I’m not allowed to blog until the Christmas letter is written.

And mailed.

(Or, at least, it will be until 5 minutes after I make this statement. That’s how it always seem to work with me and my true-fact statements about myself.)

I don’t like facebook chat. When I’m on facebook, I’m not there to talk. I’m there to look at pictures or check up on my family and friends.. .whatever. But that annoying box that pops up on my screen…. well, it annoys me. You can’t move it around like a good chat box. And (at least with my primitive internet connection) it doesn’t always keep up with the stream of conversation like it’s supposed to.

Actually… I don’t even like chatting that much. There’s a very short list of people who I spend any amount of time talking to online: my brother Marcus, my “other little brother” Andrew, and every once in a while Byron or Jeremy. Evidently, I only talk to boys.

…Making up for all those years that I was afraid to talk to boys…

And why am I writing this here? I have no idea, except that I just really don’t like facebook chat. And sometimes I’m accidentally not signed off of FB chat and some friendly chatter gets through and interrupts me. It’s usually someone I like. I like talking to them in person. Just not while I’m busy. Sometime I’m a waffle kind of person. I need to keep some things compartmentalized.

At a quick dinner-table poll this evening, I found out that I’m going to have 16 grandchildren.

2 from Judah
4 from Wesley
4 from Malin
6 from Avery

Sounds good to me…

When I was a kid, I had no reason to believe that light fixtures did anything other than hang out on the ceiling and provide light. It never even crossed my mind that one might come down for a reason other than a routine cleaning or lightbulb change.

I lived a sheltered life as a child.

Once upon a time, before my girls were born, I was reading bedtime books to Judah and Wesley when I heard a startling crash from next door – my bedroom, which no one was supposed to be in. When I went in to check it out, I found that the motion of our ceiling fan had slowly jiggled loose the screws that held the light globe on. It fell straight down onto the footboard of our bed and shattered into a million and one pieces.

And then there was that peaceful night at the beginning of last summer. Roger and I were sleeping soundly in our pale green room – same bed, different house – when there was an even louder, definitely more startling crash. This time it was because 10 months earlier, Roger had installed the ceiling fan (a new one) just a little bit incorrectly. There was something weird about the ceiling or something – it made it hard to install the fan the right way. This time around, the whole fan dropped out of the ceiling and landed on the floor beside our bed. We still use that fan. Roger had to glue one blade back together, but otherwise, it works just fine. (And it’s installed correctly now too.)

I’m not entirely comfortable sleeping under a ceiling fan anymore.

Tuesday evening we had some friends over. I was taking my friend Linda up to the 3rd floor of the main house and her 2-year-old Micah was following us. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, pointed up to the chandelier and said, “bad guy.” Poor little thing – he was scared to come up the stairs because of a light fixture. When he was really little, a light fixture fell onto the floor near him and scared him. Ever since, he’s been afraid of ceiling lights. He calls them “bad guys.”

I can sympathize.

I’ve managed to confuse myself by starting to use my xanga site again. I don’t know how many people keep up with both of them, and if I put something there, should I put it here too? Maybe I’ll just forget that one. I’ll start by reposting this here:

Scene

In the jigsaw puzzle on your basement table
(the one you started by candlelight last winter)
I’m the piece that belongs in the corner
over by the edge,
one in a myriad of
bits of cloudless sky blue.
If you notice me at all,
it’s because my cardboard layers
are slowly separating,
loosened by a toddler’s slobber,
nervous red fingernails, or
maybe the spreading condensation from a neglected glass of iced tea.

The first pieces placed are the obvious ones:
the horse’s face, the flashing scarlet of the woman’s dress,
the stable, solid lines of the edge.
And then the frustration of placing the commonplace:
using as a reference
uncertain, looping edges
that don’t complete an object

In my tumbled pile of blue i wait
for eyes perceptive enough
to make me fit.

If i could urge my paper fibers into motion
creep to the edge of this endless plateau of tableland
-wood grain showing conspicuously through the blue sky pure
in the hole that i leave-
and drop quietly to the
stains of the dusty second-hand carpet,
try out that existence for awhile…
Maybe then,
with the near-completion of a picture perfect scene
above me
Someone
might drop to their knees,
crawl around in the grime
and with searching fingers
…..find me.

9/09

Yesterday Malin picked out a piece of watermelon to eat, looked at it and said, “Mom, look at this trampede of seeds!” Today I asked her if she knew what the word trampede meant. She thought a minute and said, “It’s like a whole bunch of people running right at you really fast!”

So she meant stampede. Either way, trampede or stampede, I was pretty impressed that she would take that word out of its typical context and apply it to seeds in a watermelon.

Gotta love the self-centeredness of a 5-year-old.
Here’s what Avery thinks about her daddy:

1. What is something daddy always says to you?  I love you.

2. What makes daddy happy?  Me.

3. What makes daddy sad?  If I’m not here.

4. How does your daddy make you laugh?  Tickle me.

5. What was your daddy like as a child?  I do not know. THAT’S a hard one.

6. How old is your daddy?  17

7. How tall is your daddy?  Taller than you (mommy)

8.What is his favorite thing to do?  Fix stuff.

