My grandmomma Gibson taught me to crochet when I was a little girl. We used to make doily after doily using multicolored yard in shades of orange, cream, and brown. She also made entire afghans, not to be confused with people, hence the lowercase a. I didn't have the patience to make these until years later. And to this day, I've only made one, which was more like three quarters.

A few years ago, I discovered humongous crochet needles which allowed me to crochet humongous doilies that I use as rugs. Of course, I couldn't find humongous yarn, so I ripped old sheets and fabric remnants I scavenged at Goodwill. This took longer than working my crochet needle through all the yardage of fabric I had. I had to cut and cut and cut and tear and rip and cut to get strips of cloth. But, in the end, it was worth it for the bathroom rugs I have now. They wash up beautifully time after time. They never unravel, and they never look old. Vintage is how they look. And that's all in right now.

Of course I consider my rugs priceless since I made them, but if it were to dong on me to sell them, I'd probably stick them in a garage sale for $10 and consider myself lucky if anyone lugged them home for $5 a piece. Imagine my reaction when I discovered this rug on Etsy tonight.

It's for sale. It's humongous. It's made from cotton rope.

It's a mere $900.00.  

I have to point out that this creator does not use a humongous crochet needle. She knots these rugs with her "own bare hands"! Seriously, that's amazing to me. I'm not trying to be cheeky here. And look! Isn't it beautiful! I love how you can see the floor through it, and it will still absorb your shower water. With her own bare hands!!!!!!!!!!!

So this weekend I intend to drive myself to Lowe's to buy some cotton clothesline and crochet the heck out of it. I don't want to sell it for a grand. I just want to step on it with my bare feet. I'll let you know if (a) I buy the clothesline and (2) I crochet some sort of rug with it and (troi) I step on it with my own bare feet.

In other news:

Gratitudes #21-#30 ~ in no particular order

21: Dunkin Donuts coconut hot chocolate - a Mounds bar in a cup

22: Benjy had a stomach ache at school. After the school nurse (who is really moonlighting as an honest to goodness doctor) let him rest in her office, he was good as new.

23: Chinese fried rice  -  the chef's specialty from Char Koon  -  for dinner

24: Tomorrow is a sleep-in day.

25: The Orphan Master's Son for giving me a book to read at stoplights 

26: a friend from high school now on Facebook. (Remember green-horning your Camaro in downtown Big Stone Gap?)

27: Camden paid his own 5 bucks today for pizza that the middle schoolers ordered. He didn't even ask us for money. He just paid it himself. And when a classmate forgot to bring money, his whole class chipped in.

28: sea-blue toenails from left-over two-week-old pedicure ... this nail polish makes me think of the ocean

29:  sleeping EmmaLemmaLimaBean, deaf to all but the most outrageous sounds. Emma who is older than Camden. Emma who is Old Faithful, if Stinky.

30:  God the Father reigns, in spite of what the US presidential election forces on us. God the Father will reign.

I love muscular arms on women. Not beefy I can lift a freak-o barbell muscles. Just a nice pair of defined muscular biceps with a few triceps and deltoids and trapezoids and maybe a handful of hexagons thrown in for good measure.

So I've signed on for the 6-month bo staff class at the karate school. Every other Wednesday (and that is plenty enough) I stay an extra 45 minutes to work my bo staff in figure eights, backwards figure eights, helicopters, 360s, release moves, and a host of mysterious as-yet-to-be-learned tricks. When you watch an expert do these moves, they are remarkably fluid and graceful and ballerina-like. But when you reckon those moves against an opponent, they are downright deadly.

We started off with a series of odd stretches for our wrists, bending them awkwardly to the extreme, both ways. We did some side-blade stances for our legs. We warmed up our shoulders and I thought, this will be fun!

Then we practiced basic bo staff techniques 20 times each. 20 1-2-3-4-5-6s. 20 helicopters. 20 keeping-your-lines circles. 

20. 

20. 

20.

My arms were aching.

They were stiff.

They were approaching soreness.

Now they just hurt.

But it'll be worth it. 

I know this because I will one day look like a circus performer.

Wait, that's what I look like now.

This is what I'll look like. Picture my bo staff being wooooooshed around to slam into a weight master. Because I just can't bring myself to imagine slashing the life out of a real person. 

But 

I'd have the arms that could. 

Just in case.

I think Napoleon Dynamite was onto something with the bo staff.

Adding to my gratitudes:

11: Hot coffee waiting for me when I rose from bed this morning.

