Like Halloween, Only at Christmas

I come from a culture in which  people spread Christmas cheer by gathering in groups and going door to door on a cold and frosty evening to sing Christmas carols, usually in harmony.  Sometimes they even bring treats for the inhabitants of the homes who's doors they knock on.

As a lover of singing and spreading Christmas cheer I have always enjoyed Christmas caroling. And, really, as a lover of donuts and hot apple cider after caroling I have always enjoyed Christmas caroling.

I have missed it in the years we've lived here.  Christmas caroling is, um, different in Poland.  And by different I mean that it's basically the opposite of what it is in the States.  Beginning with the fact that it is done after Christmas instead of before.

Young or teenage boys dress up as shepherds or wise men (and we once had a grim reaper?) and knock on doors after Christmas.  When the door is opened they begin singing.  Badly.  And in most cases very badly.  It is hard not to laugh, but a blast of icy air is usually freezing your face stiff before the laughing comes (when it's just a pleasant smile), assisting you in your efforts to be kind..

Although these young carolers don't come bearing any Christmas goodies  there IS an element of giving involved.  Those being sung to are expected to cough up something valuable to give to each of the (usually 3-5) boys.  Money, of course, is the most acceptable but we've given treats before, too.  That was only because we didn't have any coal on hand.  At our house "gifts" are only ever handed over after Greg has given the boys a proper  teasing and made them all giggle (if they're elementary aged) or slug each other in the arms (if they're a little older).  Usually something about how bad their singing was, or remarks about their costumes (the grim reaper that one year really got an earful!).

They take their loot and are off to terrorize the next neighbor.  It's really very festive.


Who'll bet I reach crabby old-ladihood before Melanie?  Who bets I'm already there?

A Not Very Merry Story (but with a happy ending)

The flight to London, though delayed by an hour, was quite good, right up until the landing, at which point Spencer vomited all over both of us.  A lot.  This was the first time he has ever thrown up and, luckily for us, happened to coincide with the first flight for which I have ever forgotten to include a change of clothes for all travelers in my carry on (usually done in case of delayed baggage).  

We had the distinkt pleasure of running through one of the busiest (and hugest!) airports in the world looking like I had just drunk a Big Gulp and then peed my pants and smelling like I had just climbed out of a dumpster full of rotten everything, while racing to catch our connecting flight.  It was 2am California time and Spencer was in no mood to run alongside me so I had the other privilege of carrying him in one arm while dragging my carryon with the other, stopping every few minutes to switch arms, and then, after awhile, every 10 seconds or so because my arms were done and let me know by offering me approximately zero strength.

When we finally arrived at our gate I was sticky, sweaty, sleepy, smelly and physically exhausted--in its true sense, not just the "very tired" we often mean when we use the word-- only to find that the plane (departing at 12:15) had already departed (before 12:10), even though they knew to expect us.  The heavily made-up woman who gave me this news told me to head back to the ticket counter where I should make new flight plans, whereupon I said, "You're kidding.", dropped into the nearest seat and began to cry. So, after a minor breakdown (I've always loved me a good cry in public) we went all the way back to the customer service desk and waited in line to make new plans.  Our new flight would leave six hours later.  Six glorious hours of hanging out with a cranky, sleepy toddler in, again, one of the busiest airports, trying to keep as far as possible away from anything with a sense of smell. 

We did meet another family in the exact same situation (minus the throw up and the single parent and the sleepy toddler -- well, mostly they were on our previous flight and missed the connection to Warsaw, too) who helped us out and walked with us part of the way (and their five year old only mentioned our smell like twice).  Also, Spencer wasn't at all sick, it had just been a motion/air pressure thing.  Trust me, I counted every blessing I could.

In our last flight (2 1/2 hours) I requested seats situated as far as possible from other passengers, but learned that the flight was booked.  I prepared to apologize profusely for the odor to everyone who glanced in our general direction.  As it happened, nobody did.  And even the young lady sitting right next to us didn't say anything and I just hope she heard me when I hurriedly mentioned and apologized for it half under my breath early on in the flight.

