A New Year...

We have a little house. 930 sq ft to be exact, with 5 people that's 186 sq feet per person or the equivalent of almost a 14x14 foot space each but since the kids never leave my 14x 14 space that actually leaves 744 sq ft for my husband, he's very happy here, he says there's plenty of room.

December loom's for many reasons but topping the list is the inevitable acquiring of and then fitting in of the Christmas tree in our living room. Last year was easy. Our computer died the week or two before so we plopped it down right in front of it. No need to stare at the reminder of an overflowing inbox. This year we got our $5 tree permit and in Griswald like fashion trekked into the forest. We found our prize, strapped it to the top of the car and after some throwing of kids in the snow and hot cocoa, we headed back to town. We placed our conquest in relatively the same spot as last year, only to marvel at how the force of the wind from the drive home had apparently elongated our 6 foot tree into 10. Plan B. We have a little house. Everything is in its spot for a reason. There is no other way. Move table to other side of room, insert tree. Hmmmmmmm, that looks good?! Christmas comes and goes, as does the tree, but a new vision remains. Tables were moved but not back where they were before, new furniture was brought in and what seemed a lost cause was given new life. It works. Which has led me to wonder how many things I've been making assumptions about that with a little tweaking might be given a second chance? How many things do we say, this is how it is, it'll never change. Forced change often brings a new perspective, not all forces need to be from the outside. So Happy New Year to all may it be just that.

My Nemesis...

Suppose that's a pretty vague topic since I could lump a whole slew of issues in there, but one true nemesis remains...laundry. I will, to the chagrin of my family do anything to avoid it. Unfortunately it doesn't offer me the same consideration. The growing, undulating mound, mocks me from every corner. Now the argument to date remains the same. "You chose this" seems to be the line of reasoning behind sucking it up and just tackling the pile. By "chose" I'm assuming the reference is stemming all the way back to Adam and Eve and Eve's resulting realization of need for a fig leaf, which led to two coconut shells to accompany the leaf and eventually Victoria's Secret was born. "Chose" can't possibly relate to the stay at home mom title because I'm fairly sure the entire family wore clothes when I was working, we just had money to buy more when things got dirty. Adding to the mountain would be the near constant alien abductions that are still plaguing our residence, please refer to April 17th post for my reported sightings. I can understand summer as being their prime season but in winter when it's a balmy 12, you would think they would leave the kids alone!! Compounding my irritation would be the impending discovery of a large percentage of clean items thrown in the mass which appears anytime I sweetly beseech the brood to "pick up this room before I throw it all in the trash and call Santa to tell him his services are not needed this year!!!" Suddenly, not only is the floor spotless, but dresser drawers lay empty, hangers are now cast to the closet floor and linen shelves are bare. All are snuggled up to the one milk soaked towel, no need to actually come in contact with it, the stench will permeate all fibers momentarily. Enough procrastination, the heap beckons and with the onset of winter we're woefully short on leaves.

The month has admittedly gotten away from me and before any hate mail starts rolling in I figure I'd post something!! My first seed catalog came in the mail already, not my favorite but a glimpse of what's to come none the less. As with each season we learned even more than last. More potatoes topping the list. We're definitely still eating them from the fall harvest and will be for a while but the bakers were our favorite and they are woefully in short supply. The blues did well but were uninspiring and the fingerlings while 'gourmet' left a funny metallic taste in our mouths and won't be repeated. The winter squash an heirloom buttercup, is fantastic with about 15 harvested we should be good till next winter! It's hard not to like something baked with butter and brown sugar but the kids have found a way. Only one type of cucumber will be planted, some fairly interesting experiments in cross pollination left us a little confused. Currant tomatoes will be banned forever, they produced well and long but harvesting the little buggers was way more effort than I wanted to exude and most just rotted on the vine. I think we'll be utilizing bird netting next year as the girls feasted more than I did on many of our crops. Brussels sprouts are still standing sentinel, the last vestige of a fruitful season, the few frosts we've had have sweetened them up nicely, hoping for a full bowl roasted off for Thanksgiving. Arriving in all it's glory next week, my folks making the trek through the gorge to hang out and eat the bounty. The menu currently featuring a brined turkey, roasted garlic mashed potatoes (hopefully enough from the garden), brussel sprouts and roasted squash from the garden. I'll be making the french bread on Tuesday to stale for stuffing, made an amazing stock from a dearly departed friend to supplement the anticipated lack of usable broth from the brined turkey. Contemplating popovers instead of rolls but my success rate is probably 50/50 so not sure I want to risk it. Mom is bringing green bean casserole, funny fruit salad thingy and of course pie, because I would never attempt to match let alone out do my moms crust. So it begins, the holiday season officially kicking off. No, I won't be shopping on black Friday. I'll be snuggled in my bed as the stores fill, visions of caramely monkey bread floating through my head. That's the only thing that awaits me on Friday morning, along with a steaming cup of coffee, I'll dive into the next Christmas gift sitting on my needles. No honking or pushing. No parking a half mile from the entrance only to discover what I was after is no longer there. No crazy traffic or angry clerks. No wide eyed bewilderment at the loot being wheeled cart after cart to the layaway center, screaming children in tow. Coffee, cream and sweet fresh bread, I plan on giving this season all the respect it deserves, a calm reverence for what it's all really about.

Knit One, Purl Two: Part Deux

I actually had to go back in time to see when I first posted about wanting to take up knitting and laughed when I saw it was one year ago. October 3rd I had posted on the sirens call of the clacking needles, while tightly woven, fuzzy strands emerged as if by magic into a creation I could call my own. What I didn't write about was the holes, the dropped stitches, the yarn ripped off needles over and over again. I didn't write about screaming obscenities at YouTube videos meant to show me 'simple' cast on's and mysterious increases. Nor did I write about the cathartic effect it has had on my mental state, turning anxiousness into focused repetition. It technically started in October of last year, by the end of Winter, or more accurately, the end of December, I had managed two pretty sorry scarves and a hat for Eric that the pom-pom promptly fell off of. I find it hysterical now to see patterns for wavy scarves, I did that on my first one, random increases and decreases my elusive nemesis. I admittedly, relegated it all to the closet to be picked up again when my patience was a bit more refined. Which takes us once again to another October. A weekend getaway with some friends and the need for a project. I find myself once more pulling out the needles and some yarn and packing them in the overnight bag. I completed my project, a skirt for Elaina, relatively quickly and the clincher was, it fit! I made another and then a hat. Then another hat, then I tried felting and more hats started rolling off the assembly. A pilgrimage was made to a real yarn store and there is now no turning back. Most are presents, which I have found in itself oddly enriching. When I make something for a friend or family member, I know going into it the project is for them. The yarn and pattern are chosen specifically for them of course but even more important is the time it takes. Whether an afternoon or an entire week, the time spent on the item is also spent thinking about that person. Good points and bad, relationships are sorted out, gone over and ultimately knit together with contemplative time alone between the strands emerging and I. Most projects I sadly can't show yet because they are presents and Christmas still looms. This year I hope it to be less commercial and more personal. It was thought to be cheaper but after that trip to the yarn store have discovered otherwise. So with meditative resolve we enter the holiday season, I will do all I can to squelch the frantic-ness that takes over my being. Knitting a little bit of peace into the season.

All Alone...

While growing up, the worst thing I could do to my sister was to not play with her. Sure, she got mad if I called her bubble-butt. She chased me down with unrelenting speed if she knew I had hid one of her toys and was playing dumb. She cried when I bit the hands and feet off her Barbi. But to actually not want to play? That, was a whole new level. I didn't do it vindictively, I wasn't looking to even the score. I simply wanted to do my own thing. I have always been happy in a group or by myself. One of the earliest points in my relationship with my now husband when I knew he was keeper, was after a day spent browsing Powell's Book Store in Portland only to return to my minuscule studio to lay around reading in bliss. He didn't think I was mad at him for not talking. We didn't have to be 'doing' something. We were happily otherwise occupied in the same room and it was OK. Now I look at my children and once again the worst tears come from the dreaded "you're not my friend". Wow. To be cast out from the group, left to wallow in your own sorrow. Noses get punched, stomach's get jumped on, those are tears that dry up relatively quickly. To think that your base, your strength, your support is turning from you? That gets them at the core. Why? I guess I've become acutely aware of what a lack of confidence we have in ourselves. Not trusting that we can actually make ourselves happy and that happiness doesn't come from outside but in. As far as the kids go, building up the confidence that family is forever, no matter what they say to each other in that snapshot of time. That's what family does. With friends it's harder. You can only distribute birthday invites at school if everyone is invited. No hurt feelings. Even though when their birthday comes around they are all to quick to understand they can only invite 5 friends over to spend the night, not 30. They eternally want to be one of the 5. Looking for validation from the number of activities they are involved. Everything is taken personally, not logically. I'm sure I had my share of pity parties. I distinctly remember being a 'mean girl' in middle school, only to have it rather ironically turned around on me. Maybe those are the A-Ha moments that we all need. I've spent a lot of my life as 'the new comer' so I guess I accepted that there were groups already formed and I was happy to be included at all, if I wasn't, I chalked it up to something established long before I entered the picture and there would be other times that I fit in better down the road. I want my kids to have that same confidence. They have two very self-sufficient parents, if it's genetic, they have a fighting chance. Don't get me wrong, I'm not proclaiming that it's all about self. I don't think that "I" in the literal sense can make me happy. My confidence comes from truly believing in that bigger picture, it's not about me. When I make it about me, when I watch that ego take flight, bad things happen. By actually looking outside myself, things never seem quite so dramatic. Kids are giant egos trottin' around in blinking sneakers. Middle school is about the time they hang their flashing kicks up, I guess I'll have to tolerate the tears a few more years.