12: Snuggles with Benjy; tickles with Camden

13: Praying with a little one from school who was crying from a nightmare last night. And then seeing him bounce back ~ happy, alert, and ready for the day.

14: Hearing the voices of children praise God at school

15: Jalepeno cheddar bread from Price Chopper

16: A husband who indulges my insane sleepiness, and then wakes me for karate

17: Jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, jumping-jacks....

18: Water

19: Peace like a river

20: Snow still on the ground, even after a couple of warm days

This morning the roads in my hood were slippery slidey with yesterday's snowfall, so the boys and I hunkered down and stayed in our pajamas all morning long. Curt had to set up at church, so he was long gone before we'd even opened our eyes. Since I missed church, I huddled in bed under the covers and worked on my Bible study for school. There was a lot of reading, underlining, praying, thinking. And the sheer exhaustion of grasping how much God loves us. How much the Father loves me. 

Last Sunday's message prompted me to renew my commitment to count my blessings, all the little gifts that happen every day, all the God winks that make my life on earth worth the struggle.

#1  the smell of homemade chicken pot pie - sans the peas - in the oven

#2  sunshine glistening on the snowy roads

#3  Camden and Benjy's foot prints tracked all over the back yard, proof of yesterday's fort building expedition

#4  Benjy dancing to a tune from a Christmas in Madagascar episode

#5  Flower Patch Farmgirl's blog, and her heart.

#6  Sophie the hamster bumping into the walls as she rolls around in her ball

#7  pajamas. all day.

#8  this app

#9  A new book to get into set in North Korea

#10  freedom to sing out loud if I want to, to pray and wash dishes and watch The Closer and read and sleep and dream

Smitten I am with all things Downton Abbey.
I've fancied myself of late as Lady Wendi.
Not many are following my lead, but dreams are meant to be dreamed.

The staff. I want a staff.

Downton Abbey is a British drama set 100 years ago that chronicles the lives of both a fancy rich family and the staff who live downstairs.

As much as I love the clothes of the upstairs people, I find myself following the staffs' lives a bit more fervently. (Go Mr. Bates and Anna.)

But the clothes that the upstairs people get to wear are just so luxurious! (Can you even imagine sitting up this straight?)

 

Isn't this just gorgeous? I could wear this! I could show up to church in this and everybody would say, "Woah, did you see that girl?" I'd be THAT GIRL!

This is where the lords and ladies live.

The matriarch of the family. Do you recognize Professor McGonagall when you see her? 

Mr. Bates, I love you!

Do you think she'd come cook for me?

Mary accepting a present from Matthew in the Christmas episode that aired in England but isn't available here yet. You can't even watch it online unless you're in England.

I could be this bossy.
I could carry a cane.
In fact, this may be my new school teacher look.

These dresses would make me look far more svelte than those skinny jeans they make today.

My new Easter dress

My new Easter suit

My new hat

I could also wear this to school. On field trip days, I think.

Breaking boards isn't exactly rocket science. Like, say trimming a cat's claws or cleaning a vacuum cleaner. It's all about focus and perception. You focus on the board. You perceive breaking through the board to the other side.  Not a cinch, but not impossible.

We broke boards in karate tonight. I always get a charge when my board breaks. I just don't expect that I'll nail it. And when I do, well, I'm shocked. I'm aware that I jump up and down a little, and that I may say, "yay!" It's not as obvious as it used to be. My own little celebratory ritual for the perceptually challenged.

Of course I remembered this amazing break that Camden completed in his test for black belt at ATA (American Taekwondo Association) in Greensburg, Pa. He was only 9. A fourth grader leaps and bounds more mature than the 6-year-old he was when he began.

He nailed it.

He earned that black belt, and then we moved to Ct. the very next day.

It's birthday eve for Camden.

Tomorrow at 1:27 p.m., he'll be 12 years old. 

A tween. A pre-teen. An even dozen.

And it feels like he's been with us forever. 

Thank you, God, that Camden is ours.

6 years old - showing off The Force

First grade in my class at Armbrust Christian Academy

One black belt hugging another: father and son

Apparently, I did not make it a new year's resolution to post here at the blog every day in 2012. Or January. Or this week.

I, quite on purpose in fact, didn't make any new year's resolutions this year at all.

Not a one.

Instead, spurred by Pastor Bill's message
to consider goals for the new year instead of little checks we can make on a list, I considered some goal-worthy possibilities for 2012 couched as attainable dreams.

