the year in review

with the end of each year comes lists in every magazine, newspaper, and website: the Hits and Misses, or Cheers and Jeers, or Bests and Worsts of ... whatever. politics. fashion. music. movies. tabloid headlines. i think they're ways of recapping the past twelve months in a format that appeals to the masses -- short, quick, and to the point. seeing all of these lists inspired to write one of my own. here's a summary of 2008 for the mann family, in the form of our five lows and five highs of the year that is about to come to a close.

#1 low: selling our house in asheville. the offer that was reneged for no reason. the inspector who has since admitted his report was wrong. the two months the house wasn't even on the market while all of it was kind of sorted out. the insultingly low offer that we eventually accepted. (which, now that the market has tanked even further, doesn't look quite so insulting. small comfort.)

#2 low: living in a third floor corporate apartment during the month of january, one of the coldest months in recent memory. there's nothing quite like herding two kids stuffed into winter coats down two flights of external stairs in 12 degree weather, only to find your car doors are frozen shut.

#3 low: repairs, repairs, repairs in our new house. two major leaks in the kitchen ceiling that have left temporary gaping holes right above our breakfast table. standing water in our basement that necessitated the installation of a sump pump. overhead lighting wired in our dining room where none had existed. these are not fun ways to spend money.

#4 low: massive layoffs at chris's employer. he, thankfully, was spared, but he watched as colleagues were escorted to their desk by security right after being informed that they had been let go. did i mention this happened the week before christmas?

#5 low: the trials and losses of dear friends: brain tumors, bone cancer, natal heart defects, pancreatic cancer, suicide, serious car accidents. if it weren't for God and faith, i don't know anyone can make it through.

but now, for our highs, in no particular order ...

#1 high: our move to raleigh. this is, undoubtedly, where we want to be, and where we want to raise our children. the city is great, the schools are wonderful, our church is amazing, having my parents a short drive away is so helpful, lifelong friends nearby is incredible ... i'm running out of positive adjectives.

#2 high: susanna, potty-trained right after her second birthday. enough said.

#3 high: liam reading a new book, cover-to-cover, for the first time. such an proud accomplishment for a young three year old, and one of the most exciting moments thus far as a parent. and it's kind of crazy he can now easily read the newspaper.

#4 high: our new house. despite the aforementioned repairs, it's still a great house. we love being at the end of a cul-de-sac, and especially enjoy the big covered back deck and huge private back yard. and the location can't be beat.

#5 high: we have love. we have health. we have supportive family and friends. we have food on the table and are able to help those less fortunate. and above it all, we have God. unfortunately, there will always be lows ... but you can't fully appreciate the highs without them. and if we focus on our faith, focus on our blessings, and focus on the people around us whom we love and who love us, then despite the grim forecast on a national and global level, 2009 is still looking to be pretty darn awesome.

happy new year from all of us!
xoxo ~ chris, sara, liam, susanna, and super

selective memory

it's amazing what liam chooses to remember about events. a recent history ... 1) he joined chris and me at his first non-kids sporting event, when davidson played nc state in basketball at the charlotte coliseum. the game was close, the victory was ours. liam's highlight: the ice cream. 2) i took him to disney on ice, where he watched in fascination as lightning mcqueen skated on the rink below us. liam's highlight: our parking spot. 3) he participated in his first christmas pageant, singing "go tell it on the mountain" in front of hundreds of people, and even went up to the altar for communion. liam's highlight: the tail on his horse costume. 4) he opened all sorts of wonderful christmas presents from his parents, his grandparents, his uncle, his aunt, and of course, santa. liam's highlight: his battery-operated toothbrush. 5) we just returned from a three-day trip to our friends' mountain cabin, where we hiked along the blue ridge parkway, checked out a great playground with a super-long slide, played lots of games indoors when the weather turned rainy, and visited the mast general store in boone. liam's highlight: the gummy worm he ate in the backseat. one of the e-mails that being currently forwarded around, full of insightful suggestions of how to live better in 2009, reminds us to "find the beauty in the little things". liam's obviously got this one mastered.

Why Must We Wait?

each year, our church publishes an Advent book, with Bible readings throughout the season and a daily meditation written by various parishioners. i contributed the following entry, and thought that christmas eve was the perfect time to post it here. from the mann family, we wish you peace, love, and happiness. Merry Christmas!

August 2003

My doctor turns on the ultrasound monitor. My heart pounds. Could this, at long last, be it? Will we have a viable pregnancy after all this time?

