On the upside, my husband has been spoiling me rotten with attention and milkshakes. I can’t lie, I love having his full attention. What can I say? He’s super cute. I may or may not be milking this a bit.

One of my steri-strips tore off a few days ago, caught on my fingernail as the pants went down. After Stu scraped me off the floor and convinced me that I was NOT seeing straight into my ovary, I recovered the incision with the first thing I could find: A Dora band-aid.

Sidenote: I’m a total wuss. My face changes and drains color like a chameleon, and no amount of willpower can stop it.

Blake saw the Dora band aid this morning and was fascinated. This is the exact position he assumed when he said, “So, I’m sharing my Dora band aids with you now?”

As you can only imagine, Stu has recently acquired a very real and fresh appreciation for the single parents out there. I’ve belly laughed (no small feat) at some of the tasks whose existence he had been completely unaware of. We are both so spoiled by each other that we’re incapable of doing each other’s job. Thank God we have friends who’ve provided meals for us, because I honestly was getting a tad worried for a minute. He’s also just been bored. A Stu without a project is almost no Stu at all. He’s been forbidden to accidentally rip up even one tile in the bathroom that he’s dying to remodel, so he’s been roaming the house, hunting for a low-cost project to occupy his hands. A trip down to the basement proves that he’s found one:

There’s a hole in the wall, Dear Liza.

He’s going to put built-in shelving in the space under the stairs. It’s actually super cool, but I can’t help but laugh at his technique. He knows that if he puts a hole in the wall, there’s no turning back.

I gotta go, my alarm just said I can take another pain pill. See ya in rehab!

It’s an outpatient procedure, so once I prove that I can eat, drink and pee, I’ll be back home.  I’m hoping we find a problem that is fixable, and no problems that are serious.I talked about this on facebook and was humbled by the outpouring of love by my friends. I’m grateful that this is nothing serious, so many of you are dealing with so much more. Perspective is not lost on me.

Now, can we discuss fasting for a moment? There’s something about knowing I can’t eat that makes me the most revenous woman on the planet at 9am. The procedure’s not til 2:15, Stu’s going to have a long day with a very hungry woman.

I would achieve the perfect state if I were able to decipher my own selfish emotions from the God-given desires of the heart. I know, from past experience, that God places the appropriate desires in our heart when we are walking closely to him and letting his Holy Spirit guide us. My prayer, daily, is that I know his voice so well that the longings of my heart fit into his purposes for my life. I pray that he would take this longing from me, if it is never to be fulfilled. If he wants for us to adopt a child, instead, I’m more than willing. He hasn’t ignited that fire in me, though, and I fervently pray he will when the time is right.

Yesterday, after taking another negative pregnancy test, I headed off to Tuesday morning Bible study (feet may have been dragging ever so slightly). What a gift those Tuesday mornings are! There, I find a community of women who are of many different ages, ethnicities, upbringings, callings, marital statuses, and even types of mothers. I study with women who have birthed their own large families, women who have adopted their whole beautiful families from this country and other countries, by taking in children at ages ranging from infancy to grown kids. I study with women who have never even been able to have one beautiful child, whose longings must feel a thousand times more insurmountable than mine. Some of the women have been blessed with children, only to have them taken back to heaven all too quickly. Watching the strength of their faith makes me catch my breath. Some are battling life threatening illnesses, and some are concerned with finding work for them or their husbands. Several in our group are actively working to improve the lives of drug addicted people, feed and clothe the homeless, care for and counsel terrified pregnant girls, and some are not there often because they have commited their lives to full time ministry as missionaries. When people accuse Christians of not caring about social issues, I usually chuckle at the fact that they clearly don’t hang out with many Christians. The women I spend time with on a regular basis completely humble me. We are so different. Yet we all have a common goal: to draw closer to God. With that common goal, we find a beautiful bond to one anotherr. It’s the perfect place to be when I’m finding myself completely confused and exasperated. If you are a believer who is not regualrly spending time with people who will encourage you in your faith, I know for a fact that you are more and more susceptible to doubt and lies. Just yesterday morning, I found myself asking a tiny little question that is a seed of doubt: “Does God care?” They can see my struggle and they remind me of what is true: God cares deeply. God has good plans for my family, and there is still so much to be learned from this wait.

