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I waited and waited to get an action shot of her scarfing her food just like she does every. single. morning.

The look on her face clearly says Oh, I see. You want a picture of me eating. Well guess what? I’m never eating again. Ever.

Cats.

There were lots of other critters that we enjoyed in their own habitats – the birds were in various shopping centers and restaurants on the island and the kids (and by kids I mean Michael, Gracie, & Grandpa) had lots of fun talking to them in the hopes that they would talk back. Occasionally they did, but mostly I think they are over people who stand in front of their cages crooning “Pretty bird. Hello. Polly want a cracker?”

The crabs were very entertaining. They alternate between hunkering down in the sand and stretching up on their tiptoes brandishing their claws in order to terrify the person taking their picture. Which is hilarious because they are smaller than my hand. They clearly have a very inflated opinion of their own ferociousness.

She learned pretty quickly that when blowing bubbles, it is best to always blow out and never suck in!

When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

–The Velveteen Rabbit

Last Saturday, on a trip to the mall in Nashville, we lost a member of the family. Sammy, Gracie’s little black kitty, has been her BFF since she was a year old. I came across him at Hallmark when the Webkinz craze was in full swing and bought him on a whim to go with her witch Halloween costume. Little did I know that he would become her constant companion from the moment she saw him.

She slept with him every single night and every single nap. She couldn’t go to sleep if she didn’t have her Sammy. She hung him by his tail over the edge of her stroller so he could “walk,” chewed on his nose while she was teething, and always carried him the same way, with his tail folded up in her fist and his body tucked under her arm. By last Saturday, Sammy’s hair was matted, his filling was flattened, and his nose was completely chewed off. He was grubby and, quite frankly, he didn’t smell too good. But he was loved. And he was real.

When we couldn’t find him at the restaurant where we left him, we put up a Lost sign, put an ad in Craigslist, and left a number with the restaurant just in case somebody decided to return him. Gracie cried for a while but was convinced that someone would return him to her. I put her to bed that night and cried for hours. Sammy was a huge part of our lives. I had come to think of him as an extension of my baby. I hid in the bathroom and sobbed into towel, knowing that we had probably lost him forever. Then I washed my face and ordered a new Sammy on eBay.

I worried about what Gracie would think. Would she accept him as Sammy, or think he was just an imitation Sammy, not worthy of her love? Today, he arrived and as Daddy held him out to her, she studied him for a minute. “That’s not my Sammy,” she declared. But then she took him, and tucked him under her arm, and didn’t put him down for the rest of the day. She isn’t quite sure yet if this is the Sammy, or just a new Sammy, but she has declared him to be Sammy, and for now that is good enough.

Tonight as she was going to bed, she told me that she was going to sleep with Sammy “with his hair all crooked.” I said “his hair is all crooked?” She said, “Yes, when somebody loses him, it makes his hair all crooked.” I don’t blame you, Sammy, if they left me at KFC it would probably make my hair all crooked too.

–Ben Franklin

What on earth could that quote possibly have to do with a shot of silverware, you ask? Well, allow me to enlighten you.

This isn’t just any silverware. This is the silverware my husband & I received for our wedding. Many of our friends & family contributed to this set of silverware, & for over 10 years, it has mostly resided in an oak silverware storage chest. We took it out for the rare occasions when we had people over for a “meal.” And by that, I mean something that actually required silverware. Most of our gatherings are birthday parties that involve barbecue, hot dogs, or pizza served on paper birthday plates that require no silverware. Meanwhile, for our every day meals we were using mismatched utensils that came from a variety of sources – hand-me-downs from parents and grandparents, leftovers from college and apartments, & the odd piece bought here & there to fill in the gaps.

It occurred to me recently while I was searching for a fork only to find that all 4 of them were dirty, that it was absolutely ridiculous to keep our full set of good, heavy silverware tucked away instead of putting it to good use. What were we waiting for? Elaborate dinner parties? Not going to happen, people. I declared that the good silverware was now the everyday silverware. Mike looked askance at me. What if it gets all scratched up? What if? What if it is sitting in its oak chest in pristine condition when we are dead & gone? We can pass it on to Michael & Gracie, who will have their own pristine sets of silverware from their own weddings (or so I hope). I would rather that they inherit it a little scratched & scuffed & full of memories of family dinners together.

