Our Advent and Christmas Traditions

It's been a couple years since I wrote about our Advent traditions. Although we're nearly at the end here, I wanted to share what we do to prepare our hearts and home for the birth of Our Lord. We are *finally* settled down here enough that we are back in stride with the things that make this season feel truly like the special preparation period it is meant to be.

First and probably most obvious is the advent wreath. Despite clutter and the struggle to get other Advent decorations up, it's the first thing to be set up after Thanksgiving. It has changed a lot in the last several years, depending on what type of purple and pink candles I could find. Originally it was just little votive candles nestled in a grapevine wreath. Traditionally they are ringed in evergreen to represent the eternity of God. Last year I found a metal advent wreath in a thrift store for taper candles, but could only find white candles. So I taped pink and purple ribbon around the candles, which we are doing again this year. The color purple is symbolic of penance, and waiting, while pink (for the 3rd Sunday, Gaudete Sunday) represents the shift to the season of rejoicing. The Savior is almost here! The colors also mirror the vestments worn for the Sundays' Masses. Taper candles burn up incredibly fast, so we only light the candles for a short time on each Sunday during our special prayers. I'm looking for a pillar candle Advent wreath for future years so we can make the wreath lighting more of a special time. I would also love to use real beeswax candles, but they are super expensive and we do what we can.

On the first Sunday of Advent we begin the St. Andrew Christmas Novena. It's a prayer that's said for a particular intention 15 times a day.

Also on the first Sunday of Advent we start our Jesse tree. It is called a "Jesse tree" because of the description of Christ from the Book of Isaias: "And there shall come forth a rod out of the root of Jesse, and a flower shall rise up out of his root." Jesse was the father of the great King David and many times great grandfather of Jesus. The Jesse tree tells the biblical stories of Our Lord's ancestors daily up until Christmas day. We started our Jesse tree tradition a couple years ago using the Jesse Tree DVD from Holy Heroes, but setting up your own can be super simple with a small tree or even a branch, or a paper or felt tree you stick to the wall. A quick Google search will tell you the stories to read for each day and where to find them in the Bible. The ornaments, simply decorated with a symbolic image from the story of the day, become the countdown for Christ's birth as each day we hear again the beloved stories of creation, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to St. John the Baptist. On December 17th, for the last week of Advent, we start the O Antiphons, hymns from the Old Testament which are sung at Vespers, praying for the coming of the Messiah. The song "O come, o come Emmanuel" is a lyrical paraphrase of the O Antiphons. In years past we used paper ornaments but this year I made wood slice ornaments that are prettier and much more durable.

The Jesse Tree Ornaments are our countdown to Christmas.

I try to have the house decorated by the end of the first week of Advent including having the Christmas tree up. I know many Traditional families try to wait until Christmas Eve to get their decorations and tree up since the true Christmas season doesn't begin until Christmas, but I'd never get done if I waited. It really doesn't feel like Advent either without the trimmings. We do leave it all up until after Epiphany January 6th (when the three Wise Men found Christ), and the Nativity scene until Candlemas February 2 (the commemoration of the presentation of Christ in the temple). February 2 is the traditional end of the Christmas/Epiphany season.

Besides the tree, the nativity scenes are set up as they might have been at this time 2000+ years ago: inhabited by animals, possibly a shepherd tending his sheep, but no Magi, and no Mary, Joseph, or Baby Jesus. Mary and Joseph and trusty donkey are placed outside the stable, still journeying.

Also journeying are the three Kings, following a star. (They are currently passing the microwave in our kitchen.)

Baby Jesus is hidden away safely until He appears Christmas morning. His manger(s) await. Several years ago I began a tradition with the boys to help them prepare their hearts for Christ, which is what Advent is for, after all. As adults we can all benefit from visual cues at times, and children even more so. I made a manger out of sticks and encouraged them to earn "soft things" for Jesus's bed by acts of kindness and sacrifices. They lay strips of fleece in the manger anytime they do good. Christ, Who gives all things, is the one Who brings our Christmas gifts, not Santa. And He will not bring gifts to children who leave His bed hard and cold. Misbehavior results in strips taken out. Oh the terror when Gaudete Sunday rolls around and the manger is in a sad state with one scraggly strip of fleece!

We've never gotten to Christmas with an empty manger, but one year when it could have been better the first gift the boys opened at home was a box of rocks. Aidan cried, but dear incorrigable Gavin was so excited, he dumped that box of rocks in the back of the shiny new Tonka truck Grandma and Grandpa had given him and took off like he won the lottery. That boy. ❤

The Feasts We Celebrate During Advent

December 6 is the Feast of St. Nicholas...another reason Santa Claus doesn't visit us on Christmas. St. Nicholas' day is much earlier in the season, and Christmas is for Christ. The night before, the boys set out their shoes and find the next morning they've been filled with gold chocolate coins. We also read "The Legend of St. Nicholas" and watch the the cartoon, Nicholas: The Boy Who Became Santa.

December 8 is the feast of the Immaculate Conception. Since it's a Holyday of Obligation for U.S. Catholics, we attend Mass when we can. We read the Epistle and Gospel from the Mass of the day and have a special treat later. This year we had friends over for supper and they treated us with donuts!

The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, patroness of the Americas, also falls during Advent (December 12), and is a feast we love to celebrate.

This day is so special for many reasons, but one notable reason for us is that on this day two years ago we found out that Our Lady of the Roses had sent us a little rose: we were expecting our first baby girl! (Those familiar with this apparition will remember that Our Lady filled Juan Diego's tilma with out-of-season roses and a miraculous image of herself to convince the Bishop she was real.) My previous pregnancy had ended with a miscarriage, and I suffered severe anxiety during this pregnancy, marked by terrifying episodes of bleeding that we learned were caused by partial placenta previa. Our Blessed Mother obtained for me comfort and peace during this difficult time.

