Rocks In My Dryer

Worth Keeping

An edited version of this post was originally published on December 30, 2007.

The passing of the old year into the new year has always fascinated me.  The thought that it can be 2008 one second and 2009 the next?  Something about that seems nearly mystical. 

I was so amazed by this phenomenon that in 1984, shortly before midnight, I took an old pickle jar and scooped it through the air around me.  Then I slammed the lid shut, screwed it on tightly, and wound yards of masking tape around the neck.  I held in my hands The Year Of Our Lord Nineteen Eighty Four, hermetically sealed for all time.  I suppose my 12th year had been a good one, and I thought the day might come when I'd need to go back and sniff it. 

I had a very large closet in my girlhood home, the sort of closet where random keepsakes like fire batons and homecoming corsages and jarred air could multiply at will.  The air of 1984 gradually became buried under other equally sentimental notions, and it wouldn't resurface again until shortly before my wedding, in 1994.  I was sorting through some old keepsakes, and the old jar rolled out of its place. 

I looked at it for a few moments and thought of 1984.  I thought of Final Net hairspray and orthodontia and President Reagan and Square Pegs.  Smiling at my youthful sentimentality (since I was, by then, a wise old woman of 21), I ripped off the seal and took a sniff.  As it turns out, 1984 smelled a lot like pickles. 

There's not really any point to this story, except to laugh and acknowledge that the passing of the year is momentous for those of us with sentimental tendencies.  Here's wishing you many good things (and even better non-things) in 2009.  I pray it's a year so wonderful that you want to stick it in a jar for all time.

Happy new year, friends.

Baby Mine

This post was originally published on June 3, 2008.

The other night, I wandered up to my ten-year-old son's room at bedtime. 

He was settling into bed, and I lay down next to him for a few minutes.  We chatted for a few minutes, my mother's heart full of quiet joy at the sweet moment with my son.  My mind wandered to the days when he was a newborn, just over six pounds.  In those day, when he lay on the bed next to me, he curled into a tiny little peanut, burrowed tightly up against me.  But now his long, lanky form takes up almost as much space on the bed as I do.

I thought about these things with a sigh, and I reached over and brushed my fingers across his hair.

And then he tooted.

I mean, tooted.  The kind of mattress-rattling honk that almost lifted the covers a little. 

And we laughed together until our sides hurt, snorting and tossing each other a high five. 

I loved that little baby, but oh, how I love the young man.

Good Night

It’s not very often you have a night so absolutely perfect you want to turn it over in your head again and again.  I had a night like that last weekend, and I raced home to write it all down... {read more at Parenting.com}

My Car Is Smarter Than I Am

This post was originally published on May 8, 2007.

We bought a new mini-van last week.

And I should qualify that by telling you that we never buy new cars.  At the mere mention of a new car, my adorably frugal Hubs starts twitching and mumbling something about "depreciates the moment you drive off the lot..." etc.

But, we had done our research and had our sights set on a Honda.  Since Hondas evidently (according to all the Honda groupies in my life) drive for a gazillion miles and could survive a nuclear holocaust and drive on the ocean floor, we figured it was an investment to buy new this time around. 

Y'all, it's gorgeous.  It really is.  And it scares me.

See, we went ahead and got the version with the navigational system on board.  Partly because my frugal Hubs is also generous, and partly because he's tired of sheepish phone calls at his office that begin, "Babe, I'm a little lost..."

We first tried out the nav system on the test drive, on which we had taken our four kids (before which we had threatened them within inches of their sticky little lives not to touch A THING.)  Our salesman was very young, hip and single.   

When he first loaded up the nav system (I was driving), he wanted to show me the voice recognition system.  He shot a dubious glance at the restless natives in the back seat.  "Uh, it has to be quiet in the car for it to work." 

We quieted them down, and our salesman said, "find the nearest Mexican restaurant."  Suddenly little flags popped up all over the screen, marking the spots.  The peanut gallery in the back erupted.

"COOOOOOL!"

"THAT IS SO WICKED!"

