The Blessings of an Imperfect Christmas

I think I had a real Christmas tree growing up most years.  I really do not remember.  Obviously, the real vs. fake tree is not an issue I am passionate about at Christmastime.

As an adult, I maintain the rationale that I have a lot of stuff on my "to do" list and stringing lights around tree only to have to unstring them weeks later does not sound like an endeavor to which I need to dedicate my time.  There is always that one bulb that does not work on the light strand and that tangle always kinks up when unraveling the strands.  I can feel the stress working its way into my shoulders as I type those words.

Additionally, my husband is not a Christmas person.  He just is not and after 14 years together I am okay with that as long as he does not mind the madness that sets in my house this time of year.  I set up the tree and I take it down; the same is true for the garland, Santas, snowmen, nativity scenes, candy canes, etc. I go all out just not with a real tree..... until this year.

I bought a beautiful artificial, pre-lit tree ten years ago for mine and Hunt's first married Christmas.  It was perfect but after a 10 years, a few broken limbs and lots of tip overs from kids, it was time to put it out to the plastic pasture.  I had every intention of buying a new one on sale in July but that didn't happen.  Life happened but that did not.  So this year, I unloaded the Christmas boxes and remembered I have no tree (insert gasp here).

Home Depot to the rescue and two hours later I have a beautiful 9 ft. REAL Christmas tree.  Here is the kicker I discovered when we cut the bindings after it was secured in its tray:

REAL trees are not perfect.

I let it set for a couple of days.  Friends told me the limbs would "fall" and it will be okay.  The limbs did fall, it is beautiful but it was is still imperfect.  The shape is more organic not structured, some of the limbs are not strong enough for ornaments and the limbs do not bend to fill in the gaps.  My anxiety set in and it is now only after 2 weeks with my REAL tree that I can share this story.

I struggle with perfectionism.  My house is a mess but on the surface I look pulled together.  My perfect artificial tree gave me a sense of artificial peace because it was well, perfect.  Perfect color and perfect shape equal perfection; only it does not and that is the Christmas lesson I have learned this year.

This year's imperfect REAL tree highlighted to me the unfinished stockings that I convinced I had to hand sew for my children,  The hand sewn bead work is beautiful but took me a lot of time so somewhere all the way finishing them fell off the to do list.  I have a beautiful plain tree skirt because, in my mind, I was designing the snowflake appliqués that would dance around the fabric at the base of our tree.  My list of unfinished Christmas projects goes on and on but somehow my artificial tree pulled it all together.

I shared these feelings with two close friends both of whom rolled their eyes and looked at me like I was crazy.  Words failed me when I tried to explain why perfection mattered to me so much.  That is when I realized that maybe it shouldn't matter at all.  If I am not given the words to speak those feelings maybe I should take the hint they should not be said.

The end of 2012 is birthday of my authenticity.  I quit a good job with great benefits to establish my own business.  I have laid my vulnerability on the table and gone all in to create a better life for myself and my family.  I have never felt more exposed, ever.  My Christmas house usually feels perfect.  This year it feels REAL and it is something I am having to get used to everyday.  I am not meant to be perfect, I am meant to be me with all of my imperfections.  This lesson may be my Christmas miracle.

This One is for Nancy

Adolescent girls all over the world today are playing with their best friends.  More than half of them are plotting on how to stay best friends forever.  How will they find brothers they can marry?  Where will they live and raise their kids together?  Most of these girls are just dreaming.  Things like that do not happen in this world, it is too perfect.  Except it does every now and then.  It did for my mom, Jennifer Lewis McDaniel and her best friends Nancy Widle McDaniel and Connie Woodman McDaniel.  It happened for them and because of it mom’s childhood friends make up a significant part of my childhood memories.  Each of the friends had two children and the six of us played like friends, fought like siblings and love each other unconditionally as the family we are.

We lost Nancy early this week.  Cancer’s mean, vile and disgusting presence in this world took her from our family.  It was a ugly fight and we are thankful she is no longer in pain.  But her departure from our physical world is hard for me to comprehend.