Our Lady of Guadalupe became Adeline's special patroness. An image of her overlooks her bed, and she even has her own Our Lady of Guadalupe Shining Light doll. We celebrate by having Mexican food on this day and watching the Juan Diego cartoon.

There are so many other feast days and traditions I would love to do or elaborate on, but this space is all about reality. And the reality is that some days we're doing good if we simply remember what the date is amidst the busyness. We do what we can, and continue to marvel at those who set the bar so high. In my earlier days as mama I used to drive myself crazy about all the things I didn't. And you know what? Pushing and stressing myself to do those things just because others do them or because I thought they were amazing would not have made me a better mother, and most likely would not have made my children better people. "Simple" brings peace to our lives, and I'm all for that.

On December 14 we start Jesus' "birthday cake". While it's usually Amish Friendship Bread (ssshh! Don't tell the boys!) I chose it for Our Lord's "cake" because of the daily preparation the starter needs (like our souls during Advent), it's super sweet, cinnamony and delicious, and bread is so symbolic to our Faith. It is ready to bake December 24, with starter left over to share with friends. This year was a year we missed when it was the 14th, so there is no bowl of starter on the counter to share a photo of. Instead, I will bake an angel food cake on Christmas Eve.

We always take the whole week of Christmas off school, and sometimes we take two weeks off. We have a birthday boy a couple weeks after so it makes for a nice ending to the festivities.

Christmas Eve we read the Christmas story from the book of Luke and the kids get to open their stockings. One child gets a movie in his stocking that we watch that night (this year it's "Paul the Apostle" but in years past it's been "The Miracle of Marcelino", "The Reluctant Saint", "The Ten Commandments", etc. The others get audio books or music CD's, like "Advent at Ephesus". They all also get a snack to eat during the movie (this year its almonds, cashews, and Addie gets popcorn), a small toy, and a new ornament to hang on the tree. By the time they move out each should have at least 18 ornaments to take with them. With 5 kiddos we may have to start decorating the back of the tree..... This year I'm making new stockings for each child. I still have three to go!

Christmas morning the first thing they do when they wake is to look for the Baby Jesus in the manger. If they see Him they run to the to peer under it. No one is allowed to touch a thing until Mom and Dad have gotten their coffee and found a seat. This is if we have afternoon Mass (which we do this year!) If we have to drive a ways for Mass we wait until we're back home to open gifts. After Mass is when we break out the Christmas goodies and whatever "splurge" Crockpot meal we decided on. It's not uncommon for us to have hot wings for Christmas!

Our gifts are modest. We don't have a lot, but what we do we try to make as meaningful as possible. Since the Christ Child received three gifts for His birthday (gold, frankincense, myrrh) we imitate that by giving three gifts to each child. 1) something they want, generally a toy or building set, 2) something they need, which has often been clothes, coats, gloves, shoes, and one extravagant year, new bikes, and 3) a book. Gifts are opened one at a time, each one taking turns. We try to avoid the flurry of ripped paper and the impatience of the "what do I get next" mentality. It's hard, I know they're just kids, but we're trying to instill in their hearts a spirit of thankfulness and moderation.

Christmas day is just for our family. We go to my parents' to celebrate Christmas when it works for all of us to get together sometime Christmas week, and also to Eli' sister's. Eli's work also has a Christmas party every year, but he will be working during it this year. We try to keep other get-togethers to a minimum during this time.

Those are our main traditions. As the kids grow they will most likely grow and change with them.

O Come Let Us Adore Him!

Insert Clever Title Here: A Mess of Real Life

I've never had such a difficult time naming a blog post. I finally decided to use all the titles I came up with at once, only to discover they wouldn't all fit in the space they leave you. So here you go, as an introduction to what you're about to read (or virtually run away from to preserve brain cells):

Train Wreck
Reality Check
Thoughts From the Crazy Train
Weirdness But Truth
What's Wrong With Me
Where Am I Going With This
My Scary Thoughts
Whatever
Confessional
Cynicisms
Hello Darkness
Hello Weirdness My Old Friend
I Don't Care (But I do)
What Should I Call You
Randomappenings
Living On the Edge
Like I Just Dont Care
Random Truths From the Rabbit Hole
This Was Supposed to be Short

You've been warned.

I've abandoned this space recently in the hopes of recharging my brain. One of the dangers of creating a series of posts (such as my "Scale day" posts) is that they become canned and kill the creative love I have for the written word. Perhaps you all (or you few?) have felt it too because readership has dwindled away like popsicles in the sun. I say I don't care...I don't care...because I would continue to write simply because I enjoy doing it, even if no one reads. I will admit I'm curious, though. This is one of those posts I might be thankful for a small readership of. I feel the crazy seeping out.

I turned to physical creativity instead. I accomplished a huge personal goal and opened my Etsy shop after seven years--SEVEN YEARS--of procrastinating. I made several batches of woodburned ornaments, and a few other things that people have shown interest in buying in the past. My hope was to make some money to help pay for Christmas for my own family. (I promise, this is not a gimmick to guilt anybody! To prove it I won't share my Etsy link here.) I didn't have a lot of things to sell, but I figured it is what it is and when they're gone they're gone. I'll make more when I have time. You see, I was laboring under the delusion that my handiwork would fly off the virtual shelf. Several weeks and one sale later, the time I thought I'd need to remake and restock my shop is being spent thinking I should probably get to putting away those piles of clean laundry and grading that homework. And then I wander around the house some more. But I will continue to make things because it's what I love to do, even if nothing sells. As time allows. Because there's not as much time when I'm busy wandering around aimlessly, thinking.

Way to turn around and slap me in the face with reality, life. *High five.

How much of our lives are spent pretending we're not feeling what we're actually feeling?