Sportsmanship...Schmortsmanship...

As per Dictionary.com:  sportsmanlike conduct, as fairness, courtesy, being a cheerful loser, etc.

 As per Wikipedia:  conformance to the rules, spirit, and etiquette of sport. More grandly, it may be considered the ethos of sport. It is interesting that the motivation for sport is often an elusive element. Sportsmanship expresses an aspiration or ethos that the activity will be enjoyed for its own sake, with proper consideration for fairness, ethics, respect, and a sense of fellowship with one's competitors. Being a "good sport" involves being a "good winner" as well as being a "good loser".[1]

 Trust me, I don't want to be 'that mom'.  You know the one on the sidelines, screaming bloody murder, threat filled, obscenities at the panting child on the field.  But somewhere along the line, I think the definition of good sportsmanship has been shall we say, modified.  Being obsessive by nature and not prone to wanting to be wrong, I went in search of the elusive definition of sportsmanship.  Something they are teaching our children not only on the field, but in school as well.  My son would like to believe and quite unsuccessfully argue, that being a good sport means playing the game because you like to and it doesn't matter if you win or lose.  Just frolic around the field, laughing and giggling, merrily with your friends until the ref says it's time for snack.  Maybe this is just one more case of the people we are entrusting our children with to pound mediocrity into their heads, but I'm done.  By definition sportsmanship is about being a good winner AND a good loser.  That actually means someone MUST win and someone MUST lose.  Not just flit around until the goldfish are dispensed, but actually try to WIN!!!  Being happy that you do or don't and happy for the other players, that they all tried their best and either had a better or worse day than you did.  I swear we're teaching our kids that it's not OK to win because God forbid you hurt the feelings of the kid that did not.  This of course coming off Ethan telling me it's fine to get 2 wrong on his tests, that it is still 100%.  I'm not sure how much math has changed since I was in school oh so many years ago, but as far as I know getting anything less than all correct is not 100%!!!  Why is it so awful to teach our kids to strive to be the best? Why can't I expect him to get all the answers right?  Our kids are graduating high school and not understanding that they have to fight for that job.  They can't do it half-ass and get the promotion.  We're so concerned with everyone's feelings, 'he won't like me anymore if I take the ball from him', 'if I make too many goals he won't be my friend.'  Are you kidding me?!?!?  THAT is not good sportsmanship!!  Being happy for your friend because he did GOOD and wanting it to be you next time should be OK!!  I just want them to be the best they can be, I want them to help their friends be the best they can be also, not everyone striving to be same.  Stretching themselves, what a sad, lazy group of kids society is fighting to create. 

 

You know I love you...

I think anything that starts off with 'you know I love you' can't really be going in a good direction.  Elaina, I love you, but jeez girl, you're killing me!!!  One day you'll look back on these pages, you'll probably be a bit embarrassed, then you'll get older, possibly have children and then you'll know.  I wasn't the crazy one.  It was you.  Kindergarten started a few weeks ago and admittedly I wanted to post something sweet and sentimental about losing my daughter, my com-padre of the day to another woman but alas having only Elijah at home ROCKS!!!  So far she loves her new class and is apparently only learning about the color red.  I'm seriously giving the teacher the benefit of the doubt on this one that she is actually teaching them more and Elaina just doesn't feel that it's important enough for me to know.  She has made lots of new friends all somehow named 'Schwally',  seems odd, but hey we are technically in a new city and there are a lot of regional differences.  Along with starting the great kindergarten adventure we signed her up on her first soccer team.  Now please note, Elaina has an older brother and a younger brother.  She takes nothing off anyone, especially another cute, pigtailed, Adidas adorned girl.  See ball, get ball, put ball in goal.  It's in your best interest to simply move aside.  Just wish I could have conveyed that to her sweet little team mate, yes team mate, last night.  At the end of practice they do a little mock game, 2 on 3 as it was since 1 was sick.  Elaina being on the 2 side, eyes the prize, takes it and noting opponent in the way of the ultimate target, pushes her little 40lb friend to the ground and shoots in the goal.  33lbs of fury she is.  Mortified, I close up my camera and hang my soccer mom head in disgrace.  She was told to apologize to her unknowing friend and then taken to McDonald's, pushing bad, cheetah's determination at soccer, good.  We can see it now, our little shirt waving, ball obsessed Mia Hamm, let's just hope she has a sports bra on when she takes hers off too.  Somehow I doubt it since she thought it was hilarious that I managed to catch her without underwear when she came home from school yesterday, I guess as long as she left them here it's OK, anywhere else, not so much.

Salt

Walk in wisdom toward those who are outside, redeeming the time. Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how you ought to answer each one. ~Colossians 4: 5-6

MOPS starts next week. In the words of my daughter "I can't breathe, I can't breathe!!" Alright, I can breathe, but I'm admittedly getting pretty anxious. Yesterday we had our final planning meeting, it's all gotta be set now, sink or swim time. I talked yesterday about a verse I came across that I just can't seem to get off my mind. Which in all honesty is a good thing. I thought of posting something on our MOPS blog but figured this qualified as a life lesson for my trio so I opted here instead...

Last week I made pancakes for the kids, a fairly normal occurrence around here. Not the open package, add water till you get right consistency variety but the actual labor intensive flour, egg, milk one. Please note the level of sarcasm in the 'labor intensive' line. As I stood sentinel at the griddle the kids proceeded to slather on butter and pour the yes, homemade, syrup on their golden disks. First bites ensued as did the groans of discontent.

"These are bad"
"I don't like these"
"What kind of pancakes are these? I like the other ones..."

Ugh. Seriously? They're pancakes. Irritated, I grab a fork and proceed to show them there is nothing wrong with their breakfast. Hmmmmmm. Blech. They're right. Flat, bland, lifeless...I forgot the salt. 1/8 teaspoon, just a speck, but it made all the difference. We add salt to make the other flavors shine. We put it in savory dishes and in sweet. If you've ever experienced a caramel sprinkled with salt you would know what I'm talking about. You would also know what I'm talking about if you've ever added too much. There is no fixing a heavy hand. A potato may be added to soak up some but on a steak? or in a batter? It's ruined.

In Colossians, Paul is calling us to be authentic in our faith. Over-the-top and it's just that, too much. None at all and we're bland, lifeless. Being true to who we are so others can't put a finger on why they are drawn in, but they are none-the-less. Remembering that we're not trying to please everyone, only The One.

Homemade Pancake Syrup: 3/4 cup packed brown sugar ,1/4 cup sugar ,3/4 cup water ,1/2 cup light corn syrup ,1/2 teaspoon maple flavoring ,1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract, dash salt.
In a saucepan, combine the sugars, water and corn syrup; bring to a boil over medium heat. Boil for 7 minutes or until slightly thickened. Remove from the heat; stir in maple flavoring and vanilla. Cool for 15 minutes. Serve over pancakes, waffles or French toast. ~All Recipes.com

Normal Kids.

The steaks were nestled between the zucchini on the grill. Smoke curling in fragrant plumes across the yard, the only thing left to do was saute some mushrooms in a generous bourbon spiked sauce. Now if you've cooked with alcohol you would know to get to the source of the true flavor you have to burn off the alcohol. Fire starter in hand, Eric calls to Ethan to watch, wooooosh, flames immediately overtake the pan, dancing around the browned mushrooms. This is where I can title this "normal kids". Normal kids would go insane if they saw their dinner on fire in the kitchen. Normal kids would shout and jump up and down with squeals of delight at the show taking center stage at the stove. My kids are not normal. Ethan glances up and shrugs. Elaina and Elijah don't even acknowledge the festivities. Both parents laughing and shouting "Fuego!!", at 3, 5 and 7, they think we're so lame. Maybe that does make them normal kids. Homemade buttermilk ice cream followed, topped with fresh blueberry jam. Come to think of it, they don't have a chance in hades of being normal. Good thing normal is over rated.

If you feed a bunch of free range chickens an entire crop of heirloom corn, does that make them heirloom, free-range hens? An entire crop of 10 foot tall Shoepeg Corn, infested...Corn ear worms have set up shop and officially taken over. Every ear I gingerly peeled back was crawling with my new nemesis. I of course get the last laugh since as I peeled them, the girls were waiting not so patiently at my feet and they got not only the plump, white, irregularly kerneled cobs but their wriggling occupants as well. Summer. Powdery mildew taking down the zucchini the squash bugs haven't gotten to yet. Blossom end rot on that hard to water, back tomato plant and now...worms. I can't exactly say I've given it my best because I really do practice the plant enough for them and I'll get some too philosophy. It usually works, usually. Luckily, I planted an extra early variety of corn that we were eating shortly after the fourth, that may be the key. Monster pumpkin is ripening nicely, we're going to be rolling in pie. Not exactly the Charentais Melon I thought it was but that's the risk you run letting kids help plant seedlings. Kids. Their garden is down to some scraggly swiss chard that distracts the chickens momentarily before they bee-line my tomatoes. We did manage to harvest a colander full of red potatoes from it, not bad for planting some sprouting spuds from the store, the seed potatoes I planted in the main plot better rock or it's off to Albertson's again next year. Winter seeds purchased, just passing the time now waiting for some cooler weather. Peas, lettuce, carrots, beets, spinach and broccoli will hopefully fair better than the corn, cold weather gardens only fear frost. Earworms now fear poultry.