9. What does your daddy do when you’re not around?  Probably working. Probably fixing stuff.

10. If your daddy becomes famous, what will it be for?  Money.

11. What is your daddy really good at?  Fixing stuff.

12. What is your daddy not very good at?  Making a house.

13. What does your daddy do for his job?  Um… I know. Sing! No, not sing… preach.

14. What’s your daddy ’s favorite food?  Oh, I should have asked him that. I don’t really know that.

15. What makes you proud of your daddy?  I. don’t. know! ….  Man.

16. If your daddy were a cartoon character, who would he be?  I don’t know that one.

17. What do you and your daddy do together?  Eat.

18. How are you and your daddy the same?  Both of us love each other.

19. How are you and your daddy different? Cause he doesn’t have the same color of hair.

20. How do you know your daddy loves you?  Because.    …..   I don’t, that’s why.

21. Where is your daddy ’s favorite place to go?  Camp.

and about mommy…….

1. What is something mom always says to you? I love you.

2. What makes mom happy?  When I clean my room.

3. What makes mom sad?  When I’m not here.

4. How does your mom make you laugh?  Tickle me.

5. What was your mom like as a child?  Charming.

6. How old is your mom? I don’t know.

7. How tall is your mom?  Taller than Judah.

8.What is her favorite thing to do?  Hug me and kiss me.

9. What does your mom do when you’re not around?  Be sad.

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?  We miss her.

11. What is your mom really good at? Loving me.

12. What is your mom not very good at? Building stuff.

13. What does your mom do for her job? Work in the camp.

14. What’s your mom’s favorite food?  I don’t know that one.

15. What makes you proud of your mom? She reads me books.

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?  I don’t know.

17. What do you and your mom do together?  Read books.

18. How are you and your mom the same?  We both love each other.

19. How are you and your mom different?  We don’t have the same color of hair.

20. How do you know your mom loves you?  Cause she kisses me.

21. Where is your mom’s favorite place to go?  Wal-Mart.

I sat down last night to try to write something on here, but it looks like I’m fresh out of words. But this morning I was listening to Andy Gullahorn – he’s a jewel of a singer that most people probably have never heard of. I first heard that he’s a friend of Andrew Peterson’s, (or maybe just someone that AP likes to listen to) and then my friend Andrew gave me some of his songs. Since I don’t have any of my own words at the moment, here are a few of Andy Gullahorn’s. Love it.

More of a Man

I took my granddad’s 22
When I was in the 2nd grade
I shot a deer right in the heart
And rubbed his blood upon my face.
The summer when I turned 16,
I got up each day before the dawn,
Was building barns and baling hay
Worked harder than the day was long.

Now I’m 30 and I have three kids
I watch Dora the Explorer in the morning
I feel a sad truth sinking in
Maybe I was more of a man back then

Used to be my daily fare
Was chicken fried steak and barbecue
Had Dr. Pepper every meal
And ice cream when the day was through
Now I’m watching my cholesterol
My metabolism’s obviously slowing
Tonight it’s salad once again
Surely I was more of a man back then…

I used to watch Jean Claude Van Damme
Killing guys on the silver screen
Now every night, with the kids in bed
We watch Gilmore Girls on DVD
Surely I was more of a man back then…

So I suck in my protruding gut
On our monthly dinner night
You’re saying something ’bout the kids
As I watch these young men pass me by
Well, I remember – I was just like them
I was lonely, but I called it independent.
And if lonesome is what manly is…
Maybe I was more of a man back then.

Last night at Wal-Mart, on a whim, I tried on a long comfy-looking dress. I made the mistake of throwing it on over top of my t-shirt and my blue jeans, which gave me a bad first impression. So I stepped out of the changing room and told my cousin and my friend, “This makes me look like a member of a strange cult.”

The lady in charge of the fitting rooms got a kick out of that. Every time I saw her after that, she looked at me with a grin on her face like she was trying not to laugh.

I didn’t say the rest of my thought loud enough for her to hear. But it would have been something like, “Come on girls, lets get back to our husband and the rest of the wives.”

I actually think I may go back and buy the dress. Next time I’ll try picturing myself as a greek goddess… or maybe a happy and graceful flower child of the sixties…

It’s been a good Saturday – even including the ridiculous amount of apple stack cakes that my cousin Cheryl and I prepared. (I admit – she did most of the work there.)

Roger was up before 7:00 to do some grocery shopping with Bill, but the rest of us got to be lazy and sleep in. Each of my kids has dealt with a low-grade fever and a little bit of upset stomach this week, and this morning was Avery’s moment. She threw up a little bit (that’s what finally dragged me out of bed) and then she had a nice relaxing bath. She seemed pretty much like herself after that. Hopefully that will be the end of it.

After I had my shower, the two of us went out on the little green porch (the nest, we call it) and had some girl time in the morning freshness. She brushed my hair for a while, and then painted my toenails. First a coat of light pink, then silver glitter. Then, to balance things out, I painted her toenails very neatly in a bright red. (Her choice.)

At one point the wind picked up a little bit, and she perked up with big eyes and said, “Oooh! Fresh air!!” So cute.

It was a nice start to a good day.

I don’t know about tomorrow… but I’m pretty sure it will have a good ending. My parents will be here! For the whole week! They’re working with me in the kitchen!

(Bill is “dreading” working with 4 Hunsbergers in the kitchen this week. I keep telling him it’s going to be the best week of his life. After all, we’re Hunsbergers. The only thing better than one Hunsberger is a whole bunch of us.)