With every passing second of silence, I know my chances are diminishing. He moves the probe some more, searching for what they call that “fetal flicker”. He remains quiet. My eyes dart, frantically, around the room. I can’t stare at that screen any longer, with its green void glaring at me. I can’t bear to catch my husband’s eyes, as the tears well up in mine. I can’t look at the walls, covered with posters of the various stages of pregnancy, reminding me of what we cannot achieve. So my gaze rests upward. I know the pattern of the ceiling tiles by heart now.

“I’m so sorry,” my doctor says, as he shuts off the monitor and turns to face me, as he has so many times before. “There’s no heartbeat.” This is our fourth miscarriage. This is the fourth time that we had seen that glorious plus sign show up on the test … the fourth time we had begun discussing baby names … the fourth time I had started plans for our nursery. And now, this is the fourth time we face the devastating news that it is not to be.

My doctor is discussing our next steps, as stronger measures are necessary. I hear terms like follicle stimulation. Progesterone level checks. IUI, HCG, IVF – the letters swirl in the air around me. I hope that Chris is paying attention, because I can barely breathe.

In the solitude of my car on the drive home, I ask God aloud what His purpose is in all of this. Is it a lesson in humility, after a lifetime of things coming rather easily for me? Is it a reminder that I love being in control too much, and that there are some things that only He can control? Is it God telling us that despite having a rock-solid marriage, we're not quite ready for parenthood? Are we destined not to be parents at all?

Why, God? Why must I wait? What is the purpose of waiting for a child?

August 2004

Our son, Liam, is born. I am blessed with an extremely short labor – four hours, start to finish, without an epidural. After spending so much of my recent life being poked and prodded and tested and injected with fertility drugs, I had prayed throughout my pregnancy that God would give me the strength to achieve a natural childbirth. I wanted to be fully present in all that was happening; I wanted to feel every moment of this life-changing experience. God answered that prayer.

The nurse places our baby in my arms, and I am absolutely mesmerized. I cannot possibly put into words the love that I feel at this moment. He’s wailing, he’s red-faced and slimy, his eyes are squinched up, he has no hair – obviously, he’s absolutely beautiful. And, praise be to God, he is ours.

Staring down at his sweet face in my hospital bed, it suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks. This is why God wanted me to wait. All those years of heartbreak and devastating loss now make sense. I was put on this earth to be a mother to Liam, this precious baby born in the wee hours of August 14, 2004. Had my path been easier, Liam would not exist; I would have another child, but I would not have him. I think of Psalm 139:16 : “In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed." I know with certainty that before my life had even begun, God had a plan for me. And this particular little boy, our Liam, is part of His all-knowing plan. God is so wise.

October 2005

I stare at the same ceiling tiles as I did two years ago, bracing myself for the same experience all over again. Why should it be any different? We had been told that we would never have a sustainable pregnancy without medical intervention. We had accepted the fact that it would never happen for us naturally. So, after a plus sign turned up on a home pregnancy test completely out of the blue, I don’t allow myself to get my hopes up. I resolve that I will keep my composure even through the disappointment that is to come. I am ready for the news this time.

My doctor turns on the monitor and positions the probe. But this time, there is no uncomfortable silence. Instead, I hear, “You’re not going to believe this ... I hardly believe it myself.” Excitedly, he points to that same monitor that has failed us so many times before. “Check out that strong heartbeat, Sara! You’re ten weeks pregnant!”

No doctor is able to explain how this has happened. Given my history and diagnosis, there’s no way I actually have a baby growing inside me. Yet somehow, I do. Our perfectly healthy daughter Susanna is born seven months later.

* * *

As I write this, I look across the room to my two children, their little blond heads touching as they play together. I smile. For now I know that my family is living proof of the most important lesson that God taught me through all those years of waiting:

God does, indeed, perform miracles.

a hole bunch of fun

our Elf on the Shelf is named gofster. don't ask me the meaning behind the name, because i have no idea. we read the storybook, learned that we needed to bestow a name upon this elf who will be visiting us every day between thanksgiving and christmas for years to come, and contemplated his moniker as a family. susanna suggested gofster and we we went with it.

gofster, in case you are not well-versed in the Elf on the Shelf culture, observes the going-ons in the mann house from sun-up to sun-down. and then, as the kids sleep, he flies back to the north pole to report on good and bad behavior to mr. claus himself. the next morning, he's back -- but always in a different spot. the first thing the kids want to do as soon as they wake up is find him. he's been on top of the entertainment center, on top of the fridge, and even on top of curtain rods.

