Wednesday, December 29, 2010

A Million Words


If a picture is worth a thousand words, then this post is going to be worth a million.  And that is not even including all the times when I wished we had out our camera...

From visiting Uncle Marshall and Aunt Holly in Charlotte...
Henry LOVES Dunkin the wonderdog.  And Turbo the bearded dragon. 
Gracie is NOT a fan.  So Pink Poodle and Cousin Violet protect her...

On the 23rd, we enjoyed Daddy's first day off by spending the morning at the Children's Museum and the Sweet Spot Candy Shoppe.  In the afternoon, we sorted through old toys for our friends Jeremiah and Jacob who are coming from Africa in the Spring, baked cookies, and watched Mary Poppins in an attempt to show Henry that a person could go up and down a chimney without getting harmed.  He was very concerned for Santa.  No, let me be more clear, he pretty much had a panic attack with any mention of Santa.  He didn't want Santa to come in his house when he was asleep.  He didn't want Santa touching his things.  To the point that he was willing to forego new toys. 

And yes, by "baking" cookies, I mean to say I sliced some dough for Henry to put M & M's on.  I did, however, also make two batches of Cracker Candy and three batches of those Hershey kiss pretzel things.  So yes, my Christmas cooking amounted to slicing and melting. 

And despite Henry's being afraid of him and not leaving him a snack, Santa did come and leave the kids presents.  We were concerned that Henry would freak out.  At 3 1/2, you just never know.  So much of life is a crap shoot.  When we told the kids that Santa had come, Henry started crying.  But as soon as he saw his new Lego track and Lego Gordon, he was all smiles.  Later he confessed "I knew I heard sleigh bells last night!"   When asked if he loved Santa, he said, "No.  But I like him."


Henry loves the new flashlight Santa brought him.  "And I even got a Arther Deet-do Potato Head!"   (That's R2D2 in Henry-speak.)
Yes. 
That's Gracie double fisting Chocolate Santas while eating a third one while she surveys the contents of her stocking.


Which of course was followed up by a Marshmallow Santa.

After opening all of our gifts and a yummy Christmas brunch, we went to my sister's for Christmas dinner.  Anderson and Sloan sport cheese head style hats.  (Please note Sloan's gift from the kids--Gamecock Critter Pants.)

The next day, after playing in our Christmas snow, we combined the new track and trains with our old track and trains, to create a giant lego Island of Sodor. 



While Gracie cooked us up some grub.  She is so happy to finally have kitchen cabinets she can legally empty.  She spent most of the day moving the food from the sink to the fridge to the green bucket.  Henry also helped her by showing her the difference between a wooden Cheez-It box and a wooden box of spaghetti. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL!
THE KING HAS COME!!!

Thursday, December 23, 2010

The Sweetness

Without the month to month "birthdays", I haven't done a Gracie update in forever.  But here is how the Sweetness is doing. 

She has many names: the Sweetness, the Princess, the Pumpkin, the big baby, Gracezilla, Chubby McChubberkins, Graciekins, the bag lady.   Where as Henry's nickname of the Pickle stuck, she responds to any and all of them, however, she is called the Sweetness most frequently.

She is a chatterbox.  Henry delights in trying to teach her new words.  Say "Momma,"  say "Gwacie,"  say "Cat in the Hat."  It is quite sweet.  So far she can say Momma, Dada, and Budda (for brother).  Henry has also taught her to make monkey noises when she is hungry.  Or whenever she sees a banana.  Or whenever he makes monkey noises, she'll follow suit.  Awesome.  She will not, however, perform monkey noises per her Mommy's request, say on the phone for her Gigi or Aunt Sonya.  Apparently, she is more Gibbon than circus monkey and I'm left playing the fool on the phone, squawking my monkey noises over the line.

She also likes to wake up in the middle of the night just to chat.  I did this as well as a child and did not sleep through the night until I was two.  Our response to her middle of the night chatfest?  We shut the door and turn up the ceiling fan so that we cannot hear her.  We stocked her crib with some buddies and books.  Also, for Christmas, Henry got her this pelican ball thingy that will attach to her crib.


