I thought I could do it. I thought I should do it, to resume this blog without mentioning the ache we all have about what happened Friday in Connecticut. I even wrote a different post, figuring we'd heard enough of the pain, the insanity, the grief that has only begun.

But I read stories to my babies tonight, tucked them in, heard them laugh, inhaled the clean, springtime smell of their damp hair after a hot bath. And I have to say I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry that there are moms and dads tonight who would give anything and beyond to smell the curly hair of their little one, to kiss the nose of their kindergartner, to read a silly story to their second grader, and to bury their faces into a sweaty neck after a soccer goal, a dance recital, a backyard race.

I'm so, so sorry, I can barely stand up under the sorrow, and I'm grieving only from afar.

We were out of town last weekend and did not watch much coverage on the shooting. Our children were always within ear- and eye-shot and we kept the television off. But then I was standing in the airport, and I caught the tail end of a story about two little boys, boys Mitchell's age, and I saw their grinning, toothless faces, and big, hot tears came flooding down my cheeks.

What will those mothers do tonight? How will they get up tomorrow?

Oh, Jesus, come soon. Make it right. I take great comfort in knowing You wept, too, at death's temporary victory. You got furious at injustice. You are the One who set eternity in our hearts. You know where we are, and Your face is not turned from us.

May God have mercy on our broken, fragile hearts.

Tidings of Comfort

Why do we do this to ourselves? Every year, we endure the pain and hardship of Photoshopping taking a Christmas card that will reflect our joy and gratitude for friendships and the Holy Child. Instead, this happens:

And then this:

Which spirals downward to this:

And just when we think we've made it over the mountain, this:

So then our numbers take a hit.

Until finally, we just resort to our true selves.

From our dysfunction to yours, we wish you a merry photo session. Good luck with that.

I Can't Help Falling....

I might be making this up, but I feel like there was a time when I still maintained my dignity. Admittedly, I blame a whole slew of life changes on childbirth, many of which I will not enumerate here because I would scare you off. But I think there was a time when I could still hold my head up in public and not fear that at any moment, I would make a complete fool of myself.

That time has gone the way of Z Cavariccis, Salon Selectives, and Depeche Mode. Nowadays I pick up my youngest child at preschool and end up doing this:

Photo source.

In a hallway crowded with parents and teachers. True, I wasn't wearing red bloomers, high heels or a mic pack. And there were no go-go dancers in the background. But everything else was the same. Thea was holding on to my legs, "hugging" me with force that apparently I am unable to withstand. I FELL OVER, BACK ON THE FLOOR, BOTH LEGS IN THE AIR.

One dad looked away with a nervous laugh, hoping that if he just didn't look at my feet and my sprawled position, perhaps it wasn't really happening at his son's preschool, where they learn innocent things like the Pledge of Allegiance and how to share Teddy Grahams.

Another dad, out of shock and pity, said with wide eyes, "That was awesome."

Which is a relief, because I was definitely going for awesome.

Photo source.

I do praise God I was not wearing a skirt.

Happy weekend, friends. May your rumps remain appropriately absconded and may you refrain from scarring fathers of preschoolers. Go in peace, knowing I will disrupt it at any second.

Holiday Shopping Idea Zone

I know you're all uber organized and that you don't need any help in this department. In the off chance, however, that you are still looking for that little something special for the loved ones gathering around the tree this Christmas, I took it upon myself to be helpful. Take a looksy and you can thank me later.

1. His and Her watches. So cute! So artsy! So budget-friendly!

Wouldn't Marc just love a blue animal skin band with a moon on the face? He totally would! And he will love it that these two beauts only put us out $1,090,000! Such a steal for a little over a million. Plus, the watches come with two business-class tickets to Paris and Geneva, where we can watch the watch people MAKE watches like this. I, for one, would not wear this timepiece in economy seating. Eww.

2. Broadway, here I come!

I have long, long dreamed of playing Annie. Before today, that dream could have been fulfilled in Des Moines community theater, or even a moldy church basement. But now! I know I don't need to think so small. For a small investment of $30,000, I can be in the stinking Broadway show! In New York! On Broadway! I will use only exclamation points when speaking of my theater debut! Plus, I get six tickets to the show, perfect for Marc, my children and my parents, all of whom will need to bring me roses and shout "Brava!" when I "accidentally" trip the lead little witch actress and start belting "Tomorrow!" !!! and !!!! You're only a day (and 30K) away!

3. Jet pack (duh).

I feel almost embarrassed to be stating the obvious, but a Jet Lev R200 is the perfect gift for anyone on your list. This particular model is even better than the one you got for high school graduation, clocking in at 32 mph for a top speed and shooting your lithe and smiling body a good 30 feet in the air whenever the heck you feel like it. And I challenge you to find anything else that can propel you skyward in your swimsuit and not leave you maimed or paralyzed for only $99,500.

Hope this helps. Only 21 shopping days left!

