I have this vision in my head of the perfect meal in our home. It’s December and a wicked cold front has threatened even our hearty palms. There is a fire crackling and the kids are hovered over a board game in the living room which is radiantly illuminated by a kaleidoscope of colored Christmas tree lights. Ingrid Michaelson is humming from the speakers at the perfect volume and there’s a football game on somewhere, the sound of announcers and cheering fans balanced perfectly with the music, with the laughter, with one of the kids rolling the dice and tapping their game piece against the board. I am in the kitchen…peeling potatoes, chopping carrots, peering over my shoulder to check a pot that is quietly boiling on the stove behind me. There is a baby slung to my chest, sleeping soundly with jammied feet dangling just so outside the edge of the sling, and the sounds of a toddler are cheerfully echoing from around the corner. The table is set, the candles are flickering and we are waiting to hear a doorbell which will activate the welcoming chain of dogs barking, kids yelling, bodies running toward the door where throngs will gather to hug arriving grandpas, grandmas, cousins, aunts, uncles. Someone will comment on whatever delicious scent happens to be wafting through the house at that moment and another will beg to steal the baby. I’ll wipe my hands on my apron and happily oblige. Moments later, the all-call will ensue and everyone will gather as littles search small tables for their name and biggers will settle into comfy seats along a long stretch of table. The good dishes are set. Candles are lit. And there will be Grace. During prayer, little eyes will peek to see who’s not really praying. “Amen,” we’ll say, and for the tiniest sliver of time there will be blessed silence when all who are present will hold back tears and think of how very precious this moment is. And then, like the second after the stock market bell rings when purposeful, necessary chaos follows, it begins. The passing of the dishes, the small-talk, the heads-tipped-back-in-laughter as life takes center stage. It is perfect. And it is beautiful.

Is it really like this in our house? Um, no. But, I believe in this dreamy scene, whole-heartedly…even if it’s only in the movies and even though our efforts toward these kind of family meal moments seem to fall short right now. I still believe in them. Presently, we do a lot of telling each other how much we’re going to get better and dreaming of what it looks like. When it happens, it is so very good. In the meatime…we have something to work towards. And, with the holidays coming up, it just might happen. A girl can dream, eh?

So, how do meals really work in our home? Check out Brooke McLay’s article over at Babble on Our Family Meals.

Last Christmas:

Sharing our favorite recipe too…check it.

And, oh…can I just say thank you, thank you, thank you for your amazing support for our Buddy Walk. I watched the donation graph climb higher and higher yesterday and at one point was just completely overcome with gratitude. Tears. There is so much love…thank you for sharing it. You are making a difference. We’re still raising money here, and every dollar counts.

Busy days ahead. Friends and family coming in from out of town today and a very meaningful weekend in store. If you’re in the area, we’d love to see you at the Buddy Walk! Oh, and I do believe a nice little giveaway will make its way before then. Stay tuned!

There are two kind of moments in life…Filler and Fueling.

I write about the fueling a lot. The Isle of Capris, the putting up the Christmas trees, the gathering of friends to sip wine, watch a sunset, kiss each others’ babies.

But, then there are the filler. Like scrubbing the toilet, crying on a shoulder, a bad night of sleep and waking up to take care of babies with nothing but a big fat “I can rally” to get you through the day.

Today was a bit of the latter. Nothing outstanding, nothing horrible, just filler. And, after a tired rallying-through-it day, come late afternoon, I tripped over a play cash register and landed on the couch where I burrowed between two cushions to feed my hungry girl. Somewhere between her chorus of breathe, suck and swallow and watching Lainey try to wear three skirts at once, I felt the burning desire to find my fuel.

And so I chose to run. Again. As filler would have it, I couldn’t find my tennis shoes. I dug through the deep piles of crap in the abyss I call a closet only to scratch my arm on a broken hanger and come up empty handed.

But, I did find an old pair of weird crossovers that look like men’s bowling shoes. They feel like bricks on my feet and look really funny with ankle socks and running shorts, but they do the job. In that charlie-horse-bad-arch-support kind of way.

