Naked Vampires Are Not A Sin (...They're not)

I was fairly conflicted this Easter.  I usually am when it's about religious holidays.  Mainly because I'm not that religious.  In that dress up and go to church and don't drink and don't swear and praying for a parking space is selfish kind of way.  You know?

As I've gotten older I've become more aware of the true meaning of these holidays, and it makes me feel like maybe I'm missing a big part of what's going on and maybe I should be doing more to celebrate than just making grapefruit and thyme Bellinis.

(which are not for anyone who has any kind of affliction to thyme)
(which I do)
(which is why I should have left it out)
(hindsight)
(still drank the pitcher, though.  Waste not and all that...)

We did the whole ham thing and I made, quite possibly, the best creamy scalloped potatoes

(Taylor Swift moment)

....like....ever.

My daughter and I dyed eggs and I got a little territorial about my egg that I'd wrapped rubber bands around and colored orange which ended up looking like a football.  Kind of.  A spider web maybe.  Not really the Martha Stewart display I'd seen at all.  I guess you have to do more than one for it to look right.

Anyway, she wanted to put a sticker on it that was a picture of half a pink Easter egg shell with a little fluffy chick sitting it.  And I said no.  So, to get back at me, she got territorial about the egg she dyed purple and drew butterflies on.  I wanted to take a picture of it and she wanted to eat it.  I've known my daughter a while now and I kind of know what gets to her.

"You are the most beautiful model ever.  I would be so happy to take a picture of you holding out this egg you made.  It's the most beautiful egg ever."

And snap.

(Doesn't that look wild?  Like I cut it out of the picture and just pasted it here?  It's 'cause her shirt was white.)
(No magic.  Just pics.)

I feel like I'm getting off track.

My point is that on this Easter Sunday, I felt really horrible sitting down after dinner to watch four episodes of True Blood.

(really, it was during dinner)
(It's only On Demand for the next five minutes so I felt an extremely pressing need to get through all twelve episodes this weekend)

I love this show.  It's creepy and sexy and weird and could totally never happen, but I love it.  Normally, eating dinner and watching TV is not a big deal on Sunday night.  We kind of let loose on the weekends.  We stay upstairs.  The kids stay down in the playroom.  If they try to come up, we kick them back down and shut the door.

Don't judge.  It's not nice.

These particular episodes of the show were especially....ummmmm.....ghoulish?  Satanic?  Of the devil?  And every time they took their clothes off or said "G**dammit!" I would roll my eyes toward to ceiling and say a silent

"I'm sorry."

When Jason Stackhouse took the Lord's name in vain I nearly threw my neck out.

It's just entertainment and it's all completely fake and I know the Lord knows that and He really just wants me to be happy and have some fun, it just felt really wrong.  Like I was doing a disservice to my children by allowing them to sit downstairs eating lemon meringue pie and laughing their jelly bean stuffed heads off at Wreck-It Ralph while we enjoyed ourselves with champagne and demonic vampires.

And maybe we should have been sitting all together at the computer Googling passages from the Bible

(because I don't really know any off the top of my head)
(except Psalm....)
(Matthew 6:9.  The Lord's Prayer)
(which I just Googled because I thought it was a Psalm)
(this is what I'm saying.)

As I climbed into bed last night I sent up several more silent prayers.  For my children.  For my beloved.  Thankful for the fortune of our life.  Our health.  Our bounty that allowed us to celebrate and give to our children in ways that made them feel happy and loved.

My love for the Lord and the grace I feel in my connection to Him is about more than just my knowledge of Bible verses.  I know that. 

("He's in here!  He's in your hearts!")
(Don't you love when you can quote Footloose and talk about God in the same breath?)
(That's why Footloose rules all.)

And I didn't feel at all guilty about the teeny, tiny, little request that I made that True Blood On Demand will last more than just the weekend.

(2 episodes left to watch)
(this show kills me)

I {Heart} You. End Of Story.

I remember when Valentine's Day meant everything.

What he thought.  How he felt.  What flowers he would pick out.  How he would sign his name.

Forever waiting for that little velvet box.

This morning, our 18th Valentine's Day together, we met for a kiss in the dark, morning hallway.

