The Holly and the Ivy

The little kids sang this carol at church today and it was really sweet. I especially liked the motions that went along with "the running of the deer."

The rest of this post will have nothing to do with the title.

I did a little math all by myself today because I couldn't find the calculator (the apocalyptic scenario that your math teacher always warned you about). Houston has a new mayor and only around 160,000 people voted in the election. That's about 6% of the 2.2 million people who live here. The winner of the election got 53% of those 160,000 votes, which means the lady newly in charge of running the city got there even though just 3.6% of Houstonians bothered to vote for her. That should be national news, don't you think? But that's not the detail of this election that got the coverage.

We got our sweet neighbor to come over and take a family picture of us today with the hope that I might actually get a decent one that I could put on some sort of Christmas card that I might actually send out at some point. I look tired and pale and generally grotesque in every single shot. Hudson has a runny nose. Harper chose pink sparkly shoes that in no way matched her red tights. Helena insisted on eating her shoes. Maybe we'll try again, or maybe we won't. I actually kind of like the picture I took of our porch swing about 10 minutes before the photo shoot commenced. I was trying to see if there was going to be enough light for my point and shoot camera to focus without a flash. I think the shadow of the lattice is kind of pretty. Inanimate objects are so much more cooperative. Of course the sun had disappeared by the time we got everyone situated. Here's one the husband took after the family shoot fell apart. Hudson was busy smashing up a big pile of leaves with a long stick. Because that is what little boys do.

no crib for a bed

The husband was not familiar with the Josh Groban "Little Drummer Boy" and maybe you aren't either. If so, the Hudson clip wasn't as funny as it might have been. Suffice it to say that Mr. Groban does some of his trademark show-boaty vocals all over a couple of the verses, and that is what Hudson was apparently attempting to emulate. Something else you might have noticed is that Hudson is still sleeping in a pack-and-play. Yes, that is his actual "bed." He has slept in it every single night of his almost 3 years. It fit perfectly into our small walk-in closet that was his room for the first 16 months or so of his life. Then when we moved we got a bed for Harper and intended to move him into the real crib. Then I found out I was pregnant with Helena so we thought we'd just skip the crib and move him into a real bed. Only I was afraid it would mess up his wondrous sleep habits. And so, here we are. Maybe for his birthday he'll get a bed. Or maybe not.

Six years ago this week I went to see the film "Bonhoeffer" at the Angelika theatre in Dallas with some friends. One of the fellows in the group offered me his coat during the movie because I was cold. A week later we had our first date. Six months later we had a wedding. Six years later we two have become five. Isn't that something?

I played my best for Him

We heard the Josh Groban version of "Little Drummer Boy" on the radio yesterday and it apparently had quite an effect on Hudson:

and the government shall be upon His shoulder

I know all politics is local blah, blah, blah, but I have a really hard time caring about politics at all, and summoning up enthusiasm for local politics is almost impossible for me. I got a thing in the mail yesterday, apparently because I have at some point voted in a party primary, telling me whom I should vote for in Houston's upcoming run-off election. I abhor fear-mongering. Are there really voters who vote on the lesser of two evils principle? Basically this mailer told me which of the candidates had been endorsed by "radical" liberal groups! and that I should run, run! to the polls and vote for the other candidate. And I feel sickeningly certain that there are similar mailers going out urging people to vote against candidates who've been endorsed by "radical" conservative groups as well. The only thing it really stirs in me is a whole lot of apathy.

In this week's New Yorker there is a fascinating portfolio of portraits of world leaders. One of the staff photographers got permission to set up a studio at a recent United Nations meeting, and he somehow persuaded all of these guys (and a few ladies) to sit for individual portraits. With a few exceptions, they are all black and white head shots. It's funny how these close-up images of someone's face reveal very little. What's even funnier is the order in which the photographs have been placed. Ahmadinejad has a hint of a smile, his eyes crinkled in the corners, possibly because Obama is on the facing page, so that when the magazine is closed, the two are smashed together, eye-to-eye, lip-to-lip. On the next page is Israel's Benjamin Netanyahu, his face smashed into Mahmoud Abbas, President of the Palestinian Authority. A few pages later, Dmitry Medvedev, President of Russia who, when the magazine is closed, is kissing the poisoned, pock-marked face of Ukraine's Victor Yushenko. Flip that page over and look into the faded irises of Zimbabwe's Robert Mugabe, who is facing four smaller photos of other African rulers, one of whom, Kenya's Raila Odinga, appears to be glancing sidelong at Mugabe's face with a look of fearful wariness. It's compelling to look at these human faces and know the horror that some of them have orchestrated. And yet none of them looks evil. Only a few are conventionally handsome (Obama, Netanyahu, Medvedev, and Mexico's Felipe Calderon) and several are comically strange looking (the Prime Minister of Ireland must be a dream for political cartoonists). Some came to power through democratic elections, many others through force. It's simultaneously comforting and terrifying to realize that these faces, that pretty much look like your grandfather or the lady at the post office who always moves in slow motion even though the line is out the door, represent nations that aren't remotely united. Someday it will be made right. Here's a picture of Helena drumming on a coffee can to lighten the mood. She said her favorite portrait is Silvio Berlusconi, the Prime Minister of Italy. He's doing this cheeky wink and nod thing that she finds rather charming.

