It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas

One day every year my husband comes home in an unusually good mood. Bright-eyed, smiling, barely able to contain his excitement, he says, "Look what's at the grocery store!!!" He whips the grocery bag off of the mystery item to reveal . . . a panettone!?! And it's official; the Christmas season is here.

Surprisingly, this day came rather early this year as he brought home the hallowed item in mid-September. And although Christmas music, decorations, and festivities won't commence for another three months, we know it's on the way. What's so special about panettone, you ask? The truth be told--nothing. My husband would disagree, but he'll have to get his own blog to defend his beloved fruitcake.

A panettone is a tall, cylindrical, sweetbread filled with dried fruits. I believe it is a gift of Italian origin, and in my opinion, not one of their best. Here in Brazil, it is sold only at Christmas (or the four months before). I will, however, give a nod to one of the variations on panettone--Chocottone in which chocolate chunks replace the dried fruit.

My ambivalence to panettone might stem from my first exposure to it some 11 years ago. Nathanael and I had barely begun dating when he invited me to travel to Brazil at Christmas to meet his parents and get a taste of the country which had been his home since birth. Let me state here that in my lovestruck innocence, I didn't eat for the first two weeks of our dating experience. So, suffice it to say, meeting possible in-laws and going on a gastronomical tour of Brazil are not a good combination for someone whose nerves wreak havoc on the intestinal system.

Shortly into our visit, we traveled to a small mountain town and were warmly received by family friends of my in-laws, a Hungarian man and an Italian woman, who run a beautiful bed and breakfast. They invited us to a home-cooked meal in their Swiss-style home. At this point in the trip, I had hardly eaten--usually getting two bites into a meal before nerves and intestines overtook me, and I was forced, embarrassingly and rudely, to stop. Our animated hostess laid before us a feast of gargantuan proportions--the main dish standing out vividly in my mind as gnocchi with pesto sauce. Gnocchi, while delicious, might possibly be the heaviest pasta on the planet!

I managed to eat the first plateful, already experiencing the ominous rumblings from below, when a second serving was heaped onto my plate. The rest of the meal is a blur, including chocolate mousse at some point and an ever pressing need to excuse myself. Finally, pushing chairs away from the table, we commenced a long Brazilian goodbye, when the subject of panettone came up. And, wouldn't you know, she had one in the kitchen! "Oh, please, please, come and try it! You've never had it? Oh, you must have a piece!" And suddenly a formidable slice was shoved into my hand. Oh, the agony of consuming that monstrous, dry fruitcake cousin! In utter defeat, I ate two bites and looked pleadingly at my future husband and shook my head as if to say, "I can't do this!"

I'm not sure if it was my pale countenance or the desperation in my eyes, but he graciously got the hint, took my share, and devoured it, all the while paying compliments to the chef. I made it back to my private quarters, and intestinal difficulties did improve as the trip and relationship went on. But the panettone of '98 still haunts me. And while I don't anticipate the advent of the panettone each year as my husband does, it has become linked to holiday sentiments--and a sour stomach!

Life With Boys

If you've ever raised children, boys in particular, you might be sympathetic to my plight of trying to keep a house both beautiful and orderly. My soul needs the beauty, and my emotional health needs the order. So at the end of each day while Nathanael reads to the boys, I scurry around to collect errant toys, clean gunky surfaces, return pictures and table decorations, once symmetrical, to their proper, perfect place. (Don't get me wrong! I definitely have my cluttered hideouts, but at day's end, the living room, toy room, and kitchen must be tidy.)

As for beauty, I have slowly over the years procured artwork and other decorative items that make my soul smile and help me to breathe deeply during hectic days. I feel better just seeing them. Two weeks ago at the Dutch festival, I bought two gorgeous candleholders in traditional blue and white porcelain that now reside on a living room table. So, imagine my frustration when I sat down ready for an evening of relaxation after the boys and toys had been tucked away and looked up to see this . . .





. . . little Lego men camping out in my candle holders! SIGH. Since having children, I've found many toys in strange places, often in the toilet, but this one just made me laugh--such a boy thing! I'm not sure what the candle holders were supposed to be in their Lego playland, but no doubt, something absolutely necessary for the enjoyment of their game. Ah, life with boys! I love it!