So what I am sharing today is a shot of our “good” silverware in its new home – the silverware drawer. Where it will be used every day. The mismatched stuff can wait in the silver chest until Michael or Gracie needs it for college or a first apartment. And guess what? Our good china is now in the cabinet instead of the china hutch. The scratched up stoneware is on its way to a new home.

Come on over, every day is a dinner party here.

I cannot begin to take in how much our lives have changed in the past 10 years, and the thought that it will probably change that much in the coming 10 years makes me want to curl up in the fetal position. You see, I don’t deal well with change.  For that reason, New Year’s Eve has never been my favorite holiday. The change from the old year to the new invariably leaves me feeling a little blue. Part regret over things left undone in the old year, part a desire to avoid change in the year to come, whatever the reason, I always dread New Year’s.

Then there are resolutions. I always make many and keep few. There is always that feeling that the slate is wiped clean and you have the opportunity to make life perfect this year. This year, I resolve not to make myself crazy trying to keep a hundred resolutions and to accept that life is not meant to be perfect and neither am I. I will try to slow down and enjoy the crazy imperfection of life with a 7 year old and a 2 year old. Because soon they won’t be 7 and 2, they will be teenagers and I will be subsisting on Dramamine.

On top of all the big changes implied by a brand new year, there are also the mundane things, such as taking down the Christmas decorations. I once left our Christmas tree up until February. Yes, I did. And let me tell you, by February, the sparkle is gone and you just want your space back. This year, I resolve to get the tree down before February. I think that is a reasonable resolution to make, and one that I might even be able to keep. So, since their days are numbered, I decided to take a few shots of our decorations before they come down.

Wishing you all joy in abundance in the coming year…

But by far my most inevitable Christmas tradition is the one that begins around December 18, which is when I panic, realizing it is only a week until Christmas day and I haven’t sent out our cards. So I rush to get a decent picture of the kids, design a card, get cards printed, pay extra to have them actually get to me before Christmas Eve, then hand them out in person to everyone I see on or around Christmas day. I like to pretend that hand-delivering Christmas cards adds that special, personal touch. Those I don’t see get their cards as post-Christmas, pre-New Year’s cards. In my defense, the holiday season does actually continue until New Year’s Day.

Well, this year I decided to get in gear, and I have actually designed and ordered my Christmas cards with *gasp* 2 entire weeks to spare! I will actually get to mail them to our family and friends, who will actually get to see them before Christmas. Maybe I am starting a new tradition…

So I give you, without further ado, the Borders family Christmas picture 2009…drum roll please. (I forgot to mention one of our other most beloved Christmas traditions – watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and reciting the entire thing from memory as we do so.)

I love the peaceful feeling of this photograph, especially since it means that all those who receive our card will believe that this is how my children look every day. If reality were my goal, I would have used the shots in which G has pulled her nightgown over her head while M rolls his eyes so far back in his head that only the whites show while begging me to let him have his pet lizard in the Christmas picture because, after all, he is part of the family too.  However, reality was not the goal. The goal was to have a beautiful photograph of my sweet babies looking to all the world the way I see them in my heart.

Merry Christmas to me.

Here are a few shots from M & G’s first trip to the beach…

Maybe we could find the end of it and get the pot of gold, says Daddy.

No, says M, you can never get to a rainbow because as you walk toward it, it moves away from you.And there isn’t really a pot of gold at the end of it. Miss P said so.

Miss P is the voice of authority, as far as M is concerned. She is his kindergarten teacher and knows everything. Whereas Daddy and I know nothing. In fact, he once argued for a good 10 minutes with me at Cracker Barrel over whether been is pronounced bin or bean. We are from the south. It is pronounced bin. He refused to believe that I could be right about this. Miss P said it was supposed to pronounced bean like the food. Yes, in England. Not in Kentucky. The fact that I have a college degree in English didn’t impress him in the least. I am not Miss P, therefore I must be wrong. And that is okay. One of these days he will realize just how smart I am. It amazes me how smart my own mother is now, compared to how little she knew when I was a child.

Tomorrow is M’s last day of kindergarten. I am so proud of how much he has learned in just a few short months.  At the same time, I am a little sad because it is one more step away from a childhood that is going by much too fast. He is very excited to be an almost-first-grader, though, so I will enjoy his excitement and thank Miss P for making his first year in school such a good experience.

But Miss P is wrong about one thing: I firmly believe there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.