The Autodidact

     I never make New Year's resolutions; I never gave them much thought.  I have always figured they were for people with a lot of will power and ambition, things I do not have in great supply. Instead of being addicted to exercise, I'm addicted to chocolate.  I'm not very good at saving money, nor am I overly organized. I don't read enough books or play enough games with the kids. I don't have time to take up a new hobby like knitting or ice skating, mostly because I'm too busy eating chocolate in my unorganized house, not playing with my kids.  Ugh.  There are so many potential resolutions to be made in my life!       But something has been rattling around in my head lately, something nudging me.  Maybe there is something to making resolutions- something about being resolved on a course of action. And, while running 2 miles a day, swearing off sugar, organizing my house while learning how to knit AND having loads of time for my kids all sound great, I think

     This morning I went in the little girls' room to get the baby up and dressed.  The 7 year-old had crawled in the crib with the baby and both were snuggled under blankets.   As I changed the baby's diaper and dressed her, the 7 year-old began talking about tomorrow being Christmas and asked: "When are we getting up tomorrow to open presents?  Do we have to wait for you and Daddy to get up to open presents?  Do we have to wait until 8 o'clock to get up?"  All I'm thinking is how tired I am from  last night's party, and maybe I could get a nap in today if I get all my baking done before church tonight.  She is so excited about tomorrow and opening presents and having a whole day of just family time and games and maybe a movie.  This kind of excitement is so typical of someone her age, and I love watching the anticipation in my children build every Christmas.  But what if we adults were that excited about Christmas?   What if we were that excited about C

So Monday, I decided to make some toffee for Christmas.  On Tuesday, I got out the butter and sugar, and processed about a cup almonds and left them on the counter, where they sat overnight because I didn't get to it until Wednesday.  Hey, why rush things?  So all Wednesday I stared at those ingredients and finally, when there was a break in my day, I got started.  But, not until I found the pan I wanted to use, which was, of course, dirty.  Wash the pan.  Then I get distracted by one of the kids.  Back to the kitchen, where it takes me a while to remember what I had been doing.  Then I put the pound of butter and the 1 3/4 cups of sugar in the pan and turn on the burner.  Rats!  The recipe said to melt the butter first, then put the sugar in quickly.  Oh well, no turning back now.  I add 1/2 teaspoon of salt and stir for 10 minutes. At least I get that part right.  While stirring, the 4 year-old needs me, so I turn the stirring over to the 12 year-old and attend to the little guy.

     The other day, my nine year-old was being unkind to the 4 year-old, and the 12 year-old told him that he should be treating his younger brother as Jesus would.  She went on to say that we should always try to be more like Jesus in everything we do.  (Thanks, dear!) Being a practical-minded 9 year-old, he asked if we are never going to actually be like Jesus, since we are imperfect to begin with, why should we even try?  At that point, I was called in by the 12 year-old to take over.  Taking a big breath, and wishing Jay was there to help, I launched into a theological discussion with the nine year-old.  This job of mothering sure does require a lot of thinking on my feet, and I'm not very good at that.  I prefer to mull things over for a few days, thinking of a good response, trying to find the right words. I would like time to tinker with and tweak my answer.  But kids need responses now, not in a few days when they have forgotten what they were asking!      On the surface

     The most recent shooting incident has been much talked about in our house. As a mom, my heart aches for those parents who lost their little ones. They were so young, babies, really.  How do I explain rampant evil in this world to my own children? How do I help them wrap their heads around little children gunned down? Some of my kids are hurting and disturbed by this, especially since we have 3 kids roughly in the same age range as those murdered. How can I help them feel safe? How can I help them understand when I barely understand? There are so many news articles out there in various media forms that give parents talking points and tips on how to deal with this. They are all well meaning and somewhat useful, but most leave God out of the equation. And that just falls short of any really helpful solutions.      So, I started with 3 facts: 1. There is evil in the world, all around us. A cursory look at history makes that obvious.  2. There is good in the world, too, and it's