Normal People...

When normal people use the last of the mayonnaise they make a mental or physical note of the outage and continue on their merry way. When not so normal people, ie: me, run out of mayonnaise they begin scouring cookbooks for that recipe they know they saw. Confident in their abilities, being that they have made said product, once upon a time and it's simply not that hard. There's what? Three ingredients? Seriously, how hard can this be? First question...How many eggs does it take to make a recipe that only calls for 1 egg? That's easy! Recipe calls for 1 so 1. Um, no. It apparently takes 5. Sure it calls for 1 but that doesn't make much and being so easy that Elijah could turn out a batch, I should probably double the recipe. OK, 2 to start. Hmmmm, seems a food processor is not the best equipment, I broke the mayo. Read to pull it back, transfer to a bowl with whisk attachment, start with another egg (that would be 3) and whip in. Still. Not. Coming. Back. Together... Dump everything in garbage. Begin again. OK. Let's do 1 egg. Now up to 4. Slooooowly add oil. Looking good. Add a bit more...and blech. Oily, globby, mess being flung all over me by my #$%@# hand mixer. Dump in garbage. Grab bowl, balloon whisk, 1.more.egg (we're up to 5!!!) put in bowl, commence right bicep workout. And Voila!!! 5 eggs later I have 1 egg mayonnaise. Just one example of the lengths I go to, as to NOT take 3 kids to the store.

I'm still saying girl. Chick's are doing great. They're going to be a flighty bunch. The last ones we hand raised till about 6-7 weeks these guys were on their own outside at 1 week! Hopefully that means they will be more hesitant to be near the dog and save their own necks shall we say. Even the kids are leaving them alone. I'm sure the recent heat wave has something to do with that. I realize we moved here from Arizona but it doesn't take long to get acclimated to a cooler climate. Anything over 100 sends us all running for the comfort of air conditioning and a bowl of homemade ice cream. Cooking seems to be my hobby of choice as of late, using up the plethora of zucchini, beans and pickles. Unfortunately, I'm not the master of healthy options, classically trained I still hold a place in my heart for real butter and lots of cream. The french definitely got cooking right. We're at the tail end of the early corn, one more meal is about all I can expect. The shoepeg is tasseling out now and a few ears are on so hopefully not much lag. The only thing I really fear are the tomatoes. Countless numbers of orbs, large, small, oblong and minuscule. All starting to turn varying shades of red, yellow and orange. A trip to Portland Nursery planned to buy my winter garden already. Crazy to think of winter while it's 103 outside, but a necessary evil if we're to be eating fresh veggies for Thanksgiving. We plan summer in January and Winter in July, it all works out in the end. I hear the frozen, chocolate goodness calling my name now, next up hazelnut gelato and few more batches of pickles. Ahhhhh, summer.

Pearls.

I was reading my email this morning and a particular article has resonated through out the day. The writer was talking about pearls. Pearls are formed when a piece of grit, sand or shell get trapped inside an oyster. It protects itself from irritation by secreting a nacreous liquid around the particle which eventually builds into a pearl. The gist of the article being how something so irritating can turn out so beautiful and drawing the parallels in real life situations. Moments later I was reading another email filled with loss. A note to keep me abreast of a life I once inhabited, one that if I was still a part would've left me and my family devastated. I haven't thought twice about how we left things back in Tucson. Did the decisions we make really need to happen at the speed they did? If we had stayed another 6 months could we have sold our house ourselves? Would my pay have turned around instead of doing a nose dive into the empty pool? I don't think so. It would have and did get worse, it would have been too late. Jumping when we did, making some decisions that will ultimately effect us for years, were meant to happen. Stress on every branch of the family tree but nothing compared to what could've been. The loss of money, the loss of friends, our home, our lifestyle. It did all hurt. It was hard and pride admittedly rears it's head, causing me to not own up to walking away. But when I look at where we are, emotionally, spiritually, I would do it again in a heart beat. Life is good. We're celebrating 11 years of marriage this week. The kids are all completely different beings from where they were, confident, independent, extroverts. Most days I'm not a frantic, anxious, mess. Most days. Beauty does exist in life's irritations. As I tell Ethan, patience young grasshopper, patience.

Isaiah 45:3, I will give you the treasures of darkness and hidden riches of secret places, that you may know that I, the LORD, Who call you by your name, Am the God of Israel.

Just don't name them...

Meet 'Chipmunk'. So named for obvious reasons. A one day old Araucana that flew in under powers not her own, yesterday. Waiting all morning for the call to come get our peeping package. The post office had been notified and numbers left earlier in the week. The company had been gently reminded to make sure our number was on the outside of the package (which upon receipt was noted that it was). And yet... at 10 am I receive a phone call (and 2 emails) from Texas that the local post office can't get a hold of me??? Inefficiency of our government offices aside, we raced downtown.

*please note I hesitantly use the term 'downtown' as it is comprised of a smattering of tasting rooms and a few shops most locals can't afford to frequent.*

The confusion of the kids becomes obvious when we pull up,

'um, this is not where we get chickens!'

Oh yes it is!

The elderly farmer in line behind us took on the same look of wonderment as the kids, when our chirping parcel was placed on the counter for inspection.

'How did you get chicks in the mail?!? The Internet?!?'

after I explained how it was less expensive to over night them from Texas then to buy locally, I magically transformed from highbrow poultry purchaser, to thrifty mom. To my own surprise he then inquired if I had checked 'Craigslist', which I told him I had and they were still more expensive at the time we ordered. Which brings us back to our brown, white and tan fluff ball. She is not alone by any means and the other 9 are equally adorable and aptly named, but 'Chipmunk' has been claimed as my own and therefore will be chronicled here, for my own personal amusement. We had a relatively good success rate with raising chicks, even after Elaina tried 'teaching one to fly' last year, a night in a private room/ICU, left her fully recovered. I have few worries that she won't make it to laying age (about 20 weeks) and beyond. Where will she be in the literal pecking order? When will she first lay? What color will it be? (Araucana's lay multiple shades of blue/green eggs) Will she be a nut case like our adult Araucana (Marsala)? Or will hand raising leave her calm and tame? (not likely)

I know you're as intrigued as I, and so begins the adventures of Chipmunk.

*please note for any chicken breed nazi's out there, I'm referring to her as an araucana because that is what my invoice says, I do realize she is more then likely an easter egger. Those non-nazi's have no clue what I'm talking about and this is for the best.

SSSSHHHHHHHHHH....

Silence. Well, not exactly. I can hear the air conditioner trying to stave off the heat of the day. The gurgling of the fish tank and my MP3 playing in the kitchen. What I don't hear are the squeals of joy, cries of injustice or pleas for attention from the brood. He has taken them. He being dad, his first day off in 2 weeks and they are in search of a new dryer, scratchy towels be damned, I will fluff you again momentarily. He has taken them to let the silence fill the house and my own thoughts to over flow the void. Brain running rampant being my cue to write, I can empty it here and then resume reading the next book on my summer list. Silence. I don't know if moms can take it. We're so programed to work through the chaos that the calm is actually crawling with anxiety. I twitch. I fidget. I have to be productive. I have not mastered the art of being able to be. My husband would nap. My girlfriends would say nap, but would not themselves. It's not what we do. I think of all that needs to be done. Clothes that can be organized, drawers to be cleaned out, closets to be purged. There is bread to knead, a potential for pie in the fridge and a vacuum to be emptied. This is when I'm supposed to be cleaning up me. Organizing my thoughts, dusting off my cob webbed ego. Polishing my sight as to refocus on what matters. Call it summer vacation, I feel I've lost my focus. I've had more anxiety the last few weeks then in the entire past year, and why? Loss of focus. How easily we steer away only to find the wheel too difficult to pull back straight. Take your foot off the gas and spin in a circle. It takes effort to drive forward, avoiding holes, slowing for curves. At least for me, putting a name to it helps the process. Refocus, refresh, rejuvenate, release, letting go, giving in, giving over. Silence, lets it all come to the front. Listening allows me to hear and acknowledge what I am to do. Focus.

Vacations...

When you walk into urgent care on vacation and they ask if you've been in before, you should never be able to say yes. You should not be in the computer system anywhere but your home town, unless of course you're one of my kids. Actually, make that just Elaina. The last time we vacationed in Portland we ended up getting 3 stitches for running into a wall. This time she's on antibiotics for a week for presumably hugging the neighborhood cat Bubba and getting bit on the nose. A couple days of relaxation turned upside down. She's of course no worse for wear and should make out with nary a scar as a reminder. The memories that will hold tight will be the ones filled with screeches of glee from her cousins and candy overload from her grandparents. The purpose of moving 1500 miles last year was to be closer to family. Seeing their cousins once a year was not adequate. Talking on the phone to grandparents no longer placated the cries. I know the kids love Eric and I. But they LOOOOOOOOVE their extended family. Grandfathers are idolized to rock star status, grandmothers know all the best songs and cousins are the sisters they've longed for. Summer is the time to travel, school is just around the corner and getting away will soon be more complicated. Throwing stuff in a bag and hitting the road is still a feasible option, destination reached in less then 4 hours. Summer presses on and so do we. Gardens need pruning, laundry needs hanging and eggs are still to be collected. But for a few days every couple months what needs the most tending are the imaginations, hearts and souls of three little pixies.

