Just one more thing

 This grainy photo of Sarah is really the only reason I titled this post, Just one more thing.  Because doesn't she look like she has just one more thing to tell you?  Before you get excited:  no, we have no news around here.  We are officially celebrating the first day of winter holidays.  Celebrating is not the operative word; more like, Mommy has gone into extra-bullying-get-the-house-clean-my-birthday-is-coming-(and-Christmas-too) mode.  Sigh, will I ever grow up?  Anyway, the house is clean, the relationships are reconciled and it is really a perfect storm when her birthday, Christmas and hormonal ups-and-downs coincide with her tired husband's first day home from work.  In kindness and un-kindness should be added to the marriage vows.  Who knew Dave's path to holiness would coincide perfectly with the week before Christmas.  Every.  Single.  Year.

 So, what about Advent?  Well, this is the first year that I feel as if I inched a little bit closer to celebrating Advent with the family.  I realised that my inability to prepare for Christmas, other than buying and wrapping gifts, centred around the lack of anywhere to put the Advent wreath.   So, one night as I sat in bed pretending to read, I began to think about my 'need' for a side table in the dining room.  A table that would perfectly compliment the wall colour, the dining-room table and my mood.
I decided to pray about it and - ba-da-bing-ba-da-boom- a voice in my head said,
"The dresser."

"The dresser?"  I asked.  

"Yes, the dresser,"  said the voice.  

"Do you mean that dresser?" I asked as I eyed the tall, natural-wood, IKEA dresser bought shortly before the birth of the twins.  

"Yes, that dresser,"  responded the voice.  

"Ahhh," I said, "I see what You are getting at."

"Did you doubt?" said the voice.  

"No, it's just that I didn't think you cared about interior design."

"Not interior design, my precious daughter.  More like your bank account.  And your husband's pay cheque."

"What about a carpet?"

Silence.

 Long story short:  I decided that the next day would involve a colossal movement of furniture while Dave and the kids were off at school.  Of course, I had my "helpers".  Isaac and Sarah can be wrangled into picking up light objects off the floor and moving quickly out of the way of vacuums, dressers and couches.  As long as they are fed and watered.  Thus, the next morning, after breakfast, off-to-school and the requisite load of laundry, I began to work.  Fortunately the dresser was available for use; some neighbours of ours gave us a used bedroom set (involving a larger dresser) that has been sitting in our garage since they drove it over in July.  I began to push and shove, sweep and vacuum and stand back as the living room and dining room came into Advent-readiness.

 Finally, I had somewhere to put the two wreathes, the thurible, my grandmother's petit-pointe and a few other ornaments that I deemed appropriate for the Advent season.  Lest I forget, the Jesse tree ornaments found a home as well:  no, not a tree, a mini clothesline.  Salvation history with a laundry theme; gives new meaning to airing one's dirty laundry... (And, wow, is there a lot of dirty laundry!)

 This tiny nativity is one of my favourites.  It was a gift from Isaac's godparents bought on their annual pilgrimage to Rigaud, a shrine halfway between Ottawa and Montreal.

 The angel candle I never want to light so as to avoid a horrible melting angel adorning the Advent table.  I am slightly uncomfortable with such an image emblazoned upon the minds of my poor impressionable children.  I haven't had incense since I bought the thurible five years ago, but it makes me look like I know what I'm doing when it comes to the Domestic Church.  That's all on the Advent front.  On to other matters.

 Like Hannah using apps on the iPad that I don't know how to use.  This app is called, Sarah wished for a sister and got another Hannah.  Wouldn't that be nice?  Now that I look more closely, I realise that this app could also be called, Sarah wished for a pig and her hands became Wilber.  Hmmm.  Tell me that you can see the backside of a pig, too?

And this: this is for Uncle Nathan, a man who has never experienced weather that turns one's hair white, freezes one's nostrils together and takes the breath clear out of the lungs.  I wear black in mourning.  Sammy, amazingly, wears the exact same outfit in both 30 below and 30 above.  What a dog.