Tag Archiv: grateful lists

Grateful lists, surprises, and holy days.

Me Contemplating life post Christmas gift . . . or, "Aged Angel," by Odilon Redon

Me Contemplating possible post Christmas regrets from the gift I chose . . . also technically known as, “Aged Angel,” by Odilon Redon

 

I’m sitting around feeling grateful for odd tidbits. We’ve found styles I can manage for the girls’ hair, my husband gets up in the night to add wood to the fire, my son is learning to say I’m sorry properly, my daughter’s whole self lights up with joy when she sings, my other daughter dances glory hallelujah because life pleases her, my son worked after school for days and days to have all his own money to spend for Christmas this year . . . and I had a mother who trained me to write grateful lists year round.

In a first this year, I have a present from me to everybody.  Although my husband reads the blog, the fact that he is easily distracted will work in my favor. From now until Christmas, every time he gets a free minute on his computer, I’ll point to the mistletoe in the kitchen. That or ask him a question about football.

They all know I’m picking up a 4′ x 8′ board today to complete my present, but nobody can guess what it is. I got a ping pong set (net, paddles, balls) that hooks to any size table. My plan is to put felt on the bottom of the board and then paint the top. Wala enlarged ping pong table to sit on top of the kitchen table when we feel like it.

My secret is protected largely by my fanaticism about balls in the house. They are not allowed to be tossed, juggled, banged, bopped, thrown, kicked or dribbled. Boy one has probably put in a 1000 hours of work or so in his fourteen years paying for his ball infractions. He has lost balls to the heel of my foot or to a sleight of hand whereby they end up deep sixed in the garbage can. Possibly a few tennis balls have been cut in half. None of the family would dream something as outlandish as me voluntarily introducing balls into my kingdom.

Wish me well. If I can wrap strips of sheet around my mouth and duct tape my rear end to a chair, I think they’ll have a lot of fun. I imagine it will feel like something akin to finding out the drinking age is lower half an hour away, only they’ll be in their own kitchen living the wild life.

I offer prayers for each of you as Advent draws to a close.  Barring a sudden need to post, I’m taking time off from the blog until January 2nd (or 5th, I can’t decide). A merry and blessed Christmas and New Year’s to everyone. May you be richly blessed in the days ahead. Heading into Christmas, you are all most definitely on my grateful list.

Shocking weather forecast predicts droplets of water will be bringing Christmas cheer in lieu of snow. Say it ain't so.

Shocking weather forecast predicts droplets of water will be bringing Christmas cheer in lieu of snow.  Gulp.

Dear God

January  2013 193

Lovely snow with recovering chicken slayer in the distance. 4 years and counting since a lapse. Proof that there’s hope for everybody, I think. :) 

Dear God,

Apparently, this is a letter writing week. I’m sorry you came after the chickens. My mother used to make me write grateful lists when I was grumpy. Here are my top three reasons for gratitude at the moment.

Sunday afternoons that involve Suduko: Is anything more relaxing than Suduko? A perfect square, and all the numbers have a place in a line where they belong. After I fill in all the numbers, it’s over. The numbers sit in their order and even if the house were to catch fire, the task would remain concluded. Unlike the rest of my life, once I’m finished, nothing can change and suddenly make me unfinished. For this, I am deeply grateful.

Irons and ironing boards: Why anyone would buy permanent press clothing, I have no idea. The dog barks, the kids fight, the husband searches for his keys/wallet/phone/papers/bag (pick one), but when my iron moves, the wrinkles go away. Boy one has no clean underwear. Girl two has spilled her cereal. La. Ti. Da. Wrinkles are disappearing before my eyes. Tra la with a lovely trill. Ten year old shirts they may be, but they perk right up with a little steam and pressure. Me and my iron, we know where every stain on every piece of clothing is, but nobody else does once we’re done running that crease down the pant legs. With my iron, I am invincible. Invaders, marauders, no matter. A steaming, red hot implement is in my hand. I defy the demon of interruption.

Snow: Not that it matters, but from where I sit (blue chair with the duct tape over the arms the kids keep picking at despite numerous reminders and consequences rational and otherwise) throwing something white and sparkly over top of everything for a few months every year was one of your best ideas.

So thank you for suduko, irons, and snow. I look forward to thanking you for eggs from my chickens as soon as it becomes appropriate.

With humility and gratitude when possible, and, “Just as I Am,” the rest of the time,

Yours truly