And the boys, thinking that we were about to purchase a car with a magical genie living in the dashboard, began shouting requests:

"GIVE US A VIDEO GAME!"

"WE WANT A PIZZA!"

Really, it was such a proud parenting moment.

The salesman went on to explain that we can follow the directions given, or go our own route.  The nav system will realize what we're doing and re-configure directions.

Did you see that last sentence?

MY CAR WILL REALIZE WHAT WE'RE DOING.  No car should be realizing anything.  Now do you see why I'm nervous?  It's like having Big Brother (or Big Sister, since our voice chick is female) sitting in my car with me.  What will she "realize" next? 

"Mrs. Dryer, I think you were a little hard on Joseph just now."

"Mrs. Dryer, I think Taco Bueno is a poor choice for someone on a low-carb diet."

That nosy little hussy.

This post was originally published on May 8, 2007.

We bought a new mini-van last week.

And I should qualify that by telling you that we never buy new cars.  At the mere mention of a new car, my adorably frugal Hubs starts twitching and mumbling something about "depreciates the moment you drive off the lot..." etc.

But, we had done our research and had our sights set on a Honda.  Since Hondas evidently (according to all the Honda groupies in my life) drive for a gazillion miles and could survive a nuclear holocaust and drive on the ocean floor, we figured it was an investment to buy new this time around. 

Y'all, it's gorgeous.  It really is.  And it scares me.

See, we went ahead and got the version with the navigational system on board.  Partly because my frugal Hubs is also generous, and partly because he's tired of sheepish phone calls at his office that begin, "Babe, I'm a little lost..."

We first tried out the nav system on the test drive, on which we had taken our four kids (before which we had threatened them within inches of their sticky little lives not to touch A THING.)  Our salesman was very young, hip and single.   

When he first loaded up the nav system (I was driving), he wanted to show me the voice recognition system.  He shot a dubious glance at the restless natives in the back seat.  "Uh, it has to be quiet in the car for it to work." 

We quieted them down, and our salesman said, "find the nearest Mexican restaurant."  Suddenly little flags popped up all over the screen, marking the spots.  The peanut gallery in the back erupted.

"COOOOOOL!"

"THAT IS SO WICKED!"

And the boys, thinking that we were about to purchase a car with a magical genie living in the dashboard, began shouting requests:

"GIVE US A VIDEO GAME!"

"WE WANT A PIZZA!"

Really, it was such a proud parenting moment.

The salesman went on to explain that we can follow the directions given, or go our own route.  The nav system will realize what we're doing and re-configure directions.

Did you see that last sentence?

MY CAR WILL REALIZE WHAT WE'RE DOING.  No car should be realizing anything.  Now do you see why I'm nervous?  It's like having Big Brother (or Big Sister, since our voice chick is female) sitting in my car with me.  What will she "realize" next? 

"Mrs. Dryer, I think you were a little hard on Joseph just now."

"Mrs. Dryer, I think Taco Bueno is a poor choice for someone on a low-carb diet."

That nosy little hussy.

Where I'm From

This post was originally published on June 26, 2007.

It was a bittersweet weekend.

I've mentioned before that my parents are in the process of moving to a house in our neighborhood.  It will be the first time I've lived in the same town as my parents since I left for college.  We are absolutely thrilled by this.  Their move is in its very final stages; this last weekend, in fact, was their last in the little Arkansas town where I grew up.

This is significant to my family because my dad, and his dad, and his dad have lived in "Mayberry" for a zillion years, making countless dear friends and leaving an imprint on the community which cannot be measured (and I'm not bragging--it's all my family's doing, not mine.  The extent of my contribution to the community was twirling a fire baton at homecoming a couple of years, without setting anyone on fire).   

My brother's family and my own met there this past weekend to say "goodbye" to our old haunts.  While my parents will likely be returning there to visit, my brother and I know that it will likely be a very, very long time until we return.