She loves to be near Mommy.  Unlike her wondering brother, I can put this toddler down and she will stay near me.  She particularly enjoys emptying the dishwasher of dirty silverware as I fill it.  Second to that game is the game I call the "Fill and Dump."  She finds an empty bag and fills it with things she finds around the house--Little People characters, Legos, my car keys, sippy cups--and then dumps them in the Tupperware drawer.  At my parents' house last week, she played for 45 minutes with a paper grocery bag and an empty CD case.  We may have over thought her Christmas present (which is awesome, even if I did paint it myself).    She will also toddle off after Henry while we are at home.  If you can swing it, I highly recommend having a boy who plays well by himself prior to having a needy girl.  He really does a great job of parenting her, monkey noises notwithstanding.  Except for when she goes all "Gracezilla" and destroys the track on the train table, they play well together.  Henry has gotten the hang of preemptively giving her toys to play with so he can be free to play with Thomas.  Yes, she is stuck with Lego Salty and a random freight car, but she doesn't seem to mind the B-list trains. 

We've begun the process of taking away her pacifier.  My hope is to be passie free by next Fall.  She no longer receives it during the day unless we are at the doctor and they are going to be giving her shots.  There is also one in her diaper bag should the folks in nursery need it.  She seems to be fine with this.  She now looks forward to nap time.  As soon as I set her in her crib for a nap, she eagerly crawls up to the passie, plops it in her mouth, and then sets about trying to attach the clip to her collar.  The plan is to take it away from her during naps this Spring, and then at night in the Fall to be passie free by age 2.  (That's the plan, anywho...)



Her hair.
Her hair has a mind of its own.  I had expected this to a degree when we adopted her.  I had visions of braiding parties and learning to do fancy fingerweaves and the like.  But Gracie's hair, while super curly, also shows off her Japanese heritage by being super fine and silky.  I really am at a loss.  I know how to deal with curly hair as I have it as well, but my hair is really more wavy and poofy to Grace's tight curls.  But what we've come to is that we wash it once a week with Johnson's baby shampoo specifically formulated for curly hair (it has Glycerin in it).  Then I slather it with Pink's Oil Conditioner and comb it with a wide tooth comb.  For day to day maintenance, if it needs combing, I spray the heck out of it with detangling spray.  She is adorable whenever she sees this come out as she immediately throws her hands up over her eyes and face.  (She also mimicks me lubing her up with Grapeseed Oil by rubbing her hands together and then patting her belly.  Geesh, I love that girl!)  But mostly, I just use my fingers to comb it, carefully dividing the curls one by one.  If, for example, Daddy just decides to comb it out without spray, it ends up looking like a big brown football helmet.  (See photo above.) 

Alright, it is now 8:30 am.  And from the sounds I hear from upstairs, I either have a monkey infestation, or Henry has gone into Gracie's room to "wake her up" by climbing into her crib. 

Merry Monkey Christmas!

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Raindrops on Roses

So I’m channeling my inner Barney Stinson mocking Oprah as I say….MYYYYY FAVORITE THINGS!!!!

Also, in this fantasy, I’m able to share with you, dear reader, the things I love most.

(Let it be noted that I said, things. Not people. It should go without saying that my most favoritetest of all favorites are Sloan, Henry, and Gracie. In fact, that’s a saying here in the Philips’ house. Sloan first said it to me when we were dating. “You’re my favorite.” “Favorite what?” I asked. “Favorite everything…” So if you hear me tell Henry he’s my favorite, rest assured, Gracie is my favorite too. And what’s my most favorite? Being theirs…)

So here, in no certain order, are my favorite things…

1. The entire works of David Sedaris.
Sure, he’s a bit crass. But he’s Southern, honest, and once worked as a Christmas elf. One of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received was from my friend Rich who told me my writing reminded him of David Sedaris. And I received his new book for my birthday from Sloan. The inscription said, “He’s almost as funny as you…” Be still my heart.

2. Chick-Fil- A Spicy Chicken Sandwich with extra pickles.
If you ever tell me how many calories this has, I will kill you. But seriously, I love CFA. I love that it is all their pleasure, they have the only dipping sauces worth the risk of car spillage (Honey Mustard and Polynesian, please), family nights where Henry eats free, Peppermint Milk shakes (damn you! Laura with posting the calories on FB!), Purel wipes, and they are the only fast food restaurant to get that children need bendy straws.

