Christmas Catastrophies

This was the first of a few weekends we'll spend making Christmas confections. Pfefferneuse, anyone? Naturally, our first batch was too big, and they melted together and burned. The second batch was the right size, but still burned. And then we got it. Golden brown, perfect little nuggets. Success.
Great Grandma's Gingerbread Cookies were next on the list. The batter-making was uneventful, except that I had never actually seen lard, and was pleasantly surprised that it didn't smell like a pig. After a little experimenting with how much flour to use (apparently Great Grandma didn't think that important to put in the recipe as any idiot worth their salt knows that trivial bit of info, as well as how high to turn the oven on, how much to beat the eggs, ...), we rolled out some beautiful cookies and baked them to perfection. Then came the icing.
"Cook sugar mixture until pretty hard." "Beat egg whites to which cream of tartar has been added." Sticky, yes. Sweet, yes. Icing? Questionable. Maybe it'll turn white when it cools. Nope. Make a phone call. So it turns out "pretty hard" is the "hard ball stage" and "beat" means until very stiff and, well, you get the idea. Would have been nice to have all the directions at the beginning, I guess.
I think there's a life parallel in here. Something about not having the directions, or at least a detailed set, making life harder. But some of my favorite Christmas memories came out of mistakes. And mistakes are how we figure out how to "adjust our recipe." And anyway, as Christians, the Bible is our recipe for a well-lived life. So maybe that's not it.
All I'm thinking is that I wish I'd known more going into it. And it wasn't fun last night. I was frustrated and disappointed. I wanted those darn cookies to be perfect. If Great Grandma could do it, my doing it might prove I'm competent as a wife and mother or something. I guess I don't really know what I was hoping for. But I didn't find it in the soggy, sticky mess I was left with. So now I have to start all over and make a second go at it.
I guess that's just it. In the big picture, I've got to try again when I screw up. Even though I've got a "recipe," I mess up. And if I didn't have to try again, I'd not have any surprises along the way, and I probably wouldn't appreciate a positive outcome if I got to it easily.
And so it is with the cookies. Surprise! The frosting is difficult and the cookie mix takes 8 cups of flour. And surprise! The sticky, warm, gooey, ugly mess tastes like heaven. Try number two with Great Grandma's cookies will be more fun because I'll have a better set of directions (and a better attitude!). And I know, just as I do about the ending to my messy life, the the outcome will be very, very sweet.

Actually...

Last weekend, Zoe was trying to climb up onto a stool. Dad asked if she needed help (which she obviously did). "I'm good," she replied. Then, about 30 seconds later, "Actually, I need help."

Last night, she made the third trip to the potty afer she'd already been tucked in. As Jason was taking her to bed, she did the old "melting kid" bit so that he couldn't pick her up. "I want to sleep here!" she said. Unsure of what to do and not wanting to cause an eruption that might wake up Addie, Jason told her she could sleep in the hall as long as she didn't move. (It's important to note that we were watching TV and she can see almost the whole house from where she was.) She moved her head. "Zoe, if you'tre going to sleep here, you can't move." She put her head back down to see if he would let that slide, and he did.
So, we thought, we'll let her stay there and as soon as we turn off the TV and lights to go to bed, she'll be wanting to get in her own bed, too. Not so. Well, maybe if we step over her to say goodnight to Addie and then to her as well. Nope. Still there. Okay. But when our bedroom light goes out, that'll be it. Still not true. Mom gives in to go talk to her. "Zoe, are you sure you want to sleep out here with no pillow or blanket?" "I want a pillow right here," she says as she points to the only unvaccuumed part of the house." "Well, sweetie, pillows have to stay on your bed. Do you want to go lay on your bed with pillows?" "No. I don't want a pillow." "You're a silly willy." "Yeah, I'm silly." Well, at least she knows.
Addie cries and Jason goes to settle her. He walks into the room and sees Zoe climbing down from her bed with Cordy (her favorite stuffed animal) in hand. "I was just checking Addie," she defends. "That's sweet, baby." Knocked a little off guard by that and the crying baby, he missed the chance and she went back to her spot in the floor. "Zoe, Cordy can't sleep in the hall. He's got to go back to bed. Do you want to go with him?" Zoe stands, puts Cordy back in bed, and returns to her place. Wow. "Zoe, I said you could only sleep here if you didn't move, but you got up and went into your room. But this realization came too late for Daddy, and she knows it. "Tell you what. I need you to go sleep in your bed tonight. But sometime soon, you and I, and maybe even Mama can have a campout in the living room, with sleeping bags and everything. How does that sound?" Giggles erupt, regardless of the fact that she doesn't know what campouts or sleeping bags are. It doesn't matter. It must be something special, past her bedtime, and in the living room with Mom and Dad.
Just what she needed to hear. Off to bed she goes, a mere two hours after we told her goodnight.

