Christmas Miracle Moms

Bill just dropped the kids off at school after our crazy weekend.  I went around the house looking for my coffee.  I found it on a shelf in Mary's closet. Cold coffee. At 7:59 a.m. I was frantically taping photos onto Mary's Star of the Week Poster, which I remembered at 11:00 p.m. last night.  Thank you, Lord, for the ink levels in the photosmart printer.

I'm thinking of the miracle that we pulled off this weekend.  Saturday was the piano recital at our house, I'll write more on that later.  Sunday I played with the choir at two regular services, the kids had choir practice, Mary had her first gymnastics competition, Calvin played handbells and was Herod in the two pageants.  I made it to every event.

I'm not alone.  I'm thinking of all the moms that pull this off all the time.  I know there are a few Dad's out there who are chief operating officer of their family life and they know who they are, but let's face it, most of the time it is the moms.

I have the best husband in the world, but even he who juggles mass amounts of data for a living was looking glassy-eyed at breakfast yesterday when I ran the schedule by him.  He had to go and sketch a spread sheet of the day. . .

I'm thinking of a mom in my studio who managed to get four kids ready to play, and they all played lovely.  I'm sure the two younger siblings sat nicely and quietly while they older kids practiced so diligently.

I'm thinking of my pastor friend who juggles work and family life with such grace.  She is one of my heros, always smiling and never complaining like me.

I'm thinking of my own mother, who taught junior high home-ec when I was growing up.  She worked long hours and yet always managed to pull a Christmas with all the trimmings out of Santa's bag.  I don't know how she did it.  She is my hero too.

Here is to all the moms who trim the proverbial tree, sometimes with help and sometimes alone.  May you be safe, and healthy, and find your moments of peace within your heart as you make Christmas special for your little and not-so-little ones.

All Aboard the Christmas Train

My husband gave me a strange look, back in September, when I brought home the Christmas clothes for the kids.  Little boy: two pairs gymbucks corduroys, three Target white turtlenecks and one festive vest.  Last year's vest will still fit for backup.  Little girl: one black dress, one colorful dress, and extra tights.  Dress shoes.  Check.

He's not laughing now.  The Polar Express is running straight ahead to the North Pole.  No one gets off and no one gets on and you sure don't want to be the one to pull the emergency break with a trip to the Mall of America between now and Christmas.   If I need anything I might as well walk from here, rather than try to find a parking spot.

Last night was the Deerwood fifth grade band concert. We shimmed it in between gymnastics, teaching and bedtime. I forgot about dinner. Mary ate a sandwich during the concert. It was very good--the concert that is. Susan Smith is the director and she pulls that miracle of starting all these kids on different instruments and forming an ensemble ready for a concert in three months. And she was smiling the whole time--the biggest miracle.  One of my favorite moments was when she addressed the parents something like this: in two months you will be registering your kids for middle school.  You will call me to see if they are good enough for middle school band: they are good enough. They are all good enough.

Thanks, Susan, for not setting limitations, even on the squeaky clarinets.  We can't decide about our musical future based on a few months' study of an instrument.  Especially in fifth grade.  I was a french horn major at a prestigious music school and I didn't even start playing until 7th grade.

Another favorite moment was when Ellie's hair went flying up every time she played the crash cymbals.
Bravo kids!

After we got home and I got the kids to bed, the tears came.  Those pre-holiday how the heck am I gonna get it all done tears.  Called my mom and she cried too.  When you start crying about one thing, sometimes you end up crying about everything.  We'll miss my Dad and my Grandma this year. A table that was set for ten not too long ago will be set for five this year.  My sister and her husband are going to Texas for Christmas.  Paul has family there.  This will be the first Christmas of my life that my sister Susan will not be there. Ba hum bug.

