Home, Home on the Range

Last night we lit a fire in the chiminea and all snuggled up outside to enjoy the fire. I started singing and Nils' face lit up and he immediately ran inside to grab our Family Car Songbook. We ended up singing "Home on the Range" over and over and over as C just learned that one at school.

Home, home on the range

Sitting on our deck. Fire popping and glowing. Children snuggled in our laps with their lovies. 

Where the deer and the antelope play

Chris and I tucked in those munchkins (to the tune of more Home on the Range) and then went back to the chiminea. I dozed off in my chair and awoke to Chris telling me it was time to go inside.

Where seldom is heard a discouraging word.

Home.

Mary Has Chosen the Better Part

Currently reading: still in the depths of Benjamin Franklin. As it turns out if you just read a paragraph here and there when you steal a minute or two to read... then it takes forever to read a book. Better than not reading though.
Number of cups of coffee gulped down this morning: wouldn't you like to know? Hmph. Yeah, like I'd admit that number. You'd probably send that info straight to my neurologist. I don't need that kind of blackmail information hanging out there.
Number of various to-do and check-offs and grocery lists and what-nots stacked up in the kitchen: too many.


I'm not the person who gets caught up in the Christmas consumerism. Oh Heaven's no. Have you met me? No, no, no. I am guilty of the same thing Martha is in Luke (10:38-42). Martha, as it turns out, is "distracted by her many tasks" (Luke 10:40).

In the Greek it actually says that she was distracted by her ministry.

So, what have I been distracted by this Advent season? Well, I'm teaching an adult forum on Luke. I spent a million hours stuck at our stove while I labored over caramel corn for librarians and teachers and various other people for whom we give thanks (side note: thanks a lot Houston December humidity for ruining so much of that). We brought cookies to the employees at the Goodwill near our house. We've got a huge thing of chocolate bark peppermint candy that needs to be packaged and given away. Gatorade and candy packets are waiting for the recycling truck guys to pass by so that I can run out with a cheering Nils on my hip. A hundred packets of Martha Stewart's hot cocoa we're made for the church Christmas party. I'm in charge of the craft for Nils' Christmas party so instead of being a "normal" mom and just buying some sort of kit I wanted to use things we already had on hand and created a bunch of snowmen for them to glue together. Of course. Logical. And all family gifts have been carefully created or selected, wrapped, and put away. Well, almost all.

Yes, Martha, I too have been distracted by my ministry. That's the kicker about Advent, isn't it? Even if you're doing good things, they can still be insanely distracting. And the problem for me is that I love it. I love all of those things. As my sister always reminds me, we all have the same amount of time and just choose how we spend it. I, for one, don't watch tv. And ever since my Facebook epiphany I don't waste much time online either. Thus, I have "plenty of time" (or do I?) for all of this other stuff.

Isn't it interesting that Luke notes that Martha was distracted BY her ministry and not FROM it?

My goal was to be finished with the lists after this weekend (which for us meant when I went to bed on Saturday). It didn't happen. Instead I turned into Martha, burned my arm, and stood crying over a pot of hot caramel. Had Jesus been sitting in the living room I would have stormed in and demanded that he send someone into the kitchen to help me. Man, I hope that batch of caramel corn doesn't turn out Like Water for Chocolate!

The funny (sad?) thing is that if I were caught up in the Christmas consumerism, that would be an easier habit to break. I think it's much harder to keep oneself from getting too distracted by ministry. Saying "I'm not going to spend $500 on electronics for our kids this year!" is much easier than saying, "We aren't going to give presents to our garbage truck drivers anymore" (because, duh, of course we are. They are the people we are more thankful for than almost anyone!).

So, what's the solution?

I don't know actually. Starting preparations earlier? Maybe. Typing up a list of things I do every single year so that I at least know what I'm in for next year? Maybe. Setting aside times for sitting like Mary? Yes. For sure. And, well, maybe giving up some of the ministry actually. Perhaps I don't have to do everything. Maybe the teachers don't care if we give homemade caramel corn or just pick up a bunch of Starbucks gift cards. Hell, maybe they'd prefer the gift cards.

But that's the problem. I don't want to give gift cards. I LIKE doing it all. I like handmade gifts. I like the thought and effort it takes. I like that my children see the work and love (and yes, sometimes tears) that goes into giving around here.

You know what would have lessened the stress this year? Had I not gotten rid of all my winter clothes last summer. I mean, in my defense, they were all way too big (woo!) but it is pretty damn anxiety-producing that we're leaving town for a wedding on Thursday morning and I LITERALLY don't have clothes to bring for all of the events.

WHY AM I BLOGGING WHEN I SHOULD BE BUYING SOME CLOTHES?

At least Advent is supposed a time of active expectation. Christmas is the time for joyful contemplation and celebration of incarnation. Maybe I'll just slow down for Christmas.