Goodbye, Old Friend!

Tomorrow I say farewell to a life-long friend and companion. Here's a few memories of our last day together.

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For Jane Austen Fans

I'm not sure if my friends and family would agree, but . . .

Take the Quiz here!

One Hot Woman

Although this series of exchanges between my seven-year-old and me is slightly embarrassing to relate, it's too funny not to share.

Act I

Ethan getting ready for bed last night: "Mom, is it true that people who have more fat on their bodies stay warmer?"

Me: "I would say that is generally true."

Ethan: "Wow, you must be very hot!"

Act II

Ethan shivering at dinner tonight: "Mom, can you come warm me with your fat?"

Me: "I'm not sure that is the best use of my fat right now."

Ethan: "Could you please just come and use your enormous warmth on me?"

Well, at least these extra pounds are good for something!

Everything's Coming Up Roses

A few things from this week's gratitude list . . .



#65 Roses from my beloved on a difficult day

#66 Organized toy shelves and a sense of satisfaction



#68 The first rose of summer (with almost 10 more buds to anticipate)

#69 Berenstain Bears book break on the "boat"

And, the most wonderful surprise . . .

#70 Seeing my husband, who left Monday morning for a five-day trip to Costa Rica, walk back in the door hours later because they had neglected to inform him that he needed the yellow fever vaccine in order to travel . . . no nights alone (yes!)

Two in Review: Flowers, Friends, and Fun

As I turn to a fresh page in my homeschooling planner, it's time for another look back over the past two weeks in homeschooling. It is a relief to close the book on these past two weeks, to leave behind mistakes, frustrations, unfulfilled plans, and that nagging sense of underachievement. Sometimes it's just about survival. In a short list below, I'll focus on what went well these past two weeks:

• Hooked On Phonics: I wish I'd done this from the very beginning. I love it; he loves it. And we are seeing improvements in reading fluency by leaps and bounds.




• Flashmaster: I love it; he needs it. As we transition into more independent learning, this is one thing he can do and monitor on his own. He doesn't like the time pressure; however, he is steadily gaining confidence and learning to control his emotions in the heat of the moment.




• Story of the World, Susan Wise Bauer: We loved it last year and continue to find great pleasure in listening/reading to this series of four. This year I am attempting to actually do more of the recommended activities as well as the student notebook, but failed to do the enrichment exercises this week. Luckily, E was happy just to illustrate/color this week's subjects.




• The Wheel on the School, Meindert DeJong: What an engaging story about a little Dutch village where school children attempt to entice storks to nest on the schoolhouse roof! E begs for more each time we stop. In fact, we just read for an hour and a half before I sent him to bed, much to his disappointment. And, this book was a great tie-in to our first field trip . . .

The flower show at Holambra--a celebration of flowers and Dutch culture right here in Brazil. Here are a few of my favorite pictures from our day together:

Flowers . . .

Friends . . .





Fun . . .

The finishing touch . . .

Other memorable/humorous moments include several roaming bands, a dancing tulip (the ONLY tulip at this Dutch festival, I might add), bright Dutch costumes, a flower parade, all sorts of vendors, race after race with Uncle Goran, a water fight, giant Ype detergent mascot, french fries, sausages, Dutch dances, clog-shaped public phones, sore feet, and Home Sweet Home sans Sao Paulo traffic.

Chilly Day, Warmest Thanks

Stopping mid-Monday to give thanks . . .

#52 A bowl of Marilyn's potato soup warms bodies and hearts with fond memories of faithful missionary friends called back to serve in a new way.

#53 A husband who always pushes me to say what I'm really feeling behind the "I'm fine," so that he can walk through the pain with me.

#54 Birthday brunch with "September" friends--so many hearty laughs

#55 A scented candle that makes family, hemispheres away, seem close by

#56 Boy leaping down out of breakfast chair at first sight of rain to play outside with new umbrella--a treasured gift from a treasured friend

#57 A backache from holding a sleeping four-year-old throughout the entire Sunday service (How many more times will I get to feel his hot cheek on my chest? Not enough, I think.)