3. The Jesus Storybook Bible, by Sally Lloyd-Jones.
Best children’s bible. Ever. Hands down. It has made me cry as it teaches my children and reminds me of God’s never ending, all rescuing, and unending love for us. I love it so much I asked that the money raised for Bethany from Grace’s birthday party be used to purchase these Bibles for the babies whose parents reinstate their parental rights. And props to the author who heard this and is working with the publisher to make this more feasible financially. My favorite is when it says at the end of the story of Noah’s ark in reference to the rainbow… “God’s strong anger against hate and sadness and death would come down once more—but not on his people, or his world. No. God’s war bow was not pointing down at his people. It was pointing up, into the heart of heaven.”
4. Motown
If you’ve been reading for awhile, then you’ve read about my love affair with Sam, Al, Diana, Lionel, Aretha, Gladys, Marvin, Smokey, Otis, and, in particular, a one Mr. Wonder. And, as of late,  Mr. Jerry Lawson and the Talk of the Town.

5. My DVR
It’s how Sloan and I can watch our shows together when he travels (and why I don’t get your Office references until Friday night). It’s how I always have a Thomas or Cat in the Hat episode on deck for the Pickle. It’s how I can watch last night’s The Sing Off finale whenever I want. (Who has two thumbs and had a Committed +Boys II Men Dance party this morning with her kids? Bob Kelso. No, I mean, me!)

6. Diet Dr. Pepper
The best part of waking up is DDP in my cup.

7. Wi-Fi and all things wireless
Because sometimes the only time a Momma gets to be alone with her internet is when she is on the potty and sometimes that’s also the only time she gets to print out that recipe for Crock Pot Beef Bourguignon.

8. The Crock Pot and my rice cooker
I’m not a super huge fan of cooking. Mainly, it’s the 5 o’clock “Oh! Crap! I’m the Mom and am supposed to be feeding these people” scramble that gets me. Enter the crock pot. Add meat. Add some type of liquid…soup, beer, wine, broth, all of the above, some spices. Enjoy aroma all afternoon. Then, help Henry pour some brown rice and water into the rice maker. Press button. Empty bag salad into bowl. BAM! Homecooked meal, y’all!

9. Bacon
To borrow a phrase from my high school friend Katie, simply put, Bacon is meat candy. Bacon, a team of doctors, Al Roker, and Ellen DeGeneres saved Henry’s life. If you think this is over reaching, I commend you to read the first several months of this blog. I kid you not, pork belly saved us all. And continues to do so…

10. My house…it’s a very very very fine house.
I love our big front porch and circular driveway. Even if they are littered with buckets, trucks, bikes, balls, and dirty shoes. I love my foyer and stairwell and how they are covered with photos ranging from my parents when my dad was in the army, to our honeymoon, to the four of us dressed up for Halloween. I love that my guest bathroom has all of our diplomas, baptism certificates, honor fraternity certificates, and random hunting licenses. I love my new lipstick red kitchen with its big, deep, farm sink. I love my living room that is wall to wall books. I love that there is a corner in the living room stocked with kids books and a big fluffy orange kid chair that Henry and Gracie fight over. I love that my family room and dining room are mirror images of one another in terms of paint color. In my family room hang two of my decopage paintings and in the dining room is an arrangement of all of the silver platters my Grandmother Johnson gave me over the years. I love Henry’s blue transportation room and Gracie’s pink and green birdy room. I love that everywhere I turn in my house I see those whom I love so dearly and there is not a place that isn’t kid proof. It’s not a museum. It’s a nest; a cocoon; a small picture of what I imagine heaven to be— a place where PJs are worn well past breakfast, shoes are optional, and there’s always a good tune on the stereo.

Monday, December 20, 2010

A Silent Night doesn't help me one bit...

Saturday night we went with Sloan's family to the live Nativity at the Billy Graham library in Charlotte.  It was the first live nativity I've ever been too.  I was really looking forward to it, despite the standing in the wintry mix and waiting in line for the shuttle in said wintry mix. 

