Thanksgiving Day is over

As we all know, families grow. Our family used to travel to Santa Maria every Thanksgiving to talk politics with the relatives and catch up with all the cousins over an incredible Thanksgiving feast filled with traditional vitals and first time experimental entrees, ping pong tournaments and shuffle board. Now we are all grown up with spouses and children trying to balance more family and make traditions of our own while still preserving the specialness of the past. Uncle Gary would always make his pumpkin side dish and it is still a prerequisite for Thanksgiving dinner even though it has been years since we have had the pleasure of a Santa Maria Thanksgiving. This year I even whipped up some honey butter in memory of Great Grandma Thompson who despite her years (she lived to be over 100) always made honey butter, making the dinner rolls that much better than normal dinner rolls. From my moms side I make the green jello salad that Grandma Cecile never let us go without when we had our Christmas and Thanksgiving gatherings, though my jello salad is more of a light purple because I use fruit juice instead of the jello packets. We still call it "Grandma Cecile's green jello salad" though.

Thanksgiving Day has come and gone. The feast was everything I could have hoped for, being plentiful and sumptuous. Everyone brought their tasty contributions to the table and we dined with impressive energy.

 Specific moments in life are easy to feel thankful over, the feeling just seems to well up inside and spill over. Thanksgiving dinner was one of those times. I looked down the long lines of family on either side and felt overwhelmed with gratitude:

… for God and the hope that exists in my life because He is ever present.

… For my husband who makes family life so fun.

….For my parents who are the most loyal, unselfish, wonderful people. The city on a hill.

….For my siblings and their spouses who make me laugh at myself and at them; who constantly strive to love more and better and do kind acts without thought to a return.

 ….And my kids, those unique, amazing, aggravating, remarkable, mind-boggling little  miracles, I just want to squeeze their splendid cheeks and cry over them. Thank you God for these babies, they teach me to see the world in richer color.

These moments that make you feel strong emotion aren’t constant, often it takes a great deal of contrivance to feel a tiny surge of gratitude. I often look at my life and see the flaws, the things I am imperfect in, the failings. It is a gift I have, what can I say: a constant awareness of what needs improvement and frankly, a sure way to disseminate unhappiness. I know I harbor this propensity so fight against it I must, to truly live the life I have and help make the happiness of those around me. I know that a grateful heart cultivated on a daily basis and sometimes even a moment to moment basis, is the true recipe for fighting depression and discontent. Thanksgiving of the heart must be a continual commitment not just a once a year awareness.

As I practice thanksgiving everyday I notice a surge and a swelling of gratitude that is as freeing as it is illuminating and am able to feast on the moments, with my children and husband; with my family and the great big world.

“I had the blues

 because I had no shoes,

 till upon the street

I met a man who had no feet.”

 

 

Keeping it moving

 I was able to get out early today for what I hoped would be a nice three mile jog before the rigors of the day began. The morning air was just chill enough to be brisk but the sun was saying a sweater would be an encumbrance. I felt good; motivated to pick up my pace and push myself, with a mixture of some moderately rocking music from my husbands phone in my ear. What a glorious thing exercise is.  I looked at the phone to adjust the song selection (you know how I am with anything techy) and that’s when it happened. I encountered an inconsistency of cement level not uncommon on my chosen path, and began to hurdle forward, upper body moving faster than my poor feet could run. My husbands phone flew from my hand through the air and was only jerked from its flight by the chord still attached to my ears as I hit the ground. I turned and sat, doing as my son does, checking his hands and knees to assess the damage before determining how hard to cry. Alas I did not cry (didn’t want to traumatize my sister) but I was picking gravel out of my hands and lamenting a hole in the left knee of my favorite jogging pants for the remainder of those 3 miles. Now I have a big swollen and bruised knee and a story to tell my kids about how I fell but was brave and tough and didn’t even cry.

 Yet another example of why we should not mess with phones and drive…. or, in my case, jog.