Lord, thank You for these and other glimpes through the eyes of gratitude. Open my eyes to see more of You in the people and world around me.

The Great Ham Wars

Seven-year-old running through house to kitchen sink with dripping water gun in hand yells: "Mom, I need more hammo!"

He runs away to join the fight--a Monty Pythonesque war in which large Spam balls catapult through the air. At least, that's how I envision it.

Filling the Empty Pages

These are my journals from the last year. Lest you think my life enormously interesting or my writing amazingly prolific, they are all empty from approximately page five forward. Despite what my skeptical husband believes (that I have a notebook fetish), all were bought with one purpose in mind--to list the things for which I am grateful.

Over a year ago I was inspired by Ann Voskamp at A Holy Experience to take the 1000 Gifts challenge. You can read more about the 1000 Gifts here, but the basic idea is to pay attention to the good things and write them down, thereby developing a lifestyle of gratitude. The goal: 1000 entries. My current status: a whopping 51. That's not even one a week.

Around page three of journal number five, I wrote: I am not cultivating one of two habits. Either I'm not living a life of gratitude or I'm not living a life of journaling. That little revelation propelled me from 33 to 51 where I suddenly stopped both endeavors. I rant and rave about being thankful and counting blessings to a seven-year-old malcontent who has toys, clothes, and books galore, and a little twinge of hypocrisy ribs a guilty conscience--blank pages of five journals coming to mind.

I could easily fill those pages with an "If Only" list. If only we had more children. If only we were completely debt-free. If only we owned a house. If only my husband would take over the homeschool science experiments. If only I weren't overweight. If only my house were in order. This list contains six entries already--over 10% of my gratitude list!

But I've always been a New Year's resolution, leaf-turning, Anne of Green Gables sort. After all, "tomorrow is a new day, fresh, with no mistakes in it." So, here in my blog, a sixth journal of sorts, I will pay attention to life, write it down, and give thanks publicly for the wonderful things God has done, is doing, and will do. (If you can call five readers a "public.")

In fact, I'll start today by remembering a few of my favorites from the first 51:

#1 Cool homemade grape juice before Micah wakes from a nap

#6 Brightly-colored kites dancing in an on-coming storm

#11 A glimpse into little boy dreams



#19 Surprisingly cold weather in the middle of my eternal summer

#21 New couches finally delivered that are just as beautiful as I had hoped--a gift from my in-laws

#27 The first stain on the new couches that helps me let go of vanity, greed, and perfectionism-- kids live here!!!

#28 Two little boys who argue every night about what bed they are going to sleep in and then end up snuggled together in a single bed

#35 The smiles on 39 Junior Church faces as they danced and sang and worshipped

#40 A husband who enjoys grocery shopping

#42 Three hours snuggled up with boys on couch reading story after story after story . . .

". . . We will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, His powers, and the wonders He has done." Psalm 78:4

Lord, give me grace to notice, and in noticing, give thanks.

Guilty Conscience

Four-year-old bounces upstairs, meets me on the landing with his hands behind his back, and promptly announces, "I do nuffing (nothing), Mommy!" I knew then and there I better go see what kind of "nuffing" he had been doing. This time: Flax seeds in freezer ripped open and spilled into every possible crevice in the freezer, refrigerator, and surrounding floor.

It's hard to be angry at a boy who so innocently rats himself out. It's hard, but I managed:). At least he was going for a healthy snack!

Two in Review: A Look At Homeschooling

In an effort to more faithfully document our homeschooling journey this year, here's a look at some highlights from the past two weeks:


Both boys got in on a little Ancient Egyptian action. Here they spread out glue-sand mixture to form sand cubes for a pyramid.


Ethan marked out the cubes and placed them in the sun to dry. We waited . . . and waited . . . and just when I was beginning to think our pyramid would take 20 years to be completed like Cheops' Great Pyramid, the cubes were dry.


Okay, perhaps not one of the wonders of the world, but fun!


"Ethan, the Sumerian" in cuneiform.


