questionable behavior.
By Sunday afternoon, every possible spot was occupied, and the area between our camp site and the water was a solid mass of scantily clad young adults, drinking, shouting, and generally disrupting the quiet of our trip.
Not that we were exactly silent.
We had a bunch of little kids, mostly cousins who were as close as siblings, running around with water guns shooting at each other and everyone else.
A bunch of women, mostly mamas and grandmas, chattering, laughing, and yelling at the kids with the water guns.
A gang of guys, brothers, cousins, friends, talking in their deep voices, playing horseshoes, and generally filling in any quiet moments with their laughter.
Suddenly in the middle of the horseshoe game, a guy with no shirt, long tangled hair, and a handcuff dangling from his wrist, burst into the middle of the horseshoe pitch, begging for someone to hide him.
As he ran through our campsite, we saw uniformed men pursuing him, headed for our campsite.
Suddenly our guys were yelling at us to pack up, throw everything into any available pickup, because we were going home now.
I started throwing our stuff into the pickup, but at the same time, questioning Wick as to what was going on.
He pointed down the slope toward the water, and said, "Those kids are trying to turn over a patrol car, because the officers were trying to arrest that guy that just ran through here with handcuffs on him."
I had hold of Jeana, and handed her to her nanaw as I jumped up onto the bumper of the truck to look for Scott.
I called out, "Has anyone seen Scott and Clint (his cousin)?"
No one knew where they were, except to say "They were right here just a minute ago."
Swiftly my eyes scanned our campsite, but I couldn't see either of the boys.
Suddenly Wick gestured down the slope, as he yelled the boys' names.
I turned, and caught sight of a white-blond shock of hair bobbing around in the middle of the developing riot.
Wick raced down the hill to grab the boys, tucking one under each arm, and hauling them back up the hill.
By this time, we were all packed, and forming up a caravan to leave the camp area.
Unfortunately we were not the only ones trying to escape trouble. We found ourselves in the middle of a huge traffic jam on a narrow winding road out of the park area.
We spent more than an hour idling our engines, walking back and forth from one vehicle to another, trying to gather more information, and wondering why it was taking so long to get out of the area.
Finally, we found out.
The highway patrol had barricaded the road, and set up a check point. They were searching each car and truck, looking for the young man with the handcuffs.
It was like a train wreck--nobody wanted to be there, nobody really wanted to be involved, and yet there we were, captive observers. As we crept slowly toward the check point, suddenly there was a disturbance. People yelling. Running.
And highway patrolmen with handguns and shotguns drawn.
Not exactly the ending we had hoped for our pleasant family camp out.
But material for a family story we have laughed about for over thirty years, the time we went camping, and it was a real riot.

Passing On--My Grandmother and Granddaddy

Chilihead
writing about saying goodby to Grandma Victor got me to thinking about my grandmother. She married my granddaddy when she was eighteen. They lost their first baby, Billy Conner, at birth, and even in her last days of life she grieved for that lost child, and said that her papa was wrong not to let her see and hold him. He thought it would make it easier for her, but she felt it made it harder.
After Billy Conner came the twins, Jimmie Mack and Grady Jack. Then a few years later, my mama, Patsy Jane. My granddaddy was only 28 when he died of pneumonia, leaving my grandmother with three small children to raise on her own.
Her love for him lasted all her days. She wanted to be sure that we knew him, knew the kind of person he was, and she often told us stories about him. When the twins were born, one slept in the bed with her, and the other slept on a pallet with granddaddy, to keep the babies warm. He was a farmer, and at noon she would hang a white towel on the porch railing to let him know it was time to come in from the field for dinner. After dinner, while she cleaned up the kitchen, he figured out how to rock the babies to sleep.
He nailed a piece of wood across the front of the porch swing so that the babies couldn't fall out. Then he tied a rope from the swing to the churn handle. As he churned the butter, the swing would rock the babies to sleep.
When they were a little older, he built a box and attached it to his cultivator. After dinner, he would put the babies in the box and as he worked the field, they would fall asleep. He would signal to Grandmother and she would come to get the sleeping babies and carry them back to the house.
Grandmother was a handsome, independent woman, and had men admirers over the years. I asked her once why she never remarried. I will never forget her reply.
She said that there would never be anyone else like Grady. No other man could be to her what he was. And it would not be fair to marry a man who would always feel like second best.

As her days wound to a close, she talked about him often. She told me that he came to see her, sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her hand, and talking about their future. She said that he promised to come to get her and take her home.

