Magnolias at Christmastime

We did something a little crazy this Christmas.
We packed up everybody and their presents and drove through southern Utah,  tiny parts of Arizona and Nevada, across Death Valley all the way to the misty Pacific Coast.
We traded our cold, white Christmas for a moderately warm, green one.

Now let me tell you about the really wonderful part. Actually, there were several.

Part the first.
We met up with my sister and her husband in Monterey.
This amazing sister of mine has jumped out of airplanes, scuba dived in the ocean,  climbs mountains, I understand she can drive a motorcycle, and probably lots of other death defying things I don't know about.
She's pretty amazing.
She had her fourth beautiful baby just days before we all descended upon her.
Bless her heart.


Before you think we are the worst relatives ever, let me explain that my dear parents made arrangements for us to stay at a near by hotel. (Gracias, padres!)

Her new baby is beautiful. She looks a lot like her siblings. Though we don't see each other as often as we'd like, I love my sister's kids as if they were my own.


Part deux.

I has been a long time since we have all been together; my mom, dad, sister and two younger brothers. All together.
And like every family, we've had different things pulling us different ways.
We are different than we were when we were all kids 20 years ago. So much has happened!
And yet.
There is a lot that is still the same.
On Christmas eve, my dad strongly encouraged me to play the piano and stressed about getting the program moving a long.
My mom cooked good food almost the whole day.
My brothers sat on the couch and read books or watched TV and played with the kids.
My sister was nursing a brand new baby, but she was also laughing with my brothers and talking to my dad and mom and me.
That is a lot of what I remember Christmas eve being like 20 years ago.

Only now we have eleven more people in the mix.

The children dressed up and played out the nativity, to which my father read from Luke. We sang a few songs in there. After the five and a half minute program my six year old nephew inquired, "Is that it?" And yes, it was.
There were crying babies you see.

*The two one-year olds. This just cracks me up! I mean, poor Viktor. Isaac was a little "grabby".*

And that's kinda how it goes. 10 hours of preparation for 5 minutes of glory. And that's ok. Because when I look back on it, it was wonderful. This is where we are in our lives right now.



And I feel so so blessed.
I have two parents who love each other and honor their commitment to each other and God. I am so grateful for their example and support.
I have a sister who is my best friend. A brother in law who is charming, kind and thoughtful.
I have two nephews and two nieces who I am crazy about.
I have two brothers who I adore and who I am so proud of.


I have a wonderful husband and children. I feel like Maria, in The Sound of Music:

Here you are, standing there, loving me
Whether or not you should
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good.

Part three.
We listened to the Hobbit on the way down. Then Jeremy took Sam and Elise to see the new Hobbit movie with their cousins, uncles and grandpa.
I married a crazy, intense movie critic, people! Let's just say he was...displeased.

That is all for part three.

Quattro.
We stayed at the Naval Post-graduate school in Monterey. It is a delightfully old building with huge windows and ceilings. The kids had a lot of fun exploring the place. They said they found Griffindor tower up a long winding stair case!
After living in Utah so long, I was genuinely surprised to see that roses were still blooming in the gradens of Monterey. My sinuses were singing halleluja! the whole time. The ocean is magical. The waves, entrancing. I think, if you've ever lived by the ocean as a child, you have the song of the waves in your heart forever.
How poetic of me.


Viisi.
Jeremy kept asking me what I wanted for Christmas. I told him this trip to California is what I wanted! And I  meant it. I knew this was going to be a sacrifice for him. He loves my family. But he was the one driving down, taking un-paid vacation time from work because all the paid time had been used up this summer. Even the time off in the summer wasn't really for himself. He came to see us in Wisconsin. He also hiked with the Young Men in our church and spent a few days a Youth Conference.
So he took the time off.
He came and was happy. He helped and he played. He is really a kind person. He never causes any drama. In fact, he really helps keep me in check, drama wise.
Some things didn't work out the way we planned. Like our trip to San Francisco.
But he didn't let that ruin anything.
He honestly, genuinely loves us.
Me.
And I couldn't ask for anything more.

