The five books I'd meet in hell

Hours of my life I'll never get back, thanks to:

1. Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser. Assigned reading for a college lit class, this was an agony of a story frequently interrupted by pompous sermons.

2. The Lovely Bones by Alice Seabold. Nothing really is wrong with the writing, but the story is too incredibly tragic and unredeemed.

3. Little Children by Tom Perotta. Any book in which a child molester is the most likeable character is not for me.

4. A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. Are you kidding me? Made me want to take a shower.

5. Steps in Time: An Autobiography by Fred Astaire. This was the first indication I'd ever had that any person, much less a famous one, could truly not have an interesting story to tell.

Christmas confessions and rebellions

Dear Santa,
Every year, people starting talking about simplifying. A few handmade gifts each, lots of hot chocolate and cookies and carols and candlelight church services and real greenery and home-baked goodies delivered to neighbors and food and toys for sharing with less fortunate people and most of all...oh, yeah!...a pervading sense of peace and tranquility and plenty.

But when it comes right down to it, what I really want is a Christmas like I had as a child. Big piles of gifts, shiny and curly and straight from the pages of the Sears Wish Book, or behind the big plate-glass window at Otasco. Baby dolls, a tin kitchen, a working cash register, a record player with a yellow plastic record that plays "Jimmy Crack Corn." A Malibu Barbie doll that I can love without having to worry I might want to grow up to be a hooker.

I want to jump on the simplicity bandwagon, but I also want to jump on the foam-rubber sofa cushion where I oh-so-hopefully left my stocking each Christmas eve. I want to say my prayers in front of the fake-brick paper rollout that served as our fireplace. I want to wear a Santa hat without worrying about whether I look foolish or might muss my hair. I want to ride my tricycle in the house, and I want it to be okay when I am just as excited about receiving a gift as I am about giving one.

I want my brother Rowdy to read us to sleep in our bunk beds, and I want Ben to wake up at 4 a.m. to try out everyone's toys and then wake us to tell us how cool they are. I want Bubby and Rally to wish for -- and get! -- BB guns and wood-burning sets. I want to be able to laugh over stories about how, when we lived in a two-bedroom house, my parents tied our door to the bathroom door to keep Ben from getting up at 4 a.m., and how Rowdy had to pee out the window because he couldn't get to the bathroom. And the time my dad stayed up all night to assemble bicycles and tricycles for all five of us and made it to bed about an hour before we got up to try them out.

Really, though? I want to not feel guilty for trying to give my children the kind of Christmases I had. I want people not to judge me because Geddy gets a bonus and we spend it all, plus some. When people find out Larry, Curly Sue and Moe still believe in you, I want them to say good job, for keeping them children as long as possible.

I can't bring my brother back and wouldn't even if I could, nor my mother-in-law, and they both helped make my Christmases memorable. You stopped visiting me a long time ago and I'm more likely to get Paxil than peanuts in my Christmas stocking. But, Santa, if you could let people know it's okay for us to enjoy Christmas this year, I'd really appreciate it.
Love,
Me

Because Linus says so!

Nothing puts me more in a Christmas mood than music and television programs I enjoyed as a child. By mutual consent, Geddy and I are going to make a concerted effort to actively celebrate Christmas this year. Last night, we kicked off our celebration on a chilly, rainy night by stuffing everyone snugly into our king-sized bed and watching Rudolph and Charlie Brown.

We plan on making this a nightly event. Tonight's schedule includes a visit from the Grinch and Mickey's Christmas Carol. We put up our Christmas tree this week and build our gingerbread train next week. Next Monday is our special annual family Christmas outing to Callaway Gardens' Fantasy in Lights, which is always incredible.

Sure, we've had our share of heartbreak this year. We lost Geddy's mom to cancer in June and Ben in a car crash just a few weeks ago. The everyday struggles can be enough to crush me, and the outside stress and extra activities inherent in the season...well, I feel like I'm drowning sometimes, trying to please everyone and hold myself together. But Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forever, and His birthday deserves a long, determined and glorious celebration. So when I want to scream, "Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?" Linus always is there, ready to remind me.

Confessions of an uninspired Mama

I am not artistic. Not. at. all. Can't draw, can't paint, can't even cut well with scissors. My redeeming artistic quality is that I sometimes manage to copy someone else's ideas. Such is the case with "lapbooks," groovy little learning tools that you make yourself. Kind of like pop-up books crammed with monstrous doses of education.