The weekend included a community-sponsored "roast" of my Dad, all in good fun and uproariously funny.  I gave a sweaty-palmed speech (I loathe public speaking to the core of being, but I'd do it for my dad) as did many others.  And at the risk of sounding corny (though we both know I passed that a LONG time ago) I can tell you that I don't think I've ever been so proud of my parents.  Hearing all those people pay tribute to them, all the while knowing they're embarking with great courage on a huge life change--well, I could just burst.

Anyway, our weekend was spent re-visiting all the places that have meant so much to me:  the house were I grew up, the cemetary where my grandparents are buried, my schools, my friends' old houses, the church where I met Jesus and married my husband...really, I'm just a big, sappy, homegrown ball of emotion as I think about it. 

This town is a place all its own, and I took a few pictures to prove it (more pictures are here).

For starters, we took the kids out to an old swimming hole just outside of town--gorgeous place.  I never realized how pretty the hills of Arkansas are until I left them.  Here's my dad with two of my boys:

Here's a shot of the downtown.  I told you it was just like Mayberry:

Most of the local business are patriotic.  Just a little:

This is the picturesque building that housed the business my grandfather, then my dad, built:

Next is the A-1 Superstop, home of the finest biscuits west of the Mississippi.  Actually, I included this picture because my husband reminded me this weekend of the time we were visiting Mayberry and he (a confirmed big-city boy) ran in to the A-1 to grab a bottle of water.  The cashier had just finished a conversation with a previous customer, and she turned to my Hubs and said, "Man, there's nothing worse than opening up the newspaper to find your name listed in the arrest warrants section, is there?"  My bewildered Hubs mumbled something about "hate it when that happens":

This last shot is just because I couldn't resist.  In Mayberry there's a bait shop next door to the Sonic.  Because, you know, nothing puts me in the mood for a Diet Cherry Limeade like chicken liver:

I love that place, and I'm feeling the kind of rest that comes from a good, long look at one's roots.  I miss it--just a little--already.

This post was originally published on June 26, 2007.

It was a bittersweet weekend.

I've mentioned before that my parents are in the process of moving to a house in our neighborhood.  It will be the first time I've lived in the same town as my parents since I left for college.  We are absolutely thrilled by this.  Their move is in its very final stages; this last weekend, in fact, was their last in the little Arkansas town where I grew up.

This is significant to my family because my dad, and his dad, and his dad have lived in "Mayberry" for a zillion years, making countless dear friends and leaving an imprint on the community which cannot be measured (and I'm not bragging--it's all my family's doing, not mine.  The extent of my contribution to the community was twirling a fire baton at homecoming a couple of years, without setting anyone on fire).   

My brother's family and my own met there this past weekend to say "goodbye" to our old haunts.  While my parents will likely be returning there to visit, my brother and I know that it will likely be a very, very long time until we return.

The weekend included a community-sponsored "roast" of my Dad, all in good fun and uproariously funny.  I gave a sweaty-palmed speech (I loathe public speaking to the core of being, but I'd do it for my dad) as did many others.  And at the risk of sounding corny (though we both know I passed that a LONG time ago) I can tell you that I don't think I've ever been so proud of my parents.  Hearing all those people pay tribute to them, all the while knowing they're embarking with great courage on a huge life change--well, I could just burst.

Anyway, our weekend was spent re-visiting all the places that have meant so much to me:  the house were I grew up, the cemetary where my grandparents are buried, my schools, my friends' old houses, the church where I met Jesus and married my husband...really, I'm just a big, sappy, homegrown ball of emotion as I think about it. 

This town is a place all its own, and I took a few pictures to prove it (more pictures are here).