Henry loved riding the shuttle (I riding a white school bus, Mommy!) and also loved the Nativity.  He was very sweet.  He wanted to kiss and hold the baby Jesus.  I told him that Jesus had to stay with his Mommy and Daddy right now.  "Tell Mary I only kiss Baby Jesus' toes.  How 'bout I kiss his toes?"  
My dear, precious boy.

Other than the sweetness of my son, I must say I found the experience to be less than what I expected.  Sure, the was a camel, a donkey, and some random sheep.  And yeah, there was the holy family and a shepherd.  But all in all, it was too quiet.  Plastic baby Jesus was too still and quiet as Joseph and Mary sat in the cold and looked lovingly upon him.

I guess that is what also gets me about the song Silent Night.  I loved it as a child.  As does Henry.  But, come on?  Silent night?  Picture what the night of Jesus' birth must've really been like for Mary.  She spent the beginning of her labor riding a donkey.  Then she popped out her first born in a stable amongst animals.  I'm sure it smelled horrible.  And then, hours after giving birth, a pack of strange shepherds come and visit.  I doubt any of them thought to bring a home cooked meal for the new family.  And did they really all stand around silently and stare at each other?  Does anyone else think that's a little weird?  "Hi, we're hear to see the new born King.  And stare at you while we hold our lambs across our shoulders..."

And once again, let's revisit how silent babies tend to be.  Even when sleeping, both of mine as newborns made grunts and groans.   Not so helpful to the new Mom and Dad who were probably trying to find a spot without poop on it to sleep. 

I wish there was a song about this.  Perhaps Smelly night, Holy Night.  It's not calm, but He's still bright.  Please don't think I'm being sacrilegious.  It's just that romanticized versions of truth don't really help me.  I don't live in a Norman Rockwell painting.  Why we envision Precious Moments fat babies as angels when every time they appear in the Bible they scare the mess out of people, I don't know.  Why we think Jesus was a tender and mild newborn who came out of Mary's blessed womb sleeping through the night is beyond me.  Because THAT incarnation isn't God becoming man but God becoming a superhero.  And that doesn't save me at all. 

On a day when my son wakes me up by jumping up and down on my bed in his birthday suit, then my daughter cries for 2 hours straight because she hates her car seat and being strapped in the grocery cart (yes, old lady, I'm aware my daughter is upset, thank you very much) and oh yeah, she is cutting all 4 of her molars at the same time, and then my son cries for 15 minutes because I won't let him play on my Ipad for more than 30 minutes, I'm glad I don't have a Savior whose God-ness made it easy for Him.  That when I cry out to Him, "Sweet Jesus, I need your patience"  I know that His patience has withstood testing.  When I cry out, "Lord, have mercy on me, it's freezing cold and I'm stuck here in a parking lot with my in laws"  it is to a Lord who left his throne to be born in a poopy barn and then have people come stare at him. 

He gets it.  Life is rarely silent.  And it often doesn't smell very good.  And people show up you weren't expecting.  And yet,  there He is.  In the midst of the chickens and the cows and the sheep.  Son of God, Love's pure light.  Radiant beams from His holy face, with the dawn of redeeming grace. 

Jesus, Lord at thy birth.  Jesus, Lord at thy birth.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

It's Beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

Not the greatest snow.  But as we all know, there is something magical about the first snow of the season.  Especially when it is a Christmas snow...

Mommy, there are leaves in my snow angels!
Yes, baby, there are.  We've finished raking, tarping, and blowing all the leaves from the backyard to the front yard (a feat that took a mere 18 total hours and ending up sending our blower to the grave), but the man who was supposed to come and suck them all up last week has yet to come. 

Henry's favorite snow game?  Snowball Fights! 
For Henry, this means wadding up snow and then shoving it in your face, crotch, knee, etc... 
all while he screams, "SNOWBALL!  SNOWBALL!"

Here's hoping the second snow of the season is a little more magical...and by that I mean not half rain...

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Double Death Grip (aka This is NOT our Christmas Card...)

Gracie is scared I'm going to leave.  Henry is happy because he a) does not have to sit on Santa's lap, b) his Daddy has just promised to take him to the play area in the mall if he doesn't whine and smiles for the elf, and c) Santa has just given him a candy cane. 