Dinah Zike is the author of The Big Book of Books, which explains very well how to make all the elements for lapbooks. I found a perfect copy for 50 cents at a library sale last summer but never got around to reading through it, much less using it with my kidlets. So when Homeschool E-Store had its annual Black Friday freebie download bonanza and I scored a Grinch lapbook kit, I knew I at least had to try that one.

It bodes ill when I can't even get the folder put together correctly, does it not?

Still, I persevere. Two of the folders now lay under heavy books, coaxing the flaps to stay together. One is horribly wrinkled from liquid glue and the other, put together with a glue stick, is likely to separate itself at the first glimpse of daylight. (I really miss the library paste we had in school.) The third is waiting...waiting...waiting...

I know this is likely one of those things I'll improve with practice, but I can't help thinking sometimes that going against one's natural gifts and talents may be a mistake. Especially when I'm wearing glue instead of fingernail polish.

As I was saying...what was I saying?

This is the conversation I was having earlier today with a friend:

"So I told what's-his-name he couldn't leave those things lying there on the thing or the dog would...um..."

What I meant to say was, "I told Larry he couldn't leave his school papers lying there on the hearth or JoJo would chew on them, and I didn't think anyone would buy the old 'the dog ate my homework' excuse."

Ba-dum-pah.

I'm starting to have to work my thoughts in Mad Libs: So I told (person's name) he couldn't leave (noun) (verb -ing) on the (noun)...(Insert punch line.) (Canned laughter.)

Pretty soon, I'll be hearing a soundtrack behind every event in my life. And I won't even be able to remember the words so I can sing along!

Purposefulness

Once in awhile someone comes along and gives us the kick in the pants we need.

As a homeschooling mom, I frequent a terrific forum where a group of people talk about their struggles, triumphs and need for chocolate or good bookshelves or the right kind of shoes for their homeschoolers (sorry, here I confess to lapsing into the world of private jokes. And that's a darn funny one!).

One of my favorite contributors is MFS, who is also the author of a very fine blog, Mental Multivitamin. I greatly admire her wit, readily admit she writes circles around anyone I know in real life and aspire to her parenting abilities. I believe her to be authentic and know her to be raising amazing children, as Larry was on the receiving end of a beautifully encouraging letter from her son several years ago.

On the forum, exhausted homeschooling parents frequently lament their lack of motivation or ability to maintain a tidy home, perform all their homeschooling duties, apply the correct amount of time to their churches/jobs/relationships, etc. While I agree that achieving perfection is impossible, I also think falling into the traps of letting others validate your failures and settling for mediocrity are dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.

That's why I appreciate this collection of blog entries. Enjoy!

On my bedside table

I finished Death of a Murderer a couple of days ago. It was mildly interesting and fairly well-written. It jumped around and went stagnant in a few places, so I doubt I'd recommend it.

More interesting to me is the non-fiction, almost-completed read Idoleyes, which I wanted to read because I love Mandisa's song "Only the World." Her story is more complex than fiction tends to be. She is a strong Christian who auditioned for American Idol and made it into the top 10 contestants before being voted off. Her outspoken Christianity, her weight struggles, her incredible talent and her brutal honesty about her life make this a compelling read.

And then there's Healing the New Childhood Epidemics. This book, written by Kenneth Bock, M.D., outlines Bock's "groundbreaking" program for the 4-A disorders (autism, ADHD, asthma and allergies). It's chock-full of good information for me, as the mother of asthmatic and allergic children. Bock relates all four disorders, puts forth some thoughtful theories about the alarming rise in autism cases and documents the work he has done in helping children with the 4-A disorders improve.

I blush to admit that I never have read Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensibility. Those are next on my list from my library basket.

Music-wise, I am loving Mercy Me's Coming Up to Breathe. So many of their songs speak to me, but a couple on this album keep me hanging on most current days. I get a particular kick out of this one, as will anyone who's ever been on a deadline and gone blank.

Each year, I buy myself one or two Christmas CDs. Last year, it was James Taylor's At Christmas, which instantly became one of my favorites. I think I talked my friend Angela into buying it last night, in fact. This year, I went a little retro and picked up Christmas With the Chipmunks and A Charlie Brown Christmas.

And just for fun, I put this on my Christmas list!