And maybe next year I'll do a better job at Advent.

"Bye-Bye Crib"

Carolena, July 2011

Carolena, December 2011

Nils and Carolena, June 2015

Nils and Carolena, June 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

"Bye-Bye, Crib! Bed! Bed! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you! Bed! Bed! Thank you, Daddy! Bed!"

Nils, December 2015

So far, it seems to me, if I fully enjoy and appreciate and pay attention during each phase of life, then with the passing into the next I do not feel sadness. We took down the crib yesterday for the last time and I feel nothing but joy and happiness for our little Nils. Our nursery furniture was a generous gift from Chris' brother's family. It was the crib that held our niece and nephew. I remember picking it up from them while they apologized for Isabel's bite marks along its edges. I loved the bite marks. I loved them the entire time our crib was in use. It was a tangible reminder of the children this crib has held - cousins bonded together.

The crib is in the garage now. Nils has been politely (and sometimes not so politely) asking for a bed for some time now. I finally realized he is ready. He's known for a while that he is ready. I just took a little convincing. I was worried that he would be up all hours of the night prowling around his room. I'm sure nights like that will come, but his first night (last night) went exceedingly well. He was indeed ready.

Carolena, being the fabulous big sister she has proven herself to be time and time again, got in on the excitement and insisted that Nils borrow some of her sheets and comforter until he gets his own. I think, perhaps, this was best for Nils - better even than having gotten his own things right off the bat. The two kids bounced off the walls in excitement over the new bed, Nils' eyes lit in pride as he exclaimed over and over, "Bed! Bed! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you!!" and as soon as Chris got home Nils (ran for a tortilla chip and then) yelled, "Thank you bed Daddy!"

How could I be sad over putting the crib into the garage? It was time.

Soon, we'll pick up the dresser from my parents' house. We'll get the rest of Nils' room into "big boy" shape. And when that happens, the nursery furniture will find a new home- a home ready to welcome a new baby, hopefully a new baby who will ease in the pain of new teeth by putting more bite marks along its edges.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Sometimes a few days at home is just what the doctor ordered. And no, I don't mean my own grown-up life-in-suburbia two-kids-and-two-cats home. I mean home home. ET phone home. Big Money Texas. Beaumont, y'all. There's just something about driving down I-10 and seeing a huge alligator welcome you to Beaumont that just screams... well, I'm not sure what that screams actually... something.

Ah, yes, a few days at home with my family was wonderful. I slept in my own room. Well, for like five seconds. I slept in Hunter's room for two nights as I crashed while tucking in C and spent a few sleepless nights shushing N from Kelly's bed as well. Evidently we like to leave my mother with sheets to wash on every single bed. Sorry, Mom. Carolena came home talking about how the Piney Woods make you sneeze to which I like to respond in a weird creepy Cajun/country/made up accent, "Yyyeeeeppp, that's liiife behiiind the piiiine currrtain. I was born in that there briar patch."

I never claim(ed) to be normal.

We ate fabulous food (but awesomely not toooo much of it), danced the Charleston (because, duh), played games (nope, other people did that. I read BFrank's bio), and were just happy to all be together.

But, as all good things must come to an end, Saturday morning arrived and the piney woods had taken their toll. My sinuses have forgotten how to survive in such extreme circumstances. My children were exhausted. My mother was remembering her own Benjamin Franklin research ("fish and visitors" you know). So we loaded up the plethora of Coke glasses I'd reclaimed from the attic (I'm sure Chris is thrilled) and headed home.

We came home with a pile of dirty laundry (because I did not heed my mother's advice to wash it before leaving) and arrived to a completely empty refrigerator. So I started a load of laundry and hopped out to the grocery store.

Chris tossed our bags into our bedroom and we started hauling down the Christmas decorations. A tree was purchased and decorated. Lights were strung up outside. I pulled out white paper and started cutting out snowflakes galore. I have priorities after all. The laundry will eventually get done. The grocery buying can wait. But the joy and anticipation of Advent? The excitement and wonder of incarnation? The mystery of love and God among us in a hurting and war-torn world? Yeah, I'm ready to get into that. So we pulled out the things that we claim as "Christmas" and started pouring them all over our household. There is so much in this world that I can't control. There is so much anger and hate and hurt. But you know what I can control? Whether or not there is a 7ft tree taking up residence in the living room. Yeah, we're ready for Advent. We're ready for a season of hope. A season of reflecting on peace, on Emmanuel.

So this morning we awoke to a twinkling Christmas tree. A good-smelling-happiness-inducing slice of Advent. A reminder of hope. A reminder of peace. A reminder that God is with us. Nils stares at it in impish wonder and joy. His face glows in merriment that can't be contained nor described. "Tree! Tree!" he exclaims while dancing and pointing. Carolena sighs and stares dreamily at its twinkling lights. They know nothing of the hurt and pain of the world. They know only of love and comfort and joy. Children at Christmas time. I'm just ready for that.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Got Milk?