But what joy to finally arrive in Warsaw!  Only one of our two checked bags didn't show up, and seeing Greg, Evie, David and Aaron was pure bliss.  

I can't imagine anything making me happier than I was to see them, but I have to say, putting on clean clothes was a really close second.

For the reconrd, this was the least offensive vomit I have ever smelled.  But it was still stomach contents and wasn't very fantastic.

Two Happy Years

Two years ago today our family was given the best early Christmas present ever.  We will never be the same and are so grateful for all the joy Spencer has brought into our home.

This isn't our home, but it is our family after a long day of District Conference, which is kind of the same thing.

 The following picture shows how Spencer approaches the world

With a smile that says, "I bet we could be friends, you and me!"  With an implied "especially if you like to follow me around wherever I go and do just as I say!"

In airports he waved and gave a cheery, "Hello!" to every single person we passed.  While we waited he counted people's feet (one guy had 5, apparently) and pointed out every person who was using a cell phone.

The most exciting thing he experienced in America was seeing cars.  We would drive while he gazed out the window for long periods of time and then he would suddenly proclaim, pointing with great excitement, "AUTO!!"  A car!  He spotted a car!!  That's another thing about him.  He can find a car where you'd least expect to, like on the freeway in southern California, or in a parking lot.  And he told us every time he did (fortunately he seemed to miss most of them and just randomly caught one here or there).  Which is probably why his super cute cousin once gave him a bossy little push and said, "Don't say 'auto' anymore!!"  (I was glad someone was brave enough to finally say it!)

William has the shiniest red hair and he and Spence looked so cute bouncing around the park together, while Spencer pointed out all the cars in the distant parking lot.

I'm so glad I got to share him with my family.  And that he saved about 95% of his fits for the last two days (and even then it could have been worse).  He was a sweet little traveling cousin/nephew/grandson and even the events of the way home couldn't turn me against him!!  :)  (Just kidding.  And that story really is coming...)

And the best part of coming home was his reunion with his best friend.

Aaron and Spence

We all love our boy and are so grateful that he IS ours!  

Home Sweet Home Away from Home Sweet Home

What a vacation!  Spencer and I bounced around from Micah's to Dad's to Anne's, to Jon's to Ben's then back to Anne's and then Dad's in the space of 2 1/2 weeks in California.  I realized a lot of things while we were there.

I realized/learned/decided:

• that I love America as much as, or maybe even more than I remembered.  
• that I love my brothers and sisters very, very much and am grateful that they married such awesome people and gave birth to such lovely (seriously gorgeous), intelligent and fun children.
• that family gossip will never affect me much again.  I feel like I "get" everyone in the family.  And love each of them a ton*.  Oh, I already said that. (*that's 2,000 pounds of love each.)
• how people can live without cooking.  This has always been a mystery to me.
• that minute rice bears virtually no resemblance to actual rice.
• that it was a very, very good idea to take Spencer with me.  
• how different every family is.  I loved spending time in so many different homes.  
• that I am not a good conversationalist, but decided it's okay because silences were never awkward.
• that I am lucky to have the parents I do.
• that I have it in me to forgive a sister for having a cupboard full of bags of chocolate, vanilla and peanut butter chips which have EXPIRED.  It took me about a week, but behold, I did forgive.
• that, as a guest, I am terrible at helping with dinner prep/cleaning.  This bothered me, but not enough for me to overcome my insecurity and get my rear up and give it a try.
• (or rather confirmed) that for me, sitting around at home with people I love is usually as fun or enjoyable as going out to do something with them, and often it's more enjoyable.
• more about what kind of person I want to become from being with so many people I admire.
• that everybody makes stupid mistakes or bad choices that cause crisis in their lives.  And that it's okay to just learn from them and move on.  And that it helps to get sympathy from those around you.
• that arms do not actually fall off from carrying a toddler for long periods of time.  Even if you keep expecting them to.  And pretty much wish they would.

Plus a billion other things that kind of made me a little bit of a new person.