Happy Birthday Elaina!!!

The Next Level...

Or should I say, Kickin' it up a notch? My lovely daughter wanted a mermaid cake and by gum I was determined to make it!! Thank you Cooks Illustrated for the Chocolate Cake recipe and Alice Waters for the Chocolate Buttercream under it all, but a great big ol' pat on the back to me for making the fondant from scratch and putting the whole thing together!!! Admittedly, it ain't perfect but you know what? For a first attempt, not too shabby! We were on a fondant mission yesterday, searching every store in town, which adds up to about 4. Zero to be found, when Ethan sensing my frustration states, "You want to buy her something? You need to make it! Making something, means it comes from your heart, you don't want to give someone something that isn't from your heart, do you???" Aaahhh, the wisdom of a 7 year old. Maybe channeling my ocd on the cake will make up for the presents that I bought her and didn't whittle out of the tree in the back. I realize this is setting a new precedence for Birthday's around here, but I actually really enjoyed doing it so that's OK. Thank you Ethan for bring things back in perspective yet once again, we have 6 months to plan for yours big guy!

A Proactive Birthday Wish...

I know in the coming days I'm going to be overwhelmed with trying to organize her 5th birthday extravaganza (not) so I thought I would be proactive and give Elaina her birthday post a bit early. Five years old. School in two months. When we moved here last year she was going through a screaming phase. For no apparent reason, out or the blue or of course in response to any injustice, she would scream. And scream. And scream. Luckily, that was a year ago. Presently, she is getting in touch with her cave-girl ancestors and she is now a gatherer. Plastic grocery bags, re-usable grocery bags (maybe there wouldn't be plastic ones around if I could remember to put the re-usable ones she hoards in my car!) toy bins, suit cases, backpacks, old diaper bags, totes, anything that can presumable 'hold' another object is called to service. Dressers are emptied into toy bins, crayon boxes are transferred into beach bags, printer paper now resides in Tupperware, along with 3 potato bugs. Her most prized possession of all? The letter from her new Kindergarten teacher. Admittedly, when it came the other day to welcome her to her new school, my heart sunk. I couldn't help but remember the last time I had to let her go, her first day of daycare. They were each 12-14 weeks old when I had to leave them to someone else. It felt as though my soul was being ripped from my body and beat repeatedly against a brick wall. I put on the 'I'm fine' front, and sobbed uncontrolably in my car with them all. When we moved I vowed to never do that to them or me again. When the letter came, I cried. That's what I do. After having three kids, I'm an emotional wreck. I cry when I'm sad, mad, happy, excited, anxious, perplexed or bored. When we tore into the letter and started to read...Dear Kindergartner...she clasped her hands over her mouth and began to shriek, luckily, as I said, her hands were clasped over her mouth!! I continued with how excited all the teachers were to meet all the new students and all the things they will be learning in the coming year...I of course am completely choked up, trying not to let her see what a complete geek her mother is, when it happens... I see her brush at her cheek. Truly, my girl. She then states in complete bewilderment, that her eyes are watering and doesn't know why?! Oh sweet girl, I know why. Her first tears of excitement, the joy of a new adventure so overwhelming it's bursting from her eyeballs! I love you girl. I love seeing me in you, even if you grow to hate wearing your emotions on your sleeve, I won't. Your brother will be there to hold your hand, to wave across the playground and to tackle the first boy trying to steal a kiss. I will be there with a snack when you get home and eager ears to hear it all.

In the Summer time...

This whole summer vacation thing is not only a novelty to my kids but to me as well. I was a classic latch key kid, my sister and I wore our keys on a shoestring around our necks to let ourselves in after school. Vacation meant curtains stayed closed and no one went out front. We watched The Price is Right and Perry Mason while playing marathon Monopoly tournaments. Interspersed was the random beating of each other and a few 'harmless' prank phone calls. Luckily, most of our friends were also home alone so the braver of the bunch would leave their domains and hole up in ours until the threat of parents arriving became too much and we all began cleaning up and starting dinner. All this in elementary school. Granted I was in year round school, our longest school break was about 6 weeks and it was in December, otherwise we had 2 weeks off here and there, I thought it was great until I went to high school and it was a 'normal' school year. Teenagers should never have 3 months off with no parental supervision, enough said.

So it begins, going from the minute by minute schedule of a classroom to fly by the seat of our pants daily life. Ethan wants every moment occupied by a friend or activity. Elaina and Elijah are used to the random play dates, store runs and house cleaning frenzy. Ethan is not. Elaina and Elijah occupy themselves if I am doing laundry or fixing a meal. Ethan does not. Elaina and Elijah know that if they have one play date they probably aren't going to see another friend that day. Ethan is used to seeing all his friends, every day, all day long. Not going to happen. If I hear 'now what?', 'what will we do after that?', or 'when are we going to?' one more time I'm putting them on Free-Cycle. Two more months, I know it goes quickly. Family vacations sprinkled randomly over the weeks will keep them hopping. Sending them both off to school will be here before I know it. Back to school shopping already front and center on my brain. Elijah sending them on their way with me, anticipating the trauma of seeing his siblings off for the day. And at the same time, MOPS starting up for the year, still not sure about my sanity there but it's out of my hands. We will garden, we will play with the new chicks (coming in 2 weeks) and we will hang. Most of all, I will soak up the time I have with them that they still want to be with me.

Worry Warts

"You worry about you, don't worry about others."
And that's when my mommy radar went on high alert.
"You take care of yourself, it's not up to you to worry about me."
OK, enough.
Um, what's going on here? and why are we being so self-centered?
Here it comes...
"Well, xxxxx (name withheld to keep eye rolling and tire slashing to a minimum) said that we should only worry about ourselves. It's up to each person to take care of themselves, not each other."
Ugh.
Alright, I understand the context I'm sure the statement was used. Tattling was probably the center of the discussion and yes I'm sure it seemed a vague, open-ended statement about taking care of number one seemed suffice. Unfortunately, many kids, my kids, are literal. Opportunities to worry about others create growth.
We're not supposed to talk about the little girl who takes the bus after school back to the Y.
How much more understanding would the kids have about homelessness if they knew it directly effected one of their friends? We're not supposed to talk about the anger issues of the little boy who got kicked out of class. Shouldn't environmental and psychological problems be out in the open? Life is not puppy dogs and butterflies, sometimes things suck. Sometimes these things are brought on by us and sometimes they are not!!! They need to know that! They need to know that the world doesn't revolve around them. They need to know that even if their friend is in trouble, albeit by their own hand or not, they should be there to help. They need to accept their friends for who they are, not who they think they are. They need to not be ashamed of their circumstances, where they live, who they live with, what medication they take to get through the day.
We need to worry about each other.
We need to help where we can, because we can.
The more we learn about each other the more compassion we have. How many light bulbs have dinged on when I've learned more about a friends past and tied it in with things I had previously deemed irrational in the present. Maybe it's the ol' knowledge is power line and not making assumptions. If I only worry about me then I'm going to be making assumptions about you. Yes, tattling is annoying. But it's talking, it's communication, not good communication per se, but communication none the less. If they are chronic about it then maybe we need to figure out why they are trying to bolster themselves up and tear others down, talk about it. Communicate. Worry on little ones, we'll talk about all the implications whenever you want.

ache.

To kick off summer vacation my oldest has gone to see his grandparents, which should be cause for celebration! I only have two to watch AND my mom is here to hang out!! But it's not. The house seems wrong. If Ethan is not here, then he is in school, this in not the case. He's...away. Away from the house, his siblings and me. I know, I know, cry me a river, but honestly. The whole feel of home is wrong. Home is whining. Home is needy. Home is lap sitting, neck nuzzling, hand holding, big green eyes waiting on my every word. Home is them. Currently, home is two when it should be three. I yearn and crave every moment to myself...with them occupied, in the other room. I scream, yell, rant and rave for them to go, about 20 feet away...no farther. I want to see them at will, touch them spontaneously. Being out of control of his bedtime or nutritional needs is almost too much. No one but a mom can understand, I know. Is this insane? Yes. Is it unexpected? No. My boys come back tomorrow. I wish they would show up tonight. Waking up to the tossing, turning, snoring of my love. Smelling the ever-so-close-to-a-tween, freshly shorn head of my boy after he brings me coffee in bed. Men. Gotta love 'em, and I do.

A case for circular houses.

