We’re home from our holiday travels. All 6 of us. Me and hubby. 2 kids. In-laws. Back in our cozy-yet-somewhat-cramped home. The holidays brought us great quality times together, a fair dose of conflict resolution, and plenty of happy memories.

Thankfully, the change of scenery and ridiculously warm temperatures in sunny Florida also brought refreshment and rejuvenation for everyone. Our cozy home doesn’t seem quite as cramped as it did before. Our times together seem more relaxed. Relationships come easier. And the kids are definitely bonding better with their grandparents. It’s a good time to be home. There’s something inherently cheerful about blue skies, shorts, and sunbathing in December. It penetrates deep and leaves a lasting warmth to carry you through the gray skies and rainy days of the rest of winter.

This is one that I’m not proud of, but it’s my family, so what can I say?

It involves a Christmas tree, gasoline, and fireworks. You get the idea. The first few years my dad did it we stood outside with the burning tree. But after the frightened ducking, hiding behind bushes to avoid being struck, and someone inadvertently getting hit with fireworks, we’ve learned to stand inside the screened in enclosure.

And for some reason the grandparents don’t understand why I think this would frighten my 2-year old and 3-year old. Exhibit A: Cowering 6-year old daughter of grandpa’s work colleague, begging to go home.
This is one holiday tradition that I don’t think we’ll adopt.

See, the road trip from our house to my parents’ house takes about 7 hours, kid-free. 8 hours with kids. I was imagining 9 hours when you add in-laws to the mix. It took us 10 hours.  Ten. long. hours.
The worst of it - other than the 2 dead-stop-turtles-could-have-walked-faster traffic jams before we even left our own city - is the swollen preggo mommy feet. By the time we made our first stop my feet already wouldn’t fit into my shoes. And this morning, I had to borrow flip-flops (to wear in December) because that’s all that I could get my feet into.

But we’re done. At least for a few days. Then we’ll load everyone into the car and start over. I’m hoping we can do it the second time in under 9 hours.  Maybe, just maybe…

Because… at precisely 11AM, I’m loading my pregnant self, my 2-year old and 3-year old, my hubby, and my in-laws into the minivan, along with suitcases, Christmas gifts and a partridge in a pear tree. And. We’re driving 9 hours to spend Christmas with my family.

Don’t get me wrong - I love my family. But this morning, I’m seriously wondering if they’re worth a 9 hour trip in the minivan with preggo mommy, 2 preschoolers, and in-laws. Am I crazy? If not now, I probably will be by about 4 this afternoon.

Bean: “Mama, does Santa have claws?”

Me (stumped): “Well, uh, no. His last name is Claus, just like our last name is C… But, Santa certainly doesn’t have claws.”

In a lot of ways our culture defines us. It’s there in almost everything we do, say, and think. And we don’t even realize it until we’re confronted with another culture. Of course, it’s so ingrained in us, and so far from our level of conscious thought that we cling to it. And we view it as good, as opposed to all other cultural ideas being bad.

My culture tells me that productivity is king. That it’s more important to be on time for an appointment than it is to spend unplanned time cultivating a friendship. My culture tells me that it’s not ok to ask a woman her age or ask a friend what their house cost - or their car, or stereo, or anything else for that matter. It tells me that individuality is of utmost importance, and asking anyone to conform to my way of doing things is just not right. And it tells me that self-reliance, independence, and work ethic make me who I am.

My in-laws’ culture is different. It has opposite ideas to some of my cultural notions - like it’s more important to finish a conversation and put work into relationships than it is to run for the phone when it rings. It tells them that family ties and having people to count on brings more value than individualism or self-reliance. Their culture says that friends can share anything - even the cost of homes, valuables, or anything else important enough to spend money on.

Some of their ideas seem antiquated to me. Like their insistence that feet must be kept toasty warm at all times. Or that colds come from drafts, or sitting on a cold floor will bring infertility. But those ideas have their equals in my train of thought. I knock on wood. I kiss my fingers and touch them to the top of the car when I go through a yellow light. I can’t understand why a person would subject themselves to eating buckwheat - if not forced to under duress of extreme torture.

But the important thing for me to remember (and for them, too), is that culture brings a wonderful tapestry of different ideas. They’re not wrong or right. They’re not good or bad. They’re just different, and there’s nothing wrong with different. It’s hard to pull culture out our way of thinking and look at things objectively. It’s hard to compartmentalize when our cultural ideas are so much a part of our subconscious. It takes time and adjustment. And patience and understanding. And very widely open lines of communication.

Now, if only I could get my in-laws to believe that a grandparent’s biggest duty is to get up with the kids at night… Well, that and change dirty diapers… And maybe even potty train my now 2-year old.

The in-laws. Yet another post about the in-laws. My entire life right now seems like a drawn-out episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. On steroids. Sure, there are good things too, like free babysitters for date nights and help with tedious household tasks like mopping and scrubbing toilets. But right now, my biggest struggle is for sanity. I’m working on narrowing down ways to regain my sanity. I think they go something like this:

• Wisdom is knowing what to ignore (and actually ignoring it)
• If a comment really hurts, look first to your own pride to figure out why (ouch!)
• Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. (Col. 3:1-3)

Maybe if I can concentrate more on those things and less on the situations that bring stress, I’ll stop giving this baby in my belly an emotional roller coaster… And maybe my sanity won’t be a casualty of our new living arrangement. Just maybe…

Little Man,

You’re two today, and that’s hard for me to believe. It seems like just yesterday I was holding you for the first time. You bring me immense joy every day. Your cuddles and snuggles melt my heart. Your bright smile with eyes lit up make a rough day bearable.

