The Art in Life

This year our Christmas cards are a total disaster.

I really did have high hopes to role out another glowing card with well coiffed hair and dreamy colors, you know, like last year (which, even though the year was rough, the card was perfection… also huge… James is still ashamed). Or maybe at least one with cute outfits and chalkboard glory, like 2013.

But that just didn’t happen.

I just got totally burnt out on photos, totally tired of planning, and by the time I had finished everyone else’s Christmas card photos, I had zero energy left for my own. And so the rationalizing and downsizing began.

First, we were just going to have some friends snap a cute photo of us… but that seemed like so much work. Picking a time, picking clothes, doing hair, making sure there was daylight — not happening.

Then we were going to go find a cool old fashioned photo booth, take some pics, and do some sort of hipster Christmas perfection…. but that quickly became complicated. Finding a booth that actually still did old school photo strips in DC, finding a time when we could trek out there — not happening.

So at last, at 11:30 on a Wednesday night a couple weeks ago, I broke down in tears and declared that WE HAD TO DO IT NOW OR IT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN AND IF IT DID NOT HAPPEN THEN CHRISTMAS WOULDN’T EVEN COME AT ALL. Or something like that. It had to happen AT THAT EXACT MOMENT or it never would. Also there were residual Black Friday sales I wanted to hit online that would expire the next day, and I am nothing if not super cheap with Christmas cards.

And so, at 11:30 on a Wednesday night, I downloaded an app that simulates a photo booth, and we did our Christmas card photos. In our hallway. With only the front two locks of hair on my head curled. Don’t ask if James was wearing real pants. And things went downhill quickly, as can be seen from those strips at the top that didn’t make ye old Yuletide greeting card. Why are we wearing hats INSIDE… IN OUR OWN HOUSE? And why is there a metal MOOSE in my hand at one point? And why DIDN’T we use the picture that shows reality, meaning James being distracted by his workphone???

If the pictures were a hot mess, the card itself might be even more so. We are old school, and insist on a full letter, so after a really bland front side with our crazy mugs, we cranked out the type of honest letter that only happens when you write it at midnight. Maybe there is an entire paragraph about our toilet.

Thus, our card is perfect, because it betrays the great truth of not just this year, but every year: life is just not perfect at all. It is a beautiful mess constantly on the verge of spinning out of control. But we are doing it together, and every Christmas we remember that baby who brought something truly perfect to our disastrous existence.

Here’s to outtakes that show more truth than the final shot.

PS: If you just love these annual terrible photo spreads, here are outtakes from 2014 and 2013.

Sometimes it is tempting to think that life is hard.

I’m not alone in this. I hear it in my student’s complaints, in the grumblings of everyone I meet (because let’s not pretend that any one of us never grumbles), in the words of most people. We all think that life is kind of hard. This is especially true at Christmas, when there is just so much to do and we want to be merry and bright with every last fiber of our being, but we are a little more on the weary and broke side of things.

It is especially tempting to think that life is hard this December, as we are trying to celebrate and prepare for Christmas in the midst of car shopping, paperwork filing, etc. I have spent the last couple weeks frantically keeping up with end-of-semester details and grading and trying to turn in my dissertation prospectus (I defend tomorrow!), while James has no extra minutes since every December is a game of chicken with Congress and the budget that makes every politico burn the midnight candle from both ends. We are tired. We are having to spend lots of money. We are stressed. And so, it is tempting to think that life is hard and that maybe someday, it will get easier.

But in the midst of this Christmas season, I have been reminded instead that it will never get easier than now. When we started decorating our apartment, I dug our Christmas stuff out of storage (read: the giant plastic bins on the porch). Every last Christmas decoration — all 3 strands of lights, 16 ornaments, 1 mug, 1 vase, 4 fake cranberry sprigs, 2 pot holders,  a couple prints, and one golden moose — fits in a small box and one plastic grocery bag. We decorated in under an hour. And as every year I find myself adding one or two tiny things to the stash, I remember — it will never be easier than now.