I can't remember how I first learned of the need for sharing human milk. It was at some point while we lived in Austin though I don't remember how or through whom. I do remember getting on the computer when I was pregnant and finding Mother's Milk Bank Austin (Hey! Look at that! It's proof that I did do something while pregnant other than just eat queso and reread Harry Potter!). I did some research and quickly realized that donating to the milk bank was something I couldn't bear to not do. Preterm and many ill infants are at risk for something called necrotizing enterocolitis - which attacks and destroys the intestines. Human milk is the best defense but mothers are not always able to supply enough milk to their hospital-bound child(ren). Enter the milk bank. Long story short: the milk bank is safe, healthy, and effective. There were babies who needed help! How could I not apply?

First though, I had to have my baby. And learn how to breastfeed. *sigh* Details. Details. Knowing that I could donate to the milk bank only added to my determination to successfully breastfeed my firstborn. As many new moms discover, breastfeeding isn't necessarily as simple in the beginning as one would hope. But knowing that mastering the ability to feed my infant would allow me to not only feed her, but also help provide milk for fragile babies (not to mention who wants to have to wash bottles all of the time am I right?!) furthered my determination to succeed in breastfeeding. After a great trip to a lactation consultant I was feeling much more hakuna ma tatas and had finally mastered the fine art of feeding my newborn. Err... kind of. Eventually my baby and I got a (football) hold on the whole nursing thing, and I was pumped about getting signed up with the milk bank (yes, I do think I'm very punny). Going through the screening process couldn't have been easier. Some quick paperwork. A phone call with a lovely supportive employee. A quick trip (on their dime) to draw some blood (which really, after pregnancy and with a newborn what's one more trip to a medical building?). And badda bing badda boom: I was a milk donor.

The donation process was simple: pump.
That's it. Pump.
Okay, perhaps more than that: Pump. Pour into bottles. Label. Repeat.
I made a date with my pump new brest friend part of my nightly bedtime ritual. Take out my contacts, take my vitamins, brush my teeth, wash my face, pump for the milk bank. It just became a part of the nightly routine. And I discovered an added bonus: it gave me a guaranteed nightly 15-30 minutes of coveted alone time. All mothers know how valuable a few uninterrupted minutes of peace and quiet can be. Especially during those first few months after giving birth to my second child when every moment of my time was demanded. I found that pumping was my time to just sit. Sometimes I would spend the time in prayer. Sometimes I would spend the time reading a magazine. My plan was always to pray for the recipients and their families while I pumped... honestly though I spent a lot of the time during those first few months after my second child was born just zoned out in a tired daze. But it was my time. I was alone. No one was crying. No one's hiney needed wiping. No one's favorite blankie was inexplicably missing (again?!). It was just me and the quiet sounds of liquid gold. And it was glorious.

I nursed Carolena for eleven months until she demanded sippy cups. Typical. I'm surprised she didn't jump directly from breast milk to cappuccinos. I diligently pumped for the milk bank while we lived in Austin but our month long nomadic stint and Carolena's self weaning ended my donation time a month or two earlier than I had anticipated.

I nursed Nils for just shy of a year. He too discovered the freedom that sippy cups afford and began to push me away and bite and claw and bring cups to my husband demanding that he be served milk. My children are very independent and strong willed. I have no idea where they get that from.

During my second round as a milk bank donor I found an added bonus for our family: sharing the donation process with Carolena. She was thrilled to see our freezer slowly filling with milk containers. When it would reach a capacity that was full enough to make ice cream purchasing impossible, Carolena would help me load up a cooler and we'd drive to the hospital drop off location next to our house. Carolena found this thrilling. "Tell me about the babies!" she would call out as we drove. I would tell her about the pumping process. We'd talk about how Nils drank milk from my body and how all babies who are newborn need milk from mommies. I would tell her about how some babies are born and are sick or really very very little and their mommies just don't have enough milk for them. "I have more than enough milk for Nils. So we share. There is enough milk to go around. If we all share then everyone has enough."

Every once in a while I would find her sitting by herself quietly nursing her stuffed animals and baby dolls. Sometimes I would find her holding a small baby bottle to her chest whispering to herself, "pump. pump. pump." Inevitably during her "pumping" she would catch me watching her. She smile up at me and face shining say, "I'm pumping for the sick babies. If we all share then everyone has enough."

Having weaned my last breastfed baby, I have now begun a new chapter in my relationship with Mother's Milk Bank Austin. I have joined their team as a volunteer Milk Bank Ambassador - a retired donor committed to the good work the milk bank is doing. Among other things I will be distributing pamphlets to pediatrician and obgyn offices, inviting nursing moms to donate milk, and encouraging others to spread the word about Mother's Milk Bank Austin: an organization I could easily vote as the Brest in Show. 

