it's been a while since the last post, but not since the last run. indeed, i'm more or less on track. i solicited my good friend JH to run the marathon with me, and the partner aspect is definitely helping my motivation. Last sunday we did 7.2 miles all up and down the snowy streets of burlington, at tiumes literally risking life and limb. but it was worth it. i was away this weekend but managed to eek out 5 miles at my mother-in-law's. in between the 'long runs' (fear not, they get longer) we've been doing 3-4mi at least twice a week. got 3.5 in this afternoon before work, and we're headed for a big 9 miler this weekend.
this is also working out in large part because of my new work schedule/child care routine. so i'm working every monday/wednesday evening (3-1130), but my awesome babysitter has agreed to come at 1pm, affording me some consistent running time. and J is happy to oblige my constrained schedule, especially since i'll drive to her. i have to deal with getting to work all sweaty, and my co-workers must forgive me that. but so far it hasn't been an issue. foul smells are not out of the ordinary for nurses:)
ok i'll check in this weekend once we pass that 9mile mark. wish me luck!
Monday, February 14, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
i am
it's funny how there's such a big difference between saying you do something and saying you are something.
so i run. does it make me a runner? good question. we can come back to that. see my training log. i'll tell you on may 29th.
i like to bake, but i wouldn't call myself a baker. i think it's because when i picture a baker, i imagine someone with flour on their nose, standing in their kitchen at 4am, a well-worn apron around their waist, and the smell of cinnamon buns and baguettes wafting from every corner. i don't own an apron, i can't make a decent baguette, and if I'm up at 4am i'm either at work or my eyes are blearily trying to discern milk from wine on the fridge door, lest i make my daughter an early morning cocktail by mistake.
on the other hand, i mother my children, and yes i would say i AM a mother. but again there are definitions at stake. i mean you can be a mother and never meet your child. you can mother children you aren't your own. in my case, it's a package deal. out of the belly and into my arms, and i do all the mommy things like hugs and kissing boo-boos, and waking up again...and again...and the poop and the perpetual mess on my kitchen floor and crunching on cereal and finding an old milk cup behind the couch left since...eek tuesday. and playdates and puzzles and wide eyes and a little voice saying 'wuv you, mamma...' from inside his crib. package deal.
and all this has to do with....writing.
i write sometimes. different kinds of things. poems and prose. blog postings. DAR notes at work.
i haven't called myself a writer, though. and someone recently asked me why. is it because not having published anything means i'm not worthy of the title? that seems silly. besides, i publish my blog posts online. so why not just be a writer? i think it's because, as with being a cook, in my mind i've equated being a writer to being a certain type of person i am not. to me, a writer sits in the corner of a dimly lit room, preferably in the top of a building with a small window nearby. she hunches over her words, stopping only to sip scotch or to drag off her cigarette, maybe to laugh or cry at herself periodically. her life is solitary. she gets little sleep, has few friends, is estranged from her family and corresponds with her editor only occasionally.
ha. this is not my life. i don't have a dimly lit upstairs, i never sip scotch because, as my mother pointed out, it tastes like wet paper, and i haven't drug my drag off of cigarrettes in many many moons. i talk to my family frequently, and my only editor is my own hand. i do sleep inadequately however, and at times it may be from a tortured stanza that keeps me up. and when i lay in bed at night, i sometimes find that i can't get the phrasing of a line out of my head. i can't not think of how to say what i see. it's like there's a combination of words in me, and when the momentous or the mundane occur, out they come all strung up the way they were meant to be all along. and i don't know how to stop that from happening. it's in me. it is me. i am a writer.
so case closed. that being said, don't expect a poetry slam posting any time soon. reading a poem is like reading an x-ray. it should be reserved for people who know what they're doing with that kind of information, and who care deeply about the consequences.
so i run. does it make me a runner? good question. we can come back to that. see my training log. i'll tell you on may 29th.