All photos and real life prices courtesy of Neiman Marcus.

Shawn Johnson and DWTS: A Lament

I can't even pretend to be unbiased.

Photo source.

Shawn John should have won.

What? Am I the only one still watching DWTS, other than Tom Bergeron's wife? Listen, I swore it off years ago when my five-year-old started asking me about procreation during Rumba week. But then Shawn Johnson was on the All-Star season and watching became a civic duty. She is, as you should know, from my very own home town of West Des Moines, Iowa.

I have mentioned before how I love the Olympics, but really I just love these two.

Photo source.

Gabi went to our church when she lived here for the years leading up to her TRIUMPHANT SWEEP of the Olympics. And Shawn and I are pretty much great friends. She may not see it like that, and sure, I can be a little overwhelming when I accost her froth about her talent in the produce section of our local grocery store. Or in the TJMaxx parking lot. Or when she goes for a jog in my neighborhood. But I CANNOT HELP IT. She's an Iowan, she's spunky, she keeps her nose clean AND she can do this:

Photo source.

So my apologies to Melissa Rycroft, who is probably a very nice girl underneath all my jealousy for her abs. (Note: No woman who has birthed a child should show these in public. How am I supposed to explain myself to my husband then next time I accidentally bare my midriff?)

Photo source.

I'm sure Melissa is a ripped sweetie, but Shawn John should have won first place. You're the champ in my heart, SJ. You have done us Iowans proud. I'll try not to cry the next time we run into each other. and don't get scared if I have to perform your awesome Quickstep from Week 3 for you in aisles of TJ Maxx. It's all out of love.

5! 6! 7! 8! B.F.F.s 4-ever! Call me later!

Let's Talk Turkey

Do you think I'm shallow if my all-time favorite holiday is completely focused on food consumption? Thanksgiving makes me so happy. 

(Photo source)

I look a lot like this when I say the word. "Thanksgiving," I say, and then I make my hands into a prayerful pose, tie on my checkered apron, and look over yon to the setting sun. I also lose 15 inches around my waistline.

Speaking of waistlines, don't you love Thanksgiving? Yes, you do, or you would be a bitter, unAmerican, frightfully thin person and those kinds of people hate my blog. So you do love Thanksgiving and if you're anything like me in a checkered apron, you love the food. Turkey, yes, but the side dishes. Joy in a serving dish, that's what they are. I'm talking mashed potatoes, cornbread stuffing with toasted pecans, homemade rolls, green beans with shallots and bacon, cranberry sauce...And the desserts? Pecan pie, loved ones. (Time to put hands in prayerful pose). Cinnamon apple crumble pie. Or one of my recent favorites, Brown Sugar and Chocolate Chip Pound Cake with Maple-Espresso Glaze.

I am feeling very, very thankful.

And can we just agree to eat happily this year? I have read multiple times this week in newspapers and mags that we should all be super careful (read: depressed) and not eat too much on Thanksgiving or we will either lose more jobs to China or perish by the winter solstice. I might be combining current issues here, but I still think we're overdramatizing. Sure, go for a walk if you must, or toss the football around in the backyard. But then re-assume prayerful hands and sit down for another round of side dishes. Do your part. The Pilgrims nearly croaked so you'd have this privilege.

So who's cooking at your house? What side dish makes you want to dance happy?

(Photo source)

I'd love to know what and how you're eating. Happy Best Cooking Week of the Year!

Run the Race

I ran a 5K this fall.

And here is why I'm bringing it up: Remember Lolo Jones? Super fit, fast as an antelope, stunningly beautiful?

I looked NOTHING like her when I was running.

For one thing, my new pants kept falling down. The weather had just changed to cool and my summer running gear wasn't going to work, so I dug into my drawer and found a great pair of shiny black Lycra pants that were AWESOME when I wore them at Des Moines Christian track meets in JUNIOR HIGH. I am not telling a falsehood here: I have had those pants since the early 80s. Will someone please tell me to go shopping?

Well, I sure did, people, and I sure did buy a pair of cute little just-below-the-knee running pants without trying them on. And I sure did feel smug for avoiding the hassle of a fitting room. And I sure did have to hike those pants up for the first mile of the race before I sweated enough for them to stick without assistance.

Do you think Lolo's pants fall down? No, no they do not.

Of course, if you think you'll get me to wear one of these little streamlined briefs anywhere but in a dark closet, you're off your rocker.

I finished, and I wasn't the last one, which was my goal. In fact, Marc was trash talking a little bit on my behalf and very proud that his wife "smoked" our local news anchor, who is rounding the corner to 60 years of age but still kicking it on the pavement. Take THAT, Kevin Cooney.

I made it. And I'm here to tell all you moms who don't look like Lolo or charm like Kevin, you can do it too. YOU CAN DO IT. Lace up those shoes and get your run on. I would merely recommend trying on your pants before the gun goes off.