Resolutions

When people ask me if I'm making a New Year's resolution, I'm always tempted to say yes. I really don't make resolutions for the new year, because as anyone who knows me well, I fill the ENTIRE year making resolutions for myself. March 11? I'm sure to have a new goal for keeping my classroom organized. October 3? Bet I'm resolving to get to exercise class at the Y. June 24? I'm probably mapping out a plan for my family to eat healthier. 

I drive myself a bit crazy with things like this, and my mom has often told me that I'm my own worst enemy. So, making a special resolution just because it's the new year feels unnecessary to me. Maybe I should just resolve to keep all my other resolutions going. But in the spirit of the season, it's tempting to jot down a few....

My new(est) resolutions:

Stop eating Christmas cookies for breakfast. (The supply is dwindling, so I may succeed at this one. Always set goals that are attainable, right?)

Quit bringing so much school work home with me in the evening. Leave school at school, and quit using family time for lesson plans.

Resist the urge to log on to Facebook until my bible study is done for the day. (Sigh.)

Learn to shave my legs without being such a hacker. Do this before I become anemic. It's getting ridiculous.

Keep up with my ironing pile. At least get clothes pressed and on a hanger before they go out of season (or out of style)

Keep exercising on a regular basis. Maybe stop yelling "Uncle!" during weightlifting class when it gets hard. It's supposed to be hard. Duh.

Simplify my life, instead of just hanging decorative signs around my house with that word on it. Maybe show some integrity and buy a sign that says, "COMPLICATE"

Stop making so many resolutions.

Celebrating The New Year

Call me boring, but wild New Years Eve parties just aren't my thing. The idea of dressing up and traveling to Des Moines for an expensive night on the town doesn't appeal to me anymore. The past few years we've done a progressive dinner with a small group of friends. Appetizers at one house, dinner at another, and dessert and games at the last home. Our children gather at the last home with teenage sitters and have their own party until we grown ups join them for dessert.

This year, dessert was at our house, which means we took a turn "hosting" the kids. Now that the children in the families are a bit older, the eldest siblings in attendance were put in charge. We left kid-friendly food, covered the new pool table, set out some games, and hoped for the best while we were gone.

It was a relaxing evening. We munched on appetizers and caught up on each other's lives, women in one room, and men in another. At dinner time, we drove across town and minutes later were sitting down to a wonderful meal. I think that was my favorite part of the evening. All the couples sat around the same table, laughing and sharing stories as we lingered over dinner. It also felt like the calm before the storm, before we rejoined our kiddos for the final part of the evening.

I wasn't sure what we'd find when we walked in the door, but I was pleasantly surprised. One child was asleep in a chair, a group was huddled around the computer, and others were playing ping pong and games on the Wii. The only visible damage was the mess from the food, snacks and koolaid we'd left for them.  

Once again we segregated ourselves. The guys played pool in the basement and gals gathered around the chocolate fondue pot upstairs. The kids ran around the house propelled by their sugar buzzes. We made it to midnight, but just barely. We counted down and cheered when midnight arrived, then the sleepy parents were perfectly content to pack up the kids and head for home.

As we blew out the candles and shut lights off, Sam had a confession to make. He solemnly opened a drawer to reveal the only casualty of the evening....a decapitated wise man from my Willow Tree nativity set. Apparently some wild play had sent the king tumbling to his demise.

The next day, I mentally replayed the night before and counted my blessings....getting to spend a relaxing New Years with wonderful friends, good health and safety for my family, and the way God has provided for us over the past year. Just like the New Years party, my life can be noisy and messy sometimes, but I'm feeling a sense of contentment and anticipation as this year begins.

The wise man figure, recovering nicely from his reconstructive gluing, seemed to wink at me from his place on the shelf.

Assembly Required

It felt like a Christmas tradition over the years. After the gifts were opened and the paper was cleared away, the boys were dying to crack open the boxes and start playing. The problem was, most everything they received had dozens of little parts to be assembled before they were able to use it. 

Perry's frustration level with this type of task made ME the default assembler each year. If anyone took a picture of me Christmas Day, it was sure to be a shot of me frowning in concentration and hunched over a multi-lingual instruction novel. I remember the sheets of stickers that had to be transferred before the plastic parts would start to resemble a superhero's headquarters. I can't say it was horribly difficult work, but having little boys hanging on me and whining for me to hurry up made it more challenging.

One year, the boys received an enormous Lego castle. I think I spent three whole days constructing that. Since we would be moving to a new house a few weeks later, I brilliantly schemed that if I hot glued the strategic parts as I built, the castle would be sturdy enough to withstand little boy play and it would prevent me from any reconstruction later. A few days after I completed the process, I think one of the boys' friends fell on this masterpiece while rough housing, reducing my hours of labor to a pile of glue-globbed rubble.

This year, I thought I had graduated from that season of life, with boys who are old enough to handle their own assembling. Yesterday, Sam received a Magnetix iCoaster, a marble-rollercoaster contraption that thrilled him...until he opened the box and took a glimpse at the directions. At first, I resisted his pleas for help, gently encouraging him to start by looking at the diagrams and see how the pieces are labeled. I tried my best to ignore the grumbles and moans that I knew were directed my way. The best way for him to learn is by doing, I chanted to myself. I tried to picture the satisfaction he'd have when it was completed.

