Ode to (birthday) joy

Twenty-seven years ago today, Frosty the Snowman played on the labor-room television while Jim and I waited for our second daughter to be born. By the time the evening news hit the screen, Megan had arrived and my life was forever enhanced, my heart forever expanded.

Because of Megan, I've learned ...

That "Silent Night" is a perfectly appropriate and effective lullabye.

That it is possible for me to laugh so hard my ribs, abs and obliques hurt ... for days.

To never give up hope.

And to take a picture with my heart.

That despite being scared as cuss while doing it, I can be the fiercest Mama Bear out there and challenge the so-called professionals in the name of doing what I know is right for my child.

That the words of a teen daughter are just that -- words -- and eventually they'll be apologized for or forgotten. And forgiven.

And that the stereotype of beautiful, blonde, cheerleader homecoming queens being mean-spirited bimbos is just that -- an inaccurate stereotype.

That courage looks like a young lady with braids in her hair, hands in her pockets and tears welling in her eyes as she walks to her first college campus meeting while Mom and Dad pull out of the parking lot, heading for home seven hours away.

That I can wholeheartedly love and adore someone whose political leanings -- and movie preferences -- are so different from mine.

That faith is a badge to wear loud and proud.

That bestowing the title of "Grandma" upon someone is one of the greatest honors one can give. And receive.

That there's something mesmerizing and magical in watching a child become an adult quite different -- and exceedingly better -- than the person I thought she might be.

And, most importantly, that it is indeed possible to survive with huge chunks of my heart living 819 miles away. Infinitely more lonely, but possible.

Happy 27th birthday to my goofy middle girl who will always be, no matter the number of years, my little Meggie Beggie Booger Buns!

Holiday question of the day:

What's the most magical thing to ever happen to you in December?

The stockings are hung ...

Last week I knocked out a few holiday chores. So, yes, the stockings are now hung. And I have the wreaths up, the garland on the banisters and railings and porch, the tree done, the village up and running, the nativity scene arranged, and the box for Megan, Preston and Brayden dropped off at UPS for Tuesday delivery.

With all that I've accomplished, I'd like to think I'm pretty close to being ready for Christmas. But I'm not. I still have much to do this coming week, including:

1. Bake 14 dozen cookies for Saturday's annual family cookie swap.

2. Buy one more gift for Jim.

3. Buy one more gift for Andrea.

4. Buy two more gifts for Brianna.

5. Make the food gifts I'm giving friends and family.

6. Buy the gifts for Abby, Isabel, Mickey and Lyla ... aka "the animals."

7. Wrap all the gifts. (We still have zero gifts under the tree.)

8. Do the Christmas cards.

9. Watch Love, Actually, Joyeux Noel, While You Were Sleeping, and White Christmas in its entirety (I've only caught snippets on AMC). Without these, it surely doesn't feel like Christmas.

And how many of those things do you really think I'll be able to check off my list this week? Considering the procrastinator I am, I'm pretty sure I'll only get through No. 1 (thanks to the drop-dead deadline of Saturday), accomplish bits and pieces of Nos. 5 and 7, and possibly knock out one of the four flicks in No. 9.

Nos. 2, 3, 4, 6 and 8? Well, let's be honest here: Why do today this week what can be put off til tomorrow next week?

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Holiday question of the day?

How much of your holiday to-do list do you have left to do?

My dreams for my grandson

These are my dreams for my grandson as he grows:

That he always shows gratitude, curiosity, strength, forgiveness.

That he exercises his body and mind in equal proportions.

That he laughs daily, with others, at himself.

That he loves himself, is proud of himself, treats himself kindly, compassionately.

That he shows kindness and compassion to others, to animals, to nature.

That he turns a deaf ear to intimidation and ignorance when it comes to thinking and doing what's good, what's right.

That he understands the value of patience, compromise, silence, restraint.

That he always loves learning ... and teaching.

That he uses his hands for hugging not hurting.

That he accepts responsibility.

That he does his part.

That he has -- and is -- a true and loyal friend.

That he makes time for silliness, pleasure, play.

That he appreciates and cultivates strong bonds with his siblings, from youth to old age.

That he embraces productivity and pursues careers that matter to him, to the world.

That always -- always -- people are more important to him than things.

That he keeps his word.

That home, family, tradition matter.

That he communicates -- in small ways, large ways and when it may not seem to matter ... but does.

That he never fails to see the beauty, the delightful, the admirable, the awesome.

That he never fails to see those less fortunate.

That he takes nothing for granted.

That his fears and nerves lead him to greatness not despair.

That he appreciates differences of opinion, culture, ideas.

That he has abundant supporters, cheering him on. When he can't hear them cheering, that he doesn't hesitate to cheer for himself.

That he finds a loving forever mate and together they create a loving forever family.

That he makes a positive difference in the world, be it as simple as a smile to a passing stranger or as complex as contributing to global change.

That he never breaks his mother's heart. Or his father's.

That he builds people up, not tear them down.