Luckily, we didn't need a stitch. Nothing a little glue and packaging tape apparently can't fix. Next time one of them runs into the corner of a wall, I'm taking them straight to Home Depot. By next time, that really only leaves 1. Elaina turned to sprint down my parents hall over the summer last year and ran smack into the corner there. DING! and down she went. Three stitches. Elijah comes running in from outside and DING! Same spot as Elaina, they really are twins. The funniest thing though was that Ethan was right behind him and when he saw blood, he took OFF!!! White as a ghost. Once I got Elijah calmed and settled I actually had to go on an Ethan hunt to see if HE was passed out somewhere! And honestly, there wasn't that much blood! Eric is pretty much screwed if there is a hunting/camping accident and Ethan's his backup! Dial 911 Eth. Eth? Eth?!? Cross doctor off future job possibilities, we're back to actor/president. Oddly Elaina was asleep. They wanted to 'camp out' last night so we set up a tent in the backyard which they played in all day. The time came and they all went to bed, cozy in their sleeping bags. We sat on the patio, drank some Rose and listened to Ethan telling them a story. Waiting for the escalating protests to going to sleep in the not so great outdoors. Then, silence. We waited a bit longer. I retired to bed to read and still no one came in. It was now 10pm and fully dark. Still they slept on, alone outside. I woke at 11 and then at 12:30. I recall 2 and of course 4, still no screams of terror. 6:10am brought the thundering sounds of 6 feet on the stairs, they were all alive and at that point still well. They survived their first night outside alone in a tent. They can't sleep all together in their bedroom with out a night light on but give 'em a tent in the dark and they're all good. Hence, Elaina fell asleep at 9am. When did we get to this point? Wanting to pull away so badly, yet burying their heads in my shoulder to shield out the eyes of the world. Torn between independence and comfort at 3 and 5 and 7. When do they finally choose independence? 10? 20? My arms will always be long enough to wrap around them, to hold their hands while a doctor glue sticks them back together. If they get out the duck tape and staples though we're moving to Canada.

Growth

I've started going to a bible study. So if this is taboo ground to you then be forewarned there is talk of faith, trust and general "God" things and you're free to move on to the next blog if you choose. Faith and trust seem to go hand in hand but as I've come to realize, that is not necessarily true. I say I have faith, which I do. I say I trust in God, but I've learned I have to add the disclaimer of "most of the time". There are just those things, for me, the ONE thing, that I just can't seem to turn over to Him. I carry it around, I fret, I fuss, I make up a million what-if's, I obsess over the bad, I imagine every hypothetical scene that would justify the ramblings of my crazed mind. I take the smallest hint of an issue and I run with it, you don't want to know what I do with the big hints. Let's just say it's ugly. In not giving it over, in not being able to trust that it will be OK, not that it will be perfect or that the situation will turn out how I want, but that no matter what, in the end I will be OK. My worst fears may actually come true, my worst fears could manifest and my world so to speak may implode, giving it over means that I will still wake up and put one foot in front of the other. I see the goal, I'm not there yet. Do I sabotage this thing? You bet, not conscientiously of course but I feel I'm protecting myself from what I already know as true. Like the mother who's worst fear is to lose a child, she won't let them on a slide or will rush them to the emergency room when they complain of a stomach ache. Watching for signs of impending destruction. What I'm trying to figure out now is how. How do I get the evil voice out of my head? How do I cover the hole in my shield of faith created by this thing? I pray and I read. Not Steinbeck but the actual Bible. Pick it up and see what it has to say. To say it is timeless is a vast understatement. The answer to literally every question you have is in there. The answer to every fear, frustration, doubt and anxiety is in there. Reading is one thing, trusting is another. The more I read, the more I trust, the more I trust, the more I read. My hole is getting smaller, the spears of the enemy soon won't have an in. I own my fears and what I do to perpetuate them, that's putting one foot down, handing it over completely is putting down the other.

Mother's Day...

My day. Can't say I got to sleep in, but I did get to play "hot/cold" for my present from Ethan. He made me a book, one of many created in his class. It was filled with "I love it whens.." tailored to of course me. The ones that stood out were, "I love my mom because she taught me how to garden" " I know my mom cares because she asks how is school" and my personal favorite "I love to hear my mom sing I am in a war" granted, I'm sure his teacher is wondering about his war monger mother, but I knew exactly which song he was talking about.

Counting On God by Desperation Band

I'm in a fight not physical
And I'm in a war But not with this world
You are the light that's beautiful
And I want more, I want all that's Yours

Joy unspeakable that won't go away
And just enough strength To live for today
So I never have to worry What tomorrow will bring
'Cause my faith is on solid rock
I am counting on God

I am counting on
I am counting on God

The miracle of Christ in me
Is the mystery that sets me free
I'm nothing like I used to be
Open up your eyes you'll see

Ah, my boy. He knows how to get right to my heart without even knowing. The topper of course was going to church later and having them sing that exact song. My strength to live for today renewed, yet again. Thank you Eth. My husband came through too of course, getting me a gift certificate to my favorite kitchen shop, which one day later is no more. A ravioli cutter to cut my roasted beet ravioli with bacon and spinach filling that I made today. A cookie press to make a treat for bible study tonight and a cast iron ebelskiver pan, which I'm sure will be my nemesis. I love you guys for letting me be me and letting that be OK.

Anonymity

There's something to be said for it. We went wine tasting yesterday, which in itself was great. We've only gone once in the past year and admittedly I miss it. Wine fascinates me as a living, evolving, entity. Tasting it in barrel and trying to predict what shape it will take 6m or a year from now at bottling and how that will change five, ten or 20 years down the line. And being the consumate shopper, trying to weed out all the best deals, getting off the beaten path to the current unknowns, finding the next set of "we bought them whens..." Going out on any sort of "Release Weekend" always brings out the know it alls and drunkards and honestly I can understand the cheesy one liners spewing forth by some of the pourers, I've been there, I've said them. Going tasting as one "in the business" granted had it's bonus', free tastings, free lunches, free accommodations. But it also comes with expectations. I like going as a local, stay at home mom. Possibly looking for something for our next BBQ. Granted, spitting probably did stand out as knowing a little more than we were letting on. My dear husband was kind enough to bring to my attention that one wine maker looked a bit miffed that I did spit, but that's neither here nor there. Being free to love the lowest level Cabernet because the reserve although better was not $20 better, walking out after tasting 2 really bad wines and not having to stay for the entire line up just because. We had a great day and learned a few things along the way. If I can get a really great German Riesling for under $15 and an exceptional one for $30, why would I pay $20 for yours? They weren't even close. If you're trying to make a new name for Rose' why are you making yours with 2% rs, no matter how you want to market it, this is not a "drier style." Even if you want exclusivity by offering things to wine club members only, you are shunning the locals that can and will pop on over for a bottle with dinner, because we can!!! I don't want 3 or 6 of your choosing, I want this one.today. That being said, we truly did find some gems at great prices, that I'm sure next year will fall out of our means. No shameless plugs here, I want them to stay within our budget as long as they can. I will of course be sending any family and friends their way to get the same honest, unpretentious, personal service we received yesterday. Thank you to all the owner/wine-makers whose passion for what they do shows through loud and clear and they aren't just out to be the next "auction house only" or "stack 'em high and let 'em fly." You will be seeing us again.

Alien Abductions.

This is pretty hard for me to admit. I like to think that I'm normally a pretty level headed person. The subject of aliens coming to harvest humans for research has always seemed shall we say a bit 'out there' to say the least. But unfortunately, I've come to experience it first hand.
Today as I came in from the garden to wash up, it happened. I walked into the empty bathroom to find the toilet seat up, yellow water and a pile of Elaina's clothes on the floor. No Elaina to be seen. They had taken her. Obviously, she was quietly going potty when the abduction occurred. The clothes I've come to realize, can not be teleported. I found her moments later in her bedroom getting new clothes on, blissfully unaware of the horrors that had just befallen her. Oh, my precious, precious girl how many more times will they perform their tests on you??? Elaina is not the only one in my family that the extraterrestrials are after. I often come into our living room to find my husbands clothes laying right by the door. He's not home for 2 minutes, barely able to drag his tired legs up the stairs and into the house before ZAAAPPP!!! In to thin air. Only his work clothes remain. Sure, they always bring them back. So far. My dear husband usually emerges from the backyard, where he apparently thinks he was just checking on the girls, but I know the truth. Ethan has spent his fair share of time hovering high over head too, while cultures of unknown origin are taken. How many bags of chips and favorite toys have I found scattered across the floor? The snack I know he so desperately wanted. He had pleaded with tears in his eyes for a little something while I'm preparing dinner, only to find it open, chips all over the couch and floor. The project he was coloring still spread out on the table. And my boy? Gone. My heart aches as I search. He too happily going about his 'new' business at the aliens chosen re-materialization site. But what makes me truly mad, is that they even have taken my baby. I would like to think there would be some sort of minimum age requirement, but no. To make it worse, they seem to actually prefer Elijah. Little piles of clothes are found through out the day. Some times, while he is innocently watching TV. They take him from the bathroom, much like Elaina, but their favorite spot is the stairs. As the kids bound joyfully in from playing outside, ZAAAP! Shoes will be at the bottom, pants in the middle and the shirt on the top landing, what once clothed a happy child now lays cold and lifeless, waiting. Being that they obviously use some sort of mind eraser or time hold-stiller, it has occurred to me that I too could be the subject of their research, but not likely. I have yet to come across my own tell tale pile of clothing, unless they only take me from my bedroom. Albeit a possibility, not a likely one. I have enough quirks and compulsions. I certainly don't need to add another. Beware aliens, I'm on to you now, I will catch you and when I do...

