Please Have Snow, and Mistletoe

We're heading home for Christmas. Have a lovely, lovely Christmas, everyone, and we'll see you again in the New Year.

Strictly Business

"The single biggest problem in communication
is the illusion that it has taken place."
(George Bernard Shaw)

For those of you who attend my church,* I need to clarify that the Mini Kids are NOT singing their song on Thursday night at the Pageant. This Thursday it will be strictly the Kool Kidz and the Jr. Youth doing their Christmas Pageant. The Mini Kids will be singing next Sunday morning at the regular church service. Check with Char if you need more information.

Over and out.

* Or, "For those of you whose church I attend," depending on your perspective.

Works For Me: Mustard Plaster

Works for Me Wednesday is hosted by Rocks In My Dryer.

When cold and flu season hits your family, it's handy to be the Mom With The Mustard Plaster Smarts. Mustard Plasters have been used for hundreds of years as a home remedy for chest congestion, coughs, aches and colds. And why reach for a bottle of freaky chemicals when you can get better results with a safe, inexpensive natural remedy?

1. Put your child in a snugly fitting undershirt and tuck her into bed.
   
2. Mix together about 2 tsp dry mustard with about 4 Tbsp flour.
   
3. Add a little warm water and stir to form a thick paste.
4. Spread the paste over half a towel (I use an old cloth diaper -- not a formed one, just a square), and fold the other half over the paste, and fold in the ends to keep the paste inside.
5. Apply to the chest (and back, if you make two), and use the undershirt to keep the plaster in place. Tuck your child under the covers, and let the plaster sit for 10 to 15 minutes, then remove.
   
6. You want to be careful not to let the mustard actually touch the skin. It really heats up and can burn sensitive skin!
7. Watch and be amazed, O Ye Of Little Faith. It works much better than Dimetapp, Triaminic or whatever -- and, unlike those bottles of unproven and scary chemicals, it's completely safe.
   

Spread the mixture over the towel or cloth:

And fold into a neat little package.

A Desperate Cry For Help

We are losing the Battle on the Home Front. Can anybody lend me a cat? I am NOT joking. I promise he/she will be well fed. Check out the following poetic gem from last year. Clearly, it's true: from the vilest adversity is born the highest and most noble poetry:

Ode to a Mouse

Sir Mouse, how I hate thee
How I long for your death
Your turds foul my cupboards
In my wall is your nest

If I could, I would trap thee
And send thee to hell
How I long to be rid of
Your rank, evil smell

J'y Reste

Right, we've finished up all the pageant costumes, although my frustration with Joseph lives on. I must, must, must go get some suitably stripey material, without delay. My sewing machine has been limping along, marginally gimped, for the last several years. (Keep in mind that I sew as often as I, say, wash my floors.)

But somewhere between Wise Man #2 and the Palace Attendant, Herr Kenmore fixed his baleful eye on me, bared his stainless steel teeth and informed me that if I continued to ill use him, he would stitch my nostrils together while I slept.

That's why I'm pleased to introduce my new best friend:

Let's hope Joseph doesn't make any sudden moves during the pageant.

We began our Christmas baking this week, horray! Last year I made a feeble attempt to cut down on our consumption of sweets, but this year I'm thumbing my nose at the very idea of weight gain. Bah! Humbug. I'm going down in a blaze of sugary glory this year, baby.

This week we'll be embarking upon our last week of school, during which I had planned to make gingerbread houses, cookies (see above paragraph) and great vats of Yuletide wassail. Sadly, there will be precious little cookie time this week, what with the great looming loads of things I need to accomplish. My eldest daughter has been sick for several weeks, and we are now seriously behind in Math, French, Science, History, Geography, Social Studies and Language Arts. So, you know. Basically everything.

But, hey, no problem. I am calm. I am cool. I am in control. I am lying, but I will certainly live to tell the tale of this past week. In fact, my nifty Hundred Year Glasses tell me that if my daughter cannot, at the age of 42, tell interested listeners that Tegucigalpa is the capital of Honduras, the sun will continue to rise. Life will go on.

But it will go on more happily with Christmas cookies....

Works for Me Wednesday: Hundred Year Glasses

Works for Me Wednesday is hosted by Rocks In My Dryer.