She loved me, I know that.  She was not an emotional person but she was good to the core.  I remember her not making us stop playing kickball in her long hallway until after Chris and I had kicked a picture off the wall.  After.  Then she raised her voice to say “take it outside”.  And we did.  The orchard was her front yard.  We had a lot o room to kick. But she let us play,  she let us be kids.

Nancy accompanied my sister on her first beach trip.  We have the picture of Nancy pushing the stroller and Shelley’s chubby cheeks almost concealed the baby girl smile but not quite.  Nancy was not our mother’s friend, was our second mother.  Chris and Eric did not mind sharing.  They got two sisters out of the deal.  Shelley and I will do anything for our brothers even today.  Every breathe taken this week has been a prayer for the two of and her families.

Nancy loved Disney World.  One of her last wishes was to visit there.  I hope the Heaven she is experiencing is much like the Greatest Place on Earth” and she gets the VIP pass so there are no lines.

I hope the streets are lined with beautiful flowers for her to enjoy.  Nancy was gifted with a talent for creating beautiful floral arrangements.  My sister, Shelley and I were blessed with this gift firsthand when she did the flowers for our weddings. 

Painted ceramics, cake molds lining her kitchen walls, crafts for the Mid Valley Bazaar, Christmas gingerbread men wrapped in plastic delivered every Christmas season were trademarks of Nancy.  Hers were home made Gingerbread men whose arms and legs tore off they were so good, they did not break like store bought cookies. 

Every Christmas season is a display of Nancy’s projects and her love of the season.  She did Pinterest projects before any of us know what Pinterest was.  

Nancy was a Valley girl. Nearly every street holds a story her and mom could repeat, it seemed every house had a memory they could recount.  The Valley was always her home.  She spent a few years in Uvalde, a few in George West but make no mistake, this was her home.  She was born here, she fought for her life here and she will return to the Heavens with her heart rightfully buried deep in the rich Valley soil.  On her heavenly ascent to she got one last look of the palm lined streets of the Rio Grande Valley and I bet she smiled.

A Little Walk and A Big Lesson

Leaving my office job has afforded me the time to walk E to school each morning.  We live about 5 blocks away and it is nice to take that short walk each morning with her six year old hand in mine.  Everyday there is a new topic to discuss.  Today's topic was "Do you believe in ghosts?".  I tried to skate it because if I said "yes" bedtime would be a nightmare tonight.  I almost said, "no" just to move on to the next subject but then she interjected that if ghosts weren't real then what about the Holy Ghost?  Now we had a discussion on our hands so I did what any good parent with only 2 blocks left on their walk would do: punt.  

"What do you think?" I asked. 

She replied, "I think God is real and so the Holy Ghost must be real so there has to be some ghosts floating around.  I just hope they are nice."  I smiled and squeezed her hand three times.  That is our secret sign for each other, three squeezes one for each word of I Love You.   

We arrived at the school's steps, I kissed her six year old head, let go of her little hand and asked her to be brave and take on her day.  She wrapped her arms around my waist and gave a very determined hug then ran up the steps.  I stopped for a moment and watched her walk inside the doors.  I then turned and started the lonely walk back.  

At that moment, a white mini van pulled up next to the school.  A mother with worry lines chiseled across her forehead, driving a van sounding like it is about to break down lovingly reached over to her son riding illegally in the front seat and placed the sign of the Cross over his body.  She sealed the blessing with a light kiss to his forehead and then he opened the door.  It all happened in the span of a minute but has left a lasting impression on me.  

If appearances count for anything, the mother I saw dropping off her son and I live in different worlds, at least for now.  But we are all in this together and we live each day with whatever faith and determination we have, using them to derive our strength for what ever may come our way.  I enjoyed the quiet walk home, empty handed but fulfilled.  

One of those days. Waffles, anyone?

"Through perseverance the snail reached the arc."

