Peace on earth and mercy mild

I've already told you how much I love the military commemoration. Well, this morning Harper and Hudson and I were at the Children's Museum and I was doing the We're Strangers But We're Moms Chit-Chat Routine with a couple of nice ladies and we were on to Phase 2: How Old Is He/She? (Phase 1 of course being, "He/She is SUCH a cutie/has so much energy/looks JUST like you!") and Mom #2 said her boy would be turning 2 next week and Mom #1 said, "Gosh I don't even know what day it is today," and I piped in, "It's December 7--Pearl Harbor Day," and Mom #1 said, and not in a particularly nice way, "No, that's on December 4, or maybe the 5th. Anyway, it's NOT the 7th." I was a bit taken aback because, while I'm no history whiz, I do have a fair number of dates tucked away in my head. I was pretty sure I was right but she seemed VERY determined that I was NOT. She even whipped out her day planner to check the calendar. At this point Harper had moved on so I followed her, not wanting to gloat.
On a more humbling note, my dear Mrs. B has gently reminded me that the Carmina Burana probably doesn't rank as high art because of the coarse nature of parts of its libretto. Apparently, there is some mention of flatulence. Flatulence never sounded so good though, huh? Speaking of, Harper is learning to say excuse me when said emissions occur only she thinks it's all very amusing. She'll burp and announce, in a very loud voice, much louder than the Offending Noise, "EXCUSE ME I BURPED!" or "I TOOTED PARDON ME!" I wish I could say that in Latin and set it to a haunting dirge.

Angels we have heard

I've been thinking about high art and low art. Jamie had a little quiz thing on her blog a couple of months back that helped ascertain what sort of reader I am. I ranked pretty high on the 'snob' end of things, apparently because I like literature--and not just the required high school stuff. You got more points for Tender is the Night than for The Great Gatsby. I majored in English--they pretty much awarded me with a degree for having spent 4 years reading lots of books. I don't, however, enjoy snobbish thoughts. I do confess to a certain disdain for popular fiction (there are exceptions) because I just think it's frustrating when people don't take their vocation seriously. I think lots of writers stop short of the quality they could attain because they find lots of people who are satisfied, even thrilled, with what they currently write. And this frustration bleeds over into the other arts as well. People mistake popularity with quality. So Britney Spears latest album outsells Alison Krauss what, a hundredfold? And Alison Krauss outsells a recently released album of sacred music performed by a Houston choir that one reviewer proclaimed, "evocative of heavenly glory, whether accompanied or a capella" (and he's not a critic prone to effuse) probably a thousandfold. Here's what instigated my rant today though. On our way to the park we pass neighboring yards that are chock full of inflatable, holiday fun. There's an igloo that houses Santa and Frosty, who take turns popping out. There's a carousel with snow, penguins, polar bears and Santa all enjoying a ride. Harper thinks it is all JUST FANTASTIC. Her eyes get all sparkly, she commends Santa and Frosty for doing such a good job taking turns, she gets positively rhapsodic about the carousel. Toddlers are all about the low art, it seems. She much prefers singing "Where is My Hairbrush?" by Larry the Cucumber, than the "Carmina Burana." (I'm just kidding--she doesn't really sing in Latin) So here's the question: should I take a knife to the inflatable snow globe? Will doing so ensure that Harper will better appreciate Rembrandt? Seriously, I feel the quality of my posts is waning with the December challenge. I think I'll take on politics tomorrow. The New York Times is newly fascinated with the Huckabee campaign.

