"I love you more!"

None of us wants to admit it, but I’m betting we’ve all had the following conversation (or something like it) at one point in our life:

Him: “I love you!”

Her: “I love you more.”

Him: “No, I love you more.”

Her “No, I love YOU more!”

Him: “NO! I love YOU more!”

Her: “No, I love YOU MORE!”

Him: “NO! I LOVE YOU MORE!”

Her: “I love you the most.”

…and on and on and on….

I’ve been quietly wondering to myself of late whether or not there’s anyone in the world who loves me more than I love them. That sounds bad, I know. There are many people who love me- my parents, my siblings, my husband, my kids, my friends. But the question is not, “do people love me?,” it’s “could people possibly love me as much as I love them?” It’s whether or not the feeling is mutual. Do we share a reciprocal love? My loved ones are so extremely valuable to me that I can’t imagine it’s possible for anyone else to feel as equally powerful about me. Little ol’ me. Who am I to deserve such love? I’m nothing; nobody. Sound like a case of low self-esteem? Guilty as charged. It’s something I continually struggle with, as I think we all do during different periods of our lives. Some times more than others.

So that is why I was so astounded by the outpouring of love I received on my birthday this year. And I don’t even think my low expectations had anything to do with it. Having a birthday on the day after Christmas- the most anti- climactic day of the year- I’ve come to expect very little. You can read more about that nonsense here.

But December 26^th, 2011 was a celebration of unrivaled magnitude!  I started the day with the beloved “Happy Birthday, Mama” wishes from my husband and my kids. Then I got a phone call from my good friend Erin Chinn and smiled from ear-to-ear as I listened to her kids serenade me with the birthday song. She asked if they could stop by with a “little something,” but when they walked through the door ten minutes later their arms were full of balloons, streamers, and a gorgeous homemade gift. That gesture alone would have been enough to make a record in my birthday history book.

Soon after, my sister, Julie, and her family arrived from Northern Virginia. They made an 8 hour round-trip drive just for my birthday. As soon as they walked through the door my sister Julie and her husband Patrick began decorating my house with beautiful streamers, dozens of helium balloons, tablecloth, plates, napkins, presents, and a giant chocolate cake. We spent the afternoon visiting while our kids played happily together, we played a board game (and they let me win!), we opened my mountain of presents, we ate Chinese food (and they paid!), and we wore party hats while they sung to me and I blew out my 29 candles. Then they made sure that they cleaned-up all the mess so I wouldn’t be left alone to deal with ugly aftermath.

The commotion died down when Julie’s family had to leave and I put my kids to bed. But I had barely blown Jamie a kiss and closed the boys’ bedroom door when my phone rang. A call from one of my most bosom friends, Kristen, all the way from New York to wish me a happy birthday! Talking with her always warms my heart. And after we’d chatted and hung up, more calls from my parents, my sisters, and my brother. It really felt good to be the center of everyone’s attention.

But there’s more! The following day, eventhough all the helium balloons were sagging and the birthday cake was half-gone, the party continued when my sister, Joanie and her husband, Daniel drove down from No. Va. They took the kids and I out to lunch and ice cream at my favorite restaurant, on behalf of my mom and dad, and stayed and visited with us for the day. I also found a huge surprise in my mailbox that day- a card from my besties in New York, filled with good wishes, love, and generosity. I was seriously struck speechless.

At no other time of my life can I remember feeling so immersed in love. All these people, my whole world, came together on this one day to show me how much I mean to them. And I found that answer I was looking for. Yes, people do love me as much as I love them. Wow, what a relief! And an honor.

But to all of them who’re reading this I still say, “I love you more!”

Our Christmas Story

Our story begins with a photo shoot. On the morning of Christmas Eve I sat the kids in front of the tree in their pajamas in hopes of capturing some fun, fesitve photos. Josie, Jamie, and Johnny are becoming accustomed to this ritual and I've found that they're more likely to smile when I bring out the tripod and set the camera to auto-timer. They like the beeping count down... 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Click!

This last one would have been perfect if Beast hadn't walked in front of the lens.

We did eventually change out of our pajamas. There was lots to do that day, including one last trip to the mall to see Santa. Jamie wouldn't stop asking to see "Ho Ho" and I had promised him we'd go that morning while Daddy was at work. Our Santa stop was followed by a grocery store trip for last minute supplies. By noon we were all in the kitchen, baking a pair of pies.