For starters, we took the kids out to an old swimming hole just outside of town--gorgeous place.  I never realized how pretty the hills of Arkansas are until I left them.  Here's my dad with two of my boys:

Here's a shot of the downtown.  I told you it was just like Mayberry:

Most of the local business are patriotic.  Just a little:

This is the picturesque building that housed the business my grandfather, then my dad, built:

Next is the A-1 Superstop, home of the finest biscuits west of the Mississippi.  Actually, I included this picture because my husband reminded me this weekend of the time we were visiting Mayberry and he (a confirmed big-city boy) ran in to the A-1 to grab a bottle of water.  The cashier had just finished a conversation with a previous customer, and she turned to my Hubs and said, "Man, there's nothing worse than opening up the newspaper to find your name listed in the arrest warrants section, is there?"  My bewildered Hubs mumbled something about "hate it when that happens":

This last shot is just because I couldn't resist.  In Mayberry there's a bait shop next door to the Sonic.  Because, you know, nothing puts me in the mood for a Diet Cherry Limeade like chicken liver:

I love that place, and I'm feeling the kind of rest that comes from a good, long look at one's roots.  I miss it--just a little--already.

I'm taking a little breather over the holidays and will be back to regular posting on Tuesday, January 6th.  WFMW will return on January 7th.  In the meantime, I'm running a few posts from the archives.  Happy new year to you!

Grace In a Manger

Christmas is happy, Easter is hard.

At least, that's how I thought about it when I was younger.

Christmas, I thought, was the cheery holiday that evoked images of a sweet baby Jesus, a manger full of fresh-smelling hay, joyful shepherds, a glorious star and a partridge in a pear tree.

The real theological meat was diced at Easter, I believed.  Easter was about blood, death, and victory won only through the harshest pain.  Easter was about sanctification and propitiation and all those other "-ation" words that my pastor is supposed to explain to me.

And so, in my simple little head, Christmas was happy, Easter was hard.  At Christmas, we could just sit back and not think too hard, sip our egg nog, and gaze at our happy little nativity scene in which Mary looks all clean and regal, not like a scared young teenager who just went through labor next to a cow.

That was then.  I've been around the block a few times now.  I don't see Christmas in quite the same way.

I look around and see homeless people and sick children and crooked politicians and hungry nations and angry young people and bitter old people...and I wonder why on earth Someone would leave Perfection for such a dirty old planet as this?

I know we needed a Savior, and desperately, but to choose to come?  To enter humanity at its dirtiest--poor parents in a barn, of all places--to endure the hardest parts of being human with only the promise of the pain of ultimate sacrifice?

Maybe Christmas isn't easy after all.  Maybe it's as gritty and earthy as the darkest moment on the cross. 

But OH, is it ever beautiful.  It's as beautiful as any Easter sunrise, as victorious as a heavy stone pushed away from a tomb.

In one glorious, cosmic, explosive moment, the God of our Universe leapt into our messed-up world.  Victory wrapped in swaddling clothes. 

Hope nursing at His mother's breast. 

Grace in a manger.

This post was originally published on December 20, 2007.

We Interrupt This Blog Break For a Very Important Announcement

I told you about The Mother Letter Project several weeks ago.  The organizer, "Danny", wrote to me to tell me that his wife reads my blog, and would I consider a writing letter?

I did.  And I told you girls about it.  And you wrote letters.  And then you blogged about it.  What started as a simple gift from one husband to one wife has turned into something much bigger.  Good ideas have a way of doing that.

Danny and I have e-mailed often in recent weeks, as he's kept me informed about his progress.  He even gave me a few sneak peeks at some of the letters.  Some of them made me smile.  A few made me weep.  Danny and a group of his faithful friends have spent hundreds of hours getting this project together.   The scope has been huge. 

Danny e-mailed me back this week to ask if I'd like to be in on the big "reveal" to his wife.  After succumbing to a giant case of goosebumps, I said "YES, PLEASE!  LET ME HELP!"  Oh, how I love a Christmas surprise. 

So, my sweet internet friends, it is my great blessing to tell you about a very sweet momma named...

...are you ready?...

...I mean, seriously, are you ready?...

...(oh my word, this is so much fun)....

...Amber.  She has three little boys, Isaac, Jude and Ian.  She and her husband Danny Seth live in Arkansas.  And right at this very moment she is standing a computer screen at her sister's house in Alabama, hopefully jumping up and down and squealing with joy at a remarkable gift. 

