Currently Watching Amazing Grace By Ioan Gruffudd, Romola Garai, Benedict Cumberbatch, Albert Finney, Michael Gambon see related

Twas the second week of advent, and all through the Berry home,
Many creatures were scurrying and singing and arguing as they roamed.
They hoped to hang stockings someday and maybe get a tree,
But b-ball practice, church choir, and scouts kept them busy as bees.
At least the manger’s up and the lights outside, so we do the suburban blend,
But Christmas cards keep coming, so I suppose ours we must send.

 Dave’s still at H------ Blue Shield in charge of reserves,
But their company’s merging and who knows what positions will be preserved.
He’s not worrying much; there’s too much else to do—
Leading tiger cubs, teaching 1^st graders Sunday school, baseball and b-ball coaching too.

Rachel still prays with Moms In Touch and did a Bible study,
But her favorite parts of this year were catching up with friends and family.
We went to Canada this summer, to Dave’s parents’ cottage, for some relaxing living
And spent time with Rachel’s extended family in Nagshead over Thanksgiving.

Abby’s so big—it’s hard to believe it's ten years ago she was born.
She still does Girl Scouts, piano, and switched from viola to French horn.
She’s in her second year of basketball and played on a great softball team.
She’s still the boys’ favorite sister, and keeps her room as clean as any mother’s dream.

 Jamie, or James as he’s now known, is catching up to Abby and wears bigger shoes.
He’s eight now, loves to heely, play sports and can’t stand to lose.
He played baseball, basketball, (flag) football, and still does scouting,
But he has moments to read, play Legos, or keep up with his Webkinz’ cat, Yao-Ming.

Jack’s in school all day (first grade) now that he’s turned six.
He loves Tiger cubs, having his dad coach baseball, and learning soccer kicks.
He spends hours drawing and enjoys games and, in play, taking the lead.
Still, he’ll snuggle up to say “good morning” or to sit and read.

 Our littlest one, Andy, is now almost four, and like all Berrys, tall.
He takes gymnastics at the Y and started preschool this fall.
He is often attired as Buzz Lightyear or Superman or in just random dress-up clothes
And he and Mommy do puzzles, read, and play Playmobil and dominoes.

The newest addition is covered in fur, from her head to her paw.
We called her Shanti, a Shih-Tzu, who often raises a guffaw.
She speaks barely a word, but has created lots of work.
Still, we’re hopeful for the future as we work out the quirks.

 And you know we’d exclaim, should we see you tonight,
“Merry Christmas to you all as you celebrate the True Light.”

But in the end, I lacked courage to send it or the wherewithal to perfect it, so our readers had to be content with a picture.

And these were our picture choices.  Notice that we have our own resident Calvin (of Calvin and Hobbes) who made the whole picture selection rather difficult.

We actually didn't choose any of these pictures, but one very close.

Currently Reading Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl By Anne Frank see related

A Matter of Taste

A few weeks ago, I was climbing the stairs to get Andy dressed and thinking about how nice it was now to bring Andy in to preschool wearing clothes picked out by ME, carefully matching, mostly clean, clothes.  This is in contrast to Jack’s preschool days when he insisted on wearing the same pair of camouflage pants and a small rotation of shirts involving Star Wars characters, Spiderman, and possibly Superman or Buzz.  I don’t exactly recall.

Of course, that very same day, as I cheerfully plucked a clean shirt from his drawer, Andy looked at it and stated, “I don’t like that shirt!”  Forgetting all my training in having lived through three other preschoolers, I began enumerating all the benefits of this particular, basically boring shirt.  After which, Andy stated a bit more belligerently, “I don’t like that shirt!”  “But it goes so nicely with these pants!”  And his eyes started to tear up as he insisted, “But I don’t like it!  I don’t want to wear it!”

And then my brain returned, and I dug out Jack’s old Star Wars shirt (miraculously clean!) and peace was restored.  So, we dashed downstairs so we could walk out to wave to the other kids at the bus stop.

And then, he saw it.

A crumpled Buzz Lightyear costume, hastily discarded in the front hall the previous day.

“Mom!  Mom!!  I want to be Buzz!”  And I dreaded the future I saw quickly unfolding.  I briefly and hopelessly try to talk him out of it, but ended up helping him climb into the costume with rips in both knees—big rips through which legs have accidentally protruded in the dressing process—and dirt and stains all over.  I bought it at a consignment shop for Jamie five years ago, and it has seen lots of use.