And the fact that I would go through what it took to get us home all over again* -- twice, even, if necessary! -- says everything about the trip.  It really was one of the best experiences of my life.  And I'm still happy to be back home.  Home away from home.  Together with my family, away from my family.  Actually, those last four words are the not-so-happy part ...
*story to come

Judging vs. Being Judgmental (in which I probably come across as judgmental)

I just came away from a post about what is wrong with our society, which made me remember that I've been wanting to write this post for a long time.

One of my fears is of being perceived as judgmental.  Scratch that.  I don't care too terribly much how I'm perceived, my fear is of being actually judgmental.  It is hard.  Especially because I judge.  Oh, how I judge.  I judge that lying is wrong 99.9% of the time.  I judge that breaking the commandments is wrong, no matter what a person's excuses.  Including if they don't know about the commandment condemning it.  If God says something is wrong, I just think he's right, every time.

Does that mean that everyone who doesn't keep every commandment is guilty?  I don't believe so.  I certainly hope not!  And does it mean that people who break important commandments are always bad people?  Don't be stupid (you dummy!).  Of course it doesn't.

Let's take Ethan Frome for example.  He allowed himself to fall in love with a woman who was not his wife.  It is heartbreaking to read.  He has a story.  Do I think he was bad?  No.  Do I think he was wrong?  Absolutely.  Would I have acted better under his exact circumstances?  I can't say.  Most likely not.  It doesn't change the fact that some things are wrong.

Judging (righteously), I think, is knowing the difference between right and wrong.  It is the ability to draw a (usually) clear line between what is good and what is bad.  The good kind of judging refers ALWAYS to to a behavior or choice or action.

If I say that dressing immodestly is wrong, I am judging immodesty.  If I see someone dressed immodestly, I can think that it is wrong to dress that way.  I think this is a good thing to think, and what is expected of us.  (not to go around thinking about every choice everyone makes, but knowing in our minds and hearts which things are good and which aren't).

But what is not expected of us, and what is as wrong (or wronger!) than the immodesty itself, is if I think, "Ick.  She's nasty.  What a ----", or place a value on her personal worth in any other way.  It's being judgemental.  It is wrong.  I do my best to keep from allowing myself to shift from seeing "wrong/bad behavior" to "a person who is wrong/bad".  Of course this is quite simple if I just remember that everyone has a story--reasons behind why they do what they do or think how they think.  I have absolutely no authority to judge anothers' motives.  And I'm glad.  What a responsibility!

But unfortunately judging a behavior is almost always taken in our day for being judgmental.  To claim that something is a "bad" thing is to be INTOLERANT.  Suddenly it is taken to mean that I personally will not stand for it.  I just will not tolerate others' wrong choices.  And, clearly, that I have an aversion to the person who commits such acts or even those who disagree with me about the choice.

It used to be a matter of moral right and wrong but all those lines have become so blurred that the only real "wrong" seems to be when you point out that there actually is a black and a white.  But there is.  And saying that everything is gray makes the world as useful as static on a TV screen.  Separate the black and white and you can see moving pictures and scenes that offer value to the observer.  Something can be understood.

I think there is some good in being able to say "It's your thing, do what you want."  But I think that if that's all we ever say, there is something wrong. Especially if we consider there to be some sort of inherent rightness in another person's choices, simply because they made them.  This is how it seems we are being taught to feel.

A phrase I hear a lot is "living your truth."  Thanks for that one, Satan.  The world loves it!!  Doing what you want--what makes you "happy"--regardless of your creators opinion and instruction.  It's a new truth.  Create your own truth, and live by it.  This has somehow become the new mark of goodness.  "She's living her truth."  Well, good for her.  Except that truth is something that IS, and if your "truth" contradicts it, it's known as a lie.

I believe that God does have an opinion.  And that he's always right.  I think that judging that what He says is true, without casting judgment on the motives of those who don't follow him (often unwittingly!), is a good thing.  An example:

My mother-in-law smokes.  As a Mormon I believe that God doesn't want us to smoke.  It is wrong.  I believe that she is doing something that is wrong.  I am not judging her.  I am judging the action.  I have no idea on earth as to whether or not she is guilty.  My brain tells me that she is only as guilty as her religion teaches her she is (?).  Mostly, though, it doesn't matter.  She can do whatever she wants and I have no problem with it at all (except, of course, that I don't want her actions to cause her to die too soon, please.).  But if I say that I believe it is wrong, black like the color I wish her lungs weren't, please don't tell me that it's actually as gray as the smoke she is exhaling.  (okay, maybe that line is a bit much...)

