Why We Do Christmas

This was going to be my annual Christmas newsletter, and it got too long.  I had to start over and do something different.  But here's the original:

I took on too many Christmas projects this year.  I admit it.  I thought I was Super Woman and it turns out that I’m not.  Shopping and wrapping gifts for what totals to be about 22 people.  Decorating the house to make it glow with merry Christmas cheer.  Making a little stuffed Nativity to keep under the tree for the kids to play with.  Baking pumpkin rolls and biscotti for friends and neighbors.  Sending out 85 Christmas cards.  Writing, printing and folding the ridiculous newsletter that you are now reading.  And then I thought it would be a good idea to make some Christmas gifts.  Yes, MAKE them.  I thought it would be cute to make all of my nieces and nephews and my own two children their own little personalized patchwork pillow with their name embroidered on it.  I was well into the project before I realized that many of them have three-syllabil names.  What was I thinking?  I’ll have to sew my fingers to the bone to get all eight pillows done by Christmas, because I wasn’t struck with my brilliant idea until several days after Thanksgiving.

One day last week I was deeply entrenched in all of these projects, plus a few that I forgot to mention.  It was nearing eleven o’clock in the morning.  I was sitting on the living room floor in my bathrobe, wrapping paper strewn everywhere, Christmas music wafting from the CD player in the kitchen.  There were several dozen biscotti cooling on the kitchen counter, the sink was full of dishes, Patience was running around the house wearing a tu-tu and rubber boots and Benaiah was rolling on a blanket on the floor next to me.  He was probably naked.  I don’t quite remember.  Just when I realized that Patience had gotten into my sewing basket and was scattering straight pins around the house, Ben called. 

I answered the phone while changing Benaiah’s diaper and picking up straight pins at the same time.  “Hello?”

“Hey, Babe!”  His voice was full of Christmas cheer.  “Would it really throw off your day if I came home right now?”

I glanced frantically around at the mass chaos while Benaiah peed on the blanket because I hadn’t gotten his diaper on yet.

“Um, no!  That would be great!”  I lied quickly, got off the phone, and desperately tried to regain some order to the house before he got home.

I failed.  When he walked in the door 30 minutes later, I was still in my robe, the dishes were still in the sink, Patience was still oddly clothed, and Benaiah was still mostly naked.  I’m not sure what I did with that 30 minutes.  I think I picked up straight pins.

Ben stood in the door and surveyed the destruction.  “Wow.”  He said.  “You really do get things cleaned up before I come home.”

Just then our neighbor drove up, so I rushed to slice some lemon bread and make coffee.  Ben disappeared into the bedroom to change.

An hour or so later our neighbor was gone, and I still, STILL hadn't finished anything. Dishes, wrapping, cleaning and sewing all awaited me. The children were not yet clothed properly, and neither was I, so I headed to the bedroom to get dressed.  Finally.

That’s when I saw that I had left Ben’s main Christmas gift from me laying out on the bed.  He had called when I was in the middle of wrapping, and I had forgotten that I left it out.   I went and found him in the carport.

“Um, Babe, did you see something when you went in the bedroom earlier?”

His eyes darted around nervously as he tried to think up a good Christmas lie.  Tears pooled in my eyes and my voice squeaked as I tried not to cry.  “You saw it, didn’t you?  I can’t believe I forgot I left it laying there!”

He came and wrapped his arms around me, because he’s wonderful like that.  “Don’t worry about it, Babe.  I just barely saw it out of the corner of my eye and I looked away, so I don’t know exactly what it is.  I’ll still be a little bit surprised.”

I cried into his plaid flannel shirt for a minute, then shuffled dejectedly back into the house to do dishes.  I stood there looking at the basket full of Christmas card envelopes to be addressed, the counter full of biscotti to be wrapped and put away, the pile of presents still to be wrapped, the sewing basket full of pillows yet to be finished, .  I stood there and I looked at it all and I thought, “Why?  Why in the world am I doing all this?”

Then my gaze rested on the my children happily playing on the brightly colored Christmas quilt I had spread on the living room floor at the foot of the Christmas tree.  Benaiah was rolled over on his side, holding a corner of the quilt and cramming it in his mouth.  Patience was quietly playing with the stuffed Nativity that lives under the tree.  She glanced up at me and held up the little baby Jesus that we keep wrapped like a gift until Christmas morning.  She cradled the tiny gift and said, “Look, Mommy!  This Baby Jesus!  This God!” 

