Come What May and Love It

the Candy Witch!

2011-10-30T06:27:00.000-07:00

A couple years ago, my friend Becky mentioned something about the Candy Witch visiting her house on Halloween night.

The Candy Witch?

I had no idea who she was. But I do now. And I am so glad.

Believe me--you want to meet her, too.

The general idea is this: your kids go trick or treating. They get buckets of candy. Approximately 314 more pieces of candy than they should ever eat. Enter the Candy Witch.

Let your kids choose some candy to keep. You can decide how much. We like 10 or 15 pieces. Then they have to put the rest in a big bowl and leave it on the front porch on Halloween night.

When they wake up in the morning, the candy has been whisked away, and in it's place??

A small gift for each child who decided to participate. (Last year they got new winter hats and gloves, along with a dollar store present.)

I have to tell you--I was a bit skeptical that my kids would give up their CANDY for ANYONE. But they loved it. Loved. And they're already so excited to see what the Candy Witch is going to bring this year.

And as far as what to do with the candy that the Witch whisks away?

Sort through it and keep the good stuff for stocking stuffers. ;)

Family Home Evening Chart: A(n attempt at a) Tutorial

2011-09-29T16:44:00.001-07:00

The Spouse declared the other day, "We need some kind of official family home evening chart."

I mean, yeah. We've needed one for years, but I guess it's about time.

So I scoured the Internets. I wanted something kind of fun, but not cheesy. And permanent. (I can't go remaking those wheel charts every other week.) Plus, I tend to mess stuff up, so it had to be easy and require NO sewing or sawing.

Finally, I found one that I liked here. But I wanted to make it mine.

Here's how it turned out...

First I went and created this chart do-hicky using my free software, Gimp. (Because I am too cheap for real photoshop.) Easy peasy.

I printed that out on cute scrapbook paper (I chose a very pale aqua-ish stripey one.) When you print it out, the pattern of the paper shows through on the monogram. Cool.

Now for the hard part: magnet boards.

Remember when these were all the rage??? What happened to them?! Why can't you buy them anymore? Some people said I could go to Lowes and have them cut some metal sheeting for me. But I didn't find that out until, you know, I'd already found a different solution:

That, my curious friends, is a magnetic line minder. I got it at Hobby Lobby for $4.00 in the cross stitch aisle. That comes from wandering, aimlessly, looking for ANYTHING resembling a magnet board.

Happy with my purchase, I took my nifty chart and I Modge Podged that sucker right on there. Yep. Only I'd never USED Modge Podge before, so I put too much on and the chart got ruined. Awesome. Not to fear, a little wiping off of some glue, I still had my spare (not quite as cute and with the edges a bit cut off) first try chart. Good enough for me.

After it was dry-ish, I sealed the whole thing with one of those "Acrylic Sealer" sprays. Mine was matte. (I don't know. It's what I had in the closet from some old project.) It makes it more durable. Although--just a note--don't be all impatient and stick magnets to it while the modge podge is still damp and before you spray it. They leave a black smudge. I'm just sayin'.

Now for the magnets.

I tried to be all fancy, like my original source, and do silhouettes, but that isn't happening anytime soon. So I finally just wrote each person's initial on some paper, craft glued it to the back of a clear marble, and then stuck on a self-adhesive magnet from Lake Shore. (Those are awesome. You should pick up a pack.) Took me 5 minutes.

Here's the final result:

I know. The magnet board is 8x11, so no frame. Yet. I'm sure they exist...somewhere. But even un-framed, it's flat and simple and I can have it out in my home. That's nice.

So there you go. Give it a try. You'll like it. (And just in case you want to give it a try, shoot me a note and I'll even send you the chart with your initial in the corner.)

Forget-me-not...

2011-09-24T20:03:00.000-07:00

Danke, Praesident Uchtdorf, fur Ihre botschaft. Ich habe es geliebt.

Typical Me.

2011-09-23T06:12:00.000-07:00

Today, I woke up and my first thought was "Yay! It's the first day of fall!!" I had planned a welcome fall party today for my kids and few friends. Just something small.

I thought about the 12 yards of black tulle that I used to make a cool wreath I found online. Something kind of spooky and new for our house. I thought about those 6 perfectly dipped caramel apples in our fridge, ready to be dipped in melted chocolate. Yum. Crafts, decorations, a fun fall movie. It is going to be a great day!

And then I got out of bed.

Which is when the reality of being me set in rather quickly.

The wreath... wilted... overnight.

Thing 3 puked at the breakfast table.

Out of desperation, I tried to eat one of the caramel apples for breakfast.

And almost broke a tooth.

These things are not edible.

AND, we have a flash flood warning because of rain "at rates of 1 to 5 inches per hour." At this point, I know exactly where that flash flood is going to happen.

To quote my favorite tv show, "Where's a cliff when you need one?"

Other Septembers...

2011-09-11T00:18:00.000-07:00

September 1999.

I am sad today.

I hope our whole country is sad today.

I was looking through old pictures last night, and came across this one. It's me when I was living in Los Angeles in 1999. A beautiful September day.

The world was a different place then.

I had no idea that two years later I would find myself living on the other side of the world on a glowing September morning, when a group of people would follow through on a decision I will never be able to comprehend.

We Americans didn't understand what it was to hate.

We really didn't.

And despite the people who tried to change that, I'd like to think we still don't.

Because love conquers hate. It will always win.

And it will always look forward, instead of back.

Memo.

2011-09-03T19:34:00.001-07:00

Dear Munchkin,

You have inherited my cankles. My profoundest apologies.

Love,

Mother

(Really, though, I just had to take a picture of those dirty little feet. I love dirty little feet.)

In Case of Emergency...

2011-09-03T19:22:00.000-07:00

*breathe in. breathe out. breathe in. breathe out*

Everyone (and I mean everyone) assured me that I would have moments where I freaked out. About homeschooling. Yep. They told me they would happen. I guess I thought that they would be justified. You know--that I would freak out on the days where we didn't get anything done and stuff.

But I didn't see them coming on clear blue sky, learning a bunch, feeling little nudges of inspiration that should be encouraging kind of days.

So, in my best Bridget Jones fashion, I refuse to be intimidated by something as lame as a panic attack, and I choose instead a good round of cleaning to a 90's dance mix while focusing on pictures like these...

And I tell myself, over and over, "You are not ruining your children, you are not ruining your children, you are not ruining your children..." (to the same beat as "This is the rhythm of the night...")

The Pink Panther and Castanets: a seminar

2011-08-30T17:53:00.000-07:00

School starts at 9:00 at our house.

But, really, when your home is your school--your kids wake up at school.

And to your great disappointment, they may NOT be as interested in your carefully planned out, well rounded curriculum, as they are in, say, playing the castanets and watching Pink Panther.

(Yes. I actually photoshopped that.