 

Family Vacation Part II - 3 Reasons why a cruise is a good idea

 Reflecting on all the great family getaways we have had I would just like to give a couple reasons why a cruise was a pretty great idea.

 

1. No cell service. For all you who have a hard time separating yourself from the texting and e-mail alerts and other web related distractions, going on a boat where the internet is 75 cents per minute, you realize much can wait for a few days.  The conversation is more fluid and intelligent when the compulsion to check your phone every few minutes has subsided. The eyes clear and began to see, with one less preoccupation, a world of human beings. I know, I know I’m the last person in the world who still has a flip phone so I couldn't possibly understand how wonderful the others are. Humor me, it was nice.
2. No cooking. Hurray! We, as a family rarely eat out and though my meals are often on the fly, it feels, nevertheless, like I am always in the kitchen. This was a nice treat for me. Every time my boy said “I so hungry mom” I would run up six flights of stairs to the dinning room and bring a bowl of fruit and a buffet down to our room to satiate the pangs. (Also a good way not to come home twice your original size)
3. Going and doing and being together while we were going and doing (says husband). If you are going with extended fam and might not want to see them twenty-four/seven it’s perfect. Plenty of places to hide out. Or, if you are like my sister and her boy friend, just bring wigs, glasses and mustaches and go wherever you wish with total anonymity.

 

 As I was preparing to post this excerpt on the 3 reasons a cruise is a good idea I happened to read another great blog from a person of near acquaintance who writes about the 21 reasons why. So read jollylittlelife.blogspot.com for the real scoop. Gotta love that jolly girl.

 

 

 

 

Family Vacation Part 1

Family vacations have come a long ways since I was young and my parents with their six kids had their adventures in a tent trailer, a station wagon, a suburban and eventually a used motor home. Now many of those six kids have spouses and kids of their own so family vacations are a much larger affair.

Not all of us kids always make it but we do our best because missing out on the crazy antics of a bunch of people you really like as well as love, is something you don’t want to do too often.

Cruise we did, and it was splendid.

 

The only other time husband and I went on a cruise we had two munchkins; Mister being only six months. Based on that experience I had high hopes of an uninterrupted nights sleep, where the rocking of the boat would act as a giant cradle keeping all of us slumbering peacefully in our bunks. That isn’t exactly how it went.

 By 3:00 am, Mister had woke up to use the toilet, little buddy woke to nurse, my daughter lost a tooth and was thrilled to share and my husband accidently found the light switch (we had tried earlier to locate it), with his head against the back wall of our bed and the cabin was illuminated as if it were day. During all this I hit my head twice on the bunk situated just over our bed in an effort to keep one kid from waking others and the lights from waking all. Oh well. The imperfect moments create some great memories.

God bless family.

Church day

 When Mr. sees me laying out his slacks and button up shirt on a Saturday evening he always asks “is tomorrow church day mom?” My daughter will be working hard committing to memory her weekly verse and baths are mandatory of course. My kids know there is something special about Sundays.

 

I like that we have determined to keep one thing sacred on Sunday mornings, despite the many things that would threaten to encroach. I love going to church. I love singing praises to God and sitting on the pew with my husband listening with an open heart. It’s just something we do.

 True, you don’t have to go to church to find God, but it doesn’t hurt to look for him there.

Just a note to ponder: Sunday used to be a day consecrated to the honoring of God, shown by the actions of those who closed businesses and refrained from participating in every day work. It no longer is. 

Nothing much seems sacred anymore. And the evidence of this in society is that kids are raised without a strong sense of absolutes. Without absolutes there are failed marriages, broken families and teenagers who have never even considered the idea of abstinence. Making “church day” a solemn pledge of time regardless of the small sacrifice required might have a greater influence then you think.  

 

Able to leap tall buildings....

Can function on little sleep. Can heal booboos with a kiss. Always there.

