I've recently realized the photos I post have no bearing on the order in which I load them or anything else, for that matter.

These photos are, in no particular order because that makes it a game:

1. me (smiling because every article of clothing I'm wearing was given to me by a different girlfriend) making the nativities you see
2. proudly laid out but not glued together
3. Mazie as a skating fairy
4. and some Heavenly Hosties with wings.

So...This post is mainly meant to confess that this weekend has turned out poorly because I have fussed at willing helpers who will go unnamed, gotten completely overwhelmed by the tedium of my Christmas plans, and also not accomplished nearly as much as I had intended.

But I also have good news! The girls have been playing with each other so nicely that neither Richie nor I can believe it. Our friend, Forrest, said his wife got to the point where she'd just watch TV during the day because her kids played together contentedly. We couldn't believe it, but now it may actually be happening. Not the TV part, though. Still, Richie and I have been pinching ourselves after sustained play times when they both seem winsomely occupied and amenable to one another. It's pretty cool.

Of course, Vivian threw a fit for about fifty percent of this day. She was really overheated about wardrobing most of the time. She wanted to change into jammies at naptime but hated the jammies I chose. She didn't want to wear layers before walking to the grocery store in 40-ish degree weather. She wanted to make a nest instead of go to sleep. She didn't want chicken in a little pile; she wanted a drumstick. It's been a mildly exhausting day of intense minutiae.

I wish I had a picture of her throwing a fit to provide visual backup but I don't. Taking her picture when she's mad only makes her madder (I've tried). But with Vivian, that's just the point: you don't feel wrapped up in it. With Mazie, I'm usually too worked up to have a sense of humor about her tantrum. Of course it's been a very long time since Mazie's thrown a tantrum. She fusses in her own way now. She throws something akin to guilt tantrums.

Last night, for instance, she asked Richie for a cup of water after lights out. Richie wanted to not contribute to bed wetting, so he said no. She cried for the next half hour - sometimes hard, sometimes whimpering. We couldn't figure out if she was just that thirsty or if she had just found a great way to make us feel guilty and stay up a little later. We knew she had one glass of herbal tea (they like it) and one glass of water at dinner. So that info plus Mazie's timing made us think she was probably bluffing.

After arguing with Richie about what to do for a moment or two on the front porch so as not to be heard by the kids, I went upstairs and said in a level tone: "Mazie, we know you're upset, but we also know you're okay. Daddy said you could not have water, and no amount of fussing will change that. We believe you do not NEED water right now and that it's in your best interest to wait until the morning. I love you. Goodnight."

Sounds okay, right? Well, Mazie didn't think so much of it. She finally fussed herself out. It seems like a small thing, and I desperately wanted to give her water in a way, but it was super important to stick to what we said for the sole purpose of being consistent - with what we said and with each other. On our behalf, I'd like to mention that Mazie did not drink anything for an hour after waking up and didn't complain about thirst one bit.

Anyway, I feel better after writing that out because that's the very exhausting sort of thing that gets in the way of my true desire to just make my kids happy. But it's important. And you can't be emotionally embroiled to pull it off the right way.

I remember my mom and Pete saying, "You may not like it and I'm sorry about that, but this is the way it's going to be." Pete let me know why they had decided such and such, and listened to my side, but that didn't change the absolute nature of their decisions. I think about the way my friend Hannah describes her dad's discipline philosophy: My girls don't need a friend; they need a father. And then he was both, but was rock solid on the parent part and let the friend part wax and wane. Sound parenting has served me very well when I've chosen to let it...but I think that you can never really make another person grow up. You can give them tools that they choose to use or not use. Life grows you up.

I guess I have to keep this in mind with my kids. You can control your own actions, but you can't control others' reactions to them. Put another way, you can't make your kids turn out any certain way. And you could very well screw up worse by trying to make them match your expectations. Yet, having high expectations is important, isn't it? But you can't shove. Parenting is more art than science, for sure.

I don't always get it. I know to not control, to be okay with it when my kids act like kids, but it's harder than it sounds. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have friends who can commisserate. I like what one of them said: you're going to mess up. There's no avoiding it. You'll try and you'll fail. There's some mystery in that and also a lot of room for forgiveness and redemption, which are the mainstays of my religion.

Speaking of which, our elder pastor delivered a beautiful homily about mystery and faith today. The basic point was, who needs faith if there's not mystery? If it were all neat and perfect, if you could prove it, where's the free will? That doesn't require faith, just intellect. And intellect isn't at the heart of God, although intelligence certainly is a part of divinity. The heart of God is love, compassion, weakness, strength, creativity, life, and everything else. It's mysterious and immense.

I had an alternate ending for this post - one that dragged on and on (in my opinion). I didn't like it, so I think I'll end near here. I don't have any business waxing on about the nature of God and art, which is what I attempted to do in the alternate ending. They're related - and that's as far as I'll go right now.

For now, please be patient with me as I figure out the tone of these posts, what's helpful and edifying and honest versus what's half-baked.

I also wanted to say that Mr. Smee is welcome in our house. I kind of respect his attitude. Christopher insists we've spoiled him by not being firm enough with him. That's probably the case, since the high-pitched squeal and "No!" is really all I've done when he nips or bites. That's at least in part because I couldn't catch him if I wanted to pop him, as Christopher suggests.

Richie and I were discussing what Mr. Smee's first name might be and we settled on Smeeky. Smeeky Smee hangs out in the box springs. Smeeky Smee is good at getting away. Mr. Smee bites the stew out of my finger when I reach into his cage.