What it's about.

The kids. OK, this is the world's shortest post. Done. Alright, alright I'll elaborate. When I started this I didn't really know why I was doing it. I honestly never read a blog and barely knew what the term meant. There wasn't a list of them I was aspiring to be, I simply knew I was supposed to write one and so I did. It started as a way to work through the voice that keeps popping up in my head, hoping that maybe the kids would grasp some glimmer of what mommy was thinking at any given time. Maybe reading my version of what happened, teamed up with their memory of it and ending up, well, I'm not sure what. Maybe they will discover mom's pizza crust recipe, or the secret to great Coq au Vin is using your own Coq (sorry Crowey, but man you were tasty.) I hope they'll understand that I would cook all day to fill the freezer so I didn't have to cook every day and could spend more time with them, sane. I hope they come to appreciate spicy food because my chili is competition ready, sorry shameless plug. I hope they can see that I struggle with what the voice is telling me but I still listen to Him. I want them to listen to Him too, since they sure don't listen to me. I don't want them to be the angry, glaring, tween's that their parents have to drag to church in their sleep pants and fuzzy slippers. Contempt for the passive/aggressive parents aside for letting their tween's show up that way. I want them to find joy in the first radish shoot popping up and continue to fight for the warm eggs under a broody hen. Like any parent, I just want to keep them wrapped in a cocoon of comfort, love and innocence. So spilling my tale here for them to read one day serves to keep me honest, keep me in check with my priorities and it has served a great creative outlet for a newbie stay at home mom. Ultimately, it's all about them.

A Belated Birthday Wish...

My baby is 3. My baby is no longer, well, a baby.
He is potty trained.
He knows his ABC's.
He yells at me for starting the car before putting on my seat belt and he knows God made the mountains.
He can't wear pants, shoes or socks inside.
He can't imagine leaving the library with a book not containing a monster truck and his favorite Hot Wheels car is named Sally.
Dogs are for riding, chickens are for chasing and siblings are for giggling.
He can still be convinced to do anything Elaina bids, her esteem only equaled by my own.
Bubbles=Bliss.
Default speed is a jog and he can hold his own on his scooter. When grandparents visit, he still wants to sit next to me. He's even tempered, not emotion driven, injustices are simply that.
Bottom's and the noises they possess are hilarious.
Deception isn't on his radar, yet.
The sun, moon and stars reside in his sister.
Even when he "can't stand up!" I want to scoop him in my arms and smother him in mommy kisses.
He loves me more than "sparkly pink unicorns."
Happy Birthday Boo-Boo.

Gut Check...

The topic that's been tossing around in my brain lately (by lately I mean the last couple months) the topic I'm trying to decide how to broach with out sounding like too much of a lunatic is finally coming to fruition. Then of course I realized this post couldn't possibly make me sound any less sane so just go with my gut. AAAHHHH, there it is, my gut. The subject du jour. Mother's intuition, that sixth sense, knowing the peas are in the napkin before you unfold it. Knowing they don't really have to go to the bathroom REALLY, REALLY, BAD RIGHT NOW, during dinner only to dispose of the uneaten miscellaneous vegetable. Knowing that silence is not by any stretch of the imagination "golden". Keeping Ethan home from school just because, to have him throwing up by noon. How many things have we done with out knowing what the consequences would have been other wise? Turning down a different road on our walk or going to the park across town because I felt like we should. So who cares? We all have it, that voice of ours that keeps us in check. Interesting, do I really think I'm that smart? Do I really think that I can predict/anticipate random acts in the future. I don't know what's for dinner tomorrow! Yet, for years I've been giving myself a whole lot of pats on the back while at the same time wondering where God has been all those years. Why is He just starting to speak up now? Why did he let me wing it out there all alone for so long? The pull that I had to have a third child, the surprise of getting one and the peace of not remotely wanting another. I credit God with getting around the birth control, why don't I credit him for the desire for more or the feeling that our family is now whole? I guess finally listening to Him has made me realize He has been talking to me all along. Every day my gut tells me something to do or not. To be suspect about and to be at complete ease with. Every day I struggle saying "I knew it! I just knew it wasn't right/wrong/there/going to happen/going to show up/going to work/not going to work...etc" Feeling the pride of my vast knowledge of all things parental filling me. Did I mention I don't know what's for dinner tomorrow? Now I struggle to stop. Breathe. And simply say, Thank You. Thank you for the insight, thank you for the warning, thank you for the need and thank you for the peace. He's there talking all the time, unfortunately so am I (and the kids for that matter!) taking the time to listen and actually hear, to feel that it's right because He says so not because I did. How good it feels to take yet another thing off my plate. It leaves me room for tomorrow's lasagna.

The Emperor's New Clothes

You remember the story, the emperor gets convinced that his new invisible clothing is the latest in high fashion and goes parading around naked. It struck me this morning that I'm doing the same thing. No I'm not doing housework in the buff, much to my husbands dismay.
I climb out of the shower and commence the process of "getting ready" for what I'm not sure, but trust me I'm ready for it. Step one, put on moisturizer. I'm a (cough, cough,) thirty-something woman so this is a crucial step. What's the most important thing about a good moisturizer? To feel like nothing. Slather it on, pay through the teeth, so ultimately I and certainly no one else knows it exists. Step two, foundation or my new best friend "invisible foundation". Oh yes, you can call it a primer or what not, wear alone or underneath a step 3. Use what ever terminology you want, it's invisible makeup and I bought it. Step 3, translucent powder. This would be basically clear powder with no discernible color to "set" the invisible foundation. Step 4, clear gloss because my lips are always this moist and supple on their own. Add a little blush (not invisible by definition) mascara (which you CAN buy invisible, I have not jumped off that cliff yet) and I'm pretty much through. Fifteen minutes of my life, spent doing stuff to myself to try to make myself look like I didn't spend fifteen minutes of my life, doing anything to myself!!! My point. Nothing really. I'm not about to change the process, I'm actually pretty happy with the results in a this ranks up there with the dumbest things I've pondered in a long time sort of way. What do I want my kids to learn from reading this in the future? Probably that we all do things that don't make a lot of sense. We need to think about the things we do and make a decision to continue or not. I've thought about it and I've decided to continue because as ridiculous as the process seems it effects no one but me. There are few things in life that fall under that umbrella, treasure the ones that do.

It's about time

In a fleeting moment of desire for convenience, I picked up a box of microwave popcorn at the store last week. Yes, I know, it's a direct slap in the face of all that I've been spouting this past year. But honestly, the supreme ease of quelling Ethan's cries for a before bed snack with a flick of my wrist and a go grab a bag out of the pantry suddenly over came me and the purchase was made. Sinking into the couch with the book I've been trying to start/finish for 2 weeks and Ethan's plea begins. But oh yes, I have a trick up my sleeve. Boy! I mean Eth! Get a bag out of the pantry and pop that puppy in the microwave! You my son are golden in 2.5 minutes. And that's when it starts...But mom, I don't want that one! Let's make it ourselves, it's soooooooo much better, I don't care if it takes longer. And there you have it. Out of the mouths of babes, err well, 1st graders. I've tried instilling this past year, that faster isn't always better, weaning off McDonald's and KFC. Baking bread every.single.week. Growing a monster garden that this year threatens to take over the neighborhood. Hunting down an air-popper! It all worked. yay me... So why does the siren call of convenience still get it's moment of glory? I think the one thing I haven't been able to wrap my brain around is time. When I was working (I'm so tired of starting sentences with that, I now vow to never use it again) the entire day was laid out in time slots. Every second was a valuable commodity to be doled out frugally. If I do this, then I can't do that. Kids, as every parent knows, don't grasp the concept of time. So it takes us 8 more minutes to make regular popcorn, they go to bed 8 minutes later, and????? Somehow this seems like such a huge deal, some nights more than others. What parent hasn't screamed uncontrollably at their toddler literally stopping to smell the roses when we want them to keep walking to the store/school/car/church? When honestly we would be what? 5 minutes late? 10? Would Ethan crumble to a sobbing mass on the sidewalk in front of his classroom door if we weren't waiting there 15 minutes prior to last bell? No, he would either walk himself home and see us jumping in puddles, or wait on the playground with a plethora of his friends, ultimately he would be fine. I'm the one that ends up in the angry, slobbering, bald, mass! The perception of time as a commodity, something to be hoarded like a clock watching Scrooge gets ingrained young. When do they pick up on it? I'm actually moving on to my second hand the number of times my kids have calmed my nerves with their simple reasoning. It's OK mom, we can walk. It's OK mom, it just takes a second. I thought I was supposed to teach them everything.

Too Yoooouuu...

You would think (or should I say I would think) I would be getting wiser with age. Isn't that how the phrase goes? How many times growing up did my parents repeat that to me, "when you're my age...", "xyz is something you learn with age." Well guess what? I'm now officially your age when you said those things and I'm not sure I know anything yet. AND to top it off, I think I've spent the past year RETHINKING all the stuff I thought I DID know!!! Which of course has led me to this topic and the overwhelming realization that I don't know squat. Luckily by the grace of God my kids won't be reading this till they are much older, this is not information I wish to bestow upon them now!!!

"Kids it's time I told you something, all those times I said you'll understand when you become a parent. I was wrong. I don't understand. I pretty much question everything anymore, your mommy is not so smart."

