Christmas-ish

Blogging has taken a back seat to fatigue and lack of motivation. I do not feel guilty, a woman's got to do what a woman's got to do to survive pregnancy. I still read all of your blogs and enjoy them immensely, I'm sure when I can no longer contain my need to complain and whine I will unleash the furry of it all upon you.
In the meantime, there are some photos that I wanted to share before they become too passe` and I become an ungrateful mother, wife, sister, and daughter.

Norah had her Christmas program at Cabela's last week. Brad put her hair in rollers the night before and I took all the credit the next day.







Of course Lulu always puts on her own show front and center stage. Poor Lu, someday the stage will be all yours.





Christmas eve evening produced a very cold snow storm.



We barely escaped death on Highway 92, a Christmas miracle for us.

After cheating death, we traveled south to my parents' home to do some celebrating.



There I made my world famous sea food chowder, maybe not quite world famous, but certainly west of the Mississippi famous.



I love my family. Really, I have the best family. I haven't always thought that but I do now. One of the things I love about my siblings and parents is the openness. Anything is up for discussion at my parents home, anything that is with the exception of S-E-X (my mother does not appreciate S-E-X talk, you've been forewarned). The conversation is always interesting and lively. Whether you are conservative or liberal, politics are always open for discussion (be careful to steer clear of my brother Bobby when talking politics, he's so right wing that he's left wing and he will leave you dazed and confused).




Philosophy, love, life, church, economics, art, literature, music, and small screen cinema are always hot topics at the Wright's. We love to talk, and I appreciate the thoughtfulness and insight that my siblings have. Times like these make me miss my brother Nate, he is thoughtful and always offers new perspectives and a sense of love for our fellow man.




Brad played Christmas music and hymns on his guitar while we sang.



Peter and Tim also played hymns on the piano while the singing trickled into none existence.



Tim brought his friend Joan (pronounced Jwaan) from Angola over for the celebrations. Joan was kind and good humored enough to laugh when my daughter Norah, climbed onto his lap and asked him why his skin was so black. Good job Norah.



Christmas eve was lovely.



I am grateful for a family that allows happiness. I am grateful for a place where I will always be allowed to be free with expression. I am grateful for a home which honors the Savior and teaches His love.

I hope you all had a good Christmas!

Vingnettes

We stuffed ourselves, like sardines, into the chapel gym to watch Norah's dance recital. Why it was in a chapel, I don't know. Why a much needed stage, which would have worked wonders in providing a way for all mothers, fathers, and extended family to see the preschoolers was absent, is unknown as well. Why the dance music was played on a small boom box in the corner,well you get the picture.
Even among said chaos, Norah did dance.



Although, Norah's displayed talents would be categorized more as interpretive dance moves.



In my opinion, Norah's moves were much more artistic and spellbinding then those taught to her by her teacher.



Lulu has always traveled to the beat of her own drum.



She refused to let a tutu stand in the way of an impromptu performance for a limited audience.



Lulu's loose interpretations carry much further than dance.

I asked Lulu to put her own pull-ups on this morning.



The expected is boring, I like the way Lu sees things.



Frequently, a reoccurring melodrama unfolds in our home. I place all of the children down stairs to play together. I walk up the stairs to mop the floor, to put clothing away, or to make some dinner. Within minutes Abram breaks into a pained cry. As I make my way down the stairs to come to the aid of my baby, I hear Norah scramble to hide under a table, all the while screaming, with the intensity of a wrongly accused woman, "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING (sob), I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING".



These are the parts that make up the whole, that we call our life.

Needs

I am not quite ready to discuss the pregnancy. I am exercising my right to deny (I know you are thinking it's a little late for that, but remember, I have memory issues) until full blown nausea and fatigue set in.
Instead I would like to discuss my needs, or the things I cannot live without (really, I probably could, but I would rather not).




My peppermint Stash herbal tea. In complete defiance of the Word of Wisdom, I enjoy my hot drink. My hot peppermint drink seems to sooth the denied nausea.



My pink grapefruit juice. Since I do abide by the counsel of the Word of Wisdom to avoid pink champagne, I indulge frequently in the next best thing.