I had six extra hands.

Josie and Jamie and Johnny all wanted to be a part of the process, which makes for great memories but not the best pies. Instead of adding 1 tsp. cinnamon and 1/4 tsp. ginger to my pumpkin pie filling, I distractedly did the opposite. It took a lot of Cool Whip to cover up that mistake.

After the pies had been baked and while a small pot of spaghetti noodles was boiling on the stove, I sat down at the table with Josie to help her write her first ever letter to Santa. "Dear Santa, I want a doll. And a bell. And surprises. Josie." As she colored pictures at the bottom of the note, I thought to myself: Doll? Check. Surprises? Check. Bell? Uh oh....

I helped Jamie write a letter to Santa as well. His read, "Dear Santa. Please bring me a boat for Christmas. I am trying to be a good boy. Love, Jamie." He scribbled all over the paper and noted that his chicken scratch was a picture of a boat and that the dots were little fishes. By this time the noodles were cooked and drained and while the sauce was being heated we crammed the kids' letter into envelopes and slapped some stamps on the corner, then rushed them to the mail box. I knew that 6 o'clock on the evening of Christmas Eve was a little late for mailing a letter to the North Pole, but Josie and Jamie didn't think a thing of it. They were excited. And I was confident that Santa would get the letters in plenty of time.

After dinner and baths, the kids were all changed into their matching reindeer pajamas and we sat atop Josie's bed for a couple bedtime stories- The Polar Express, upon Josie's request, and The Night Before Christmas, a traditional favorite. Finally, the children were nestled all snug in their beds.

The first thing I did after their nightlights were glowing bright was dig through my closet for my tub of paint and brushes. A bell? Josie had mentioned wanting a bell from Santa weeks ago but I didn't realize how serious she was about that request until she wrote it down in her letter. Luckily, I happened to have an old bell- it came as a door hanger that I won in a gift basket but the boys had yanked it off and broken it apart so it was sitting in a drawer waiting to be fixed. With the right alterations I knew that Josie wouldn't know the difference. So I painted a quick "Josie" on the front and added some pizzaz to the top. Bell? Check!

While the red paint was still drying, I began to haul presents from the garage (where they were being kept to avoid unwanted early unwrapping) and place them under the tree in as photogenic of an arrangement as I had energy to. I took a step back and admired that brightly glowing symbol of blessings and love.

Of course, with each trip from the garage to the tree I had to stop at the bookcase and take a bite of cookie from the plate that was left for Santa. I had to make sure that both the giant frosted sugar cookies were gone by morning. Being Santa is a tough job, but someone's got to do it.

I sat down on the living room floor and began to stuff the stockings full of goodies- pajamas, plush toys, Pez dispensers, chocolate Santas, lollipops, and more- with one eye on the job and the other on the TV, watching The Christmas Story. The big gifts had to be torn out of their boxes and decorated with a big red velvet bow. A doll for Josie, a pirate ship for Jamie, and a boat for Johnny.

Oh, and the bell!

Once the gifts were under the tree and the stockings were stuffed and presents arranged, there was only one detail left to attend to. The cookie plate. I managed to eat a full cookie and a half but by that last half a cookie I had reached my sugar overload level. I confess, I threw it in the trash and immediately took the trash to the curb to dispose of the evidence. Oh ya, and while I was outside I remembered to grab the letters from the mailbox that were placed there only hours before. What a giggle that would have given our mailman... I wrote out a quick note to the kids from Santa and stuck it under the plate that was littered with crumbs and a few half-eaten carrots.

I was finally in bed by 11:05 PM and then up again at 5:40 AM. Surprisingly, Johnny was the first one awake. I rocked him quietly for a while in an attempt to stave off the maddness that the day was sure to bring. But Josie and Jamie stirred soon after and we headed downstairs all together. Josie whispered to Jamie in the stairwell, "Let's see if Santa came..." And once she turned the corner I heard her shout, "He did! He did!" Jamie ran to the couch and grabbed his ship proclaiming, "Ma boa! Ma boa! (My boat! My boat!)" Johnny was happy watching from his perch on my hip, until he saw the candy. Josie dumped her stocking out onto the floor and Reese's cups and Hershey's kisses went flying across the carpet. Johnny threw his weight towards the shiny foil wrapped treats, grabbed the closest one he saw and brought it back to me. "Ma!," he asked me to unwrap his treasure.  The next ten minutes were filled with quiet Christmas contentment as the kids stuffed their faces with candies and explored their new toys.