I left the dishes, the biscotti, the pillows and the wrapping and crawled down onto the Christmas quilt with my kids.  I tickled Benaiah’s fat belly, pulled Patience onto my lap, and picked up the red-wrapped Baby Jesus.

Yes, I remembered.  That is why I do all of it.  Christmas is a lot of work.  Indeed it is.  It takes effort to make it special and memorable and different from the day-to-day routine.  But is there anything, ANYTHING routine about God sending His one and only son to earth in the form of a tiny baby?  That is not routine.  That is unusual, mysterious, miraculous.  And it was a huge part of a story that forever changed our relationship with God Himself.  Because of the baby in the manger on that starry night who grew to become the ultimate sacrifice, we can approach God with confidence.

That's a story worth putting effort into.  I want my kids to grow up knowing that Christmas is a very, very big deal.  Not because of the presents and the food and the fun, but because of Jesus.  But I will use the gifts, the baking, the making and the giving as tools to teach them about the beautiful Nativity story.  The tree, the gifts, the food and the mess that comes with it all.  I will continue to put enormous effort into all that Christmas entails because it is an enormous story that deserves enormous recognition. 

Because its worth it to remember.

Ghost of Christmas Past

I need inspiration for my annual Christmas newsletter, so I'm re-posting these in hopes that some form of writing/internet osmosis will occur and I will think of something to write.



Christmas 2010
Dear Friends and Family,

I like to decorate for Christmas.  Wreaths with red berries, green garland, plaid ribbon laced with gold, and the more twinkle lights the better!  I think Ben is still getting used to my extreme love of Christmas, but this year he was the one eager to get the tree up.  I haven’t been feeling quite as Christmasy (is that a word?) as I usually do, but the other day something happened to bring back my Christmas spirit full force.

 I was on my knees in the living room with the season’s paraphernalia piled around me.  Plastic tubs full of lights, half of which didn’t work, rolls of ribbon, and boxes of many small breakable things to hang on the tree.  Ah, and the nativity. I opened the box and even though I’ve seen it before, my breath caught unexpectedly when the tissue wrapping fell from the figure of Mary and Jesus.  She kneels, cradling the baby in her arms, looking down lovingly the way I so often look at Patience. I placed the tiny figurine on the sofa table and sat back, surprised at the unbidden tears that sprung into my eyes. This, I thought, is Christmas.  I know the story of Jesus so well I sometimes forget to think about it.  But as I sat on the floor surrounded by the chaos of Christmas, the enormity of what we are celebrating washed over me.  God sent Jesus, in the form of a tiny baby, to save the world.  So simple, yet so profound.  

What better reason to celebrate? That’s why we hang white icicle lights from our eaves to twinkle out, silently telling those who drive by that Jesus is the Light of the World.  It’s why we give gifts to those we love, reflecting the unmatched generosity of God, who so freely gave us his only Son.

God has blessed us so much this past year.  Ben has successfully built two beautiful cabins in the Beavers Bend area and just started a third.  He’s been able to acquire all the tools he needs for Netherton Construction to be well equipped and keep growing.  He loves his work and even though the days are sometimes long, he often says that it’s satisfying to spend his days creating.  It’s wonderful that he’s able to use his God-given talent to make a living for us. 

Our favorite blessing of the year is obviously Patience Elizabeth, already 8 months old.  We looked forward to having her, but we had no idea how much fun she would really be.  She has two teeth on the bottom, she loves to eat avocados, and her Daddy is her favorite person in the world.  She gets really excited when he comes home from work.  Lots of squealing, bouncing, and big slobbery kisses.

And what do my days look like?  Let’s see, I change diapers, do laundry, clean house, buy groceries and cook.  Then I start all over again.  And I love it.  Our home is the most beautiful place in the world to me, and I’m so thankful I get to spend so much time here, working to make it a pleasant and happy place for Ben and Patience. 

So, back to Christmas.  As you see, God has given us much more than we deserve.  The Christmas season reminds me of that, perhaps because it is the season of giving.  Some like to complain of our culture’s mindless materialism at Christmastime, but I prefer to think of it as a beautiful reflection of God’s great love for us in giving the greatest Gift of all.
Have fun celebrating Jesus!

Benjamin, Sarah and Patience Netherton


Christmas 2011
Dear Friends and Family,

I’ve never felt as unprepared for Christmas as I feel this year. Its just around the corner and I’ve done no Christmas baking, minimal shopping, and this newsletter will reach some of you very late indeed. Half the lights on our tree burned out after we got it up and decorated, I ran out of gift labels so have resorted to writing names on packages with a Sharpie, and when Ben and I poured our first cup of Christmas eggnog we both noticed it had a funny taste. I looked at the jug, and I had grabbed lite eggnog in my rush at the store. What was I thinking? We don’t do lite anything in our house. So, needless to say, I’ve felt a little out of sorts. But, as usual, something happened to put things back in perspective.