(Hey, Amber?  I can HARDLY WAIT to e-mail with you and hear your reaction to all this.  Can I just tell you that you are married to a man who is so absolutely crazy about you?  Sweetest thing ever.)

For more big surprises about the reveal, visit The Mother Letter Project on Christmas Day.  Some really good stuff will be posted first thing on Christmas morning.  Those of you who participated will get some information about getting your own e-copy of the project.

And just for grins, pop over to Amber's blog (it's absolutely lovely; I've been reading it for several weeks now, unable to comment because I didn't want to give her any clues that The Mother Letter Project was for her!)  Amber has been hard at work on a remodeling project and hasn't gotten to devote as much time to blogging as she'd like, but she has still written some amazing stuff.  Let's flood her with some Merry Christmas wishes and round out the surprise!

Thanks, everyone--especially to those of you who wrote your own letters and blogged about it at your own blogs.  Remember to stop by The Mother Letter Project for more good stuff.

[Back to the blogging break now.  Merry Christmas!]

Course Correction

I'm not exactly sure where my Sanity Train left the tracks this month.  But I am, somehow, way off-course.

I generally try to keep my head about me during the holidays.  I try to plan ahead, set aside time for traditions, keep a healthy focus outside of myself. 

Not this year. 

I've been busy to a degree that borders on frantic.  I've been cranky.  Distracted.  Rushed.  My focus has been everywhere except where it should be. 

And I could give you a laundry list of reasons for this, of course: unexpected family events, school musicals, increasing work-load, busy Hubs, and a partridge in a pear tree.

The real reason, I suspect, is a heart that was already too busy and hurried heading into the holiday season.

Last week, I went shopping with my oldest son.  I carried a clipboard, like some scary gym teacher, and I think I may have been muttering under my breath.  At one point, Adam sidled up next to me. 

"Mom," he asked, "is Christmas stressful?"

I looked at him quizzically. 

"I mean," he continued, in a classic example of pre-adolescent understatement, "you've just seemed a little tense lately.  Is Christmas stressful for you?"

I took a deep breath, a breath I should've taken about a month ago. 

No, I told him.  Christmas is not stressful.  Christmas is holy.  People are stressful.  I am stressful.  I take what is lovely and, whether by accident or design, I cover it with expectations and selfishness and over-committment and who knows what else.  What is lovely gets lost.

Well, not really.  It's never lost.  Maybe my line of vision gets skewed.  Maybe my hurried heart falters.  But what is lovely and precious and staggering about this most holy time?  It's still there.  He is still there.  In the manger.  In the heavens.  In my fickle heart.

In the interest of focus-shifting, I'm heading out for a little breather to reflect, quiet down, hug on my kids, and eat lots of stuff that is very bad for me over the next couple of weeks.  For grins, I'll probably run a few things from the archives.  I'll see you back here on Tuesday, January 6.

(OH!  One big exception to this blog break:  I will pop in briefly tomorrow with a hugely fun piece of scoop about The Mother Letter Project.  Seriously, you will not want to miss this fantastic bit of news, AND you'll be able to help with part of the big "reveal".  But then?  Back to the blog break.)

In the meantime, may you find a quiet breather yourself the next two weeks.  May you laugh and rest and worship.  May there be pie in your house, and much of it.  May your kitchen be cleaned by magical elves.  May your days be mer-r-r-r-r-r-r-y and bri-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight.  And may all your, um, spaniels be shrunken.

Merry Christmas, my friends, and grace and peace to you in the new year.

My Tree

My Christmas tree sometimes smells like a stinky old sippy cup.  You can read more about it at Parenting...

Thoughtful

I wrote a post last week about a thoughtful gift I'm trying to pull together (and haven't yet, in case you were wondering).  The comments astounded me.  Many of you shared gift ideas so remarkable that my little attempts at thoughtfulness feel downright wimpy.  In case you didn't get a chance to read through them, I asked several of the commenters if I could share their words.