We’re studying the birth of Christ and just learned about how Mary, when told that she would be the mother of God’s Son, exhibited amazing faith. She believed God and submitted immediately. Yet, in his great mercy, he still told her how she could find earthly confirmation for her amazing experience. He told her that her (barren) cousin Elizabeth, in her old age, had also concieved a baby. The scripture says that Mary hurried to her cousin (no short journey). On that journey, she must have wondered a couple of times if she was crazy. maybe she questioned if that announcement from the angel really happened, or if she had had an amazing dream. But then she got to Elizabeth’s house. Upon hearing Mary’s greeting, it says that the baby in Elizabeth’s womb lept and that she immediately prophesied what Mary alreadey knew: that she was carrying the Son of God. In God’s mercy, he provided a friend for Mary with whom she could commiserate during such an intense time in both their lives. He let her have real and earthly confirmation. He’s good to us. I’m glad he gave us friendship.

1. I don’t get all hyped about New Years Resolutions, but I have one for this year. I’d like to get back to making my own bread. I started way back here and actually stuck with it for quite some time, but life got busy and one purchased loaf turned into another.

2. Blake has taken on the hysterical new habit of calling Stu my husband, as if he’s someone I dated and married after Blake came along. He says things like “Mom! Your husband helped me put my shoes on!” and “Does your husband have to go to work today?” My favorite, though, was when he woke up on Stu’s birthday, with Team Fahs (who had been over for a slumber party). He looked around and yelled, “Hey kids!! Today is my mom’s husband’s birthday!”

3. I’m pleased to announce that Blake is as in love with Christmas as I am. Without a huge barrage of presents. We (kind of and mostly) stuck to our 3 present rule (although one grandmother cheated some). Santa brought him a 9.99 cardboard playhouse and markers with which to color it. Santa actually left Blake a letter saying that he couldn’t help but pull out Blake’s own awesome train set and playing a bit before he left. Blake hadn’t seen that train set in months and Santa had set it up using just about every piece, which really added to the wow factor of Christmas morning. B played with his own toy for quite some time!

I was honestly a bit scared that without a huge pile of presents, I wouldn’t be able to captivate him with the holiday. I was wrong. When I explained that we were taking down the tree, his lip poked out in, truly, the saddest face. He began to cry and just said, “I don’t want Christmas to be over.” Me neither, kid.

4. I’m nervous and excited to start running again, hopefully this week. Breaking my toe back in October really threw me out of what had been a successful running streak. As soon as the coughing fits lay off, I’m starting back. They’re getting better everyday, everyone in this house is almost sleeping through the night without a cough party. Anyways, I’ve been using the holidays to pad my start weight so that my results would be even more inspiring.

5. We chose not to travel this year for Christmas, and the quality time that we’ve had here at home with Blake has been absolutely priceless. He’s maturing into a little boy before my eyes. 2 nights ago, while I was making dinner, he asked to help. He’s been asking that about everything, and I so want to encourage him! I thought he’d lose interest pretty quickly, but this time he didn’t. He poured ingredients into the pan, helped me stir, grated cheese, and watched our casserole de leftovers as it baked. Then he asked if we could make juice. We did happen to have entirely too many oranges and limes, so I agreed to pull out the juicer. Stu came in to help me peel (the worst part of juicing). We tackled the limes and handed B one orange. we figured that would entertain him until we finished everything else. That boy surprised us both and peeled all of the oranges! He stuck with us through the juicing process as well, and we both marveled at our son, who had just started and finished a very tedious task! His prayer before dinner: “Dear Lord, thank you that I could play and have SO much fun with my family.” Amen

6. Pamela gave Blake the Jesus Storybook Bible for Christmas. I love this book more than words can express. It takes the stories of the Bible and simplifies them, so that my little boy can understand them. We are reading a couple every day and he is loving it! More importantly, it explains how every story, starting with Adam and Eve, points to Jesus. I’ve been moved to tears several times, because I myself had not realized how connected these stories were.

Finally, Happy New Year to you! The Hills have high hopes that 2012 is the year, one way or another, we become a family of 4… or 5! 

