Stepping back onto the grid

Hi, all.

Christmas and New Years were pretty freaking fantastic around here. So great, in fact, that most days I [purposely] forgot to charge my cell phone or check my emails. The Husband was home for two weeks, and we were all together, wrapped up in that lovely cocoon of togetherness that this time of year sends our way.

I am ready to come back to it all, however. I've got words to say about 2010 and I need to sit down and breathe, think, and process as I get them out. These words are for me alone, and I need to do them justice so that years from now when I remember the debacle that was this year, it will be in the right way.

So hang in there just a little longer. I will be back soon.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas...

Poetry and Pictures

The cards have been mailed, and plenty received. If someone's been missed, we would surely be grieved.

The stockings are hung by the chimney with care. (Along with some fights on whose sock goes where.)

The presents are wrapped, all snug near the tree. It's possible that I even put one down there for me.

The decorations (though scant) have been placed out with care. So far I'm not manic, they might last out the year.

The flower has bloomed, no thanks to my man. He fed it Coke Zero, then quickly he ran.

The plastic nativity changes each day. Sometimes poor Jesus goes very astray.

The good one sits untouched, as per mother's orders. If someone goes touching, they'll be sent 'cross the border.

If only you'd hurry to us, Christmas dear.
We're waiting most anxious for you to be here.

Grandpa's peanut butter fudge

This is my Grandpa Johnson. Isn't he handsome?

He was a big man, about six-foot-two or six-foot-three, with broad shoulders and (when I knew him) a head full of thick, silver hair. He liked to swear and drink coffee (though both were against his religion). He cut off two fingers in a shop accident and liked to do irreverent things with the nubs. He had a passion for his country, having served it honorably during World War II.

He loved to travel and had an unusually large collection of bowling balls in the basement. He made jewelery, and always wore turquoise rings on his fingers.

He was gruff and loving, all at once. He was the type that was embarrassed at affection, but would be thoughtful and generous to others. He liked order and discipline. It used to drive him crazy that I never finished a meal.

Oh, if only he could see me now. Grandpa, don't worry - I finish PLENTY of meals.

He had the best garden. I fell in love with crisp, green vegetables sitting around his table, the multi-colored terrycloth linens underneath the pink desert rose plates.

He loved his grandchildren and was tragically taken from them far too soon.

Here is a picture of Grandpa and Grandma at their wedding. Doesn't it look like he just can't get enough of her?

I love that picture. I think every woman ought to be worshiped and adored by her husband.

This time of year, I think of him fondly when I make his peanut butter fudge. I have no idea of the recipe's true origin, but when I taste it, I am transported back to a warm kitchen in a small, modest home. A bowl of nuts sit on the table next to the large toaster oven. The shiny, textured wallpaper smiles down on my freckled cheeks, pink from climbing a tree in the front yard.

A gruff voice yells as kids run in and out, though he shakes his head in laughter when they can't see. Ice cream is always in the basement freezer, and cookies are always in the bread box.

It's a place that is woven into the fabric of who I am. It's a home where hours of my childhood were spent happily climbing trees, playing the dusty organ in the basement, and hiding in the metal wardrobe. A place where cousins were always laughing and the love and soul of family was so thick you could taste it.

I love you, Grandpa. Miss you terribly, even after all these years. This batch is for you.

[And this, dear internets, is for you:]

You're welcome. Think of him when you make it, will you?

If a picture is worth a thousand words...

How many of those words came out yelling?

Answer? A lot.

Today was a faow day [pronounced faux, as in fake snow day]. You know, the kind where they keep everyone home for no real reason at all? Normally I am a huge fan of these days, as it means sleeping in, lounging around in PJs, and hanging with cheerful and happy kids all day.

Today it started at six a.m. when the phone rang with the [then] joyous news. I was the only one who went back to sleep.

I was startled awake by the first fight of the morning a mere hour later.

I fed them, showered, and was getting ready when I was interrupted by the second and third fights of the morning.

Apparently, brother one had been throwing ice balls at the sister, resulting in tears, heartache, and tattling galore. Brother two staunchly defended his own innocence. (Though me thinkest thou protesteth a bit too loudly...)

I came downstairs to find three doors flung wide open to the frigid cold outside, soggy piles of melted snow at every turn, and a lonely trail of discarded snow gear leading the way to a large mess in the kitchen.

All before ten-freaking-thirty in the morning.

Lord, I love them something fierce, but sometimes they make it really, really hard to do so.

"I'm just walking like it's a park, without a shirt on"

Yesterday afternoon I was folding the laundry. Movement out in the backyard caught my eye, and I looked up in horror at the sight.

My second born son was roaming the backyard in nothing but a pair of shorts and sneakers. Keep in mind that it was LITERALLY FOUR DEGREES OUTSIDE.

That's right, I said four. Not fourteen. Not forty. FOUR FREAKING DEGREES.

He had the Flipshare video camera in his hand, and was talking to it, filming himself as he went.

I knew immediately what he was doing.

He was living out his own version of Survivorman. My boys are both big fans of the show and have watched and re-watched every episode at least a dozen times. Were I to give the approval, they would immediately be off the grid, living off the land -- no food, no shelter (and no fun, if you ask me).

It boggles the mind. Truly.

Here is our very own Survivorman, Chase. Best part about the video is around 0:59 when he says, "Well, I think I'm going back in. Not because I'm cold, but because I think I might be getting yelled at. Better get it over with."

How well this child knows his mother.