An impromptu nature lesson developed when two vultures perched 10 feet away on the roof of our one-story back area. It is never a comforting feeling when a seven-year-old's eyes get big as saucers as he looks past your shoulder and says, "Mom, look!" I whirled around to see this big guy. The vultures hung around for a while near a pigeon nest in the eaves, waiting to see if they could snatch an egg perhaps. We watched them for quite some time, but we were never able to get a picture of the two together, nor a picture that really does justice to their size.




I wonder if vultures circling your house in your first week of homeschooling means anything. On second thought, I don't want to know.

Simple Assurance

I sat in the sterile, white-washed Sunday School room biding my time, not expecting great things to happen. I've always had an aversion to Sunday School--even from childhood. Perhaps it was the pressure to perform as a pastor's kid or compulsory attendance or the unfortunate high-incidence of poor teaching or the vain-conceit that there was nothing new there for me. As a pastor's wife, not much had changed except that after twenty-some humbling years, I eagerly admit I do not know it all. I attend faithfully because I want my children, who incidentally love Sunday School, to hear, learn, and take God's transforming truth deep into their hearts. But why don't I expect, anticipate the same for myself?

By default, I had chosen to attend "A Walk through the New Testament." There were only two other classes--the English Second Language class and a repeat of a class on the End Times. End Times . . . It's hard to avoid this topic in Christian circles today. Everywhere you turn, there are horror stories of apocalyptic proportions. The last Sunday School class I frequented opened up every session with a 15-minute summary of recent news stories that clearly signified the end of the world nipping at our heels. I'd leave, barely able to breathe and wondering how I would survive the torturous events to come. And then the more gut-wrenching, heart-stabbing question: What will happen to my kids when the world falls apart?

So, there I sat, head bent over my notebook in the back row of a class where the world wouldn't assault me--too chicken to study "End Times." The teacher discussed the division of the books of the New Testament: 4 Gospels, 1 History, 13 Pauline Epistles, 8 General Epistles, and 1 Book of Prophecy--Revelation. The very word made my stomach churn. Then, in one Southern-drawled sentence, the teacher stated something so simple, so basic, so beautiful:

"And, of course, 'revelation' doesn't refer to the revelation of End Times, but to the revelation of Jesus Christ."

That was it! He and the rest of the class traveled back to visit the important dates of the New Testament, but I stayed there in that present moment, breathing out a soul-sigh, generations of fear carried away on a breath. I almost laughed! Of course . . . the revelation of Jesus Christ. The Word of God, King of kings, Lord of lords, Bridegroom of Heaven, Lamb of God, the White-Horse Rider, Faithful and True, the First and the Last . . .will be revealed.

The Truth of God, in the person of Jesus Christ, will be undeniably, irrevocably revealed to the world, bringing all to their knees. How had I missed it? God states it in the first verse of Revelation! Somewhere between A Thief in the Night, Left Behind, and today´s headlines, Revelation took on new meaning, or rather, lost its meaning. I had begun to equate it with only catastrophic events, inhumane persecution, natural disasters, and war. Without Jesus Christ factored in, my only option was fear. But the end of the equation is the revealed kingship of Jesus Christ--and I know Him. I know His character.

No, I haven't gone running to enroll in the End Times class, but not out of fear. I think I might learn a lot in a walk through the New Testament.

Now You Are Four

Four years ago today, we received the call that the little baby boy, for whom we had been praying and waiting, had arrived. We packed up our things and drove to the hospital five hours away to put that baby, already in our hearts, finally into our hands. You are our protein-packing, speed-racing, high-climbing, mess-making, snuggle-loving boy, and we love you. We are so glad Jesus gave you to us! Here's a look at how you've grown the last four years, Baby Mine.

Now You Are Four

Four years ago today, we received the call that the little baby boy we had been praying and waiting for had arrived. We packed up our things and drove to the hospital 5 hours away to put that baby, already in our hearts, finally into our hands. You are our protein-packing, speed-racing, high-climbing, mess-making, snuggle-loving boy and we love you. We are so glad Jesus gave you to us! Here's a look at how you've grown the last four years, baby of mine.

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