Over the last month I've been experiencing health problems, with all the related questions and anxiety that so often surround health scares. The Big Ugly C Word has been mentioned, and it's frightening. (We don't have a diagnosis yet, so my fears are probably unfounded. But, you know. Pooh-poohing my fears doesn't make them go away.)

When I am confronted by a fear, unmet expectations or sheer frustration, it helps to put on my Hundred Year Glasses. Wait a minute, Gwen, I say to myself in an annoyingly reasonable tone. Put on your Hundred Year Glasses. Will this matter in a hundred years? One hundred years from now, it won't matter that our Everlasting Homestudy took six ridiculously long months to complete. One hundred years from now, it won't matter that my house often resembles a bad train wreck, and that I haven't even thought about Christmas cards yet. And one hundred years from now, this cancer scare will be long forgotten, and will have no significance at all.

What will matter in a hundred years? At that time, this body of mine will be dust, and I (the essence of me) will be with God, praising Him eternally. I think that, really and truly, all that really matters is that God is glorified in my life. As long as He's exalted and lifted up, the little frustrations and fears in my life are irrelevant. These things will pass away and be forgotten. As long as God is glorified in me, it won't matter if I have cancer. I'm going to let my Hundred Year Glasses help me focus on worshipping the Lord with my actions and my thoughts, and I'll let tomorrow worry about itself.

You will guide me with Your counsel,
And afterward receive me to glory.
Whom have I in heaven but You?
And there is none upon earth that I desire besides You.
My flesh and my heart fail;
But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
(Ps. 73:24-26)

J'y Suis

Do you like my new winter template?

Well, I have certainly been sadly remiss in providing Blethering Updates. What's a girl to do? I'm busy as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but I just haven't had the wherewithal to post. I'm awfully sorry. Can it be that the golden age of Blethering has passed? Let us hope not.

I've been sewing, sewing, sewing like a crazy sewing-obsessed sewing mad sewing woman. "Gwen," you may be asking, "What are you sewing with such intensity?"

Well, let's see. We're having a Christmas Pageant at our church, and I've sewn a Mary costume, two Large Angel costumes, four Small Angel costumes, four Shepherd costumes, an Innkeeper costume, three Wise Person costumes, one Herod costume (cursed be his name), one Palace Attendant costume, and, for the coup-de-grace, a Roman Soldier costume. I've been quite a busy little bee.

Did you notice, though, that poor Joseph, eternally doomed to be a mere step-parent of the Messiah, doesn't yet have a costume? I'm out of material, and I didn't notice the omission. Ay, caramba. I'll have to trot on back to the craft store.

I'm not generally a fan of sewing, particularly when it involves stressful fittings and a billion pattern pieces with interfacing, buttonholes and (my personal nemesis) zippers. But I love sewing costumes, doll clothes, curtains, etc. So I have been as happy as a clam, with a living room overrun with thread, empty bobbins and scraps of what used to be our sheets. (I left one on the bed, fortunately.)

Things are progressing nicely on the homeschool front. You know, after the first two or three post-employment "What In The World Have I Done, And Is It Too Late To Change My Mind" weeks had passed, I have not had any regrets about leaving work. It was definitely, definitely the right choice.

I have noticed a change in our family dynamics already. My relationship with my daughters, in particular, has improved dramatically since September -- and it was an excellent relationship to begin with. I am just so, so happy that I don't have to farm my children out to babysitters anymore. (Of course, Ruth, you know I love you!) What a huge blessing to be able to stay home with them.

Oh! I should also let you all know that we have nearly completed our Everlasting Home Study for the adoption. (note: We are in Step 7 of Gwen's Official Order of Adoption Events.) We're waiting for our Agency to return the final draft of the H.S., and then we'll sign it off, send it to the Ministry for approval, and THEN we will finally begin.... uh..... to wait some more. But it will be a good kind of wait.

Well, now that I've compared myself to a cat, a bee, a trotting Mexican horse and a clam, that's all I've got for you today.
(edit: I had originally posted a desperate and whining plea for reassuring comments. However, after spending the whole evening cringing every time I thought of it, I took it down. I am a rock. I am an island. A rock feels no pain. And an island never cries. But rocks and islands like comments.)