My Girl

 Tegan's New Year's Day Dora viewing party

I have a confession to make.  I've never had a professional manicure.  I've never been to a spa.  I can count on one hand the number of times I've paid for a haircut.  I'm not into purses, know nothing about makeup, and I haven't seen my hairdryer in a decade.  My standard-issue wardrobe consists of jeans and t shirts. In short, I'm not exactly what you'd call a "girlie" girl.

I was never the one who dreamt about having a little girl of her own, never the one who felt like she wouldn't be complete unless she was able to be a mother to a daughter.  I loved having three boys (I still do!)  and when we were blessed enough to become pregnant with Tegan, it was with no expectations other than to have another beautiful child.

I dreaded the comments.  Dreaded them.  Not so much the comments that were made to me alone, because I'm a big girl, but the comments that were made right in front of the boys.  "Trying one last time for a girl?"  "Hopefully you'll finally get a girl."  "I bet you're hoping for a girl."  How hurtful that must have been for the boys!

I needed a placard to hang around my neck:

Yes, we're having another baby after 3 boys.  No, we are not disappointed that we had only boys.  No, we were not "trying for a girl."   Yes, we will be JUST AS HAPPY if our fourth child is a girl or a boy.

We still get the unsolicited commentary when people realize that we had a girl after 3 boys, and it still bothers me.  I freely admit that I'm more sensitive about it than I should be, but (a second confession, if I may) letting go of hurtful - and repeated - comments from family members has never been my strong suit.  

And here's the thing:  I am so glad that the decision was not up to me.  I think about it sometimes, and I realize that we could have very easily called our family complete with the three boys, so content we were the children we'd already been blessed with.  I am so thankful that God placed it strongly (so, so strongly) on my heart to have another.  And I think it's ironic - and wonderful!! - that this tomboy was given not just a girl, but a GIRL'S girl.... a girl who loves pink, and sparkles, and nail polish, and princesses.  A girl who's filled my house with dolls and dresses, crowns and castles.  And so help me, I love it.

Being a mother to the boys came very naturally to me, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that mothering a girl, while being completely new to me, came just as naturally.   Legos, nerf guns, bow and arrows, tea sets, princesses, Dora parties.  I'm there.

And when she's ready for her first real manicure, I'll be there too.

Plans and Passions

Last night we rang in the New Year with a carpet picnic of fried, not-even-remotely-healthy-non-food, wine, and season one of The Big Bang Theory.  Today we saw Mike's parents off at the airport, went to a movie with the kids, and started planning for 2011.

I avoided it for as long as I could.  As focused as I've been on living in the moment, thinking about a whole other year seemed somehow distasteful.  But it's officially here, and I can deny it no longer.  

So plan we must.

Everett is in a play this spring, with rehearsals starting next week.

We've got field trips and co-ops, appointments and day trips

We have visitors coming for a week in February

I'm beginning yoga teacher training in March (unless I change my mind about the timing, again, because.. well.. I do that)

I'd really like to edit my Nano book

A friend and I are collaborating on an unschooling project

We're tentatively planning a three-week trip east this summer.

And so it goes....

A lot of planning, figuring, thinking, and dreaming.  Right now though, I'm thinking of none of that.  Right now, I'm actually thinking of blogging (while I'm blogging, what are the chances?)  I read an article about blogging the other day, by the lovely Dan over at Single Dad Laughing, and it talked about - among other things - the importance of blogging every day.  Every.  Single.  Day.  It also mentioned posting a picture with every post, which is why I included the yogi at the top of this entry (which really has nothing to do with anything, except that I mentioned yoga).  So, I was reading this article and thinking about blogging, and I suddenly decided that this will be the year that I will cease being Jen who occasionally blogs, and become Jen The Blogger.  Because, well why not.   Because I want to see over 300 posts in one year in my archives.

And because I can.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

We pulled it off.

After a rather odd and stressful week leading up to Christmas, with kids with fevers and husbands with bronchitis, and missed Christmas Eve services, and last minute trips to buy new sleeper couches ... it all somehow came together. I had my lingering doubts right up until 9:00 the night before Christmas, but then it was there: that moment when all is right with the world, that moment when life is fuzzy and warm and we're all together and the kids are happy (at the same time!) When no one's worried about to-do lists or expectations or stresses; when life is just about the holiday, about being together, and about celebrating.

And it was good.

Christmas day was busy and fun, as were the days that followed.

And just like that, another year is over.  I noticed in my online wanderings this morning that lots of bloggers were honoring the end of the year with a list of the "best of the best", sort of a round-up of their top - or most interesting or most noticed or most read - posts for the year.  Never one to miss a party (at least the virtual kind where I don't have to actually be social and talk to people), here is mine.

Best wishes for a healthy, happy, prosperous, and peace-filled 2011.