sleep in heavenly peace

I was out doing a little shopping tonight while the husband got the kids bathed and in bed and I sprinted into a furniture store in between the shoe store, where I returned some boots that I decided I don't have use for, and Lakeshore Learning, where I was buying some squishy blocks for Helena. I startled the five salespeople who were standing around. I made eye contact with one, explaining that I just wanted a quick moment on a mattress. See, the husband and I sleep on a queen size mattress that I bought in 2001 for around $200. We've been talking about investing in a good mattress since we got married (it's been 6 years this week since our first date. I might tell that story tomorrow) because neither of us sleeps very well. And I actually wake up in pain fairly often. The siren song of Tempurpedic has been luring us for a couple of years now, but I'm just not sure we can justify spending that much money on something to sleep on. I asked the salesperson which was the cheapest and plopped down. I did NOT want to get back up. It felt like a warm embrace of mattress. Feel free to talk me down from my infatuation if you have advice.

Rudy toot-toot and rummy tum tums

Harper and I have been working on one of those little loom potholder things for about 9 months now. Every couple of months she would remember it and say, "Mommy, we need to work on my Gloom." Mostly I had to do the weaving because it's a little tricky for small hands. Then we finished the weaving part and I couldn't for the life of me remember how to finish the edges. So yesterday I found a YouTube video that showed me how to do it. (it looks terrible, by the way) While I was doing that, Harper emptied the entire bag of little loop things, which she also refers to as her Gloom, onto the floor. Then she started wallowing around in it and tossing it up into the air. Then she gathered it all up in a little wagon, poured it on top of herself, and shouted, "I'M COVERED IN MY GLOOM!!!" which made me giggle for several minutes.

Today I was taking Hudson to the bathroom (going fairly well, by the way. Not perfect, but fairly well) and I thought I heard a little something. "Was that a toot?" I queried. "No, it was not a toot in my bottom," he replied, "Was a toot in my mouf." I did tell him that the appropriate terminology for a "mouth toot" is actually a "burp." He has also developed this southern drawl of late, so that 'now' is pronounced "nay-ow" and 'on' is pronounced "aw-wun". This conversation took place at breakfast a few days ago:

Hudson: Puppies like me.
Harper: They like me better.
me: Harper.
Harper: Well, they like me one hundred miles. Hudson you were a baby one hundred years ago. I was a baby one hundred and two thirty ago.

When the snow lay round about

Welcome to Day One of the December Blog Challenge, third edition! I'll be attempting to blog daily for the next two weeks, using titles or lines from Christmas carols as my inspiration.

Off we go.

We got real, live snow in Houston on Friday. The reality of Snow is not even close to the Dream of Snow, as Hudson quickly realized. Snow is cold. And wet. And your mother will make you wear 3 layers of clothes, and her old hat, none of which is waterproof. This will grieve you deeply:

However, if your name is Harper, you say Poo! to the cold, insist that your ballet dress is perfect gear for a blizzard, and are only slightly disappointed when your mother tells you that you must add a few layers (again, sadly, not waterproof). You will take great delight in every minute of your Snow Frolic. You will go through two pairs of mittens AND two pairs of socks (worn on your hands with Ziploc bags and rubber bands) in your quest to fashion snowballs out of the wet mushy icy snow. You will think your swingset is a winter wonderland. You will spend the morning periodically coming in for more "gear" as you call it, ultimately leaving a pile of wet snowy clothes just inside the back door which will make your mother finally understand why people who live in colder climes have a "mud room".
Helena slept all morning. When she woke up I held her at the window and she enjoyed watching the flakes waft down. Which, I decided, is how I prefer to enjoy the snow as well.