I was unpacking my Nativity - most beloved of all Christmas decorations - when Patience came pitter-pattering across the wood floor in her purple striped p.j.’s. She’s just tall enough to see over the edge of the sofa table where I had placed the figure of Mary and Jesus. Dimpled hands gripped the edge of the table and hazel-green eyes stared in wide-eyed wonder. On tip-toe she stretched to gently trace her tiny finger over the figurine. She looked at me, rosy lips puckering into a perfect O, then her gaze locked back onto Jesus. I sat back in the midst of my burned out lights and lists of unfinished Things To Do, and watched my little daughter focus on nothing but Jesus. After a minute she toddled away, leaving little greasy fingerprints on the edge of the table.

I regained my perspective of Christmas that day. It doesn’t matter if I have a dozen strands of lights burned out on my tree. It doesn’t matter if I get around to making thin mints this year. It doesn’t even really matter if I send out this newsletter. All that has purpose and place, but when I start focusing on my lists just for the sake of getting it done as opposed to doing it in celebration of the birth of Christ, my priorities are off. I want to see that figurine of Jesus and Mary the way Patience did, as though for the first time. I want to reach out to Him, and stretch myself as far as I need to. I’ve not yet wiped those tiny fingerprints from the table where the Nativity rests. I leave them there as a reminder to view the miracle of Christmas with the eyes and faith of a child. To see this season for what it really is: the greatest cause for celebration in the history of mankind, because God came to earth. That’s a reason to celebrate, and we will sing his praises, even if we have no thin mints and the eggnog is lite.

Speaking of praising God, we are so thankful to him for his many blessings in our lives. Sometimes I look around, take a deep breath, and wonder how its possible that existence can be so beautiful. We still live in our little grey house in the woods with a creek out back and we love it. Ben is still going strong in the contracting business. He’s developed quite a reputation in the area as an excellent builder. I stay home to keep house and chase Patience who is now a very active 19 month old. She fills the house with laughter and it’s a beautiful sound. Our big news of the year is that we’ll be having another baby in June! We decided Patience needs a little partner in crime. We look forward to the new addition to the Netherton family!

For us, life itself is a reason to celebrate, and the Christmas season just causes us to kick it up a notch. Maybe I’ll get my act together, replace the lights on the tree, whip out a batch of thin mints and actually mail this newsletter. But if not, ‘tis still the season, and that star still shone over Bethlehem. That’s what I’ll think about as I sip lite eggnog. Maybe its not so bad after all.

Have fun celebrating Jesus!

Benjamin, Sarah, Patience and Baby Netherton

A Bitter Diatribe

Fall is definitely here. The leaves are glowing with color, the breeze has become brisk, and the days are shorter.  And everyone on Facebook is putting up pictures of pots of chili, kids posing with pumpkins on a carpet of bright leaves, blah blah blah. 

Except me, because I can't seem to get anything done.  I have all these ideas, and Facebook and blogs don't do anything but frustrate me.  How do all these people manage to take all these pictures and get them on the Internet?  How?  Everyone does it. 

You have the High School kids who are like, "Look, I'm going to take a picture of myself with my cool cell phone and put it on Facebook so all my friends can tell me how pretty I am!  Then I'm going to do it again every single day!"  Please stop doing that.  Its annoying.  It makes you look self-centered, even though you may not be.  And some of you are wondering why I'm friends with High Schoolers on Facebook.  I am now wondering the same thing, because I just remembered that I am thirty years old.

Then you have the young married people who are like, "Look, I'm going to take a picture of this delicious dinner I just made and put it on Facebook so all my friends can tell me how delicious it looks!"  Well, why did you make it?  To take a picture of it or to eat it?  Just eat it, already, before it gets cold.  We're all busy eating our own food.  We don't really care about yours.

There are also the pregnant people who are like, "Look, I'm going to post a picture of my pregnant belly so all my friends can tell me that I'm the most beautiful pregnant person they've ever seen and that I look great!"  I love pregnancy.  I love babies.  Really, I do.  And all of you pregnant people do look great.  I'm just jealous because when I was pregnant I looked like a monster.

Also, there are the young families who are like, "Look, I'm going to post another sixty-five pictures of my kids so all my friends can tell me how beautiful my children are and how perfect my family is!"  Okay, I really do like seeing family pictures.  Just not quite so many.
 