"on top of" are three very important words, for you see, gofster is not to be touched by little hands. he is here to quietly observe, which would simply not be possible if two certain people who are, oh, about 38-42 inches in height were to reach him. he needs some vertical distance to do his job. but he was running out of places to reside, until we were blessed with another leak in our kitchen ceiling.

i try to look on the bright side of things when i can. so i'm not focusing on the fact that this is going to cost us some serious money in repairs, or that we have a gaping hole in our ceiling right before family comes to town for christmas. instead, i'm embracing the hole.

and so is gofster.

GPS = Greatest Present for Sara

on my way home from my tenth college reunion a few years ago, i missed my exit. for those of you unfamiliar with north carolina geography, raleigh is almost exactly south of richmond; yet somehow, i wound up in virginia beach. (for those of you unfamiliar with virginia geography, virginia beach is, well, at the beach. in virginia. which is not south of richmond, but east. which makes sense, since we live on the east coast and all.) the saddest part of this debacle was not that i have made this same drive hundreds of times and should have known better, but that i didn't even realize i was off course until i looked out the window and saw the ocean. before i embarrass myself any further, i'll embarrass my husband. he once took a road trip with fraternity brothers from charlotte to chapel hill and wound up in south carolina. it goes without saying that neither of us has been blessed with directional sense. so i'm wondering now why in the world it took us so long to figure out that we are the prime candidates for a GPS system. chris gave me one for my birthday on wednesday, and installed it in my car last night. (one of the countless perks of having a birthday right before christmas is that he can always find great deals on a present for me. ranks right up there with two-birds-with-one-stone thank you notes.) i have already used it five times today, and i've only gone five places, one of which was our house. this device is going to revolutionize my life! no more need to print out directions from mapquest. no reason to store every possible number in my phone to call once i have absolutely no idea where i am. i might just chuck the tattered, torn, ten year old raleigh map out the window. i am in heaven. (i think. i should probably go consult the GPS to make sure.)

don't knock it

the newest craze in the mann house is the knock-knock joke. liam got a book of them for his birthday and enjoys reading them to anyone who will listen. of course, most of the humor he doesn't quite understand yet, but he laughs anyway, which in turn sends susanna into hysterics. you'd think jerry seinfeld had entered the building. so chris decided to teach them a knock-knock joke that they would understand. the classic banana/orange one -- you know it. "knock knock." "who's there?" "banana." (repeat 3-4 times until you about drive the other person crazy.) and then, "orange." "orange who?" "orange you glad i didn't say banana?" they actually got the humor this time. it was a huge hit. but one that was seemingly forgotten, as they advanced into a new stage of creating their own punchlines in the middle of supper last night. "who's there?" "ketchup." "ketchup who?" "ketchup bottle!" (peals of laughter ensue.) ... "cheese." "cheese who?" "cheese and crackers!" (now they're crying from laughing so hard.) ... "door." "door who?" "DOOR KNOB!" (they can hardly breathe.) and so it goes. from this wonderfully calm exchange at the dinner table, i felt we had regressed a bit a lot in the art of telling a knock-knock joke. there was no true humor involved ... until susanna and i were in the checkout aisle at the grocery this morning. as i was signing the credit card receipt, she was a few feet away from me in the cart, staring at a nice woman right behind us in line. out of the blue, susanna gives it a shot. "knock knock," she says sweetly. the woman gamely plays along. "who's there?" "orange." "orange who?" "orange you glad i didn't say door knob?" the woman gave out a genuine laugh. not at the joke, of course, but at this chubby 2 1/2 year old joke teller, her delivery, and the completely out-of-context punchline that made no sense. but no matter the reason behind the laugh, a laugh is what susanna was going for. and a comedienne is born.

the key to a great santa

we took liam and susanna to have brunch with santa at our club following church today. before he invited the kids onto his lap, he pulled out a keyring with three enormous brass keys on it, and explained to the kids what each key does. i found this all quite fascinating, and got his permission to share this information with all of you. the first key is his Chimney Expander. this temporarily enlarges each chimney so he can get himself and all the presents down. the chimney returns to its normal size after santa leaves. the second key is his Time Stopper. since 24 hours is certainly not long enough for one man to circle the globe delivering his loot, at some point on christmas eve santa inserts this key into his clock. time freezes, he gets his job done, and no one is the wiser. and the third key is, well, a key. to rudolph's barn. santa can't get very far without him!