If only you knew how close this was to the reality of my life.)

I'm just saying, SOME kids might be like that.

And some moms *might* need a Frosty to get through the day. Maybe.

And while I was out getting a Frosty, it came to my attention today that we *may* need another little session in manners and, specifically, where it is appropriate to pee and where it is NOT appropriate to pee. I had this realization as Thing 2 was wailing about how badly he needed to pee, precisely three minutes after we got in the car and four minutes after I asked him if he needed to go before we left, and Thing 1 was listing off places he could go. None of which was an actual bathroom.

I swear I thought we covered this.

Maybe they couldn't hear over the castanets.

Turn and turn again...

2011-08-26T17:26:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, nothing turns out like you plan.

Not my life, though. I'm a planner.

Many years ago, my friend Taylor looked me in the eye and said "What are you going to do the first time God tells you 'no'??"

I guess I just figured, maybe He never would.

But fall is coming. And despite an almost desperate striving, I find that nothing much has changed.

The house has not sold.

The job is the same.

I have no pregnancy news to scrawl on the back of our thanksgiving cards.

I am afraid to think how this trend might apply to homeschooling.

Sometimes, nothing turns out like you plan. Sometimes, God tells us No.

Worn from walking this far

So worn from talking this much

And what we found and what we've seen

As the road curves down

And the lights come up to meet us

Silent for the evening

We enter this town like new born creatures

Those I know, Oh see anew

And the space between us is reduced

For I am human

and you are human too.

(All Thieves, Turn and Turn Again.)

(And yes, Carly. Inspired by you.)

Valiant.

2011-08-25T16:23:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those days that you wonder about, before you start homeschooling:

"What about the days when I wake up sick? What about the days when the kids don't want to do their work? How will I motivate them? What about the days when I'm moody and ornery and I bite their heads off??"

I had considered all these questions. I hadn't ever expected them to, you know, happen all at the same time. Which they did.

I kind of knew I was in trouble when I clawed my way towards consciousness and felt those sharp knife edges already making their presence known. Deep breaths.

I sat down at the breakfast table, still messy, while the kids watched cartoons, and flipped open a church magazine. This jumped off the page at me:

The first principle of the gospel is faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Faith may be viewed as faithfulness in the face of uncertainty. It is following the Lord, going forward without knowing the outcome. Following the Lord and being faithful to the end are the qualities most linked to eternal life. Of all that Paul might have otherwise said in summing up his amazing life and ministry, he merely would say that he was faithful. He wrote:
“For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.
“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:6–7; emphasis added).

Like Paul, we can be faithful. We can fight the good fight and stay the course, one day at a time. We can keep going come what may. Even when we think we can’t, we can." (Lawrence E. Corbridge.)

So that was my mantra today. I think I can, I think I can.

And we made progress. Albeit tiny. We did hard things, even if we didn't do all of them. We got the house beautiful for a showing, even though they didn't end up liking the house much. So, for today at least, I have fought a good fight.

I have finished my course.

And now it is time for some Nyquil.

Puck.

2011-08-24T18:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, Puck. That crazy hoodlum.

Shakespeare was a master and creating characters and dialogue. As an English major, I adore his sharp wit and incredible satire. But, I will admit, I never considered what it would be like to introduce my children to Shakespeare.

I think I always assumed it would happen in some high school class. Orange plastic chairs attached to desks. Motivational poster on the bulletin board. English teacher with barely concealed hippie past having the class read Romeo and Juliet, out loud, just for the joy of watching them blush before flipping on the edited version of the film, made in the 1960s.

That's how I met Shakespeare.
It's a miracle I ever learned to appreciate him.

But my kids met Shakespeare today. Ages 7, 4, and 2. And even more fun--they met Shakespeare via A Midsummer Night's Dream and the character of Puck.

As we lounged on a blanket on the floor, playing with blocks, and interrupting our reading to discuss some questions about volcanoes, they met these characters and rolled their names about in their mouths. Like candy.
Lisander.
Hermia.
Titania.
Oberon.

In life, I believe there is a before Shakespeare, and an after.
Welcome to the after. Day 1.

Ah, pickle juice.

2011-08-17T12:29:00.000-07:00

Our house has been on the market since March.

Which means two things:

1. My house has been clean for 5 months. I know. Yay me.

2. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold it together.

I mean, really.

I was wondering this even before lightning hit our backyard a week ago and fried the power to the whole front of our house. (It's always fun to leave THAT note taped to the door for a showing..."Sorry about the lack of lights in the bathroom, laundry room, and front bedroom. Trust us when we say it looks nice!")

And then the Munchkin dropped a full jar of pickle juice on the (new) carpet. Right in front of the front door. (Because she wanted to drink it and knew I wouldn't let her so she was, therefore, hiding from me. Of course.)

We're going to be here forever.

In other news...

2011-08-15T12:59:00.000-07:00

...and, just to make you feel better about yourself and the future of our country, I'm about to start homeschooling my children.

Maybe.

Probably.

I mean, we've been homeschooling all summer. And in those two and a half months we have learned about dolphins, dragonflies, and butterflies, among other things. We have completed workbooks, proving that we can, actually, accomplish something that can be measured in pages. We have read real, honest to goodness books, and my 4 year old is sounding out words. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I might be teaching him to read. Maybe. Probably.

But homeschooling in the summer (when everyone else is just wasting time anyway) and homeschooling in the fall (when everyone is dressed in super cute new outfits and toting sharp new pencils in their clean backpacks) are two very different matters. Because if I don't put my daughter in 2nd grade next week then, oh boy, have I gone and done it. Because suddenly, we've stepped off the forward-moving school train. Her classmates from the past two years will move on without us. And I'm left with my doubts and insecurities and worries and, not the least, budget.

Plus, I have a sneaking suspicion that on that first day of school, when everyone else has gotten on the bus, I'm going to look down at my kids and they're going to look up at me, and we're both going to have the same thought:

Now what????

See?? Don't you feel better about your life?! *grin*

Obligatory blog post.

2011-08-13T17:50:00.000-07:00

I was in Utah last week for my younger brother's wedding.

It was lovely. Both the wedding, and the trip.

For the record, it also happened to involve more motorcycles than I am comfortable with.

Anyway.

My younger brother berated me for not blogging more. Apparently he's more bored at work than I'd like to think about. So, just for him.

Tonight, my son was sitting at the table, writing in his journal. Suddenly, he looked at me and said "Mama, Caleb is my fake name."

"Oh, yes? And what is your real name?"

"Satellite."

"Satellite?? Where did you get that name? From planet earth, or a different planet?"

"Planet earth. From China."

That's it. I am now supposed to call him Satellite, which is fine, but how am I supposed to do that without singing it, a la the Dave Matthews song???

OBX.