I have only three. Three's a good number. It's my favorite.

I dream of playing Scrabble and Stratego and even Angry Birds (well, doing anything) with my boys.

I dream of date nights with my husband.

I dream of quiet time when I can connect with my Father in heaven.

All of these are really huger than they appear. If I'm going to play games or read books with my kids, I need to be on the computer less. If I'm going to go on dates with my husband, I'll have to make an effort to find a sitter. If I'm going to be with God, I'll have to put my book down, or wake up from my nap, or put my computer down.

I have a lot of time wasters in my life. Joy stealers. Robbers of dreams. Sure, computers and naps and books are not bad. No way.

But too much of a good thing....

Well, you know.

When I was just a girl, Santa gifted me this china doll. She had the most beautiful blond hair - long, wavy, gleaming. She wore a granny dress in browns and creams and lace and she sat in a rocking chair. Much like a granny would. But she was too young to be a granny. I can just tell these things.

I have no idea what I named her.

She was one of those souvenirs of girlhood that survived college, singledom, marriage, and four relocations, along with a pink and yellow stuffed dog and all my yearbooks from elementary through high school and a scrapbook that details my secret love for Michael McElroy in 8th grade. And 9th grade. And, well, probably 10th and 11th, too. Love hurts. Love bites.  Remember that song??? :)

Here she is. I washed her hair today because it just seemed right after all these years. It smells of rosemary and tea tree oil. Love that shampoo. I knew from experience not to blow dry it. (Barbie hair melts.)

Her eyes are pretty, no? I don't remember the lashes being so long. Latisse? Her nose is cute, not fat and squatty like mine. Although I rather like my nose, all noses considered. Her lips need work. They're too Gisha girl. But excepting that and the dress, she's just wonderful. I have this plan to turn her into an angel for our Christmas tree. I'm seeing muslin and creamy silks and glitter and tulle. Lots of fluff and glimmer. The perfect way to top off a Christmas tree.

Or, I could just cut her hair and glue it to the top of my head. I think I like being a blond.

Here's part of my family. 

Dad's side, gathered for the funeral of Uncle Mike, who everybody called Butch, so I had a slight complex every time I had to say his name. Uncle Mike? Uncle Butch? Uncle MikeButch? Uncle ButchMike??? Uncle??? Regardless.

Uncle was Dad's favorite cousin, I've been told. Dad would have cried and cried to see this day come. As it was, I'll never forget hugging Uncle at Dad's funeral. He was so sorrowful. So solemn. I think he loved Dad just as much. And then when we broke our hug, my hoopy silver necklace got caught on the fibers of his blazer and broke apart, and I had that awkward moment of standing by the coffin of my father fixing my bling and laughing it off. Uncle. He was awesome.

 

Uncle used to read this one bedtime story to Shell and me whenever he and his then-wife Aunt Diane (who only had one name) were hanging out at our house. The book was ...

Yes, this scary tale was my favorite bedtime story.

Explains a lot, I'm sure.

So Uncle would read this story to Shell and me as we lay in our little matchy matchy twin beds with the gold shag carpet and little girl flowered bedspreads and our tiny slippers stowed on the floor between us. When the lights were out, we'd see sparkles in the air, and we'd swear that if we scooped them up into our slippers then the jewels would be there in the morning. They weren't.

Still, those sparkly gems must have been what fueled our sweet dreams because not once did I wake with visions of headless horsemen or Brom Bones or cannon balls. In fact,  every now and again, when I close my eyes, I can still see the glittering sparkles, and I want to scoop them into my hands and hold them till tomorrow.

Hi, y'all. Sophie here. 

I've knocked Grandmom out and taken over her MacBook Pro. Thankful I am that she's not a PC. Cause I don't know beans about that. 

Yes, she's really my grandmom. The kids at school are my actual parents. They love me and play with me and long for me all day and night, and that random lady is just my grandmom. 

She's cool, though. 

So, here's the deal while I'm living at Casa de Grandma during the Christmas break. 

I sleep all day. These people are so boring. They go to the grocery store or Target, whatever that is, or they just hang out taking stuff off the walls. The other day they toted an entire fir tree out of the house! It was a whole entire tree!!!

There were these amazing beacons of light on that tree. Blue. Green. Red. Orange. White. Lights that made you stare into the cosmos. Oh, the pretty colors. 

