Hupdates
I am not so much feeling my blog this week. Sorry. I have more things to do than hours to do them in and I am coming down with a cold to top it all off. The Neighbor graciously agreed to take some pictures of us Huckablogs for Christmas cards and my two year old decided he just was NOT going to cooperate. Son:1 Pictures:0.
Ellie-Mae got spayed today and is spending the night at the vet. I did not realize how attached I had gotten to that little mop head, but I have really missed her under my feet today.
My parents and grandparents are crossing the country on what has been dubbed their farewell tour to see my grandparent’s siblings. Depressing, No? Also, my mom is my editor so email with any glaringly embarrassing mistakes over the next two weeks please.
Hmm. What else? Oh, I got my hair cut, and she even did my eyebrows so I no longer look like Groundskeeper Willie.
We went to the circus for MMiL’s birthday, it was fun, but either circuses have gotten smaller or my memory has exaggerated them. The Son’s favorites were the elephants.
He looked like this during their entire routine.
We also went to go see Santa last night. All The Son has said he wants for Christmas is a penguin. Um, sure sweetie. Perhaps Santa should take back the toddler laptop and transporter truck and put the money towards a Sea World fund.
Anything else? Oh, Christmas decorations are STILL in their boxes but a little progress has been made. Do you like the wad of lights in the front? The Son helped.
Christmas Changes
update: the next afternoon…Did you know sometimes I lay in bed and think about my blog? Is that weird? Probably, but it is true. So I was lying in bed thinking about what kind of Christmas tree we had. Was it spruce? I knew it was not pine…..I know it was FUR ! Wait is it fur, or is it FIR? Hmmm. Well it must be fur because The Husband proofread that (this) post for me, and he did not correct it, and he always spells things right, so fur it is. You know what? We were both wrong, the difference was lovingly illustrated by my darling brother–you know the one who has time to make FUR trees, but not update his own blog that I still stupidly check twice a day. Now I could go back and change all of my furs to firs and edit your comments, but that is hardly keeping it real now is it. Presenting a FUR tree, by JHJ, for those of you who “don’t click on links” .
——————–update over——————————————————–
I am waiting for The Husband to help me put up the Christmas tree. How long have I been waiting? Nine days! Yes, Internet, nine days. I wanted it up right after Thanksgiving. Progress has been made. The floor has been cleared of Hot Wheels and blocks in that general vicinity. The huge plastic crate has been removed from the attic, and the pole that is at the center of the thing is standing proudly in its plastic stand. Why do I feel like Christmas is passing me by when it is only December 7th? I feel so impatient. I am always looking forward to what comes next instead of enjoying the right now.
When I was a little girl we always had real trees. Real as in wood and needles instead of plastic and metal, not real as in some sort of existential dilemma. My father was very firm that it must be real. We would go to a Christmas tree lot, have the yearly argument between pine or fur, buy a fur because my dad always got out voted, and tie it on to the top of our minivan. Then it would sit outside in a big galvanized tub for a few days. Why? I have no idea, something about water or bugs or something. I think it was because my dad had to break up the festivities into as small of increments as possible. It would sit there and JHJ and I would just look at it and ask, “Today?” “Mom, can we decorate it today?” “Daddy, will you bring it in tonight?” That is where I am right now, waiting, waiting, waiting…., tonight Husband?
My dad would repeat every year, “No singing Christmas carols until after Mom’s birthday (12/16).” “Bah, Hum Bug!” “Why do we need all of this junk?” “I am going to take the batteries out of that thing!”. Why? I have no idea about that one either, but then around my mom’s birthday he would lug the big fur onto the driveway, trim it with a saw and hedge clippers, screw it into the base he made, carry it inside, fill it up with water, help put on the lights, pull out the big ladder to perch the angel at the top, and watch us decorate it. On Christmas morning we always had already put together and charged up toys from Santa, and a few presents wrapped in old maps or newspaper, a coffee can with rocks in the bottom to make it heavy and clank if we tried to shake it to guess what was inside, they would be tied with a bungee cord or a length of rope–my father’s wrapping signature. Inside would be something awesome, something we loved and did not even know that we wanted.
The tree would come down on New Year’s Day, the carols banned for another 349 days. We never felt like we missed anything. In fact maybe it was so special because it was contained into such a tight little two week period.
Tonight I was at my parents house helping decorate their pre-lit plastic fur. I was singing Silent Night, and dad put batteries in a singing snowman for The Son. I thought I wanted change, but now I am not so sure. Bah, Hum Bug.