i like to bake, but i wouldn't call myself a baker. i think it's because when i picture a baker, i imagine someone with flour on their nose, standing in their kitchen at 4am, a well-worn apron around their waist, and the smell of cinnamon buns and baguettes wafting from every corner. i don't own an apron, i can't make a decent baguette, and if I'm up at 4am i'm either at work or my eyes are blearily trying to discern milk from wine on the fridge door, lest i make my daughter an early morning cocktail by mistake.
on the other hand, i mother my children, and yes i would say i AM a mother. but again there are definitions at stake. i mean you can be a mother and never meet your child. you can mother children you aren't your own. in my case, it's a package deal. out of the belly and into my arms, and i do all the mommy things like hugs and kissing boo-boos, and waking up again...and again...and the poop and the perpetual mess on my kitchen floor and crunching on cereal and finding an old milk cup behind the couch left since...eek tuesday. and playdates and puzzles and wide eyes and a little voice saying 'wuv you, mamma...' from inside his crib. package deal.
and all this has to do with....writing.
i write sometimes. different kinds of things. poems and prose. blog postings. DAR notes at work.
i haven't called myself a writer, though. and someone recently asked me why. is it because not having published anything means i'm not worthy of the title? that seems silly. besides, i publish my blog posts online. so why not just be a writer? i think it's because, as with being a cook, in my mind i've equated being a writer to being a certain type of person i am not. to me, a writer sits in the corner of a dimly lit room, preferably in the top of a building with a small window nearby. she hunches over her words, stopping only to sip scotch or to drag off her cigarette, maybe to laugh or cry at herself periodically. her life is solitary. she gets little sleep, has few friends, is estranged from her family and corresponds with her editor only occasionally.
ha. this is not my life. i don't have a dimly lit upstairs, i never sip scotch because, as my mother pointed out, it tastes like wet paper, and i haven't drug my drag off of cigarrettes in many many moons. i talk to my family frequently, and my only editor is my own hand. i do sleep inadequately however, and at times it may be from a tortured stanza that keeps me up. and when i lay in bed at night, i sometimes find that i can't get the phrasing of a line out of my head. i can't not think of how to say what i see. it's like there's a combination of words in me, and when the momentous or the mundane occur, out they come all strung up the way they were meant to be all along. and i don't know how to stop that from happening. it's in me. it is me. i am a writer.
so case closed. that being said, don't expect a poetry slam posting any time soon. reading a poem is like reading an x-ray. it should be reserved for people who know what they're doing with that kind of information, and who care deeply about the consequences.
training log - week 1
OK so it was no joke. I am legit going to run the VT city marathon. It's on May 29th. I am in week one of my 18 week training schedule. I ran 3 miles wednesday and 3 today. I cross-trained monday and yesterday. Tomorrow is a rest day. Sunday I'm going for 6. A few things I'm learning as I go: winter running is a little treacherous. for one thing, running on snow is like running on sand. it's soft and hard at the same time. it's a serious workout, and it challenges your stabilizing muscles. you can get around this by skipping sidewalks and choosing the road. however, the snow banks are currently at about waist height for me. soo...if i need to jump out of the way of garbage trucks and city buses, i have to jump high! this is why I'm sticking to my neighborhood where nobody drives above 25mph. i'm already noticing how tight my legs feel. i need to come up with and stick to a very strict stretching regimen. also it's cold. damn cold. don't get me wrong, cold is far far better than hot. but i'm ready to be above freezing. and finally, it has sunk in that 3 miles is just over 10% of the total distance. and this is disconcerting and maybe discouraging. but i'm at the beginning of this training journey. a wise professor i had a college told me that sometimes it's good to think of things has having a beginning, middle and end. this can keep experiences in perspective as you move forward. so we've just begun. no fretting. just training. one foot. in front of the other.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
things
1) I love wearing leggings. It has nothing to do with how fantastic I look in them (which is debatable), and everything to do with the fact that they work with every shoe, from ballet flat to a Vibram-soled Sorrel to Danskos to my new favorite black pumps. also if i have an extra-exhausting day and can't be bothered to even take off my pants, i can wear them to bed (this is a real bonus for a girl who wears pajamas, I mean scrubs, to work...) And they have elastic everywhere, which is perfect for crawling under a couch fort, or crawling in the back of the cabinet for the pyrex dish top, or crawling under the table to retrieve lucie, who crawled under the table to retrieve an old piece of cereal she found.