      It's 6 p.m. and I have dinner ready.  Daily, I am always surprised when this happens; it seems miraculous that I even remember to make dinner, let alone a tasty one. The day flies by so fast, if I don't think of dinner by noon, it might not happen. In getting to the table, there is a flurry of plates and forks, milk and cups, napkins and children getting to the table. There is a scramble for the chairs. Who is sitting where? I want to sit next to you. Don't sit next to me! Don't put those two kids together, Mom, they almost killed each other today. Where is the 12 year-old? Someone put the baby in her chair; someone find the baby! It's a nightly game of musical chairs, except there is a chair for everyone.      The food is carried to the table: Don't trip over the dog.  Don't put that hot dish near the little ones. Everyone get to the table and sit down! Someone get the broccoli. Everyone, quiet, please! Jay walks in the door after a long day at the

Merry Christmas from the Marinos! A few brief notes about the family: Ellie, 1, speaks 4 languages fluently. English is not one of them. Margaret, 12, is funny and mysterious. Mysteriously funny. Lewis, 15, shot his first deer. Jared, 9 wants to travel. To Mars. Deborah, 17, is simply lovely. Edie, 7, invented a new school subject: Cursive Math. To really appreciate it, it helps to be 7 years old. Natty, 4, likes to rip off the heads of his sisters' dolls to :"see if there's any stuff inside." Jay and I celebrated 20 years of marriage this year. As you can see, we keep getting thinner and younger looking. But all kidding aside, we wish you a blessed Christmas season. May you know God's Peace and Presence now and all year. "For unto us a child is born. To us a son is given." With love, Jay, Katie, Deborah, Lewis, Margaret, Jared, Edith, Nathanael, and Eleanor.

     I love sitting in front of my Christmas tree and looking at the ornaments and lights, thinking about where the different ornaments came from. It's quite an eclectic assortment; there is no theme.  Some were gifts, some handmade, some are mementos from trips. There are ornaments for all the children that have accumulated over the years. Among them are a few in memory of our first baby, Andrew.      Many years ago, when we were first married, I discovered I was pregnant with our first baby.  It was our second Christmas together- what a great present!  Christmas and New Year passed blissfully into spring, when Andrew died, and I gave birth to our first child, a son; here in this world, but already in the next. It was agonizing; I was angry at everyone and God, and it was tough time for me.      The next Christmas found us with no children still, although I was expecting another baby at the time.  As we prepared to decorate our tree, we decided to find a few ornaments for Andrew

     We are sitting at the kitchen table doing school work. The nine year-old is doing long division and the 7 year-old is learning about parallel and perpendicular lines. The 4 year-old putters in with his drawing pad and pencil and pulls up a chair. The 1 year-old crawls up in his chair and proceeds to "help" him. The 12 year-old walks in and wants me to quiz her on her science chapter about fossils and uniformitarianism and catastrophism, and do I have a minute?  Even though breakfast was an hour ago, the 4 and 7 year-olds are hungry and ask for a snack; I say yes, and the 1 year-old manages to push the chair she is standing on away from the table. I catch her as she falls just in time as I am explaining right angles to the 7 year-old as she tries to cut into an apple. The 12 year-old is eating as well, and the 1 year-old, who has crawled in my lap, wants some. I try to pay attention to the science lesson as I remind the 9 year-old to stop looking out the window, and I am

     I never know what kinds of treasures I will find when I walk into a child's room. There will be no pots of gold, or bags of jewels, or piles of money (although there may be some spare change here and there). No, I am talking about real treasure; not the kind that fills my bank account, but the kind that fills my heart.      Behind the door of the little girls' room lies a room that is never messy; everything is in its place. I go in to check on them at night, and I find the 7 year-old  sleeping, the bed linens folded neatly beneath her chin. A pile of clothes is at the end of the bed, on the floor. They are not the clothes she wore today, but  clothes for tomorrow, an entire outfit, neatly folded. Her 1 year-old sister is in her crib, sleeping in a nest of blankets; not neatly covered, but surrounded. She is aware of me as I stroke her peach-fuzz hair and silky cheek. She coos and snuggles up to her special toy and blanket, and I pat her back and leave.      I always cau