Today was one of those days.  One of those that I do not know if I want a "do over" or simply be thankful that it is almost over.  It was harsh and loud.  "I want waaaffffffffffllleees".... that is how it started at 6AM.

B's feet hit the floor and instantly Hunt and I wake up and wait for the running jump onto our bed.  B used to jump in and snuggle up but things have changed, he wakes up hungry.  In case we did not hear he first request he promptly repeats it over and over over again until we relent and get up to get his beloved waffles into the toaster.  I have started buying them at Costco because his appetite does not waiver, he wants waffles all day, every day.

Ella wakes soon after because the TV is too loud much like B's whining.  The steroids they pumped into my system when my water broke so early worked.  His lungs are just fine.

The whining and tears did not stop this morning and my stress level never lowered.  We fed off each other.  I actually loaded B up and took him to the doctor's office this morning to see if he had an ear infection.  The pediatricians checked B's ears and offered a sympathetic, "Sorry mom, they are clear and not the problem.  He is just 2."  Thanks.

The single token given at the end of the appointment that is usually traded in for a bouncy ball was instead used for an Avengers sticker.  Big mistake which meant an instant regret for the cranky 2 year old.  His next 20 minutes were filled with tears and crying over not getting the bouncy ball.  My time was spent turning up the radio while driving and hoping he would fall asleep and finally calling my mother.  Don't judge.  When at the end of one's rope a safe bet for anyone is to call mom.

Mom had no grand advice to give so I hung up and pulled in to a kid friendly restaurant.  My plan B was to i) stop tears, ii) stop pulling hair out (mine not his), iii)  tire him out until he collapses from exhaustion and sleeps most the afternoon.  This, of course, included an ice cream cone after lunch.  Two seconds after the cone was consumed he was asleep.  And he slept and slept and slept.  Three hours total of blissful napping.  Then he wakes up......

I won't go through play by play of the entire day but rest assured the latter half of the day matched the first.  Then it was birthday time for a preschool friend.  B and his daddy showered, dressed and I dropped them off at the party for fun.  E and I were enjoying some bad TV and frozen pizza when the phone rang.

It seems that dirty diapers can spoil a party.  I got a call to come pick them up B was stinking up the place.  I suggested he find a friend who was there with her daughter and get some wipes and a diaper.  Crisis solved.  The phone rang again..... it was too messy to handle so E and I loaded up and picked up Stinky and daddy.  He did stink, it was messy and the day just keeps getting better.

We hosed B down, and eventually, finally, got our babies in bed.  Day is done.

Tomorrow will begin with more waffles and end with more angelic, sleeping faces.  I will try and keep my calm and am sure I will lose it at some point.  I pray I am forgiven for those slips and the kid's therapy bills will not be too high.

Just as the snail reached the arc through perseverance, we will get through the terrible twos and sensitive six year old stages.  One waffle and drop of syrup at a time.

Spiderman's Mom

Here goes something...  I cannot say "nothing" because this is about my life and my life is something.  Tomorrow is my first official day of a new beginning.  Foster Solutions, llc has been formed to help address all of your water consulting needs.  It is my goal to have a client signed in December.  I basically have until Dec. 21 to make that happen.

In addition to consulting my heart and mind continue to wander to other areas where I would love to play.  My end goal has always been to pick Ella up from school two days a week.  That has not changed but I am adding to the list.  I want to empower women to realize their dreams.  Yes, I have been reading Brene Brown and Whitney Johnson but my head has always been in that space.  Those two among others that are filling it with amazing stories of strength and courage.

Santa is not the only one who can make his list and check it twice.  I am making my dream list and will be dream dating them one at a time.  Perhaps I will end up where I started on this journey with a better appreciation for it all.  Or maybe, just maybe I will introduce to you a more defined and refined me to you.  Either way, I determined to continue to make my life something.  Nothing is not an option,  especially with Spiderman as a son.

A Mother's Love

I just read my cousin's story of finally getting their baby girl in her arms after an adoption half way across the world (see MotleyCrew.com).  I am lying in bed, crying like a toddler myself. It is an ugly cry that is requiring me to sit up because all the tears and snot are not allowing me to breath. 

