DutchInLaw

I hesitate while filling in the website form. Me, a teacher? I was looking for a free download, not a psychological cross-examination. I'm browsing a resources website while Pippin naps. By entering simple information like my email address and a little about myself, I get access to free downloads like coloring pages and preschool 'printables'.   It only takes a few seconds to fill in my info, down to the last question or two. A few simple clicks will get me to the downloads page I'm looking for. The part that's making me pause is the dropdown box with, "I teach___ " and then a drop-down menu. The choices range from pre-K to homeschool to adult education. There's also a simple "I don't teach" option. 

It's funny how Christmas takes on different flavors as I get older. December as a whole becomes different, and instead of a spectator, I'm the orchestra director. I'm the one doing the Christmas magicking, whereas as a child it just seemed to happen. Back then, the music wrapped around the days in a soundtrack of jingle bells and choirs. My parents called us downstairs for the Christmas story, and explained our traditions as we lit candles and unpacked the tree. My mother taught us special Advent crafts, and we made ornaments of clay or felt that represented Baby Jesus coming to this world to show God's persistent love to surprised humans. As a child, I watched as presents appeared under the tree, and wrapping paper rolls appeared in the closet. Guests showed up at our house to feast and laugh and hug. As an adult, and especially as an adult living in Holland, I know that Christmas dinners only happen when everyone synchronizes their schedules and messages about who...

"Can you call me instead of ringing the doorbell when you come? I just put Pippin down for a nap...." I text. The sanding machine starts up with a roar five minutes later. The workman warbles. The ladder creaks. I debate my choices. It's been a good morning. My mother-in-law came by for coffee this morning, then 'parked' a bag with us to pick up later. "No problem, we'll be home all day," I had told her cheerfully, but that was before the workman arrived. A friendly bear of a man rang the doorbell holding a bucket and asked politely for some warm water. He said he'd be sanding and scraping today, and working on the old white wallpaper in the stairwell (who wallpapers a stairwell in the first place?) Since we three inside were having coffee and pastry, why not share? My parents used to make entire pots for workmen, and I feel very grownup to be able to offer some from my own kitchen. The workman returns the coffee cup and plate at bre...

Our lives are made In these small hours These little wonders, These twists & turns of fate Time falls away, But these small hours, These small hours still remain -Rob Thomas I'm sitting on the kitchen floor with my toddler. Lasagna is in the oven and we're licking the sauce pot. Soon he'll be off to play with blocks or demolish a pile of laundry, but for now, it's perfect. It's the kind of homey relaxed moment I want my life to be filled with as a mama. There are a lot of those moments in my days and weeks. But there are also other moments that are everything but homey or relaxed. And who takes photos of the tough times, or talks about those tear-my-hair-out and we-may-never-have-another-kid moments?

Marinate chicken, fry it on high. Start to set the table, soothe a hungry 1 year old, then hurry back to the kitchen when you remember the stove is still on. Hurriedly remove now-smoking chicken from heat. Open a window before the smoke alarm starts, then whirl to rescue bottles from 1 year old who is exploring the usually gated kitchen. Yell accidentally at 1 year old, remove 1 year old from kitchen, remember to turn off fire while still holding smoking pan. Put chicken down, shut kitchen gate, and apologize to the now-crying 1 year old. Kiss husband when he walks in the door in the middle of the chaos. Accept compliments on the smoky yet sweet flavor of the new favorite dish.

Our house is relatively child-proof, but Pippin keeps getting older and faster. If I leave a door open, he finds it, guaranteed.