Sometimes I feel like all this Facebook and blogging stuff is just a big popularity contest to see whose life is more perfect.  I'm going to start putting fat pictures of myself on Facebook to make other people feel better about themselves.  Oh, you think the pictures I have on Facebook ARE the fat pictures?  Oh, no, those are my skinny pictures.  Wait till you see the fat ones.  Then you'll really feel good about yourself. 

Okay, disclaimer.  If I sound bitter its because I am.  None of these mean, sarcastic remarks are directed at anyone in particular.  I'm just angry because its two o'clock in the afternoon, I am still wearing stretch pants, my pink eye has returned so my eye is swollen and I'm wearing my glasses that are broken and taped with electrical tape, and Benaiah absolutely refused to take a nap today until just now.  Run-on sentence?  Yes.  And I keep gazing out at the beautiful fall day, wanting to be out there, but it just didn't happen this morning and now both kids are asleep.  Which is good, but I really want to go outside.

So yesterday evening I decided to join the ranks of Facebook picture-takers all over the world, take my kids outside to enjoy the crisp fall weather and snap some pictures of the little darlings.  Beans were bubbling on the stove and all I had to do to finish supper was whip up some cornbread.  Jiffy cornbread.  From a box.  You heard me, I make cornbread from a box. I don't make very good cornbread from scratch, okay?  So sue me. 

Anyway, the evening light was perfect, slanting trough the trees making the leaves glow with breathtaking vividness.  I decided to put Benaiah in the stroller and walk to the mailbox first.

Except that the stroller was still folded up in the trunk of the Nova from when we went to the Folk Festival at Beavers Bend last weekend.  Yes, its Tuesday and I haven't used my stroller since Saturday.  Of course, normally I would use it every day to run 12 miles with my kids, then post it on Facebook so all my friends can tell me that I'm Super Mom.  NOT.  I usually forget I even have a stroller.  Thats how much walking I do.

I could've just gotten it out, except that the Nova is on a trailer because while we were cruising through Beavers Bend we hit a bad spot in the road, smashed the oil pan, gushed oil all over the road, and had to trailer the car back home, where it now sits on the trailer until Ben can get to it.  My brother Joseph, who thankfully was available to come retrieve us from the side of the road where we sat like a family of hobos, helpfully said, "Well, at least oil pans are cheap."  Yeah, unless its a custom oil pan for a '63 Nova.  Then its like $300.  He didn't know. 

Anyway, I didn't feel like fighting my way through all the crap in the carport and climbing the trailer to get the stroller out.  And I don't know where the keys to the Nova are.  I think Ben hides them, but I'm not sure.  He's wierd like that.

Plan B.  Put the kids in the wagon and pull them down the road to the mailbox.  Except that the wagon is still full of leftover cans of pop from our Halloween party last weekend.  Yes, it was over a week ago, and no, I haven't finished dealing with the aftermath.  I forgot about the wagon full of cans of pop.  There were 65 people here.  Cut me some slack.  I've been busy jogging with my kids and my stroller.  NOT.

Well, the light was fading fast, so Patience and I hurried to transfer the pop from the wagon to the ice chest.  Not sure why it wasn't in the ice chest in the first place.  Patience transferred approximately one can and I did the rest.  Finished that, bundled the kids up in quilts in the wagon, and bumped them out to the yard where I started snapping some photos. 

I sat Benaiah up in Patience's lap and had her wrap her arms around him since he can't sit up yet.  Well, that lasted about 5 seconds.  He started to slip down, I snapped pictures and loudly encouraged Patience to hold on to him and she started to panic and yell back, "Little bit heavy, Mama!"

A little perspective here.  Benaiah is 4 months old and weighs 19 pounds.  Patience is 2 1/2 and weigh 24 pounds.  Benaiah's head is 19 inches around.  Patience's head is.....19 inches around.  Benaiah wears size 4 diapers.  Patience was wearing size 4 diapers until just a few moths ago when we potty trained.  Perhaps I shouldn't expect her to be able to hold him up.

The light was really going now so I quickly sat Benaiah back up, told Patience to hold on tight, and started snapping more photos.  He started to slip again, then my phone rang.  It was my neighbor, Ada, wanting to know if I had any cumin.  She was making chili and had no cumin.  Of course I had some, so she buzzed over on her four-wheeler to get it.  We chatted for a minute, then she buzzed back home to her chili.