Heather, my cousin,  has been in knots for months because she just wanted her baby home. She and all of her family wanted their new family member to join us.  She just wanted her baby girl.  

In following their story,  my mind was transported back to when Boone was in the NICU.  Obviously, it is not the same thing but bear with me.  I remember getting the call that despite his nurses saying he may be able to come home just the day before that Boone needed another night with them.   This happened more than once. The NICU staff was top notch but they cannot control a hormonal, emotional new mother. Especially one that just spent over 4 weeks on strict bed rest to get him here safely. No, there is really no match for those emotions. At least I did not think so til I read Heathers story. 

It seems to come down to this:  our babies really are pieces of our heart that walk around outside of our bodies.  We, as mothers, are never really whole again after we love a baby whether we physically birthed that child or prayed for their arrival from across the globe.   We are made whole again only in the brief moments when they let us hold them in our arms. 

When I got that call on that day, that B was not coming home,I broke. I had stayed so strong throughout the bed rest, his emergency birth, the initial stages of my recovery but in that moment I was broken. 

I wanted my baby home. I wanted him with me, home, not in a bed that was not his own, not in a room that wasn't in my family's home.  I wanted him for all selfish reasons because obviously he needed to stay and get stronger.  I can't argue that breathing on your own is overrated.  But the thought of one more night of not smelling his baby head or studying his little hands and feet for hours on end was a lot for me to take. Not too much but a lot.  

Weeks ago Heather finally got her call to come get her baby.  Their journey was a bit more involved than 20 minutes up Mopac but the emotions the same.  

Yesterday Heather and her family got to bring Amelia "home".  Not yet toAmerica but one step closer.  The pics and videos of the "final scoop up" amid Amelia's cry is a lot to take in especially when there is an emotional connection. But the smile on Heather's face and the worry/exhilaration in her eyes is that of a mother plain in simple. I know it well.  Our babies are home. 

Welcome to the family, Amelia!  

South Plains Stories

One sign of a good, loving home is the ownership of rooms.  The room I claimed as a child is still “Wendy’s room”.  My trophies line its bookshelves and my pictures hang on the wall.  In the closet, you will find each and every one of my Michael Jordan posters safely stored.  He will always be a hero to me despite his little gambling problem.  Who can ever forget the poster that was the length of his arm span (i.e. big) with the William Blake poem printed below Jordan’ image: “No man soars too high if he soars with his own wings”.  Good times.

This weekend my family was welcomed into the childhood home of a friend.  I was a little nervous about being company for 4 days in anyone’s home but my worries were misplaced.  I knew it would all be okay when I was shown around and introduced to the three spare bedrooms each decorated in the personality of the child that once lived there 30 plus years ago.  It was in no way creepy; Fluffy the childhood pet was not stuffed in the corner with glass eyes.  My friend’s room had light and airy linens and a white down comforter.  It was so her, even today.  There were tons of pictures of her 80s big hair and stylish hats that made their appearance in the early 90s.  To her it was home, to my family and I it was comfort.

I was then shown her sister’s room and her brother’s room both decorated as an older brother and sister’s room should look.  The love was evident in the care her parents showed in keeping their kids welcomed in their home.  It then hit me, that this small token is a sign of a loving family and a healthy home.  There are other signs; I know that but this is one that stood out to me and one I needed at the time.  

My mom and dad’s house is comfort for me.  My home is in Austin but my roots are buried deep in South Texas and it is there that I turn to for strength.  This weekend I could not be in my parent’s home but my friend’s was the next best thing complete with Josie’s burritos for breakfast (if you know anything about Lubbock then you know what I am talking about).  

We ended the weekend with big hugs and a promise to return.  I have a new “home” on the South Plains and another blessing to add to my long list in this life.  

PS: They even loved having Boone around..... which proved our hosts were also solid grandparents.  He is easy to love but his energy is hard to accept at times.  I am his mother so I can say that- don't judge me.