Dear Santa,

How are ya, Big Fella?

Recuperated? Rested?

Good, Good!

Say, remember the last three years we've had that little post-stocking-filling discussion about super sized boxes of Christmas Nerds, that festively colored, fruity little treat that I did not want to become a Christmas tradition?

Hmmm, well, one of us forgot...AGAIN!

I'm not tossing blame around, it's just that there are half eaten boxes of Nerds lying around everywhere, spilling their tasty little nuggets of Christmasy cheer, into couches, onto counter-tops, carpets, and beds. And, what with someone bringing THREE buckets of those little plastic army guys...

So, for next year when your magical mind is figuring out how to fill those ginormous stockings that seemed like a great idea back in the day when there were only four of them, 8....not so much, think beyond the FRICKIN' NERD'S!!!

Uhhmm, let's not have this little conversation again, Mmkay?


Love ya tons!!

XOXOXO
Boy Mom

Christmas Thoughts

It's 2:13 AM, Santa has come and gone, everything's wrapped and ready for tomorrow. There are gifts under the tree to hand out, presents from the "Big Fella" (as he's known at Boy House)attractively arranged, every dish (but one with a left over cracker and a half bottle of coke) is neatly washed and put away. We all worked together to wash walls, vacuum nooks and crannies, clean bedrooms and, Christmas miracle, the laundry room is clean with only 5 unwashed batches, can you hear the heavenly choirs? Even the pans, and utensils, serving platters and non-perishables are neatly arranged ready for our annual Christmas Breakfast.

This is my favorite time of Christmas, everything is perfect, like a snowy yard with no footprints or tip-tilted snowmen wearing, soggy scarfs and leaves that didn't get raked.

I wander through the silent house enjoying the lights, the decorations, full candy dishes, containers of fudge and cookies, brimming and ready to serve. I smile at the perfectly wrapped gifts and careful arrangement of packaged toys, and brand new clothes. I take pictures of the perfection like a picture will freeze it, make it last, quiet the chaos that will erupt as seven boys, a tired husband, and 40-50 breakfast guests crowd into our average size home.

I find my mind drawn to a still, silent night. I have felt the euphoria that comes after the labor and work of a birth is done, when the overwhelming pressure is over and the baby is cradled in my arms, fingers and toes examined, everything perfect. But that night in Bethlehem, that perfect, quiet moment was not what saved me, not what grants me strength to press through the trials of life, affords me courage to love, empowers me to overcome.

That came in the days and years to follow, from the heart pounding rush of a midnight flight, to the constant clamor of the ill and hungry. It came in the scorn of betrayal, the agony of Gethsemane the mocking on the path to Golgotha. There were quiet moments, with hearts and belly's full. Wondrous moments of gratitude for healing. Reassuring moments when Father spoke from the heavens. I'm sure those moments were savored as only a Savior can.

So I savor this quiet, this silent night, and rejoice that morning and noise and commotion will come. "For God", on a sacred, still night and again equally on a cacophonous, tumultuous hill, "So loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son. That whoso believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."

Christmas blessings to all of my beloved bloggy friends!

Gee Thanks, Babe!

Tonight I asked a man at work what gift he was getting his wife for Christmas.

"Well, I'm actually getting her a maid to come in and help with the heavy cleaning." (Yes, he's a doctor.)

"Wow, what a great gift. Will the maid be peeking out of the top of her stocking with a feather duster and a cute little french outfit?" (Yeah, I talk to doctors that way... 'cuz my jobs just for fun, don't cha know!)

The conversation started me to thinking that there are some gifts a husband could get his wife that, wonderful seeming though they may be, should, perchance, be accepted with suspicion.

Because I love you and wouldn't want your marriage to suffer many years from now when you suddenly suspect an ulterior motive behind all those unique and wondrous gifts your dear one showered on you, I've made a little Suspish List.

Boy Mom's Suspish List

1) A French Maid

Uhhh, Mon Cheri, unless she's from Winnemucka, France, drives an older Japanese car, wears sweats and a t-shirt that says I conquered the Monster Steak Sandwich at Frenchy's Bar and Grill...Be suspicious.