Part the end. Or Six. Or the part about our trip to San Francisco.
That will be another post.

my three boys by the sea

When a baby answers a prayer

I am inspired to write this post after seeing a video from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that talks about a woman going through a very difficult time and receiving peace and comfort from holding her little niece.

And anyway, this little experience needs to be recorded for posterity.

Last Christmas, my baby was very, very little. Under seven pounds, little. A couple of days before Christmas I went to the grocery store to get a few things. Isaac was just over a month old. I put little Isaac, who was in his carrier/car seat, in the shopping cart. I remember hearing the gentleman ringing the bell for Salvation Army donations. It was cold, but not bitterly so.

I got my few items ans started to leave the store when an older woman approached me. She seemed a little haggled (but we all do a few days before Christmas). Despite this, she just started gushing over Isaac, who was beaming at her from his seat. It was one of his first truly big smiles.
The woman started to cry and told me that smile helped her so much.
She proceeded to tell me that just days before, her 2 year old grandson was killed in a car accident and her heart was aching so much.
I started to cry too.
She said she felt it was as if her grandson was trying to comfort her, through my baby's smile.
Then she asked what my baby's name was.
I told her and she gasped.
She said her grandson's name was Isaac, too.

One of my little primary kids asked a few weeks ago if miracles still happen.

Yes, they do.

I don't think I will ever see that woman again, but her image, tears and touched heart will always stay with me.

Our Father in Heaven knows us and sends help in unexpected, but purposeful ways.

Like the flicker of candlelight

Christmastime brings back so many memories. More than any other time of the year, for me. Some of my earliest memories involve Christmas and activities that accompany the season.

It's kinda hard for me to believe I was ever this little. Almost four? I think I was three in this photo. My little sister is two then. My birthday is in January. So I must have been almost four. I'm not sure what I was thinking about. Maybe I was just concentrating really hard. An early indication of genius? or moody-ness? My sister, on the other hand, had the right idea.

Doesn't baking cookies just remind you of Christmas? Especially these gingerbread cookies. The little piggy shaped cookies are from Finland, my mother's home. Oh, but wait, maybe those are just piggy-looking gingerbread MEN. Hard to tell, but if they were piggies they'd be from Finland.

Another Christmas memory involves cardamon. If you don't know what cardamon is, I feel sorry for you. If you only know it from your experience with Indian food, I don't feel quite so sorry for you.

I know cardamon from Pulla buns. An absolutely delicious sweet cinnamon pastry from Finland. I can never think of Christmas without the smell of cardamon in my mind.

My mom was so good about letting us help bake! When I think about my two and four year olds baking all I think about is how much mess it's going to make!

But not my mom. (Well, maybe she did, but I never knew it.)
Here she is:


I have a very beautiful mother.  Some of my earliest memories include watching her put on mascara in the bathroom and the smell of Oil of Olay at night. She is so beautiful, she doesn't have to try at all to be beautiful, even with those huge glasses on she's gorgeous.

She is an excellent cook. And that is why so many of my early Christmas memories involve the tastes and smells of good food.

Candlelight is also very Christmas-y to me. I remember being fascinated with candlelight perhaps even this young. It is captivating as it dances along beautifully there on the taper of wax, oblivious to the world around it. Almost otherworldly. For a long time the Christmas story of a virgin (and I'm sure I didn't understand what that meant until much later) having a baby in a barn or cave with animals all around and angles coming to shepherds seemed otherworldly to me to. Even magical. More so than a big, scary man in a red suit who sneaks in people's houses. (Not that there's anything wrong with that)

I honestly don't recall the presents I received this Christmas, thirty-two years ago. I don't even know what I thought of Santa this year or if I even knew who he was.

But I am sure I was hugged and kissed. I'm sure we sang songs, in Finnish and English. I'm sure the Christmas story was read. And I know I had good food. And as much as I think Santa and elves and presents are fun, I'm so thankful to my parents for teaching me where the true magical wonder is, because thirty-two years later it's that knowledge that has made all the difference in my life.