(I know.  It's probably mean of me to post this three days before Christmas, when it's too late to implement any of these ideas for this year.  How about it if I promise to re-run this in early November next year?  In the meantime, enjoy the thoughtfulness and creativity of these women.  It made me feel all squishy.  Or perhaps that was the eight pounds of corny snack mix I have ingested this week.  Either way, enjoy.)

Heather:

Last year I hand-wrote the whole book of Ecclesiastes in a handmade journal for my husband, who was (and still is) in the throws of depression. It ended up being a gift to both of us, because there is nothing like WRITING something to make it soak in yourself. And anyone suffering like that NEEDS to read Ecclesiastes (all of it), but I think it made it more meaningful and comforting for him to read it in my handwriting. I think.

Kari (and I believe this is what they call speaking your man's love language):

I'm getting my dh an industrial size can of nacho cheese sauce from Sam's Club and the kids are getting him chips.

Kristen (she wrote more about the project here):

My most meaningful is a gift to my MIL from my kids. They wrote out their grandma's favorite recipe that she makes and drew a picture of it (I left it unedited because it's darling). I scanned the artwork and printed it on transfer paper. I ironed them onto kitchen hand towels and adorned it with pretty ribbon across the border. I think she will treasure it!

Sarah:

I took a poem from my mom's published book and made it into a hardcover book on one of those photo sites...it even allows you to put a bio on the back flap and picture on the back...I bought one for us girls, our kids, my aunts and my grandmother.

Laurie:

I'm cooking a meal for a family with three children on Wednesday. He works with my son. Payday for them is on Thursday and they never have any money for food or dinner the day before, since they live from paycheck to paycheck. So, I will fix a full meal with meatloaf, baked potatoes, veggies & dip, homemade bread, chocolate cake & Christmas cookies. And give them a gift card for groceries for Christmas.

Melissa:

A violin! My husband mentioned back in the spring that one of his life goals was to own and learn to play a violin. He figured it was prohibitively expensive for now, but wanted to do it at some point in his life. Well, I found one on Craigslist for $100 back in October.

Linds:

When my husband died, I kept his shirts, and I have been making memory quilts for my 3 children. I have just finished the one for my oldest son, and there is a photo on my blog. I have 2 more to go, and though all the tops are assembled, they are not quilted yet. But they will be soon. My oldest son will be getting his for Christmas.

Jennifer:

The gift I have put the most time and love into is for my little girl. This spring when my sister in law moved far, far away...SOB...she gave my daughter the doll her grandmother (thus my girl's great-grandma) made for her probably 35 years ago. My daughter fell passionately in love with this dolly in spite of its age and frankly, time had not been good to the old girl. Her hands and feet were holey. Her yarn wig was falling off. Her face was nasty from 30+ year old stains. She looked bad. Really bad. So, marvelous mommy that I am (snort!), I gave her a make-over! She looks fabulous if I do say so myself. I recovered her entire body, sewed her hair back on, gave her a new face, and even made here a cute Christmas dress (that I put together without a pattern! ! I'm so proud of me!).

Mookslchlabs (and I'm continuing to live in hope that "Mookslchlabs" might actually be "My Mom"):

My daughter and son-in-law both work full time and by the time they are both home, the kiddo's are starving. Daddy gets home first, so is in charge of dinner. This year, they are getting 25 "Freezer Meals"--everything from homemade soup to beef stroganoff. All they need to do is decide the day before what they want, pop in in the fridge to thaw and throw it in the over/microwave/on the stove (depending on what it is) and a nutritional dinner is ready for them in about 30 minutes. Since it isn't anything I could really wrap, I bought the noodles, biscuit mix, rice, etc. that go with some of the casseroles and that is what will be under the tree.

Tootie (and dear Tootie, I think there is absolutely nothing dorky about this):

This may sound dorky, but as far as homemade gifts go, I'm giving my parents some stories I've written about our Christmas times together.

Tabitha:

We're putting together a book for my mother filled with pictures and quotes from all the kids.