I often wonder about that last night. Did she see him? Did he come and take her hand to help her get home to Heaven?

I like to think that he did.

Family Wedding

My parents were married for over 40 years. After Daddy passed away, Mother seemed content to live alone--although she was seldom alone for long. With four married children and 12 grandchildren, who keep having great-grandbabies, it seemed that there was always somebody around.
We are a large, close-knit family, and we call, e-mail, and get together frequently, so most everybody knows what is going on with everybody else. That's why, when "Grandma" acquired an admirer, the news spread fast.
We were not at all surprised that a man found her beautiful, charming, sweet, giving, unselfish, and excellent company. After all, we all felt the same. Whether we call her Mother, Mama, Mom, Grandma, we love her like nobody else. However, we were all, I think, immediately interested in how this man would change her life--and ours.
She had always said that while it might be nice to have a friend to do things with, she was not interested in getting married again. She didn't want someone to come between her and her family. And what man would be willing to accommodate the controlled chaos generated by all these kids, grand kids, and babies?
This man.
He would.
He's a gentle, loving man, a strong Christian, and he appreciates what and who she is, because he has known her as a friend for many years. He still has a little trouble keeping up with who is married to whom, whose child is whose, and where we all live and work. But he is trying.
Yes, her life is changing. She will be leaving the house where she has lived for more than forty years.
And so will ours. Our family has grown too large to gather in any one's house now, and we will have to figure out where we can get together for holidays and birthdays.
She may not always be available to us, because they will be doing things together. It's going to be an adjustment for all of us.
But what a blessing for all of us. Mother has a new life partner, a husband with whom to share all that life offers.
We, her children, have a new step-father, with a kind and loving heart big enough for all of us. The babies love him too.
Dawson has already informed us that as soon as they get married, he will be calling him "Pa".

Thanks be to God, the Father of us all.

Holiday Highlights 2006

I wrote several posts about Christmas memories, so thought I would write now about things I think I will remember about this Christmas.
Of course, if I don't remember by next year, I can always come back and read this post.

Spending several days at Jeana's house, with all our kids and grandkids.

Playing Senior Moments, a gift from Jeana and family, which requires short term memory. Of which I seem to have not much.

Listening to a Christmas story read aloud, and watching the children's faces, softly lit by the Advent candles and the tree lights.

Making cornbread dressing with my daddy's mama's recipe.

Going shopping with my girls and their girls.

Buying my grandbabies yarn and crochet hooks, because they want to learn to crochet.

Watching Katoushka and Lolly sing and dance "Sisters" (from White Christmas, one of my favorite holiday movies).

Listening as Sunshine played "I'll Be Home for Christmas" on the piano.

And Big D and A-man playing "The Little Drummer Boy" as a duet on their violins.

Seeing Pie show Buddy how to crochet--she's left-handed, so teaching her is a challenge for me, but Buddy is ambidextrous, so I'm curious to see with which hand he crochets.

Devan and the other boys zooming down the zip line from the tree house, screaming with delight.

Holding hands in a family circle, praying before meals.

Having my mother and her friend join us, even if only for a few hours.

My husband singing Christmas carols softly, holding my hand, and watching the barely controlled chaos that is our family Christmas.

Spending our last Christmas Eve at my mother's house. What a bittersweet moment, knowing that this house will be sold, the house where she has lived for 40 years, the house my late daddy built. Reminding myself that she is moving on to a new and happy stage of her life, with a man we all love and respect. Realizing that with more than 50 members, we have just outgrown Christmas at anyone's house, and knowing that it won't be the same at another place, but reveling in the fact that we still want to get together, and will find another place.

Rejoicing that our two soldiers
both returned from war this year, safe and healthy.

Realizing that, as usual, I made some mistakes on the family calender, and making notes to myself to correct them next year.

Remembering past Christmases, with those who have gone home before us, and with whom we will be reunited one day.

Watching a video of our family Christmas from 25 years ago.

My parents had four kids. We are all still with our spouses, and among us produced 12 children, who in turn have married and had children--16 and counting, with another due in the spring. Our oldest grandchild will be 15 in the spring, so we are a few years from expecting great grandchildren, but oh how quickly the years go by, and how soon all our grandbabies will no longer be babes, but adults, with families and lives of their own. I pray that we will continue to share each other's lives, and to make new memories to add to those of Christmases past.

Merry Christmas, and the happiest of New Years.