I finally gave in to his pleas, and sat down to help him. After studying the diagrams, I understood his confusion. The directions looked more like mathematical equations than a guide to assemble a toy. Since I'm a visual learner, I focused on the illustrations, and we were finally able to construct a roller coaster that kind of resembled the one on the box. When we started to connect the electrical components, it became apparent that we were missing the 4 C batteries ...the one size I don't have anywhere in the house.

Sam and I decided to postpone "our" project or risk being late for Christmas dinner at Gram's. Today we will head to the store for batteries and pick up our mission where we left off.

It's Just a Cold

Things I hate about having a cold:

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Not being able to pronounce words. "Fun" becomes "fud."

Feeling my pulse in my teeth.

Stopping to gasp for breath while chewing food.

Sneezing immediately after applying mascara. My eyes slam shut forcefully, imprinting a grotesque looking set of extra eyelashes on my cheek.

Trying to imagine what things taste like, besides phlegm.

Wandering around the school, baffled because my fuzzy brain can't recall where I set down my diet coke.

The unattractive red chapped ring around each nostril from blowing and wiping.

Feeling like I need to bleach my hands along with everything I touch.

Making disturbing whistling and crackling noises when I breathe.

Not having time to reach into my pocket and grab a wad of kleenex in time to catch the sudden stream of body fluid before it flows out of my nose.

A day too late, finding my diet coke exploded in the freezer of the teacher's lounge.

A Rachel Ray Wannabe

Last week I felt just like Rachel Ray. I wanted to show my students how a traditional Hanukkah food was made, so I brought the supplies and ingredients to make potato latkes. I've got a handy peninsula-like counter in my classroom that was the perfect place to set up my cooking "show". The kids were giddy with excitement as they crowded the "stage" and watched me grate the potato and heat the oil in the pan. This is how Rachel must feel, I thought to myself, except for the moments when I had to separate mischievous audience members and send them back to their seats. 

Yesterday, my cooking adventures continued when I decided to whip up a loaf of sun dried tomato bread in my bread machine. Early in the day, I premeasured my ingredients into tiny glass dishes. My heart sank when I realized that I was out of bread flour and my yeast was probably a year old. I  wondered What would Rachel do? (WWRD) and concluded that she probably would have one of her "people" dash to the store for fresh ingredients. Since was impatient and it was below zero outside, I proceeded. 

During the mixing cycle, I poked the dough and added a little water, curious about how dry the mixture looked. After the rising cycle, I prodded it some more because it still looked crumbly. When the baking cycle had completed, I dumped the loaf out of the pan and wondered if gourmet chefs on the food network would have a special name for this type of dense biscuit-like bread. My husband matter-of-factly suggested that we throw it out.  "No way," I answered. "It has two dollars worth of sun dried tomatoes in it. We're eating it."

 I don't know how a slice of bread can taste dry and gummy at the same time. Three bites into it and I chucked the loaf into the garbage. I'm sure Rachel would have agreed.

A Lesson on Hanukkah

Today I started a mini unit at school about December holidays around the world. Since the children are so excited about Christmas, it only makes sense to include the excitement of the season into something teachable. I decided to talk about Hanukkah the first day, since the class is a very homogeneous group without any religious diversity. The kids listened with interest to the book I read about the symbols and traditions of the holiday. They liked hearing about dreidels, menorahs, and latkes. One little girl wondered if a person could celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah. I explained that it is done when some families choose to celebrate both holidays because of their parents' traditions.

A little later as the class completed their paper menorah craft, I overheard one girl fibbing with authority, " My dad and brother celebrate Christmas, but my mom and me celebrate Harmonica."

I just had to walk away to keep from laughing. Happy Harmonica, everyone.

Christmas Letters

'Tis the season, and that means it's time for me to get busy writing the Christmas letter. It's a letter that sort of reviews the year and gives an update on what is going on at our house. My parents always included a Christmas letter with the cards sent to out of town friends and family, so I guess I've always done it too. 

It seems everyone has an opinion about holiday letters. My dear husband is one of the people who happens to hate letters like this. He thinks including one with our card is simply unnecessary. Maybe at some point in his life he was subjected to one of those multi-page holiday letters that reads like a resume' and has the effect of a sleeping pill.

I happen to be one of those people who loves to receive letters along with holiday cards. It's great to catch up on the lives of cousins or former classmates that I rarely get to see. The biggest disappointment to me is opening an elegant foil edged card that has a sentimental verse printed on it, and nothing but a signature at the bottom. 

I realize that in an ideal world, one would get out a pen and hand-write an individualized letter to each person on their list. I will probably get around to that the year I start creating handmade paper from recycled dryer lint or sewing all my own clothes from repurposed Goodwill fabric.

Knowing how he feels, I write one anyway, but proceed cautiously, taking care to re-read and revise, removing any hint of a brag. I probably overcompensate actually. Over the years, I recorded the time he gave one of our sons a shoulder ride and ended up breaking a light fixture with our little one's head. Instead of creating an illusion about our perfect lives, I tell about the time the Christmas tree fell over or the time I took the kids' photo in front of the decorated tree, but failed to notice the small pile of cat poop under the tree which was in every shot.

A picture perfect family...we are not. And I'm pretty sure my letters reflect that. After all, what's Christmas without a little comic relief?