JPEG of the Week

~Wonder~

~Christmas Wonder~

More Wisdom From the Laundry Queen

I call it Pre-Packing Pre-Laundry.

Not to be confused with Pre-Packing Laundry.

Pre-Packing Pre-Laundry, or PPPL as I like to call it, is a phenomenon that I experience every time I try to begin preparing this crew of 10 to travel.

PPPL should not be confused with PPL. Please notice the difference in the number of 'P's in the acronym.

PPPL is the laundry that you have to do to figure out the next phase of laundry you should do in preparation to travel.

As in, PPPL is the compilation of the entire wardrobes of your family that you have been ignoring stacking up in the corner of the laundry room.

It is also comprised of a desperate search for Christmas colored turtlenecks that you really wanted to take with you so the kids would look festive for the holidays.

But now you've decided they can look just as festive wearing faded Disney print t-shirts.

Because you know where those t-shirts are.

And those t-shirts at least are clean.

Because you performed PPPL.

Pre-Packing Pre-Laundry.

I do think that one of these years I will experience PPL, the singular experience of Laundry By Choice. You know, where I could stroll into a kid's room, view the organized and neatly hung wardrobe, make my selections to place in the suitcase and then choose to wash a darling little blouse, just to take on a trip, just in case.

But PPL, that simple Pre-Packing Laundry, may be a phenomenon deep in my future.

Because right now, I'm all about the PPPL.

Knee-deep into PPPL.

Pre-Packing Pre-Laundry.

It's the next big thing.

You heard it here first.

Superstar Medley, Judges' Challenge & Songs Of Hope: Part 1

Video Recaps | Full Episodes | Webisodes

Do Me A Solid, Wouldya?

See this darling girl?

She's the daughter of our amazing pastor and she's getting to do an amazing thing.

Her vocal group is being featured on NBC'S newest reality show, The Sing Off.

She performs with the vocal band Voices of Lee and they have made it to the top three in the competition.

Now here's the part where I ask a favor of my Octamom readers.

Up to this point, it was a panel of judges who were choosing which groups would go and which would stay.

And now it's up to the viewers.

Garland's group, Voices of Lee, is a phenomenal group of young people who have mainly performed for churches and patriotic events, bringing a full sound and a clean cut image to vocal performance. They are passionate about their faith. They're a bunch of good kids.

And they're just so stinkin' good!

So take a little time today to go vote for this group. You can go here to vote online or you can text 33088 and then enter the number 3 into your message to vote as well. You can vote up to ten times.

It's your patriotic duty.

So Here's The Thing...

I am, apparently, in charge of Christmas next week.
For my clan, let me clarify.

Not for the whole world.

You understand.

And I'm now at the full-sprint-panic status of trying to find where I've hidden everything and figure out exactly who was meant to have what and why I only seem to have candy canes for one kid.

It's a beautiful, well-organized Martha Stewart kind of Christmas.

Not.

I did complete my final teaching/speaking engagement for the year yesterday.

I think.

So I should be focusing on holiday prep.

But that means I don't have a real picture post for Wordful Wednesday today.

So I checked to see what 1 of 8 might have captured with her camera while The Boy was here.

And I thought this was pretty adorable...

And I thought this was incredible...

So, by my count, over the last few days, there have been several blog posts featuring 1 of 8's and Octadad's photography skills.

Do you think it's a conspiracy, a covert effort to take over my blog?

Nah.

I think I've just been a blogger slacker.....


All in the hopes of being a holiday over achiever...

Of Pukers and Playmakers...

This is how they fake you out...




Looking fairly normally before they barf...

In case you didn't catch the stellar poetic accomplishment of yesterday, the Octamom kids participated in a Christmas play this past weekend.

It wasn't without its, ah, hiccups.

And chunk-blowing.

But I thought you might enjoy a few non-puking pics...



This would be 5 of 8, costumed as a wise man. He claims that wearing the costume did not, in fact, make him feel any wiser.