The filler has its place. It is the reality of life. We work, pay bills, clean house and wipe runny noses. We lose our patience, say things we don’t mean and feel inadequate for what we don’t accomplish.

Sometimes we cry, say sorry, regret things or wish we could escape *this* moment.

Oh, but the Fueling. I live for the fueling. And when it doesn’t come soon enough on its own, I bring it.

I brought it tonight. I felt it on my run. Breathing deep, timing my feet appropriately with my steady pulse, aware of nothing more than that very moment and the anthem that was driving my motivation.

And, in that short run, I sorted it all out…to the point where I wanted to jump out in the middle of the street, stopping traffic in my man-ish shoes and singing something loud and crazy…crazy enough where people would climb out of their cars and sing with me because it was that good.

Yeah, it was fueling.

Upon my return…

yes, I let my kid chew on leaves.

Tonight, while I folded laundry from the couch and fired off bedtime routine commands, I was also planning where the Christmas tree is going to go this year. I decided colored lights instead of clear. And I made a mental note to buy firewood because the first fire of the season is going to be here before we know it.

There’s a cold front coming. And a huge box full of Michigan leaves shipped out today. You know what that means?

Fueling Moments.

In the meantime, all that filler? Sometimes, if you look hard enough, you’ll realize it’s not just filler.

No, there’s so much fuel there too.

In anticipation of what I know will be an incredible fueling moment this weekend with our Buddy Walk, I’d like to thank you again for your support in everything you, as readers, have done since January to support Down syndrome awareness. We finally have a fundraising page up for Nella’s Rockstars. (and button to the right) We are so appreciative of your support.

Check out our story among the many other beautiful ones as well on My Great Story at NDSS (Look for “Transformation” in the Family category).

I think a lot about the fueling moments. The thought alone of them is what carries me through the thickest filler, knowing that just around the corner there will soon be a night when candles flicker and music echoes and I pat the back of a sleeping baby over my shoulder in a lively kitchen where friends are gathered. There are tears and there is laughter and there is that moment when I think to myself, “This? This right here? This is fuel.” We create our own fuel, you know. And I am off to find mine. It’s in the everyday.

Find your fuel.

When I was just beginning to fall in love with writing…back in the day when I ratted my bangs one, two, three times with my turquoise pick and spraaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyed every last dead end of ’em, slowly and evenly, with the tall, cold can of Aqua Net…back in the day when I’d click back and forth between red ink and blue ink on my four color pen…back in the day when my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Kerspilo, told us the world was our oyster and we were its pearl…I met my friends, the Adjectives, and fell hard and heavy for them. They had me at beautiful. They slayed me with delicious. They charmed me with alluring and exquisite and pulchritudinous (yeah, you heard me…pulchritudinous…look it up).

Over-adjective-izing will forever be my problem. Because I like beautiful and amazing and pulchritudinous, and when I’m feeling it? I want to shout them all…to echo from the mountaintop “I’m blithe.” “I’m elated!” I’m intoxicated with exhultant joy and, oh for God’s sake, I’m so over the top, I’m begging for someone to slap me in the face.

But, I’m going to try and go easy tonight. Because, really, I loved this weekend. I loved it. It was one of those nothing-special but because of that, so-very special weekends, all in one. And yes, that sounds very unicorn-and-rainbowish, but I’m a little unicorn-and-rainbowish, so I guess that’s okay. And just to confirm that thought, I got up to get a drink a minute ago, mid-post, and my head hit a set of windchimes I forgot I had hung from the chandelier…and it made this little harmonious plllltttiinnnggg sound which kind of sounded like unicorns and rainbows, and well…there you have it. Okay, so now I’m laughing.

It was a beautiful weekend, you know. A happy one. Not so happy that it was out-of-touch. No, it was grounded with just a tiny bit of well-now-that’s-just-life. Because two of my dear friends are having babies this week and while all the girls will be high-tailing it to the Birth Center to bring flowers and newborn cotton sleepers and wash their hands getting ready to hold fresh skin, I’m opting to go hold those babies once they are home…because I’m not quite ready to revisit that place yet. Happy?…yes. Celebrating new souls for my very-loved-friends?…yes. But due for some closure where I can head up alone some night with no purpose but for to say “Hey, I’m back” to those walls and make a moment of that something sacred that happened there…yes. But, that’s life.