B: Where are Migi and Big Daddy?
Me: You know where they are, they went home to Texas.
B: I want to be at Texas.
Me: We’ll visit Texas soon, but this is our home.
B: I want Texas to be our home.
Me: I do too sometimes, but this is where Daddy’s job is. And without a job, we can’t pay for a house or car or even toys (gasp).
B: I think Migi will share a toy with me and I’ll live at her house and ride in her car.

Ok, well it’s settled then. Get ready, Migi, we’re movin’ in!!

I’m so glad Pamela snapped this, even though we’re missing several in it.

I had prepared song sheets with lyrics to as many carols as I could think of, and I know that people expected me to take the lead,since a) I sing and b) I had proposed that we carol. I was truthful with everyone, in disclosing that I had never carolled and didn’t know how you really do it. Everyone thought I was kidding, so they followed my lead in the first cul-de-sac and eventually realized that I truly had no idea. For the 2nd annual Christmas Extravaganza, we’ll be much better prepared.

Once we got the hang of things, we rang a doorbell at a time, and sang for whoever showed up. One of our kids ran up to the house to give out a candy cane and (hopefully) told them Merry Christmas. We’ll know to coach them better next time. For instance, I forgot to tell Blake NOT to go into anyone’s house. You live and learn. Many families came out to listen, and one adorable family spread over their whole porch and even sang along. One woman politely stood with dishtowel in hand, too nice to tell us that she probably had a pot roast needing to come out of the oven. And some people peeked through their blinds and then pretended to not be home. The kids ran some circles around us, and my favorite parenting moment was watching Pamela deftly grab little Quinn as he whizzed by (probably being chased by Blake), her teeth clenched and yet never missing a note of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” While we were about half a mile away (more than 20 of us, including babies), it started raining. We had also encountered our least friendly homes on our route at about that time (we’d been going for well over an hour). The moment could’ve been quite a downer, but I looked around to see smiles all around. We walked back, in the rain, singing, but since we were spread out over a block along the sidewalk, it sounded like we were going in rounds.

As we got close to our cul-de-sac again, we decided to gather up and give it one last song, for no one in particular. We chose “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and everyone really sang their hearts out. A woman who lives a few houses down from me heard us and came out. She made a beeline for me and looked so earnest, I honestly thought we were in trouble. She asked, “Would you guys please come sing for my mom? I’ve been trying so hard to bring Christmas to her, but she’s homebound.” I had met her mother, and I knew that she had quit her job and remodeled her home in order to care for her. Her mom suffered from severe dementia, among other things, and I knew that caring for her was a labor of love. She led us around back, to stand just outside her mom’s (Miss Mary’s) window. We sang and sang, we were so thrilled to be there! We couldn’t tell for a while if Miss Mary was really aware of us, but she was watching, and her daughter stood by her chair, crying. At one point, I debated whether or not we should keep singing, but Emily pointedly looked at me and began “Go Tell it on the Mountain” with a vengeance. I took the hint. After another few minutes, Miss Mary raised and waved her arms as if she were directing us and she smiled! She continued smiling, and by the next song, her daughter was dabbing Miss Mary’s eyes. Miss Mary was not the only one crying. We stood there in the rain, singing as passionately as we could, and most of us had tears streaming down our faces. It was, hands down, my favorite moment of Christmas.

As we wished Miss Mary a Merry Christmas and started filing out, her daughter just kept hugging us and repeating to each of us, “This was just magic, it’s a miracle, you’ve made our Christmas, you just don’t know how much we needed this.” I heard Pamela respond, “God knows.”

Does she know that while we were making her Christmas, she was making ours?

Last week I was feeling like Charlie Brown.

We’ve made an effort this Christmas to simplify the holiday and spend it together, enjoying what we have and not concentrating so much on what we’d get. We decided that, as a family, we’d each get 3 gifts (if it was good enough for Jesus, it’s good enough for us). We also told our extended family to not expect much from us, and in return, they need not gift us that year either. It was refreshing to see how many people were just plain relieved. I decided, however, to give some crafty presents, making frames for some people. The gifts were kind of cute and simple, but of course, I waited too long to have my pictures printed. As it turns out, if you need pictures printed on the week before Christmas, you are screwed. I’m not going to go into the saga, or tell you how much time was wasted by dealing with Walgreens and Target. I’ll just say that, by about 5pm last Wednesday, I was in tears over photo processing. There were many other factors contributing to my pre-Christmas breakdown (including B’s trip to the ER, our illnesses, a couple of disagreements with law enforcement-yup-, the lights in my garland going out and the shortage of white lights in this town, and the fact that the laundry fairy was stubbornly absent). Regardless, I was a mess.

