Write it on your heart
that every day is the best day in the year.
He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day
who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.
Finish every day and be done with it.
You have done what you could.
Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in.
Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day;
begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit
to be encumbered with your old nonsense.
This new day is too dear,
with its hopes and invitations,
to waste a moment on the yesterdays.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
The problem of where to begin plagues me terribly when we've been busy, as has certainly been the case over the last week, because there is simply so much of everything - - family, food, gifts, toys, boxes, trash, merriment, exhaustion, amusing anecdotes - - that I don't know where to begin, or what to omit completely, because I can't cover it all in detail. My life lacks structure at the moment, & that's inevitably going to bleed into what I write. These days between Christmas Day & New Year's Day are just so wonderfully undefined, which is nice, but is also conducive to a rambling blog post about Christmas decorations that need to be dealt with, the unbelievable number of boxes littering my house, &, perhaps chief among distractions, boots that are on sale.
I buy boots & cardigans like someone who lives in Russia. It's senseless, but I love them so much, & they're all on sale, & every year I do it. I may wear the same two T-shirts & pair of capri pants all spring & summer, but on the ten days a year it's freezing in Louisiana, I look fabulous. I haven't bought any boots (yet) this sale season, but that's only because I've decided I need a red coat. That is, I need a warm winter garment dyed red, not a British soldier, although now I am wondering if my Jane Austen high isn't affecting my shopping habits.
Distractions aside, I know that one of the reasons you kind people continue to take a few minutes out of your busy day to read is because of my innate knowledge of when enough is enough. I know when to call it quits, when it's time for the proverbial fat lady to sing, when my verbosity has reached the tipping point. I could tell you all about the time I spent last Friday night descaling my Keurig, but do you want to read about that? Would you be interested in the frustration I felt at having to waste precious dual-sleeping children moments on such drudgery when I wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with my pretzel M&M's & watch a movie, such as Silver Linings Playbook or The Holiday (both of which I received as Christmas gifts), light one of the many Yankee candles I was gifted, & perhaps begin a witty, poetic, & structurally tight blog detailing my family's Christmas merriment? Ah, see. There it is. The tipping point.
Speaking of verbosity, this is my 249th blog post. Lord willing, I'll begin the next year with my 250th post. Crazy, no? I've no idea what it is I've said over these past four years. I wish I had a total word count. Granted, thirty of those posts are the book, but that leaves over two-hundred posts in which I covered, what? My kids, & coffee, & trips to Target, & a smidge of politics, & books, I suppose.
Before I move on to some Christmas specifics & ruminate on the imminent beginning of another year, I don't want this year to end without saying thanks for reading. I don't know all your names (beyond my mom, my father-in-law, & longtime family friend Johnette Smith, that is, because they've been here since Day 1 with ceaseless encouragement), but whatever your reasons for reading the blog, I hope it brightens your day. I hope you laugh & maybe learn something new every now & then, even it's something trivial, like the status of Robert Pattinson & Kristen Stewart's relationship (FYI: not good), or why Theo James is the only valid reason Veronica Roth's Allegiant should be adapted for film. Thanks for sticking around for another year. I continue to enjoy writing; in fact, I continue to find I need it, need the emotional release I feel as my fingers fly over the keys (to Mrs. Helen Parker, my ninth grade typing teacher, yes, my fingers do fly over the keys).
Every day for (at least) the past month, Reagan has asked if it was Christmas yet. It was nice to finally be able to give her a 'yes' to that question last week. We spent Christmas Eve at Trey's parents' house, & Christmas morning at our house, & Christmas mid-afternoon at my aunt & uncle's house, & Christmas night at my parents' house. I am kind of over Christmas (that includes the tree, the ornaments, & the Spode that continue to mock me). I was over Christmas at some point before we rolled into our garage, the car filled to the brim with bags & boxes & toys & new socks, at nine o'clock Christmas night.
I will share a rundown of all the Christmas-ing, but it may not be all that detailed. No, really, I mean it. Also, I am bereft of the multitude of pictures I'd typically take to document Christmas because of a little storage issue with my phone that's currently giving me fits, but I of course will share what I have.
A few days before Christmas, the kids & I had a sleepover at Nana & Papa's. Christmas pajamas were worn, & the kids were allowed to open one gift.
Last year, this is how the grandchildren-in-Christmas-pajamas photo session went:
This year, everyone is mobile & has an attitude about photos:
Okay kids, we fold.
After the kids were all asleep (a time I will not reveal to you because you'll think I am a horrible mother), my mom & Jessa & I watched about half of the Pride and Prejudice miniseries staring Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy.
*A moment of silence for the epicness that is Colin Firth's performance as Mr. Darcy . . . it's like Jane Austen watched him, & then wrote the book.*
We hope to find time to watch the remainder of the miniseries soon, as the reeeaallly good stuff is just around the corner. The sass & snark are about to hit the uptight, genteel British fan. I can't think of a better way to begin a new year than watching the conclusion of this miniseries . . . while snuggled in my new red coat I hope to find on sale soon.
On Christmas Eve, I had some errands to run. We needed some groceries, & I had to get a few last minute gifts. I say all this, but what I mean is I left the house (alone!) & made a beeline for Five Guys. I am kind of iffy about ground beef, but I love their hamburgers. I rarely indulge & eat one of their burgers with fries, but hey, Merry Christmas to me.