Needless to say, by this time the light was gone.  Guess how many good pictures I got?  Zero.  And in the last hour, while I've been trying to write this, Benaiah has woken up and I've nursed him back to sleep twice, and Patience woke up from her nap because she had wet the bed.  And I am still wearing stretch pants.  And I have no idea what I'm making for supper.  Probably left-over beans from last night.  Want me to take a picture of them for Facebook?  Why does no one post pictures of their leftover beans and cornbread from a box?  Hmm?

So, will I attempt another photo op this evening?  Maybe.  Now I have extra laundry to do, so it'll be a miracle if we make it outside at all.  But the reality is that I can enjoy my beautiful yard, the beautiful fall day and my even more beautiful children without taking pictures of them.  Its nice to have the pictures to capture memories, and someday I want to learn to be a real photographer because its something I'm interested in and I really do appreciate nice photos.  But right now I've got some sheets to wash and a little girl who wants to sit in my lap.

Getting good pictures doesn't seem so important anymore.

P.S.  For those of you who feel like your life isn't as perfect as is should be compared to all the other Facebook/Bloggers out there, be of good cheer.  You are not alone.  I am basically failing at life in general, so you're probably doing better than me.  And all those people whose lives look perfect online?  It isn't real.  They don't post their fat pictures, either.

A Trip to Remember

A couple of weeks ago we drove up to northwestern Oklahoma to visit my older brother and his family and help them begin the project of adding onto their house.  My nephew, David is four years old and they're expecting a baby girl in just a few weeks.  Ben was kind of at a standstill on our new cabin (block being laid), so we told Daniel and Rachel we would head that way, stay a week or so, and turn Ben loose on the project.

So we loaded kids, luggage, scaffold, ladders, guns, books, snacks, drinks and various other paraphernalia into the big black Chevy Duramax, hooked onto the tool trailer, and rumbled away.  We did not bring the dogs.  Or the kitchen sink.  Those are about the only things we left.  I have no idea why we take so much stuff when we travel.  Maybe because it fits.  Perhaps we should scale down our vehicle and just drive a VW Bug.  Then we could only travel with a toothbrush, and maybe the children.  Seems like it would be much more simple.  I'll talk to Ben about it, but I don't think it will go over well.

So we drove along and I read Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile aloud to Ben.  The children were remarkably quiet and good, and the trip was quite pleasant, except for the fact that my left eye kept feeling irritated, like there was something in it.  Well, technically there was something in it.  My contact lens.  But this was something else.  I kept rubbing and looking at it, but didn't think much of it.  I was much more interested in learning who committed the horrific murder on the Nile.  I'm not going to tell you.  Read the book.

We arrived in Enid around 8:30 that evening, and after all the hellos and hugs and happy-to-see-yous, we all went to bed.  Of course all four of us were sleeping on one room, which is totally fine with us because we often end up that way at home anyway.  It actually quite amazing how comfortable it can actually be to sleep with 4 people in a Queen bed.  Maybe it isn't actually comfortable.  Maybe I'm just so tired that I'm basically passed out.

So we settled in for the night, Ben and me in the bed, Patience on a comfy pallet on the floor, and Benaiah in the crib that Rachel already had set up in preparation for their baby.  Things were going smoothly.  We were all sleeping.  Why did I think the whole night would actually stay so blissfully peaceful?

Sometime in the middle of the night Benaiah started to fuss.  Not unusual.  He still wakes up to eat at night.  What was unusual was that I couldn't open my eyes.  I tried, but I couldn't.  I felt of them and realized they were both completely crusted over with grossness and glued shut.  I literally could not pry them open.  What should I do?  Try to feel my way to the bathroom and open them?  Try and get Benaiah?  I opted to head to the bathroom, but in the process of groping my way blindly to the door I stepped on what I strongly believed to be Patience's head.  She must have rolled off her pallet.  I retreated to the bed.  Benaiah was getting pretty worked up at this point, so I felt my way to the crib, sat down on the bed and tried to nurse him.

All this time Ben hadn't moved.  I wondered if he was really asleep or faking it.  My guess would be faking it because no one can sleep with a baby crying and someone stumbling around, running into things.

I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Babe?"  I whispered loudly.

He mumbled something that sounded like, "what."

"Well, my eyes are glued shut and I"m trying to nurse Benaiah and Patience is in the middle of the floor."

Silence.

"Babe?"  I whispered a little louder.

He sighed deeply.  "Is there something you want me to do?"

Actually, yes, I thought.  Get Patience off the floor.  Go get me washcloth to soak my eyes open.  Hold Benaiah so I can get myself a washcloth to soak my eyes open.  Take your pick.  There's plenty to do.