2) Sugar-free Chocolate and diet soda

Chiquita, this should immediately bring to mind that sweet pick-up line from the movie Napoleon Dynamite, "I see you're drinking 1% (milk, for those unlucky enough to not have this movie oft quoted in their presence), is that because you think you're fat? 'Cause you're not. You could be drinking whole if you wanted too." Now, let suspicion invert the quote. Don't question the logic? It's 3:00a.m. and Boy Mama's sleepy.

3) A Couples Massage from,
BENEFITS SPA
Desiree Jucy, CMT

Ladies, lovely as an hour of knot kneading may sound...this is the gift you refund for a Rubbed Steak at Outback with your best girlfriend. Trust Boy Mom on this one.

5) Self-help Books

What you sayin' boy? Don't mis-read, Boy Mama's all about self improvement; jus', self-motivated, self-improvement.

6)Ironing Boards, Hangers and Spray Starch

Sister, take that highly suspicious crap back to Walmart toute de suite (learned that fancy term from the French maid).

7) If the box says, STANLEY, DE WALT, CRAFTSMAN or comes from HOME DEPOT

Precious, I want to put this gently...He's going to be getting a whole lot more out of that chain saw then you, even if you are the 'crafty type'.

8) A year of ESPN2 and a new cable box.

Girl, if you love LPGA Wednesdays, re-runs of Pete Sampras before the hair went bye-bye, and soccer players (yum), this may be the perfect gift. If you're still trying to sound out LPGA...then, not so much.

9) Naughty Lingerie

Sweet Cheeks, if you can't wear it to drag the garbage can to the street 20 seconds before the truck gets to your house. If it's inappropriate to drive the lil' 'uns to school in, even with a ratty 'ol bath robe over it. Well then, it just might be the gift that keeps giving. To. Him. Jus' keepin' it real, ladies.

10) If, at any time during the Holiday Season, you hear that darlin' man of yours say something like, "Girl, my Mom and I picked up a truly fab little wifey gift that you're just going to A. Dore!" (Hmm, well if he says anything, about any subject, like that... then, Hon, we need to have a whole 'nother little chat).Let's jus' say if "My Mom" and "gift" come up in the same sentence, gal, let, Boy Mom's Suspish Gift List be your guide and don't you even open that little bundle. Hide it under the piles of discarded wrapping paper. (Unless, of course your Mum-in-law is super cool like mine and picks out absolutely amazing gifts. She says she reads my blog, we'll see :))


Now, Luv, If you get such a gift from your Numero Uno, don't despair. Hug on that boy, tell 'im you love, Love, LOVE it, then hit those after Christmas sales hard. Buy your wonderful lil' self something really, really great, Boy Mom insists.



My work here is done. Feel free to re-produce copies for all your girlies.

And, remember, if a lady doesn't give her man an amazing gift, well then, Sugar Plum... 'nuff said.

Swiftly Home

I've been thinking a lot lately about the choices I make, the choices others make and the experiences that those choices lead too.

I've spent most of my life believing that the experiences we have are good or bad and that it's all tied into making good and bad choices. I have been guilty many times, of thinking my choices and resultant experiences were the good choices and that others, who were living life differently then I, were, "Doing it wrong." I have been happy to, "tsk tsk" them and all too willing to point out the error of their ways so they might benefit from a set of experiences more similar to mine.

I have, on the other hand, looked at someones life situation and their experiences as better then mine. I have scolded myself for not being more like so and so. I have spent many hours trying to figure out how to make different choices so my life could be as wonderful as I perceived other lives were.

Mostly though I have gone back to my past over and over and over beating myself up for choices and experiences I have lived and wondering, till I'm sick of being in my own skull, how much better my life would be if I had just not made certain choices.

The past nearly three years our family has had many experiences that I never expected to have. It is easy, and most would say important, for us to look at these experiences as bad, wrong and painful to ourselves and others. I have gone from feeling like a victim, to being angry, to setting impossibly ridiculous lists of goals and precautions to prevent these experiences from ever happening again and to fix the pain caused.

