Christmas is...

Christmas is...
footy pajamas and ribbons and bows
twinkle lights and cookie cutouts
anticipation and waking before the sun

Christmas is...
a crackling fire and falling snow
games and meals and memories
bickering and baking, laughing and loathing

Christmas is...
Sparkling trees and video games and cousins clashing and laughing
children and grown-ups barely acting their age
one word reducing us to tears - of laughter or agony
reliving past wounds, remembering past loss
and choosing love.

Christmas is...
Jesus and Mary
Donkey and sheep
Star and wise men
And angels, deep

Christmas is...
Singing hymns, for centuries sung
Family side by side, hand in hand
Open wounds covered in Christmas best
Remembering the One who came to give us rest.

I love Christmas, but I am thankful Christmas is...

Over

until next year.

Italia!

I've only been home for a few days, and already I'm wishing that Italy wasn't so far away. I want to take all of my friends and family back to show them all that I saw and experienced, and I want to continue the friendships I began in Milano. I guess pictures and blogs and facebook will have to suffice, as Europe does not seem to be drifting any closer to the U.S., and airline prices are holding steady at completely unrealistic prices.

I am happy to say that my trip was amazing in every way. The food was delicious, the sites were awe-inspiring and the people and language were wonderful!

I so enjoyed learning the language over there that I was trying to teach some of it to my children, but the other day after using my favorite saying to send Lukas off to school, "Baci! Baci! Arrivederci!" (which means kiss, kiss, goodbye), my kids asked it I could be less Italian.:(

I don't know. I think after visiting Italy a part of it stays with you. I'm wondering if my experience there has earned me the right to call it "the old country." As in, "Remember back in the old country? When we had gelatto every day and enjoyed long relaxing meals, twice a day? Ah, I miss the old country."

Though I enjoyed the language, there were a few issues I ran into with it. First of all, it seems that without the proper voice inflection and hand movements, no one understands you. My most frustrating experience was trying to order bruschetta, real Italian bruschetta. I even had my Italian interpreter next to me, but all of the Italians looked at me like I was crazy. They asked if I saw a picture of it, but I couldn't find one at the time. I got a kebab instead. It's kind of like a gyro, but I didn't like it as much. Later, I found a picture of the bruschetta and showed it to Frank, our host, who said, "Oh, bruskaitta!" (with a powerful accent on the ai). Determined to order my own bruskaitta (which is actually spelled the way we spell it), I practiced my pronunciation and accent and a few days later the waiter brought me just what I wanted and all was well in the world.

I think my favorite part of being in Italy was waking up every morning, raising the blinds and opening the window to find Italy just outside - the old buildings, flower boxes in every window, trams running constantly, and Italian voices raised in what often sounds like arguing, but usually is not. They are a very passionate people.

As much as I loved being in Italy, ten days away from my family was very difficult. At one point during the trip I told the girls I needed more hugs because between my husband, four kids and dog, I was used to at least 100 touches a day. Thankfully, soon after that I got my first Italian kiss! Don't worry, it was from a girl, on both cheeks and it made me gloriously happy, as it meant that we were friends and made me feel like I somehow belonged there.

After getting home, sharing gifts with my kids and being mauled with love by everyone, I asked Lukas how he did while I was gone.

"Terrible," he said. "It was like a puzzle with a missing piece."

Such a beautiful word picture, I thought. And that is how I felt, too. As I traveled and photographed and met and loved people, I still had this aching feeling, like I was a missing piece, longing to be back in my puzzle where I belong.