My Pink Heart-Shaped Flag

Something happened when Raphael came along.  I became acutely aware that I was suddenly the only female in the house.  Now, I'm a farm kid, and have failed in most efforts at feminine charm, lack desired petite physique and soft-spoke attributes not withstanding, and was less of a princess as a child and more of a tomboy book worm.  And pink and lace and flowers and fashion, among other girly trappings, always seemed alluring, yet sadly unattainable, uncomfortable.  I was, and remain for the most part, big, loud, and brown.  But when Raph was born, something like a little blush rose budded within me.  As I looked at my husband and my sons, I was overcome with a fierce love and pride for my clan of men, and that little rose burst open.  For about ten days of the year, I embrace that rose, and let my pink, heart-shaped flag fly!

And I enjoy treating my little ones when I can, and for our family, creating little celebrations in the void of celebrations, making something special that isn't necessarily so by itself, gives me an opportunity to create special memories for them.  I do hope that when they are grown they have harbored and treasured these days as I have.  And maybe, even as they roll their eyes at my silly antics, they'll feel warmed by my love for them anyway.

Disclaimer:  Obscene use of hearts and pink and candy below.  Reader is warned, and I am hereby not responsible for any sugar comas, cavities, pink ODs, and/or {heart} attacks.  

So it started out with an evite to Aaron's sister Cris, aka Tia Kissie as the boys call her.  The evite was from Andres and Raphael, requesting the pleasure of her company on Saturday night, the 9th of February to a Love Party.  To which she promptly replied "yes!"  Then we had a lot of work to do, and not much money to do it with.  Enter stage right:  Pinterest and Dollar Store.

I've made chocolate heart-shaped sugar cookies with light pink frosting for three years and it wouldn't be Valentine's Day without them.  The boys and I mixed up the dough, and wrapped it to chill in the fridge overnight, and the next day when Andres was at school, Raph and I worked the frosting.

He's getting so good in the kitchen, such a wonderful helper, my Raph.  Notice his new hairdo?  He initiated that at the end of January while I was sick with the Rota Virus, begging Aaron to euthanize me, little Mr. Man helped himself to the hair sheers in our bathroom and butchered his bangs and sides.  He looked like a burn victim, and although I was so thankful that he didn't lose an eye or snip his ear, we all lamented his Little Lord Fauntleroy curls.  We'd ask him "Raph, were did your hair go?"  He'd shrug and say "all gone," then we'd pretend to cry about it.  He'd rush to us, throw his arms around us in a comforting way, smiling and laughing because clearly we were the only ones grieving his beautiful, trademark fro.  Such a bummer.  I digress.

We are a playdough house, and by that I mean we love us some playdough around these parts.  The Gingerbread Playdough we made at Christmas, completed with the gingerbread cookie cutters from the dollar store, not only smelled so fresh and wonderful it made your mouth water, but had an amazing texture that enchanted the boys for literally hours at the table.  So we set about making Valentine's Day playdough, a creamy chocolate playdough and sweet strawberry playdough duet, which smelled absolutely like a dessert, and made some more good use of the heart cookie cutters.  Thankfully they know not to eat the stuff, no matter how yummy it smells.  Seriously, how many more years of this playdough thing do I have before (God help me) babes and cars and social media take over their free time?  Not many.  The years are flying by, so I try to keep it fresh and creative, and perhaps cultivate a couple of future Michaelangelos in the process.

Yes, even I love playdough.  Honestly, it's soothing and stress-relieving, and it's something I love doing with the boys.

Raph loved making little choco marshmallows that he called "hot cocoa," since that's where they go, and Andres made Cupid arrows.

With those little hands occupied, I was able to create some more decorations to our meager Valentine's Day collection.  Being VERY aware of our financial constraints, I limited the decorations to using whatever I had laying around, and allowed a couple bucks splurge at the Dollar Store for fake roses and a ball to glue them onto for my topiary in my Gramma's milk-glass vase.  I made a garland when I was pregnant with Raph and this year wanted to add some Cupid's arrows.  They were free since I had all the materials, and I think they turned out pretty cute, spinning over the table, pointing at random victims of love.