The season of darkness is upon us. Days will steadily get darker sooner until right before the birth of Our Lord. It's also the season of anticipation, which usually keeps me going. Instead of being excited, I go in stages of anxiety and overcaring, to not caring and not feeling anything. I can feel the icy fingers of depression crawling up my spine, while on the edge of a stress-induced fit of uncontrollable laughter. It makes me want to go a little crazy and do ridiculous things normal people would probably not even think of doing. I found myself in this odd place I like to call the eye of the storm recently and almost shared pictures of my trashed house. What the heck.

My dining room is in an uncomfortable state of limbo. The table is used to find (oh autocorrect, that was supposed to say fold, but I'm leaving it because find is also appropriate) laundry, do homework, and the centerpiece is for seasonal decor.

This is the best illustration there could be of my interior struggle to decide what the priority is: laundry or Christmas decorating. As you can tell, neither won. If Instagram was full of these real life photos, what would we do? Maybe some of us wouldn't try so hard.

I can't finish decorating the table because my mind has decided that it needs a lovely silver dollar eucalyptus garland woven around white candles on rustic wood slices. But I already made my Wal-Mart run for the month, and they don't sell eucalyptus anything. This is how I ended up with $80 of eucalyptus things in my Amazon cart at midnight. I'm so thankful my husband and I have separate Amazon accounts. He would probably have a heart attack at all the things that get added to my cart only to be "saved for later" when reality takes over.

And my husband came home from work last night with the kindness of heart to say, "I can see you had a productive day." He said it with sincerity, I thought, though that totally would have worked as a sarcastic comment.

I never breathed a word to him that I flirted with the idea of running to Shopko to get a few more Christmas decorations on their 60% off sale...and to our pharmacy that's all decked out in cute crafty farmhouse decor, therefore a place I've been forbidden to shop at unless the kids need medicine. For seven hours I contemplated it...making up my mind every hour that I was going to finally brave the roads despite the freezing rain and sleet and 35 mile an hour winds, until I'd go out to the garage and see the clean Suburban and clean(ish) garage floor and decide there was no way I could venture out without tracking pounds of frozen evidence back into the garage. And then I'd have to explain to my reasonable husband what the emergency was (briefly imagining a way to invent a trip to the ER....) that necessitated risking my life and that of my children in leaving the house. There was no way to hide "retail therapy" as the reason, and I could imagine no way that conversation could go well. So I stayed home and wandered around instead.

I've been told that aimlessly wandering is a form of sloth. I can see it as such sometimes, but other times I feel as though it's a tool that helps me work through piles of mental clutter. It's often more exhausting than many kinds of real work.

Also, I have decided that holiday decorating is a mental disorder, if not a disease. Well, probably a disease since diseases are contagious.

Another bad thing brought about by holiday decorating? Having to go up in the attic and get the Christmas tree down. I put my big girl pants on and did it myself this year. Despite dozens of pins I've saved on Pinterest of gorgeous attics done up as game rooms, boho chic spare rooms, and airy libraries with macrame swings, our attic remains gross, unliveable and a bit scary (unless you're a bat, which is why I will not even peek up there from March through October). I decided I was going to be on top of things this year and responsibly brought a new light bulb with me because I remembered its solitary lightbulb had burned out a year ago. It was worse than I remembered. The cage that graces the southern gable end of our attic seemed innocent in comparison (considering it was probably used to keep rodents out of drying food) to the scat that littered the floor. Bat droppings. In case you don't know, bat droppings are like rolled up capsules of dried chew spit. Which makes sense when you realize that they're basically crispy digested bug parts. (You're welcome.) This is my reality. And bats are on my list of most feared things, reasonable or not. I was prepared for some mess and thankfully had old shoes on. What I wasn't prepared for was the odd water drop stains all over the floor as if it has been raining up there, and the curling floorboards, and the mold growing on the roof where the chimney used to be. None of this was there two years ago when I was up there last, and I knew just a year ago Eli had cleaned up the bat droppings. This would explain why the plaster ceiling in Aidan's room is starting to warp. I took a video of my foray into the attic to show Eli and so I wouldnt have to go back up there to remind myself what it was like. After discussing, we determined that when we closed off the chimney a couple summers ago the attic no longer had enough air circulation. So our big project for next spring will no longer be the desired deck over the crumbling front steps, but having bats and mold removed from the attic and having it vented and insulated. Old houses are stinking awesome.

The icing on my day was, after disinfecting the Christmas tree box that we had thankfully wrapped in plastic, showering, and then setting up the tree, the top section of the prelit tree no longer lit up. After spending an hour replacing dead bulbs to no avail, I ripped all the cottonheaded ninnymugging lights off that section and bought a new string of lights at Wal-Mart. On my top 10 of worst jobs ever to have: Christmas tree light stringer. Also there: bat pest control.

I recently dropped a stick of deodorant in the bathroom. You know it's a tiny space when it turns into a game of Plinko before hitting the floor.

Today the mental loop I'm stuck in: there's a box of cheese breadsticks in the freezer. I cannot eat them because I haven't been eating great for the majority of the last three weeks. Oh, but I deserve them! No, why on earth would you deserve a food that is bad for you? Ok, but I really want them. What if that's the only thing I eat all day?But you'll eat the whole box and be hungry the rest of the time! No, Addie always eats half of anything I make. That leaves me with 3 breadsticks at the most. I'll fill up on carrots later. Really? Really. But we're having supper guests Saturday night and cheese breadsticks are part of the menu. Wouldn't it be nice if you didn't have to explain to hubby why this box disappeared? Grumbling: but we'll have to buy more anyway. *Sigh FINE!

My brain will seriously do this until hubby gets home.

I gave my little boy animal crackers for breakfast today because they have to be healthier than cereal. Right? And he was so incredibly happy. I said no at first. But today we need happy.