2) I signed up to run the vermont city marathon. this is different from last year, when I signed up to run IN the vermont city marathon, a relay leg of 5.8 miles to be exact. this is the real deal. 26.2 miles. far farther than the 'far' i'm familiar with. fortunately, the date remains far far away, or at least i'm telling myself that. am i crazy? yes. since i already have one paying job, and two at-home round-the-clock jobs, an only recently discovered enjoyment of exercise, and a husband who is equally busy and committed with studying and babies (ours). oh, phil is going to run it, too! hurray for aspirations and multitasking! and while you may be saying to yourself 'emily, this IS a little far-fetched', need I remind you that in the summer of 2003, my now husband convinced me that it would be a good idea to through-hike the Long Trail with him despite never having done an overnight backpacking before trip in my life?? Guess what? He was right.
3) i just uploaded a bunch of pictures and have to share the kids on christmas eve:
4) Which reminds me, just before Christmas, Phil and I briefly discussed the possibility of getting Cleveland a play kitchen. Ultimately, common sense won out and we agreed that we really didn't have the space, since our kitchen takes up half of our downstairs as it is. however, cleveland is now totally into pretend-play, which is literally and entire new world for him, and me, to live in. and he loves the kitchen so much, so I went ahead and designated a corner of our kitchen just for him. this is just one picture so you have an idea. we've since added a 'pantry' fashioned out of a diapers.com box, and some other tools, as well:
>
...a little more pretend play. what i love about this, with his glasses, cleveland gets to be be Superman AND Clark Kent all at once:
5) I knit some pretty mittens. See:
6) my children are napping at the same time, and I have a laundry list of things to accomplish, including, but not limited to, laundry. oh but there is so much to read, and think about, and write about. I think I'll make myself some tea.
2) I signed up to run the vermont city marathon. this is different from last year, when I signed up to run IN the vermont city marathon, a relay leg of 5.8 miles to be exact. this is the real deal. 26.2 miles. far farther than the 'far' i'm familiar with. fortunately, the date remains far far away, or at least i'm telling myself that. am i crazy? yes. since i already have one paying job, and two at-home round-the-clock jobs, an only recently discovered enjoyment of exercise, and a husband who is equally busy and committed with studying and babies (ours). oh, phil is going to run it, too! hurray for aspirations and multitasking! and while you may be saying to yourself 'emily, this IS a little far-fetched', need I remind you that in the summer of 2003, my now husband convinced me that it would be a good idea to through-hike the Long Trail with him despite never having done an overnight backpacking before trip in my life?? Guess what? He was right.
3) i just uploaded a bunch of pictures and have to share the kids on christmas eve:
4) Which reminds me, just before Christmas, Phil and I briefly discussed the possibility of getting Cleveland a play kitchen. Ultimately, common sense won out and we agreed that we really didn't have the space, since our kitchen takes up half of our downstairs as it is. however, cleveland is now totally into pretend-play, which is literally and entire new world for him, and me, to live in. and he loves the kitchen so much, so I went ahead and designated a corner of our kitchen just for him. this is just one picture so you have an idea. we've since added a 'pantry' fashioned out of a diapers.com box, and some other tools, as well:
>...a little more pretend play. what i love about this, with his glasses, cleveland gets to be be Superman AND Clark Kent all at once:
5) I knit some pretty mittens. See:
6) my children are napping at the same time, and I have a laundry list of things to accomplish, including, but not limited to, laundry. oh but there is so much to read, and think about, and write about. I think I'll make myself some tea.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
happy birthday lovely lucie
so unfortunately lucie was under the weather for her birthday, which kept us from celebrating in style. instead, we were quarentined in the house together eating bland food and doing laundry. it kept us from having guests, and having cake. but it didn't stop the love...so, lucie, congratulations on the beginning of your second year of life.