After the decorations were in place, I set about getting the menu right, and if it couldn't be pink, red, heart-shaped or strawberries, then it wasn't on the list.  Last year I had an amazing Borsch, one of our family favorites, so perfectly fuscha and absolutely delicious, but tragically staining (beet roots are healthy for you and used as a clothing dye, little did I know at the time) and found out when Andres sprayed his bowl over the table on accident.  That was NOT going to be on the menu this year!  The year before last I made a heart shaped meat loaf (my first Love Day Party when Raphael was tiny) and now that we're pretty meat free in this house, and Tia Kissie is a complete vegetarian, I needed to find something without meat, but still met all my Mandatory Love Day Menu Requirements.  I found the heart shaped ravioli idea on Pinterest that fit the bill, and filled them with my own cheesy spinach and artichoke mixture.

The day of the party, Andres helped me create a welcoming Love Party sidewalk art display for Tia when she came a'knocking.  He asked me to draw the heart shapes so he could color them in.  He did a good job and was quite proud and eager for Tia to come.  I insisted his hearts were very good, but he felt more comfortable just coloring rather than drawing them out.  Actually, his hand-drawn hearts are quite dear.

My sweet guy.  

After lunch we did a family craft to display on the patio doors, and then when Raph went down for a nap, Aaron and Andres helped set the dessert and dining tables.  Aaron was finally able to light the candles, and we waited for Tia to show up.

Getting ready...

I thought it would be sweet (no pun intended) to use edible paint made of powdered sugar, water, and food coloring to mark a place setting at the table right onto the plates.   

The boys loved the Cupid Arrows from jelly candies and pretzels. 

Once it was all set out, and we were all twitching to dig into those cupcakes and strawberries covered in white choco, Tia showed up, and the party could start!

First thing first, as soon as she walked in the door, Andres had to get Tia up to date on the latest developments in his "epic."  

For the wee ones, sparkling cider.  For the big kids, spumante bubbles with strawberry nectar.  It made such a pretty blush pink color and was misleadingly sweet.    

Time to wash up for dinner!  I adore this shot, two handsome guys.

Love Party 2013 Dinner Menu: 

(Heart-Shaped) Spinach and Artichoke Ravioli in a Vodka sauce

Strawberry Almond Spinach Salad

(Heart-Shaped) Sour Cream Biscuits
Cherry Almond Cupcakes
Chocolate Sugar Cookies
Chocolate Strawberries
Various Heart Candy Galore

After dinner there was a lot of playing around in the mirror with the mustache straws and "Love Goggles." 

The straws never lasted to the milkshakes I had planned, but they proved to be more exciting than just drinking straws!

Then the night slowly wrapped up, each of us quite full from dinner, which turned out delicious, and the cupcakes and cookies and candy all very much nibbled.  We sent Tia home with a lot of treats and feel so glad we were able to shower her with love, as she deserves, and to able to give my men a special night showing them my (glittering, heart-shaped, pink and red) love for them all.

When Valentine's Day rolled around, we had Red Velvet Milkshakes that were to die for, topped with Redi-Whip, of course.  I can't remember the last time I bought that and think it was the first time they've ever had it, because it was a like food item they had just discovered.

Andres LOVED the Redi-Whip.

Wild Kratts on PBS after rest time and Red Velvet "shake-shakes" as Raphael calls them. 

Andres had loot from his VDay in school to share with Raph, and I got them tiny chocolate boxes with Super Hero juice drinks.   Andres was so generous to share with Raph.

I had to work in the nursery at church on Valentines night, but before I ran out the door with an apple for dinner, I had to do one more special thing for my special guys on Valentine's Day.

Yes.  I did.   And I think they loved it. 

Forest Fires

When I was in college I knew a guy who was a forestry major and firefighter in the rugged mountain-scape around Ellensburg, Washington.  He told me awesome stories about firefighting, using what we know about slope, direction of a breeze, and digging trenches to guide a roaring fire towards extinguishing itself out.  But most interesting, I think, were his accounts of curing tree diseases that struck me most deeply.  Sometimes an entire area was so infected with illness that to seize the spread of the disease to more trees in neighboring areas, they would strategically create a controlled forest fire to purify the ecosystem.  Not only did this help the health of the forest, but the fire also created nutrient-rich ash for new life to thrive, and some trees even have fire-triggered pinecones that release seed only during blazing infernos.  To save the forest, they burned the trees.

