minus the forks, of course.

We saw that movie this weekend.

I had mixed emotions; I loved loved the creativity and the soundtrack, but it was very deep. Too intense and sad for the boys. Jake liked it, but Andy and Joey were upset by all the seriousness and sadness. Too much to interpret for little kids.

My favorite part was when Andy leaned over and said "Mom, I don't care much for this movie, I'm just happy to be with you." And hugged my arm real tight.

And my second favorite part was when he said "Mom, that is very inappropriate behavior when you're angry. He needs to read a book." We had a good talk about that.

Dani, on the other hand, could seperate the sadness and appreciate the movie making; and is now an official wild thing. Minus the forks and the attitude, of course. She promptly came home and fashioned a wild thing fort and outfit, and growls every once in a while.

I figured she needed a more fitting ensemble. We'll see how it goes.

cousins and triathalons.

The cousins came in this weekend for the dad's triathalon in Alcoa. Conan has done 2 now. He's good. I love races; I cried twice. Okay three times. Once while we were walking to the transition area to see if we could catch Conan starting the run and we passed two little boys sitting on the curb holding a big "We Love You Daddy" sign. I got a bit choked up it was so sweet. And then a couple times at the finish line. The best was Conan of course, but I got really ferklempt watching 3 boys waiting on the grass for their mom, and all of them jumped up when they saw her and ran like crazy with her to the finish line. It was so darn cool I even had a real tear that time.

Anyways, my husband is awesome. He finished really well this time; and we're off to Gulf Shores in the Fall for another. I'm a little worried about him swimming in the ocean, though. Sharks, you know. And screeching eels.

waiting for the results...

spills.

This is orange juice. An gigantic jug of spilled orange juice.

Hard to look at, but totally clean up-able.

Jake cried and cried and cried and cried, because while he was helping to bring in the groceries, he set the orange juice on the counter, and it fell. He watched it seep out the cracked bottom of the gigantic jug sitting on the floor. And he cried.

Before we cleaned it up, I sighed one of those spill sighs, told Jakey it was okay-he could stop crying and crying and crying, and then I took a picture. Because of this:

When Jakey is 17 and Princess Ahpios breaks up with him for that other guy, and Jake cries and cries and cries and cries...I can show him the orange juice picture.

Remember the spill, Jake? I'll say. There was orange juice everywhere. It took every clean towel we had to soak up that orange juice; and even after that, it took two days of mopping to get rid of the stickiness and three more days of finding orange juice on the curtains and walls and windows. It was a huge mess. You cried and cried and cried and cried.

Then he'll nod. Remembering the dripping citrus smelling beach towels he carried to the laundry room. Then I'll say...

That was a bad spill. You felt pretty rotten. But we cleaned it up, eh? Every spill is clean up-able, Jake. It seems unbearable when you're staring at the never-ending pool of sticky orange juice, but every spill is clean up-able.

And he'll start to get it. But he'll be mad at me because he doesn't want to clean up the spill because he really likes Aphios, and thinks he might even love her, and he really wants to be that stupid other guy, and he just wants to cry and cry and cry and cry.

So we'll get out the towels, and spend two days - or two months cleaning up the sticky mess. And Jake will eventually feel better.

And that's when he'll laugh at the orange juice picture.

Until the next spill.

A love story good enough to hang on your wall.

Conan lost me in a game of paper, rock, scissors.

His brother was supposed to ask me out that night; he had won fair and square.

Paper covers rock.

Conan shrugged his shoulders, said okay, then skipped class to call the number scratched on the yellow post-it pinned above his desk.

He defied rule #1 in the Great Big Book of Twin Brotherhood Code and Ethics of Dating...respect the results.

I said yes.

And thus began our story.

Love conquers all.

Bendable Branches.

We always had a real tree growing up. At least that's what I remember. One year we re-wrote the old carol after paying inflated prices for a half dead evergreen. My dad whined, so we sang about it.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

You cost us twenty dollars.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

We could've bought some collars.

For dee o gee...who likes to pee...upon the tree...oh my oh me.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

You cost us twenty dollars!!

That was back in the 80's. When 20 bucks was too much money for a tree; and before mom's glass ornaments. And yes...our dog's name was d.o.g. Dee.Oh.Gee. Emphasis on the Oh. He did indeed pee on our tree. Too many times.

Conan and I cut down our own Christmas tree at a farm for the first 5 or 6 years of our marriage. I don't actually remember what made us decide to buy the fake pre-lit wonder. I think it was the 75% off sale at Sears. I kind of miss hiking around in the cold with a saw and a toddler searching for the perfect tick free tree, but I can appreciate being able to bend the branches of our 8 footer so the light reflects just right off Conan's elmer's glue kindergarten ornament. Or so I can see Joey 2005 written in black sharpie on the tail of the green dinosaur.

It is all about the ornaments.

Conan is very nostalgic. He liked flashing blinking color lights. I liked still and constant white lights. So we compromised. Still and consant color lights. I would buy a new tree topper every year, trying to create the moment when Conan would look at our tree and sigh with deep satisfaction. He tried to like my toppers...but just didn't. Then one year, after an extensive tree topper hunt, he admitted he was looking for one like his mom had. An old blue-green finial topper.