My Future Street Sweepers

Teens and Toddlers

He Who Spareth the 1/4 Inch Plumbing Supply Line 

Harry Potter, Hiking Shoes, and Vacations

Condemnation 

My friend is one... who take me for what I am

Discipline

It's that time of year again, folks

Attachment Parenting:  Freedom and Joy

Offensive, defined

The Anatomy of a Gingerbread House

This was the first year we bought one of those pre-packaged gingerbread kits, in all its hydrogenated, artificially colored glory.

Everett immediately put himself in charge.

"I'm doing something fun with my brothers and it involves CANDY!"

Sometime around here, 2 year old disappeared.  She was clear across the house.

"No, I don't have a mouth full of candy."

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen.....

It was when I was taking pictures of the finished product that I saw the ever-widening gap on the ceiling.

Going.

Going.

Gone.

The whole thing took an hour, from box to table to mouth.  And it was worth every second, and every penny.

Seven days till Christmas.

Making a list, checking it twice

Last year, we decided not to send Christmas cards.  I wanted to save money, I was concerned about the trees (oh the trees!!), and it seemed just another thing to stress out about during an already busy holiday season.  

Not sending cards made me sad.

This year, we have twice as many things to do, as evidenced by my lack of blogs (another thing that makes me sad) but I was not going to miss my cards again.  So we took some pictures, found a good deal, and cards that were printed on recycled paper, thank you very much.  The kids and I visited the post office for some Christmas stamps, hit the Dollar Tree for some fun stickers to decorate them, and spent an afternoon addressing, licking, sticking and sealing.  

And now it feels like Christmas.

Dora, Breathing and Other Life Lessons

Christmas is in 19 days. In one fell swoop November ended, December began, and we were thrust head-first into holiday mode. We've decorated, we've shopped, we've ordered Christmas cards. We've hung the tree, the stockings, and the advent calendar. We've started the Jesse tree. We've made paper snowflakes, we've gone to the company Christmas party. We've mailed holiday cards to soldiers.

And I feel...

tired.

It's not the kind of tired you feel when you're running around all crazy, stressed and frazzled and trying to do too much. I think far too many people turn the holidays into some sort of competition - even if it's just a competition with themselves - a race to see who can stretch themselves the furthest, and push themselves the hardest. Out-shop, out-gift, out-decorate, out-spend, out-party. It's a race I have no interest in joining. No, my fatigue comes from the simple fact that life is busy with four kids, and as much as I try to live in the moment, try to find peace and stillness no matter what's going on around me, I get caught up and forget how. More than that, I simply forget to breathe.

It seems crazy to me that one can forget to do something as basic (and important!) as breathing properly, and yet I do. One of the things I love about yoga is that it forces me to breathe again... to concentrate on breathing, to calm everything down again, to return to the moment and be able to say, "Ah yes, that feels better." But because not every moment lends itself to the feasibility of spontaneously breaking out into a downward dog, I have to find other ways to return to that place of calm, other ways to remember to breathe.

My kids don't seem to have that problem. They are almost always in the moment, almost always happy. They know that life isn't just about the little things, but that life IS the little things. That's where the happiness is. Not in money or toys or "stuff," but in the little things. In the moment. In the breathing.

A few days ago, Tegan was sitting on my lap at the kitchen table, playing with Moon Sand. Now as any parent can tell you, Moon Sand is cool, but messy. Really messy. But I already had the trash can out, along with the dust pan and broom, because I'd swept up the bits of paper from snowflake-making earlier. I'd clean up the Moon Sand, then move onto the kitchen, which still held most of the mess from the cookie-making we'd done during our play date. There were dishes to be done too, and I had to rinse out Everett's little medicine cup, because he'd need another dose soon. I'd taken him to the dentist for a tooth extraction just the day before, and while it was healing fine, I wanted to be sure we kept up with his after-care. We'd have to think about dinner at some point, and I wanted to try to go to bed fairly early, because I was to babysit at 7:00 A.M. the next morning.

My mind was focused on a million insignificant things. I was sitting with Tegan, but I wasn't there. I wasn't breathing.

"Shhhhhhhhhhh." The girl put her little finger to my lips. Had she heard my racing mind?

"Shhhhhhhhhhh," she said again, in a whisper. "Dora's sleeping."

I made sure to lower my voice before asking, "Where?"

"In here. This is her castle. She was tired from picking blueberries with Boots, so she's sleeping."

And just like that, I was breathing again. I. Love. These. Kids.

Being invited to share in a child's imagination trumps messes. It's more important than clean kitchens, and what we have for dinner, and whether or not I get my 8 hours of sleep. Even though my body was there, I wasn't being present, and she ever-so-gently brought me back to the beauty of the moment... the moment of just being, and playing, and breathing. Together. It wasn't the first time she'd done it, and I imagine it won't be the last. I thank God for these kids, and what they continually teach me. For some reason, they don't need that reminder that adults might need. They know how to live in the moment, and they know how to find peace.

And it's even better than downward dog.