I think sometimes we encounter forest fires like this.  I've had situations where relationships were razed to the ground, and it was excruciatingly painful, because of course burning hurts and smoke is blinding and choking.  But when the air is clear again, and the wounds have scabbed over, something wonderful happens.  Where it was once clogged with illness or unhealth is now an open and vast field, allowing room for something better to grow again, something new.

It's interesting how these forest fires take shape in our lives.  A misunderstanding with a dear friend can lead to a deeper friendship.  An argument with a spouse can bring about new understanding and clarity.   I've had bad mom moments that have left me so greif-stricken and bereft with guilt that my only choice was to change, and (hopefully) become someone more like the mom I wanted to be.  A beloved person in my life had an extramarital affair, and the relationship with her husband was completely and understandably torched.  But their commitment to God and each other allowed them to plant seeds of new growth in their marriage through lots of hard work on themselves and their relationship, and these many years later they are perfectly aligned together and are showered with blessings.  The fire that took my family away from me remains a vacant lot, yet I can't linger there.  Sometimes the vacant lot needs to be vacant because that's the healthier option, the better option.   It's sitting fallow.  So I water the field where my boys and husband are, where my friends are, and grow among their boughs.

My dear Austrian friend, Judith, has a life I admire and sometimes envy, as she travels around the world living very simply in a small villa in Spain, or a city in Sweden, or a thatch hut on the beach in Columbia.  Keeping track of her has been a joyous challenge of the 15 years of our friendship, and her email was currently the only thread I had connecting us.  With our email account stolen last week, blocking our access to our contact list, I bemoaned losing her completely.   How was I to find her now as she galavanted around the world?

Driven to find her contact info I did what any red-blooded American would do, and googled her, discovering only a paper from Graz University she had published on psychology while in grad school, nothing else.  When Aaron suggested I revisit our old email address I argued that it was dead, and wouldn't be able to access.  But I remembered our old password and after all this time, was able to log in and find her address!

That was a success, but more, I discovered that people had still be sending us emails to that address unbeknownst to us.  One email was from a Korean student I had taught ages ago as a recent immigrant student in 7th grade.  After she moved into high school, I privately tutored her in language arts, and I continue to have a deep fondness for her all these years later.  And there in this dead email account I found from her a note, sent just six weeks ago.

"Dear Mrs. V.  
How are you?  I'm suffering from the famous "what will I do with my life after college?" syndrome.  Can we get together and talk?"

I couldn't get over the luck of finding this, and replied right away.  But it doesn't end there.

About three weeks ago, I had a conversation with a friend at church that wounded and confused me severely.  Honestly, it broke my heart.  We had gone to Africa in the same group where we bunked together in a cinder-block shack suffering as sisters would the braying donkeys outside our window and the Muslim call to prayers throughout the sweltering nights.  I respected her and looked up to her, but that conversation left me feeling gutted.  I felt the best thing to do was prune the friendship and move on.

Yet there in this dead email account's in box was a note from her.  

"I feel I owe you an apology after our exchange tonight.  I hope if I have offended you, that you can forgive me for my insensitivity toward you."  

So as much as I've complained and moaned about the inconvenience of our email being stolen, I now see it as a blessing.  I never dreamed of visiting that old email account until I had lost Jude's address.  And after the fire I shuffled through the ash to discover wonderful, green, and thriving signs of life.

Eat'cho heart out, Spielberg!

Fade In:
The room is lit with three of four bulbs in the overhead ceiling lamp in the boys' room.  The children are snuggled up under Aaron's chin and he reads from a library book characterizing voices.

Aaron:  "Then as Captain Amazing flew from the garbage can, the slimy creatures within called after him.  Come back, don't go.  Come back."

Andres:  No, Dad.  No.  Um, can you read that part again, but this time, say it like they really want him to come back?  Because the way you read it, I don't believe they really want the captain to come back.  Say it like Gollum would say it.  Scratchy.  Whispery.  A little bit scary.  Okay?  Go.