So I asked Kay if I could buy hers. For the sake of Christmas.

She said no. Acutally, she said no way.

That Christmas, under his parents tree, was an identical old blue-green finial topper for Conan. She had searched and found one on ebay.

Deep satisfaction.

My mom's tatted snowflakes.

The broken glass stars.

The pipe cleaner spiders that made Joey cry.

The twig reindeer.

The clothespin reindeer.

The popsicle stick reindeer.

They can hang on fake branches all they want.

I will always treasure my alone time with our Sear's tree. Staring at the years and the minutes of memories being cradled by its wire branches. Captured in its still and constant lights are my family. And they'll be there next year. And the year after that. And the year after that.

And I can bend them any way I want.

a reminder to me.

It's been an interesting day for me.

Yikes-o-rama stayed home. The kids were quiet (sometimes). Is that possible? I had moments, of nothing. Stillness. So I prayed. And thought. And felt a few things.

It's all over the place, and I was going to stay quiet about my thoughts, but it's still again - except for the orphans singing Your Never Fully Dressed - and I want to put these thoughts down. For personal reference, I suppose. And because I feel like it.

You can't really go anywhere in the blogosphere lately without reading about Stephanie Nielsen. You can't help but be touched and softened when reading about this woman. There's kind of a Nie Nie movement going on. Out of selfish curiosity, I read her blog today. It's full of gratitude, and joy. Her style is on my hot list. I loved it. She loves her life.

It's interesting what tragedy inspires. I felt soberness and sympathy, and some despair. And I was grateful. I learned today. The Lord's purposes are quiet, and often missed.

My husband used to smile that smile at me when I would go all activist over something I saw on Oprah. Like he's trying to be supportive and loving, but he knows it'll only last until tomorrow's show on Uganda. True. You get caught up in other people's lives, and you're touched and changed by their tragedy, then it goes away and you're back to whining and wishing you could afford the miracle zit cream. I don't watch Oprah anymore.

So I'm writing this down to remember. To stop complaining. To find comfort in the toy hammers pounding my head. To glory in the pudding collage. To praise the laundry. Because little bodies I love wore those clothes. And I can sort.

I need to remember, to thank my Heavenly Father often...for teaching me, through the Nielsen's. And through a R.S. Program. And through a small message from the missionary's after dinner. And through an unordinary stillness. I don't always hear it, or feel it, 'cause I'm wrapped up in me; but today I did.

I'm grateful I can read this tomorrow. When I'm tired, and the quiet is gone. And when I start to forget. Again. That tragedy, if there is such a thing, inspires something lovely.


this picture is from Stephanie's blog.

If you're interested...

I like npr. Sometimes I learn something.

I heard bits and pieces of Fresh Air while taking Kacie to the doctor today. Listen to this interview with Max Kennedy, the son of Robert Kennedy, on a speech his dad gave the day Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed. It was sobering.

If you're interested.

her name is gratitude...

Isn't she beautiful? We've been spending a lot of time together.

There was a message from Gina on my phone Saturday. "Cally, somebody has left something here for you. If you could come pick it up, that would be great. We close at 4:00. Thanks."

Um...Gina... as in Bernina Gina? Hmmm. How nice, someone random bought me some fabric...and left it at the store...to surprise me...because...it's...a....huh?

Then I remember all my sisters thoughtful interest in my desperate need to break up with my hunk-a-junk cheap machine. Her empathy and compassion for my needle breaking, thread tension hating, stitch skipping woes and miseries. And how the passion was slowly slipping away...

And her questions that morning about specifically which sewing machine I was saving for, because she's done some research and has found a couple good suggestions.

Oh, she's so helpful, and nice. "I'm going with the Bernina's from Gina. I can keep upgrading until I reach the mother of all machines." Dreaming.

So, I hear the message. Panic. I can't call Corrie, no long distance. So I grab my neglected cell phone...I think there's long distance on there. Not charged. I plug it in and wait.........come on.....this is serious.....

Corrie was no help. Let's play dumb.

So I book it to Gina's.

They bring this mongo red carrying case from the back room. Still in the back of my mind thinking it's a yard of fabric, I did the Miss America thing. Put my hands over my mouth and started to cry. Oh my gosh. My own Bernina. I'm not worthy. Then she pulls off the cover, and it's THE BERNINA! THE ONE! I got weak in the knees, with all the reasons why I didn't deserve this.

Gratitude can be overwhelming.

When I got her home and settled in (Dani asked, "Is this your new best friend mom?"), I called Corrie. She gave the phone to my dad, who is visiting. I cried. And he was quiet. I didn't even have the words, or understanding. He did. He said he loved me, and he was proud of me. They want me to enjoy my hobby.

I love you. More.


So not only does she sew like a dream, and she can thread herself, and she knows the alphabet.... I'm sewin' up a big heap of gratitude every time I turn her on.

Greatest ever. Thankful isn't even sufficient.

if you get a second...

read this post.