Slowing down time

Another day done. My three munchkins are in their respective beds. The demands and requests and needs are at rest for the moment. Adulthood has been hitting me gradually over the last fifteen years, each year carrying with it additional responsibility and new experiences. I find myself having been married to my husband a decade already, with a six year old, a five year old and a ten month old now in the mix. I am still trying to figure out how to be wife, mother, cook, laundress, house cleaner, piano teacher, worship leader, song writer, friend, sister, daughter etc, etc and be amazing at all. Days with kids sometimes seem full of the monotony of necessary time fillers, meals and baths, picking up for the seventh time the same basket of toys, folding the same spider man pj’s so a little man can wear them to bed, school work and dishes and more dishes. Days go into a warp speed of passing until you find your little ones have gone thru stages and fazes and you never got a video of your kido saying “yips” instead of lips. The only way to slow time down is to be in the moment and stay current as the passing of the moment brings you to the next one.

Try this.

Us mama’s are always thinking and planning for the next event. So I propose a habit change. Plan your day the night before complete with what you will make for meals (this is really important since those kids need three square meals plus snacks every single day), what added errands are included in the day and whatever else requires a little thought and planning. Remember the goal is to live in the moment with your kids not be a sergeant with a schedule. I just don’t want to miss out on them because I am always in a state of flurry.

 I see the way they look at me sometimes. I see the way they look at my husband. We must always strive to be worthy of those gazes.

By the way, slowing time down by living in the moment is not exclusive to those with kids. We all could learn to enjoy the journey a little more if we would stop rushing away the moments.

 

Searching for Inspiration

Inspiration, when it is circumstantially stimulated, sometimes comes at a high price. When I was a teenager feeling the first pangs of romantic affection, poetry just pulsed through my veins. I wrote songs, and poems and prose of all sorts, ranging from the ecstatic to the despairing. Now as a mature adult who can still feel the surge of emotion at a Roy Orbison song or the moving rhythm of “Dust land fairy tales”, I don’t have the luxury of wallowing in the depths of despair in order to embody the necessary condition for attainting what used to be true inspiration.

Inspiration is an ever morphing requisite, as age and experience increase.

Yet, as age and experience inevitably increase, inspiration seems to decrease unhealthily.

Life can be jading.

Inspiration now must be sought after in the simple features of life, in the passing moments that leave slight but indelible marks on ones soul.

Here are a few every day inspirations:

1. Having a hand to hold. My husbands strong hand as we walk about or fall asleep at night. My baby’s mini fingers wound tightly around my own as he toddles around. My dads hand as we take a minute to talk over coffee. My kids hands as we cross the street.

2. The stars. It is easy to forget to look upwards when so many artificial lights detract from the brilliance and vastness of the night sky.

3. The words of Isaiah 58:11 “The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strength your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.”
4. Beethoven’s Sonata Pathetique. Listen to that bad boy and tell me you can’t drum up a surge of inspiration. That composition runs through all the emotions and leaves you feeling hopeful and empowered.
5. Baby kisses.

And the list could go on an on. Try looking for that sometimes elusive optimist of the mind. You might just find him everywhere.

Oops!

Excited that I finally joined the twenty first century and figured out, nearly on my own, how to post and upload photos, I look over my work appreciatively. Then as if my computer nemesis was saying “don’t get too full of yourself”, I see my name “Danielle Hoogan” instead of Hogan.

Wow!
Then, add insult to the check in my already subdued victory, I have not been able to figure out how to fix it. I realize this will probably make my high tech sisters twitch a little but I’m not sharing anything they didn’t already know. At any rate, my husband and I had a pretty good chuckle over it and when it comes to oneself, one should laugh heartily.

Hoogan

A Super Hero

Well, I have sat here for 40 minutes waiting for the perfect words for the perfect opening to come. Alas, I am too nervous and excited to find them. So forget the perfect beginning, I have wanted to have a blog ever since watching “Julia & Julia” years ago.  Then my little sister starts the loveliest blog ever and I am inspired afresh.