And so, I whisked my little Buzz off to preschool.  The thing is that I’ve decided long ago that clothes don’t matter.  I mean, of course, I love when my kids are dressed beautifully, but I can’t think of any reason why dressing according to anyone’s standards should be important.  So, I let my kids go off to school wearing whatever bizarre attire they put together.  And I regularly take a Buzz or a caped figure or an obviously Brave and Courageous Man wearing a sword stuck in his pants to the store or library storytime.  But I had never actually seen any other child in all my years of taking kids to preschool come to school in costume (when it wasn’t a specially designated day).  I'm pretty sure most moms aren't lenient in this matter.

Still, the next preschool day, I was prepared and had at least washed the hole-ridden costume.  And I complacently accepted Superman the next time.  To think I used to dread camouflage pants.

Currently Watching Transformers By Shia Labeouf, Megan Fox, Turturro, Voight see related

Family Gatherings

When we still lived in our old neighborhood, I remember talking with a neighbor at the park.  She was saying how relieved she felt, now that her parents were finally back from their month or so in Florida.  Her parents lived on our block of the neighborhood; she was on the other side.  She elaborated on how cooped up she felt having to be with her kids all.the.time, and what a relief it would be to drop them off that afternoon and do the grocery shopping kid-free.  Her parents did seem like really wonderful, involved grandparents.  And I listened, murmuring agreement, completely sympathetic.

And yet, since we are now living the closest we’ve ever lived to parents (a mere 2.5 hours from mine and 9 hours from Dave’s) and no other family closer than 1.5 hours, I really have no concept of what it’s like to have family in town, much less in the same neighborhood.  It sounds heavenly--not having to shop for groceries with tagalongs, going on dates without having to call around for a babysitter or feeling disappointed by the quality of care later, going Christmas shopping together, making hair appointments during the day.  All novel ideas.

I suppose if I were more extroverted I could quickly make new “family” in our new locations, and certainly, before our four blessings appeared, there were people we could just hang out with at the drop of a hat.  But somehow, with our busy schedule and our reserved natures, I now find finding that “family” more difficult.

And since my parents moved away from their parents (in New York and Pennsylvania) and Dave’s parents moved from theirs (in Canada), it seems natural for us (and our siblings) to have all relocated.

Still, I wonder if the giddy anticipation of family gatherings makes up (some) for the long distance.  When family is close, do you still eagerly await the times everyone gathers together?  Do your kids exhaust reams of paper making notes and cards and who-knows-whats for the next time they’ll all be together?

We spent Thanksgiving in North Carolina in the Outer Banks.  We rented a huge house with my mom’s two sisters and their kids and my brothers and their families.  The house was beautiful, right on the ocean and enormous enough for the 22 of us to fit more than comfortably.  Our kids and their four cousins (all boys) ran all over, wreaking noisy havoc wherever they touched down.  We grownups played lots of games, watched movies, baked scrumptious food, and ate (because it wouldn’t have been Thanksgiving if we hadn’t tried to finish off at least 10 or so pies among us).  That is, unless you were sick the entire time (which Dave was).  And we missed my sister, who was still recovering with little Peter in New Jersey.

And we are now looking forward to the descent of Dave’s family upon us for Christmas—24 to be added to our six for our Christmas celebration, with 11 extras staying over for several days.  Dave’s sister said in her blog that once Thanksgiving is over, Christmas is in 2 seconds.  So, I’m trying to prepare… and feeling very excited….

Welcome, Little Peter!!

Yesterday the phone rang somewhere around 9:00 a.m. 

I checked the caller ID, grabbed the phone, and shrieked (just a little), “Are you having a baby?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m in labor” came back my sister’s matter-of-fact voice.

“How far apart are the contractions?”

“They’ve been about 5 minutes apart for the last two hours.  I started having contractions yesterday evening, but they went away late in the night.  And then, started when I got up again.”

Completely ignoring the end of the statement, I definitely started shrieking, “Five minutes apart??? Why are you calling me?  Mom can call me!!  Go to the hospital.”

“Well, I’m going to eat breakfast and call a few more people.  Then, I figure we’ll go,” she answered back almost lazily.  “They aren’t very painful.”

“Eat breakfast????  You’re not supposed to eat when you’re in labor!”

“Do you really believe all that?”

“Oh," momentarily sidetracked.  "Well, I don’t know.  But I got nauseous with Andy, so I don’t think I’d have wanted to have a full stomach.  Maybe just toast.”

And so, we continued talking excitedly about having babies, and before we hung up, I told her to tell Mom to call me when she went to the hospital.

***

At 1:30, I still hadn’t heard anything, so I called Mom and got Dad.

“So, are you at Lucia’s yet?”

“Um, no, we had a bit of a late start because we had to drop some CDs for church off at ___’s house, and we needed to stop the mail and we had to pack and everything.”