The events that followed are a blur of red & green wrapping, boxes, bows, and tissue paper in my mind. The kids tore through their packages with continuous smiles and shouts of glee. All I could think about was how generous our friends and family had been to us. We opened gifts that had traveled from California, New York, Maryland, and Virginia- Concrete proof that love knows no distance.  

James had been awake most of the night doing work aboard the ship so he came home feeling a bit grinchy. But unwrapping his Colts gnome, a gift from my sister and her husband, was enough to conjure at least an amused smirk.

I knew that James wasn't firing on all cylinders when he asked me, right in front of Josie, if I had stayed up late after the kids went to bed to paint her name on the bell. I gave him a dirty look. "Uh, no," I replied, "It's from Santa." Josie helped me set him straight. "Yeah, Dad! Santa gave it to me!" He fell asleep on the couch as soon as the presents were unwrapped and snoozed while the turkey cooked in the oven and kids played with their toys on the floor. Johnny was entranced by his rock 'n roll Mickey from Grandma and Grandpa. He gave Mickey a "kiss" on the nose and laughed when he started to dance and sing. From then on, he thought he had to bite the nose to make the toy work.

When Jamie wasn't playing with his pirate ship, he was dressing up as a pirate knight.

At the end of the day when we asked Josie what her favorite part of Christmas had been she said her Rapunzel doll and the large cardboard house, which unfortunately I failed to take a picture of. Not a word was said about the bell. Kids are so fickle.

 Our Christmas day full of toys, goodies, games, and play finally drew to a close after a big turkey dinner with all the fixings. Jamie snuck a taste before prayer.

Then we folded our hands, closed our eyes, bowed our heads, and thanked the Lord for sending his son Jesus Christ to be born on earth so that we could all know eternal life through him. Then we ate.

And our Christmas story ends with a house full of happiness, thankfulness, and love. Merry Christmas!

Santa Stops Here (or In Santa's Defense)

Santa Claus is coming to town! But he won’t be stopping at every house…

In homes across the country every year, around this time of year, the same old debate re-surfaces among parents. Should we or shouldn’t we perpetuate the myth of Santa Claus? Should we tell our kids about the man in the big red suit? Should we remind them that they “better not pout, better not cry, better not shout” or else they’ll get a stocking full of coal? Should we help them send their letters to the North Pole and set out some milk and cookies on Christmas Eve? Should we make up wild stories to explain how reindeers fly? Most parents believe that when it comes to this fictional character’s existence it’s a matter of lying to our children versus telling them the truth.

It’s a controversial question without an easy answer. Usually I’m not one for stirring up trouble, but in case you haven’t noticed I happen to be the author of my own blog and this affords me the luxury of expressing my very one-sided opinions whenever I so desire. Therefore I have decided to publicly come to Santa’s defense.

Pudge's First Visit with Santa

Josie's First Visit with Santa

Jamie's First Visit with Santa

Johnny's First Visit with Santa

Santa Claus brings joy to children of all ages. Happy children personify pure, unadulterated bliss. You need only see the glow in my Josie’s eyes as she explains the mechanics of the elves’ workshop or hear the enthusiasm with which Jamie shouts, “Ho ho ho!” (something he does often since it’s the only word he can pronounce to describe any and all things Christmas related) to find proof. For children to believe in Santa is fun for kids and parents alike. Boys and girls get to experience the fleeting exhilaration of being a part of something magical, and moms and dads get to marvel at the beauty of joyful innocence. They’ll only be young once. I, for one, intend not to waste this rare opportunity and will be hoisting my kids up into Santa’s lap for as long as I possibly can.