Another thing I said no to at first? One of my big boys playing out in the snow. It's actually a pretty stupid thing to say no to, but the snow is so soupy wet all I could see was the big mess coming back in my house. But this is the best snow to make snowmen out of, and it really is so pretty out. Let it go, mama. He has been outside playing happily now for 2 hours. Those are two hours he was not watching TV or bickering with his brothers. Happy.

My youngest son (4) insists that Santa is bringing his gifts. Now you can disagree with our parenting methods all you want, but my husband and I agreed before we had babies that Santa was deceptive and not the lind of tradition we want to pass on to our children. Instead we have a tradition much like the old Christkint or Christkindl tradition in which the gifts are from Christ. Despite reassurances from his brothers that, no, Santa was really St. Nicholas and is now dead, he still insists. I've decided not to get too involved and see how this plays out.

We went to my aunt and uncle's for one of three Thanksgiving celebrations this year. We meaning the kids and I, Eli was working again. My social anxiety was alive and well, despite personal reassurances that I was now one of the cool kids and wouldn't have to sweat small talk anymore. Only, when your family is the size of a small nation and the pre-luncheon din alone makes small talk more like small yells, and you're balancing two plates so you don't have to brave the mile long food line again too soon, simultaneously trying to keep gravy off your new buttery soft mustard hued top--social anxiety puts your (my) brain on auto-pilot. This is why, when my uncle behind me me in line said "Hi Julie!" I quickly exclaimed "Hey! Merry Christmas!" Um. Yeah. I made a joke of it, like I always do. And then I presumed to be uncharacteristically social and commented how much my cousins family had grown since I'd seen him last. He responded that it was as much as it was going to grow, so of course I had to quip "Oh come on now, don't be a quitter!" That too I had to laugh off and then quickly escape. I decided for the remainder of the time to hide safely in a small breakfast nook until I saw others start to leave.

Why, every time I try to type "let me know" on my phone, does it autocorrect to "leery me knits"? The best explanation I've decided is that my autocorrect was programmed by an angry leprechaun. It makes for some interesting text conversations, like "We'll be heading your way tomorrow, ok if we stop?" "Yeah, just leery me knits." Or "Might get free turkey coupon from work today." "Ooo, leery me knits. Wish it was ham."

I'm having a love/hate relationship with slippers right now. There's never a right temperature with them, they either keep my feet freezing cold or blazing hot. And I know if I keep throwing them in the washer to freshen them up they're going to fall apart. However, I wear them because they keep me blissfully ignorant of the crumbs under my feet, thereby relieving the anxious need to obsessively sweep the floor.

That is not teen spirit you smell.

Because I decided to slip them off as I sat here to write on my leery me knits phone (because our operating system deleted itself again on the old PC) I have a cold, wet dog nose stuck between two of my toes.

I still have not eaten the cheese bread sticks.

At this point I think I've exhausted the well of crazy that was about to bubble over, so I'll leave you to your day.

Scale Sunday: Week 12 FINALE

For today's post, I take you back to the beginning of this most recent leg of my weight-loss journey. You can find it here: "Scale Sunday: Renewed Weight Loss Challenge.

I was pretty confident I could lose 27 pounds in 3 months time, with Thanksgiving as my deadline. I've done it before, and it wasn't a ridiculous expectation. Two weeks ago I danced around the kitchen, overcome by a fit of premature victorious-ness. I was three pounds--just three pounds--from my goal. I had this thing in the bag...or so I thought.

You know the old proverb: Pride goes before the fall. I don't understand exactly what happened with my body or why, but despite my best efforts, from that point on I slowly gained weight, ounce by ounce. Was it dehydration from my illness? Water retention? Was the scale finally going bonkers after so many years?

I finally decided it was a type of plateau, so I had a splurge day last week Thursday to shock my system. What happened? The scale immediately jumped SEVEN POUNDS. That can't be right...right? I was devastated at such an immediate reversal of so many weeks of work. Seven pounds was all I had lost the last month of this challenge. The worst part was, the me I saw in the mirror seconds before stepping on the scale was trim, killing it and hitting goals. The me I saw step off that scale was the fat, bloated me, utterly devastated and defeated. This proves that this is just as much of a mental journey as it is a physical one. My post last Sunday was the product of my struggle to pull myself back on solid ground after that blow.

I am more than a number, but no matter how many times I tell myself that I still struggle with living that way. Isn't it all about numbers? When we buy new clothes we have to chose a number. When we eat we have to chose how many or how much. Our lives are a series of choices...measurements that determine good or bad, right? This narrowness of thought is why a couple pounds has the ability to render an entire day or even week, as bad for me. I should have known those seven pounds would soon be gone again, but it was too close to "Scale Sunday" to have a good weigh-in! The reality is that these measurements are supposed to be used as tools to help us, not to heap guilt on us when they don't work or we don't "measure up". I had to take a step back from obsessively measuring. For that reason I'm calling this early: this is where my weekly Scale Sunday posts come to an end. They have ceased to be a useful tool in my journey at this point.

Pictures and measurements are great at skimming the surface of what really is. They don't show the tears shed and the battles fought in the secret corners of our minds. They don't tell the whole story of who you are any more than they do me. I am not done. I can't be done, because I'm still kicking and breathing. No, this is a marathon, not a sprint. I need to begin building on the habits I've formed over the last twelve weeks, mentally as much as physically. I need to spend more time being thankful for the me God made, and not as much time measuring what I physically consist of.

In numbers:

-24 lbs. since August 30.

-65 lbs. since January 1.

-84 lbs. since April 26, 2017

-312 lbs. of weight that was gained (regained) and relost over the past twelve years of marriage, through eight pregnancies, three losses and the depression through all that, the stress of losing our first home and six moves thrown in. The current version of me measures the same as the newlywed Julie. In inches, I've lost 8 inches from bust, 10 inches from waist, and 11 inches from hips.