miss independent

i have a theory that a child cannot escape the Terrible Two's without going through, and thereby succumbing their entire family to, the Independent Stage. liam went through it for a brief period, when he stubbornly resisted any help, but thankfully it passed quickly. susanna, on the other hand ... well, susanna is in a category all her own. for months now, she's been determined to do everything by herself, even when, most of the time, it's nearly impossible for her to do so. "DO IT MYSELF!" she mutters, as she tries to haul a bag of groceries up the steps. or to wash her hands when she can't even reach the sink on her tippy-toes. or to button her coat with mittens on. or to tie her shoes. of course, we always encourage her to follow through with her attempts, since the only way she's going to learn is from her mistakes -- and isn't one of our primary parenting goals to raise independent children? so we quickly learned to factor in additional time for even the most mundane tasks, because her way takes twice as long as if we did it for her. it's painfully fun (emphasis on the "painful") when it's below freezing outside, as her 35-pound body (stuffed like a sausage into her winter coat, mind you) insists on opening the door of our SUV herself and then scaling her car seat four feet off the ground herself and then fastening the buckle herself. start to finish time for said independent task: four minutes. (as opposed to parent-assisted time of ten seconds.) these are just a few of the daily occurrences we endure with our beloved second child. but nothing has quite compared to last night. she had climbed into liam's bed to give him a good night kiss, and as it was really late, i picked her up and carried her into her room for our bedtime ritual of rocking to "oh susanna". she kicked and screamed the entire way across the hall, and as soon as i had put her down, she gave me a defiant look and marched out. thirty seconds later, she was back, with a sweet smile on her face as she got into my lap. something had obviously happened in the interim to satisfy her, but i wasn't sure what. chris told me later how it had all unfolded. apparently she had returned to liam's room and beelined it to his bed. she climbed up, and then immediately, climbed right back down. dumb me! her hissy fit wasn't because she wanted to stay longer and read more stories. and it wasn't because she didn't get a kiss from her big brother. no, the grave error i had made was taking her out of the bed when -- shocker -- she wanted to do it herself. the phrase "fiercely independent" comes to mind. emphasis on the "fierce".

feliz navidad

growing up, our across-the-street neighbors put up a life-size nativity scene in their yard every year. and slightly to the left of the scene, in quiet observation, was a hard plastic Frosty the Snowman and Santa Claus. if this juxtaposition wasn't bad enough, the whole conglomeration was usually up until valentine's day.

that memory was conjured up this morning as i watched susanna play with her creche. after she had carefully situated everyone around the stable, she stepped back to survey her work, and was obviously not quite satisfied with the presentation. she trotted off, and soon returned with her box of dora the explorer edition candyland. she opened the box, extracted the four plastic figurines, and inserted them into the group.

luke wrote in 1:17-18, "when the shepherds had seen Him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them." so i have no doubt that had they existed at the time, dora, backpack, boots, and diego would have joined the rest of the world in its amazement. but by the looks of it, they would've probably skipped the gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and brought balloons and party hats instead.

tight squeeze

after the debacle of carving pumpkins, chris and i weren't holding out much hope for trimming the christmas tree. having learned that having low expectations can often be quite helpful when dealing with unpredictable children, we thought that we'd give it a go for a few minutes, and if their interest waned, chris and i could finish up ourselves after they went to bed. but they loved it! we had the christmas music going, the candles lit, and the wreaths hanging on the front door and every window. as soon as we opened the box of ornaments, they dove in headfirst, oohing and aahing at all the pretty, fragile ones and especially enjoying the ones that are kid-friendly. they'd grab one at a time, march over to the tree, and do a fairly good job at getting each ornament attached to a branch. we do, however, now have a tree that has 80% of its ornaments within a few square inches. at a preschooler's eye level, of course.

driving me nuts

holidays and traditions are synonymous to me, and when i think about it, most of these traditions involve food. for example, by atkins definition, big family dinners include stuffing, not dressing. we always have mashed potatoes with my dad's famous gravy. and we leave cookies out for santa and a carrot for rudolph on christmas eve. (on christmas morning, only crumbs are left, accompanied by a hand-written thank you note from st. nick himself.) out of all the aforementioned foods, by far the most important are the cookies. as i composed my grocery list last night, gearing up for baking season, i made the mistake of asking chris if there was any particular variety of cookie he'd like me to make this year. "snickerdoodles," he immediately replied. i looked incredulously at him. snickerdoodles? i thought. surely he can't mean that bland dough-y thing with sugar sprinkled on top. he got defensive. "you asked me, so i'm telling you. i want snickerdoodles." i sighed inwardly. ever the loving wife, i reluctantly agreed to expand my repertoire. but then he had to follow it up with something much more ridiculous -- blasphemous, even. seven words that make me wonder how in the world i married the man. "i don't like nuts in my fudge." a woman must stand her ground on the significant issues, and here is where i draw the line. liam and i whipped up a batch today, using my mom's traditional recipe -- walnuts and all. when it comes to fudge, i will not budge.