The M&M Story

M: Mom, do they have Aunt and Uncle Day like they have Mother's Day and Father's Day? S: No. M: Well, they should. I would make Aunt Mimi, Aunt Nealy, Uncle Peepee, and Uncle Stephen cards and do stuff for them. They deserve it! Oh, and I would wrestle Uncle Peepee.

My boys have been well-trained. Thanks, Nana. They planned everything by themselves and executed the perfect Mother's Day morning for me. There was a note on the cabinet where I keep my coffee cups. It said, "Look in here." So I did. A gorgeous card made by Max. And a yellow bracelet that said Strength on it. "Mommy, I wanted blue but Mrs. Rahm didn't have anymore, so I picked yellow. And then I saw that it said strength and I thought that fit you because we haven't had Daddy here since we were way little." Then, my little peeps (all whispering) went outside and brought me a flower that Briggs had grown in class. They had kept it alive for two whole days. Outside, hidden. Then I received a coupon book. From B--offering to do things like water the plants and give me some quiet time. And then came the hugs and kisses. The best part.

So last night we went to church. Max sang songs with the choir, one of two boys up there. What I love about him is that he does what he wants and doesn't care what anyone thinks. He sang his heart out. And Briggs--had me in tears--they picked out gifts for their family in his catechism class--and he picked out a pair of shoes for me (size 13 little girls, mind you) and was SO proud of them. All I could think of was that song they play at Christmas--Christmas Shoes--about a little boy buying shoes for his dying mother--I couldn't stop crying or hugging him. I have the sweetest little guys in the world. How I love them.

WHO THE MEEK ARE NOT Not the bristle-bearded Igors bent under burlap sacks, not peasants knee-deep in the rice paddy muck, nor the serfs whose quarter-moon sickles make the wheat fall in waves they don't get to eat. My friend the Franciscan nun says we misread that word "meek" in the Bible verse that blesses them. To undersand the meek (she says) picture a great stallion at full gallop in a meadow, who-- at his master's voice--sizes up to a stunned but instant halt. So with the strain of holding that great power in check, the muscles along the arched neck keep eddying, and only the velvet ears prick forward, awaiting the next order. -Mary Karr It's so easy to picture myself in the rice paddies. In many ways, my story--my main character--could look more like the heroine of the The Good Earth. Not that she was weak....but...I'd rather have velvet ears. And fall down the rabbit hole. And meet a wizard and fight the White Witch. And then ride the waves of a st...

One day after school not too long ago, our favorite high schooler in the world, Ellie, was hanging out with us. I asked her to take a family picture, much like the one we did last year, so that I could use it for our Christmas greeting. M and B raced to their rooms, rummaged through drawers and such, and emerged quite handsomely in vests and ties. For about a 1/2 hour we posed, made funny faces, irritated each other, even tried to do a couple pictures outside (you can only imagine). Well, this was the very last one we took, and it worked well enough. I love my little family.

The tree is up, the lights are on, and the Christmas music continuously echos through my cozy home. And two little boys are getting into the spirit of the season. Not long ago, B started singing, much like Mariah Carey - "All I Want For Christmas is You." I think he was singing to his favorite piggy, Squishy. Funny thing about Christmas, it brings such exacerbated emotion. I've decided most of it is a ploy by the advertisers, but there is always that bit of truth that is thread throughout the commercial deluge of stimuli. I've sort of fallen in love with Amy Grant's song, "I Need a Silent Night." Thinking back so many years ago, I picture a stable, a bed of hay, two teenagers, and bunch of smelly animals. And probably taking place in the summer not the dead of winter. How beautiful it must have been. As I embark on this festive season, I need that silent night, to help me remember why we even have green and red and fudge and presents. Yes, it cam...

First, the stitches. About a week ago during one of Max's evening soccer practices, we had quite the event. B fell and bumped the back of his head on the play structure. Lots of bustling parents and plenty of tears later, we arrived at Missouri Baptist Hospital to quickly learn that a few stitches were necessary for my very brave five year old. We spent many a minutes (almost two hours) watching Bugs Bunny/Road Runner, singing songs, and telling stories while we waited for the doctor to perform the procedure. B was brave, brave, brave with only a few tears. Mommy, on the other hand, cried plenty. But there was a popsicle at the end of the evening and lots of snuggles (and piggies) when he got home. On another note - here is the conversation that ensued this evening: M: Mom, did you know that I'm 7 and I still sleep with a stuffed animal? S: Do you think that is good or bad? M: Well, it's bad. No, I mean, I don't know. What do you think? S: Did someone say...