Sunday, December 5, 2010

A Christian’s Case for Santa

In my neck of the woods, there is a running debate about Santa. Specifically, to do or not to do. When I first heard of this, it was from a friend from South Africa, so I assumed it was cultural. But no, it is apparently a trend amongst Evangelicals. And people have very heated opinions about the man with the bag. You’d think people were debating politics or something with how fierce and tense the conversations get.

Well, we do Santa. And I don’t feel bad about it. In fact, I think if you don’t do Santa you are missing out. Not just on enjoying the movie Elf, eating cookies, hanging stockings, funny pictures of kids screaming while sitting on an old stranger at the mall, and all that jazz. Not just because you place a heavy burden and secret in your child’s hands. Not just because you are creating a barrier between your kid and his friends in the name of Jesus, likely leading to the belief that Christians can’t play make believe or have fun. But mainly, I think you’re shortchanging your kid because Old Saint Nick is an opportunity to teach your child about wonder, faith, grace, and yes, even the REAL meaning of Christmas.

What’s that you say? You don’t want to lie to your kid?

Good. I don’t lie to my kid, either. I join Henry in his game of make believe. I participate with and indulge his imagination. If you say that participating in Santa is lying to your kid, then I submit to you that you should also never let your kid trick or treat, play dress up, play with trains, or build a cave out of your couch cushions. Did you think I was lying to Henry and Grace when we took them to meet Thomas the Tank Engine? Will we be lying when we let Henry and Gracie gather autographs at Disney World? After all, mice can’t talk, there’s no such thing as fairy Godmothers, and do we really want to befriend a girl who lives in sin with seven men just because they own a diamond mine? Should I admonish Henry when he prays for Thomas? Should I tell him that Thomas is a fictional train?

No. I see his prayers for Thomas to obey Sir Topham Hatt as a sign of learning that we can pray to Jesus about our wants and wishes, that we SHOULD pray for those we love, and particularly that an obedient heart is something I should be praying for as well.

In fact, as I type this, Henry is calling Grace a baby seal and he is being a shark chasing her. Unless he bites her, I’m keeping my mouth shut and am simply impressed that Henry knows what a shark eats because I haven’t taught him. (Apparently he is eating her all up. This looks likes him pulling her on top of him and then kissing her and giving her zerberts.)

I will also say that imagination is essential to the life of faith. Not because what I believe as a Christian isn’t real. Heck, no! It is because Jesus lived and breathed and pooped and bled in space and time. Imagination is necessary because it is historical reality. To believe that the God and Creator of the universe came to earth as a tiny baby, born to a virgin, and was born amongst animals is ridiculous. God should have had a better party planner or publicist. Inviting crowned heads of state was a good call, but Shepherds? To believe that that same baby grew and lived a perfect life and then took upon my yuck so that I could be his little sister and spend forever with him despite the fact that I broke his heart is just about the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. In fact, it is offensive. Scandalous. And yet, that’s what happened. So you’d better believe I encourage my kids to exercise the parts of their hearts, souls, and brains to believe in things they can’t see. Because at some point, their lives will depend upon those very muscles.

But what if my kid comes to me and says, “If Santa isn’t real, how can I trust you that Jesus is real?”

To that I say, AWESOME!!! Your child has just asked you to profess your faith. The Spirit is at work in her heart and is asking you to speak the good news. So do it! And if I’m ever asked that question, here is what I will say.

Dearest Henry and Grace, that’s a really good question. In many ways, Jesus and Santa are very similar. But in very important ways, they are drastically different. I can tell you that both Santa and Jesus were real people. They both were born, lived, had Mommies and best friends, and they both died. The difference is that Jesus was both human, like you and me and Santa, but also GOD. As in GOD of the Universe. He made you. He made me. He made Santa. So when Jesus died, which he did for your sins and mine, it was horrible. God’s heart literally broke in two. And then, in three days, Jesus rose from the dead. Santa is still dead. The men in the mall with the beards are playing dress up. Jesus, however, defeated death. Jesus is alive. And he is now, in his human body, sitting in heaven preparing a room for you.

