It’s hard to write everything down sometimes.  The small promises you make.  The hopes you list through your head on December 31.  All of the habits you swear have seen their last days.  It’s hard to write it all.  So I did a photo collage for the new year.

I’ll write more about this and the new year later, but this piece, entitled simply 2011 is themed after the things I am committing to this year. The relationships I will strive to continue, build, and improve.  You can see pictures of various friends, family, words, make/shift magazine, even a picture of myself with my camera.

This collage may look like a dreamy memory to you, but I made it for myself and it’s loaded with meaning.  So come mid-Februrary when New Year’s Eve is the last thing on my mind, I can remember all the things and people I saw YES to and what I will throw myself into.

Cheers, 2010.  I’ll never forget you.

Thanks, Maia.

Isaiah's First Year from Lisa Factora-Borchers on Vimeo.

December is a difficult month to grasp. It feels more like a concept than a month on the calendar. Setting aside holidays, it’s the time of year that buries the soul with questions and pauses that gently yank at you, “How will I remember this year?”

It was the year I became a parent. It was the year that everyday was a first. It was the year I found 13 strands of grey hair in one month. It was the year I truly began doubting myself, believing and embracing my mortality and limits, and began to press forward with my most important dreams with ferocious intensity.

This was all because of Isaiah.

I sit in my corner of the house, with scratchings of holiday paraphernalia on my desk, and see a changed home, a stronger body, and two singing souls.

There are brightly colored trucks and beige blocks spilling all over the living room rug. The dining room table is still holding remnants of Isaiah’s birthday party on Sunday and Nick’s coursework syllabi and notebooks lay awkwardly among strewn winter coats and scarves, hastily taken off near the side door.

There is no tree up. No garland, ornaments, trinkets, or lights. Just one wreath on our front door and Christmas cards with bent corners laying in our reading areas. There are no outward signs of the holidays, but our hearts have never been more reflective of Advent.

There hasn’t been time to decorate the house and, suddenly, Christmas is next week. Another Advent candle is lit and I see we missed another holiday party because we forgot to RSVP. “That’s ok, I’d rather just stay home and rest,” is what Nick and I take turns saying to one another.

Rest.

One year ago, Nick’s uncle passed away unexpectedly from a massive heart attack and what I remember about that day was my inability to hug him because I was so pregnant. I tried to embrace him, but my belly was in the way. He went to the funeral in his hometown and came back days before I went into early labor. It’s been a year since that day and I don’t know how much I, personally, have been able to absorb Uncle Bob’s passing because Isaiah came on the heels of his departure.

Rest.

I couldn’t imagine having a child in my life and now, since my brain has lost approximately 16 points of intelligence since giving birth, I can’t remember anything prior to my c-section. Older mothers tell me my brain power will return, like an old machine will restart once plugged back in. I hope they’re right.

It’s hard to describe what Christmas means this year, how suddenly a year of Isaiah has passed, and that means of whole year of my own life has passed. I don’t know if I ever truly rested in the past 52 weeks.

Rest.

Life moves at a startling rate. An alarming rate that becomes dangerously easy to become accustomed. I try to remember that Isaiah will not always be this darling baby of mine and eventually grow into a boy, teen, and man who will defy, try, and magnify all of my thoughts and hidden expectations of him and myself. I don’t know how many times I’ve already run into myself over the past 52 weeks.

What I do know about next year is that it’s a year of moving forward. It’s a year of new beginnings. And I am looking forward to defining what that energy and new life will look like. One thing I will do next year is take time for myself, take genuine care of myself.

I will rest.

It may have been the massive snowstorm that hit Cleveland at 10am on Wednesday and didn’t stop until about 2am the next day.

Nick was stranded on campus after his exam because traffic was not moving. His exam was finished at 12pm. He got home at 11:3pm that night.

Which meant I was homebound with my favorite Elf, Isaiah, who was feeling particularly whiny and squirmy the last four hours of the day. Which meant I was nearly sticking my head in the oven. Instead, the next day, I called a salon and booked a hair cut. The need to feel renewed was immense.

And so, an hour and a half later – with a complimentary facial, arms and hand massage, with a NO TIP policy salon – I came home 6-7 inches less on my noggin. My head, literally, feels lighter.
I hope this helps me get through the arctic blast on the way.

Sometimes all a woman needs is to feel a little more shiny to get through the week.

Isaiah's Book Club from Lisa Factora-Borchers on Vimeo.

Get your education on.

Isaiah’s getting over a stuffy nose and cold.  I woke up with a sore throat and slept the whole day.  Nick went to bed a half hour ago reporting, “Man, I just feel like crap.”

His descriptions are wondrously succinct.

So, 1-2-3 sickheads in the house.  And Isaiah is the healthiest one of us.  Not good.

We were in Russia over the weekend celebrating Thanksgiving and OSU football with Nick’s family and poor Isaiah was battling a cold.  We did our best, but the worst came Sunday night when he couldn’t sleep unless he was being held.  While I was severely sleep deprived myself and was having delusions of a good night’s rest, I still couldn’t help but think of how adorable the little Peach was in my arms.  He cried if he was even touching the mattress – he had to be completely held the whole time.

For the first time since he was a newborn, I laid on my back and let him sleep on my chest.  It wasn’t as comfortable as I remembered.  I guess ten pounds on your chest isn’t as bad as a 23 pounder digging his face into your lungs.  Poor little angel.

But it was Nick who gathered Isaiah up and held him for hours in the rocker so I could get a few hours of sleep.  I woke up sick.

Awesome.

And we’re up against deadlines.  Me for magazines and work.  Nick for school and work.  And somewhere in the middle of this, the domestic duties of laundry and dishes and sweeping and cleaning STILL need to get done.  Can you believe that these things don’t happen on their own. Like, it really *doesn’t* help when I stand in the middle of the kitchen and holler at the floors, “I JUST CLEANED YOU LAST WEEK.  HOW ARE YOU SO FILTHY?  CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES!”

PSST!  Let me tell you a secret: housework is never over.  You have to keep doing it yourself.

And in the middle of this craziness, I am eyeing our naked mantel and wondering when I’ll have the energy to find our Christmas decorations and hassle Nick for the 6 year in a row that he doesn’t have a decent stocking.  We can’t move through Advent, the season of hope and spiritual rejuvenation, without appropriately decorated mantels!  I mean, seriously, who are you kidding?

Tomorrow is December 1.

And I keep looking over my shoulder, wondering where October escaped to and how it did so quickly…