The clothes apparently do not make the man.

Here's 4 of 8 dressed as Mary...



There was a bit of drama as Baby Jesus was momentarily misplaced.

That would preach during this season, wouldn't it?

The Octa-Dad was taking pictures for me and he likewise found it very difficult to take pictures of 8 of 8 in focus, due to 8 of 8's constant movement...



But we have found an amazing recipe for keeping 8 of 8 focused and in one place for a stretch of time...

Put him on the middle of a huge stage in front of lots and lots and lots of people.

Hand him some jingle bells.

Watch him jingle those jingle bells like nobody's business and stay planted to his personal square footage on the stage.

It was awesome.

And then there's 7 of 8.



See those huge green eyes? They were about twice that size when she was brought on stage. Total deer-in-the-headlights kind of a thing. She did not participate in the jingle bell ringing. She did not look about in wonder at the lights and costumes and audience.

She just stared.

Long and hard.

Which was an improvement over her sister standing in the wings, barfing into an old coffee cup.

Ah, Christmas.

'Twas the Puke Before Christmas...

'Twas the morning of the church Christmas play and all through the house
The children were scurrying, creating ruckus and rouse
The costumes were ready, colorful visage to bear
In hopes that this performance would shine under stage light's glare.

The children were rushing, faces scrubbed, cheeks red
While visions of theatrical victory swirled through their heads
And I in my Sunday best and Mike fastening his shoe strap
Had just called once more it was time to don our coats and wraps

When from upstairs, there arose such a clatter
I sent Mike to the steps to see what was the matter
Up the stairs he flew like a flash
Went to 6 of 8's room and heard a small 'splash'.

He squinted his eyes to find what he should know
And he beheld 6 of 8, her face quite morose
Resting there on the bedspread, what should appear
But the evidence of a pre-play puke, nestled festively there.

And as 6 of 8 showed him, she jumped up right quick
Bolted to the bathroom and was again sick
More rapid than eagles this tummy bug came
All in time for the Children's Christmas Play.


She rallied a bit, my 6 of 8 pixie
Finished getting dressed, determined to mix in
With the other children's play actors, one and all
And we thought she might make it, midst this queasy tummy squall

Upon arrival at the church, the children did fly
Hurrying to don costumes, stage craft to apply
Around the backstage area they giggled and flew
Wiseman, snow men, cowboys and Mary too.

6 of 8 sipped her Sprite, her demeanor quite aloof
Then the time came of give tummy bug proof
She looked a bit stricken, looked desperately around
And then I heard it, that old familiar sound

Of a tummy being emptied, a virus afoot
One that renders the morning's breakfast hard to stay put
We hustled her outside, searching for a sack
Some container of some kind to hold her recycled morning's snack

"I'm all better now," she declared, quite merry.
"I can finish getting ready," she intoned, all airy.
And I wanted to believe, though a mom ought to know
That this was the last of the festive puke, the last chunks to blow.

6 of 8 donned her hula skirt, her grass skirt sheath
We dotted on blush and scrubbed her teeth
She was to be a hula girl, a tree ornament a la Hawaii
We adjusted her lei, her flower, she was darling, really.

All costumed and dolled up, 6 of 8 seemed herself
And she joined the kids, jostling a bit and headed themselves
To the green room backstage, before parting the curtain red
Thinking through their lines and step, all in their heads.

6 of 8 spoke not a word, but went straight to her work
Practicing her hula dance and adjusting her hula skirt
The children were lined up and the red curtain rose
It was time to take the stage, the performance to show.

6 of 8 fidgeted in line, she seemed to bristle
And then right as she was to step out, her breakfast became a missile
She lost lunch once more, out of audience's sight
And we hurried her home, our festive hula girl sprite.

(6 of 8 is all healed up now. No, this was not a case of the nerves, but some kind of 24 hour bug. She was sad to have missed out her performance as a hula girl, but feels confident that she gave it her best shot. What a professional!)