Santa Claus never hurt anyone. Okay, okay, he might scare the bejesus out of toddlers now and then…

but that’s not what I was getting at. Believing in Santa Claus is a perfectly harmless privilege of childhood. I’ve never met a full-grown adult who was carrying around years worth of emotional anguish over the fact that his parents heartlessly lied to him about the existence of Santa Claus. To the contrary, I’ve heard mature individuals express their sadness over not having had the opportunity to believe in Santa longer. My own brother wishes his four older sisters hadn’t ruined the magic for him by letting the secret slip when he was still very young. Yes, I believed in Santa. And when I found out that he wasn’t real I never laid awake at night questioning, “Oh why, oh why did my parents deceive me? How could they?” Ridiculous. Many of us believed in Santa when we were children and we grew up to be thriving contributors to society. I see no harm in bringing him back to life for my own kids’ enjoyment.

Santa Claus is a well-intentioned lie. Sure, telling our kids that Santa is real may technically be a lie. But it’s a lie that is told with the purest intentions- we mean to make our children’s lives richer. And for that matter, don’t we ‘technically’ lie to our children every day? I’m pretty sure that it’s in the parenthood job description to withhold information from our sons and daughters if doing so will protect them from unnecessary pain. I don’t sit my 5-year-old down and discuss with her every time we are facing a financial hardship. I don’t know any loving parent who would describe in detail to their preschooler every time there was marital strife in the home. We tuck them in tightly at night, kiss their sweet smelling foreheads, and tell them “everything is okay.” Parents aren’t supposed to burden their children with the ugly truth.

Santa Claus and Jesus can be friends. Many people base their anti-Santa feelings on their Christian beliefs. I get that. This blog should stand as testament that I am a devoted believer in the active role Jesus plays in our lives and the living nature of His word. I want nothing more for my children than for them to know the Lord as their personal savior and for their lives to be filled with His undying love. But I fail to see why it must be one or the other- Santa or Jesus. There’s enough love to go around! Anyone who thinks that a belief in Santa will deteriorate one’s ability to have faith in Jesus isn’t giving the human mind enough credit. Children are capable of an infinite amount of trust. With the right explanations, Santa and Jesus can walk hand-in-hand. For those who need a more educated explanation of this, I’m going to defer to my friend and former pastor, Rev. Alan Rudnick. He says it better than me.

Considering all this, I have come to the conclusion that Santa Claus is a cause worth fighting for. After I put the kids to bed on Christmas Eve I will be stuffing their stockings full of candies and toys, placing a gift under the tree for each of them with a big red velvet bow and a tag that says “From Santa,” and eating the cookies they left out on a plate but leaving a few crumbs behind as evidence. Because Santa stops here.

Chalk It Up!

There are some very noticeable things missing from our December this year. Snow, for the most part. Also ice, frost, and freezing temperatures. There have been no snow balls, snow angels, snowmen, sleds, toboggans, or snow shovels for that matter. Thus there’s an obvious absence of fur-lined coats, gloves, mittens, boots, and thermal underwear. Our past five winters have been so consumed by this list of things that now, without them, I’m struggling to make heads-or-tails of the season.

It is currently 60 degrees in Chesapeake, Virginia and I’m not sure how to feel about that. This pleasant weather is causing me a measurable amount of inner- turmoil. I can guess that at this very minute most of you are thinking, “Jennifer, you’re crazy! You should be living it up!” Now I’m not denying the ‘crazy’ part- in fact, if anything I’m probably verifying it….but the matter doesn’t seem so simple to me.

On the one hand, there are many obvious advantages to warmer weather. I love being able to take the kids out to play at 8 o’clock in the morning wearing no more than a sweater! We spent the majority of this morning in the driveway with sidewalk chalk. My Josie and her imagination created a colorful world with different lands sprawled across the concrete and made us follow the trails to get from one to the other, being careful to avoid the rain clouds and cracks.

Jamie asked Josie to draw something for him and then proudly pointed me to “ma boa” (my boat!) with pride.

Johnny was a bit of a chalk hog and carried the pieces around in his hands, playing a sneaky little game of keep-away from everyone else.

Our chalk-filled morning was a small adventure, but a fun one.

In addition to driveway activities, we can also go for a walk, play at the park, or even go to the beach. I’ll admit that I enjoy not having to factor in extra time for adding that extra layer of clothing whenever we leave the house or for defrosting the car whenever we go out. And I certainly love not paying that mid-winter oil bill for running the furnace on high several months in a row. Admittedly, a mild December is rather nice.

