That One Thing … My First Christmas

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[In Case you missed the FIRST PART to this story…]
If you’ve read my blog for this past year, or even for a few weeks, you’ll see that I don’t worry much about being out there. I’m very much a wears her heart on her sleeve type of gal, and I find that although I risk embarrassment, humiliation, and the occasional reprimand, the benefits outweigh the side effects. Sure, I might come across as quirky, crazy, or even a freak, but I assure you. I am not alone. You’re just as nutty, even if you’re hiding behind your laptop screen or iPhone. And I don’t mind meeting you on this side of cyberspace, letting you take a glimpse here and there of the madness of the worlds that swirl around in my head and heart. Because, ultimately, writing helps me to process, file, and move on. And I hope that my stories and words help you to know that you’re not alone. Because life can be lonely.

Alone is possibly the scariest word I know. Continue reading

Star of Wonder

I’ve been contemplating presents lately. How much I’m not really into the whole frenzy of gifts and wrapping and shopping. Even on-line. And how I think it’s rather interesting how a tradition that began in days of old had nothing to do with gift exchange between friends and family, but rather the act of bringing precious items of worth to the feet of one who might not seem to even understand their worth. A baby. The baby Jesus.  And I’ve been thinking about how this child came into the world to tell us a story. His story and ours. Wrapped up in a gift too huge for any Fedex box and yet simple enough to tell year after year, every Christmas. A story that many continue to write songs about. A moment significant enough to divide history into the letters of B.C. and A.D.

I sat in Friendly’s, across from my five-year old Sunday afternoon, and while she spooned frigid spoonful after spoonful of vanilla ice cream with sprinkles into her numbing mouth, I told her the story. Because, the funny thing is, she doesn’t know it. When you’re a parent of multiple children, I think you easily forget that the last, often coined “the baby” far beyond her diaper years, is often overlooked when it comes to details. I joke about how she’s raised by a house of four moms. Because her older sisters really dive in and help her with just about everything. And that really helps this tired mommy out. :) Continue reading