The kicking off of my official "mommies don't actually get smarter as they get older" pitch actually took place last night. I had planned a mom's night out with some girlfriends, let's hangout, drink some wine and gab after the kiddos have all passed out. Clue number 1 something is up; going out with girlfriends on the night before my birthday. Did I have any inkling they cared? Nope. Clue number 2; having host girlfriend's little boy (on his way to bed) talking about how he wants cake too. Any idea cake would be for me? Nope. Clue number 3; Girlfriend frantically trying to keep me out of kitchen shielding said cake, hunched over writing something. Any idea cake being hidden and friend is trying to sign card 3 feet away from me? Nope. Admittedly by clue number 4, people showing up saying the actual words Happy Birthday and handing me cards I started to finally piece things together. I love them. Hopefully through my complete oblivion they still love me too.

So now I'm left to wonder what other functions will be waining in the coming months/years. I was kind of hoping the mind would be the last to go, this does not bode well for the future. Then again, as long as I'm surrounding myself with friends that are thinking about me even when I am not, I think the future is place I might want to see. I may be older, I know I'm not wiser but I do know I'm cared about. Thanks guys.

Perspective

I like to get a little sometimes, perspective that is, and my kids seem to offer it up in droves. The other night as I was putting dinner on the table, it was your typical week day night. Eric working late, Ethan trying to set the table with Elaina's protests in full swing as to where he was now sitting her. Elijah was trying to grab at whatever food was prematurely placed while Ethan swatted him away. The noise was not steadily increasing, it was already as increased as it could get. When of course the phone rings. Being the lover of caller ID, I see that it is my soon to be pediatrician, yes, it's taken me a year to get around to transferring our files and I was not about to miss this call!!! I answer it as I'm walking into my bedroom, closing the door to some what muffle the screams, screeches and general forelorn cries of dinner time injustice continuing in the dining room. In between listening to my new receptionist/nurse I can hear it continue to escalate and then...stop.

"OOOOOOHHHHH, the Lord is good to meeeeeeee. And so I thank the Looooooord!!! For giving me, the things I need, the sun and the rain and the apple seed the Lord is good to me.Amen."

"G'me THAT!"

"No!!!!"

"Ethaaaaaaaan!!!!"

"I want it"

"STOP IT!!!!"

Yes, the screaming ensued.
They can't sit at the same seat two nights in a row to help quell the majority of the problems. Fiesta Ware be damned, since now they argue over who gets what color and of course they all want to eat at once and will beat each other to death in the process, but before that process can begin... You must say grace.

Pondering...

I guess that's the sign of a good book, it makes you think. Whether fiction or non, it puts you in the story. I don't feel like doing an unsolicited book report here but I thought I would just write down a couple things that are really staying with me.

This is the true joy of life; the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one, being a force of Nature rather than a feverish selfish little cloud of ailments complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy... George Bernard Shaw

Wow.

I read that tonight and wanted to make an iron-on transfer for every shirt I own. How joyful would you be to know that your very purpose is important and here's the clincher... YOU KNOW IT!?!?! You have a passion for this endeavour that makes you akin to a force of nature. Forces of nature are tornado's, hurricanes!!! I want to be a hurricane for my cause, don't you? Don't sit around sniveling for the world to fix itself, fix it!!! I love it.

I have a desk calender that I put my "schedule" on. I have it planned out all the way to December 31st. First day's of school in fall, 1/2 days, teacher planning days, play dates, potential playdates/outings are now popping up. I fill it up with confidence that I will be here to see those days, I have no reason to think I won't and am not trying to be morbid by any means. But what if I'm not. You never schedule in "find lump" or "get in car accident". Yes, I'm reading about living your life with no regrets and basically wondering if I have any.

I took Ethan to school the other day, hugged him (which I don't always do), told him I loved him (which I do always do) and watched him walk into school. Usually, I turn immediately and head back home but this time I just watched. I said a prayer that at 3 o'clock I would see him in reverse, turned toward me, walking into my smile instead of away from it. We simply don't know what each moment will bring. I'm not about to be the fretting over-protective mom that won't let them out the door for fear of an impending rogue comet. I am, going to make sure that the last words they here from me is I love you. I am, going to make sure we go to bed at night without any regrets, I should've, why didn't I, if only... When I lay down at night, I want to simply sleep.

So, what is my tsunami? I have a few actually but the most prevalent is my kids. Have they always been? Admittedly, no. I have tried working harder, being out later, dropping them off earlier because it's not easy to be an attentive parent. It IS easy to say "yes I'll play that game with you after dinner" knowing full well you won't. Or, "yes, I'll color with you after this chapter or when I'm done surfing meaningless fluff on the Internet" again knowing they will otherwise occupy themselves until "Oh look at the time, get ready for bed!!!" A wake up call every now and again that this isn't about me is always nice. Do I have regrets about our past? Not really necessary I suppose, because I'm simply trying to move forward. They are most definitely forces of nature in their own right, I want to be one too.

To my non-foodie friends...

Alright, I can take some flack for talking down to the masses for my interpretation of a simple meal and for that you now get a crash course in my pantry staples!!! You'll never do that again will ya!!! HA!

First off...you need to make as much of everything as possible and oddly you probably have most the ingredients to do that!!!
Bread= flour, water, yeast, sugar/honey, salt, maybe milk and maybe some oil (butter/shortening or oil). These will make in some combination, rarely all ingredients needed; bread (sandwich and french), pancakes, waffles, biscuits, buns (hamburger or hot dog depending on shape) and the all important pizza dough.
pantry should have multiple shapes pasta and types rice/starch (couscous, quinoa; it's a really good grain, not chicken food ;) )
multiple types beans, dried AND canned.
all forms canned tomatoes.
emergency cream of mushroom soup for when you forget to get mushrooms at the store or use the last in that fritata that the kids refused to eat.
Other baking items would be all kinds sugars, powdered, granulated, light and brown but also raw for sprinkling on muffins or scones, it's the little things don't you know!!!
Packaged chicken and beef stock in case your freezer has run low on home-made.

Acid!!!
lemons, limes, oranges are staples. As is wine, red and white. Less frequently used but just as important liquor!!! Grand Marnier, yum! Vermouth is not only for martinis, dry is great in marinades use the same amount you would with your favorite cocktail!!! A light hand! Pernod is an anise (licorice) flavored liquor and again a little is enough to deglaze (get the chunks off the bottom) of your pan and make your guests wonder where you got the recipe! Also great on a hot day with some club soda, but I digress. Bourbon makes a great sauce, again a light hand is key, the little airline bottle is more than enough! Any leftovers with some sweet vermouth and a cherry is a bonus!

Keep veggies simple, toss with olive oil, salt and roast to carmelly goodness!!

Meat, get the best you can afford and prepare it simply. Good components don't need to be fussed over, that's the beauty of it! A little salt and pepper or your favorite rub and bake or grill, done!

Cooking seems like such a daunting task, something most say they've never been able to do, they can't get the combinations right etc... But if you use good stuff, you don't have to DO anything to it!!! Grill the meat, bake the potato, roast or grill the veg, simple, good, easy.

For the record the kids had McDonald's tonight and we had frozen leftovers from last week. It's always about balance, not obsession.

Happy Aniversary!!!

Not my marriage, that's in July.

One year ago, I quit my job.

One year ago, I had one cup of coffee every morning, now I have to have 2 and another about 3pm.

One year ago, I feared my heart was giving out on me, now I feel better than I have in years.

One year ago, I was too over-whelmed to watch the kids by myself, now I actually miss being away from them, which doesn't happen often.

One year ago, I couldn't imagine taking all three any where other than a park, now I'm confident enough to take them to multiple venues running errands.

One year ago, I thought my worth was measured by how much money I was contributing to the family, now I know my contribution is so much more.

One year ago, I was depressed and felt sorry for myself, now I'm thankful for every waking moment.


Our marriage anniversary will always be the most important, this anniversary is for my family. It's the one where I finally put them first. This is the anniversary of financial sacrifice and the anniversary of learning to live selflessly. I have a long way to go still but I've taken the step. I've started down a path I don't ever want to veer from. So I thank you my love, for affording me the opportunity to save what's left of my sanity. Thank you for working so hard to allow me to be there for the kids physically and emotionally which hopefully means I can do the same for you. This is our families anniversary of change, it's not just my day. It's ours.

A little food, a little wine...