But on the other hand, there are a few less-obvious disadvantages to this December’s lack of snow. We are missing all those loveable snow related activities that I treasure so much, like building snowmen and having snow ball fights and sledding down our backyard hill. And, I feel compelled to mention, the chronic winter warmth here is perverting my Gymboree addiction. The kids have so many cute snow themed outfits- sweaters that feature snowmen, shirts with polar bears, dresses covered in snowflakes, etc.- and no appropriate time to wear them. I refuse to abandon such cuteness though, so the kids will be wearing penguins even if the sun is shining and the grass is green!

More than that though, the reason I am struggling to embrace Virginia’s weather is guilt. It just doesn’t seem right to be loving our sidewalk chalk morning in beautiful 60 degree temps when many of my most favorite playmates are stuck inside avoiding their bone-chilling 20 degree temps. This morning while I was pulling my garbage to the curb barefoot and in a t-shirt I couldn’t help but think of my friend Kelly who has to trudge hundreds of feet across her back yard in knee-deep snow to feed her daughter’s pet bunny every day all winter. I’m sure that one or more of my New York friends is arriving somewhere 15 minutes late today because they had to scour the house from top to bottom, searching frantically for a lost mitten. Meanwhile, all my cold-weather gear is boxed up and collecting dust somewhere in the attic. It just doesn’t seem fair. For that, my dear New York friends, I apologize, in hopes of clearing my conscious so that I may better appreciate this new chapter of my life.

And so, having come to no firm conclusion, I end with this: I hope that we all can enjoy the blessings of our winter weather though they may be different. Those of you with beautiful white snow should bundle up and live it up! And those of us with gorgeous warm sun will get outside and chalk it up!

Sugary Sweet Moments

What could possibly be sweeter than eating sugar cookies at Christmas? Easy. Savoring the moments that come while making them.

I love the Christmas season. I love hanging the stockings and decorating the tree. I love singing carols and wearing warm, snuggly hats and scarves (or at least I did when I lived in New York. It was 68 degrees in our part of Virginia today). I love reading all the stories of Santa Claus, Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph and, most of all, baby Jesus. I love the fact that Christmas makes us stop and show our appreciation for the things that matter most in life- our Lord, our families, and our friends.

I also love sugar cookies.

When I bake a batch, using the old cookie and frosting recipe that my mom handed down to me, it instantly transports me back to Christmases as a little girl. I’m there sitting around the table with my sisters and brother, in that cramped, cozy, cabin of a house, with one eye on my mom baking in the kitchen and the other on my dad setting up train track in the living room, and listening to the crackle of a real log fire in the fireplace and some classic Bing Crosby on the record player, while inhaling the distinct aroma of a fresh cut pine tree mixed with sweet sugar cookie dough. Yep, those were the good old days. Log fires, record players, pine trees- things that are few and far between in today’s world of electric flames, iPods and plastic, pre-lit Douglas firs. Wow, do I sound old or what? I’m not even 30 yet! But, in a rapidly changing world the surefire way for me to capture the magic of Christmases past is to bake sugar cookies.

Baking cookies with 17 month old Josie 

So every year, without fail, I dig through my recipe box and pull out that hand scribbled piece of notepad paper. I pull up a chair so that I can reach my tub of cookie cutters on the top shelf. I grab the rolling pin and spread out the table mat. Then we bake!

The story is the same year after year: Little chubby fingers grabbing handfuls of flour from the bag and dumping them on the table top.

Thick white clouds puffing up into the air, covering tiny shirts, chubby cheeks and cute button noses.

Christmas tree, snowman, stocking, and candy cane shapes.

“Mommy, can I help?"

And countless warnings not to eat too much dough “or else you’ll get a tummy ache,” all to no avail.

Beep, beep, beep! Timer rings. Warm, gooey cookies come out of the oven and go straight to the wire racks to cool while wide eyes peer over the countertop in adoration. Next is frosting- a whole two pound bag of powdered sugar and the entire tube of die in order to get a real bright Christmasy red. Lots of little finger licks.

Then sprinkles, sprinkles, sprinkles….and more sprinkles.

Laughs and smiles and hugs and kisses.

Without a doubt, this is one of the things I love most about the Christmas season. The only thing sweeter than baking sugar cookies with my kids is making sugary sweet memories with them. Someday in the future, if the good Lord is willing, I may be reminiscing with them about these good old days- the days of electric flames, iPods, plastic, pre-lit trees and sweet sugar cookie moments.