Shallwe is a stranger.

From yesterday after lunch:
Daddy: Zoe, let's get a towel, shall we?
Zoe: Yea, we can!
Daddy: Hey, Zoe, when somebody says 'shall we,' you can answer, 'we shall.'
Zoe: Yea!
Daddy: Here. Let's practice. Let's go get a towel, shall we?
Zoe: No, I'm not Shallwe. I'm Zoe!

And a bonus story from 9/23:
At lunch, we were eating pork chops and baked potatoes. Zoe and Jason used barbeque sauce. About 2/3 of the way through lunch, Zoe said, "I don't like barbeque sauce." She'd been dipping potato chunks in it with her fingers and licking it off. Jason said, "Yea. You got too much, huh?" She nodded. "Barbeque sauce is one of those things we need to eat in moderation, Zoe." She looked at him and shook her head. Very matter-of-factly she stated, "No, Daddy. With a fork."

Yesterday, Zoe looked at me and said, "Mama, it's time to color." She doesn't even like coloring, so I was excited. Okay, great! She got her own crayon box and Sesame Street coloring book and sat down at the table. When I wasn't looking (it was also my first day with our new 2 mo. old friend), she slid the blue paper off the blue crayon, and when she couldn't slide it back on, she said, "it's not working, Mama." I hear that 10 times a day. So over I went to help. When I got to her, she looked at the crayon and crumpling paper and said, "This is ridiculous (which sounded more like /wi-di-koo-us/)." Now if toddlers don't give you a clear picture of how you go through your day, no one will.

Waiting on the Lord

God continually surrounds us with just what we need. Our neighbor is quite a lady. Having overcome what would seem insurmountably hard times in her life, she's such a cheerful, peace-filled, friendly woman. I was asking her yesterday what advice she might have for my friend who's really struggling in dealing with her third miscarriage.
Any Christian in a hard time I think questions what God is trying to say through the trial. Go forward? Go back? Turn right or left? Stop altogether? My neighbor says, "Wait on the Lord." What an amazingly simple phrase, good word for my friend, and what challenge to me personally!
As I thought it through and talked about it with my husband, I realized just how often I wait for something in my daily life. I hurry to the gate at the airport, and then relax and wait for the plane. I hurry to call the microwave fixer-guy and then wait on him to come fix it. I hurry down the road and then sit and wait at a redlight.
I've trained myself pretty well to relax once I've done all I can in the day-to-day. When the airplane arrives and I'm allowed to board, it's completely out of my hands, so I can breathe deeply in my waiting area chair and watch the passers-by. I have no choice but to wait on the microwave man, so why stress when I've made the calls and Jason's dug up the reciepts and manuals? So I just think of how nice it's been to have a microwave and bless my grandparents and parents for all the extra time they spent warming things up on the stove and in the oven! And what can you do at a red light but sing a little louder or tickle your toddler's legs? All these kinds of things I've decided are good reminders to 'stop and smell the roses.'
But waiting on the Lord? What? He's always moving, working, doing, so why should I sit still? I want to know which way He's going so I can get on the right page and happily busy myself there with Him. But sometimes He doesn't want me to know how the story's going to go in the next few chapters because he needs me to sit down in the waiting area chair and watch people around me, or relax and remember how good I've had it (as the neighbor advised - see Psalm 71). Or maybe just enjoy where I am right now rather than where I might be next year.
Okay. I'm waiting. Sigh. No, make that a deep breath. I've got it good. Thank you, Lord.