Filed under Family-blame the DNA | Comments (10)Not Dead.
Hey Internet! I am not dead, I might have just been a wee bit burnt out after NaBloPoMo, and have been super busy this week. I have a real post I think I can get up tomorrow, but in the mean time I am off to the circus!
I made the mistake of telling The Husband and The Son that we were not decorating for Christmas until the house was clean, so now I am going to be stuck in Thanksgiving until Valentine’s Day. Last night after giving myself punch serving elbow from helping my mom, I got my Christmas fix over at my friend’s site doing this. I recommend ya’ll go play to!
Filed under NaBloPoMo, stupidity | Comments OffShe only looks at the pictures.
Today is my MMiL’s birthday, but she told me she only comes here to look at pictures of The Son, so I will put up some cute ones and we can talk about her and she will never know.
I really do love my MMiL. Not just for the obvious reasons like she raised my husband and is an awesome grandmother to my son, but because I like her for the person she is. She is so incredibly smart, and I think everyone in the states calls her up or emails her when they have an education question. She is a real Christian, but not just a static one, I feel like I have really seen her grow in her faith just in the past year.
She is so incredibly generous that she would give anything she had to anybody who needed it, and we will not even begin to talk about how kind she is to animals. I can think of a 107 year old dalmation and a deaf mutt that could tell you volumes about that.
She is also funny, she has that intelligent, dry sense of humor I love, but can also giggle at a well told pun. She is a good mixture of being a tom boy (you should hear her favorite movies–she hates The Sound of Music!) and a feminine lady (she once fixed the plunging neckline of a dress I was wearing while it was still on my body minutes before a wedding. In heels! With a corsage!)
We like the same books, and swap thought provoking biographies and bodice ripping novels back and forth all the time. Next she gets Wicked and I get Twilight.
She is open to sharing advice about The Son if I need it, but never gives it unsolicited. She does not even roll her eyes at me when I refuse to put anything in his room that is not nautically themed. Well, maybe she does a little, but she hides it well.
I know that I can trust her at anytime with my son and that she will never ever let him do dangerous things…like climb trees, or swing way too high.
When The Husband and I got married we lived in a different town from both sets of parents, and while I did like her….I really did not know her. I really wanted to call her Mom and FFiL Dad, but it always got stuck on my tongue and never came out right. I guess my heart felt bad since I have such great parents, no matter what my brain was saying. I kinda gave up and just called her by her first name instead. It could have been worse–I could have been calling her Mrs. Huckablog like legions of seventh graders out there. Now, I call her Gigi more than anything else, it is what The Son calls her, and is a good fit of a loving nickname for me too.
I think she does read thehuckablog when she can and just scans it for new pictures daily, I mean come on and look at this kid. That is probably what most of you do.
That’s okay. Even if she never knows it, I do love her, and even better I love her not because I have to, but because I just do. Happy birthday Gigi.
Winter is coming.
When do you think the cliche of saying someone is in the autumn of life started? I would detest it if I did not feel it was so true. Septuagenarians, maybe Octogenarians, are enjoying the umber fruits they have sown, the golds of family and friends, bright reds of leisure time, the deep purples of being sharp of mind and yet full of wisdom.
But winter is coming. Their bodies turning from the lushness of summer to the achy coolness of fall to the frail and sharp branches of December. I will be 29 in January and have three living grandparents, four including The Husband’s “Nanny”. I have never lived in the same town with any of them until this year, and it makes me sad that I am getting to know them just in time for winter.
This fall is breathtaking, colors and textures, memories and love dripping from every moment, every vista. Beauty as far as I can see. But winter is coming, quickly, with fewer leaves and abilities everyday. I realize how lucky we are to have them, I just know how much harder it is to be here to see the leaves, the thoughts, the able bodies, the words fall away from them. Energy zapped from a half hour shopping trip, branches stripped and emptied from a mild breeze.
They know winter is coming, that the worst is still ahead, that they will be left cold. Scared. Bare. I don’t think winter is going to be pretty. We have tried to prepare by tucking away things that can be damaged by frost, by anticipating the bald branches, and steeling ourselves for the iciness of loss.
Winter is coming, and it will be hard, but we know spring always follows winter, new life springs from the fallen leaves of autumn. That new life will be be more awesome than any colors or flowers or soft winds we could possibly imagine. Winter is coming, but, oh, what a spring they will have.
Filed under Family-blame the DNA, Photography, faith | Comments (8)