January 13, 2010 1:19 PM: you emerge as a big BIG beautiful 'sunny-side up' baby, and your mama and papa find ourselves in awe of the gift that has been bestowed upon us. that being said, your primary purpose was just staying alive by eating, sleeping, pooping, and reminding us frequently that you had needs far too complex to be understood by your mortal parents. Which is to say you cried. A lot.
Today you walk, run, walk backward (sort of),
talk ('no', 'yea', 'mama', 'dada', 'downstairs', 'out', 'my cracker'...and more), eat with your hands, eat with a spoon, eat off the floor, and eat anything that doesn't eat you first.
your hair has lightened, and you have the most adorable little curls in the back. you have big beautiful eyes and big beautiful cheeks, a big beautiful smile and a big beautiful laugh.
You finally enjoy reading books for about 5 seconds at a time, and you recently started returning cleveland's hugs. so happy birthday, birthday girl. soon enough you'll be feeling well and we'll be able to celebrate in style, with cake and gifts. Until then, just know that we get to enjoy the gift of you, every day...
January 13, 2010 1:19 PM: you emerge as a big BIG beautiful 'sunny-side up' baby, and your mama and papa find ourselves in awe of the gift that has been bestowed upon us. that being said, your primary purpose was just staying alive by eating, sleeping, pooping, and reminding us frequently that you had needs far too complex to be understood by your mortal parents. Which is to say you cried. A lot.
Today you walk, run, walk backward (sort of),
talk ('no', 'yea', 'mama', 'dada', 'downstairs', 'out', 'my cracker'...and more), eat with your hands, eat with a spoon, eat off the floor, and eat anything that doesn't eat you first.
your hair has lightened, and you have the most adorable little curls in the back. you have big beautiful eyes and big beautiful cheeks, a big beautiful smile and a big beautiful laugh.
You finally enjoy reading books for about 5 seconds at a time, and you recently started returning cleveland's hugs. so happy birthday, birthday girl. soon enough you'll be feeling well and we'll be able to celebrate in style, with cake and gifts. Until then, just know that we get to enjoy the gift of you, every day...
Sunday, January 9, 2011
doing the spinach dance
at our house, there are two tried and true ways to get cleveland to eat whatever is on the menu. first, let him help prepare it. and second, eat it with him. dr. spock knows this. and if you have little ones, you probably do, too. but what dr. spock doesn't know about is....the spinach dance! It's a chant, really, that is accompanied by some basic hand gestures, which we modify depending on the vegetable. And props to Phil, who really got this one rolling. It takes a guy who didn't eat a green vegetable for the first 16 years of his life to come up with this one!
Spinach Dance!
Spinach Dance!
Everybody's doing the Spinach Dance!
Ow!
We do it all the time, with any vegetable, and more recently with other foods, too (tilapia, chicken, black beans). Certainly I won't be ceasing to use the first two methods (indeed, they are vital to the dinner endeavor). but the spinach dance is pretty fun!
In this example, we were eating tofu stirfry with spinach, carrots and brown rice. and yes, everyone loved it!
Spinach Dance
Spinach Dance
Everybody's doing the Spinach Dance!
Ow!
Spinach Dance!
Spinach Dance!
Everybody's doing the Spinach Dance!
Ow!
We do it all the time, with any vegetable, and more recently with other foods, too (tilapia, chicken, black beans). Certainly I won't be ceasing to use the first two methods (indeed, they are vital to the dinner endeavor). but the spinach dance is pretty fun!
In this example, we were eating tofu stirfry with spinach, carrots and brown rice. and yes, everyone loved it!
Spinach Dance
Spinach Dance
Everybody's doing the Spinach Dance!
Ow!