I knew in my heart of hearts that these things were not important. I know why we celebrate Christmas, but I was still overwhelmed. What was getting to me was that realization that comes with parenthood: The magical feeling that comes with Christmas did not just happen. It had a great deal to do with my own parents’ very hard work. They went to great effort to ensure that I understood the birth of Christ and His meaning on earth. They also went to great effort to make the celebration of that day the most fun I had every single year. I want my son to think of Christmas and feel that warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with it. Mom, Dad, whatever you did, you did it well. My childhood memories of Christmas conjure up the happiest emotions you could imagine. I can still close my eyes and picture our old living room, complete with green carpet and brick hearth with the huge wood burning stove blowing warm air; the tree with a million childhood ornaments on it and the puffy painted stockings. I remember going to church on Christmas Eve for our candlelight service. I vividly remember coming home after church to open our one Christmas Eve present, and Dad making us hold those presents in our lap while he read about the birth of Christ in Luke 2. I listened to that story with great concentration, because I needed it to be OVER so I can tear into that present. I’ll do the same thing to my son (and we did), because that tradition served it’s purpose. I love that story. I know it by heart. Just like Linus, I can repeat it if someone wants to know what Christmas is really all about. We had Christmases abounding with amazing gifts, and then there was the Christmas after our house flooded when we lived in someone’s guest house and were allowed to ask for one $20 gift.  I’m getting to my point, but honestly, it’s difficult to stop reminiscing about my childhood Christmases. And I don’t think I’m the only one who thinks it’s very important to pass that feeling onto our kids.

That Wednesday night, as I sat in my living room, pouting, the doorbell rang. My mother, all the way from Texas, had sent me the cutest little candy cane-themed flower bouquet that I had ever seen. At that very moment, all of those childhood emotions came flooding back and I cried the happiest tears. I know how many of my friends were missing their mothers at that very moment, and I felt awesomely grateful that mine was sending me flowers. Oh, how happy I was to be snapped back into reality by those pretty flowers.

I felt like Charlie Brown when all of his friends decorated the tree he had picked and yelled, “MERRY CHRISTMAS CHARLIE BROWN!”

-I just got an allergy shot and it’s already KICKING MY BUTT. I bet you wish I could get my allergies under control as much as I do. Because then I would stop talking about them. I have sneezed at least 275 times this morning. Blake asked if I would please stop.

-During the cantada yesterday, I could not look at you and Blake out there. It made me cry every time. We are so lucky.

-Your little boy woke up late, and the first thing he did was cry and tell me that he did not want to go to preschool. He was slightly perked up by the time I left him there. Mostly, though, my heart is broken. I want to go get him and snuggle him.

-Your house is a WRECK. Who’s in charge around here?

-Your laptop doesn’t want to type u’s, the battery doesn’t hold a charge, the charger won’t keep it charged unless it’s under duress, and it refuses to show what I’m typing for about 5 minutes. I want a mac next.

-If you’ll call HR about our insurance, I’ll call Verizon about our bill. Deal?

-You helped me get through an INSANE week last week, and now I’m ready to spend some QT with my man (that’s you).

-You turn 35 this Saturday!! Which makes you 4 years older than me again, as it should be.

-I love you. Come home? I’ll be here.

It was a regular love-fest.

I sat him down in my lap and told Blake that we are very blessed to have a family with a mommy and daddy. I told him that there are little boys and girls out there that don’t have mommies and daddies. I asked him what he thought about adopting a little girl or boy and being their family. I explained that I could be her mommy and he could be her big brother. He seemed pretty excited about the idea, then he got quiet. Just when I thought I’d lost him (I was sure he was about to ask if he could watch Wonder Pets), he looked at my eyes and asked me a serious question:
“Will you still be MY mommy?”

Oh sweet boy. Always and forever.