And these humans dismantled them! I saw Grandmom wrap the pretty orbs of light around her hand and elbow and box them up. She has to be magical! At least she had some nice clear boxes to store them in. She told me all about the $4.50 a piece price. Proud, she was.

But during the night? Not a sound! These humans are on the wrong track. They are silent at night, loud at day. I'm trying to sleep, all curled up in my bedding when I hear awful racket.

It sounds like gunfire!

It sounds like fire alarms!

It sounds like wild banshees chasing prey from their young!

I've learned that these are human sounds.

They do it during the hours of sunlight.

There are two small humans here. One is called Camden. He is loud. 

Very loud. 

Unless he's holding a device called a Nook.

Then he's quiet as a hamster. hehehe

He likes to hang out in his own space, but the grandmas and pas make him come out periodically and hang out with us riffraff.

The other boy is called Benjy, but he has taken to the name Ben of late. He makes a lot of noise, too. But he has more quiet times than the other boy. Ben likes to snuggle, it seems. He twists his body into a blanket like a burrito (yes, I am familiar with burritos) and hangs there for, like, ever. 

Cool kid.

These human youth have it made. 

I'd love to be the Loud Boy for just a day. To yell and smile and giggle and guffaw for a minute! Wow. And all I have is a spinning wheel.

Well, at least I get to spin around in purple ball for a bit.

They have to wake up tomorrow.

Christmas was heralded in Sunday at 6:59 a.m. The sunlight was beginning to creep in through the blinds. I lay awake, barely, Emma hogging more than her third of the bed. Curt snored lightly. Then before I could rustle the flannel sheets, Emma startled as the boys rushed into the room. I struggled to keep Emma on the bed, knowing full well that if she managed to get downstairs, she'd bark incessantly till somebody let her outside. That's no way to begin Christmas morn. 

"IT'S CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!" the boys bellowed, and they climbed up on the bed and snuggled for a half second before running off to get up Mammaw and Pappaw. I didn't know it, but they'd been up for hours at this point. Nobody's quite sure how many.

Within an hour every package was opened, most every speck of wrapping was in the garage, and coffee was half-gone. It may sound like this morning was a rushed exercise in consumerism, but it wasn't. This was, for me, the first Christmas I chose to relish each moment. Yes, relish.

That nanosecond of snuggling with my boys. That look of utter shock and glee when Camden saw his Barnesey Nook Color nestled in a giant Amazon.com box. Curt's smile as he read the dedication on the book I had written for him. Benjy's prayer before dinner: "God, thank you for Jesus."  I wanted to hold each of these moments close to my heart and remember them for what they were - blessings from God.

You see, Christmas has been building for weeks now. And I have been praying that the season wouldn't kill the spirit this year, as I've let it in years past. God, please let me remember your present, your presence, your love.

So I addressed the cards and mailed them with a happy heart. I didn't worry if I ran out of time to make the buckeye candies I liked to pass out at school. Oh well. I wrapped a little at at time and didn't even bother with bows. And the presents looked just fine. I made two nativities with my school kids because you just can't get enough of Jesus. 

And I kept praying. Not long-winded fancy prayers. More often they were quick driving-to-school tuning-out-the-noise-of-boys prayers. Happy praises lifted to God when Benjy declared, "I love God more than you!" Tearful prayers as a 2nd grader and I wrapped our arms around each other for the last time. She's moving away after Christmas. Her sweet hug was especially tender. There was that Christmas Eve disappointment before church that God turned into a prayer request that he will answer. He promises he will.

And so on Christmas day, I tried to keep those prayers and praises  ringing. Even when the caffeine had worn off. Even when my bare foot stomped down on a tiny brown Lego. Even while I raced to finish The Girl With The Dragon Tatoo that night (cause I had to start The Girl Who Played With Fire). 

And do you know what I noticed? It was my first Christmas when I didn't feel the Post Christmas Letdown. I didn't set out to NOT feel it necessarily. But I think that focusing on God's blessings and promises left no room for anything else. 

Thank you Father God for letting me experience your love in such a real way this Christmas. 

I'd share pictures of this blessed day, but the camera battery died on the first photo. Good thing I'm holding the memories close to my heart.

.

Here are some of my favorite things 

about Christmas...

1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? Hot Chocolate. Egg nog is too thick to not be a milk shake.

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? Since last year, Santa has wrapped presents. The kids are just too nosey around 3 in the morning.

3. Colored lights on tree/house or white?  White lights on the outside. White and a sprinkle of blue on the mantel. Colored on the little trees scattered around the house. Big fat colored bulbs on the wonky tree. The more lights the better!. 