Thursday, January 6, 2011
the resolution issue
you knew it was coming, didn't you? like those in this country with just enough excess to squander it from time to time, it's a New Year, and I've once again found myself in the thick of the complex web i've woven. one perfused with guilt at past resolutions unrealized, but also hope for those to come. so, 2011, I make the following:
1) I resolve to workout my mind and spirit enough to love my body however much time I do/do not spend working out. "That being said"...I'd like to thank one Jillian Michaels for helping me believe I can workout, and for screaming things like 'do you feel that? that's the feeling of fear leaving the body!' to me on most, if not all, days of the week:
2) Dear cheese, you know I love you so. Indeed, much to the dismay of my good friend chocolate, I've long sworn my allegiance to you, even acknowledging that I would choose you over chocolate 'any day'. And I've meant it. And we've had a good run. But now I need to move on. I'm not giving you up entirely (haha, that would be silly and doomed to failure). But lately, I've taken advantage you in all your luscious edible glory. I've eaten you at every meal, and in between. I've had you soft, shredded, cubed, chunked, on crackers, on eggs, on salad, on bread, in bread, next to bread, on a spoon/fork/knife, and without any thought to the consequences, for either of us. I've used you as a condiment, as a foil for all other flavors. I truly believe that absence makes the heart grow hungrier, and I'll keep you in mind at every meal, but only in my mouth occasionally. I do hope you understand:
3) Four letter words. You know who you are. You provide me with an expressive strength one simply cannot achieve otherwise. And now that strength can be extended to my dear son Cleveland. And this is problematic, for many reasons. First, Cleveland does not have the insight to harness this strength for good, and not evil. Second, he does not yet possess the restraint to appreciate that, with the four letter word, less (frequency-wise) is definitely more. I will continue to think you (more than I'd like), and I promise to say you under my breath at key moments (while driving, cooking, and doing math), but I hereby resolve to utter you (when in the presence of young ones) with a frequency reserved for hundred-year floods, post-partum orgasms and tax refunds:
So that's that. As I re-read this, I agree this list feels abbreviated, incomplete, maybe even easy. But, this year I'm aiming to let success overshadow ambition. If all goes well, at this time next year, I'll have a svelter physique, an improved overall lipid profile, and children who don't sound like sailors in front of their grandparents. Hope the New Year is bringing good things to you!
1) I resolve to workout my mind and spirit enough to love my body however much time I do/do not spend working out. "That being said"...I'd like to thank one Jillian Michaels for helping me believe I can workout, and for screaming things like 'do you feel that? that's the feeling of fear leaving the body!' to me on most, if not all, days of the week:
2) Dear cheese, you know I love you so. Indeed, much to the dismay of my good friend chocolate, I've long sworn my allegiance to you, even acknowledging that I would choose you over chocolate 'any day'. And I've meant it. And we've had a good run. But now I need to move on. I'm not giving you up entirely (haha, that would be silly and doomed to failure). But lately, I've taken advantage you in all your luscious edible glory. I've eaten you at every meal, and in between. I've had you soft, shredded, cubed, chunked, on crackers, on eggs, on salad, on bread, in bread, next to bread, on a spoon/fork/knife, and without any thought to the consequences, for either of us. I've used you as a condiment, as a foil for all other flavors. I truly believe that absence makes the heart grow hungrier, and I'll keep you in mind at every meal, but only in my mouth occasionally. I do hope you understand:
3) Four letter words. You know who you are. You provide me with an expressive strength one simply cannot achieve otherwise. And now that strength can be extended to my dear son Cleveland. And this is problematic, for many reasons. First, Cleveland does not have the insight to harness this strength for good, and not evil. Second, he does not yet possess the restraint to appreciate that, with the four letter word, less (frequency-wise) is definitely more. I will continue to think you (more than I'd like), and I promise to say you under my breath at key moments (while driving, cooking, and doing math), but I hereby resolve to utter you (when in the presence of young ones) with a frequency reserved for hundred-year floods, post-partum orgasms and tax refunds:
So that's that. As I re-read this, I agree this list feels abbreviated, incomplete, maybe even easy. But, this year I'm aiming to let success overshadow ambition. If all goes well, at this time next year, I'll have a svelter physique, an improved overall lipid profile, and children who don't sound like sailors in front of their grandparents. Hope the New Year is bringing good things to you!