We’ve been able to squeeze in all our favorite Christmas outings in the midst of the busy, because even though we are two people with busy schedules — we are just two people. Home cleaning is something that has… shall we say, slipped a little lately. But the other day I did a deep clean because I found that I had 1 extra hour, and that is pretty much enough time to clean our apartment, since it is approximately the size of four shoe boxes. Someday, we would love to live somewhere bigger, have kids, buy a house– add all sorts of wonderful complications to our life. Which is why this Christmas season reminds me — it will never be easier than now. Life is ever expanding and every expansion makes it harder, even if it also makes it better.

And for some people, life is hard now. Lately we have been praying hard over people in our lives, shedding tears over illness and loss and sin that rips apart families and hearts. There are so many people I love who are desperately praying for days when things are easier than now, and I am rooting right alongside them. And that reminds me to think twice before starting up my stressful, self-indulgent, and misguided pity-party.

So today, as I am trying to tackle the pile of mail that is breeding on the table, trying to address the Christmas cards that have sat neglected by the couch for a week, trying to write an amazing prospectus presentation to wow my committee and distract them from the holes in my research, trying to clean the floors and make food for later in the week, trying to squeeze in a run, trying to sort out “new” car paperwork and make sense of it all, trying to finish up wedding photos for clients, trying to enter in all those last grades for my students, trying NOT to just take a nap and watch Hallmark Christmas movies (though I do love the reminder that God sent his son at Christmas so that we could all have hot boyfriends), I am chanting to myself, like a holy incantation over my day —

It will never get easier than now.

Might as well enjoy it.

You all know that there is nothing I love so much as a good cry, a good soul-purging sob over something beautiful and touching. The other night I decided that I was in need of just such a cry, and so when James came back from brushing his teeth, I was curled in the bed SOBBING big ugly tears… because I had started watching Christmas commercials and once you start, you just can’t stop. I love them, those commercials that make your throat catch and big tears well up. They instantly make me want to buy whatever they are selling and they remind me that the best commercial is like a perfect short film.

Like this one, where Mog the cat reminds us that Christmas is about everyone coming and giving up their oranges, Little Women style, so that those who have little, can have a part in whatever bounty we have. Because community, especially at Christmas, makes me cry.

Or this one, where you just think that you have another punk youth on your hands, another kid more interested in screen-time than real life. And then you find out that he was speaking his love for his family in the way he knew best and those tears start flowing. Because people recognizing the value of family, especially at Christmas, makes me cry.

Or this one, where Microsoft reminds us that Apple doesn’t have the monopoly on emotion, and that Christmas is a time for forgiving. Everyone starts singing about peace on earth and I just can’t hold it in. Because collective outpourings of song, especially at Christmas, makes me cry.

Or this one, where I didn’t exactly know what was happening because it was in German and my own is shabby and barely functional at best. But I gathered that the old man faked his death to gather all his children at his side once more. And I know that I should be annoyed that he lied to get them to fly from all over the world, but it’s hard to be mad when your heart is flowing out your eyes in salty tears. Because parents doing anything to bring children back, especially at Christmas, makes me cry. (And I found you all one with subtitles, so you can be less lost than I was.)

Or this one, that I watched until I was sobbing so hysterically that I couldn’t form words. Like, if you aren’t moved by this, you might want to have someone cut open your chest and see if there is a beating heart or just a cold dead fish masquerading as a soul. Old people alone are too much for my heart. And when Christmas becomes a catalyst for spontaneous acts to do something for the suffering of someone else — I will cry every last time. Because gifts extended with no expectation in return, especially at Christmas, make me cry.

Because that’s the essence of Christmas. Christmas is about a baby who came to start the most perfect community, to make us part of his family, to let there be peace on earth. It’s about a father who goes to great lengths to reconcile his children back to him, and the greatest gift given. And so somehow, all these commercials that have nothing overtly to do with Christ, manage to point to the heart of Christmas. And I remember that and I cry.

So do feel free to pass any more crying commercials my way. They are my favorite.

