Mac called today. I was working, so I didn't answer and planned to call him this evening. Then a text arrived to let me know his mom passed away today.

Karen, thank you for sharing your family with me, and for loving my daughter when I was overwhelmed. I regret not finding time to stop by and say goodbye before we moved; I know that year was hard.

You encouraged Mac to sing, you laughed at girls camp even when your voice gave out, you entertained Lucy when she ran away from us during church—always with a smile and a hug. I will miss you.

Karen and Lucy, March 2006.



I have problems trusting people. Specifically trusting them to do something, do it well, and do it on time. Delegation = trouble. Always.

I've worked on it—I know I can't do or control everything (except, of course, in my marvelous fictional universe ... ). But it does seem like every time I go out of my comfort zone and entrust someone with something and then take a deep breath and go on with my life, it tends to erupt, sending tiny flaming particles of renewed mistrust back into my now-already-roiling-with-needing-to-clean-up-an-unexpected-mess gut.


We sled, she sled

We live at 7500 feet above sea level. Which means it's pretty much guaranteed that there will be plenty of snow in the winter. And when it snows, we Webbs, we sled. The day after Christmas, the only thing that kept Lucy (and Mr. Nick) from entering a spiral of sadness at the fact that there now remained 364 days until Christmas (she was really into the countdown aspect of the holiday this year) was the hill at Urban Park.

The snow had been around long enough that the hill exhibited the well-defined traces of previous sledders. Here Mr. Nick climbs the "stairs" to the side of the track, while Lu tries to go up the track itself. That didn't end well, in case you're wondering.

Generally though, the outing was successful. Secretly, I adore sledding.

And so does Miss Lu.

Go, go Mr. Moto!

You should know something about Mr. Nick: he bought a motorcycle this year, and while I'd like to say I think that's cool, I'm still just not sure about it. I don't have a problem with the bike itself, but the timing ... the timing of the purchase I find unnerving. Still.

But, on the upside, when it's sunny outside and there's no chance of ice on the roads (because Mr. Nick and I both agree that riding one's motorcycle on icy roads is just plain dumb), I do get to see a blue Power Ranger enter our home in the early evening. And that's kind of fun.


So She Said

Part of the reason I'm here is that Lu says the craziest things. And I promise myself I'll be a good mother and write them down so when she's older she can look back as see where all the crazy came from. And then I go fold some laundry.

On the list:

Lu: "Mom, I want a better life."
Me: "Oh?"
Lu: "Yeah, one with stuff in it."
[Two days pass. We're watching Nick Jr. together in our PJs. A Walmart commercial comes on and ends with the line "Save More. Live Better."]
Lu: "See Mom? I want to live better like that."
Me: "..."

"I want to go to China to eat dinner."

"I'm a rock star! I'm a rock star! Ooh yeah!" [while dancing wildly on the bed, at McDonald's, in the library, etc.]

During family home evening, while discussing the story of the widow's mite:
Me: "How do you think she felt?"
Lu: "Oh, she was sad."
Me: "Why?"
Lu: "Because she needed a new husband!"

The Night Before

Christmas, for a four-year-old, is pretty much it. After parties, trips to the candy store, and much singing, Lucy finally wound up in bed at 9 pm Christmas Eve. I went to give her a kiss after Nick tucked her in. She appeared silent, possibly asleep, her back turned toward the door.

She was, instead, concentrating.

"Mom, this is perfect. I can look out my window and see when it lights up because of Rudolph's nose! I'm going to see Rudolph's light tonight when Santa comes here!"