my 2012 word for the year

What on earth? Will someone please tell her that’s actually two words?!! And that the one little word isn't supposed to be a noun? ‘Kitchen Table’ is ridiculous.


Well, you could tell me that. 

And I could have chosen two other words that probably would have made more sense to the one little word club. I thought about intention. As in 'intention to get a meal on that table each night.’ And I thought about the word gather, as in ‘gather round family, its 5:30 and I’ve got something real tasty for you to eat.’

But intention and gather felt too flowery for me this year. Too schmaltzy, if you will. This isn’t about pretty sounding words and high hopes. This is about meat and potatoes. It’s about the practicalities of getting a routine in my life so that grocery shopping isn’t a mystifying experience every week. It’s about planning and preparation so that I am not begrudgingly trying to guess what I should make for supper every single day. And it’s about peace of mind knowing that the days of eating in front of the tv are over, Ivar is old enough to sit through a meal with us and that the time we gather and talk and break bread at the kitchen table is perhaps the most sacred time in our day.

Now to be fair, it's not like we never eat at the table. We probably do 3 or 4 times a week. But this new plan has as much to do with my attitude about the daily task of putting something on that table as it does getting us all there. My plan with Kitchen Table is to up that number of nights per week and to up my attitude about filling that table with good things to eat. (Rory has already said he'll take a night.)

So the word is Kitchen Table. As in, I’m going to clear the table and set the table. Sometimes I might even have a centerpiece. A lit candle seems like a good idea. I am going to meal plan, organize my grocery list and think about the next night’s supper and what needs to thaw overnight. And then, at 5:30, I’m going to call my family to the kitchen table and we’re gonna thank God for the sloppy joes before us.

thoughts on my 2011 one little word: try

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When I was seven months pregnant with Ivar, Rory and I spent a week at Mount Carmel for family camp. We were sitting at a table in the dining hall that looked over the lake and my friends Amanda and Lindsey came and joined us. They are former summer counselors that I used to supervise, and now I get to count as friends. They came to our table on a mission. They had something to say.


They asked me if I’d ever consider writing a book of short little thoughts on motherhood, stories and lessons along the way. They were persistent. They wanted me to write this so they could read it one day when they had babies. I laughed but they didn’t laugh. I remember later feeling badly for being so flippant at their request.

Something about that conversation stuck for me, and really took a load off. I have wanted to write something for a long, long time. But the thought of publishing, finding readers, critique, and being that absolutely vulnerable scared the wits out of me.

But Amanda and Lindsey were just asking for something that they could later read. I’m not scared of their critique. I’m not afraid of their judgment over incomplete thoughts, typos and laying myself bare. They like me. I like them. I would write for them.

I wrote a lot on the blog about pregnancy and Ivar’s first year, but there is a whole lot I didn’t put on the blog. So I started keeping a file filled with short writings pertaining to every month of his life, filled with transition, awkward moments, charmed moments and everything in between.

My word for 2010 was Try. Because that was the goal: I’m going to try to complete something that I can self publish. I have terrible voices in my head that tell me not to bother, but my word for the year was meant to stand in defiance against those voices. I’m just going to try. No one has to love it. No one has to read it. At least I tried.

So I did. We set up babysitting times once a week so that I could drop Ivar off with grandparents and aunts and uncles and I holed up in library study rooms across the metro area.

I’ve got a pretty complete rough draft to show for it. Because I tried.

I’m in a new stage of writing now, one that I have never been in before…editing. Blogs are funny because nothing is ever edited. I write and publish and what you see is what I wrote. But I’m hopeful for no typos. No glaring grammatical errors. And for that, I need someone else’s help.

So that’s my reflection on my word for 2011. I have a new word for 2012. I’m really excited to share it and more excited to live it. It’s a great word full of meaning for me. Full of purpose and ambition. And this year, it’s a noun.

the best of 2011

One of my favorite bloggers puts together a post of her personal bests for each year. I thought I'd give it a go myself and had such a cool time going through my favorite pictures, reflecting on the past year and all the good things we packed it with. I give you, my best of 2011:

the magic maker

I’ve been thinking about this all month. Not sure how it’s going to all come tumbling out, but I’m just going to start typing. (The picture above is me in 1st grade. And I still have that skateboarding girl, I'll have you know. I know right where she's at at this very moment...)

