DINING TREE

Here's the new tree I created using my collection of antique silverware with monograms and old napkin rings. (Note the remants in the bottom right of the mess I had to shove to the side to take this photo...)

A MESSAGE FROM????

Red, Cole and I made another trip to a nursing home today, and I met a woman that seemed to have a message for me. Hmmm.

Cole did great - nothing phased him (not the sleeping people in their wheelchairs in the halls, not the man who kept giving him Ritz crackers, not the blind woman who couldn't really respond and not even the drooling man wearing diapers) until we got to one room that had that distinct, nasty nursing home smell. You know. Basically a diaper that needed changing.

He was really grossed out, and I felt bad that I had not mentioned that possibility. Later, though, he said "At first it grossed me out, but then it just made me sad." Then we had a long talk about how humiliating it would be. Never know what might come up at these visits....

So, there we were on the third floor and walked towards a woman in a wheelchair with a blank look on her face. She saw Cole, and her eyes followed him. We introduced ourselves, and she asked slowly if Cole was my boy. I said yes. She stared at me - really seemed to look deeply into my eyes. Cole went off with Red, and I stayed with her (Mrs. Rogers). It was hard to follow what she was saying at first.

Then, she looked right at me and said "You are brave."

Let me tell you, there are many days as a single mom I feel much more of a mess than brave. She said it again. "You are very brave." I said thanks and she asked "do you take care of your boy?" I said yes. She said "Well, you need some help." She was still looking straight into my eyes.

By this point, I'm wondering "who is this lady? how does she know about my life?" I said "Well, yes I really do need help." It was so...not sure what the word is. Thoughtful? Eerie? Prophetic? Spiritual? Not to sound too weird, but it was like a message I needed to hear.

Now, she did go on to tell me I should just call the nursery to get some help. But, I'm going to choose to believe that she did have a message for me, not just some confused ramblings. I plan to look for her on our next visit...maybe she'll have another message, or maybe she'll just be asleep.

A SPECIAL CHRISTMAS MEMORY

Cole had to do a little presentation this morning to his class about one of his Christmas traditions and Christmas memories. For the tradition, I talked him into telling about a Danish tradition in his father's family that involves one person at the table finding a surprise in their rice pudding. We brought chocolate pudding and played the game with the class. It was fun.

Then Cole shared his Christmas memory. I tried to suggest a few things last night, but here's what Cole shared with his class: "One Christmas Eve I had to wait five hours in the airport for my great-grandmother because they lost her walker." What??? That's the best, most memorable Christmas memory he could come up with?

What about our yearly drive - with Christmas music playing and hot chocolate no less - to look at Christmas lights? What about our mornings opening presents around the fireplace? What about discussing special ornaments as we decorate the tree? What about the time we went to the Old City Park Candlelight Christmas Celebration? Or when we went caroling in the neighborhood with our friends? What about when we pick out the toys to pack in the shoebox for Samaritan’s Purse?

To think that one long, irritating afternoon in an airport could negate all of the warm, special memories I worked so hard to pull off over the past 9 years! I'm thinkin' I'm going to focus on making MYSELF some warm, special Christmas memories from here on out.

POOP IN THE MOUTH

I'm sitting here trying to work and having a good cry watching the end of one of those old episodes of Little House on the Prairie. Love that old show. It was the Christmas episode where Laura gives up her beloved pony to that awful Nellie Olsen in order to get her mom a stove as a Christmas gift. Call me a loser, but I dare you to watch that episode and not cry.

Thought I'd report on Red's (my dog's) missionary work. (I just knew when I bought him he had a heart for missions. Ha.) He did pass the class at church and went on his second nursing home visit today. The visit did not start off well. As we gathered in front of the nursing home to pray, Red plunged his face into some yellow poop that he proceeded to happily eat. Lovely.

After some serious clean up, however, he did very well. So many of the rooms are warm and cozy, he tends to just curl up and want to stay. He did play the cute dog part well. One lady thought he was actually a baby - her great-grandchild in fact. She was a bit confused.

FROM THE HEART

Got a massage this morning, and it was great. The funny thing was the guy giving me the massage must have been hungry. His stomach growled the whole time - I'm always so distracted when I get a massage anyway! It really was nice though.

I used a gift certificate for the massage that Cole gave me for last Mother's Day. Cole's father has always been generous in helping Cole buy me gifts. After getting the first massage gift certificate from him, I knew I was on to something. "Cole, Mommy sure does love massages....yes I do. That's a great gift!"

