Never Too Many Cooks!

It’s two days before Thanksgiving, which means preparations started in earnest today for making all of our favorite dishes. Even though most our serious baking will not happen until tomorrow, today was a day for boiling eggs, pitting cherries, washing cranberries, and mixing up several batches of pie dough. 

When I was a very little girl, probably the age of my Lady Eleanor, my grandmother would lift me up on a chair, caution me not to dance off the edge, hand me a tiny rolling pin, a miniature pie pan, and my own ball of dough, would sprinkle some flour on the counters, and then she’d set me loose. Sometimes I’d actually create something semi-edible, but most of the time she’d just let me play, for what must have been hours, until the dough was crumbling to pieces in my tiny hands.

I don’t know if she knows that I remember those times, but I’m just now able to appreciate how much patience she must have had to allow a small person run of her kitchen. How it must have been difficult not to hover over me correcting mistakes and sweeping up the flour that I’m sure I spilled all over the floor. I know things would have gone so much faster if she’d just done it herself, but I never felt rushed, and I never felt scolded. I don’t remember a time I was denied when I ran up with a sweet “Grandmama, can I please help?”, and I never caught her going back and fixing any of the mistakes that I’m sure I made.

Today Daddy took the boys and Miss. Mabel so that Eleanor could help me with pie prep, and as we measured flour, rolled dough, and danced around to Christmas music (because listening to Christmas music while you bake makes everything taste better), I was taken back 30+ years to a bright, warm, purple kitchen and a little girl just discovering her love for baking with her favorite person.

 

After we cleaned up from all this we set up the tree in my room so that Daddy and the others would have something exciting to see as they drove up to the house, and then we snuggled together in bed and watched The Nightmare Before Christmas for the 1,000th time this year. I sense a new tradition in the making.

Tomorrow I will have a very full kitchen. Three sets of hands will eagerly offer to help peel eggs, add ingredients, and stir bowls. It would go faster if I sent them all out and did it myself, but I will welcome the crowd. There can never be too many cooks in my kitchen. 

Happy Thanksgiving, Friends!

Dear Me,

Dear Me,

Dear Younger, Frightened, Struggling Me, 

I know. I know that you are struggling right now. I remember that feeling. I remember being so sure that I was drowning. That I was going to break into a million pieces right there. But you’re not. You’re still standing. In fact, I might argue that you’re more than just standing at this point.

Michael is deployed for you right now, and that really stinks. You feel like he’s missing so much, and he is, but he’s going to be home before you know it. You’re what? Three months in now? You have a couple more to go, and then he’ll be home with you again. I’ll let you in on a secret. This isn’t the hardest or longest deployment you have ahead of you, but you’ll get through those too. And the homecomings! I’ve done this several times now, and I still have no words to describe those homecomings! They almost make deployments worth it.

Almost.

Listen, there is probably some space-time continuum reason for me not to say much here, but since you obviously can’t really read this, I’m going to give you a little advice.

That guy you’ve been hanging out with from time to time? The one who keeps trying to get you out of the house? Let him. He’s going to become your absolute best friend outside of your husband. He’s going to be the reason that you make it through this deployment. He’s going to be an uncle to your children, the reason you get on a motorcycle, oh, and he’s going to get married to your cousin. Yeah, that’s a thing these days. Also, and maybe most important, he needs you too right now. Get outside of your self-pity for a minute and realize that he’s having a rough holiday season too, and someday it will get worse and he’ll need you and Michael just as much as you’re both going to need him in the future. So take a shower, get dressed, and let him take you to the stupid Twilight movie.

People are going to talk. Forget them. Those aren’t your people.

You won’t be stuck in Idaho forever. I know it seems terrible right now, but look around. Really look. The state might suck, but you have friendships here. Nurture them! Before you know it you’re all going to be scattered to the winds and you’re going to wish that you could call them up to just hang out. It doesn’t matter where you are stationed. Without the right people, anywhere can be lonely.

For the love of God, take in these days with Parker. Absorb them. Love every minute of them. Try your hardest to remember every little thing about those baby cheeks, his gummy grin, and how he looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. You are going to blink and these moments will be gone. It sounds so overdone, but the years really are so very short no matter how long the days are.

No marriage is perfect, yours included. Keep fighting for it and working for it, because it is more than worth it.

Michael is right. Just order the damn king sized bed. You’re going to end up with one anyways.

Thirty is not the end of the world. It’s actually a rather nice year, all in all, and you’re going to learn to let go of so much as you near thirty-five. Believe me. It’s very freeing.

Stop letting the things you are scared of stop you. Failing at something just means you actually tried. Failure is okay. Write more! Create more! Fear less!

For the love of God, buy stock in Tesla!

Oh, and on October 8, 2014 make sure you have a tarp or something in the van. (Yeah. You’re going to be a mini van mom. Just embrace it and get it over with.)

Why would I tell you all this? Well, the stock in Tesla is just good advice. As for the rest of it, it’s because I’m hoping that there is yet another older, wiser, greyer version of me doing the same thing nine years from now. I’m hoping that forty-three year old Holly is writing to tell me that yes, my children do still love me. That she remembers the struggle that the last year has been for me, but that I get through it. That I’ve come to accept Parker going to Ohio State (spoiler alert, our son is a Buckeye fan), that Sebastian’s Diabetes hasn’t stopped him from following in Steve Irwin’s footsteps, that it is possible to have a healthy relationship with my teenage daughter despite not having that growing up myself, and that my youngest child getting ready to turn ten doesn’t make me old yet.

I’m hoping that this older version of us is smiling remembering what a struggle the past few weeks have been for me in particular, and that even if she’s thinking to herself “Just you wait! It’s going to get worse.”, she is also able to say “But it’s also going to get so much better!”

I hope that she’s comfortable in her body. That she can embrace her grey hairs. That she’s lived the next decade to the fullest with less regrets than thirty-four year old Holly has writing to twenty-five year old Holly.

We don’t have it all together yet, so get that idea out of your head that you have of where you “should” be by thirty-five. It’s unrealistic, and it’s just going to put unnecessary pressure on us. However, we’re getting there. This has been a rough year for us, but we’ve grown so much, and a lot of that growth is because of how tough things have been.

I know you’re scared. I know you’re struggling, and I can’t tell you that it won’t get worse. It’s also going to get so much better. Keep your chin up, Sweetheart. You’re still kicking, and a little age looks good on you.

Love Always,
Me