I saw this sweater pictured below while doing some last minute shopping. It's a Ralph Lauren sweater vest. It was a medium, which is too small for any man in my life, so I didn't have to make a tough decision about whether or not to buy it. I kind of love it. I don't know if my dad or Trey would actually wear it, & again, it was the only one on the rack & too small for both of them, so I moved along, let it go. I have thought about it a few times since Wednesday. The world needs more men who would jump at the chance to wear something like this. You know who would wear this (& wear it well)? Colin Firth, that's who.
Also, yes, I am aware of why I am having photo-storage issues on my phone.
So, finally, the present unwrapping frenzy Reagan was anticipating commenced. She bolted from the car at her grandparents' house & had to have her picture made with this lighted, inflatable Santa.
We did eat a Christmas Eve dinner, but I didn't take any pictures. Apparently I only have time for food photography when I sit & eat alone, so here's some of the present joy:
This fireman's outfit was Henry's gift. Reagan was given a chef's outfit, an Elsa costume, & a doctor's get-up, so naturally she immediately took an interest in a future as a firefighter.
Ah, Christmas morning. Henry wanted the same thing he wants every morning when he wakes.
Here are the best shots I got of them together in front of the tree:
Christmas morn, 2013:
One of my favorite gifts:
For about a year now, my garage door opener has been giving me fits (yes, I changed the battery). It was just old & the button you push to open the garage was basically not functional, & I'd have to mash it, or beat it against the console in my car or something else equally violent to get the garage door to open or close. One day, Trey asked me what I wanted for Christmas, & I may've been in a not so fabulous mood, & I said, "You know what I want? I want a new garage door opener!" Ask & you shall receive. It was already programmed & everything. Is this what thirty-four is? Excitement over a new garage door opener?
A few other goodies:
After the Christmas morning festivities concluded, we showered & dressed & headed north to my aunt & uncle's house. You know the drill: food, bloat, regret, exhaustion, more presents, more merriment:
Exactly, Henry.
The final stop on Reagan's Present Tour, my parents' house:
The babes throwing back some Puffs to unwind from the day's stress:
So, okay, maybe I took a few pictures. You may've noticed I managed not one picture of the four of us together. I believe there might be a few pictures of me & the kids & a dozing Trey in a Santa hat that my sister took, & if these fall into my hands, I shall share in the new year.
When we arrived home late Christmas night, as I was getting her into her pajamas, Reagan asked me what tomorrow was, since we'd spent the past two days repeatedly designating "Christmas Eve" & "Christmas Day." I looked at Trey, & we both gave her answers along the lines of, "It's December 26," "It's Friday," &, "It's another day."
I have been trying mightily to frame this past year in a way that excludes the news we received in January. In 2009, Trey & I married. In 2010, Reagan was born. In 2011, we bought our house . . . & on January 2 of 2012, we moved into our house, at long last (& here we shall remain, ensconced with the ridiculous amount of stuff we own, until the Lord calls us Home). In 2013, Henry was born.
I've been scrambling for ways to complete, "In 2014, . . . ," that have nothing to do with diabetes. In 2014, Reagan was diagnosed with diabetes; there's no escaping it. It's an event that has & will continue to shape our family, & that's okay. How it shapes & changes us is up to us. For example, it's highly unlikely I'd have lost the weight I have had I not had a reason to learn to count carbs. When you're mentally calculating carbs as you shovel food into your mouth, the food is not quite as fantastic, & you learn to slow the shoveling (the exception to this is if it's Christmas Eve, & you find yourself alone in Five Guys).
This past year was a good year; I refuse to conclude otherwise.
In 2014, I read several exceptional books. I experienced WWII from the perspective of death (as narrator), from the perspective of a young Russian girl who falls in love with a Russian soldier as they battle Hitler, & starvation, & the Russian winter, & from the perspective of various Filipinos who experience brutality at the hands of the Japanese while they await Douglas MacArthur's return. I leave this year with a deeper understanding of the ravages of war, & of the precious gift of freedom. There are passages I read this past year that I will always remember; I will call them to mind when I catch myself complaining about being cold, or being hungry.
In 2014, I read Pride and Prejudice for the first time. To quote my sister, "We are finally real sisters now."
In 2014, I wore pants I last wore when George W's approval ratings were sky high.
In 2014, I saw Queen & Adam Lambert perform live.
In 2014, I learned a valuable skill; I learned how to care for a diabetic child. I learned the meaning of the word chronic, & the word vigilance. I've been able to share what I've learned with other concerned parents & grandparents, & to say to them what I once desperately needed to hear, "You can do this. It will become habit. It is going to be okay."
In 2014, I spoke at my church's ladies retreat.
In 2014, a handful of people read a book that I wrote.
This past year upped the ante on self-knowledge in an unprecedented way.
So, Reagan, to answer your question, tomorrow is another day. Even days without titles on the calendar are special, precious, valuable. Tomorrow is another day to begin. Tomorrow is another day to praise the Lord. Tomorrow is another day to improve your A1C. Tomorrow is another day to research a cure for diabetes. Tomorrow is another day to read a book. Tomorrow is a fresh, white piece of paper, a blank Word document, the blinking cursor waiting, begging you to give it voice, so choose your words carefully. It's often difficult to begin, but once you do, the unfamiliar becomes familiar, & you find your stride, & structure & coherency emerge, & you find yourself doing something you may've once thought impossible.
It's been fantastic, y'all. We'll chat again in 2015.
AZ
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