Rachel (in the True-Love-Is-a-Farting-Hippo category):

Okay, this is going to sound really silly, but I'm so proud of myself for coming up with this idea that I have to share. I'm making my husband a hippo that passes gas. Seriously, that's the best idea I've had. He was watching NCIS and saw Abby the forensic technician had one and died laughing. Anything that can make him laugh like that is worth getting. He is so hard to shop for. My parents are getting him a series of gift cards, but I'm going to give him a really meaningful gift. A hippo that farts.

Jennielynn:

This will be our last Christmas with my Dad. This year, I went back and compiled old interviews, photos and the rare home movie in a montage of him. (no current stuff, since he's been unable to speak for almost a year.) I made copies for my mom, my brother and myself so we have something to remember him by.

Condo Blues:

I'm framing two metal ceiling tiles from the 200 year old church we were married in for my husband.

Aimee:

My other favorite thing--kind of a gift--that I'm doing this Christmas is for my brother-in-law. He's a Marine serving in Iraq right now. This is his second deployment and when he's there he grows a mustache. It's just his silly thing and we all tease him about it. I bought enough fake mustaches for everyone in our family and when we take our family photo in front of the tree we'll all wear them and e-mail it to him--it will be like he was there with us!

Amber:

This year, I found, on the Oprah site of all places, Gratitude Boxes. I'm creating one for each of my grandparents and asking all of the family to write little notes, cards, or letters about memories, wishes for them, or how thankful they are for having them in our lives. This is, by far the gift I'm most excited about giving and it will be from everyone!

Hey! I Have Top-Secret BlissDom Scoop!

And by "top secret", I mean "anyone who visited the BlissDom site could find out about it so actually it's not a secret at all." 

Anyway.

If you register for the BlissDom conference by December 31, you get a pretty sweet little early-bird discount.  This is shaping up to be a very informative women's blogging conference (except for the fact that they've asked me to speak, which may be grounds to question their good judgment).

The conference is in Nashville, on February 6 and 7.  Sign up and come on! 

Garland Roundup :: Nesting Place

5 Myths Of Freelance Writing :: Down the Shore With Jen (via Megan)

Tornadoes Set To Christmas Music :: TornadoVideos.net
When you live in Oklahoma, you find this sort of thing oddly entertaining.

Math 911 call :: YouTube
I can personally relate to the concept of a math emergency.

SpringPad.com
I am loving this site.  A bunch of lists!  In one place!  It's the stuff dreams are made of.

Scared Of Santa :: MSNBC
Ho, ho, ho.

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like...Oh, YOU Know...

Melanie and I usually go to lunch about once a week.  We always look for some place with organic vegetables and wheat grass drinks, because we really need rejuvenating from all the yoga we do throughout the morning. 

*cough, cough*

Um, no.  We usually go here.  Because friends don't let friends eat cheesecake chimichangas (alone). 

But this week we skipped our Bueno lunch and used the time instead to rehearse this little number for you.

(Cheesy.  I know.  But somewhere in the blogger by-laws it says that you have to publish an Elf Yourself Dance at Christmas, and if you don't, Santa will come down your chimney and break your laptop.  So there you go; I'm just playing by the rules.)

What I'd Like For You To Know: Losing a Parent

Christmas is a merry time of year.  Except when it's not.  For all the comfort and joy around us this time of year, there are plenty of people bearing heavy hurts.  .

Today's guest poster in my What I'd Like For You To Know series (details are found here) is Nicole of Here's the Diehl.  Her mom passed away this summer, and Nicole is now walking through her first holiday season since her loss.  Here's a little of Nicole's story, and some ideas on reaching out to others...

Thirty-one years seems like a long time. However, it’s much too short when you’re talking about how much time you had with a parent. My dad, my 3 siblings and I are gently navigating our way through our first year without Mom. She passed away on July 7th, 2 days after my 31st birthday.