I have taken a more creative approach with the gifts I help Cole buy his father (Christmas, Father's Day, birthday). I just let Cole pick out the gift - it's from his little heart (and clearly his father has not picked up on how to drop some serious hints).

So, Cole has given his father a musical Christmas tie, Spiderman bathmat and blue squishy pillow over the years. The singing Christmas beaver Cole bought him several years ago is the only accessory in his father's living room. The furry guy strangely sits in the middle of the coffee table - year round.

I'll let you know what Cole comes up with this year...

QUIRKY RADAR

It’s official. It’s been one year this month since my last date. My last evening of adult conversation with an available male. I think the well is officially dry, and there’s no hope/potential in sight.

I was thinking back on the dates I have been on (that would be pre-2007) and some of the just plain funny things I’ve experienced. Now, you might not think they’re funny, but I think they’re quite quirky. Some might say my quirky radar is too sensitive, but judge for yourself.

In the past seven years, I have been out with men who:

• Drive a bus for a living.
• Prayed over our meal and thanked God for the red tomatoes on our salads.
• Pulled over at the end of my street to make sure I was going to put on my seatbelt.
• Told me they were recently divorced (as in four days divorced)
• Admitted that they lived with their parents.
• Told me their soon-to-be ex-wife thought they were an alcoholic, as he drank his fourth glass of wine.
• Talked baby talk to their CAT.
• Told me that he and his ex-wife fought more over custody of their dogs than custody of their kids.
• Took me to a lovely fountain to enjoy the sunset - and brought a towel in case we decided to splash around in the fountain. (seriously dude?)
• Talked to me in third person, as in “How is Laura doing?”

Now, those of you who know my dating record realize that this list is a compilation of a mere five to ten men (too depressing for me to actually count the number). It’s a weird dating world out there, and I’ll admit that it just doesn’t take much for me to hoist that red flag right on up the flagpole.

(I need to say here that I am certainly not ungrateful - I have been on some very fun dates, enjoyed some good meals at cool Dallas restaurants, gotten lots of good advice, had great conversations, gotten some good self-esteem boosts and some very thoughtful gifts.)

Maybe if I turned down my quirky radar, I’d have better luck. If nothing else, it might make for some entertaining reading for all of you married gals who wonder about all the great fun us single gals are having.

THE GREEN FELT BIRD

I finished putting up all my Christmas decorations – it took three days, 16 Diet Cokes and only one emergency trip to Michael’s. I have not worn makeup or anything nicer than my fat-girl sweats for the past three days. Whew.

Putting all our ornaments on the tree was quite a feat and made me think about the fact that every ornament has a story. Probably the most interesting/pitiful/tragic story on my tree is the gaudy green felt bird decked in sequins and gold trim. It was my Grandma’s.

When my Grandma died several years after my Grandpa, the family had to clear out their house. Walking through during the clean out, I noticed that all of my Grandma’s ornate green felt birds had been thrown in the trash. These weren’t just any felt birds – these were the birds that had hung on my Grandma’s tree for as long as I could remember. Yes, the tree looked a bit odd covered in only strange green felt birds, but it is what I remember of their tree on so many Christmas Eves.

“Why are we throwing out all the green felt birds?” I asked my mom, who was busy sorting through another drawer of paper scraps (Having grown up during the Depression, my Grandpa always ripped the fronts off Christmas cards and used the back sides for scratch paper. He also tore napkins into fourths – which doesn’t sound so weird to me anymore thanks to the current economic climate.)

“Oh, Laura,” my mom said with a sigh and a laugh.

“What??” I demanded.

She went on to tell me that the tacky – but special – green felt birds that brought me warm memories of the family gathered around the piano on Christmas Eve at my grandparents were made by my Grandma when she was locked in a psychiatric hospital. Nice.

I’ve known for a long time that my family has a long, proud history of depression and an array of other anxiety related disorders. But really? She made the birds in art therapy at Timberlawn? And THEN, she hung them on her Christmas tree every year?? How could decorating her tree every year been anything but, well, depressing?

I did pull one of those birds out of the trash, and I hang it on my tree every year. We’re all kind of a mess, aren’t we? And our Christmas trees do kind of tell the story of our lives, warts and all.

Besides, I Christmas-crafted my way through a depression once. It was year one of going through my divorce, and I worked like crazy on Cole’s Christmas stocking. It’s a traditional red velvet stocking with sequined figures, including a snowman, football and train.

I do laugh and roll my eyes when I hang it up every year. It’s too darn cute to throw away for the sake of not having an oh-how-I-hated-my-life flashback. Maybe that’s how my Grandma felt – but seriously, these birds are ugly.