I hope to lose more, but my focus will be strengthening where I'm at, at not focusing on the number that is. I need to listen to my body more and not push so hard for what my mind wants and thinks should be.

You guys, I'm elated. I feel free right now, as imaginary as the ball and chain was from the beginning. I feel unchained and free to reach higher than I ever dreamed before. I feel patience with myself right now, something I have not felt in a long time...if ever.

Scale Sunday: Week 11

I am more than a number.

I'm doing something a little different this week because I need reminding.

I am more than a number.

I am a unique person who cannot be compared to anyone else.

My journey is no one else's.

I am struggling lately (yet?) with low self-esteem.

I am struggling with feeling like a failure in multiple areas of my life.

I am struggling with being kind to myself.

I'm struggling with feeling like I will never do or be enough.

I am struggling with a cold dark world view where the majority of people are my critics.

I'm struggling with the conviction that the majority of people don't really like me and are here hoping for a train wreck.

I'm struggling with depression.

I am struggling with guilt for things that are out of my control.

I must look beyond the narrowness of right now.

I am more than a number.

I am more than the feelings and the worries that twist my mind.

I will not let a hard day/week/month tear me down.

I will not let it discourage me.

I will not let it erase all the progress I've made.

I will not allow a small disappointment or fluid goals I set myself become my dictators.

I will not let others' opinions change what I enjoy doing.

I plateaued this week after being sick last Sunday and missing splurge day.

I sat far too long looking at these photos, telling myself I can't possibly share them.

I am crippled by embarrassment that I let myself get to the point that I needed to lose 60+ pounds.

I promised myself I would never be in that position again, and I broke that promise.

I let depression take over. I let my appetite take over.

I gave up on myself.

I am burning bridges so that will never happen again.

I am more than a number.

Jules & Company Handcrafts

It's been seven years hatching this plan, and here I am, finally ready to launch it. I've never been one to just go for things, and slow and methodical is not a great business plan. I can't tell you how much procrastinating went into this endeavor, and self doubt. I mean...what if I screw something up? But making things is what my soul relishes in doing, and I need an outlet for that. Therefore, I'd like to announce the opening of my Etsy shop! It's still in its infancy so please be patient with me as I figure this all out.

Earlier this year I opened a Facebook page to list my handcrafted items, but an Etsy shop will help reach a larger audience. I will continue to use the Facebook page to advertise what I list on Etsy. Also, here on my blog I added a column on the right with items I listed in my shop, and I'll now update those with the Etsy listing.

If there are things you've seen me make in the past that you would like to see added to my shop, please feel free to share the suggestions!

Jules & Co Handcrafts Etsy page

Scale Sunday: Week 10

A quick explanation about the absence of Saturday posts: My heart hasn't been in writing lately, and when that's the case there's really no point. My creative drive has been more geared toward crafting.

This was a tough week with very sick kids. It started Monday with Gavin. Wednesday when he was mostly healed Ian got sick. Things with him seemed better Thursday so I ran to the store quick to stock up on chicken noodle soup, Sprite, and saltines. As soon as I put the vehicle in park Liam started getting sick in the parking lot. I spent nearly all day Friday sitting with Addie so I could catch when she got sick. Ian's bug seemed to have a brief revival as well. But God is so good and gave me a break through the night Friday so I could be waken at 1 am to sit up with another sick child. I feel so drained on top of getting sick myself today. I feel as though I could sleep for a week.

These weeks happen when you have little people. It's easier to get through the older I get; my patience seems to have grown through the years. You can't help but feel terrible for them, but you know it's coming...and when it starts it's almost a relief so you can stop jumping expectantly at every cough and start clicking off the hours till their hopeful recovery.

My weight/health has understandably been on the back burner through all this. I almost always get sick last: another one of God's designs, no doubt, so I can nurse everyone else back to health before paying my dues. This time it didn't quite work that way, so you do what you can.

5 lbs. till I hit my goal weight with a little over 3 weeks left. When I get there I'll share before and after photos.

63 lbs. lost since January 1, 2018.

I'm the weight I was when I was married 12 years ago (24 years old).

Litany of the Saints

Happy All Saint's Day!

Scale Sunday: Week 9

Here we are again. I'm still plodding along in my trench, wishing for something to blow it up. What is this? Why the violence, you ask? Probably because I'm still not at peace with this healthy diet business. I'm just going to come out with some brutal honesty here: I've detoured again from the healthy side of the battle and have been blazing a new trail along the boundary waters of Pseudo-Healthy Diet Land, where numbers and measurements reign as dictators. Why is this foreign country so enticing? Because...vanity. It's a hard one to shake.

The Five Stages of Dieting:

1. Awareness. This stage can last a very long time, but is recognizable by a person's vocal lamentations of their health/size/appearance. All you chicas don't know it but ya'lls brains are already in diet camp. 
2. Action. The second stage is marked by zealous purging of all that is unhealthy in addition to manic exercise. Little Debbie meets the dumpster, and the fridge drawer with the veggie icons on it is appropriately filled with kale and broccoli instead of Reddi Wip, Cheez Whiz, and the Betty Crocker frosting with a spoon left in it. A heating pad, Icy Hot, and ginger tea are your best friends during this stage as every inch of your body protests your newfound obsession. Dabbling in popular diets is also characteristic of this stage.
3. Anger. Ah, Stage 3. You cause the death of millions of diets worldwide. This is the fight or flight stage. You've made visible progress but it's soooo slooooww and it's been sooo looong since you've dipped fries in a milkshake (or if you're like me, sweet and sour sauce). It doesn't matter that you can see the finish line. It's all an illusion anyway, right? Your angry, calorie-deprived brain cells start clamoring out reasons why it's okay to indulge. There's nothing like others enjoying comfort food around you to fan the fires of angry rebellion scorching your soul. You can recognize Stage 3-ers by the murderous glint in their eyes as they sit in their corners maliciously crunching on kale chips or stabbing each bite of spinach salad as if it might get up and walk away unless they kill it first. 
4. Acceptance. If you were strong enough to make it through Stage 3, you are rewarded with the comparable peace of Stage 4. Your beaten down lower appetites meekly accept the new regime with little grumbling during this stage. You find new ways to make food healthy and delicious that don't involve bacon and whipped cream. You feel good. Habits are steering this train.
5. Maintenance. This is oddly enough the hardest stage to be in. It's also known as Life. You've made it to the finish line--only, you've been lied to. It's not really a finish line, but a line in the sand that marks the scary beige land of keeping on. If you allow yourself to become buddies with Complacency in Stage 5 you will wake from a fog some months later to find yourself smack dab back in Stage 1.  