where the snow lay dinted

It's from "Good King Wenceslas" who, I remembered reading on something in Prague, was never a king, but was decidedly good. I just looked it up. He was a duke. The carol is about the philanthropic duke's venture out into the cold snowy night to render succor to one less fortunate. His page doesn't think he can walk another step so the good duke tells him to walk in his big snowy footprints. So J. got home yesterday, plunged ONCE, and the toilet complied. I was convinced it was because of my arduous work beforehand. After some gentle questioning, J. ascertained that my whole Theory of Plunging was amiss. I had always thought the goal was to use the suction to pull something up so that it could then go down. Apparently, that is not the case.
A nurse came to our house yesterday to draw our blood and test our urine and weigh me (that's right--he had his own scale even) because we are getting life insurance from Jodey's best friend who sat in our living room and witnessed the blood draw, the weigh-in, and, poor boy, the hand off of the urine. A perfect end to a perfect day.
Today, on the other hand, IS glorious. Spent the morning at the zoo with good friends. Rode the carousel. Let's end with a picture since it's been awhile.
Hudson likes to keep his toes curled up sometimes.

in the bleak midwinter

I'm pretty sure there's a chapter in one of Martha Stewart's books: "Nothing Says Welcome Like a Toilet That Just Won't Flush." So far today:

*the toilet has overflowed AND defied all efforts to be plunged
*when I needed to put the soaking wet towel that had toilet water on it into the washer I could not because I first needed to put away the mountain of folded clothes stacked neatly on top of the washer which really don't have a place to be put away because there is a baby living in our closet
*which made us late to meet friends at the park which meant we needed to take the car. Which was on empty.
*phone battery: dead
*forgot to take Hudson's food to the park which meant he had to eat when we got home which meant that he got to sit in the highchair first which made Harper so sad that she started crying inconsolably
* Hudson had been asleep approximately 30 minutes when the UPS guy knocked loudly on the door. Three different times because he kept forgetting things
*He goes back to sleep for around 4 minutes at which point the yard guys with their leaf blowers on full power start wandering aimlessly up and down right outside our apartment. Where there are no leaves.
*He is noisy, presumably because the world is noisy.
*Harper wakes up having slept about a third of her usual nap
* We have company arriving any minute.
*My hair is enormous, my clothes don't match, my back hurts from all the plunging.
I feel so gracious.

Once in Royal David's City

This is my favorite carol and I'll tell you why. The first time I ever remember hearing it was when I was visiting my friend Yvonne the Liverpudlian in England and we went to a Christmas Eve service in this cavernous old church and there was a choir of men and boys and they sang it and it was dark and there were candles and it. was. sublime. I remember reading once that the old cathedrals were built to make us look upward and realize that God is Most High. What a wondrous and mystical thing to be reminded that God is Most High right when you're celebrating God being born most low.

There's a line in the third verse that I would've done well to sing to Harper today:
Christian children all must be
Mild, obedient, good as He.
We had to leave the park early today because she just could not keep it together. She cried when another boy was swinging by her friend Joseph, she cried when she dropped her car while she was riding the airplane, she cried when it was time to share her car. She's generally NOT histrionic in the least. Let's hope tomorrow is a day less cranky.

Away in a manger

Or, as we refer to it at our house, Baby Jesus in a Box.
In the bathtub last night, Harper's bath animals were playing and she decided Seahorse was hereafter to be referred to as 'Padua.'
"Did you say Padua?" I asked.
"Yes, Padua."
"Where did you get that name Harper?"
"Ikea."
"Ikea?"
"Yes m'am. Ikea has lots of names."

She has been to Ikea twice. It apparently made an impression.

Gentle Mary Laid Her Child

I have accepted Jamie's challenge to blog each day in December whilst using Christmas carols as titles. Won't this be fun! The connection will be oblique at times but together, we will find it. Last night Harper was playing with Hudson in the little play yard thing while I got her dinner ready. He was giggling so I asked, "What's so funny?" I'm giving Hudson a hug, she said. I looked over and it turns out what she really meant to say is, "I am lying on top of Hudson with my full body weight and he is laughing because apparently that's what babies do when they have sustained a liver laceration from blunt force trauma." I got her off lickety split and he was making this weird, pained sort of groan because before the hug happened, he'd apparently been sitting up on his knees which were now folded underneath him at a strange angle. It's a good thing babies are so bendy. Everyone was ok. Harper kept asking, "What I did?" So we had a big discussion about The Nature of Hugs.