I think it would be nice if we could just live in a world where we allowed each other to make choices and didn't think too much about it, and certainly weren't asked to state our opinion about it.  But we live in a time when I think it is becoming increasingly important from time to time for us to stand with God, even outside of our own homes, and to share what we believe he expects of us, even when it comes across as being judgmental.  And it is not easy.  I just wish I could go on watching the scenes on the screen without having to explain what kept me staring for so long to someone who sees nothing but static on the same screen.

I'll Miss Him

I'm going to miss Aaron for the two (happy!) weeks I'll be visiting family in California.  I'll miss the usual everyday conversations, like these that took place this morning:

Aaron called to me from the other room.  Not just a "Mom!" but a "You know what, mommy? Blah blah blah blah blah blah..."  I told him I couldn't hear him and asked him to come into the kitchen.

He said, "What?"  And I repeated that if he wanted to talk to me he'd have to come to the kitchen, where I was.

He said, "I thought you have to come here."

I said, "No, if I want to talk to you, I have to go to where you are, but if you want to talk to me, you have to come to me."

He replied, disappionted, "Well, that's not awesome."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Mommy, does bad guys go potty?"  

"Yup."

"Oookay."  

* * * * * * * * * * * *

After prayer Aaron scolded Spencer for not having closed his eyes.  I explained that he's still little so it's okay if he doesn't always close his eyes because he doesn't really know how.  Aaron countered with, "But mommy, you know what?  When Spencer goes night-night he knows how, so he knows how for prayer, too."

Oh!  That's right!  Spencer does know how to close his eyes!  The things I've been letting him get away with...

Just Write: My Life is Just Right

We're all in the living room.  Frank Sinatra is playing.  When Greg first turned it on I wasn't sure if it was Harry Connick or Frank.  I checked and it's Frank.  He sounds like Christmas to me.

Some yummy smelling oil is diffusing.  Greg is sitting on an exercise ball rocking back and forth to the music with both Aaron and Spencer on his lap.  I don't know how he's doing that, but I'll bet it's good exercise.

Evie is making Christmas presents for her cousins.  I will take them to California when I go in two weeks for Thanksgiving.  David is drawing -- cars, of course -- with glitter glue paint.

Everyone is talking in low voices and it feels like Family.  It feels like Home.

I'm getting up now to make something warm and yummy and good to balance out the too-much-sweets-from-our-Halloween-party last night.  But I promised Aaron I'd play one game of Candyland with him first.

I love my life.

I wrote about this moment to join in with Heather's Just Write free writing exercise.  You can join in or read Just Write posts from other bloggers by following that link.

Better Food, Cleaner Dishes and No Spiders

We sort of have this thing about appliances around here.  Way back at the very dawning of this blog I wrote a post about our hunt for, and purchase of, a washing machine.  It tells the tale of our complete ignorance and relative incompetence when it comes to making an educated purchase of such contraptions.

But it's not the issue of having to choose one that keeps us from buying a dishwasher or microwave.  Money isn't the problem, either (because we have bags of money in the basement waiting for us to decide what to spend it on)  (don't tell the neighbors).  No, we are just prejudiced against these appliances.

I don't like food out of the microwave.  As a little girl my best friend had a microwave WAY before the rest of the world did and we would stick a piece of Wonder bread in there and relish each bite of the steaming, rubbery, food-like substance that came out 15 seconds later.  But I seem to have outgrown rubbery food and become a disliker of slimy cheese.

I like my cheese crispy.  I like my hot-dogs browned (and un-exploded).  I like my frozen dinners -- I don't like my frozen dinners.  Everything a microwave can do, a stove-top or oven can do better, in my opinion (except soften butter).  So we haven't had a microwave for 11 years.