Sunday, January 2, 2011
a christmas miracle
***disclaimer: if you're looking for a cynical, overintellectualized, less-than-glorious, joke of a christmas miracle story, look elsewhere. this is the real thing. also, i believe there's an unwritten understanding that people, especially people like me who blog about their kid's teeth and poopy diapers aren't supposed to blog about religion. oops***
background:
I'm catholic. my husband's catholic. we're one big happy catholic body, i mean family. if you're catholic, feel free to skip to paragraph 2. but if you're not, read on. so the thing about catholicism is that, as far as christianity goes, it borders on the mystic. catholics believe in transubstantiation, the notion that the bread and wine consumed in the mass has actually been transformed into the body and blood of christ. it's not a symbol. it's him. and catholics like relics. you know fingers and toes of old important people, saints, etc. we like to preserve them and keep them on display, mostly in the old shrines and cathedrals across europe (google 'Saint Anne's Finger' if you want to know more.)
so of course, catholics believe in miracles. my very catholic grandmother believed that she had witnessed one when the rosary she was holding in her hand turned into gold. my great aunt believed she saw the ghost of her dead mother blessing her infant son in his crib the night he was baptized. and so on...
i, have not been a big believer. not a cynic, just nervous to commit to being a 'believer'. sure, i believe in other people's miracles. which is to say i believe that other people believe, and i'm not going to argue. i've just not had one to call my own. until christmas eve, 2010.
two weeks prior to christmas phil and i decided that we would for sure drive to portland, maine on christmas eve to spend the holiday with my family. i was scheduled to work that day, and phil would pick me up from work and we'd be on our way. this was interfering with our plans for going to church. catholics like to go to church on christmas eve, but my work schedule demanded we wait until the 25th. until...i got called off from work. and it was a miracle. just kidding:) when i found out i wouldn't have to work, we made plans to take the kids to christmas eve mass at st. micheals, the 4pm service, the 'children's mass'. this seemed logical, seeing as we have children. however, despite my elation at not having to work, i found christmas eve a stressful day. i worried about driving to portland late at night. i was concerned that the kids wouldn't sleep in the car, and it would snow more than a little. phil and i were at each other all day trying to pack and clean the house and mull over the stressors in our lives (finances mostly). there was no one great issue, just many small things. still, phil made a point of providing a festive atmosphere at home, putting on some lovely choral music as we got the kids dressed for mass. i continued to stress needlessly, and we left the house in a bit of a frenzy.
mass was a disaster. it was a bad time (too close to dinner) and too long and there was so much commotion that neither baby wanted to be still. and since lucie is now a walkie/talkie baby, we both had our hands full. we were on our way home at 5:45 plotting how to feed them dinner, get them changed and get the car packed within an hour. i could feel my blood pressure on the rise again. phil pulled up to the house, we each grabbed a baby and headed inside. as i entered the kitchen, something seemed different from when we left. it took a moment to register. then, as i walked into the living room with lucie in my arms, it dawned on me, there was music playing. the choral CD that phil had played earlier was still on. my favorite part of my favorite song. 'Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanual...'
'Phil', i said, 'the music's on'. 'Yea', he responded, without sounding surprised. 'But it wasn't on when we left', i said, 'i remember that the CD finished and i turned it off before we left'.
'Well', he said, 'then i guess it's a Christmas Miracle.' He gave a little wink, not a knowing wink, but an accepting one. As if this news was not so unbelievable.
