Holiday Hosting Tips from the Master's Table

Good grief is my kitchen small.  It really drives me crazy.  I just love to host people in my home, especially at the holidays.  But as people tend to do, they huddle up in the kitchen, and it feels hard. Sometimes I’m embarrassed that my dishwasher is stainless steel and my oven and refrigerator are white.  I have no giant island.  No sitting area with a fireplace.  Sometimes I feel embarrassed to have to rub elbows.  Surely my gatherings would be better if we all weren’t so darn close. 

 

How have I gotten to a place where I expect more?  Even that I need space to host well?   Just a moment spent with beloved memories will right my skewed perspective. 

 

If I could pull a chair up to any holiday table this year, I'd choose my Mamaw’s. 

If I could emulate a holiday gathering I’ve attended, I’d choose hers. 

It was just a feeling she gave you.   She’s gone now, but those memories linger.

I don’t want to compare my hosting with that of friends, or Instagram or magazine articles.  I want to compare myself to her.  It’s her who had it all figured out.  I’ve thought a lot about her and how I want to emit that same kind of love.  About how to do it her way with my twist. 

 She made me feel loved.  Though she mostly sat in her chair and could barely see toward the end of our time with her, she smiled when I came in.  Her whole face lit up.  Her hugs were tight and long and usually involved some firm pats on my back.

Greetings were quickly followed with, “Fix yourself a plate.”

Her little white stove was perpetually covered with pots filled up with dishes she had mastered, perfectly seasoned green beans, a giant iron skillet with fried potatoes, warm pans of cornbread.  Crockpots with soupy pinto beans.  Most days she started cooking around 5 AM. 

My Mamaw lived in a little brick ranch off a country road in Kentucky.  You could sit in the kitchen, on her couch, on one of two chairs, or in rockers on the front porch.  She never thought through seating, or brought in card tables. There were six chairs at her table and we spent the day rotating through them. 

 

I don't remember her ever complaining about her kitchen size.  Nor did she ever seem like a frazzled or tensed host from attempts at holiday perfection. 

Her table was distressed farmhouse before it was the trend.  Life distressed her table in the most natural of ways.  By uncles who sat down to heaping plates after long days at work.   By toddlers spilling Kool-Aid.  By mug after mug of shared hot coffee.  By babies who banged on it with their momma’s fork. 

For as long as I can remember, the ten commandments were displayed on her wall. Some years we came loaded down by the weight of the world, the sins we’d committed.  Some years we came light-hearted, trying our hardest to be faithful and good.   Either way, we were welcomed with love.  We came as we were.

 As you walked up her porch steps bundled up in your layers, you’d notice the windows steamed up on the inside.  The warmth came from a cozy gas heater and all the living and breathing going on inside the walls of her home. 

Her decorations  weren’t trendy, themed, or vintage.  There was no perfect burlap garland or bunting across the fireplace.  She never pinned on Pinterest. 
But her home felt like Christmas.  It was family and love.  Comfort food and people that you didn't need to impress. 

There was never a doubt if kids were welcome.  She had no Wii on the big screen in the basement, no ping pong table, or play room. She didn't think through entertaining kids or teens. 

She didn't need it, and we didn't get bored.  We played with cousins not seen all year and sisters we normally fussed with.   We played "house" and "school" in back bedrooms.  Or, we simply sat listening to stories of Christmases long before we entered the story.   There was no fear that children would break something.  Her home was well lived in.  She never looked stressed when bands of kids bound through her front door with their muddy shoes and squirmy bodies.  They were as welcome as adults. 
 

Babies were passed from hip to hip. 
Young mommas got a break.

 

There was no granite in her kitchen, no stainless steel, no extra stove, wide island or extra sink.  She didn't labor over Allrecipes.com for elaborate holiday recipes. 
Nonetheless, she cooked like an artisan, mastering her well-loved dishes all by memory.   She produced food for an army, and crowds of people knew to come in and fill up a plate. 

She never sent invitations or Christmas cards.
But her love and remembrance of us was never doubted.  Her loved didn't need a stamp to make it
across state lines. 

Her plates, glasses and silverware did not match.  There were no holiday dishes.   
It made us feel at home and at ease.  We knew every plate we used was part of a history of years of family meals at her table.  We didn't have to worry about kids breaking them, or whether we were using the right fork. 

 

Holidays at her house were magic, and the special ingredient was her.  She drew us to herself and to each other.   Having a houseful gave her great joy.  Gathering at her table felt like respite; melting away all manner of hurts, sorrows and struggles.   She giggled so we did too.  There were so many funny stories to be retold.

I’d love to rub elbows in her kitchen just once more.  Sadly, I can’t, but next time people are rubbing elbows in mine, maybe instead of cringing, I’ll smile.    

///

Happy holidays, friends.  You are more than welcome to come fix a plate in my tiny kitchen. 

 

Hospital Gratitude: Grandparents

 It takes a village, doesn't it?  A village and give till they drop grandparents. 

 

Our gratitude to our parents abounds for how they've carried us through the past year.  They've come to help us multiple times for surgeries and other hospital stays. 