Since I am supposed to be talking about food and wine too, I figured I would post something on the subject. I realize I started out with good intentions. Putting whatever the nights meal was and recipes on the site, so possibly, one day, the kiddos could look back and say oh that's how she made that! Alas, I quickly discovered how often I make the same stuff and therefore posting the same meal over and over seemed rather redundant for obvious reasons. The other reason I haven't posted a lot of recipes is because to me they are pretty simplistic and don't merit the mention. Tonight was angel hair pasta with shrimp, garlic and tomatoes de-glazed with some Pernod. No biggie, takes 5 min, kids loved it. Last night chicken, rice, broccoli casserole, not exactly rocket science. While Ethan was in school I made some basic white sandwich bread, again throw ingredients in mixer, turn on, let raise. No biggie. Tomorrow brats, steeped in beer then grilled with onions, mash some potatoes and a veggie tbd and voila again. I started planning out my menu every two weeks so I wasn't having chicken every night or pasta three nights in a row, it seems to be working and I don't have to literally think as much. That's the goal really, by dinner time I honestly just want to be on auto-pilot. The winter dull-drums have kicked in. I cringe buying Argentinian asparagus and so end up getting nothing. The chickens raided the garden a week ago and my cauliflower that was ever so close to forming heads was decimated. I raised my fence and am slowly coxing everything back to life but my dreams of garden fresh produce in winter have been dashed. My rampini seems to be pulling itself up by its boot-straps and I'm holding on to a glimmer of hope that it will still produce but for now I'm forced to buy veggies that have seen more of America than I have. Vino of choice lately has been pretty tame and pretty much sticking to the house variety, maybe I'll venture to open something more inspiring tonight, truth be told I'm feeling like some bubbly but I think I'll settle for a good chard which I have about twice a year... Bottle now securely placed in freezer, hopefully I won't forget it there, as much as I like finding frozen wine, I think I'll pass. This post has taken on that ever present tone of simplify, simplify, simplify. If I can beat anything into my cherub's heads, it's to not over complicate things. Don't over think, don't over do, don't over schedule, etc... moderation my dear ones. It's all over the news right now how Americans are all simplifying because of the economy, I do it for my sanity.

A shout out to my girls...

As Ethan's sing-song folly about me having girlfriends comes to an end I can't help but smile. He of course thinks it's oh so funny that mommy would have a girlfriend, considering he can't think of anything quite so disgusting. I laugh and say yes, I do. Not just one girlfriend but many. That is not an easy task mind you. I've spent the better part of the past 10 years with out anyone I felt I could really confide in other than my husband and even he doesn't want to hear everything! I've had the bad habit of picking friends that I've had things in common with, things meaning hobbies/kids/outside interests. Now I'm finally graduating to friends with the same core values. Amazingly, it no longer matters if we have one hobby in common. We don't have to all love to cook, we don't all have to want to go jogging at 4am, scrapbook, gardening or go antiquing. We do want to raise our kids as best we can, we do want to give our burdens over to an amazing Lord that we know will take care of it. Often times this happens once we have thoroughly vented to each other and possibly consumed copious amounts of a good cab but it happens none-the-less!!! I remember in high school, how my parents would always talk about the importance of surrounding yourself with people that had your same values. I of course thought I was impervious to any others views. I was a strong "woman" at 16 and could certainly keep my beliefs in check amongst the heathens. I think I'll be a bit more adamant about it with my kids knowing how impossible it truly is. Surround yourself with turkeys and you'll soon start to gobble. HA! like that? Sorry, I still hold out some hope that one day my kids will read this and get some sort of gleaming words of wisdom from mom. I don't want them to be shaking hands with 40 when they finally start listening to that voice that says it's OK to be themselves. I finally am being my real self and God has surrounded me with a group of women that actually think that's just fine. Funny how that happens. I raise my glass of port ('97 Warres, mmmmmm) to all my girlfriends. "May neighbours respect you, Trouble neglect you, The angels protect you, And heaven accept you." Salut!!!

Here we go...

You would think 7 years would be enough time to prepare. Enough time to get all my thoughts in order and have it all laid out. Diagrams drawn up, the speech rehearsed but when it comes down to it, I'm simply not ready to have "the talk". Unfortunately with a hormone enraged rooster strutting his stuff the last few days the inevitable is about to happen.


"Man I caught Crowey being mean to one of the girls again! He was standing on her back and pecking her head!!!"

Luckily Ethan was able to "save" the chicken, much to Crowey's mounting (hahaha) protests. In a perfect world I will simply say Crowey is trying to make chicks that's how they do it and he will say Oh, OK, no problem. Somehow I doubt that will be the case. I sense way more explaining than I would like to do and my dream now is to hopefully stick to the animal world, leaving homosapien's out of the picture. Again I see this as having a fleeting to slim chance of happening. Innocence lost. Never to look at well anyone the same again. Just another job of parenthood that we have to suck up and do, ignorance is not bliss, ignorance makes me a grandmother at 40. Thanks a lot Crowey, I'm starting to picture him bathing in a bottle burgundy more and more.

Make-overs

You would think since I spent oodles of time trying to give the site a make-over that I would now be flooded with witty quips and kidisms. Unfortunately, no. I wanted to get away from the boxed template feel and as much as I love the pix felt they needed a more consistent tone. I like things simple. Yes, that has been my theme for the last year, simple. Simple food, simple parenting, simple life. Not the Nicole Richie version of course, the one that gets back to actual basics. Paying attention to our food, paying attention to our kids, paying attention to each other and one day paying attention to me. OOOHHHH how idyllic, yeah I know, but seriously it all piles on so quickly. What I have been fixating on this last week is how this time last year I was seeing a cardiologist. I know I've touched on this but honestly until you have sat in the waiting room of a heart specialist when you are still using your own mobility and teeth, you don't know how much things come into perspective. I think it was at that point that I knew I needed the ultimate makeover. We always professed that we both had to work because of the money. Well, when the money goes away you make it work. I was always convinced I could never stay home, that my personality would never allow it. Sitting at home, folding clothes all day, listening to the playful banter of my two cherubs. Not so much. More like fielding play dates and penciling in folding time so I still accomplish something! Last January I was scared. Not oh no what's going on scared but Holy #*%$* there's something wrong with me scared!!! I'm at a heart *$%#@ specialist scared. Through the tests, wires, large expensive machinery, treadmills, cold ultra-sound gel, paper and photo read outs I was told those ever imposing words. You need to relax. Stress has got you here and stress will make it worse. I've taken the words to heart (hehehe). If you perceive me as laid back, I am. If you think we can't possibly not be freaked out in this economy, I'm not. If you think anything is going to get to me, well it does, but I deal with it and move on. I know my limits and know I can't let things fester for my literal own good. It's not such a bad plan for everyone. So I've simplified my outlet of feigned sanity aka my blog, maybe now it really does represent who I'm yet to become.

That mood.

Get your mind out of the gutter. I didn't say the mood. I said that mood. You know the one.
The one that means you're one step away from following through on the threat of taking them outside and beating them with a chicken.
The one that has you reciting The Lord's Prayer over and over in an attempt to banish your fantasy of blocking off that space under the stairs and shoving them all in it.
I'm sure it's this cold that is making my head feel like I've been on a bender of a life time without all the funny stories.
It didn't help that while taking the garbage out I managed to slip on some ice at the top of our front steps and skid four plop, plop, plop, plop, steps all the way down to our driveway, where I continued to skid another five feet four inches before doing a back-flop with the top of my head at the base of the first step. Oddly, the only visible sign of distress is the complete lack of skin attached to the top of my right index finger, apparently it's still on the hand rail.
Elaina my love, that voice is honestly going to kill me. She has been stuck in whine for what seems like an eternity.
"I waaaaaaaaaant waaaaaaaaater!!!!!"
"IIIIII can't heeeeeeeaaaaaaaar iiiiiiiit"
You my friend will be the first to discover the power of a foul used as a projectile. Oh come on, it's not like I'd use one of the big buffs, I'd pick one of the smaller rhode island chicks.
Ethan my precious, you're one more chance bucket is empty. The next time you ram into something, kick something ie; balls, books, Chloe, sister, or bug anyone for your general amusement you too will be faced with flying feathers of fury.
Don't worry Elijah isn't getting off the hook here. Luckily for him he finally settled into a nap. His latest discovery of spitting is not nearly as endearing as you would imagine. Although his latest mantra of "I didn't do it! Chloe did it" really is pretty cute.
So I turn the music up a little higher and dream of a day when I can once again smell the chili cooking on the stove.
Let's hope the trio lives long enough to see that day too.

One Crafty Mama...

NOT!!! I'm admittedly craft impaired. Luckily kids can make a craft out of anything. Currently Elaina is sporting some goggles she made out of an egg carton and large amounts of tape. Ethan has made a bird house out of a box, the rest of the egg carton and some plastic wrap. The birds will eat out of the egg cartons and live in the box. It's an "ice" day off from school so sitting at the table and cutting stuff with scissors seems the activity of choice which is better than watching Diego all day. Elaina may now be trying to fashion some sort of eye wear for the girls since she keeps taking them outside for short stints before coming back in and re-working them. Wire cutters have also been enlisted on Ethan's side. I'm not sure really where my crafty gene went. My sister and I spent days playing with paper dolls that we made. My sister would draw the girls on cardboard, we would cut them out and then trace clothes for them that we colored and cut out. I loved to work with clay, shaping and molding various forms/people/animals to then paint. I'm assuming what little imagination for the ordinary I had was transferred to my children at birth and that's why they are content to play with water bottles and a stick. My sister and I also loved forts and I live in fear every day that my kids will make some of the architectoral feats that we attempted. The dining table in the middle, chairs pulled out to every side, blankets draped over the top and sides to hide our cozy abode inside. Sounds fine, now pan out of the picture to see the toaster, crock pot and dutch oven on the table holding the blankets precariously on the table. Now try to imagine how that one blanket is actually staying firmly against the wall, could it be the 14 staples in the wall or when we ran out of staples the thumb-tacks or brads??? They are always amazed how we seem one step ahead of them in their quest for fun. I only pray we still will be in the teen years.