2011-04-18T16:48:00.000-07:00

So, when we first moved to North Carolina, we started seeing stickers on cars. You know--the oval ones with black letters. They're everywhere. But all the ones here said the same thing: OBX.

It stands for Outer Banks.

But the Outer Banks are 7 hours from us. We could be to Washington DC in the same amount of time. Or only an hour from DisneyWorld. So we've never gone.

Besides--what's the big deal? A beach is a beach, right??? How great can it be?

Well.

We finally went.

And we loved it.

So, since I searched high and low for all the "best things to do, see, and eat" and couldn't find a good, concise list anywhere--here is mine.

Don't Miss (if you do nothing else, do these, and if you don't do them--lie and tell me you did...)

Currituck Lighthouse (I totally recommend climbing it) and the shops nearby.

Pig Man's Barbecue (oh. my. lawsie. I would drive 7 hours just for this. Eastern Carolina style heaven.)

Fishing on Nag's Head Pier at sunset. (You pay $10.00 for a 24 hour pass and rent a pole. You can buy tackle. Just to walk on the pier is $1.50 and it's cool to see what people catch.)

Kayaking the Pamlico Sound and exploring the waterfront of Manteo. (We loved this. So much.)

Best beach? We loved Currituck and Duck best.

Nice, but optional:

Bodie Lighthouse and Hatteras Lighthouse (I was surprised that I didn't love these more. Bodie Island was the cooler of the two, oddly enough.)

Roanoke Island Festival Park (We really liked this a lot, and the Adventure section was perfect for little kids. If you've got the time, I recommend.)

Owen's Restaurant in Nag's Head (I mean, it was good. But average entree was $25+. I thought it was a bit expensive for what you got.)

The Wright Brothers Memorial (The most impressive part, to me, was the monument. I loved the engraving: "Conceived by genius, achieved by dauntless resolution and unconquerable faith." Awesome.)

Jockey Ridge State Park (With teenagers? A blast. With little kids? A drag. The picnic sites were nice, though.)

The reasons we'll go back?

To see Ocracoke.

Fear.

2011-03-19T02:29:00.001-07:00

The world is in turmoil.

Japan.

Bahrain.

Libya.

Wisconsin.

Putting our house on the market.

Potty training.

Nothing seems right with the world.

But this week I was reminded on a time in my life. (A younger time.) When I used to tell myself that fear either meant STOP ("No, beloved idiot girl, don't move to Portland with no plans in place...") or fear meant GO ("Yes, scaredy cat, move to Los Angeles and take that job..."). It meant that I was absolutely moving in the direction that I shouldn't go... or that I should.

So, for now--for my sanity--I'm going to go with *should* on this one. Things are just as they should be. Even if they feel like they shouldn't be.

1,000 Words....

2011-03-14T05:28:00.001-07:00

Yup. That's my life in a nutshell.

Oh good. It looks like "Dopey" and "Sleepy" are well and accounted for, what the heck happened to "Happy"?! Did "Grumpy" push his face off the table, or what? Good thing Prince Charming is willing to carry Snow White off into the sunset, even with all her 7 dwarf baggage and chunks of her that are completely missing...

I've gotta find those missing pieces. They must be around here somewhere.

My Unedited Life: What?? This isn't normal??

2011-02-13T16:59:00.001-08:00

So. A couple times in the (very) recent past, I have found reason to pause and analyze my life and parenting a little bit.

The first happened at the veterinarian's a couple weeks ago. Our cat, Cat, had an oozing eye. And she was overdue for her shots by... oh... I don't know. Forever. So we made an appointment and went in.

For those of you who are pet-less, you may not know the joy that kids take in taking pets to the doctor. Because there is absolutely NO chance that they'll be getting a shot. Plus, vets are much more likely to let them play with a stethoscope that their actual doctor. (I swear. It's like the pediatrician thinks they have cooties. Why would she think that???)

I digress.

We get to the vets. Cat in cat carrier. Waiting our turn. All is well. We finally get called in to the room, and the vet begins to work with our cat. After a few minutes, three things happen simultaneously:

1. Thing 2 tries to jump up on the table because he's a "doggy",

2. The Munchkin bites my rump good and hard, since she's not the one getting the attention,

3. Thing 1 passes out COLD because she's sees a needle on the counter.

Herr Doctor looks at me with this face that says "Are you FOR REAL????"

I look back, as I'm dragging Thing 1 out the door by her shoulders, trying to muster up a look that conveys "What?? This doesn't happen all the time??"

The next thing was this past week when I took my kids to the store. The Munchkin had marker all over her face and was wearing a Minnie dress, Thing 2 was wearing really short shorts and a pajama top with galoshes on the wrong feet, and Thing 1 decided now would be a good time to roll her eyes back in her head and drool, just for fun.

Where did I go wrong???

"There is no such thing as natural beauty..."

2011-02-03T17:36:00.000-08:00

This morning I looked in the mirror and my Dolly Pardon was looking back at me. The Dolly Pardon I remember in 1987. And while I love Dolly, I'm being perfectly candid when I say that no one wants to look like Dolly Pardon in 1987.

I am a disgrace to Southern women everywhere.

So I rushed to my nearest Target (since the closest Piggly Wiggly is an hour away) and left with an armful of things to get my pretty back.

Crest Whitestrips (on sale!)

Nair (shudder. winter legs.)

BORN BLONDE hair dye

Then I called my sister and on-call beautician to ask how to dye just the roots of my hair. She got all complicated and started using chemical terms like "toner" and "overprocessed." I kind of lost her at "don't overlap the dye with your already bleached hair. Because it might fall out if you do." Whaaaa?? You mean I can't just slather it on like shampoo???

Carefully pulling out the directions, they said to start in the back of my head. Which I can't see. That's when I knew that they contained nothing helpful and tossed 'em in the trashcan.

So here I sit. My teeth are so sensitive after half an hour of whitening that I feel like I'm biting down on a frozen creamsicle. I smell like a chemical refinery, but at least the hair is gone from my legs. And based on the tingling coming from my head, I think I might have put Nair on my head by mistake.

Am I pretty yet????

Upstaged.

2011-01-31T20:50:00.000-08:00

We are frantically "staging" our house so that we can put it on the market.

Notice I didn't say "sell it" because, well, who are we kidding?

Anyway.

Part of staging means repainting every single room in our house.

And some furniture.

Saturday, me and my back were still at odds, but we were getting along well enough to help paint one room and spray paint a dresser. What was once an off white and gold reminder of a bygone era was now Pottery Barn white. *chorus of angels singing*

For all of one day.

Which is when Thing 1 christened it. With charcoal drawing pencils.

sigh.

Oh well.

Down for the count.

2011-01-28T14:28:00.001-08:00

There is a lovely woman in my congregation who comes every Sunday.

She is always dressed immaculately.

She stands at the back, rigid and unmoving. Her walk looks carefully calculated.