 

For this surgery, Mark's mom came for two and a half weeks to love and serve.  She navigated all new roads to get the kids to two schools, managed meals, laundry, school lunches, bed and bath times, homework and everything in between.  Mark and I knew that it made the most sense for one of us to stay here to keep things rolling with all the kids.  But, your child's surgery is a matter of the heart, rather than of logistics.  We are so very grateful that both of us got to travel to Columbus, and that Mark got to stay until Evie was stable. 

 

We know she was exhausted by the end, but we were able to be in Columbus without worry for our three little people at home.  She gave us a tremendous gift and the kids made some precious Grandma memories.  After leaving us, she headed over to Aunt Jen's to love on the cousins and help during a kitchen remodel.  Grandma is so loved and is such a rock star!!

 

We are grateful for Grandpa too, who sacrificed having his sidekick around for such a long time!

 

 (Hope she'll forgive me for the closed eyes, because the laugh is too cute.)

 

Crazy gratitude to my mom as well.  She too served hard and then served some more.  On our way to Columbus, we stopped at my parents' house in Kentucky for a pre-surgery overnight rest, and arrived to a full feast.  Just as the women in my family do, she comforted our worried selves with food.  As in fried chicken, TWO types of potatoes, every one's favorite dessert and about 12 other dishes.  This is who my mom is, and how she serves best. 

She didn't stop there.  When Mark left, Dad brought her to Columbus and she stayed the next six days with us in the hospital.  This lady is a moving, working and doing all day kind of lady, but for us, she busted out of her comfort zone and sat beside Evie's bedside so that I could sneak out and eat and take naps at the Ronald McDonald House.  She also did laundry every day to keep our girl in clothes/sheets that didn't bother her allergies.  She even let me be grumpy a time or three. 

 

On our surprise early discharge day, she cleaned and packed our RMH room, packed our hospital room and took wagon loads back and forth between the two places, and packed the car. 
All in a snowstorm, by herself. 

 

I tried to convince her that she needed to go home and rest.  "I've got this," I said.  But, she wouldn't have it. 

 

I'm grateful that she sees past my independent exterior.  She knows when I need my momma, even when I don't. 

 

So, we braved a snowy nine hour trip home in our exhaustion with a hurting little Evie.  Then the recovery was harder than we expected, so she stayed, loving on us through laundry, meal prep and diaper changes. 
Oh, how she serves. 

 



And then this guy.  My dad knows how to love big as well.  He hefted luggage, helped Mark with projects, worried and prayed over Evie, drove back and forth to Columbus during the work week, then back and forth from GA.  He tries to shove cash in our pockets, calls to check in daily, and loves our kids well.  They all LOVE their Papaw, and we do too. 

 

 Special thanks to Papa and Mimi for their love and support as well.  Ev loved the cookie bouquet and cards mailed to the hospital!  Fun things arriving to the hospital room were day brighteners.   

 

We saved the cookies for an at home celebration and the kids were just a wee bit thrilled!  Grateful. 

Gratitude overflows to the grandparents for helping us care for Evie logistically and emotionally.  Also, for loving her three siblings so well.  Each got personal time and extra hugs as they too walked through a challenging few weeks. You took a yucky experience and filled it with love, help and memories. 

 

Every time I think of you, I give thanks to my God.  Philippians 1:3

Little Driller

I'm still not sure how this little Chinese boy landed in our family. 

All I know is that he is a gift of the best boy kind. 

 

He's tender hearted, helpful, hi-lar-i-ous, and destructive. 

Part Curious George, part Handy Mandy, he's teaching us how to be boy parents.   

And there's a certain special, memory making Papaw who is a wee bit happy to have a little man in the family as well.  After decades in a girl heavy family, he's intentionally examining his new grandfather of a boy role.  I'm thinking he's doing a fine job of figuring it out. 

 

This little man is drilling holes into all our hearts, 

and is patiently sharing all his cool boy fun with his trio of sisters.   

A Time to Laugh (Ungrind Webzine Post)

With her wrinkled hand cupped over her mouth, her floral dress would shake as she giggled. My childhood memories of summer weeks spent at my grandmother’s meager Tennessee house are filled with the sound of her laughter and chicken fried crispy in an electric skillet.

She never took me to a theme park, and we didn’t frequent toy aisles. We never had kitchen dance parties, and she spent most of her time cooking and cleaning, but she had a silly streak. She was a storyteller, and her stories comedies. The memories now treasures.

Together on her rusted, metal porch glider, she named the ants that marched near us. Stories of Belinda and Oscar’s ant life made us howl with joy. And the bird on the telephone wire? She whistled and it whistled right back. In her own way, she played with me. She shared her delight and it became mine. She laughed, so I did too.

Now, grown up with a houseful of my own, I’m the family barometer, just as Grandma was.

My heart longs for childhoods filled with laughter, both theirs and mine. Giggles and silliness was always a part of who we are, until somewhere along the way, the seasons changed and I took a detour. Graciously, five-year-old authenticity shook me out of myself just in time.
She beamed about my scrambled eggs. I listened as my sweet Claire spoke precious words about me in a church Mother’s Day video, smiling at her familiar wiggle, and teary at her sincere love for this flawed momma. Then, when asked what makes me laugh, the sting of truth pierced my heart, jolted me to attention, and left guilt spilling wildly out.

