idontbelieveingrammar

And the tradition continues.One year me and my friend were talking about annual “Christmas card letter”, which is a dying tradition I might add. I’ve only gotten a couple this year. And for the most part it is a tradition that I’m happy to see die. Although I still like getting real mail for a change, rather than just bills and junk mail.  (here is the first one ). I digress, well, my friend had been having a particularly rough year and we laughed about how people would react if we were to send out REAL letters. Not just the highlights but the lows too. Today I finally mailed some of my Christmas cards. I say some, because I am positive that I forgot no less than 20 people. I don’t have an address book because I am pretty sure that is what google is for. And I didn’t include a letter, because lets be honest, a girl who can’t get it together enough to mail her Christmas cards before Christmas certainly can’t be boethered by things like having having printer ink cartridges in he...

“I know what Christmas is REALLY all about.” my firstborn touts proudly while we are piled on the bed waiting for the pediatrician to call back. “You do? What?” (and I really think he does) “Everyone being together he says with a proud grin.” And I know exactly where he got the answer. In the corny Barbie Christmas special movie preview that we had just watched before the movie started. “No Owen. It isn’t” And his face falls and he looks so confused. Because being together sounded like a really good answer. “Giving!", he tries again. And on Sunday when I picked him up from our version of kids church, he was one of the last kids there….b/c maybe I was chatting and lost track of time (surprise). And one of the volunteers ask if I am “Owen’s mom”. I say yes, and another woman rushes over. They both gush and tell me that they have to tell me what my kid did that day. One of them says he made her cry. I’m a little afraid of where this conversation might go. She says she m...

The music blared. Like usual. Today it was Christmas music. An older black man danced near the speaker. Freely. Like no one was watching. Even though dozens were staring at him like he was crazy. Most likely because he was actually crazy. But he just kept smiling and dancing like he was at some party instead of in a park. A homeless park. In the cold. A slower song came on and he acted like he was dancing with a partner. Even though it was still just him. I watched from the side. Along with the rest of the others. My friend, said, “if I was braver, I’d go dance with him.” I’d already had a similar thought I just hadn’t voiced it. A few seconds later, another volunteer walked up and said the same thing.   We come here. Once a month or so. To pass out food and more importantly conversation. But on Saturday, I did more than hand out food. I broke bread. I passed out communion. I wiped a sweet toddlers runny nose. I picked up some trash. I ate with a man named Allan....