She has "back problems."

And I've looked at her sometimes and thought "Man, that has to be hard."

Then, this morning, I leaned over to help Thing 2 get on his jeans, and my back said "If I could get your attention for a minute, and please don't take this personally, I just wanted let you know that I'm going on strike. My lawyers will be in touch."

Agony and curses.

So, after one day, I can now tell you that you use your lower back for:

bending,

lifting,

twisting,

making your legs move,

sitting up,

standing,

and breathing.

Without it, doing those things can be next to impossible.

Who knew?

And so, as a penitent, I just wanted to say to that lady at my church every Sunday:

I can't believe you got dressed.

How did you get your shoes on?!

How do you even get out of bed???

You are a rockstar.

Falling...

2011-01-19T18:16:00.001-08:00

So. Wait. Where was I before my computer ate it??

Oh, yes.

Things to love.

Well, it just so happens that my own true love and I fell in love right smack dab in the middle of the dreariest,

yuckiest,

grayest,

coldest,

drabbest,

longest

time of year.

Which is an unusual blessing of sorts, really.

Because it doesn't matter that my Happy Lamp fell off the counter and got broken, along with my computer. It doesn't matter that we've used up so many school snow days that, from here on our, the kids are supposed to go to school on Saturdays. It doesn't even matter that I'm stuck on a weight loss plateau that would give the Tibetan Plateau a run for it's money. (Google: World's largest plateau.)

Nope.

Because back in 2003, I was in possession of a periwinkle colored parka and a brand new love. December was longing for the phone to ring and hoping it'd be him.

January was holding hands and first kisses.

February was head over heels and him IN LOVE with me.

Best. winter. ever.

And every winter, it whispers to me across the years. I'll find myself suddenly smiling and loving the fog and the frost--for so many memories that I've nearly forgotten that come back to the surface in the dead of winter.

Who knew winter could be so warm?

Whispers.

2011-01-02T06:41:00.000-08:00

Every year, on the first Sunday of the year, we get to change what time we go to church.

So last year was a flurry of up and out and ready by 8:15 to make the 9:00 service. Hilarity and tears often ensued.

This year, church starts at 11:00. So instead of rushing, this morning found me

sitting on the living room floor,

reading books to my children,

cutting out pictures of Jesus to look at during church,

and playing with bouncy balls and laughing our heads off.

And a tiny voice whispered "This is how it could be. This is how homeschooling could be."

And my heart felt a little braver.

But not yet brave enough. Not yet.

But closer.

Accounting.

2011-01-01T07:08:00.000-08:00

Happy New Years, everyone.

This morning, I am sitting here gazing at my folder of resolutions for 2011. Thinking about what I want to do, try, fix, change, and be. But that requires some reflection on last year.

Which is why I'm sitting here looking at my original handwritten list of goals.
In so many ways, I don't feel like I accomplished anything in 2010. I am the same weight, give or take. I am still impatient, restless, and stubborn.
But I do have a couple checks to add to my list, bringing my completed total to 54.

In 2010, I became a beekeeper.
I visited Washington DC and the Smithsonian for the first time.
And I truly did improve my ability to take pictures with my point and shoot camera.

I feel blessed by those goals. I feel grateful for every check I get to add to my list, since none of them are a given.

So, what for 2011?
I don't think I'll be seeing the Himalayas this year. Tahiti isn't really realistic either. I pause over the "Have a lot of kids" goal. I'm glad I didn't specify a number. Like 9. But I don't feel like I can check it off, at 3.

I am training for Kilimanjaro, with a goal to save the money and make the climb in 2014. So that's something.

But for 2011???

My 17 year old self didn't think to add things like "Speak softly" or "Give vegetarianism a try."
Maybe this is the year to do something I haven't done and actually add some new numbers to my list...

My girls.

2011-01-01T07:01:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, my two oldest kids requested powdered mini-donuts for breakfast on New Year's Day.

I thought, "That sounds easy. So, yes."

This morning, bright and early, Thing 1 came bounding in to our bedroom and declared "It's the great day!!!!!!" I can only hope that the same tone of "glory-be" applied to donuts for breakfast will be as evident on her own wedding day.

I got up as Thing 1 and Thing 2 danced around me in raptures and went to get the Munchkin out of her crib. She looked up at me, with her sweet eyes, and asked me if I "sleep good?" Scooping up my snuggly, bed-head baby girl, I asked her if she wanted a donut for breakfast.

She threw back her head and wailed "NOOOOOOOO! I WANT BANANA! I WANT GWAPE-FWUIT!"

And she wasn't even kidding.

This year, I wanna be more like my girls.

Public school homeschool: snow and winter...

2010-12-28T09:10:00.000-08:00

I am a homeschool mom at heart, but my kids are in public school.

And that is every bit as complicated as it sounds.

We are figuring out how to educate our kids, which we challenge on an almost daily basis.

I want to homeschool.

I do.

But I'm afraid, I guess.

Is it possible to homeschool when you suffer from depression? Will the drive and dedication required lift you out of the pit, or plunge you further into it?

I don't have the answers to those questions yet, and I won't risk my children's minds on my own uncertainty, and so my kids attend public school and preschool. But I have such a tremendous love and appreciation for homeschooling philosophies and truths, that we supplement here at home all the time.

All of this just to explain why I put together units--this week, a unit worth sharing with your kids on snow and snowflakes.

(Note: these are patterned on the idea of Five in a Row. There is a central book you read, every day, for the whole week. Then you do science one day, art one day, geography one day, etc. Reading and math can happen daily.)

Our daily-read books...

For beautiful children's literature in our Charlotte Mason moments, I really love Snow by Uri Shulevitz and The Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats. (Both classics, of course.)

For science...

Do me a favor, ok? Pick up one of Ken Libbrecht's Snowflake books. These books are photographs of actual flakes--I love the "art" version, but there's also a cool Field Guide. Spend an afternoon gazing at snowflakes with your children. If you live in a place where you HAVE snow, then follow that up by catching some snowflakes on black paper. Spend some time in the stillness of winter and just LOOK at some snowflakes. See if you can recognize all the different kids, and decide which is your favorite. It's nearly impossible to do. Ask questions. Be curious. Then go and find out--how do snowflakes form? Why are they each different? How many snowflakes are in a snowball???

Once you're done playing outside, then how about making a real snowflake out of crystals? (This project uses a jar, boiling water, Borax, and some pipe cleaners.) Find instructions here.

For art...

While you wait for that to set overnight, create a winter wonderland with paper snowflakes--a perfect challenge for fine motor skills in little ones. I always wanted to learn to make BEAUTIFUL snowflakes, like my mom, so if you're a little challenged, then you can catch any number of tutorials online or on youtube, or invest in a book like Snowflakes for All Seasons or Snowflakes: Creative Paper Cutouts. (Both on Amazon or Half.com.)