Greg is strongly averse to dishwashers.  "They don't work well", he says.  "They're not worth the trouble" he says.  And I take his word for it about not being worth the trouble because he's something of an expert, since he washes about !% of the dirty dishes around here.  So, we don't have a dishwasher (actually we do in the downstairs kitchen but we've never used it).

We also don't have a drier, but that's more for reasons of nobody-in-Europe-has-a-drier.  Plus 11 years of not using one has made me a little afraid of them (although I miss them dearly at the same time).

In conclusion, the other morning Evie came into my room and told me there was a spider.  I stepped out of my bedroom and found this waiting to jump down on the next person who dared descend the stairs below him:

For comparison, the light underneath is about as long as my humerus.  (I always give measurements in bone lengths)  (especially while talking about spider size around Halloween)  This guy was definitely bigger than my patella.  (glad he never got anywhere near my patella, though, let me tell you!)

It was no problem though, because Greg came out and sucked him up with the vacuum.  Because we HAVE a vacuum.  We are, in fact, firm believers in the vacuum cleaner.

The Hardest Thing

I'm currently in the middle of a week spent with my in-laws (mom, dad and sister).  I love them dearly and they are good people.  It's hard for me to be with them, though, without aching to live in a place where my own parents could be an influence on my children, at least a few times a year (or even once a year!).

My in-laws smother the kids with kisses and affectionate talk in altered tones.  They are always ready to help the older kids with homework and play the little "games" I don't have patience for over and over and over with the little ones that the kids giggle and giggle and giggle about ("Oh no!  Where did Aaron go!?!" x 500).  They take the kids for long, long walks and feed them lots and lots of food.  I'm so grateful for all of this (...almost always).

With my dad they would have a very different experience.  He would get down on the floor with them and play and wrestle.  He would show them things and... well, the fact of the matter is that I don't know exactly what he would do because it's been so many years that it makes me cry to think of it (almost 4) (excuse me while I wipe my eyes and blow my nose).  His wife would ask the kids questions and be infinitely interested and plan craft projects and make yummy food for and maybe with them.

 My mom would read them book after book after book.  She would point out interesting things and teach them words and concepts. She would teach and teach and the kids would feel her love for her God and His plan and her Savior and His sacrifice every single day.  She would always give them something interesting to do.  She would reprimand them when they needed it.  She would sit back and watch them interact with each other.  And she would laugh.

The things Greg's parents do, my parents would do very little of (or in more moderation).  The things my parents would do, Greg's parents do very little of..

I am so, so grateful my kids have loving grandparents living close enough that we see them many times a year.  But it's hard to express how difficult it is for me to have my kids growing up largely without their other grandparents.  It's probably the hardest thing about living here, not to mention what usually REALLY gets me: all the things my kids do and say and ARE that my parents can't experience.

And don't even get me started on aunts and uncles and cousins.  They see their Polish cousin (yes, without an "s" on the end) on Easter and Christmas.  He's 23.  They pretty much never get to see their (soon to be) sixteen other cousins, who are ages 13 and under and some of the cutest, smartest little people in the world.

I just had to unload.  I know it could be worse (My parents are still alive!  And I get along with all my siblings!  And many Americans don't get to see their family often, either! etc.) but sometimes one needs to throw oneself a pity party.  Sorry if I got confetti in your hair.

I Have Another Question (#2)

What are your thoughts on/experience with the marriage rule of never going to bed mad?

My answer:

If I had followed that rule I would have probably been awake since sometime in the early months of our marriage.  When it's late I seem to lose all sense of... everything, and am likely to become a bundle of resentment and/or despair with little willpower to put toward seeing reason/forgiving/admitting I'm wrong/getting the heck over it.  Plus, we're not the best communicators.  So I/we go to bed mad.

By the time I wake up I have a fresh new, or rather, an 8 hour-old, sense of resentment and/or despair over the injustice that is my marriage but by then, or sometime that day I get sick of  talking to Greg only when necessary and in as robotic a tone as I can muster (so mature!), so I stop it and everything goes back to normal (within a day or two)  i.e. I start thinking he's one of the best people in the world.

I can't wait until we're perfect and Greg and I are finally decent communicators and he finally understands that I'm always in the right.

