Holidays Make Me Feel Incompetent*

* Stolen from Jana Anthoine

I just took down my Christmas tree.

I admit it. My Christmas tree was up until Wednesday, January 22. And if carpet cleaners had not been coming to try to get red gel food coloring out of Jordan's new bedroom carpet, it would probably still be there.

If my tree were alive instead of completely, utterly fake, it would have looked like this:

Which is why we have a fake tree, by the way. Too many years of that.

Why, pray tell, was my Christmas Tree up until the 29th Day of Christmas?

Excuse #1: I need hubby's help to take it down, and he travels.

That's a lie.

When it finally did come down, he wasn't there. He was in Chicago. I took the ornaments off, boxed them up, and then Joshua and Sandy took our Christmas tree apart and took it to the basement.

And I certainly don't need his help to take down the Santa Claus flag which is still  hanging by the front door.

Excuse #2: I didn't put it up until late, so I'm still enjoying having it up.

That's a lie, too.

I was cursing that tree by the time it came down.
Cursing every time the cats knocked an ornament off and the dog ate it.
Cursing every time I went to bed with the lights still turned on. Yes, we were turning the lights on right up until the end.
And cursing when I thought about what you thought when your kids came home and said, "The Edgecombs still have their Christmas tree up! Why did we have to take ours down three weeks ago?"

And it also doesn't explain why I had to take down my Halloween flag to put up my Christmas one. Doh!

WARNING: 

ADD MOMENT COMING

You know what's great about the Internet? I can Google "For Better or Worse Christmas Cartoon" and one of my favorite cartoons of all time pops up:

Back to our regularly scheduled program.

My mother did special things for all major holidays and made it look easy. Maybe that's why this cartoon resonated with me. It's what moms are supposed to do. We create magic half a dozen times a year (not including kids' birthdays) without breaking a sweat.

Well guess what? I sweat.

And I curse.

And I never make it look easy.

So holidays make me feel incompetent. Like I'm not a good mom.

But wouldn't I be a worse mom if I gave my boys an unrealistic view of what holidays should be? To let them grow up thinking that adorably-decorated cookies in eight different flavors just appear? That everything magically goes up on time and comes down on time with no effort expended whatsoever?

So I'm being incompetent for my kids. And my future daughters-in-law. On purpose.


That's my story and I'm sticking to it.



Finish Well.

Five Minute Friday: Kissing the Face of God

I am currently enamored with the Christmas song, "Mary Did You Know?" Here is a link to the song if you're not familiar. It's worth a listen.

What has captured my thoughts is the line, "And when you kiss your little baby, you've kissed the face of God."

What could that have felt like? To kiss the actual, physical face of God? And to have it disguised as a child?

Did she know? 

Could she comprehend? If not, when did the pieces fall into place? At that first miracle at the wedding in Cana? At what point did she really know what ... or whom ... she was dealing with?*

But what occurred to me the other day is that I kiss the face of God every day. Every time I kiss my children ... every time I kiss my husband ... every time I kiss the top of one of my children's friends heads ... I am also kissing God.

We are God's sons and daughters. Adopted, yes, but no less family. No less kin. No less image-bearers.

I wish I remembered that more when my kids are fighting. Or disobeying. Or procrastinating. Or pouting. Maybe that's my Christmas wish for myself this year. Don't see them as little bickering gremlins with a crappy attitude.

Look into their eyes, smile, and kiss the face of God.


[*Note: Bad grammar. I know. Get over it.]

Five Minute Friday: Good-bye Hair

{Today's 5 Minute Friday word prompt is "reflect."}

Last night, I spent quite a while looking back through photos of me over the last three years. Not because I entirely enjoy seeing myself in photos. I honestly despise a lot of them. My skin is blotchy, my weight see-saws between Hot Mama and "crap, another pair of pants I can't breathe in." And I have made a few (well....more than a few) really heinous fashion faux-pas over the years. I am frequently Ann Hathaway from The Devil Wears Prada before her Stanley Tucci makeover, sans the onion bagel.

But I was looking back through these pictures because I'm cutting my hair off today for the first time in about three years. Three years ago, my darling husband asked me to grow out my hair so he could see what it looked like long.  Because then it was really short.

So I did. I kinda wanted to see it, too.

So it grew.

And it grew.

And it grew.

Until now it is longer than my hair has ever been in my life. But you know what I discovered?

Long hair is a lot of work! At least mine is.