And with life comes breathing and feeling moments like this.

…and this.

There were lots of these kind of moments this weekend.

My girls love their “Aunt Dot.”

This weekend had Balance pinned by its hind legs up against a wall. Slam dunk. We did it. We won. We left the laundry to peak a little higher in trade for simmering cider with mulling spices and yet we spit-shined the kitchen instead of whipping up another batch of pumpkin loaves. We lingered in our pajamas past noon today and welcomed friends for waffles and sausage this morning and yet last night, we skipped a bath because there was a melted popsical at the bottom of it I didn’t feel like cleaning up and instead made it for an impromptu trip to the lake for basking in, um…the loves of my life.

Pip & Bean Cape.

I love that Lainey was heartbroken over a dead bird she found at the edge of the lake. I love that she got over it when she found a really cool walking stick next to it. I love that, on the way there, I saw a woman I thought I knew, smiled, madly waved and yelled “Hi, Peggy!” and she smiled and waved back and yet, as she passed, I realized she’s not Peggy and I’ve never seen this woman in my life.

I love that Nella played peek-a-boo and Latte rolled maniacally in the grass and Lainey searched for the perfect flower to give her sister. And, come sunset, that great big yellow ball fell slowly and heavily, shedding its golden light so generously on the pale apples of the cheeks of my beloved firstborn.

Oh, delicious…scrumptious…delightful. Take a bow, Adjectives.

Someone does a little “How big is Nella?” now. And how big is she?

So big.

Come late afternoon today, we did one of my favorite spontaneous adventure things. Amid the mess of a Sunday afternoon where used jars of babyfood sat opened on the counter and tape and glue and broken crayons blanketed the floor from the latest craft endeavor and the vacuum hose trailed a perfect “S” along the living room carpet where it had high hopes of swallowing the spilled crumbs of the bottom of the goldfish cracker bag but never quite made it…yes, among all that, Brett stopped and said “Hey, wanna go for a bike ride?” And I jumped at the chance…not so much because I wanted to go for a bike ride but because I was welcoming any opportunity to leave the brewing disaster we had created.

So it was. We ditched it all for feeling the wind in our hair and turning back to see two little cherubs squeezed together in our rickety Craigslist cart that is proving worth every used penny it cost.

There’s a hidden park a few miles from us. We pedaled until our legs stung but it didn’t matter because it was breezy and golden, and we landed with two happy girls who were quite enthused to swing high and free.

And that, my friends, is the smile of unicorns & rainbows.

And, right about the time I heard the ptttllingggg of imaginary windchimes, we decided to pedal a bit further for some football and some beer and some southwestern eggrolls at Chilis. Dock bikes. Unload. And love this…

Nella was tired and Lainey was wanting to trail along every time I got up to do the baby dance–that slow walk and jiggle and sway that always puts ’em to sleep. And so we made the best of one of those out-to-eat times when you take a bite and then draw a puppy on the restaurant menu and then take another bite and then “I-spy-something-red” and then take another bite and shake a rattle and then swig a drink and spoon cold, mashed macaroni-and-cheese with airplane maneuvers and an enthusiastic “ZOOOOM!” into a little mouth of one that’s hungry and sleepy and wanting to go home.

But still…it was all so good.

And then this moment happened which may be my favorite sister moment captured on camera yet.

…because they love each other…they do. And sometimes she still throws a book at her, and yet I love that too…because it’s life.

There you be…our weekend.

Buddy Walk team theme guess, anyone?

So now Baba O’Riley is blaring, and if I don’t get up and do some sort of interpretive dance moves in my living room right this second, I’ll be disappointed in myself.

With that said, sponsor Tina Steinberg Designs (my beloved fingerprint necklace) is offering readers free shipping for October. Time to tell your hubby what you want for Christmas…or maybe Grandma’s gift this year (get your holiday orders in early because fingerprint process can take a few weeks.) Use code “sendlove” at checkout, and your gift ships free!

And, for the record, I’ve never used the word pulchritudinous in my life.