PS: This story also had me sniffling as did this poem.

I am fairly certain that the actual 12 days of Christmas run from Christmas to Epiphany. Yes? No? Anyone want to correct me? Of course you do — this is the internet and everyone loves “helping” others be correct.

But even if the actual 12 days come later, I feel like December and the beginning of Advent have me singing around the house about French hens, GOLD RINGS (Because who doesn’t yell that part? It’s like a brief respite of something we know in endless refrains of verses we forget.), and the entire village worth of people milking/leaping/dancing/etc. As soon as December comes, we all just finding ourselves wanting to count down to Christmas, wanting to merrily sing down those days. At our annual Christmas Eve party, I always try to get everyone to sing the full “12 Days of Christmas” with me, but I think I have some Scrooges and Grinches among my near and dear, because everyone does a lot of protesting before sometimes agreeing to sing just the last verse and count down from twelve. Not fair, not fair at all. It’s the progression that’s exciting, the building list of ridiculous gifts, the anticipation. I love it. I content myself by cranking up this version almost daily and singing along.

This year, I am loving counting my 12 days down with these beautiful prints. I mean y’all- those French hens! The tiny eggs from the geese! The majestic stag-a-leaping! I can’t get enough. I plan on just continually rotating through them all through December by setting them on a tiny easel on my shelf. My sister-in-law painted them and is currently giving away a set a day for these first twelve days of Christmas through her women’s publishing house, Wandeling Press, where she and her co-founder are working on publishing their first children’s book. I know that I mentioned it before, but it bears repeating. Laura and another of my friends from college have teamed up to bring beautiful poetry and lovely illustrations back to the sometimes sparse terrain of books for toddlers and babies. Plus, their goal is to use their own book to launch a publishing house that empowers and equips women to publish more books like these. This is absolutely a project that you want to be a part of if you a) have a kid or b) know a kid or c) believe in women going after big dreams.

And these cute prints? You all need them. Really, you do. Ok, so I suppose “need” is a fluid concept here, but they are so fun. Plus, they are giving away one set a day to one of their Kickstarter backers, which means that by supporting this amazing project, you statistically have pretty good odds of winning. For just $15, you can pre-order a copy of the book AND enter to win these awesome prints.  Go forth and do so here!

What’s that, you want to see all 12 in a nice photo-grid? Well on the 6th (kinda) day of Christmas, here you are. Which day is your favorite? Don’t ever say I never gave you anything.

Obviously, the season looks nothing like this at the moment. But I would much rather think about this car, than our own poor wrecked one. Image via here.

Sometimes I end up having 20 tabs open on my computer because I just can’t bring myself to close them, lest I never find the article/item/recipe/picture again. Eventually, I usually just end up slapping them in a blog post because a) I have a desperate need to share everything I like and b) it makes it easy to find them again for myself!

This weekend we are off to all sorts of Christmassy things. The Nutcracker! Messiah! Christmas parties! Car shopping! Dissertation proposal writing! Ok, so some of these things are definitely worse than the others. But, if you have some minutes in the midst of your own busy holiday weekends, here are some things you should know about. (Note: I hate leaving that sentence and title with the dangling about…. but “Things about which you should know” just sounds so pretentious so I am keeping it.)

This article about the final Hunger Games movie. Our house is squarely divided between those who love the movies (me!) and those who think that we are no better than the residents of the Capitol watching children die for our own pleasure (James!). This article was an interesting response.

A literary advent calendar with stories or poems for every day. Go ahead and just go back and read them from the beginning because they are some of my favorite readings these days. (Dec. 2nd is quoted at the end of this post.)

Our favorite Christmas things in DC. And if you happen to be in the district, our church does a great performance of the Messiah that is free and open to all this Sunday morning at 9. They hire soloists and all, so it is pretty awesome. We also love going to the Lessons and Carols service at CHBC because they hit allllll those good carols.

I ordered Christmas prints from here and I am obsessed. And since the rest of our Christmas decor theme accidentally became “animals Hannah wants to domesticate,” it’s good to mix it up.

