Dec. 1st

It's been a long time, ya know? Since we last met, I have lived the pioneer life, Laura Ingalls Wilder cooking atop the wood stove and reading by candle light. When the northeast went black at the end of October, we survived for six whole days in by sunlight and six whole nights by fire. It could have been ugly.

But we have these fancy plug-ins that go in the cigarette lighters in the car that convert car power to real power. And we can use it to charge a host of items from a DSi to an Apple computer to a cell phone. So, it'd be a lie to say I was living entirely like Laura Ingalls. More like Nellie Olsen, I'd guess. Without the ringlets.

 I got a lot of reading done during this forced week off from school. I strained my eyes a bit. I can see why all the grown-ups wore glasses on those pioneer shows.

Curt read a lot, too. And by 8 p.m., the boys were asleep. By 10, we were. We slept like babies in the pitch dark of night. I don't think I've ever slept better.

In other news, it's December 1, the first day of my December Daily journal. And am I prepared to blog or journal this day? Why, no. I'll have to blog a week's worth of poignant entries this weekend to post throughout the week. Cause I got nothin' on a school night, people!

You know, it's really sad when you have most of the decorations up, the lights strung, the shiny stuff taking center stage, and you're too dingdang tired to plug it all in. Literally - plug it all in! Will Christmas be like that this year? Will I be too dingdang tired to plug in to the spirit of Christmas?

Every year I say the same thing. I'll spend less money on gifts, spend more time on Jesus. I'll live in the moment and enjoy the season as it unfolds. But then, I panic. I overspend. I stress to the point that the point of Christmas is consigned to the shadows. I tune in to the lights and tinsel and menu and packages that make a holiday. I forget about the very One I teach my 2nd graders to relish.

Will this be the year I change all that? I start every December 1st with the best of intentions. And by Dec. 2, I've dropped the ball. Perhaps this year I'll take it one day at a time, one moment at at time, and see how that squares. I must remember the Point of it all.