2012 in a Flash

Phew!  2012 went by in a blur!  Turn up your volume, and see it through our eyes.  (For best images, click the gadget icon and increase quality to 720p).

Active Listening

Sometimes, and this will always surprise when it happens, the children parrot my voice, my language, my gestures.  I worry about what I model.   But once in a while, it's adorable, and this dialogue not only made me laugh but impressed me, too. Way to go on those healthy "I feel" statements, Andres!

Me:  Son, will you please brush your teeth and comb your hair before we go [to school].

Andres:  Um, let's just take off combing hair.

Me:  Why?

Andres:  When you tell me I need to comb my hair, it makes me feel like you don't like my hair the way it is.  And it hurts my feelings.

Season of Wonder

Raph getting ready to play outside in the cold, all bundled up and eager to earn his hot cocoa afterwards.

They did a good job of this little craft. Their little fingeres smelled so fragrant, citrus and herbal.  

We picked Aaron up at work early that Thursday so we could make the show at the Tacoma Dome at 7:00, and beat the hellish traffic Tacoma is so well known for.  Andres had no idea what we taking him to, but we told him he would love it.  Here we stopped in a train station converted into a novelty mall for some Thai food on the fly before the show.  

At the Dragon Show!   Andres finally figured it out when were walking into the dome and saw some posters.  He was excited, but nothing could prepare any of us for how awesome it was going to be.  

Dragons flew over our heads!

This was a great gift from grandparents this year.  We all loved it.

I'm so glad Aaron got shots of the boys doing a great job decorating the tree.  Someday I'll have the most perfectly decorated Christmas tree and there won't be any one to pluck the ornaments from the hooks and pitch them to the floor where they shatter into a million shards.  And I doubt that tree will be as wonderful as this one, with five bulbs clustered so lovingly onto one branch, and I'll mis these little hands making the season so merry and bright.

Because wasn't Jesus born to deliver us from the Dark Side?

The boys LOVED this gingerbread playdough recipe, and they played for hours with it.  Andres made elaborate gingerbread men, and Raph made babies and covered them with blankets, and said "nigh-nigh, baby."  It was so fun, and this recipe was super good.  The aroma was amazingly delicious,  better than real freshly baked gingerbread men, and the texture was out of this world.  

Andres' gingerbread playdough gingerbread man.  He's pretty good!

Gingerbread decorating with Tia Kissy!  We had dinner of gyoza and rice, then set about to making our little edible arts.

Tia Kissy was a gingerbread making machine!  We loved her artistic skills here, and laughed at how each one had it's own expression, as if he didn't know what was going on.   The bored one.  The confused one.   The sneaky one.  The depressed one.  The too-much-tv one.  Each little cookie had his own story.  She did a fabulous job making these little guys look classic and yet individual!

Aaron was a great sugar guy, after Cris and Andres piped, Aaron was working magic with the sprinkles

Raph liked watching and he got to eat some of the first samples hot off Tia's assembly belt.  

I was so proud of Andres for working his own piping this year!  He was adamant that he could manage it himself, and to my surprise, he did a great job piping on the orange scented buttercream.  His first attempt fell short of his artistic vision, and he had a mild setback that he had to overcome as he adjusted to this new "medium," but he found his stride and hammered out some really cute gingerbread men.  

When I was little, December was marked by frosty earth, naked trees, sky the color of milk.  School was preparing  us for Christmas concerts (when Christmas was still allowed in school), and there was a buzz of anticipation in the air of the upcoming holidays.  Before my parents slit, my family didn't go to church, so we indulged in secular foci, and mostly having very little if anything to do with Christ or the Mass of his birth:  Santa and elves, reindeer, cookies, trees, tinsel, stockings, more cookies, visiting grandparents, presents, lights, ornaments, and did I mention cookies?  The first time I heard the word Advent I was married to Aaron.  So my Christmas memories from childhood are rather saccharin-loaded empty calories.