What I said was, "Could you go get me a wet washcloth so I can try to soak my eyes open?"

He sighed deeply again, climbed out of bed, and headed to bathroom.  I warned him about Patience, just in time, and he narrowly missed stepping on her.  I think.  I couldn't really see since my eyes were stuck shut.

Roughly two seconds later he returned and tossed a wet washcloth on my lap.  It was cold.

"Its cold."  I whispered.

He sighed deeply.  Again.  I was about to be done with the deep sighing.

He said, "I didn't want to wake David up making noise in the bathroom, so I was trying to hurry."

And he promptly rolled over and went back to sleep while I attempted to peel my eyes open using an very unpleasantly cold wet washcloth on my face and nursing an over sized, wiggling infant at the same time.

Here's the deal.  I had momentarily forgotten that my husband is and absolute ogre when he gets woken up at night.  During the day he's one of the nicest people you will ever meet.  But he loves his sleep.  He loves it very much.  And he does not like it to be interrupted.  Its sort of a Jekyll and Hyde scenario.  Or maybe he's part were-wolf, only instead of turning into a wold at night he just turns into a mean person. Yeah, and we have two small children.  Makes for some interesting nights.

Anyway, I had momentarily forgotten all this, and when I asked him to get me a washcloth for I guess I had these visions of him gently, tenderly and lovingly holding a warm, steamy cloth to my eyes and wiping away my blindness and with it all my fears of the night.

Well, those rose-colored glasses came off.  They came off in the form of crusty eye goop, scraped off with a cold rag.  I blame myself entirely.  I forgot that he's part were-wolf.  What can I say?  The guy loves his sleep.  I don't really blame him.  Sleep is nice.  I wish I could get some.  I haven't had a full night's sleep in 3 years.

Needless to the say, the next morning Rachel and I went straight to the walk-in clinic, where I got some nice little drops to treat pink-eye.

Let's see, that was Thursday.  On Friday night and Saturday night I had a terrible sore throat, so I was up roaming the house, looking for Tylenol, Ibuprofen, anything.  Couldn't find anything but some cough drops, so I lay in misery, trying to to swallow because it felt like swallowing needles, then waking up with that awful post-cough drop taste in my mouth.

On Sunday Patience threw up.

On Monday Patience ran fever.

On Tuesday night I was up with Benaiah and before getting back into bed knelt down to check on Patience on her pallet on the floor. 

She wasn't there. 

I groped all around me in the dark, thinking she'd rolled off again.  Couldn't find her.  I felt around everywhere.  The foot of the bed, in front of the dresser, beside the bed.  She simply wasn't there.  We had watched the movie Taken the night before and I was becoming increasingly certain that someone had stolen my daughter.  Then I found her. Under the crib.  I dragged her out by her ankles, rolled her back onto her pallet, and went back to sleep.  She never even woke up.

On Wednesday I was hit with this terrible and weird fatigue.  I couldn't keep my eyes open and I felt like I had weights hanging from my body.  I kept falling asleep.  I tried everything to feel better and perk up.  Took a shower.  Went for a walk to the park with the kids and Rachel.  Drank lots of water.  Nothing worked.  I basically had to sleep it off.  I felt some better the next day.

Wednesday night David thought he was going to throw up.  Luckily he didn't.

Thursday Rachel was hit with the same weird fatigue.  Thankfully I was feeling better so I was able to help out so she could rest.

Friday I finally kicked into gear and made some muffins and casseroles to put in their freezer because it wasn't that long ago that I was miserably pregnant I would love to have had some casseroles in my freezer.

Saturday we said our goodbyes and came home.

It was a bit of a rough trip, but still fun.  The positives were that I really enjoyed spending time with Daniel, Rachel and David; Ben and Daniel got a lot done on the house and Patience and David had a blast playing together.

And I'm so, so glad no one else got pink-eye.

Entertainment Weekly

We entertain a lot.  And I use the term "entertain" loosely.  I actually mean that there are people at our house a lot.  I'm sure they leave entertained, although not in the way I wish.  If "entertained" means they go home saying something like, "wow, those Nethertons are wierd, " then yes, we entertain.  If "entertain" means people come to a clean, calm, quiet atmosphere with candles lit and a savory dinner ready to be served along with intelligent and stimulating conversation, then no, we do not entertain.