"I still love you."

"I still love you, too."

Then, a flirty glance at him over my shoulder as I walked away. 

"Don't forget it's garbage day."

"Right.  I'm on it."

Valentine's Day used to mean everything.  Now, it's just an excuse for a nice steak and a good bottle of wine.

That's what happens when your life becomes Valentine's Day.

As always,
I'm lovin' you.

Let's Do 52 ~ Week 52 {It's Not The End}

I don't remember when I stopped believing in Santa Claus.  It wasn't a big moment for me.  It wasn't like I saw my mother filling stocking for my brothers and me and all of my reality exploded or anything.  It was just that one year I did and the next year I didn't. 

As a teenager, it didn't really matter all that much.  In my 20's, it didn't really matter all that much.  It didn't start to matter until my son started approaching Christmas with a twinkle in eye and a dream that Santa would pay him a visit.  The magic that sparkled around him was contagious.  I wanted a piece of it.

My son is 10 years old now and I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.  A lot of his friends at school don't believe anymore.  I'm certain that someday soon he won't either.  It really felt like last year was going to be it, but no.  The magic is still there for him.

My husband and I have done everything we can to keep that going. 

We're not concerned about the dishonesty of it. 

We're not worried about others making fun or teasing him for keeping faith in baby stuff.  They don't. 

We're worried about that moment when the illusion goes away and the reality of adulthood sets in.  He's only 10.  He has a lifetime of reality waiting for him.  He needs more time to dream and wish and wonder.

He wrote a letter to Santa this year saying that his big Christmas wish was to see a real reindeer from the North Pole.  I saw an ad in the paper that a nursery by our house brought in reindeer for the season.  My kids and I decided to go see them.  We had it scheduled several times throughout the month, but school meetings, and dinner plans, and housework and homework always seemed to take precedence.

We finally made it down there yesterday, Little Christmas Eve.  The nursery had a sleigh set up next to the reindeer.  My son immediately jumped into it, grabbed the reins and started HO-HO-HO-ing as he shook the bells.

I took his picture to help me remember the moment and sent it skyward with my Christmas wish. 

I hope he's happy.

I hope he gets everything he needs, not just everything he wants.

I hope he's always excited.

I hope his wishes big.

I hope his world is filled with wonder and beauty and majesty and amazement.

I hope the magic stays with him always the way it has this year.

I hope it's not the end.

Darn That Elf!

I'm very conflicted today.

And not in that funny, Facebook-y,  

It's Christmas time so I want to eat fudge, but fudge makes my jeans split down the side (true story...you weren't in my kitchen last night, but trust me), but it's Christmas so I want to eat fudge kind of way.

I'm more conflicted in the  

47 minutes after I finished wrapping presents and putting them under the tree, a scampy elf seized one, tore open the paper, and then hid it under Daddy's chair kind of way.

Followed closely by the

Are you !@#$ kidding me!? way,

The

How did you even know which one was for you since none of the presents even have tags on them yet? way.

And the

No! You have to listen!  That other elf told me to do it!  They're the one!  It's not my fault!  It's not my fault! way.

So now, I'm left vacillating between three options:

1.  Return the offending, opened gift from whence it came and not let the scamp have it on Christmas.

2.  Offer said elf the opportunity to prove themselves worthy of Santa's trust and put the gift back under the tree Christmas morning.

3.  Eat more fudge and wonder when I last used the words vacillating and whence....because I can't believe it was recently.  Although, I've always felt I lived a past life in Victorian England.

Any help or advice you can offer would be greatly appreciated in that

You've always been my favorite and I'll love you until the end of time and buy you anything you want and always make your favorite foods and have your back and stand by your side and be your best friend for ever and ever kind of way.

A Good Old-Fashioned Family Album

We usually spend Thanksgiving on the pool deck in Arizona, but this year we kept it a little closer to home.  It went something like this....

 

And it was good.....

Answers To Our Most Commonly Asked Halloween Questions

After every Halloween I usually have about 476 conversations with various friends, family, neighbors, grocery store clerks, bank tellers, meter maids, teachers, and gas station attendants about how our festivities went. 

