Time for a little Mega Millions dreaming...

So, have you purchased your Mega Millions ticket yet? There are only a few hours left to snag a chance at the record-breaking $640 million jackpot. Yep, $640 million. That’s over half a billion dollars, for anyone as mathematically challenged as myself. Half a billion. That’s a frighteningly enormous amount of money. According to a 2008 article in the Anchorage DailyNews, that would buy you “179 million Big Macs, 23 million toasters, 12 million tires, 200,000 flat screen TVs, 83,000 sets of diamond earrings or 1,500 houses.” Granted, it still wouldn’t put a dent in our national debt, but that’s a freaking lot of Big Macs.

I started buying Mega Millions tickets several months ago on a whim. Call it a low cost, non-guaranteed investment plan. I buy one ticket per drawing, which amounts to two per week, and I play the same set of numbers that my children selected months ago for every drawing. The dreamer in me hopes we’ll hit one day and be instantly and permanently freed from any and all financial stress in our lives. The pragmatist in me grumbles over the two fewer dollars I have available to add a biscotti to my coffee once a week. (I often wonder which would do me more good.)

So I bought my two tickets on my Monday grocery run not really paying any attention to the frenzy surrounding the climbing jackpot, and now I’m almost a little scared. Not that I’d actually win or anything—according to experts, I’m more likely to get struck by lightning, eaten by sharks, fatally stung by a bee and elected president all in the same day. But, seriously, could you imagine winning $640 million? What a massive responsibility that would be. The mere idea of it is almost crushing. You would have to remain anonymous to avoid being hounded day in and day out, not only by the press, but neighbors, Facebook friends, old roommates, your bridal party that you haven’t talked to in over a decade, the guy at the gym who only ever talks to the hot young chicks…(I know what you’re thinking—I’d never have that problem because I don’t actually exercise. Ever. You’re on to me.)

But how do you keep a $640 million secret? No matter how hard you try, someone at some point is going to notice that your faded, outdated wardrobe has somehow miraculously been entirely updated, that your tired-looking house is suddenly getting new siding, an addition, fresh landscaping, and has, for some reason, a Dumpster sitting in the driveway filled to the brim with household items that seemed acceptable only a week ago but are now deemed too trashy for human use. Oh, and next to the Dumpster are two shiny new sports cars to replace the rusted out, 100,000+ mile junkers that sat there only the day before. It would be somewhat obvious, I would think.

I’m not going to spend too much energy worrying about the anonymity strategies I would engage, or how I would convince the neighbors that our refinance proved slightly more profitable than we expected. Instead, I’m going to take a minute to dream of what I would do with all that cash. So here’s my top ten list, in no particular order:

1.      Pay off all debt.

2.      Secure funds for retirement, education, emergencies, etc., so that our family will never have to worry about money again.

3.      Get everyone in my and my husband’s family out of debt.

4.      Give gobs and gobs of it to charity.

5.      Take my and my husband’s entire families on an all-expense paid trip to Disney World for as long as everyone can get away.

6.      Replace both of our not-so-gently used vehicles.

7.      Hire a contractor to complete every home improvement project I have ever dreamed up.

8.      Hire a contractor to complete every home improvement project my parents have dreamed up for their house.

9.      Set up a fund that will pay for every vacation we can dream up forever.

10.  Live happily ever after J

How about you? What would you do?

Carving Meaning from the Chaos

My son received a Christmas card today – one of those that talks when you open it, which children love and moms try to inadvertently toss into the trash when said children aren’t looking. But I actually do love this one. It features Linus standing on stage at the Peanuts’ Christmas pageant, and reads, “May there be at least one moment this holiday season when you’re reminded what it’s really all about.” When you open the card, it plays the sound bite where Linus explains to Charlie Brown the true meaning of Christmas, one of my favorite holiday moments.

The card came from a rather unlikely source, which got me thinking. It seems that, regardless of any religious or spiritual bent, once December hits, just about everyone I know starts seeking some greater meaning, something more profound than an extra 40% off of the already low sale prices on cashmere scarves. Have you noticed this? Have you felt it yourself?

Charities abound to give us a financial outlet for this quest for meaning. Presents for Patients. Toys for Tots. Coats for Kids. Children’s hospitals, the Salvation Army, rescue missions. Even my beloved alma mater sent me an online holiday greeting reminding me what a great time of year it is to support scholarship funds at the university. Surely donating funds from our already strained budgets will help fill the void. Right?

If not, we’re bombarded with other, more active, opportunities to get involved and embrace the spirit of the season. Ice skate with Santa. Breakfast with Santa. Brunch with Santa. (Lord, when does that man find time to make any toys?) You can get your Christmas fix at the ballet, the symphony, the theater, your kids’ school or from flash mobs at the mall. Visit railroad displays, light displays, gingerbread house displays. Or partake in the complete spectacle of retail shopping. Early bird specials! Doorbuster savings! Lowest prices of the season! That will get you in the spirit. Right?