For geography...

How about a unit on Russia, to go along with Snow, or a unit on New York City if you're going for The Snowy Day. Make some ethnic food, learn some words in Russian, and talk about where it snows and where it doesn't, and why.

So, jump in and join us for a unit on snow!!

All the things to love about winter...

2010-12-28T08:45:00.001-08:00

In no particular order...

Lacy patterns of frost on your car windows, which you have time to appreciate as you scrape them off every morning.
Early sunsets mean early bedtimes.
Hot drinks like hot chocolate, hot cider, and hot tang. (Did I just admit that out loud?)
Comfy jeans and sweatshirts.
The annual New Year's Eve countdown (to 8:00) and accompanying smashing of the gingerbread house. (I call dibs on the hard gummi bears.)
New Years Resolution spreadsheets, calendars, and themes. (I'm considering "Fake it til you make it" or "Spare Me the Drama" for 2011.)
Closure.
Winter scented soaps and lotions--peppermint vanilla or grapefruit, depending on if it's night or morning.
Pink cheeks.
Hot stew.
Red cardinals on bare branches.
Coming in out of the cold.
winter sunrises
fleece
Finding things to look forward to.
Life going slower.
Making plans.
Winter movies (Little Women, While You Were Sleeping, Sleepless in Seattle, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire...)
Messing up when you write the date of the new year.
How clean your house can look with all the Christmas decorations put away.
Getting back into routines and schedules.
Celebrating greatness in mediocre ways. (When's the last time you went all out for President's Day???)
At least having Netflix to look forward to in the mail.
Rearranging rooms and furniture to placate wanderlust.
Prisms hanging in windows that cast winter rainbows on the walls.
Super hot showers.
Waking up early and getting to doze in your warm, comfortable bed with your sweetheart.

Even in winter--there is always so much to love, don't you think?

Echo.

2010-12-27T17:15:00.001-08:00

A tiny voice inside me has been whispering that she would like to write again.

I have told her, repeatedly, to hush.

I point to the house that's a wreck,

the depression that just. won't. quit,

and the fact that I ran out of things to write several months ago, which led to a neglected blog that is now quite empty.

I remind her that people with depression, like me, tend to be--for lack of a better phrase--kind of a downer. And the very last thing that a month like January needs?

A downer.

But she is such a pest, and she insists that she would like to write.

My apologies.

I tried to tell her...

Merry Christmas, Darling.

2010-10-17T19:17:00.000-07:00

I asked The Spouse what he wanted for Christmas the other night, and without batting an eye, he said "An American Girl Doll."

I pondered this. It made sense. Most of members of this household want one. Maybe he was feeling left out.

But he was fairly quick to explain that, unlike those of us who daydream about tea parties on miniature tea sets that cost so much Thomas Jefferson might have made them in his spare time at Monticello, his desire is for purely financial reasons. He seems to have noticed that they are the most secure investment on the planet right now. You can buy one of these dolls, brand new, for $95.00 from American Girl. Or you can get on e-bay and get the same thing for $234. A new outfit on the official site: $32. On e-bay: $46. Even those of us that aren't so good at math can see which one is more.

Well, I live to please.

I just can't wait until I get to tell the Fed-Ex guy that the dolly is for my husband. *smirk*

Land Ho!!

2010-10-11T11:17:00.000-07:00

Happy Columbus Day, everyone.

This morning we got up and made stick-puppets about the Columbus story. Complete with Moneybags King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. (Who, by the way, was 9 when Columbus sailed. NINE. No wonder she wanted to give him the money.) Anywho, we took our Window Markers and decorated the windows of our car with the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. Then we wrote "Happy Columbus Day!" on the back window. I believe in offending people as much as possible. Because it's good for them.

So we set out to explore and discover--to find a new world.

Before the morning was out, my children yelled out with excitement "LAND! LAAAAAAND!" Hands waving and pointing frantically.

At a McDonalds.

So, we made landfall and ate McNuggets.

The irony is delicious.

Halloween is on a Sunday? Uuuuuh...

2010-10-10T14:05:00.000-07:00

So, has the debate started for you guys?

Halloween is on a Sunday this year.

Do you dress your kids up and take them trick or treating?

If you don't, do you answer the door for other trick or treaters?

What about the mutiny that will ensue if you go that route?

Maybe we could give out Pass-Along cards and dress up as Mormon missionaries? Would that make it ok? Are we willing to live with the title Scariest House on the Block, forever after?

I've been feeling this out among friends. I had assumed that, like Utah, the Bible Belt would just automatically celebrate Halloween the night before if Halloween fell on a Sunday. But it appears that I assumed wrong, even among my Latter-day Saint friends.

Well, SHOOT. Now what do I do?

I've decided to put on my big girl panties and do something that is TOTALLY out of character for me: invite my neighbors on my street to come to MY house for a Halloween Eve party. I know. You should've SEEN the look the Spouse gave me when I suggested it. Because I don't even GO to these things, let alone HOST these things.

But I'm feelin' pretty strongly about this whole "Sabbath day holy" thing, so I'm trying to follow the prompting to do something about it.

I'm attaching a printable large .jpg file for a Halloween Eve invitation, if you don't want to make your own. If you're having trouble deciding how to celebrate this year, join us--save this to your computer, print it (I went easy on the graphics to save ink), fill it out, stick it in your neighbor's mailboxes (tape a sucker to it, for added incentive), and then wait for them to stand you up... oh... I mean, come.

Hey. At least we'll be able to say we tried.

Books for Autumn...

2010-10-10T13:02:00.000-07:00

One of the ways that my kids and I really get into any season is the books that we read and the movies we watch (over and over again). For me, autumn is divided distinctly into two separate portions: early autumn, ending with Halloween, and late autumn which encompasses my favorite holiday: Thanksgiving.

My Thanksgiving choices will come later. But following are some of my Early Fall favorites.

Owl Babies, by Martin Waddell, is considered a classic for good reason. Chances are that you've read it, but if you haven't, treat yourself and your kids to a new favorite. My kids really started loving this one at ages 3 and up.

Creepy Castle, by John S. Goodall, has no written narration, but it is one of our family's favorites. Given to us when my oldest was born, we can tell and retell this story over and over again. My kids love to play different parts in the story, and everyone throws their head back and cackles when the bad Rat appears. A fun, fast read for kids of all ages from 1 and up.

I don't own many Halloween books, but the illustrations in this one delighted me, and so we added it to our collection this year. Ghosts in the House by Kazuno Kohara is the most asked for book in our house right now--delightfully fun and not at all spooky, it's the kind of book you don't mind reading out loud 100 times. Appropriate for ages 1 and up.

