I'm feeling pretty brave this Christmas.

So brave that as we speak I'm waiting to see if the dough for Granny's Famous Cinnamon Rolls is going to rise. And tomorrow I'm cooking a turkey in a crockpot, fat potato fat fat from Faster than Kudzu, and a recipe I vaguely remember from Thanksgiving at Elizabeth's aunt's house a million years ago. Also, gingerbread loaf. I figure - why not. I'm only cooking one quarter of Christmas dinner, so if it's bad, we'll eat everyone else's food. And it can't all be terrible, right?

Asher fell asleep on me this afternoon. Curled up like an infant against my chest, slumped his little shoulders, and fell asleep. It reminded me of last Christmas, of the terrifying mesmerizing experience of bringing a newborn home from the hospital. I loved it.

I took Asher to a Christmas service last night. Brian has been working with a church about 40 minutes away once a month for the past year, and last night was his last service with them (not to be confused with our church, of which we are still a part). So I took the baby at bedtime to a church service far from home. Aren't you sad you missed it? He squealed and waved and tried to crawl across the room to his dad, then cried when he wasn't allowed to finish his trek. And the room was so QUIET and we were so obviously disrupting the service that I was embarrassed. Our church - our church is like hanging out in someone's family room. With the retired couch and the toys in the corner and a father figure in sweatpants in a recliner. It's the antithesis of High Church, and there's good and bad in that, to be sure. But it's nothing if not comfortable, and there is forever a baby sleeping on a mother's shoulder and a toddler squirming away. So when Asher wants to wave across the room at his dad, it just makes him part of the family. This church was like sitting in a waiting room, where any noise is an intrusion. And I'm not really talking about approaches or theology as much as I am ambience, I suppose. I love cathedrals, and I miss the rituals of past churches and denominations. But it's easier for a baby to be a part of our experience - and not just to eat Cheerios in a nursery - where we are right now. One more reason I love our church.

And now Brian is dozing in front of The Goonies, Asher is getting some much needed rest, and I'm rooting for the dough to rise. And all is right with the world.

I hope future Christmases are simpler. But you know, this one- with all of the busyness, and all of the bad and good news piled on top of each other - this Christmas is pretty good, too.