I Have a Question # 1

I actually have a few questions that I would love to hear your thoughts on if you have the desire to share.  I'll post them over the next few days and answer them myself in my post.  Today's question:

What is your cleaning MUST?  In other words, what are you good at keeping clean or tidy because it's almost a pet peeve for it to be dirty or unorganized?

I'm asking this question because once when I was visiting my sister, while she cooked dinner and we chatted I took a cloth and started wiping down the cupboard doors.  I think I asked if I could first.  She thought I was weird, but I was just standing there talking to her, doing nothing, so why not wipe down the doors?  I don't think I offended her (a la "I can't stand to look at these doors for another second!" which is not what I was thinking at all).  I hope not, because I regularly wipe mine down, so I was just doing what I would have done at home.  She thought it might be one of my MUSTS, but it's not.  She then told me about a friend of hers who can't stand to have the splashboard behind the sink dirty.  This is why I started thinking about this and wonder what your "issues" are with cleaning.

My answer:


I like my car to be tidy.  No wrappers, toys or random items of clothing.  Everything is taken out after every weekend trip and it is maintained during the week.  I also care more than Greg about it being washed (exterior) so I've made it my job.

In the house Greg dislikes dust so I (or Greg) vacuum regularly and the kids dust mop all floors every evening.  We also like clean walls so our kids are discouraged from touching the walls (punishable by a beating) (just kidding), and I do spot-wiping regularly.

One thing I wish I was better at is keeping up with clutter, especially in the kitchen and on the stairs.

Now, please tell me yours, if you have one!

Kids Can Be Such a Pain

When I realized I'd left three pillows for the boys and a blanket for Spencer at home, I knew our weekend in Katowice was going to be interesting.

Then, when I realized I'd left the pacifiers at home I knew it'd be a nightmare.

Nothing like sleeping six people in a hotel room, three of them pillowless, with a baby that's up crying all night.  I was excited.

After 15 minutes of changing positions in bed he fell asleep.

I was awake all night worrying about how he was going to keep crying and nobody was going to get any sleep, making going to church the next day a royal pain.

That's how I know that Spencer whimpered for a second or two twice during the night, 'cause if I'd been asleep like everyone else in the room I wouldn't even have noticed.

How long to do I have to be a mother to learn  not to dread things like this?  Because I'm as often pleasantly surprised as I am right in my fears.

But, really, why settle in and fall asleep when you can stay up fretting over something that might happen, that surely WILL happen, that will ruin your night and your day?  In my defense, though, I was also trying to keep him covered and warm during the night by laying my Sunday skirt back over him every time he moved...

Feel the Top of Your Head to Find Out If You're Me

If you have some of the same issues as me (which you don't) or you are me (which you're most likely not) then I recommend you stay out of my attic.  Strange things have been known to happen when people like me go up there.

For example, if you do go up, the same crossbeam that you duck under to get to the toddler clothes will be right there in the SAME PLACE when you carry those clothes out, ducking not quite as low as you did on the way in.  Freaky. 

Also, if you go up again a couple of days later, the exact same crossbeam, for some indeterminable reason, will STILL BE IN THAT VERY SAME PLACE.  Only a psychic could foresee something like that.  Seriously.  Attics freak. me. out.

They also give me scabs on my scalp that don't go away for two weeks.  Which is nothing compared to the feeling of standing alone, laden with bags of clothes in a dim and dusty room, head throbbing, feeling a deep sense of embarrassment.  Is it even possible to feel embarrassed when you're the only one around?

It is if you have some of the same issues as me (which you don't) or you are me (which, lucky for you--and your head--you're most likely not).

Roberto's Work

Strzala's makeover

Almost Wordless Wednesday

First I need to thank every person who commented on my last post.  I appreciate your thoughts so much.  They helped me realize how much I really want to soften the edges of this rough stone that I am.  Thanks for your (unanticipated) help.  Really good stuff for me.

This morning I gave Spence the last of the sponge cake cookies* (biszkopty):

A few minutes later this is what I found sitting on the couch:

* aka pointless cookies.  Because, really?  No fat?

Missy's Makeover

Before

Salon Katica

Roxy's Bob