A few days ago I was trying to deal with the emotions of handling it all and trying to figure out what the, "Right" thing to do was. I had not been awake long and was still in bed, wrapped in a blanket, near tears trying to figure it all out. #7 burst through the bedroom door, flipped over the foot board of the bed, and dove at me for a hug. As soon as he caught sight of my face he stopped and asked, "Mom, what's wrong?"

I briefly explained that I was trying to figure out some things and that people were hurting and asked him to pray for them and me. He rolled over closed his eyes and silently prayed. After a minute or so he sat up, curled up in my lap and asked, "Mom, why do we say bless us to get swiftly home ?"

"Do you mean, get safely home?" I asked.

"Oh!" He said, gave me a hug and kiss, jumped off the bed and ran out to play.

I can't get that thought out of my head. "Bless us to get swiftly home."

We come to this earth to receive a mortal body, have experiences that teach us to know our spiritual selves, to yield flesh to the spiritual self, so that we may return home to God, literally at some point and to create in our fleshly tabernacles the peace of our heavenly home.

I have cautioned my children over and over about choices and experiences that I have deemed unsafe. I have held them back, scolded them, and attempted to force them into certain choices and experiences. I have done this, I tell them and myself, for their safety; because, we all know that you just can't learn anything good from bad choices. I've worked really hard to set them on the right path. The only path, my path. I have cautioned not only my children but many others against choices they were making.I have spent much of my life miserably convinced that I knew the safest way home. Until a sweet son innocently suggested a new perspective.

What if safely isn't the answer? What if safely home should be swiftly home and what if all our experiences are bringing us swiftly home?

Maybe I am too quick to label choices as good and bad, maybe they are just choices that lead to the experiences that teach me of my spiritual nature? What if the factor determining that an experience is good or bad is what I learn? What if every choice I make is like a stepping stone in the river of experience, and we each are connected to our Heavenly home by a river flowing between God and us? Would I sit prudently on the bank, avoiding the swift, swirling waters for safety's sake?

If I knew that leaping from rock to rock, was the way home to Father would I stand flat footed on a big rock in my river, proud of my choice, sure I had avoided a terrible experience. Would I proudly look over at other river runners, and shout safe navigational instructions? Would I mock or scold when a jump landed them in the current and carried them, bumping along? Would I forsake the wet, rocky path of my river, scramble up on the bank to sit scared and shivering, agonizing over the slippery rocks, and wild currents.

My personal river has, at times, felt like a happy little brook until it merges with another river. Suddenly we are sharing currents and eddies, rocks, submerged logs, mud and turbulence. As the volume of water increases, we may both feel we are tumbling down stream to fast, out of control. Each may lose sight of their personal connection with God. Then we may begin to blame others insisting that their choices are determining our experience. We feel that we're drowning and flail helplessly, clinging to any little floating scrap of debris.

That's where I am, clinging, treading until every muscle aches.

But you know... I'm learning. I'm learning, from the warm, dry, days and the wet, scary, slippery days. I'm thinking that if God can offer a little peace though the simple faith of a 6 year old then surely I can keep leaping from rock to rock, choice to choice, learning from each experience and finding the grace to allow others their choices and experiences with love and compassion. I'm tired of judging, overwhelmed with worrying, ready to look to Father and love living each moment of my journey swiftly home.


I remembered this picture by Greg Olsen after re-reading this post. I could have just posted the picture it sums up my thoughts so beautifully. Greg Olsen, Fear Not

Christmas Listing

I haven't posted in quite a while, it's on my Christmas To Do list. It's just below fulfilling my boys wish lists.

#1-- I'm just happy to be serving the Lord. Ahhhhhh!
#2-- Just a couple books about transcendentalism and spiritual quantum physics. Uhhhh!
#3--A girl. Ummmm...
#4--A mixer board. Whaaa?
#5--A helicopter with a remote control crane and eye. Sheesh!!
#6--A Rip Stick. Hmmm... (I think I was supposed to be riding one of those this year.)
#7--A pot of gold. Riiiiiiight!
#8--I don't know. Grrrrr!


So as soon as I get done checking out the army surplus store for a helicopter and catching that Leprechaun....