You amaze me with your resilience. With all you’ve been through, you still can’t stop smiling. You have a laid-back way of dealing with the rough spots life brings you, and a quick look into your eyes tells me it’s all gonna be okay.

You have that tough boy quality that makes you get up, brush yourself off, and keep on going - even after you’ve scraped up your knees, hands, and forehead. Nothing seems to phase you (except having to share Thomas). Even with ear infections, fevers, and pneumonia, you don’t complain (but I wish you’d let me know that you’re hurting!).

You may be a tough boy, but at the same time, you’re gentle and caring with other kids - you look after the ones that are littler than you, and you know to be gentle with people and pets too. You have a warm and loving way in dealing with other people - both kids and grown-ups. And when you reach up to me just to pat my head or steal a little smooch, I have to stop and count my blessings that you’re you.

Today Little Man’s preschool class had their Christmas party. We kind of missed the boat on sign-ups for what to bring, so I got stuck with a kids’ dessert. The plan was to buy a cute little pull-apart cupcake thing from the grocery store, until I found that it would cost me an arm and a leg. So then, I found an idea online for this:

It came out really well - tasted great and looked gorgeous. In fact, I only used as many cupcakes as there were kids in the class. In my experience, the most successful ‘kids’ dessert’ is cupcakes, and adults tend to stay away from them. But apparently mine were different - parents devoured them before even offering them to their kids. They were just that good. It wasn’t difficult - just cupcakes in the shape of a candy cane with M&Ms forming the stripes.

It was a big hit, but at one point I did hear another mom commenting, “sure, you can do things like that when it’s your only child. But those of us with more than one - heh! - we just buy our cakes at the supermarket. (rolling of the eyes) Must be a first time mom. She’ll learn one day that she doesn’t have to overdo it…” That was the point where I walked away and stopped listening. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I have 2 kids and I’m in my 2nd trimester with our 3rd. Or that I’ve spent the last 2 1/2 months carting my kids from doctor to doctor, wondering if they’d just let me rent space at the doctor’s office - it’d probably be cheaper than the co-pays, and at least I wouldn’t waste so much time driving and sitting in waiting rooms. Or that I used the $24 I saved on this particular cake to buy enough food for at least 3 full meals for the 6 adults currently living in my house. And frankly, it’s because we’re on baby #3 with 6 adults living in the house that I can’t afford to pick up cakes for all the kids’ parties at the grocery store. If I had, it’d have cost me over $100 just this month. And I certainly have better things to do with that money.

So, snooty mom of more than one, I thoroughly enjoyed baking the cupcakes with my older daughter’s help. We had fun sitting together and licking the beaters. I had even more fun setting up the candy cane and decorating it. And it was all worth the extra time (and saved cash) when Little Man saw (and tasted) the finished product. It was even better because my (very large extended) family got to eat some of the extra cupcakes after dinner last night - right after my kids ‘decorated’ them together.

Note: The instructions for this cake and many other Christmas goodies can be found at Bright Ideas.

My good friend and I were talking the other night about our houses. From simple things like what color to paint the walls, to loftier issues like how big a house we really need. She asked a question that I’ve been thinking about ever since. What makes a house a home? How can we - as wives and mommies - make our houses comforting, inviting places that our hubby and kids want to come home to? It reminded me of the meme I participated in this summer. I’ve gone back to look at several other bloggers’ reminiscences of their childhood homes, and I think I have a few ideas of what makes a house a home. I could be way off base here, but for me it came down to 2 things.
First off, my initial instinct was wrong. I thought at first that a clean, well organized, properly decorated house would make people want to be in it. But looking at what makes lasting impressions on people, it has little to do with organization, comfortable furniture, or granite counter tops. 4-sided brick is unnecessary, and it doesn’t need to be anything fancy or trendy. It doesn’t matter if the decorator scheme is European minimalist or country-chic, or if there even is a decorator style.

I think what truly makes a house a home is the people in it. Not just the inhabitants, but the other characters who make cameo appearances or are regular cast members. It’s about the memories made together. It’s about entertaining - not in the Southern Living or Martha Stewart sense of the word, but just the fact that friends are always welcome, the door is always open. Memories are made together and relationships are cherished. Having that atmosphere within the home legitimizes each person’s contribution to the family, and those memories leave lasting impressions.

When I think back about my childhood home, I can’t really separate the building from the gatherings that happened there. When I think of the lanai it reminds me of church youth group gatherings, soccer team parties, quiet evenings with just the family watching the storms roll in. It’s hard to picture the space without the people. When I think of the dining room, I imagine my grandparents joining us for a special meal, my extended family gathered around for a celebration. The space without the people is meaningless in my mind.

The other thing that makes a house a home is consistency. That doesn’t have to mean staying in the same house forever. But celebrating the same things each year, having traditions, making each occasion special while still maintaining consistency. Christmas isn’t Christmas in my home unless my dad has a jar of olives in his stocking. The Thanksgiving table must be graced by dad’s green bean casserole, and we couldn’t manage without mom’s pumpkin pie (even though I don’t eat pumpkin pie. It still has to be there). I knew that we’d vacuum and do laundry on Saturdays. And that Friday nights we’d grill steaks or burgers. Consistency gives a sense of stability, and people blossom and grow when their home is stable.

My kids will never be moved by what size TV we have or the width of the plank in the hard wood floors that I picked out. Having their own room or even Jack and Jill sinks in the bath won’t make a lasting impact. My husband wouldn’t miss it if the window treatments weren’t coordinated with the furniture. And it doesn’t matter if our formal living room really meets the requirements of being ‘formal.’ But the consistency of family gatherings, the frequent welcoming of dear friends, and the memories made during those times will make a house a home. And those are the things that will leave imprints, for my kids and my hubby, and for me too.