“So, has she gone to the hospital?”

“Well, we haven’t actually called to check.”(!)  Maybe we aren’t the most communicative family alive, or maybe this is how my sister acquired her mellow attitude toward life.  So, I called Lucia, and she was still having contractions about 3 minutes apart when she stood up, but slowing down to 8 minutes about when she was resting, so she was going to take a nap.

So, I took a couple of breaks during promising lulls from the seven children running around creating havoc (early dismissal at school) to call my parents and Lucia to see if she was considering homebirth or did she think she might just go to the hospital.  (There was lots of shrieking and gesticulating from my end, and even-keeled responses from the other end.  We’re mostly a phlegmatic, unexcitable family.)

Lucia said she thought she’d wait until my parents arrived.  Then, she and Jerry exited quickly, arrived at the hospital at 6:55 and gave birth to her little boy at 8:12 p.m. (naturally, of course, because they couldn’t get that epidural in quick enough).

Her version of the story is much more exciting, but I’ll let her tell it.  Crazy.  I don’t think I could have stood waiting it out so long.  What do I mean “don’t think”?  There’s no way!  I pretty much couldn’t stand Lucia waiting!  If I could have figured out how to get someone else to watch my seven young charges, I’d have gone and sent her to the hospital, but I couldn’t persuade Dave that his work was really the unimportant, piddly stuff I’m sure it was.  Still, there are advantages, I suppose, to having to walk and talk and fill out papers during your most intense contractions.  And Lucia speaks glowingly of this whole labor experience, so I’m glad it all worked out so superbly.  I was certainly praying—and that seems to have significantly better results than shrieking and gesticulating.

Lucia and little Peter Sur-Yuan are doing well.  (That Chinese middle name probably isn’t spelled correctly).  He was 8 lbs. 4 oz., and I’m sure he’s beautiful.

And wasn’t it thoughtful of him to arrive on my mom’s 60^th birthday?  Happy birthday, Mom!!

Currently Watching Spider-Man 3 (2-Disc Special Edition) By Tobey Maguire, Kirsten Dunst, James Franco, Thomas Haden Church, Topher Grace see related

Our Greatest Right

I have a confession….

I’m not entirely sure my 11^th grade government teacher would have been proud yesterday.

I voted.  I did.  And have to thank my civic-minded husband for that.  Which is funny, when you consider that both his parents were Canadians living right outside Phillie for his whole existence (and they just became US citizens a couple years ago), and so, he never actually saw his parents vote.  But he is proud of the fact that since he’s turned 18, he has never missed an election, a claim that I cannot make—it was something about moving and having children and I can’t remember what that made me miss one (or was it two?) minor elections.

But yesterday, we voted and dragged along all four kids, to help instill patriotic duty into their souls.  I knew this was going to happen.  That same civic-minded person had mentioned on several different occasions that election day was November 5^th.  So, I should have been prepared.

Still, when he called at 5:00 last night to say he had left work a tad early to vote and that I should throw the kids in the car and meet him, I was thrown into a mild fluster.  “But who are we going to vote for?  I don’t even know who’s running!”  He made some joke about voting the straight party ticket that I did not appreciate.  I don’t want to be a straight-party conformist; I want to be a thoughtful, intelligent, well-informed voter…which, obviously, I am not.  So, I ran to the internet and googled voting guides and the newspaper and Family Research Council… and got nothing.  Well, not literally nothing.  There were lots of responses, but no articles that gave me any information on the judges who were running for election or re-election or what their stances were on anything.

So I abandoned the Well-Informed Voter guise and decided just to appease my husband and try to make a sort-of-in-the-vicinity-of-timely appearance (which is all I ever shoot for).  And I thought that really they ought to have a big list posted on the walls of the voting halls that tell what each candidate stands for, in his/her own words, of course.  Or am I the only person who missed last Wednesday’s voter guide in the paper and only listens to the news as I race to piano lessons or soccer practice?  I guess that is somewhat the purpose of those kindhearted people who stand outside, freezing and handing you loads of information on how great their candidates are.  So, I showed up, stared blankly at this list of completely-unknown-to-me judges or judge-wannabes, touched the screen in touchable, blinky spaces, and pushed my button to vote.

Voila!  Democracy marches on.  I’m not entirely sure that that actually qualifies as voting.  I was just hoping as I made guesses for these judges that all of you are so much more informed and full of integrity and civic-mindedness and stuff and are making a great difference.  Or at least that Dave would vote completely opposite me on some of them, so we could cancel each other out, and then I wouldn’t be directly responsible for the downfall of society.