Spanking

The search widget on my lefthand sidebar lists the search terms in order of frequency. I cannot tell you how annoying it is to me that SPANKING is being shouted from the lefthand side of my blog.  To you who are searching (relentlessly it seems): there's not much here. I have spanked one child, one time, while under the *very temporary* influence of the Ezzos and I still rue the day. My third baby was five weeks old and I was seriously sleep deprived and desperate to figure out mothering once and for all so I could get some sleep. The Ezzos told me it was all Le Leche League's fault and a good swift spank to my recalcitrant toddler would ensure much needed peace to all (well, they didn't say it in so many words, but that was what I took from my speed reading of ALL of their books in one weekend). So I did. And not one single problem was solved. As a matter of fact, that child still reminds me to this day that he is the only one who was ever spanked in our household. He says he's scarred for life;-).

Anyway, if you're searching for "how the Foss family does the discipline thing" and you typed in "spanking" as a shortcut, you might find what you're looking for here  or here and definitely here.And I would so appreciate it if some of you would take a moment and search for something other than "spanking" or its runner-up "depression" and bump them off the really big font honors. Something cheerful and pretty? That looks good on the sidebar? Please? Because we're all about looking pretty:-)

Thank you.

Now

Yesterday, I was astonished to find hundreds of new blog posts on my Google Reader. The multitude caught me by surprise because I have had absolutely no time to open this computer in the last week or so, never mind actually write anything:-)! I read several posts late yesterday afternoon, though, as my family waged a fierce FIFA tournament on the XBOX. A little escapism, perhaps...

I noticed that this year, as in years past, women are thoughtfully choosing words to guide the new year. And I summarily dismissed the idea. I can't box my hopes and aspirations for this year into one word and I didn't even give it a second of conscious thought. I clicked the laptop shut, went upstairs, tucked myself and my baby into bed and settled under several layers of covers to watch Tim Tebow play his final game. My boys don't like Tim Tebow. They think he's too perfect; it gets under their skin. I think they're jealous;-). Anyway, they were all about virtual soccer; Mary Beth was reading Christmas books to the little girls; and Sarah and I had Tim and the Gators all to ourselves.

I promptly fell asleep.

I awakened at 12:55. Game over. The post-game press conference coming from my television revealed a bright, articulate, very happy Tebow. They won. I missed the whole thing. I heard Mike shutting down the house and then coming up the stairs. Some XBOX tournament!

"I missed the game," I whined.

"They won," his eyes twinkled at the thought that I'd managed to sleep through the whole game.

"I gathered that," I muttered, looking at the television screen. I wasn't even going to give him the satisfaction of asking for any game details. Instead, I got up to take my contacts out and return to bed for real this time.

He was captivated by the baby sleeping there. "She's beautiful," he sighed. "Let's wake her up. She'll smile, then we can see her dimples."

Uh, no. Let's not.

Instead, I snuggled in next to her and inhaled her sweetness.

"I can't imagine life without a baby."

"Me neither. They just keep getting sweeter."

So does he.

My eyes filled with tears unbidden and I was grateful for the dark as he turned out the light. Life marches along; every new year brings changes to a family. People grow taller; some even grow beards. Babies become toddlers (or in the case of ours, a bigger baby who charms everyone she knows into carrying her wherever she wants). Hair grows grayer. And it's not just his hair this year, but mine as well.

Time.

I want to stop time. I don't want to think about the failures of yesterday. I don't want to think about the uncertainty of the future. I just want today--with all nine children under my roof and a comfortable spot in this warm bed between sweet husband and beautiful baby. Sleeps comes again. I am so tired I cannot even finish a thought these days.

Sometime in the night, the baby nurses and I am half awake. That's when my word for the year finds me. I certainly didn't find the word. I wasn't even looking. The word is "Now."

Now.

Now is just fine. Now is good.

In my sleepiness, I am assured:

Don't borrow trouble from yesterday or anticipate the sorrows of tomorrow. He gives you grace sufficient for today. For now. Live in now.

And only now.

One moment at a time.

Assured that He will be present in the moment.

On Our Knees Tonight

This seems like a good plan for the last night of the year:

"When night comes, and retrospectshows that everything was patchwork and much that one had planned left undone, when so many things rouse shame and regret, then take all as is, lay it in God's hands, and offer it up to Him. In this way we will be able to rest in Him, actually to rest and to begin the new day like a new life."

St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross

Real Women...

...buy the men in their lives Dockers for Christmas. Don't you think?

Office Christmas Party

I was going to write about it. Actually, at one point last night I looked up and saw five different people texting and I thought that I wished I had some way to Twitter the party, because I do think it was a rather entertaining experience. Alas, I don't. And I was gone all day yesterday and this is quite the "day after" in my home. So, I'll spare you my impressions and let the pros entertain you. This version is pretty funny. And, by the way,  the fastest bowler ever is pretty darn sore today. Once upon a time, I fell in love with the pitcher on the varsity baseball team. Thirty years later, I'm still swooning over his strength and speed;-).We're going to be snowed in all day tomorrow and I will have the privilege of testing our homemade sore muscle rub on a nationally recognized fast bowler. Office party perks, no?