Jameson is napping. William is sleeping in my arms. Ryan is at work. And I am sitting in quiet for the first time since December 1st.

Back to life as usual.

January is gray here. The lamps have been turned on since we woke up this morning, and will stay on until we go back to bed. The chill that creeps in is damp. This is our winter. (I like the clean snow. I like the sunshine that sparkles and dances and turns the world shades of pink. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it’s awfully nice to not trudge through parking lots of sandy salty yuckiness with groceries and babies and all that fun stuff.)

I feel a bit updated. I also feel the satisfaction of having beat the system, having procured my update at an outlet ($$ saved), on clearance (muchos $$ saved!). I’m not exactly a fashion plate these days, but once in awhile, it’s nice to feel in touch. I’m still in my 20s, you know. I may as well live it up.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. I think that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to make some order out of this household chaos. My trouble is that once I get an idea of reorganizing or rearranging or somehow making my home better, I don’t want to do it; I want it done. And I chafe and inwardly fume at anyone and everyone who gets in my way. (This is bad, wrong, and sin, by the way.)

I don’t know if it’s new gifts, coming home after a month away, or a combo, but I’m feeling ready to purge. (Again. I’ve been purging since long before William was born!) Just feeling the weight and chaos of too. much. stuff. I find this is a bit difficult in this season of life. I want to say, “one toy in, one toy out.” I want to say, “If we don’t have room for it, it goes.” But on the other hand, we’re a young family trying to build a collection of books, toys, etc. And we’re in a small house that will inevitably one day be left for a larger one. How do you all handle these things?

Jameson sat at the table, coloring, and William was in his seat, quietly taking in the world around him, and I was at the kitchen sink, scrubbing onesies that had suffered damage during a blow-out. And I began singing, “I want to serve the purpose of God in my generation…” Yes. That’s what I want to do. Scrub, scrub. “Jameson, you are not allowed to break crayons. William, shhh, it’s okay, I’m almost done.” Scrub, scrub. Not glamorous, for sure. Hum drum, you might say. But Lord, if this is Your purpose for my life, I want to do it. I just want to serve You.

And, “I want to build with silver and gold…” I got to that part, and was challenged. This might be a pretty random application of that verse, but forgive me: I don’t want to scrub and shush and correct with fuming in my heart. I’m pretty sure such service will quickly be consumed like hay and stubble. I want to serve His purposes with a heart that says, “I delight to do Your will!” That shouldn’t be so hard. Really. He’s not [currently] asking me to do anything, you know, awful. In fact, most days, His tasks for me are pretty wonderful (love and respect a really good guy, love and nurture two adorable babes, and do my best to steward this house.)

Anyway, I’m glad to be reminded that today, my life can be lived not in vain. Because serving Him, doing His will, makes this fleeting life meaningful.

And I’m glad to be reminded that today, I can love Him as I serve Him. (Aren’t love and obedience inextricably connected?) Because you know what? I just want to love the Lord.

Don’t you?

A Christmas with slim wallets means thoughtful and creative gift-giving. Jameson and the Paladin cousins made out the best in this down economy. On Christmas Eve day, two big presents appeared under the tree, bearing the names of those much-loved little people. Inside, dozens of building blocks made by my dad. Smooth and shiny, perfectly matching, they told of hours in a workshop — and foretold of hours of play.

What a special gift.

You know it’s bad when even the photo posts are few and far between.

Or maybe just busy.

Super-duper uber-crazy busy.

Because that’s how life can be when there are 20+ people living in one house. And celebrating Christmas. And playing games and watching movies. Oh, and throw in a wedding for good measure. And if you get a free minute, could everyone please look for the lost load of laundry? Thanks.

I’m trying to get some pictures up of our time in New York (although, to be honest, I sort of didn’t get a chance to take too many pictures and just hoped my dad would get enough good ones.)

This is what we did while we were gone:

Ryan got really sick with the flu. He also looked very handsome in his tuxedo. He went skiing with some friends and outdid himself (forgetting, temporarily, that his 36 yr old body would pay for such exertion.) He bought me presents even though we didn’t buy anything for each other this year. He played x-box. He gave me a hug when I cried about coming back home.

Jameson played. Constantly. He helped his aunts with cookie making, and did his part to consume them, too. He frequented Grandma and Grandpa’s apartment, where he knew he’d be greeted with a Twizzler. He hung ornaments on the tree. He had many “sleepovers” with Uncle Merrick. He also copied everything Uncle Merrick did. He bought William a present. He danced his heart out at Carina’s reception. He loved church. Actually, I think he loved every minute of the last month.

William grew. He arrived in New York a newborn and left a baby. He cooed lots. He was toted around by Aunt Camilla. He talked with Aunt Liana. He slept daily on Aunt Louissa’s bed. He got cuter and cuter and made me fall in love with him even more. He was greeted with great affection everywhere we went, even when crying his head off at the Tomford’s. He slept through his first Christmas.

I got a cold. I made cookies and party food and dinner for the crowds. I was in a bar with a baby, because I just had to see JMB play. I slept in my sisters’ room and felt young[er] again. I got all happy inside watching Jameson have the time of his life. I held William as much as I wanted, because other people were there to help with the house chores. I talked with my mom. I talked with Brietta. I went to the Moira Christmas dinner. I soaked in the Christas Eve candlelight. I played with Aubrey. I cried when Carina walked down the aisle. I ate too many cookies. I saw aunts and uncles and cousins. I was missing Madrid days before I even left. I loved every minute of being with all of my most special people.

Now it’s 2009. And I know that January 1st is a pretty inflexible event (and it’s already well past), but do you think it’s okay if I sort of “start” my new year in a few days? ‘Cause I need to unpack. And vacuum. And take a deep breath before I can sort out a fresh start.

Maybe February 1st can be my fresh start this time around. Whaddya think?

Lots of family meals!

With Aunt Mills on the tree farm.

The long awaited “‘now”.

Cutting the tree.

Lunch together.

Decking the tree.

A cozy family room.

Proud of his tree.

It’s a beautiful world I woke to this morning. Branches are weighed down with ice and snow. The sky is varying shades of blue and gray, with tinges of peach along the horizon. A trio of evergreen trees, the focal point of the back yard, are elegant sentinels in this ice kingdom. Breathtaking, we all say.

It’s a busy household I woke to this morning. The comings and goings begin with the appearance of the sun and will continue until the wee hours of the night. The small fry emerge with tousled hair, sleepy eyes, and a full tank of energy that will keep them playing, crying, scrapping, singing, laughing, and living until those little heads hit their pillows. My mother is matriarch, for sure, keeping her eye on the grandchildren (and the youngest uncle who fits right in) while daughters do their best to cook, clean, school, and do laundry. “I like the idea of extended families living all under one roof,” Mama says, as she helps to correct my toddler and I help cooking the day’s meals. (Will she still think that after a full day of playing correction officer to a whole passel kids?)

It’s a sweet baby face I woke to this morning. His little hands are clasped under a chubby cheek, his body nestled as close as can be to mine. I kiss his head of dark hair and marvel at how he’s grown. How beautiful I think he is. How adorable his little coos are. Another little love is already downstairs, playing with cousins. He’s quick to run to me, eating up the morning affection I give. Does he know that I enjoy his hugs as much as he enjoys mine? Maybe not. But I do.

(from yesterday)