Or there’s baking. Who doesn’t melt at the aroma of fresh-baked Christmas cookies, just like mom used to make? Never fear – you have at least 40,000 awesome, delicious, super-simple yet dazzlingly elegant recipes to choose from staring at you from the cover of every magazine in the grocery aisle. Don’t even think you can get away with baking just two or three. Look at that platter of twenty different varieties! Isn’t that lovely? You should totally do that. That will put you in the spirit. Right?

Is it any wonder we have trouble digging the meaning from all this chaos?

Don’t get me wrong, my family does all of this. We give – joyfully – to Toys for Tots, Coats for Kids, and our church’s food collection which my husband and daughter help run every year. We have lunch with Santa, we head downtown to see the gingerbread and Santa displays, we ice skate around the Christmas tree, and we pop in at our beloved alma mater to see their gorgeous international holiday display (though scholarship donations are out – sorry). And I will bake. Lots.

But for me, the true meaning of the season comes not from the activity and the bustle, but from the quiet moments I carve for myself . The evenings when I sit with my cup of eggnog coffee in the soft glow of my tree with two children snuggled beside me watching favorite holiday specials. It’s then that I think about the things that matter most: my husband, children, family, friends. The nativity on my piano. That’s my meaning. What’s yours?

This season, take a few minutes each day, whether it’s in meditation, prayer, or just quiet contemplation, to focus on what’s truly important in your life. And then hold those thoughts with you day in and day out. That’s where you’ll find meaning in the season, and throughout the year.

Then take a deep breath and plunge back into the mayhem.

Savoring a Blessed Life

First of all, apologies for my lengthy absence. It seems writing a 200-page thesis has a way of forcing you to prioritize tasks, and in the grand scheme of things, blogging takes a back seat to far more critical activities like Brownie meetings and pre-school holiday parties. Particularly since I’ve been reminded recently, by multiple sources and in multiple ways, how fleeting life is and how fast children grow.

I read an article recently in Ladies Home Journal titled “The Long Good-Bye,” by Melissa T. Shultz. In it, the author details the rapid progression of her son’s life, from the newborn tucked against her chest, to the toddler cutting his first teeth, to the wobbly pre-schooler on his first two-wheeler, to the a teenager texting when he arrives at his destination. In her article, it all happens in the span of about a page and a half.  “‘They grow up too soon,’ everyone told me. Eighteen years later, I finally understand what they meant.’”

The movie Toy Story 3 brings this point crashing home to me every time I see it. Watching it the other day with my son, I literally sobbed when Andy passed on his beloved toys to young Molly on his way to college. Because it’s true, they do grow up too fast. I can’t count how many people have said this to me since I had my daughter, but I can tell you it happens almost weekly. At first when I heard those words, I would smile and nod. Then I progressed to a, “Yeah, I know what you mean,” without really meaning it. Then when my little girl got on the bus for the first time in kindergarten, I finally started to understand, at least a little.

My daughter will turn eight at the end of January. Eight. How did that happen? Didn’t we just bring her home? Didn’t we dress her in little sundresses with the ruffles on the butt and sing along with Dora the Explorer only last week? When did she stop napping? And using a sippy? The little girl who used to scribble with crayons now sketches fashion designs at the kitchen table. The cute little munchkin with tiny ponytails on each side of her head that stuck out like Pippi Longstocking’s now wears lipgloss and fingernail polish. She’s graduated from Dumbo’s Flight to Star Tours, from craft projects to math tests, from Goodnight Moon to the Rainbow Fairies chapter book series.

And she will only get bigger. Before I know it, she’ll be a “tween,” more interested in electronics than toys, in primping than playing in the bath, in boys than in her momma. Sigh.

Sometimes I think we should concentrate our efforts on our little man instead. The girl is a lost cause. With him, we may still have time to stop this mad progression of growth. With enough coffee, we could stunt him to where he’ll stay my cute little snuggly bear forever and ever, hanging finger paint crafts on my fridge, singing his ABCs, and alerting me when things are “kistusting.”

But I know it’s a fantasy. He will grow, just as she is growing. It will happen quickly, in the blink of an eye. And one day we’ll drop them off at college and look back on it all as if it happened in a day, wondering where the time went.

And so today, instead of following my daily routine of looking forward – to how much time I’ll have to write when both kids are in school, to what colleges the kids might choose to attend, to where my husband and I will retire when our home is empty and our schedules free – I’m focusing on the abundant blessings that fill our lives now: the little man sucking on a broken pacifier while he naps; his big sis playing Barbies while watching the Nightmare Before Christmas with her uncle; my amazing husband of 15 years who is living this adventure with me. I’m savoring this day, this time of my life. And I will strive to do so every day, because this time will never come again, and I know I’ll miss it when it’s gone.