I'm currently at Stage 3. Thus the TNT.

The wall I hit a week or two ago remains, I'm just creeping along beside it. I spent some time studying this wall, trying to figure out what led to the wall, and why it appeared so suddenly. One explanation kept surfacing: fatigue.

I've discovered I'm really good at following the rules I've laid down for myself in my mind. Blame it on OCD or the quirks of my mind, but it takes a defining point and a clear shift of goals for these rules to change. It explains why I needed to initiate another "leg of this health journey" to motivate myself and justify a change of rules. I can easily admit that cutting back on my Sunday splurges would probably save me a lot of work playing catch up the next week. Oh, but the rules say Sunday I can splurge! All day long! By Sunday all the treats and cravings I've postponed all week have accumulated quite a list. So that's what I'm struggling with currently. I need to set a Sunday calorie limit for myself that will account for a couple treats but not exceed 2000 calories. My daily caloric limit is 1200 calories, but most often I end the day around 1000-1100.

This week marks a few goals attained. I've officially lost 61 pounds since January 1, 2018. I am now just 2 pounds heavier than when I was married, and a mere 7 pounds from the goal I set for myself August 30th. It would seem so much more attainable if it didn't feel as though I had concrete blocks attached to my feet.

Scale Sunday: Week 8

I feel very blah lately. It's the season where there's so much to do every day that my food choices have been pushed to the back burner. My energy has been pretty much sapped by everything else. So, while I have not been binging or cheating, I have not made a spectacular effort at making healthy choices and getting my leafy greens in. I've gone to ground, so to speak.

We buy groceries every two weeks unless there's some staple that we run out of. So by the second week most of the fresh produce has been eaten and we switch gears to more of the frozen veggies. This week, well...blah. I have no right to be picky, but frozen vegetables are not my thing. (I have a pang of conscience when I think of what poor kids in third world countries would think of that. How very spoiled we are!) The only thing that has kept me on track is my ability to tell myself no, even when I'm really hungry. So if I couldn't find something to eat that was on my "safe food list" and didn't turn my stomach, I ate nothing. All week when I peeked in the fridge all I could see were hashbrowns and minute steak with gravy and pizza and taco meat and bags and bags of French toast and sausage links and sausage patties...and one lone head of lettuce and some limp broccoli. Blah. I pretty much lived off of eggs, almonds, and carrots.

Me as a child, shoveling cake in my mouth. Not much has changed in the last 33 years!

Even my brother was dismayed at my lack of self control. 😂

I laid in bed last night and my muscles hurt like they haven't hurt in years. Granted, I spent an hour and a half walking the grocery store aisles and then went up and down stairs multiple times putting clothes away. But I'm convinced it was mostly because I haven't been meeting my nutritional needs. It pains me to admit I need need to start taking supplements. I have an avid aversion to pills. 

I'm not sure what good my blabbering will do any of you, other than commiseration if you're in the same place, and don't do what Julie's doing.

Silver Linings

After the storm comes the rainbow. Lovely flowers and warmth follow the deathly cold starkness of winter. Being sick and tired awakens in us thankfulness for our health when we're well again. So often in life we can almost hear God telling us, "That was difficult, but I will reward you for your faithfulness." Even Job had his losses restored to him.

After last week this week feels like a silver lining. Compared to "normal" weeks it really wasn't spectacular, but it was really really good compared to last! After posting last Saturday panic started overwhelming me, realizing that there was just one Sunday between us and the next work week. The things I had not accomplished all week towered over me, threatening to bury me, and was made more menacing by all the things coming up I needed to get done.

Wednesday we had a meeting with our area's education agency to have one of the boys evaluated for dyslexia and possible processing disorders. I had to collect (which also meant catch up with!) all his grades and assemble his curriculum to bring along. This was all very nerve-racking because we work independently of the public school and I always struggle with worries that we're "not doing good enough" (though when we had Aidan tested last summer he proved to be ahead of the national average for his grade level).

October is also our prep-month for the All Saints' Day party; games had to be devised and decided on and costumes had to be made and assembled. It is time consuming, but one of the most anticipated parties of the year for us. Since most of the Halloween stuff found in stores has very little to do with saints, our costumes take quite a bit more work and imagination. And I hadn't started any of it.

None of my fall decor was put up either. Now, for "normal" people, this would not be a big deal. For me, seeing the spring wreath still hanging over the mantle shelf becomes a thorn under my skin this time of year. We also host Thanksgiving every year for my husband's family so it has become my ritual this time of year to deep clean/touch up scuffed walls/clear clutter that formed over the summer and decorate each area for fall as it's cleaned.

Though I was hoping for a beautiful long fall to finish up preparations for the seasonal changes, Mother Nature decided to switch gears abruptly instead. This left me scrambling for winter coats, hats, and gloves, and lamenting my sloppy shoving-of-warm-things into the front porch bench last spring. I needed time to reevaluate our cold-weather gear and purge what was no longer needed and organize the rest.