I thought about this on the ride to portland, and tried to conjur up a number of probable and possible scenarios that might have lead to this event. small electrical malfunctions, or my totally forgetting that i actually put the CD on 'repeat' before heading out. And any one of them could be the case. But I doubt it. the warm spot in my belly, and the way my breath catches a bit each time i think about that music tell me differently.
and we had a wonderful christmas. no drama, happily-sleeping babies. great food, great drink, merriment, long-overdue time with my beautiful sisters. i got all my christmas wishes. and whatever you might think about mystics and relics and blood and wine, that is a christmas miracle.
background:
I'm catholic. my husband's catholic. we're one big happy catholic body, i mean family. if you're catholic, feel free to skip to paragraph 2. but if you're not, read on. so the thing about catholicism is that, as far as christianity goes, it borders on the mystic. catholics believe in transubstantiation, the notion that the bread and wine consumed in the mass has actually been transformed into the body and blood of christ. it's not a symbol. it's him. and catholics like relics. you know fingers and toes of old important people, saints, etc. we like to preserve them and keep them on display, mostly in the old shrines and cathedrals across europe (google 'Saint Anne's Finger' if you want to know more.)
so of course, catholics believe in miracles. my very catholic grandmother believed that she had witnessed one when the rosary she was holding in her hand turned into gold. my great aunt believed she saw the ghost of her dead mother blessing her infant son in his crib the night he was baptized. and so on...
i, have not been a big believer. not a cynic, just nervous to commit to being a 'believer'. sure, i believe in other people's miracles. which is to say i believe that other people believe, and i'm not going to argue. i've just not had one to call my own. until christmas eve, 2010.
two weeks prior to christmas phil and i decided that we would for sure drive to portland, maine on christmas eve to spend the holiday with my family. i was scheduled to work that day, and phil would pick me up from work and we'd be on our way. this was interfering with our plans for going to church. catholics like to go to church on christmas eve, but my work schedule demanded we wait until the 25th. until...i got called off from work. and it was a miracle. just kidding:) when i found out i wouldn't have to work, we made plans to take the kids to christmas eve mass at st. micheals, the 4pm service, the 'children's mass'. this seemed logical, seeing as we have children. however, despite my elation at not having to work, i found christmas eve a stressful day. i worried about driving to portland late at night. i was concerned that the kids wouldn't sleep in the car, and it would snow more than a little. phil and i were at each other all day trying to pack and clean the house and mull over the stressors in our lives (finances mostly). there was no one great issue, just many small things. still, phil made a point of providing a festive atmosphere at home, putting on some lovely choral music as we got the kids dressed for mass. i continued to stress needlessly, and we left the house in a bit of a frenzy.
mass was a disaster. it was a bad time (too close to dinner) and too long and there was so much commotion that neither baby wanted to be still. and since lucie is now a walkie/talkie baby, we both had our hands full. we were on our way home at 5:45 plotting how to feed them dinner, get them changed and get the car packed within an hour. i could feel my blood pressure on the rise again. phil pulled up to the house, we each grabbed a baby and headed inside. as i entered the kitchen, something seemed different from when we left. it took a moment to register. then, as i walked into the living room with lucie in my arms, it dawned on me, there was music playing. the choral CD that phil had played earlier was still on. my favorite part of my favorite song. 'Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanual...'
'Phil', i said, 'the music's on'. 'Yea', he responded, without sounding surprised. 'But it wasn't on when we left', i said, 'i remember that the CD finished and i turned it off before we left'.
'Well', he said, 'then i guess it's a Christmas Miracle.' He gave a little wink, not a knowing wink, but an accepting one. As if this news was not so unbelievable.
I thought about this on the ride to portland, and tried to conjur up a number of probable and possible scenarios that might have lead to this event. small electrical malfunctions, or my totally forgetting that i actually put the CD on 'repeat' before heading out. And any one of them could be the case. But I doubt it. the warm spot in my belly, and the way my breath catches a bit each time i think about that music tell me differently.
and we had a wonderful christmas. no drama, happily-sleeping babies. great food, great drink, merriment, long-overdue time with my beautiful sisters. i got all my christmas wishes. and whatever you might think about mystics and relics and blood and wine, that is a christmas miracle.
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