To save them all from exasperated eye rolling and fake smiles that I have to give in order to get through these 5,760 conversations, I decided to answer all of the questions as once:

1.  Yes, lots.

2.  About 20.

3.  A rock star and a football player.

4.  Almost an hour and a half.

5.  I did.

6.  No.

7.  Wine.

8.  Yes.

9.  More than I would have thought, but they were all pretty well behaved.

10.  A bit, yeah.  I sent it work for the guys.


I hope you all had a great time!

And I love ya'....

What Was I Thinking?

For the 4th of July we had planned on heading to the beach.  A quiet holiday weekend just us and the sand and the fabulously free firework show up and down the shore.

Then, some cousins asked if we wanted to join them for their mondo-uber 4th of July extravaganza on the lake with fireworks and swimming...

"Yes," said my son....

and boat rides and lots of food...

"Yes," said my daughter....

and lots of people and lots of drinking....

Oh, twist my arm.  Fine.

Of course, I documented the afternoon.  In a slight twist on what I would regularly say about these, I thought I'd tell you exactly what I was thinking as I snapped each pic.

Isn't this nice?  What a nice day.  I love the 4th of July.  I makes me feel so American.

Oh,  I better take that now before my margarita hits.  I'll never get that focus later.

Focus is good.  Margarita it good.  Should I salute something?

Is it just me or should there be a margarita in this picture?

Whoooaaa....iPads are cool.

Ummmm...hello.  Aren't you the president of Holiday Hot Guy?  Wait....are you related?  Because that would be gross.  Not that you're gross.  At all.  Cool glasses, by the way.  Want to share my margarita?

Those are cool glasses, too.  Hope she doesn't loose those in the lake.

(side note:  If you were there...on that boat...you'll understand why I was thinking that...)

Oh cute.  He's letting her try the megaphone.  Wait.  What are you doing?  Don't...No.  WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?  DON'T GIVE HER THAT!!  Oh, Lord....

Whoa!  I didn't even see you there!  That could have ended really...wet.

I wish my hair looked like this.  

 Ponytails make me smile.  So do margaritas.

Why is everyone wearing cooler glasses than me?

 

Ha!  She's gonna' hate me for that one later.  

Fortunately, I've had enough margarita that I'm not really caring.

What are those kids doing over there?  

Whoa!  If one of my kids ever did that I'd chop their hand off.

Thanks, but I won't need luck.  I've got my tripod and it's not my first time.  

Dang!  

My tripod just broke!

Okay, Girlie.  Sit really really still.  Mommy just needs to do this one thing.

Right now, I'm thinking that I love ya' and I hope you had a really fantastic holiday!

A Walk Among Heroes

I took my son out to the National Cemetery by our house today.  He'd never been there.

I wanted to get out there and take some pictures for Memorial Day before they took all the flags down.

As we drove in, my son, sitting in the backseat of the car, kind of exhaled and whispered, "Awwwesome."

"Look," I said pointing to the parade of cars lining the drive.  "There must be a service going on."  It seems like there's always a service going on.

We parked and began walking through the markers.  I showed him the first headstone I ever photographed.  He was the first solider killed in the war in Afghanistan and I go back and visit him every year.  If I ever met his family, I'd probably cry.

I showed my son the grave of a solider who fought in the Civil War, and we talked about what the number on the back side of each headstone meant.

He asked questions about the symbols at the top of each headstone, and was very careful not to walk over the top of each place.

Then we heard the shots.  Three of them.

"What is that?" he asked.

"That's the gun salute.  Listen....Can you hear that?"

The trumpeter was playing Taps.

We continued walking, looking at the names, the dates.  It was amazing to see how much had been built up and filled in since my visit last year.  Amazing and sad. 

"It's like Heaven here," he said.

"You think?"

"Yeah.  But a special Heaven.  One just for the soldiers.  Don't you think there's a special Heaven just for soldiers?"

"I don't know," I said.  "I think there's one Heaven for us all."

"No.  There's a special one for the soldiers who died fighting.  They deserve a special place."

They fell, but o'er their glorious graves 

floats free the banner of the cause they died to save.

~Francis Marion Crawford~

Cheers and blessings to you all.