Might I suggest these for your Christmas cookie exchange needs? Perfect blend of tart and sweet.

If you haven’t finished all those lofty 2015 goals -take heart!

I’ve been thinking a lot about gift-giving recently. The Internet, magazines, stores, etc, are overflowing with Holiday Gift Guides. Honestly, a lot of them seem really impersonal, more lovely things that are in the end just stuff. I kind of like the intentional gifts, the ones that just scream the name of the person they are for. Christmas can be hard because we get SO excited about gift giving — a really wonderful thing — that we get swept up in a materialism that is the antithesis of Christmas’ simple story. So in that vein:

I liked this article about letting your kids select gifts for others.

Yet before we start exclusively praising minimalism, let’s remember that it too is an often elite luxury.

And to close, I have been thinking about this great quote from “Gift of the Magi” all week.

“The magi, as you know, were wise men–wonderfully wise men–who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.”  -O Henry

Merry weekend to all.

Thanksgiving is here!!!

Well not actually here, but we leave this afternoon to start our trek to Kentucky, so it might as well be. We are swinging through Charlottesville to visit my brother and then heading on to that blessed state shaped like a chicken leg. James has actually never spent a Thanksgiving in Kentucky, as the last time it was our turn to go there in our holiday rotation (that we follow RELIGIOUSLY because order is what separates us from the beasts), we stayed in DC to be able to make it up to New York for a wedding. That was the year of the infamous black sludge spewing forth from the sink… good times.

In case you are also headed out for some quality vacation time, here is some this and that to entertain you whilst you revel in pie-induced coma.

It was all fun and games until the gluten-free craze started tyrannizing the world of art.

If you are on Instagram and you aren’t following @pumpkintheraccoon, you’re doing it wrong. I have maybe spent all week trying to convince James to get me a domesticated raccoon for Christmas, and he keeps responding with stats about rabies.

If you have ever been bored to tears reading a book to a baby or toddler, you need this children’s book. Admittedly, I am biased, as my talented sister-in-law is the creator and my nephew is in the promo video, but I know this book will be quality because I have had the opening line stuck in my head all week long, rolling around in my brain in poetic perfection every time I get bundled up to go outside. Do yourself a favor, invest $15 in the Kickstarter and get a book in return to brighten your bookshelf. Go ahead and watch the movie below and just TRY resisting the promise of a fat hedgehog in pajamas.

Hip-hop founding fathers? Yes please.

I am intrigued by this kale stuffing. Usually, I would be skeptical. But I pretty much trust whatever Deb does.

On the same note, if Phyllis tells me to use olive oil instead of butter in my cookies, I may just have to do it.

This might just be the year that I cave and finally get the booties that I eye every year.

Every post on this website is beautiful, but the other day I spiraled down the archives and especially loved this one and this one.

On a more serious note, my heart has twisted over and over as I scan Facebook lately, because everyone has an opinion, delivered from their own comfortable and one-sided living room soapbox, about how to “solve” the refugee crisis, as if we can wave a magic wand and miraculously fix a terror that has driven millions of people from their homes and scattered them across the globe. I am disheartened by people acting out in — totally understandable — fear, but I am equally saddened by people belittling that same fear. The same people who weeks ago posted messages of hope like “love drives out fear” or “love will beat hate” ridicule the fears around them, somehow thinking that will help. I do not pretend to understand all the intricacies of politics and foreign policy. But I do know that we have to start with what we know. And what I know – as an American and as a Christian – is that to whom much is given, much is required. Those who live in safety and plenty are called, are commanded,  to care for those who come from danger and scarcity.

Let’s remember that this week, as we sit around full tables and cozy homes and count our many blessings.

On Saturday I ran a half marathon.

This is not, in the grand scheme of things, the most impressive accomplishment. I did not run it fast, I did not run it well, I did not — for miles 6-11.5 — even run it happily. It is not my first half marathon, as I did 2 during college and have run multiple 6 or 10 mile races. But I ran it, every last miserable step, and that feels like a victory.