As usual, a good night's sleep cures almost all panic. Tomorrow is the Christmas recital here and I am pretty much ready except the food, programs, and cleaning the house.  (See, I am in better humor today)

I am still sad about Susan, and I am still sad that on Sunday, I will not be able to see everything the kids are doing.  Mary has a gymnastics event that I really want to see, and Calvin is playing his first handbell performance before the pageant.  The pageant. . . is the straw that broke the camels back this year.  Calvin is excited to be Herod. Dan and Sara C. are doing an awesome job directing it, but I should have known better.  I can't be in two places at once and I volunteered to help cue the kids' narrations.  So I will stay as late as possible at the gym and rush to the church in time to help, but I'll miss the handbells.

This morning on the way to school Mary asked when we were going to have a normal weekend, just us home to play.  Even when you are going to the North Pole sometimes the train ride is too long.  Hang in there Mary they are serving hot chocolate soon.  Enjoy the ride.

Secure Your Own Oxygen Mask

Secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others.  I have said that before, but it bears repeating at this time of year.  We cannot be of any good to anyone passed out on the floor, or sick, or tired. I challenged myself to do 20 minutes of yoga everyday in December, come heck or high water or pageants or all night gift wrapping sessions.  So far so good.

I am also vowing to do my advent devotion each night.  As Pastor Paul said in the children's sermon, to prepare for the huge party and forget to mention the birthday is almost sickening. . .

Lastly, I bought a huge package of dark chocolate sea salt caramels which I hid for myself.

Tra la la.

A Cupcake Christmas Tea

As I write this cat hair tumbleweeds are gathering around the floors of my house and I have sixty people coming to my house on Saturday for a piano recital.  Procrastination.

Last night was the Christmas Tea at Easter by the Lake.  Kris and I hosted a table again.  I think both of us might have been wondering what business we had doing this.  She is preparing for umpteen Christmas worship services in the next three weeks and I have piano recitals and kid's stuff and choir obligations looming.

The reason we do this is grace.  Christmas is about God's grace given to us in Jesus.  Even in it's chaos the tea is about a moment of grace in a busy time for busy women.  It is about taking time to bake and laugh with a friend.  It is about sitting down at a candlelit table, set as beautifully as possible to reflect a little with music, prayer and conversation.  We try to invite different women every year.  This year I brought Bill's mother.  I wish I could invite every woman I know--my sister, my mom, and all my dear friends.  Kris tries to. . . she inevitably calls me on the way out the door to ask me to bring one more table setting.  That's what pastors do. . . keep inviting people even when the table is full.

From the amount of tears I saw falling around me (actually Lutheran women stifle them well in public, but I heard the sniffing) while Jenn Alexander sang her tender songs about the ups and downs of life and death,  I know that we all needed that moment to sit and just be.

Even if one person's tea cup didn't match and it took us awhile to actually get everyone served any real tea and I have to say that church basement decaf is really bad,  I hope it was moment of grace and a really awesome cupcake.

Convention Kudos

My little students in Austin gave me these ornaments almost 20 years ago. Now they are all graduated from college. Kristen is teaching Suzuki Piano in the Austin area. Emily was off in Africa doing some global good last time I heard.  

My students in Minnesota are growing up too.  Three of the little ones who started when they were three-years-old are all juniors in high school now.  I am tickled to report that they have been chosen by DVD audition to play in masterclasses at our National Suzuki Convention next May.  

Aidan and Alec will play in the new repertoire masterclasses--performing the Chopin Nocturne in C-sharp minor and the Granados Spanish Dance, new from Books 6 and 7.

Cassy was selected as an alternate to play Debussy in the post Book 7 category.  

Only a handful of kids get selected, so I am so happy for them. I have to say as well, that they are each truly deserving of this accolade. Like all my students, they are really fine hearted kids, who have made music a priority in their lives, while still enjoying scouts and sports and band and choir.  These kids are what Dr. Suzuki was talking about when he said music will change the world.  

I'm proud of all my students, but today I'm especially proud of these three kids!  Congratulations!!!!

The Perfect Day, the Perfect Practice and the Perfect Tree

Some days are diamonds.

There was no school on Friday.  Great timing I thought, I have so much to do and now the kids are home all day too.  Instead of the day long wild rumpus wrestling match I was anticipating--we had the best day.  We seemed to fit everything in with room to spare.