 The truth is, the internet and myself have a real love hate relationship. I refer to it as “the infamous interweb” and it refers to me as “dummy”. Sufficient to say, we do not always get along, but in the spirit of advancement we agree to disagree.  I love the idea that something I write can strike a chord of sympathy in another human soul and in that moment of connection we share something poignant and powerful; we are partners in the struggle to live, and live well. I will never set the world on fire but I can share my little bit of light. So without further ado, I give you the inspiration behind the name of my blog.

Meet Mason

            “Where are you mom”, came a high plaintive voice from upstairs. I found him wrapped in a blanket, peeking his eyes out from his little Buzz Lightyear toddler bed.

 “I Scared mom”.

 It is in times like these I am able to take the wee body in my arms like days of old, where he will sit still and lay his head on my shoulder just as he used to when a babe and I can comfort and soothe. The comforting takes a different form during the day and I am somewhere classed between a sergeant and a playmate. It is five years since I have known him and adored him. Five years I have labored over him in every way, tears, frustration and all.

            But he calls me a super hero; a super hero mom and you just can’t beat that.

            Mason was born with extra flaps of skin in his esophagus. The  Doctor’s call it something long and technical but all I needed to know is that it was obstructing his air passage and that surgery was if not absolutely necessary then at least a sound idea. He was four months old when we took him in very early one morning and I watched as they tried several times to get a tiny iv in his tiny wrist. A brave mom still cries at that; and I have been a brave mom.

Mason had Laryngomalacia, which on its own is terrifying for a mom but coupled with Acid Reflux, which he had a terrible case of, made for a combination that caused a baby born at 9 pounds 7 ounces still to gain merely ounces in four months. My whole life became about feeding. And still after 5 years I have a constant running list of all that he has eaten at the end of every single day.

 It doesn’t faze him much.

He knows by now that his mom is just always stuffing food in his mouth and he opens it if not obediently at least resignedly. The kid has just never been into food. In the beginning it was probably because between breathing and eating, breathing took priority. And now it is probably just a little bit of habit and a little bit of not wanting to take the time to eat because he has so many other important things to do.

            I cried when he was born. I cried more than I count when he would throw up every bit of milk I had worked so hard to get in him. I cried when he brought me his little front baby tooth that had broken off because all the acid from vomiting had eaten away at his little collection of teeth. I cried when he had to get them pulled. Sounds like a lot of tears but you should see how much I have laughed. He has been my teacher these five years. He has taught me to be brave.

It has not been easy being Mason and I have to say nor has it been easy being Masons mom. Most recently Mason had eye surgery. Not laser surgery but the full blown hour and forty minute lord knows how they go about it, surgery. That was a long hour and forty minutes for me. So the first 24 hours were really rough. He couldn’t open his eyes without horrible pain, at which point he would scream something awful. So without being able to open his eyes, he got loud, very loud, as if he had to try and be heard because he didn’t know how far off people were. I talked to him constantly in an effort to help him keep his eyes closed. For a kid who just isn’t himself unless he is flipping over the couch or hanging face down off his chair when eating, this was tough.

 A couple mornings later he had a rough start, but with a little Tylenol and a little food he started picking up. Then he looks at me with his half open eyes, all bloody and puffy and gives me a true sunshine smile “I feeling better mom”. That is how Mason has always been. I’m not the super hero, he is.

 I will wake up in the morning to his little crooked smile. I will spend time being sure he sits at the table and eats breakfast. I will patiently answer his favorite question “what’s this mom?” and laugh when he answers that question himself (which he often will). I think I will revel in my current role however difficult it is, knowing that someday he will eat heartily and much, without my encouragement. He will have less questions and more answers. He will no longer come in my room and say “I cuddle you mom?” And my heart will probably hurt just as much over the loss of those things as it does because of their presence. Thank you God for giving me this special part in an every day miracle: my little Masons life.