In addition to these time-sensitive jobs, I still had the piles (I wish I was exaggerating) of laundry, dishes, and books everywhere that needed attention. Piles of shorts needed to be moved to totes to make room for long-sleeves and sweaters. Piles of craft materials needed to be used or put away.

After evaluating all these things, including the rising panic in my heart, I came to a quick, easy, conclusion: we had to take the next week off of school. I called it our "fake winter break", obviously because of the weather. As soon as I made the decision a weight was lifted from my shoulders. The thing about homeschooling is that home has to happen alongside the schooling. When one falls behind the other has to pause to catch up. I smothered the inner struggle to follow the schedule because I know, deep down, the schedule I come up with in the summer is only my best guess at where we should be.

Monday I got the porch cleaned and scrubbed and reorganized all the cold weather things. Sandals and roller blades were stashed away and the baskets were filled with hats and gloves. Addie had great fun rolling over the piles I made.

Tuesday I succeeded in getting all grades and curriculum completed, assembled, and packed into a backpack for our meeting Wednesday. Bonus: I also got the kitchen completely cleaned up, dishes put away, and laundry washed and folded. Gavin helped with dishes, Aidan with laundry. Liam cleaned upstairs. We had a lovely evening with friends who accompanied us on a nature hike and treated us to brownies and lemonade after.

Wednesday my Mom came to stay with the littles so we could head to the AEA appointment. It went well, but there will be a series of meetings and assessments before we have any kind of diagnosis. Mom and Aidan tackled more laundry (there's always more laundry) while we were gone. On the way back from the appointment I made a last minute decision to stop at a thrift store. You guys, I found the perfect sized mirror to replace the one that had shattered last week...for SIX DOLLARS! I had reached the conclusion that we were just going to have to bite the bullet and order a new one online when we had the money, and boy were they expensive. I was elated, despite it's mauvey tones and need for some TLC.

Thursday most of the kids came down with colds, which comes with this time of year. I got the mirror painted and hung up to save it from tragedy. Now I just need to finish patching and painting the wall and hang the rail to cap the tile.

Throughout the week I got most of the costumes assembled, and the tote of fall decor is sitting here waiting for me. I haven't had to cook all week because my husband's workplace has been on shutdown and they've had three meals a day catered to them. As new food comes in the leftovers are free for the employees to take home. As hard as this week is with incredibly long hours, I'm so very thankful for the break it has given me from the kitchen.

 Sneak peeks of this year's costumes!

And now on to the grocery store and the last of this week's to dos!

Scale Sunday: Week 7

Monday morning: Hey you. There are two more brownie cookies stashed in the cupboard that no once knows about. AND NO-ONE EVER HAS TO KNOW....

Me: Shut up self.

A little later: So...I don't mean to nag, but those candies that boy managed to sneak in the cart and through checkout without you seeing? Yeah...they're still hiding in that desk drawer. They're tiny...minuscule, really. They're like...NOTHING compared to a brownie cookie. Go ahead and have one. You deserve it.

Me: Leave me alone! *30 minutes later, cramming a brownie cookie in my mouth.

After that I started handing out candies to my little people so they couldn't whisper at me from the desk drawer. "That's a lovely A you wrote right there, have a Kit Kat. Oh, 12+5=18? No, not quite, but close enough. Have a Kit Kat. Having a bad day? Here, have some Kit Kats."

This week's craziness multiplied itself from there so that I didn't have much time to worry about missed treats. I honestly was lucky to get a meal in twice a day. I'd like to say the habits I've rebuilt over the last seven weeks have played a big role in my ability to *mostly* stick to good food, as hungry as I was. I did stay strong the last time I got groceries and denied myself Greek yogurt...my one last treat. It's easy to pretend it's healthy, but in reality it's loaded with sugar. And then I broke down mid-week when I ran to get milk after a pharmacy stop, and bought some pumpkin spice and coffee & cream Chobani. The argument for mental health finally won over. Everything tastes a million times better when you're hungry, but I'm convinced that coffee & cream yogurt is the next best thing to a slice of tiramisu.

That's about it this week, guys. My exercise was hauling around a hurting baby, pacing back and forth across the house a million times, squatting to pick someone up, being mom.

Weight lost since January 1:
57 pounds

When It Rains

*Warning: this post may contain graphic images that may be upsetting to sensitive readers.

When someone says they've had "one of those weeks", there are usually sighs of commiseration and nods of understanding. It's common knowledge that during "those weeks" anything that could go wrong does. I've had one of those weeks.

There were the regular annoyances of life, as usual. These things become a pretty normal weekly routine when you have kids. Someone spills milk about once a day. Someone drops a plate or a bowl (always full of food) a couple times a week. Toes get stubbed. A book or toy gets ruined beyond salvaging. Someone has an accident right next to the toilet. One little boy yells from his room that he puked all over himself, and you find out thankfully (thankfully?) it was due to his finger in his throat rather than an epidemic gearing up to sweep through the house. Things don't get done because there are too many other things needing to be done. This week took it one step further.

When Addie woke up from her Sunday afternoon nap with a temp of 103.2, my first thought was that she had picked up a virus. The week before we had been to the clinic twice, and it seems like every time we walk through those doors somebody gets something. By Monday she was listless, sleeping most the day in between tossing her hot, feverish, little body around, so I decided to take her in. By the time we got to the clinic her temp had reached 103.8. They tested her for the flu which mercifully came back negative, and diagnosed her with double ear infection instead. This is only her second time with ear infection, and again she gave us no clue that her ears were the problem until we saw the doctor.