And finally, here's a good breastfeeding joke for you. Ah, nevermind... it's a letdown.

My friends, consider sharing something you have with Mother's Milk Bank Austin. What can you share? Got milk? Get pumping! Got money? Yep, of course they need it. Got a voice? Tell a friend about the milk bank, link them on your blog, post them on your facebook.
If we all share then everyone has enough.

Springtime In Texas for the Duncans (Sung to the tune from The Producers of Course)

Dinner on the deck means... Daddy will cook!

 

And inevitably someone will fall into the kiddie pool...

  and we'll spend the entire evening together playing and laughing and running and squirreling around.

And the table will be set and the candles will be lit and all will be peaceful... err... as possible...

 

and Mommy will pass out ice cream

And we'll decide to do it all again tomorrow!

 

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

A few years ago when I was pregnant with my firstborn I found myself on the phone with my sister, complaining about all of the annoying things people say to pregnant women. "You look so big!" Wrong. "You look so small!" Wrong. "Any day now?" Wrong. No matter what anyone said, unless it was "You look fabulous," it was the wrong thing to say.

After listening sympathetically to my woes Kelly responded, "Casey, people just want to be a part of a miracle."

And my head exploded.

She was right. No one knows what to say to a pregnant woman (except me: just tell them they look good and then shut your mouth). Everyone flounders and says stupid things. People reach out to touch their bellies. Everyone just wants to be a part of the miracle.

We say that the Episcopal Church welcomes you. What we don't mention is the caveat: the Episcopal Church welcomes you... until you start celebrating Christmas earlier than we have deemed appropriate and then people start to lose their shit.

Until recently, I would watch my neighbors string up their lights in mid-November and shake my head, "It isn't even Thanksgiving yet!" I would hear the carols playing in stores and roll my eyes, "Ugh, don't people observe Advent?!"

Last week we were driving home and passed a few houses decked out for Christmas. I inwardly cringed, but then I heard Kelly's voice echo in my head (how does she DO that?!), "Casey, people just want to be a part of a miracle."

People just want to be a part of a miracle.

People just want to be a part of a miracle and they are looking for it in the wrong places. Each year we put up more decorations and bake more cookies. We turn on the Christmas music a little earlier and watch just a few more Christmas movies. Those things are fabulous, and certainly fun, but do not in and of themselves bring us to the miracle of the incarnation.

One of the overlooked aspects of Christmas is that the Church stole a lot of our Christmas traditions from others. Sure, the incarnation part is significant to say the least and wholly ours, but the huge winter party complete with tree trimming - that was originally pure paganism. No one even knows when Christ was born. We took some traditions from "the world" and work to make them holy. It's kind of our thing.

So why do we get so worked up when people start celebrating too early? People just want to be a part of a miracle. Plus, get ready... not all churches observe Advent. Gasp! Perhaps, instead of blasting them on Facebook and shouting about how it isn't Christmas yet, we should offer them grace. Perhaps we should stop worrying about the world stealing our Christmas celebration (much of which we conveniently forget has always belonged the world) and instead work to make this time holy. Why don't we work to celebrate Advent and Christmas in such a way that people look at us and know that there is something more going on then just a big winter celebration?

It is easy to point out the problems with modern Christmas. It is difficult to find solutions. Nonetheless, here is what I propose:

• This year, let's focus on holiness. Instead of being annoyed with others and the frantic Christmas present buying and all of the excess, let's focus on silent nights. Holy nights.
• This year, let's forget about that damn Elf on the Shelf. Everyone knows that Santa does in fact bring presents to the "bad kids" - let's stop the b.s. on that one and instead teach our children the truth: Santa brings presents to everyone because all kids are actually good kids.
• This year, let's not worry about what others are doing during Advent. Put up your tree, sing Christmas carols, do all that jazz in December. But then... celebrate Christmas. Celebrate the twelve days of Christmas (they start on Christmas Day!) with acts of love and charity. Christmas is so much more than celebrating Jesus' birthday. It is celebrating incarnation, the moment when the Creator stepped into his creation. We are an incarnational people. Let's celebrate Christmas by being just that. 

My plan for our family to celebrate Christmas this year is to set aside the 12 days of Christmas as days to reach out to others in love and charity. Days to focus on being incarnational people. I plan for us to have projects for each of the days of Christmas to make it a time that is holy. Cookies for the garbage truck driver, food for the food bank, bird seed scattered to the birds, each day we'll find a way to bring peace, comfort, and joy to the world during this season.

This year when I see people celebrating Christmas "too early" or in ways that I think to be shallow or irreverent, I will remember that people just want to be a part of a miracle. People just want to be a part of the miracle, so let's shower them with tidings of comfort and joy.