Christmastide

"Wonder what this is?" Lucy flops a mishmash of Christmas wrap like a leather strap over one knee.

"I don't know," I say.  She creases it in half, edges uneven then lopes around the ottoman.

"It's my card I made for Joey," she says. She clatters onto the black couch, plops next to me. "See? I made it for Joey."

She rests still for a moment, leans a cheek on my shoulder. I pause and jot in my journal. She scampers away, returns with an old bank ledger and black pen. She opens to the first page and forms a few letters.

"Can you write JOEY right here?" She points to the end of the letters. "It says: I love JOEY," she lilts. So I write JOEY. She captures the pen again. "Now, I'm gonna write: I love MYRA," she says and weaves the pen through more curls and curves.


***

"Momma, I can't wait for Christmas." Jane lingers, last at the lunch table. Propped on an elbow, cottage cheese long forgotten, she nudges the spoon.

"Uh-huh," I mumble, scurry a cranberry on to my fork. "Why is that?"

"'Cause I want to see Jack open his present." She leans in, clanks the spoon sideways, and ever so slightly, I lean in too. "I got him a blue one," she whispers. "He thought there was only one, and it was for me, but I have another."

She sits back scoops the cottage cheese again, cinnamon speckled, then idles it on the bowl's white edge. Like a kite string loose in the wind, she chatters. She flutters anticipation. "I also got Jack an H-A-T and a lollipop." Gifts unspool. She's a bobbin ribbon loose in the Christmas air.

We chase the last morsels around our dishes and dream about the gifts we will give.






Gratitude:

Photo from  Urban Rose.

3861. My husband builds a new blog for the family {WELCOME}. He builds it for me. {LOVE}

3862. And my sis-in-law makes the header. 

3863. "Why do you not like port-a-potties?" Lucy wants to know. "I like 'em when we're fishing and need to go," she says.

3864. "I'm trusting Myra not to break my fort," Lucy announces and trots upstairs for school.

3865. "When you hear me reading aloud that means I'm reading to YOU," Jack says as he practices his lessons.

3866. "Mom I store conversations in here," Jane holds up an empty lead container, mechanical pencil in hand.

3867. We meet up at mom's and eat lentil soup. The week-to-week friendship grows sweeter with time.

Photo from  Urban Rose.

3868. I make an attempt at a joke. "It's surprising when Mommy makes a joke," Jane says, "'cause she doesn't make them very often."

3869. "Wherever you go it's not nowhere," Lucy philosophizes.

3870. "I kinda like this," Jane comments on an outfit she picked out herself. "I think it might actually be sort of in style."

3871. Lentil soup, a bouquet of winter spices, nutmeg log cookies, and company. We treasure the time with my parents.

3872. We serve up leftover soup. "You should take two scoops, Daddy, 'cause you're still growing," Jack offers.

3873. Myra lays next to Joey on the floor. They hold hands and snuggle. Myra falls asleep.

3874. I sip coffee in the snow and go Christmas shopping with Mom. We trace the work of God in our lives and memorize the shape.

3875. I hide Christmas outfits for the kids.

Photo from  Urban Rose.

3876. We indulge in drinking-chocolate at the monthly gallery meeting.

3877. Winter jacket: green, down, basically a big hug.

3878. Myra finds Jack asleep after nightly prayers, and before we can stop her, she slaps him awake for a hug.

3879. We have dinner and an afternoon on the farm. Good food, coffee and dessert, football and cards, the afternoon encircles us.

3880. Another week wound tightly around us, I thank the Lord for every moment. In light of the terrible CT shooting, I am struck again how every single moment is a gift. Even the hard moments, gifts from above. I pray to treasure every one.

Photo from  Urban Rose.