4. Do you hang mistletoe? No mistletoe. Isn't that stuff poisonous????

5. When do you put your decorations up?  The day after Thanksgiving. Not a minute sooner. 

6. What is your favorite holiday dish? I made the most amazing brisket a couple of years ago and I can't eat Christmas dinner without it. It's from Pioneer Woman's cookbook. And did you hear the good news? She's got another one coming out!!!!

  

7. Favorite Holiday memory as a child? Every Christmas Eve after the candlelight service at First Baptist Church, Daddy would take the long way home, winding around the back roads and hollers (yes, I said "hollers") of Norton, Virginia, so we could view the Christmas lights. Shell and I would always go berserk at this one house at Hoot Owl Holler that was decorated to the hilt. We'd oooh and aaah at the other ones, but that house was a show stopper by Norton's standards. Those Hoot Owl Holler people could pimp a house. Oh, and also, there was the stretch of years when Daddy would go outside and yell, "On Dasher, on Dancer, Prancer, Vixen..." and we totally KNEW it was Santa Claus. 

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I believed and believed and believed till Mom bought my Holly Hobby purse at Hills (is where the toys are!) in Kingsport, Tennessee. And then, that purse appeared under the tree one Christmas morn. I'm gullible. I'm naive. I'm a fool for a good story. So I could have been 17 when this happened. But it's hard to imagine that even I would have not been humiliated to tote a Holly Hobby purse around in high school. So I'm gonna assume that I was around mid-elementary aged. But I don't know. Who knows, I could have been in 6th grade and that would surprise not a soul who knows me.  

 9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? Yes, every since I was a wee little naive girl. Shell and I had our choice of a gift to open on Christmas Eve, but Mom had veto power. As a grown-up, I open presents from my school kids at school and do their thank you cards right that very day. The boys have no choice at all in this house. We, ---- IIIIIIIII ---- choose it. They open it. They bow to us and thank us. Strict dictatorship here on Christmas Eve. They usually get Christmas jammies, but a little goodie is tossed in for their enjoyment and glee. :)

10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree? We have the most amazing collection of hand-carved wooden ornaments from Curt's sister, Tam. She has been giving these to us since we got married. Waaaay back in 1992 when big hair was on the decline but I hadn't received the memo what with snail mail and all. Any other ornament that is special to us is on our wonky live tree. Some of our faves: the White House Christmas ornament from 1996 when Shell went to the actual White House Christmas party with then boyfriend Secret Service dude Dave (yes, she actually went to a White House party! I've got pictures to prove it; she's posed with Dave and Bill and Hill. Bill is not copping a feel of my sister in this picture. Neither is Hill.), the Santa gourds from Kathy the crafter friend, the handmade ones the kids have brought home through their school years, a leg lamp from A Christmas Story (It's fragile, honey), a glittered stocking from my sorority in college, and a chain of tinkling blue bells from Curt's mom. So many more.... I think I need a pigeon to make my tree complete.

11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? The more the better! When it snowed three feet that never melted last winter, we were in SNOW HEAVEN! I think God has our house in heaven planned for the snowiest part of the land. 

 

12. Can you ice skate? Yes, but I'm shaky wobbly, and it makes my ankles hurt. But I can roller skate backwards. 

13. Do you remember your favorite gift? Holly Hobby purse. No wait, that's not right. Suntan Tuesday Taylor's penthouse. 

. 

 

14. What’s the most important thing about the Holidays for you?  Keeping the focus on Jesus. Without the King's giving up his heavenly crown for a crown of thorns, Christmas would be nothing. 

15. What is your favorite Holiday Dessert? Mom's chocolate pound cake.

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition? The eight o'clock viewing of A Christmas Story. Ad nauseum for the next 24 hours. 

17. What tops your tree? A star

18. Which do you prefer: giving or receiving? As much as I LOVE presents, I do love the joy of giving. It's probably a God thing. And I thank Him for the ultimate gift, Jesus. 

19. Candy Canes: Yuck or Yum?  Sticky and icky. Yuck.

20. Favorite Christmas show? A Christmas Story and It's A Wonderful Life. Oh yeah, and Elf.

21. Saddest Christmas Song? Ummm, I don't know a sad one. But Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer would be awfully depressing if it was really true.

22. What is your favorite Christmas song?  While You Were Sleeping, by Casting Crowns.