7QT: Gray and Pie

One

I'm torn between trying to write and feeling guilty for not wanting to watch the wretched golden and pink sunrise. God is surely mocking me. I should never be awake to see the sunrise, but he fixed that with winter. And it is displayed at my window right at eye line just at the moment I think I might be awake enough to write so that I feel bad if I don't look at it. And also, I can see it perfectly since there's not even one single leaf to block my view. When the heavens declare the glory of God, what happens if I decide not to look at it? And anyway, there, it's gone. Here's what it will look like from this window for the rest of the day.

The word you're searching for is Gray.

Two

It's ok that the world is gray right now. In December gray is an acceptable color because all inside is warm and glowing and hopeful. The children will put their shoes out tonight, and the days are being counted down to Christmas with chocolate and, well really just chocolate. Excitement and joy are building, for the most part, along with stress and anxiety. No, it will be in February that the gray will be too much. Inside, the house will still be glowing, but nobody will care any more because the soul will have turned to frigid ice.

“We need some massive feast mid February,” Matt rightfully pointed out.

“There's Valentine's Day,” I suggested but he just rolled his eyes. “There's the Presentation.”

“Too early” he said.

“There's Shrove Tuesday.”

“I can't eat pancakes” he said and we left it at that.

Maybe February would be a good time for that weird made up Seinfeld holiday. Or maybe we should try to cook through some cook book in a single month. Or maybe it won't matter and we'll just do what we always do, which is to complain. Thing is–did I already write this somewhere?–it's not the actual winter I hate so much, it's the dread of it, the waiting for it to freeze everything.

Three

Anyway, tomorrow is St. Nicholas day and I need to go buy several pounds of chocolate and clementines for church and find the really nice red bishop's hat I bought on Amazon a couple of years ago. The children are pretty excited, or at least Elphine is because she's really the only one that remembers. I did notice, reading The Celebration Project, and some other blogs, that I seem to have missed a great opportunity. Some, it would seem, are separating Christmas out to be more about Jesus, and having St. Nicholas be more about presents and chocolate. What a brilliant idea. Wish someone had let me know so long ago. Tragically for me Christmas and St. Nicholas are about presents, though Jesus does make his way in somewhere. What a lot of work I could have been spared.

Four

I should really take this moment to remind you of Homemaking through the Church Year, what with us being already in a new liturgical year. She, Jessica, has put together a really marvelous book called Let Us Keep the Feast. It's all in one volume now so you could just order it and have it. I should go reread the pertaining sections on February (not a church term, cough).

Five

The girls are having pie for breakfast. Woke up in a cold sweat worried that if it isn't eaten now it will go off and worried that I would end up huddled alone in the kitchen eating all the pie because of the great tragedy if it went off. Realized that there are other people around here who can eat pie. Resolved, around 3:47 am, not to go downstairs until all the pie has definitely been eaten. Lay awake for another hour feeling sad about not being the one who would eat all the pie. Began finally to pray that God would help me to think about anything, for real, anything but pie, and let me go back to sleep.

Six

Endured a really long week of school. Realized that one child's only way of relating to reality is by asking for stuff, that there is really never a conversation that doesn't involve, somewhere along the way, a request for something, ranging all the way from a sandwich to some kind of technology. Went through this with him one time before, when he was much smaller, and started plugging him full of mozzarella cheese at the suggestion of a friend. Strangely, it did seem to help. Probably going to try it again, along with just painstaking efforts to get him to talk about other topics. Ten, if I remember rightly, is a horrible age to endure with a child. Along with three and four. Its so strange to see patterns repeating in different children, who don't resemble each other barely at all, but they follow the same way nevertheless.

Seven

And there's a loud scream from the child formerly known as Fatty Lumpkin. Seems she has bumped her lip in the usual place. She has such fat lips. Tragically, she and Marigold both sat down and did the first seven lessons in How to Teach a Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons yesterday. This really does mark the end of their baby years. Alouicious just walked in and asked me if Binghamton is the second Babylon. ???? I should get up and face down the day. Have a lovely one yourself, if you're into that sort of thing, and go read the new Quick Take Host.