There are informational cards up in the clinic that tell you antibiotics won't work for most ear infections, many types of bronchitis, viral infections, etc., etc., etc. It always plants a seed of anxiety in my heart that visiting the doctor may prove to be futile. Even at that, antibiotics are consistently prescribed for many of those things, often unnecessarily. When you're a parent clinging to the last fragile remnants of your sanity, starved for sleep and desperate for help to get your baby well again, it's pretty easy to jump on whatever " this should work" train the doctor suggests. I'm all for letting your body work to heal itself when it can, and I held out for as long as I could for Addie's fever to do it's work. This week it was enough to break my heart. And yet, I'm struggling with guilt over giving her antibiotics.

After we started amoxicillin Addie seemed worse, with the exception of the fever. I have only once before seen her so miserable. She began pulling her ears like she wanted to rip them off. She spent hours screaming and crying unless I carried her around. She only slept if I held her. The house descended into a mess of things I couldn't finish. I did what I could to help her ears heal. I made a fresh batch of garlic infused olive oil and dropped it in her ears. I massaged her ear canal behind her ear lobe and along her jaw line to help drain whatever fluid may have been there, and it seemed to give her some relief.

Wednesday night I woke to hear Addie wheezing, so I propped her up to help her breathe. Thursday morning she woke with a rash spreading over her face, chest, and back: an allergic reaction to the antibiotics. I ran her back to the doctor and they switched her to a different family of antibiotics. Within hours she was a brand new girl. When her appetite came back I happily let her dig in to her favorite meal--face first.

A sick baby is more than enough to create a tough week, but that wasn't even close to it for us. Wednesday, in the middle of the afternoon, I paced and rocked my screaming child and tried to find a quiet place in my mind to forget about the pervading nausea that was overwhelming me. A migraine had developed and was threatening to split my head in two. The kitchen door flew open and Aidan ran in crying that we had a serious problem: a piece of the quartz he was smashing with a hammer (what?! whyyyy?!) flew into his hand and "I CAN SEE MY BONE! IT'S NOT BLEEDING! WHY IS IT NOT BLEEDING? AM I GOING TO HAVE TO BE SEWN SHUT?!!!" 

My heart in my throat, I assessed the situation, and sure enough, you could see bone. The rock had sliced open his knuckle. I immediately sent a picture to my husband, who was at work. Trying to stay as calm as possible, telling him it was going to be just fine, I walked Aidan to the bathroom to clean him up. The poor guy was numb from shock and said he couldn't even feel it. I had him put his head down while I disinfected the wound and bandaged it, making sure to pull the skin tightly together. As soon as I had cleaned it the blood started flowing. When Eli came home he looked at it, and we had a pros/cons session about whether or not he needed stitches. We decided to keep an eye on it, and if the skin didn't stay together we would run him in. The way my week was going if I stepped foot in the ER I probably would have contracted Ebola or something. I taped a popsicle-stick splint to his finger and wrapped his hand...his right hand...and gave him a pass on handwriting for the week.

Aidan's gash, one day later versus three days later.

Friday afternoon my Mom came to pick Gavin up for the weekend. After they left, Liam and Ian wanted to play outside with no big brother to keep an eye on them. I hesitated, but decided that Liam was a pretty careful kid. Of all the boys he's least likely to do something dangerous, and he's pretty conscientious about telling Ian when something shouldn't be done. With warnings to stay away from the creek and the street, I bundled them up and sent them out. After peeking out the window every few minutes to see what they were doing, I went back to work on my pile of laundry.

After a while I started having an uneasy feeling. I went to each window in turn on every side of the house, trying to spy one of the boys, but seeing neither. A sense of urgency started tugging at me, so slipped sandals on and headed out to see what they were up to. As I rounded the side of the garage I saw Ian running up from the "back 40", the far end of our yard along the creek. He was yelling, "Mama! Help! Liam's stuck in a tree!"

Ah boy. So that's why I couldn't see him. This was not a first for us, as earlier this summer we had to get a ladder out to rescue Gavin from an impossibly high branch in the swing tree. I scanned the trees along the creek but still couldn't see Liam...what in the world? As I got closer to the tree line I could hear whimpering, and then I saw him: hanging upside down by his ankle from a tree. I started running, sandals flew off, Oh Jesus, hold my boy up till I get there! Please let him not be impaled by a stick!

I was about ten feet away when I saw his ankle turned backwards, the wrong way. My heart stopped. There was no way his leg was in one piece. It was a mercy that he was stuck just a bit higher than my head, and I was able to lift his little 63 pound body up and dislodge his ankle. I cradled him in my arms and ran for the house, trying not to move or jiggle his leg. My legs started giving out by the time I made it to the driveway. As the adrenaline wore off I turned into a shaking mess of jellied muscle.

I kept telling Ian to run to the house to get Dad, but the little shadow refused to leave my side. It felt like forever before I made it into the house and collapsed in the kitchen with Liam. Pulling up the leg of his jeans, I started shakily trying to explain to Eli where and how I had found him. I could see some light scrapes on his shin, and his toes were pointing straight forward. He could wiggle his toes. After a few minutes he could stand and walked off. I crawled in a dark corner and bawled and shook and bawled some more. Needless to say, my nerves are pretty much shot.

My socks after the adrenaline-fueled dash across the yard. They will never be the same again.

His angel must have been holding him up in the tree. I don't know how his leg did not break, twisted how it was. Looking back, all of our angels must have been working extra hard for us this week. As bad as it's been, all of these situations could have ended so MUCH WORSE! Addie could have had influenza or gone into full-blown anaphylaxis. That chip of quartz could have taken out an eye. Liam could have broke his leg. And yet, here we all are, alive, still in whole pieces. Thank you, Jesus.

This was a fitting end to the week: the mirror that I had salvaged and saved specifically for the bathroom makeover for the last two years, shattered. It happened when we finally made it to the finish line, to the point where all we needed to do was paint it and hang it. Weeks like this are great at reminding us how transitory things are.