My mom was diagnosed with cancer in the fall of 2004, right after I found out I was pregnant with my second son. We knew from the beginning that her odds of beating this cancer were not good; her cancer, a thymic carcinoid tumor, was extremely rare and unfortunately, very resilient to any kind of treatment. Over the course of the next 3 years, she spent the majority of the time planning for, thinking about, or undergoing various treatments: injections, chemo, radiation, surgeries. When in May of ‘08 we found out that the tumors had metastasized all over her body, including her brain, we knew that there wasn’t much time left. Quite quickly, her speech started to become more incoherent, and she wasn’t able to walk anymore. Miraculously (and I don’t mean that lightly), she was able to make it to my brother’s wedding on June 7th, even though hospice care had already begun.

My husband, (and by now, three!) sons and I live two hours away from our hometown. On June 26th, the boys and I went to stay for what I thought was one night, but turned into 15 nights away from home. When I got there on the 26th, it seemed like Mom didn’t have much time left, and I just couldn’t leave. My husband packed enough clothes for all of us and drove over with them that night. The feeling was definitely that it would not be much longer. And then the days dragged by…it’s a horrible place to be, knowing that she could pass away at any time, and literally praying for that to happen so that the pain ends for her and the agony of limbo ends for the family. My mom passed away at home, where she wanted to be, after being in a coma for the last 36 hours of her life.

So I guess this brings me to the first thing I’d like for you to know: when a death occurs in this manner, the family might be feeling some guilt over praying for the end. For me, I think I felt guilty about not grieving instantly; in the immediate days after her death, it was simply a feeling of relief that she wasn’t in pain anymore. And that just feels wrong, I guess. So know that if a friend is going through this, there might initially be feelings of guilt mingling with mourning over their loss.

We had an overwhelming outpouring of love and support from friends and extended family in a variety of ways. I thought that sharing them might give you some ideas of ways to reach out to grieving families.

The obvious answer is food, and it’s a great thing to bring! We had lots of casseroles, meat/cheese/vegetable/fruit trays, etc., and all of those were a huge help. It’s comforting to know that when you’re hungry, there’s enough food to feed a small army in the fridge, so you don’t have to cook. Some less-traditional food items that we enjoyed included breakfast food (egg casseroles, biscuits and gravy, cinnamon rolls) and snacks (homemade salsa and chips, veggie pizza).

Now, for the maybe slightly-less-known, but still-very-much-welcomed ideas:

• Coolers full of drinks, which was a big help, since there was so much family in and out through the week.
• Paper products, including cups, plates, silverware, paper towels, napkins, toilet paper, and ziploc bags.
• Stamps. There are so many thank you notes to write and it’s nice to not have to run directly to the post office. Plus, if you don’t live in the same town as the family, but want to do something to help, these slip into a sympathy card so easily!
• A family friend brought us a gift bag of snack foods for the boys (even Gerber puffs for the baby!) as well as a new DVD for them to watch…very thoughtful, and it kept them busy for a bit while we were taking care of arrangements.
• Books for the children about death and heaven (but be certain that they are aligned with the family’s beliefs).

Everyone says, “Let me know if I can do anything.” I KNOW that they mean well, but at least for me, it’s difficult to say, “Can you take my kids for the afternoon?” If you know the family well, instead call them and say something like, “I could take your kids to the park today or tomorrow; which would work better for you?” A friend did this spur-of-the-moment for me one day after I was back in St. Louis and feeling lousy, and it made a huge difference.

Also, please know that it’s okay for you to talk about your own mom, good stories and bad. Don’t feel bad for talking about what you’re doing for Christmas. It’s a normal part of most people’s lives. I realize, too, that not everyone has a good relationship with their mom like I did, and it’s also okay to talk about the not-so-good stuff. I would just encourage you to take the steps needed to mend whatever damage is there. I am fortunate that I was not in that situation, and that my family had the time to say everything we wanted to say to my mom before she passed away. I can’t imagine what it would be like to feel that I’d missed that chance.

More than anything, people dealing with the loss of a loved one want to know that people are thinking of them and praying for them, especially during the holidays. Don’t be afraid to ask them how they’re doing. Whatever you can do to help them will go a long way towards mending their hearts.

To read more of Nicole's posts, visit her blog, Here's the Diehl.