This might not seem like an obvious fall/Halloween book, but The Monster at the End of this Book by Jon Stone, is well entrenched into our fall repertoire. The kids LOVE to act like the pages weigh a ton when they turn them, and who doesn't love Grover?? This one deserves a place on your year-round shelf.

Now, the two DVDS that we love for fall and Halloween...

No explanation needed really--both about fall and harvest, we got Tinkerbell and the Lost Treasure when it came out last fall and we all dig it, but our true fall favorite has to be Wallace and Gromit in The Curse of the Were Rabbit, keeps our family laughing, and will definitely be the family pick for our Halloween Eve celebrations this year.

Christmas Shopping.

2010-09-21T18:19:00.000-07:00

I am Christmas shopping these days. I think it's because it's 90 degrees outside and "I need a little Christmas, right this very minute."

I ordered Thing 1's main gift--an American Girl doll. I ordered her from the catalog, over the phone. I was so excited that I didn't want to purchase her online. I wanted someone to share the joy with me--which "Carol" seemed happy to do. When the box came, I was giddy with joy. I hope my daughter is even HALF as excited as I am about this gift. It is hard to find "just the thing."

The older my kids get--the more thought that I find myself putting into their three gifts--trying to find that one "thing" that will fill their every heart's desire. Last year was such a tremendous and lovely Christmas that I have missed it all year long. I still do. But I find myself stressing about how to make this year just as magical.

But, I remember, one of the things that made last year so great was that I bought them each their three, carefully selected gifts, stowed them away, and spent the rest of the month listening to music and serving other people and enjoying my children, while they're still little and carry magic with them wherever they go. It had nothing to do with the gifts, really.

So maybe I'm just trying to hurry things along a bit.

Yeah. I think that's a definite possibility.

Blue.

2010-09-19T20:38:00.000-07:00

Dear Spouse,

Hello. I hope you are having a nice business trip. I dyed a batch of laundry blue, somehow, because doing the laundry is your job around here, mostly, and I forgot how to do it.

I am "blue" without you.

Love you.

PS--I'm sorry about your clothes.

Kodak Moment.

2010-09-12T19:23:00.000-07:00

Aw, her first time out as a two year old.

Happy Birthday, Munchkin.

While You Were Blogging...

2010-09-02T06:23:00.000-07:00

You have GOT to be kidding me.

Patience.

Count to 10.

....

Through the Looking Glass...

2010-09-02T05:20:00.000-07:00

This past weekend found me in Washington DC wandering by myself among the Smithsonian and National museums. Climbing the stacks so that I could trace my fingers gently along the spines of books in the Main Reading Room, and requesting special editions from their Rare Books section. Happy as a tornado in a trailer park, I'm afraid.

I also spent quite a bit of time in the West and East buildings of the National Gallery of Art. Most people in Washington were at the rally on the southern end of the mall, and it seemed like everyone else had fled, so I had the museums almost completely to myself. Perfect.

I have a strange method of visiting art museums. I enter each room and approach only one painting in that room--whichever one draws me in first. Some I'm drawn to because I know and love the artist, so it's like greeting an old friend. (J.M.W. Turner and the Dutch masters, le sigh.) Others draw me in almost against my will, like I'm trapped in their web.

I was alone in the French Impressionists exhibit, placed strangely in the East Building and not the West, when I felt someone watching me. The feeling was so strong that I turned my head, expecting to see a curator or security guard, and instead locked eyes with this painting:

I knew the man at once--Edgar Degas. Famous for his ballerinas. I approached his self portrait slowly until I was only inches from it.

"Hello, Mr. Degas," I muttered like a crazy person, "it's nice to meet you."
Then I just stood there, waiting for this painting to teach me something.
His eyes hold a hint of uncertainty, like he isn't quite sure what to make of what he's seeing. And it has the eerie effect of making me feel like he's looking back me. I can't help but wonder what he would think of what he saw, if it were my face looking back at him. Like a window. Because, quite honestly, sometimes I'm not sure myself. If it were me he were about to paint, and not himself, what would I see reflected on the canvas? Where would he even begin?

His eyes seem to say "I don't know what to think of you."
"Tell me about it." I mutter back.

Later on, in the museum shop, I found the perfect mug to summarize my meeting with Mr. Degas, my perusal of the largest library in the world, and my own tears upon seeing the Washington Monument reflected in the Potomac River...

I am still learning. -Michelangelo

"Listen, Listen!"

2010-08-24T16:34:00.001-07:00

Tonight was our back-to-school dinner. After debating considering "Choose the Right" for our theme, The Spouse and I decided to instead emphasize the theme "Listen, Listen!"

I made a table centerpiece by stacking some books in the center and then scattering crayons the length of the table runner. This year's hats were cone party-hats that I'd written "Listen, Listen!" on. They always love the hats.

We made homemade fortune cookies this year and tucked in our own "fortunes". Thing 1's fortune was "You will make other people in your class happy!" Thing 2's was "You will make a great new friend this year!" The Munchkin's was "You will be the best singer in your class!" And me? I will, apparently, be mastering the art of cartwheels. (Recipe for fortune cookies here. The only thing I changed was to add a little bit of water and dip them in melted chocolate.)

All of this celebrating to go along with a primary song that goes "Listen to the still small voice-- listen, listen! When you have to make a choice, He will guide you, always."

There are lots of ways that my children need to learn to listen. They will need to listen to their teachers when they say it's time to clean it up. Get it out. Line up. Get ready to go home. They will need to listen to their peers to navigate the intricate ins and outs of making childhood friends. I hope they have listened--really listened--when I've told them how much I love them, and that I always will. No matter what. But more than anything else, I hope that they come to really know and listen to that still small voice this year. Always.

Out and About: Queens Road West

2010-08-24T10:12:00.000-07:00

(We just didn't have streets like this
where I grew up.
Sometimes I wonder if my children realize
how insanely beautiful this place is.)

My Unedited Life: Curb Appeal.

2010-08-21T19:44:00.001-07:00

We've decided that we're going to sell our house.

Let me rephrase that.

We've decided NOT to participate in the ongoing housing "slump" and put our "dream starter home" on the market. In 6 months. Because if you saw my "late-century bungalow" you'd hand me a shovel and say, "Are you sure 6 months is long enough?"

As you can see, this is going to take some work.

I sat down today and began making my list. At the top I wrote: THINGS THAT NEED TO BE DEALT WITH. It was tempting to begin with things like "Get a new mailbox to replace the one that the neighbor's friend ran over when she was tipsy in the middle of the day" or "Finish painting the cupboard doors white sometime this century." Maybe even perhaps "Sell all the furniture on craigslist, use the money to hire a staging company, and run for the hills."

But, after giving it some more serious thought, it seemed like the most obvious thing to put on the list would be "Buy flood insurance and pray for 40 days of rain."

If you need me in the meantime, I'll be in the kitchen with a paintbrush.

What Dreams May Come..