There was one low point. . .

. . . the family trip to buy the Christmas tree.  We are at my favorite all season greenhouse and I haggle with the customer service clerk to find out exactly where the sale trees are--those trees from the exclusive customer email I received yesterday--which of course is mysteriously no longer on my phone for me to show her.  Huh????  Sale????  High school kid outside in the lot was more helpful.  Those sale trees are over here--just a short hike to Wisconsin. . . .

As the temperature plummets the four of us go through every single sale tree to pick the perfect one.  We are successful and the high school kid writes KOTRBA in sharpie on the tag and takes our perfect tree to the loading area while I go pay.  Bill takes the kids and gets the car to the loading area only to find that there is no perfect tree that says KOTRBA.  Except the one on the station wagon that is driving away.  Big tears. They loaded our perfect tree on someone else's car. It only take us 20 minutes standing around as the wind chill becomes annoyingly low for them to acknowledge that we actually had a perfect tree with our name on it.  KOTRBA????  Tree???? Friendly high school kid is no where to be found.

Re-park the car. Get the mittens and hats back on and hike back to the North Pole where they let us pick out a non-sale perfect tree and put a $20 gift card in my pocket. Amazingly, the perfect tree was the first one we saw. They all look perfect when it gets dark and the temp hits twenty degrees. Tra la la. They are still my favorite all season greenhouse. They know a good customer when they see her. . .

Note to self: never go tree shopping on an empty stomach with low blood-sugar.  Pack snacks.

Back to the perfect day--before the tree trip--in the morning--I vowed that we would still practice--even with Christmas hubbub.  At 11:00 a.m. Mary and I headed up to the piano and had the best practice ever.  We did every task and after forty-five minutes I said we were done and she said, "but we only practiced 10 minutes."  I was reminded how important it is to practice at the child's time of day. For three months now we have been practicing after school when she is beat. There isn't anything I can do about this. She sleeps in the morning and Calvin wakes up early to practice. After school we just have a window to practice before I teach. It was already tricky for me to get that 45 minutes worked into my teaching everyday--I don't know what else to do. We are always rushed. I realize that it takes a toll. So, I will just have to keep setting my expectations lower on those school days and commit to having relaxed and lovely practices on the weekend. It is better to have a short focused practice than to try to rush through everything, like I often do.

In any case, it was the perfect day and the perfect practice.  And. . . the perfect tree.

Lay My Burden Down

Kids do the darnedest  things.  Tonight when I got done teaching Calvin wanted to show me a computer video project he was working on.  He pulls up a slide show of photos he took on his camera of my Grandma Hope's house after we had it all cleaned out and before we left and locked the door.  He took a picture of every empty room and every sidewalk square.  Every out building on the farm. The pictures are dated 5-29-10.

I was completely overcome.  I didn't even know he had taken these photos.  Each empty room was a childhood of memories for me.  They weren't empty then.  They were filled to the brim with baskets and quilts and books and little tumblers of pens and fingernail files.  It all comes flooding back.  My grandma passed away last December.  Even though she was over 90 and it was a normal kind of grief, it is still so close under the surface.  Calvin looks at me tearing up and says, "you were there when you were little too."

To top it all off--he paired the images with an Alison Krauss song--Lay My Burden Down.

Gonna lay my burden down

Gonna lay my body in the ground

Cold clay against my skin

But I don't care at all. . . 

When I get to the other side

I'll put your picture way up high

But I'm not coming back to you

It's just too far. . . 

When I sleep the angels sing

But I cannot hear a thing

Eyes closed

Dreaming of better days gone by

When I wake the trumpets play

And I'm standing at the gates

Fall down in joy

I know my race has just been run. . . 

Kids do the darnedest things.  And they process their own grief in their own time.  I don't know if Calvin knew how profound his project was.  At least it was to me.


Here is my first attempt at a youtube link: (Calvin taught me this too. . . )
Alison Krauss--Lay My Burden Down