Now this thought I’m about to share isn’t totally new to me. I’ve felt it since Ivar was born, but this Christmas it became quite pronounced. This year I hardly decorated, cookies made me nauseous and we didn’t have any snow. It was an odd Christmas to be sure. But it made something very obvious: If I don’t decorate, the house doesn’t get decorated. If I don’t bake, we don’t nibble and munch all season. If I don’t make my house merry and bright, December can slip by like any other month. I am the magic maker.

I get really nostalgic for Christmas' in the past. But what I'm realizing is the ones I am dreaming about are the Christmas' where I merely took in the magic. The ones where somehow it all got done. Someone mysterious was doing all the gift purchasing and then wrapping those gifts into the wee hours behind a locked bedroom door. Someone else bustled in the kitchen for our ham and hot fruit and creamy potatoes. Someone else did all of the organizing of company, planning of special festive outings, decorating and party planning.

Turns out, my mom was busting her hiney every December. My mom was making the magic. And I’m just realizing this now, at age 30.

I mean, I knew it, I just didn’t really know how much work it entailed.

It’s a big responsibility! My sister-in-law Lisa told me that at some point the week before Christmas it dawned on her that she simply was not going to get it all done. She knew it days before execution. There just wasn’t enough time. And so after Christmas dinner, Lisa disappeared and wrapped the presents we were about to open just moments later. She was doing her magic, you see.

So to all the mom’s who met each other at Target late at night, to all the mom’s who ran to the corner store for another pound of butter and some more vanilla, to all the mom’s who got out all of the Christmas decorations and now are staring at them hoping they’ll put themselves away, I guess I just want to say, You’re magical.

And it is worth it. All the love and attention to detail my mom poured into my childhood Christmas' were not lost on me. And now it's what I'll strive for with my own kids. Starting next year. When smells are lovely again and feeding my son lunch doesn't take every ounce of energy I have. But look out Christmas 2012. I'll be back. And I'll be magical.

a christmas to remember...or try to forget.

Ivar got the flu on Christmas Morning around 1:30 at my folk’s house. We had celebrated Christmas Eve with the Groves and went to my parents to sleep overnight for Christmas Day with the Harringtons.


Unfortunately, it was violent and messy and long lasting. Basically, it was awful. It’s hard to watch your baby dry heave. But I do recommend if you’re a first time mom, try to be with your mom when your baby gets the flu for the first time. Because as a first time mom, you really need a mom of your own to mother you while you act as the mother to your baby. At one point in the night Rory said to my mom, “Margaret, you can go back to bed if you’d like.” And I told him mom was up for me, not for Ivar.

Another handy thing about being at mom’s is that she has an abundance of wash clothes and bath towels which is what we used to wrap our baby in and catch his mess. He blew through his clothes quite quickly and this served as a pretty great system considering how unpredictable the whole thing is.

We came back home on Christmas Day, and my folks headed to my sister’s to celebrate with her and her family. Ivar threw up throughout the day, but babies are funny and sort of bounce back between episodes. So we opened Christmas presents by the tree, watching the Yule Log and laying very low. I felt really ill after such a terrible night of sleep.

Monday came and I felt better than I have in months. I sorted my art supplies, switched a book shelf, and my folks came over in the evening to help with more projects. I was so motivated to sieze this new found energy! We swept, mopped, took the tree down (I know, pretty early, but what is the point of sweeping if you are going to take the tree down a few days later?!!) and the Christmas decorations (all three of them I had put up.)

Then my mom got sick. Really sick. 36 hours after Ivar, and she was down for the count. They left our house with bucket in hand and three hours later my dad caught the bug too. An hour after that Rory and I were hit. It was like war. This flu bug was picking us off one by one.

Monday night will not soon be forgotten. All three of us in this little home were violently ill and it was terrible. Terrible.

Tuesday came as a slow recovery day. But Ivar still threw up Tuesday night and then again last night. We took him to the doctor today and the doctor thinks the last three nights have been formula related with his system having trouble digesting the lactose in his bottles. So we’re onto soy formula and hoping this might be the key.

Did I mention that Annika’s little baby Svea got it too? And now Sonna has it. That family is like domino’s about to topple over and I am so, so sorry for them.

My dad is out grocery shopping for us right now, restocking the essentials: bananas, apple sauce, gingerale, saltines and bread. We’re a sorry sight here on Girard. Wouldn’t recommend coming too close.

Just thought I’d check in before the new year. Sorry if this is all too much information. I sort of just wanted to write it out so that years from now we can read it and thank our lucky stars it isn’t the Christmas of 2011.