“Mommy doesn’t laugh.”

Alongside embarrassment, anger swelled. Despite my sacrificing, I’d been called out. It had been a challenging year for our family, busied with the adoption of two children, and weighted with concern for a medically complex child. Sure, I was distracted at every level and bone weary, but my four kids left the house dressed in almost matching clothes, ate remotely healthy meals, and arrived nearly on time for appointments. Every ounce of myself was spent managing it all, but my little people were still having play time and play dates. Play wasn’t on my concern radar.

“Mommy doesn’t laugh.” It was a flashing yellow caution sign, demanding attention. After tallying excuses for my lack of laughter, still I was guilty as charged.

Sharing the rest at Ungrind.

Dear Grandma,

You were a blessing.  You showed up just in time to love on the kids and us on spine surgery day.

Then you stayed to babysit, fold baskets of laundry, give us a date night (major points), swim with the kids and generally make life more awesome. 

 And the fact that you were game for our impromptu late spring hat parade?  Extra cool. 

 All the little people miss you.  And a couple of big people too.   

 

 

Thanks for all of your help, your love on the kids, your hospital stay help, your support with all the daily tasks, and heaps of encouragement. 

 

We need you back, pronto. 

Not just because of the date night and laundry.  Though those things are always welcomed and encouraged.   :)

 

Love,

Your People



Grandparent Time

Our Florida grandparents visited in April and we had such a fun weekend!

Grilling, chilling and soak up Papa and Mimi love.

 Thanks for bringing big smiles. 

You are loved.  Come back soon!

Dear Mamaw and Papaw



 

Best surprise ever!

 

 

Knock on our back door anytime!

 

                                                              

 

Mother Knows Best

The whole way by herself.  It's big.  Really big.

A few backs back, when Evie's surgery ended up being more complicated than expected, she drove down to help us.  I argued with her and dad had to work, but a servant she is, so she came anyway.  Mother knows best. 

 

  We let it be a surprise to the girls and what a surprise it was!  Their squeals might just have taken some years off my hearing. How impressed are you by Claire's re-enacted surprised face?!

 

 I can act all big girl like, giving the appearance of having it all together.  But when mom arrives, I surrender to her gift of servanthood that fills a thousand needs. 

Our littles are lavished with love and her lap is never empty.  She cooks meals, folds laundry and comes up with cleaning projects that I'd never have the energy to even think of. 

 A bonus on one of her trips was getting to do some early birthday celebrating with her. 

 Sophia LOVES her some grandparent time, so when her Mamaw left from that stay, she travelled with her to stay for a week, with plans to meet us in Cincinnati. 

 

Unfortunately, that trip was cancelled, so Mom, Janie and Madeline brought her back down and helped out once again during Evie's hospital stay. 

 

Again, a wee bit of excitement from the small people.  :) 

 Eli and Evie got to meet their Aunt Janie and cousin Madeline. 

 I'm thinking Janie was smitten with our smiley one. 

Janie and Madeline were a huge blessing as well, loving on the three little people also needing attention while things were turned upside down. 

 

We are so very grateful for the love and help. 

 There is just something about being loved on by your people. 

 

"A mother's hug lasts long after she lets go."  ~unknown

Apples, Fish and Downpours

July 4th this year was a soaker. Sprinkles, downpours and steady rains.

Fortunately, a little precip is no obstacle to cabin style entertainment.

Our little team had to do a holiday split up this year. Mark and Claire got to head to sunny Florida for some special family events, so the little elder and I headed to Kentucky.

 And when you are in KY, a certain kind of spoiling to takes place of the Mamaw and Papaw variety.  Apples are picked in the rain, and when a request is made for pie, spices come out and peeling begins. 

Every true fisherman knows that fishing in the rain increases your odds of a good catch.  Worms nibbled off hooks and bobbers bouncing on the water proved this to be true. 

We told her that fishing was about patience, and that many fishing trips yield no results.  On that day though, she proudly pulled eleven fish out of the water!

First request?  "Let's eat them." 
So, a couple of these tiny former swimmers were filleted and fried.

Thanks, Mamaw and Papaw, for the cabin style spoiling. 

Grandparent Palooza, Part 3

We got to spend two and a half weeks with Grandma! 

Coolest of all, we were with her on her birthday!

We ate.  We sang. 

We performed cowbell and .5 recorder shows. 

Gymnastics were displayed. 

Hoops were hula-ed.

And goofy came out. 

So glad we could be with you, Grandma.  We love you!

Grandparent Palooza, Round Two

For round two of our spring grandparent-a-thon, the girls and I headed north for a week at the cabin with the parents. 

The girls love being at the cabin for peanut ball rolling,

flower picking,  searching for "Mr. Fox" with Papaw,

hanging with Aunt Janie,

and maxing out on all the extra attention Mamaw and Papaw show them.