This would have been slightly less of a victory if I ran this race several years ago. The year that I was engaged, I ran almost every day, including a 10 mile race, got super healthy, and dropped to the lowest weight I have been since high school. I radiated a smugly healthy glow and demurely shrugged when people commented on my trim physique. This is pretty standard for brides, as you grow obsessed with being an absolute perfect version of your normal self. And it is not an entirely bad thing, as anything that motivates you to invest in your health is good. But it is, or at least, often is, an unsustainable thing. Once those wedding bells stop ringing, you enter newlywed life in all its domesticated, delicious, showing-off-your-cooking-skills bliss. You eschew the practicality of balanced meals for cozy cookies on the couch, passing over vegetables for pot-pie (or, regular pie) and sensible soup for starry eyed walks to munch on burgers and shakes. You revel in the unconditional love that someone has for you and grow so confident in your body image… that you start totally neglecting its care and keeping.

And then one day, a couple years into marriage, you wake up and realize that your pants don’t fit, that those love handles are heavy on both the love and the handle, that you can barely run three miles without walking, and that you feel terrible. You step on the scale and think surely this must be broken, because those numbers, those big numbers that you have never seen before just can’t be real. And you cry, hurl yourself on the bed, and declare that you are fat and ugly and totally worthless.

Obviously, that’s a tad extreme. But it’s how I think many people feel after a couple years of neglecting their health. It’s how many women secretly feel a couple years into marriage. Or at least it’s how I felt as we rolled into the holidays last fall and I realized that I had gained close to 30 pounds since getting married. I don’t want to even type that because FOR SHAME, but it’s true, and I’m leaving it there in case you feel the same and want some solidarity. It’s not even really about the weight, but about how I felt like an uncomfortable foreigner in my own body.

And so, I set out to make 2015 different. We did the Whole30, first hard core, and then as a general rule to live by, and I did lose a lot of weight. I bowed to the wisdom of my Fitbit, sometimes doing laps around our block or apartment late at night until I earned my rest.  I started running again, hardcore. I found a friend to run with me on the weekends and we worked up slowly through the miles, dragging ourselves out of bed at sunrise on Saturday or Sunday mornings, trudging our weary feet down the mall.

Through it all, I thought a lot about my body, our bodies, these earth shells that house our souls. I think it is tempting to think that they don’t matter, that it is all about finding “inner beauty” and thinking positively. That is true, but it isn’t all true. Because our souls, these  beautiful immortal things, are housed in earthly tents. They are tied to them, impacted by them, and equipped by these terrestrial vessels to do good and noble things. If the body is out of control, the soul is often hindered.  Yet I also spent this year trying to work on how I think about my body. This isn’t easy for me, because I can never remember a time when I wasn’t concerned with my weight, my skin, etc. I have never effortlessly inhabited my body. I wrote here about beauty, and I have tried to carry a balance throughout the year of treating my body better, but also thinking about it differently.

It is a vessel. For a soul, for a spirit, for a personality, for all sorts of intangible things that make me who I am. But it is still a vessel, an important and valuable vessel that lets me be those things to the world. Both matter.

And so, finishing this year with this race felt like a victory. A victory in the sense that it marked a year of healthy choices, but also a victory because it was hard. The course was awful (all hills, poorly marked, never enough bathrooms, and actually .5 miles LONGER than a half marathon should be- not cool), and I did not really like running it. But as I limp jogged through the last mile, I was reminded that this body, this often maligned and under-appreciated body, was strong, and capable of being a worthy vessel.  I am proud of it, even if the stomach will never be flat and the thighs will always touch at the top. I feel comfortable in it, content in its strength and its ability to carry me through life and let me be me.

This week, as I eat way too much good food and sit lazily around with my family, I want to remember that. Vessels are for eating, for skipping workouts to laugh with family. For long naps and cozy cuddles. But they are also for running, for healthy living, for restraint and good choices. Here’s to a life of balancing both.