Sunday Selah

Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ.

1 Cor. 11:1

Should he be part of our Christmas celebrations?


Should he not?

Is the inclusion of the myth a form of deceit with our kids?

Or is it a harmless bit of fun, some local color on the holiday?

I don't know.

Theologian and standard-setter I am not.

But I do know in the flurry of red velvet coats and toy-laden sleighs, we lose the man to the myth.

His name was Nicholas of Bari and Myra and he was born in 270 A.D., a couple of centuries stone's throw from the time of Christ. His hometown was Patara, a Greek village at the time of his birth which would later become a part of Turkey along the southern coast. Raised in a household of prosperous financial means, at a young age, Nicholas would find himself with money in the bank, burying his devout Christian parents as a result of a devastating epidemic.

It is here that Nicholas's story begins to reveal the character of the man. He was flush with funds and absent in parental accountability, but rather than take his inheritance and pursue this world, he invested in the next. Nicholas chose to use the money to take care of the sick, the poor and the needy, giving himself completely to the ministry of the church.

As the machine of Roman military dominance churned its way through adjacent nations, the emperor Diocletian began a campaign to stamp out this upstart cult of Christianity throughout the regions he was conquering. Nicholas was swept up in a tide of persecution and imprisonment for his faith, beaten and jailed. He was finally released during the reign of Constantine. He attended the Council of Nicea, a seminal event in promoting unity of the church and protecting the divine nature of Christ from the swirling apostasies of the day.

Nicholas's faithful shepherding of the church at Myra as bishop earned him admiration and devotion. He was known for his generosity and care. He is said to have provided dowries for three girls whose father had lost his fortune, protecting them from being sold into prostitution. He was also credited with stepping between soldiers and three young men who were about to be executed, saving their lives by his courage. During his tenure as bishop, the citizens of Myra often experienced anonymous donations being made and children began leaving their shoes out on the stoop, often finding coins placed in their footwear come morning.

Nicholas's legacy of Christian generosity and unyielding faith made him a 'saint favorite' in the years following his death. Sailors and children claimed his as patron and the legends surrounding the miracles of his relics spread throughout Europe.

So how did Saint Nicholas morph into the Santa Claus of today?

We can thank the Dutch.

When the Dutch came to the New World during the 1600's, they settled what was originally called New Netherlands, with its hub being New Amsterdam. We know the region as New York City today. The Dutch had long celebrated the life of Sinterklaas, their variation on the name of Saint Nicholas. After the Revolution, New Yorkers began to once again celebrate the Dutch heritage of their region and Sinterklaas/Saint Nicholas was promoted as patron saint of the city in the early 1800's. The image of the saint from Turkey began to blend with the Dutch aesthetic of colder climes and reindeer. Washington Irving commemorated him in verse, along with Clement Clarke Moore, and by the time of the Civil War in the 1860's, political cartoonist Thomas Nast took the traditional image of the saint and melded it to the flavors of the Dutch influence.

And so was the jolly old elf birthed.

It's a whole franchise now, this Santa Claus/Sinterklaas/Saint Nick thing. It bears its own rituals and requirements, lists of naughty and nice, demands and stockings, candy and coal. There are flashing lights, radar reports on his progress through the night sky, reports of chimney spelunking and a GPS system called Rudolph.

It's a bit noisy, all those additions.

But when we get a little quiet, when we allow the blinking lights to fade back a notch, when we blink back the visage of red suits and black boots, a whisper of the man remains.

An echo of generosity. A beat of a heart that drummed solely for the Savior. Aromas of compassion and mercy, courage and sacrifice, the perfume of the saints.

And that is the legacy of a well-lived life.

May we lay down the trappings of this world's fame and embrace the essence of what is real. May we aspire to the simple path of a simple man known as Nicholas of Myra.

Simply living out the grace we have been extended through Christ.

Selah.