My fat. I don't care what the new food pyramid says (sorry for being so hypocritical Traverse Mountain 3rd ward, I know I taught you this summer at enrichment that the new food pyramid is important to follow, but I don't care), I will always put my cheese, cream, and butter first. I love dairy, thank you lactose tolerance gods.



My MAC 'O' lipstick. Although I like other girls in gloss, I hate gloss. It's like fly paper. It's sticky and it attracts everything; my hair, my food, my clothing, my children, strange men...I don't care what's 'in', I love lipstick.



My design magazines. I don't care who's dating who in Hollywood, what the current trend is in jeans, what the latest box office hit is (don't even ask me if I've seen a movie yet, I haven't, I guarantee it), or who is up for a Grammy. I do have one major shallow weakness, the design magazine. I used to tell my mom when I was young that Better Homes & Gardens had called and that they wanted to come photograph the house (I could be a brat). I regret this now, for I now know how hard it is to keep a house looking beautiful with multiple children and a husband (I'm not saying anything about your beautification skills Brad). The point is, I've always loved pretty stuff. It was genetically passed to me by my Grandmother, Norah Bernadine (or Grandma Bernie).



My furnace. This morning, we woke up to a very frigid house. I tried (in vain) to get the heat to kick on. It didn't take long to discover (in 20 some degree weather) that I needed to call an expert. Finally, at noon, our home was once again warm. I'm lucky I don't have to chop wood and haul it into the house and throw it in a large furnace. I have thrown wood in the furnace (Minnesota) before, but that's not the hard part.







My beauties. This morning, as we waited out the cold, we sat in the rays of the eastern sun entering our home to take advantage of it's warmth. Since I was too cold to clean, I took advantage of the moment (Abram was unable to see the bright side of things). I cannot live without my children. They are redeeming. With each new child I experience a rebirth and a new part of me is born.
Slowly, I am working to move past the denial.

Ravencrest Riddle

What is black & white, red & bisque, and a little metallic?

Mindless

I used to pride myself on having a great memory. There was a time when names came easily, dates were never forgotten, and events were never missed on account of being overlooked.
Due to old age (or possibly that lack of REM sleep), the last year has been one of confusion and multiple apologies. I now forget everything. I forget parties, activities, birthdays, groceries, times tables, sentence structure, adjectives, and my name. In the last few months I have forgotten about 2 parties, a neighborhood fund raiser, a plethora of groceries, the primary Christmas activity, and that Norah was supposed to give a talk on Sunday (actually I didn't forget, I never knew because I forgot to pick up the primary newsletter) . This isn't a case of 'conveniently' forgetting. There are consequences for my mindless behavior. I am really sad that my family and I are missing out because of my lack of competence and that I appear to be such a flake.
So I apologize to all of you whom I have offended. I am sorry.

Please enjoy our ginger bread house.




Oh, there is one more thing I forgot about in these last few months...

this one carries very serious consequences...

VERY

VERY

SERIOUS.

As I See It

I Have Issues

When I embarked upon becoming a blogger, I envisioned posts which documented a beautiful family life. I welcomed the hope of departing (if only momentarily) from diapers, yelling, biting, hitting, potty training, time outs, sweeping, mopping, washing, drying, and scrubbing. I longed to replace the Dora and Diego lyrics etched in my now oatmeal of a brain, with creative, illustrative, and expressive prose and poetry. I wanted to once again, become a little bit of the old artistic Martha, and just a tiny bit less of the try-as-I-might (not so much) Donna Reed Martha.
There has been a little self expression here and there. And I have enjoyed the constant reminder to document the fleeting time I have with my beautiful offspring. But to take the time to actually articulate beyond surface feelings and thoughts takes a bit of time.
As much as I would like to write a post about how my life is like this...



I don't have the time or the inclination to lie to you today, for this...



is the art that awaits me.

So this post is for all of you girls who say that my blog makes you feel bad about your house, cooking, mom skills and your blog. Take it from me, the negligent launderer, you've nothing to feel bad about.

I'll try to post something less 'real' in the next few days.

And for those of you who ask for photos of the house we are building, I posted a link on my sidebar because I really don't want to be vain enough to think everyone is really that interested in a house.