I still get excited as soon as our Thanksgiving turkey leftovers are sealed in saran wrap and tucked into the fridge, waiting to become enchiladas or soup or sandwiches, because for some reason that's the tolling bell of Christmas season.  There's so much to do, and so little time.  I enjoy it.  I do.  I always wish I had more to give more.  So I do what I can, as ever, trying to be more creative with homemade gifts.  Including cookies.

These were so cute and fun making as a family!   Our favorite one was the red-eyed guy that wasn't too merry,  but the golf-pants dude isn't smiling either, so I adore him as well.  

I loved how we created little caricatures of each other, Cris with her long black wavy hair, me in a brown shirt, and Andres with a red-lipped smile and a batman shirt.   

Raph will help more next year with the cookies, this year he was the cheer/taste squad.  We have Aaron in glasses  playing his guitar, and Raph is in his striped shirt with curly hair.  

As a mom, and a person of faith, I've been trying to wrap my head around what I wanted Christmas to be like for my family, for my children.  I think Aaron and I have done a fine job of breaking traditions and creating our own, both exhausted and wary of the "this is always how it's been done" practices that we were raised with.  So since Andres' birth we've never had many traditions carried over one year to the next, still wondering what should be carried on, and what definitely needs to be changed.  Since we attended Columbia, we've been more intentional in Advent, and that is one thing that has been number one on our "keep" list each year, although it looks different each year as the boys grow, traditions are slippery at this stage when you're creating them as you go along.  The decorations, however, shrunk down significantly this year.  We had a tree, the Nativity from Granny's home ceramic business in the 60s, a fresh evergreen wreath on our door, and on Christmas Eve,  after our friends and their children left after dinner and cheer, we got out the stockings and left them under the tree.  Nothing else.  Partially because we don't have room in this smallish dwelling.  Mostly because my attention was split, and I was distracted from all the frills of the holiday as I worked hard to wrap up the first draft of my script to send it in to my teacher by Jan. 31.  I wrote 141 pages in about 5 weeks, which was a brutal pace, but I made that deadline by the skin of my teeth.

This December was a departure for us, even when compared to the previous fifteen years of departures in Christmas traditions.  We still lit the tree up, listened to Crosby and Sinatra, watched us some Merry Christmas Charlie Brown, had the elf on the shelf get into all kinds of mischief,  went driving around to look at Christmas lights, decorated sugar cookies and gingerbread men, played games and laughed with friends, feasted on roast beast, and still prayed around our Advent candles.

But for the first time, I'm beginning to evaluate what Christmas really means to me personally, and what I hope to bestow on my children.  I don't want it to be hustle and bustle and materialist commercialism,  although I'm not judging, after all it's exactly how I was raised.  But it doesn't work for me now.  I felt it start to overwhelm me one day early in December when I had a bazillion things to do on my list when I called a friend about some urgent church business and she seemed so calm and collected.  "How you holding up?"  I had asked probingly, wondering what her secret was.  "We just don't make a big deal about Christmas." The response both shocked me and challenged me.  I was asking myself for days afterwards how much more we as a family could omit to keep Christmas as pure and pointed as possible.

One thing that I was championing this season was a reduction in toys.  My children play with anything.  Dryer sheets tied onto pencils are superheroes.   Acorns and bottle caps unearthed in the bark chips at the park are boats, or get away cars for the bad guys.  Aaron and I scaled way back on the toys this year, and, after months of waiting and watching for Dreamworks How to Train Your Dragon live show to arrive in Tacoma, we sent an email requesting grandparents pitch in as a gift to the boys.  That's one of our family's favorite movies, and we love it dearly.  I even tear up every time at the end.  So the dragon show seen live with super large animatronic, real fire breathing dragons made for a special memory as a family together, and allowed us to do something that we wouldn't normally be able to do.

This year (and granted it may change next year) I wanted my family to feel Christmas is magical, a season pregnant with great anticipation, and joy, a time of wonder and reflection, family, magnanimity, music, humility, humanity and community.  And small.  Very small and simple.  Tiny Tim small.  Or lonely shepherds small.  Or sleeping newborn baby small.  Not insignificant by size or volume, but precious and treasured because something so massively valuable is incomprehensibly tiny and fleeting.