2010-08-19T19:08:00.000-07:00

It feels like summer is never going to end. It really does. Day after endless day of more than 90 degree weather, and not even the swimming pool is appealing any more.

School starts next week.

I am going to miss my daughter. Who will draw mermaids with me? Who will give me constant dance recitals? Who will answer when I go looking for her and find her room empty?

I think I hate school.

But she is thrilled.

I am trying to be thrilled for her.

But I have thought of one good thing: if she's going back to school, then surely fall is on it's way. Surely the leaves will change and the humidity will confine itself to Florida, like it's supposed to. And I'm watching for those subtle signs--the trees that I consider canaries in the mine. Their leaves are the first to change.

I thought I saw some tinged with red this week.

Someday, fall will come.

Midsummer's Eve...

2010-06-22T14:20:00.000-07:00

The days are hot now.

In a lot of ways, it feels like August, but it's only June.

It's the kind of heat that makes you lay on the living room floor with the fan on, eating a popsicle, and listening to Christmas carols on i-tunes.

Not that I do that.

But sometimes, instead of fighting the heat, all the time, I remind myself to just be embraced by it. To turn my face to the sun, let the waves rise off the pavement and curve around my legs and shoulders and face, and enjoy it. And while I can't do it for very long, it's pretty amazing for a few moments to be on the receiving end of so much light and warmth. Magic.

Magic how, in the summer, even when the sun goes down--other lights just come out to play.

Happy Midsummer, to you and yours.

Love at 7 Years...

2010-06-08T05:14:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was our anniversary. I handed my Beloved his card and gift as I poured cereal with the other hand and tried to convince Thing 2 that a popsicle wasn't the best breakfast choice. He remains unconvinced.

For our anniversary date, we hired our favorite sitter so we could ride our bikes to the pool and go swimming. All by ourselves. Fabulous.

We went to dinner afterwards and sat behind a couple who were celebrating their 57th anniversary. They were beautiful.

It made me think of how much I have to look forward to.

Love at 7 years is different than love on day 1.

It might not be as pretty.

But it's better in every other way.

Thank you, Beloved. I was starstruck.

North Carolina

2010-06-06T15:18:00.000-07:00

When people come to visit me here, they always say something to the effect of "North Carolina isn't how I pictured it." When I ask them what they did picture, they can never quite say... but it isn't this.

I had never been to North Carolina before I moved here, either. And it surprised me, too. What did I expect? Well. Honestly? Nascar, smokers, rednecks, trailer parks, fried food, snakes, and humidity. I think that pretty much sums it up.

But now I'm in my sixth year here, and I am happy to say that I continue to be delightfully surprised.
By the darting, disappearing tails of bunnies across my lawn.
By flashes of red and the call of songbirds.
By the soft curve and rise and fall of fields of corn, wheat, okra, soy, and cotton.
By the unending parade of blossoms that begins in March and continues through the summer: Bradford pear, dogwood, azalea, rhododendron, japonica, and crepe myrtle.
By the spiciness that accompanies the return of humidity.
By summer fogs, when I still think that fog should be something that happens in the winter.
By the first cool humidity-free breeze in the fall.

There's something magical about a place that is so unexpected.
You never know what you'll find next.

Five in a Row: The Story About Ping

2010-05-30T14:23:00.000-07:00

A'right, this isn't going to interest some of you, but I'm hoping that some of you might come play along and join us for our attempt at summer learning. School isn't even OUT yet, but we just couldn't wait to start our summer unit studies. I decided that we were going to do a program called Five in a Row, which is a simple and easy to follow curriculum--with tons of room for fitting it into your family, schedule, and life. The basic idea is that they give you one book to study each week. You read it for 5 days in a row, and include activities that build on the story and all the subjects found within the story. We are having a BLAST--so I decided to share what we're doing. Come play along.

Our first unit features The Story of Ping by Marjorie Flack.

We supplemented the text with these books, among others, for our subjects:

Basically, I just went to my library and grabbed a bunch of books on China.

Social Studies and Georgraphy Unit: A-Z China was fantastic because it threw in a lot of cultural information, along with some Chinese vocabulary. I wondered if my kids were old enough to get into The Emperor's Silent Army, but Thing 1 really took to it, and my husband and I were fascinated by it. We also made our own maps of China, with the basic map coming from Apples4theteacher--click here.

Math Unit: Count Your Way Through China wasn't as valuable for the text as it was for teaching us to count from 1-10 in Chinese:

1 - Yee
2 - Uhr
3 - Sahn
4 - Suh
5 - Woo
6 - Lyo
7 - Chee
8 -Bah
9 - Jo
10 - Shur

Yes, I typed that from memory. I am so proud of myself. So, we learned to count in Chinese for math, but we also spent some time adding and subtracting ducks. In the book it says that Ping has a huge family of aunts, uncles, and cousins--it was fun to take away the aunts and see how many were left. To do this, we used little counting ducks we have, but you could use anything to represent the ducks--even beans. It was great fun.

Science: Floating, diving, swimming, currents. Domestic ducks and wild ducks. YouTube videos of cormorants fishing for their masters. Why is the Yangtze River yellow? There are a LOT of science possiblities in Ping!

Language Arts and Art: For our art unit, we studied the pictures--the reflections in the water, and the way that the artist used ink and then filled it in with colored pencils. I pointed out that he only used the primary colors, and then layered them to create secondary colors. Then we grabbed some paper and played around with ink/colored pencil drawings, using only red-yellow-and blue. They turned out surprisingly well for 5 and 3 year olds. We also printed out basic maps of China and filled in broad areas--mountains, deserts, green tropical areas, cold areas, the major cities and rivers, and--of course--the Great Wall.

Kid's Movies to Go With: Ni-Hao Ki Lan series and Disney's Mulan.

Finally, for our field trip, we went to a local Chinese restaurant and had dinner. The kids greeted the owner with a friendly Ni-hao! And asked her how to say "thank you" -- "xie xie" (it sounds like "shia shia").

Next up--Lentil by Robert McCloskey (of Blueberries for Sal and Make Way for Ducklings fame.) It promises to be wonderful--grab it at your library and read along! :)

List of authors: The Story About Ping by Marjorie Flack, A-Z China by Junstine and Ron Fontes, The Seven Chinese Brothers by Margaret Mahy, Count Your Way Through China by Jim Haskins, The Emperor's Silent Army by Jane O'Connor, We Come From China by Julia Waterlow.

Bloom.

2010-05-25T19:01:00.001-07:00

My garden has become a jungle.

Remember the picture of me digging my bare toes into the dirt?
I doubt I could find a spot to stand now.

And I love it.

But I have this one tomato plant...
HEY! I saw your eyes glaze over. *snaps fingers* This is a good story.

Where was I?
Oh. My tomato plant.