When we have people over I always have visions of an evening as described above.  That never happens.  The food is never ready on time because I'm always running behind.  I never look nice because I'm usually sweating.  The house is most likely somewhat disastrous because Patience likes to get out all of her toys at the same time and not actually play with any of them.  Someone will probably be crying.  Patience, Benaiah, me.  Not usually Ben.  I will probably not answer the door because I'm stirring something while holding Benaiah and telling Patience to put her clothes back on before our company arrives.  I'll yell at you to come on in, help yourself to a drink, and could you hold the baby a sec while I go make sure my clothes are all on right side out?  The other day at about three in the afternoon I noticed that my shirt was on wrong side out.  Luckily we had no company.

Now, don't get me wrong.  It isn't TOTAL chaos.  I do keep the house pretty picked up, I play background music, and yes, I like to burn some candles.  And I set the table nicely, we use cloth napkins, and Patience is expected to sit still until all the adults are done eating.  So there's some semblance of niceness.  I just never quite make things as nice as I'd like to.

I guess part of the reason I feel chaotic is because we have  A LOT of drop-in company.  One day I had four different people stop by to visit.  Hence the reason I ALWAYS have a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge.  It would be tragic if I nothing to offer but water.  I believe there are two main reasons for this:

1)  We live on the highway were everyone in the community drives by our house all the time and they can see if we're home.  More often than not, they stop by.

2)  I'm a stay-at-home mom.  I think that makes people more likely to stop by because, well, I'm home!

I've been to people's houses where everything honestly seems perfect.  The house is immaculate, the hostess is wearing a lovely dress while pulling an elaborate dish from the oven in a kitchen that's so clean it doesn't even look like she cooked in it.  And I'm standing there thinking, "What the crap?  How does she do this?  She's even got lipstick on!  I bet she even put on deoderant and brushed her teeth today!"  And to top it all off, everything just seems effortless. 

On the one hand, its nice to be in an environment like that.  Clean.  Organized.  Relaxing.  Sometimes it even inspires me to kick it up a notch at home and try to do things a little nicer for the sake of my own guests.  But more often than not it seems to leave me feeling...inadequate.  Dissatisfied.  Jealous, even.  And I don't like that.  Not that its the lovely hostess's fault that I feel that way.  Its my own fault.

I guess what I'm saying is that I just want people to feel welcome and at home in our house.  I want them to feel like they're part of the family.  I want them to feel included in our daily life.  I don't want them to feel like I'm showing off for them in any way.  Not that people who have clean kitchens and wear their clothes right side out are showing off.  That's not what I mean at all.  Wow, I'm not very articulate this evening. Its late.  I should've been in bed hours ago.  And I just realized that I'm now to the point in my career as a mother where I think brushing one's teeth is showing off.  This is sad.  Very sad.  No wonder most people like me and aren't jealous and like coming to my house.  I just figured it out!  I make them feel better about themselves because I'm such a disaster!  Its like the skinny girl in high school who hangs out with the fat girls so she'll look even better!  Same thing, only with motherhood its things like getting dressed and maybe fixing your hair and brushing your teeth and wearing deoderant.  I didn't do any of that today.  Should I even post this?

I totally forgot what my point was.

I'm going to bed.

Pare a Pear with a Pair of Scissors

The other day I was all depressed and down on myself because I didn't have any fall decorations.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I have a pumpkin wreath on the front porch, a couple of mums in the front flower bed (which sat there for like 2 weeks before I finally planted them) and three small pumpkins strategically scattered along the porch steps.  And I didn't even do the strategic scattering of the pumpkins.  Ben did, because I bought the pumpkins and left them in the trunk of the car where he found them several days later and proceeded to strategically scatter them.  He did a very nice job.

Pumpkins and mums, that's all I've got.  Oh, I had a bowl of candy corn.  That lasted about a day because Ben and I have no self-discipline when it comes to sweets.  None at all.  Its why I'm chubby.  I admit it.  Anyway, no scarecrows, no brightly colored leaf garland, no quaint wooden bowls filled with Indian corn and gourds.  No berry swags or pine cone wreaths or fall-themed serving dishes and table linens.  I don't even have leaf-shaped napkin rings, can you believe it?  I was really depressed about it.  Felt like I was somehow failing as a housewife and mother because I had not yet iced any pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies, created any outdoor lighting out of elaborately carved pumpkins, or hollwed out a pumpkin and planted flowers in it.  All things I would really like to do, by the way.  So I spent an hour online looking up fall decorating ideas and got even more depressed.

