December 1, 2023
To those who like Neil
Diamond and those who don’t (but really, what is wrong with you?!),
I am
writing this year’s newsletter from my sick bed, recovering from a minor oral
surgery because I’ve always been mature for my age and my 39-year old body
decided to jump on the your-body-starts-falling-apart-at-40 train a year early.
There are two kids near me, each practicing a different musical instrument At.
The. Same. Time. (#selfcare). And while I love “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” on
the piano alongside one of Bach’s minuets on the violin as much as the next
middle-aged, minivan-driving mom, I was also hoping that this letter wouldn’t
fully reflect the totally chaotic (but often very fun) household we’ve somehow
created. I just wanted to pretend for
all of you beautiful people. But alas, here we go.
June
turned 11 this year and is still obsessed with animals and books. She is
thoughtful and kind and loves to make presents for people. She also definitely
does her own thing at all times, as could be evidenced a couple of weeks ago
when we thought she was reading a book in her room (usually a correct
assumption) but really she was outside in a rainstorm cutting down our bushes
because “they didn’t look right”. She keeps life exciting.
I ask
Gwen (9) to help too much. I know it, and she knows it. I should get $20 cash
back from every store purchase I make and put it into Gwen's future therapy
fund. One day, feeling especially unable to keep up with the tasks at hand, I
looked over at Gwen who was at the table eating a snack. "Mom," she
said, and held up her hand and started to sign some letters to me in ASL. The
first letter--I--was followed by L, O, V, and then E. I knew where this was
going, and I was here for it. This mom could use some affirmations. My heart
swelled and I thought, "Thank you, Gwen, for loving me despite my
shortcomings." She continued to sign each letter to me
"C-A-R-R-O-T-S." I Love Carrots. She pointed to her snack plate,
where the pile of carrots she was consuming was dwindling. Sigh. Can I blame
her? Carrots are consistent, way more dependable than her mom. But I suspect
that she loves me too.
Six-year-old
Harris is our resident engineer. He loves changing lightbulbs, repairing
things, and charging all electronics in need. Like me, he has a guilty
conscience and is always asking me which words we are and aren’t allowed to
say. Today’s word was “pelvis”. He is reading, mathing, pianoing, wrestling,
and biking but only when he is specifically not asked to do any of those
things. Why are all my kids so stubborn? It must come from Dan’s side. I am so
chill and hardly have an opinion on anything. One thing Harris is definitely not
doing is cleaning--which he abhors--but he is always up for cooking, which I’ll
take.
Beck, as
our resident youngest child, never had the opportunity to go through the
jealous-of-the-new-baby phase. But he has been able to go through the
jealous-of-the-new-dog phase. He dropped our new dog down 2 flights of stairs
“to see what would happen”. A budding
scientist, you might say. He is affectionately known as “Cheeks” at our
homeschool co-op because his little hips can’t hold any size of pants up. He
also wants to know all the words we don’t say, but he wants to YELL them in
public. He is active all the time, and when asked to write his own part for the
children’s program at church, he ended the prompt “I show my parents love” with
“by going to bed.” True words.
So yes,
we finally gave in/caved/surrendered to the kids and bought a dog. Gilbert
Blythe Jolley is a sweet and tiny terrier mix who I was dead set against from
the very beginning, but now I love. Mostly because I’m his favorite, so I
recognize that he must be a genius. I also relate to his inability to
completely empty his bladder. We are currently healing together, me from a gum
graft and him from being neutered (He thinks he’s a regular Don Juan with the
neighborhood lady dogs.) We are misunderstood, Gil and I, but we are
misunderstood together.
Dan
finally achieved his lifelong ambition of (being married to me? Fatherhood? A
30-year mortgage? Nope!) boat ownership, and he is thrilled. We named her The
Jolley Roger, and she fits right into our small group of possessions because
she is super old and always has a broken part. She is “the minivan of the seas”
among lots of edgy and cool jet skiers, whom I have hollered at more than once
to slow the heck down. Our marriage has been tested at the boat launch many
times, but now I know my place. Second place, behind TJR. I’m pretty sure if we
had a house fire, the first thing Dan would do is drive 45 minutes to our boat
to make sure she was okay.
And then
there’s me. It was poolside with girlfriends this summer that I discovered that
I am old. These girlfriends are a decade younger than I, and I couldn’t follow
the conversation to save my life. I’m not cool or hip, except if “broken hip”
counts. But I love my life. We are grateful for you, our wonderful friends.
Above all, this Christmas season we are so grateful for our Savior, Jesus
Christ, who gave His life for us. May your season be filled with family,
friends, and Him.
Love,
The Jolleys