Santa is also like Jesus in that he comes to you. We don’t ask for Santa to come, but every year, he comes. And Santa gave you presents whether you were good or bad.* Did you ever get coal? No. Santa is like Jesus in that he gives gifts because of his goodness. Not yours. You were never all good. You were selfish; you took things that didn’t belong to you; you lied; you complained; you disobeyed. And yet, you were blessed. Abundantly. That is called grace. Grace is an undeserved gift. But unlike Santa, the gift Jesus gives you is Himself. His very life. And this life He gave and gives, not only lights up a room like a Christmas tree, but changes the receiver.

So Santa, and your desperate love to get all that you wanted, also taught you another meaning of Christmas: receiving. I know we’ve told you it is better to give than receive. But truly, it is far better to receive. I suspect you, as a child, know this better than most. Christmas is about getting. And because of Jesus, we get not only forgiveness, but a rich inheritance because Jesus’ death and resurrection guaranteed us our adoption into God’s family. That’s right, just like Gracie is permanently a Phillips and has access to everything it means to be a Phillips, because of Jesus, we have permanent access to God. We don’t need to face the right direction, say the right words, spin three times, or behave perfectly. We get a room in his house. Your name is written in a book. And Jesus sees you and loves you, so he doesn’t have to check the list twice.

Perhaps you think that we threaten our children’s understanding of what Christmas is about by muddying the water with Santa and commercialism. I mean, I do have a giant white aluminum Christmas tree. Well, my son’s favorite Christmas song is “Happy Birthday, Jesus”. We sing it every night when we light our Advent wreath. And as we decorated the blatantly fake tree, we talked about how we were decorating for Jesus’ birthday party. And who comes to a birthday party without a gift? Not the Phillips family. We’ve even delegated a large portion of the gift giving to the man with the great laugh.

Because if ever a baby deserved a big birthday party with lots of gifts, it is the baby that wrote my name on a mailbox in Heaven.



*This is why we don’t do the Elf on the Shelf. I think the idea of an elf on a shelf is adorable. Just not one that visits Santa each night to report on behavior. I want my kids to associate Santa with radical grace, and a Santa that sends out pint sized hall monitors is not full of grace. Sure, I’d love to shake my finger and say, “You’d better not pout, Jingle the Elf is watching”, but I want my kids to live for God, not Santa. So as a complete sidebar, if you’re having your kids pray to Santa, or place their hopes and dreams in Santa, then that’s a problem too.  Because that IS lying to your kids.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Ellen Degeneres meets the Shoe Ninja

I love shoes. 

Prior to having children, I would purchase ridiculous high heels and find reasons to wear them.  Yes, I'd mainly wear my Rainbow flops around the house, but when it came time to leave the house, I'd don my pointy toes heels.  No matter that I am too clumsy to not get my heel caught in every other sidewalk seam or gap in a bridge. 

Even after Henry was born, I'd teeter on my heels, bobbing the boy on my hip. 

No more.  Not only do I no longer really want to go to the places that require high heels and all that grooming, but let's face it--those types of shoes, while beautiful, just aren't comfortable.  I don't care what Kelly Ripa says, they just aren't. 

But I still love shoes.  So I have replaced my quest for the perfect Kate Spades with the perfect comfy shoe--the sneaker.

Sloan first started calling me "Turtle" (from the show Entourage) when I purchased my Ed Hardy sneakers and lined them up next to my black Converse high tops and brown suede Simple lace-ups.  But upon reflection, I've come to realize that in this stage of life, my current fashion icon is Ellen Degeneres.  I wear a lot of sneakers, jeans, snazzy Ts and cardis.  And I'm okay with that.  Except for her formal wear tuxedos, Ellen is a snappy dresser. 

I've added to my sneaker collection a pair of Vans and the kids got me a pair of Project Red Chucks for my birthday. 

And I'm bringing Gracie with  me.  However,  Gracie's high tops are more out of function than form.  She is the shoe ninja.  And don't tell me to try Robeez.  She can take those off with no hands.  She can undo velcro, elastic, zippers, and buckles.  After which she delights in throwing her shoes at me while I drive.  And then toss her socks at Henry.  But she has yet to figure out the triple knot.  Double knots?  Yes, she can undo those.  Hence, the lace up high tops that are a huge pain in the butt to put on.  But darn it all if they aren't cute...