Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Friday, November 23, 2012
See, I’m reasonable.
I bit my tongue when my husband accidentally called the house with a jazz version of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” blaring on his truck radio. I wanted to ask if it were some kind of sick joke, but I didn’t. I’ve ignored his humming of holiday tunes around the house and didn’t accuse of him of doing it just to bug me.
See, I’m very reasonable — until one night when my family piled into the car to go somewhere.
“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock …” sang the radio.
“Jingle around the clock!” my family chimed in at the top of their lungs.
I turned, glared at the kids and pushed the button hard for the next station.
“I’ll have a blue Christmas …” it played.
“Without you …” my family sang in exaggerated fashion. “You’ll be doin’ all right, with your Christmas so whi …”
At which point, I couldn’t stand it and turned the radio off all together.
“You’re a Scrooge,” my husband teased.
“A Scrooge?” I said, outraged. “It’s Veterans Day!”
And, it was. Downtown Newnan looked beautiful with its white lights, but what about flags? Shouldn’t we slow down and enjoy each holiday as it comes, instead of lumping them all together into a “holiday season” that starts the minute the last door is shut on a trick-or-treater? Or is it just me? Sometimes I feel as if it is.
I love Thanksgiving. I love everything it’s about – family, food and, most importantly, being thankful for both. There are no gifts, no pressure to buy, no pressure to decorate perfectly or even to be happy. On Thanksgiving, the biggest decision one has to make is whether to take a nap, go for a walk or have another piece of pie after lunch.
And best of all, there are no songs.
I know some people really love all the pomp and circumstance that come with Christmas, and there are people who have already decorated and been ready for the big event for weeks. Believe it or not, this year, I’m one of them. My children went to a pottery place and hand painted the perfect gift for me. It’s a plate that reads, “Happy Everything!”
I’ve decided to keep it on my mantel year-round. I figure that covers all the holidays, and, hopefully, it will remind me that listening to “The Little Drummer Boy” won’t kill me, no matter what time of year it is — especially when my precious children are singing along.
Friday, November 16, 2012
At first, I was horrified at the thought of sitting around and allowing my family and friends to wait on me, but I found that I soon warmed to the concept. So much so that I began enjoying it more than I felt I should. I voiced this concern to a friend who reminded me: “You have every right to enjoy your recovery – guilt free.”
That was just the permission I needed. Since that moment, I’ve decided to embrace my down time, not fight it. Here’s what I’ve learned in the process:
The world will not end if I don’t leave the house. That’s a good thing because I rather like not leaving the house.
Showers feel really good after a few days.
My son secretly knows how to do laundry. I don’t know how or why.
It’s very easy to tweet the day away.
It’s humanly impossible not to eat fun-sized candy bars if they are in the house.
True friends pass along their trashy magazines. I have lots of true friends.
There’s very little a piece of homemade lemon meringue pie won’t cure.
I don’t miss running nearly as much as I thought I would. Nor working. Nor cooking. Nor cleaning.
In fact, I think recovery becomes me. As my friend said, “It’s amazing what we go through just to get a vacation.”
She’s right. It may not fit into our plans, but God knows what He’s doing and when we need to put our feet up.
So, for now, I’m going to put away my to-do list, unwrap a bite-sized 3 Musketeers, pull out my stack of Hollywood magazines and enjoy because, ready or not, I’ll be well before I know it. At least, my family hopes so!
Friday, November 9, 2012
“Because that’s just what they do in South,” I said.
As I said, very important things.
I also worried a little about food, specifically, what we were going to eat. My husband is an excellent chef and cooks plenty of meals, but for some reason, I had it in my head that I should buy a case or two of power bars to keep by my bed just in case. I should have known that no matter one’s situation, if you know a few Southern women, you have nothing to fear.
In addition to my husband’s homemade Brunswick stew, we’ve been blessed with food from some of the area's finest cooks. Night after night, these sweet friends of mine entered bearing casserole dishes — some fancy, some disposable — all equally delicious.
“I like home-cooked meals,” my daughter said enthusiastically, making me feel a twinge of guilt for not cooking enough the past year, or two, or three ...
The best part about Southern women is they think of everything. The food was gluten- and nut-free per our allergies. They brought jugs of Chick-fil-A tea, 12 packs of cranberry La Croix and sacks of People magazines for me to pass the time. They brought ice cream and cookies for dessert, gift cards for take-out later and cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I gotta tell you, recovering from surgery ain’t half bad.
And beyond the kitchen, I’ve gotten flowers, phone calls, visits, texts and prayers. Any ounce of apprehension vanished as soon as my friends sprang into action. Thank God, I let them, though being the true friends that they are, I had no choice.