That he's slow to anger, quick to reason.

That he leads more than he follows, listens more than he speaks.

That his body, mind and soul stay strong, growing and bending but never breaking.

That he dances, sings, eats, enjoys, cries, giggles, dreams without worrying what others may think.

That he sets goals far and high and reaches them ... then goes beyond them.

That adversity makes him stronger not hopeless.

That he uses the words I will more often than I'll try or I can't.

That his heart is gentle and generous yet strong and resilient.

That he keeps an open mind.

That the words misogynist, racist, hateful, liar, addict, or bully are never used to describe him.

That he never, ever doubts he's loved.

That the love he gives in return is never in doubt.

That he travels.

That he dares.

That he excels.

That he lives.

That he depends on God's guidance, comfort, forgiveness, love always, in all ways.

That all who touch his life help make these dreams a reality.

More importantly, that he makes these dreams a reality. Plus every single dream of his own.

Holiday question of the day:

If you could give one gift that can't be wrapped -- the realization of a dream, goal, wish, trait -- to one person, what would you give and to whom would you give it?

This post linked to:

Gratitude list 2010

I'm not sure if Megan plans to continue the tradition of placing Indian corn kernels symbolizing our blessings into a special dish on the holiday dinner table, but whether actual or just in my heart, these are the kernels I offer up, the blessings for which I give thanks this Thanksgiving:

Bubby is healthy.

Everyone in my immediate family is healthy.

Those in my extended family -- those who have suffered everything from stumbles off the wagon to unemployment to limb amputations and more -- are surviving, doing the best they can.

Brianna's ability to purchase a home of her own.

The opening of an awesome career door for Andrea.

A new baby on the way.

The sweet and silly mom, dad and big brother creating a loving home for that new baby.

Friends ... who play my games, drink my pomegranate margaritas, love my dogs.

Other friends ... who may not love my dogs so much, yet are some of my favorite people in the world.

My sister who loves my dogs and will be spoiling them while I'm away for the holiday.

My other sisters. And my brothers. And my mom. And my dad. The only people who know and understand where I came from.

Health insurance.

Netflix instant streaming through the Wii.

Wi-fi.

Skype and other technology that minimizes the distance between myself and my grandson and my daughter.

A bank account that, surprisingly, has not yet hit a zero balance.

My agent ... my real, live agent who steadfastly believes I have something to offer ... and steadfastly works without pay under the belief the pay will eventually come ... once the book contracts come.

Cheap airline flights from the mountains to the desert.

Amazon Prime.

Progressive lens bi-focals.

Clairol Nice-N-Easy.

L'Oreal face cream ... Alpha Hydroxy face cream ... Arbonne face cream, eye cream, night/day facial serum.

My beautiful home that creaks and groans and sometimes scares me but that always warms my heart. Especially when the wood floors have just been shined.

Deer, fox, squirrels and birds that make my neighborhood a more interesting -- and photogenic -- place to live.

Harness leashes that make it possible for me to walk my dogs despite the deer, fox, squirrels and birds that often cross our path and entice Mickey to bolt.

Colorado weather.

That Granny's dementia keeps her from realizing how compromised her life has become.

Jim's sister who selflessly tends to Granny.

Books -- lots and lots of books that arrive at my door in a steady stream.

Readers who help me read and review many of those books.

Readers who comment.

Readers who don't comment.

Readers who keep coming back, who make me feel like what I write matters.

Children and grandchildren who underscore that everything else that I do -- and have done -- matters.

A husband who encourages me, supports me, and continually dangles in front of me the carrot of hope that awesome things truly are going to come our way.

Yes, indeed, I'm thankful that this past year has proved me to be healthy, wealthy and wise. At least healthier than some, wealthier than many, and wise enough to be grateful for both.

Photo credit: Royalty-free/Corbis

Today's question:

What are you grateful for this Thanksgiving?

Three things I blame on technology

Little kids no longer learn that telephones go brrrrring. 

Because phones no longer ring, they sing ... or scream or crow or play themes from horror flicks or annoying comedy shows.

Coworkers no longer gather around the water cooler to discuss last night's cliffhanger episode of their favorite television series.

Because everyone records shows, to watch on different dates, at different times. Or they catch it on Hulu or iTunes -- alone -- and can't say anything until they're sure others have seen it. By then the thrill, the urgency, the excitement is gone.

Dogs are no longer taught to fetch the newspaper.

Because the news is all read online. Or not at all.

I really shouldn't complain, though, because:

1. I hate talking on the phone.

2. I no longer work in an office so I never engage in chit chat with coworkers about favorite televsion shows.

3. My dogs don't fetch the paper -- which I actually do still read in print -- because some days, fetching the paper myself is about the only exercise I get because I spend much of my time sitting on my cuss blogging. Yet another thing I blame on technology. (Which is more acceptable than blaming it on lack of willpower and motivation, wouldn't you say?)

Photo credits: Click photos for source.

Today's question:

What do you blame on advances in technology?