Christmas 2011

We're sticklers for tradition, so here we're posting pictures of grinning children opening gifts. Well, to be technical about it, it's the grandparents who are the sticklers for this annual ritual. We're happy to oblige, though.

Gathered 'round the Christmas tree. This was the year that Christmas dawned on Phillip, and it was a beautiful thing.


Stuart, whose gifts now double as Fun For Daddy.


Daphne, thrilled to get a diary from Aunt Lindsay, completely oblivious to the fact that she can't write anything except her name.

Addi got a mug-decorating kit from our neighbors, the Shaws, and forgot about her other presents as she lost herself in Art. This picture also shows Addi's great change as of a week ago: she got all her long hair cut off.

Oh, Pip was all about opening presents. He got a stack of new books and (in this picture) two new cars for his Thomas Train collection.

Fun times with Playdough! Please note that while I was doing this, and Darren was helping Addi assemble one of her presents, our own gifts lay unopened under the tree. I never realized just how deeply the sacrifices of parenthood could cut.


The three older kids have formed a "snuggi club" now that they all have blankets with arms. Here they are in the pose entitled "Stockings, Before."

And Stockings, After.

Pip's godmother will be pleased to see him mastering the art of Pez.

Computers need Christmas joy, too. Right?

My favorite gift from Darren was this set of hand-made bowls. Even better, the hands that made them belong to my good friend Deidre (Pip's aforementioned godmother).


I am continually amazed at the beautiful work Deidre turns out. As you can imagine, these dishes make food taste worlds better.


This red-bearded man needed a new necklace -- the other one, like so many before it, fell under the onslaught of a toddler -- so I got him this one from an Etsy shop. It's silver with a wood inlay, and I think it's pretty snazzy.

Gifts, laughter, and joy: makes for a good celebration of the Incarnation of God. Merry Christmas, y'all.

-- SJ

Family Picture 2011

Almost all of us don't look goofy!

Sara, Hold the H

The following post is blatantly narcissistic. Next time, as penance, I’ll do a post that doesn’t involve the singular personal pronoun.

I am Sara. Notice, four letters. Notice, no H. My dad chose my name and the spelling, and I fully embraced it. As a child, I insisted that my teachers spell it correctly. As a teen, I signed my name “Sarah” and slashed out the H. I was pretty adamant about that H.

Naturally, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that it’s just not that important for my name to be spelled correctly. It’s not like I looked at a Christmas card last week, saw my name spelled wrong, and said to Darren, “This is addressed to you and your other wife.”

Long ago, I formed theories about the two names. Sara, to me, is trim and modern. Clean lines and casual lifestyle. Sarah, on the other hand, is old-fashioned. Conservative tastes, formal dress, traditional views. Yes, I know, the division is artificial and inaccurate. But hey, this post is all about me and my ideas.

At the time, I lived my life conforming to a certain style of life and thinking. I wore dresses – not because I liked them, but because I believed it was my duty as a Christian female. I assumed my destiny involved marrying a staid, upright man and having many children. I knew I would guide said children to God with my loving but strict discipline. In church, I despised “praise songs” for their shallowness and modern tunes. I considered a drum set as valid grounds for leaving a church. I loved princesses, castles, and swords.

It was with real regret that I realized that, according to my own definition, I was more of a Sarah than a Sara.

That thought has persisted for years. Even though I wear pants nearly all the time, including to church. Even though I dance in church and like a well-played drum set during the praise songs. Even though I married a man with unexpected opinions and a good sense of fun. Even though I am satisfied with only four children, and rarely lay down the law without letting them have a say first.

(I still love princesses and castles and swords.)

What finally made me see the change was when our small congregation had to move out of its building because we couldn’t afford the rent. We put the pews in storage, cut out some of the extra formalities of the service, and gathered in a member’s home to have church there. And I liked the difference. The atmosphere is so much more comfortable and casual. The service is less rigid, without losing the beautiful structure of the liturgy.

It’s a surprise to me that I think this way. I didn’t know I felt like that. On the other hand, this realization came to a happy ending.

I don’t need that H after all. I am the person I really wanted to be all along.

I am Sara.

-- SJ (no, really?)