Well, I said to myself, I'm not going to spend the money on fall decorations, and even if I felt like I could spend the money its too far to drive into town for any of that stuff today.  Maybe next week I'll do some of that cutesy creative stuff in between naps and changing diapers and laundry and grocery shopping and getting supper on the table and kids bathed and in bed on time.  And spending time with my husband, friends and family, going to church and playing with my children.  Oh, and sometimes I sleep and shower, too.  If there's time.  Of course, I said to myself, of course you will get to hollow out miniature pumkins and make taper candle holders out of them.  But right now you have things to do.

I turned my attention to the more immediate problem of dealing with the bushels of pears we had recently picked from our heavily laden pear tree.  I had pears spilling out of baskets on the little table in the living room and bowls overflowing with pears on the kitchen table.  I settled Benaiah in his bouncy seat, made sure Patience wasn't destroying anything, pulled a chair up to kitchen table and started peeling pears.  Again.  I've peeled a lot of pears lately.  The result has been 25 jars of pear butter and 6 pear pies. 

I peeled pears, talked to Patience and Benaiah, peeled more pears and thought about how I wished my house was decorated for fall.  Then a knock came at the door.  I wiped my hands and went to see who was there.  It was my friend Martha, dropping by to pick something up.  As I went to get if for her I made a remark about peeling all these pears.

She stopped and looked around.

"Oh!"  she said.  "I thought you had them there for decoration!"

Perhaps I shouldn't worry so much about fall decorations.  Sometimes life has a way of decorating itself.

Long Time, No Blog!

I haven't blogged in a long time.  In about four months, actually.  There are many reasons for this.  Here we go:

1)  I got really huge, miserably pregnant and totally lost interest in anything other than getting the baby out of my body.  I was so large and uncomfortable that I basically quit doing anything that involved movement of any kind.  How, you ask, does blogging involve movement?  Well, it doesn't, but I couldn't hold the laptop in my lap because I had no lap, and sitting at the table was just uncomfortable, especially since I couldn't scoot up very close due to the largeness of the belly.  It was a bad time, guys.

2)  I had a baby.  I really huge baby.  A ten pound baby.  Naturally.  With no medicine.  Why, you ask, did you do that?  Because at the time I thought it would be cool.  Because I did it when I birthed my daughter.  But she didn't weigh ten pounds.  Because I thought it would make me feel like super-woman.  Because when I went in to be induced (he was 9 days overdue) I didn't know that my baby was turned sideways and they would have to manually turn him inside the womb.  >>WARNING TO PREGNANT WOMEN.  DO NOT EVER, EVER, ALLOW A BABY TO BE MANUALLY TURNED WHILE IN THE WOMB.  IT IS A HORRIBLE AND INCREDIBLY PAINFUL EXPERIENCE.  IF A DOCTOR WANTS TO DO IT, PLEASE CALL ME FOR A SECOND OPINION.  THANK YOU.<<  Because I didn't know that it would be a really long, really painful labor and that I would have to push for two hours to get him out and I really didn't think I was going to be able to do it.  Please do not ask me if I am having more children.  I am still trying to recover emotionally from birthing this one.  Although he is pretty darn cute:

Meet Benaiah Philip Netherton, born July 5th.  He laughed for the first time today.  Patience was bouncing all over the bed, showing off for him and he got really tickled at her.  Brought tears to my eyes.  But then again, everything brings tears to my eyes these days.  The other day I made bread and Patience was standing on her little stool wearing her little apron helping me knead the dough.  She looked up at me with her big brown eyes, grinned and said, "Mommy, looook!  I hep you!"  I snatched up my own apron and cried into it.  Why, you ask?  I have no idea.

3)  My in-laws were here right after Benaiah was born, then we decided to remodel our bathroom so we went to stay with my parents for a few days, which turned into three weeks, then we went to Tucson to visit the Arizona relations, then one of Ben's friends came to stay with us for a couple of weeks, then I had a lot of catching up to do because I'd been pregnant and giving birth and away from home and it all just piled up and during all that time and ever since I've been deep in the throes of post-partum depression.  So there.  And yes, I am aware that that was a run-on sentence.

4)  I started reading other people's blogs and got really depressed because I decided that mine kind of sucks.  But I like writing, its good for me, and I need to keep doing it.  Why, you ask, do you need to keep writing?  Because I am an emotional disaster and I need a creative outlet so I don't just bottle everything up inside and then explode.  That does happen from time to time.  We need to keep those times to a minimum for the sake of the children.  And Ben.  And me, because after I explode I experience feeling of self-loathing.  Its just better for everone if I write something now and then, okay?

Thank you for reading.  My baby is cute.