Well this tomato plant has decided that it wants to recreate Jack and the Beanstalk in my front garden. The thing is very nearly as tall as me. An overachiever. I mean--it's not even supposed to grow the big tomatoes. Just little cherry ones that I will pop into my mouth when I walk by and, on occasion, slip to my kids because they LOOK like fruit and then watch as they spit them out and glare at me. It never gets old.

But yesterday I came home and it had toppled over--cage and all. Flop. Right on top of the blueberry bush.

"Ger'off!" I pushed at it with all my might. It eyed me for a second before stubbornly flopping back over. I called my husband to come out and help me. We both tugged it upright again. Only now it looked like it was pouting.

Sheesh. Who knew a tomato plant could act like a teenager?

Then there are the squash. They somehow took a wrong turn and think they're in the Amazon. Small children could congregate in their shade and start a new colony.

I don't even like squash that much, and it looks like they're going for the gold. The harvest has the potential to reach "grundle" in size.

If you find an anonymous paper bag of squash on your front seat--it wasn't me.
If you find a GIGANTIC tomato plant plopped on your front porch smoking weed (HAHAHA!), well, that, I'll have to admit--might've been me.

Can You Hear Me Now?

2010-05-20T04:53:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning, after an interrupted night's sleep (because The Munchkin never read Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child and doesn't know that we're all supposed to be OVER THAT by now) and decided "Today's the day I take control!"

Heaven only knows why.

Any by "take control" I mean that I announced to my children "Today is a no TV day!"
My brain in my head screamed, in chorus with them, "WHAT?!?!?!?!?!"
"Yup" I chirped, like someone possessed, "today we're going to play outside and use our imaginations and have FUN!"
The real me in my head clamored "BUT HOW AM I GOING TO TAKE A SHOWER?!" while Thing 2 started screaming for Blue's Clues.
"Maybe we'll even like it so much we'll turn it into No TV WEEK!" continued the Crazy Lady that somehow took charge today over the screams of her offspring.

Well. If I'm jumping off the cliff, might as well really go for it.
No TV.
No candy.
No giving in to the three year old when he pitches tantrums that would impress even Ghengis Khan. Which may be his new nickname, by the way.
Yup. Today, I'm going to be the kind of mom I always intended to be in the first place. Even if I now realize that the mom I always intended to be was probably a complete maniac.

Fake it 'til you make it, right girls?

Speechless.

2010-05-17T04:55:00.000-07:00

Last night I asked Thing 1 to put on a pull-up.
She asked me why.
I told her "Because you drank a lot at dinner and I don't want you to wet your bed."
Minutes later, she asked me if she could have a glass of milk. I said no. She asked why.
I told her "Because you drank a lot at dinner, and I don't want you to wet your bed."

This morning, I found that she had gotten up in the night to go to the bathroom, taken off her pull up...

and peed all over the couch.

There are no words.

All Hail the Queen...

2010-05-15T18:47:00.001-07:00

I have had a nerve wracking week.

Last Saturday, I took my friend, Merriweather, who was visiting from Maine to go and check on my bees and see how they were settling into their new hive. Well. They were downright ornery (meaning, they kept flying at me and buzzing and generally acting like bouncers). And I couldn't find my queen. I was so flustered by my own inexperience that I just hurriedly put the hive back together and ran away.

All week, I've been thinking about my queen.

A hive must, absolutely must, have a queen. They can't survive without her. They depend on her to give the colony cohesiveness and direction. They count on her for more baby bees, to keep the hive strong and healthy. Just by her mere presence, she sets the tone for every bee in my hive. All 10,000 of them, and counting.

But without my queen? Well. Without a queen, the workers start just wandering around like teenagers at the mall, being promiscuous without any clue of the consequences. It doesn't take long at all for the colony to shrivel and fail without their queen.

So I've been anxious about her. Without her, I fail.

Today, my mentor (bless him) met up with me and we gave my colony a thorough going-over. I have been humbled, which is a good thing--I am more careful. I ask lots more questions. I ask for more help. And on the second to last frame--there she was. But even if I hadn't seen her, I knew she was there. The colony was in perfect order. You could easily tell, they have a queen.

Which has gotten me thinking about my own little home, and my own children. How often I set the tone. How little I realize it. How I can send out the "All is Well!" signal, or the "Every man for himself!" signal at any given moment. That's my job. To set the tone. To give my own little baby bees cohesiveness and direction.

I need to be a better queen.

Lift.

2010-05-11T18:05:00.000-07:00

Hey guys.

I'm sitting here at my computer, feeling discouraged.
And it's over the dumbest thing, really.

I'm putting together a wedding invitation suite for a bride in the midwest. It's a lovely invitation. The first set that I'm trying to print out, on my own, rather than sending it out to the printer I use. To try and save the bride money, that's why. But wedding invitations are a big deal. The paper needs to be heavy. The colors need to be rich. And you *must* have a dpi of 600 pixels. Not 300. 600. And I can't.get.the.darn.thing. to print the right size.

Isn't that shallow? To be feeling all weepy because you can't figure something out?
But I do.
And it stinks.

Because, before you know it, you find yourself wandering in Discourageland, which is not as fun as "Land"s and "World"s that I could name, including Gatorland or Reptileorama.

You start at the gate of "Aw, man, why can't I get this to print right?" and Fast Pass right on to the "I can't budget" rollercoaster of guilt, stopping for a quick snack at the "Ample is My Middle Name" food court. Before you can even get in line for the daily gameshow "Let's count all the ways you were a bad mom today!" you're already deep and mired in a place that looks like West Texas and smells like two day old sauerkraut.

Blech.

So, in an attempt to saunter away from Discourageland, tra la, and not stray into the kitchen (boo hiss) I went over to NieNie and watched her video. If you haven't seen it yet, you should go over and check it out. It takes forever to load, but it's worth it.

And it'll get you out of Discourageland. At least for awhile

Thanks for listening. :)

Special.

2010-05-09T15:34:00.000-07:00

You know, I am a pretty fantastic mother.
And I'm not just saying that. I'm basing my superior status on empirical evidence.

Let's examine the facts:
1. I have three children.
2. None of them have died.

Right there, I am way ahead of most mothers in history. I don't think 5% of mothers could claim those accomplishments a century ago, which I think had less to do with dysentery and cholera and more to do with poor mothering skills.

But there's more. Oh yes, there's more.
3. I love to enrich my children's minds with copious amounts of PBS Kids "Curious George" and, thanks to Netflix "watch instantly", a healthy dose of WOW WOW WUBBZY: WUBBZY'S BIG MOVIE. I think that letting them watch androgynous creatures that speak with various accents and have no relationship to reality helps prepare them for the real world, with a special emphasis on doing anything you want and getting away with it.
4. The worst swear word my kids have come up with, so far, is "poop." So that's good.

So there you have it. I am a fantastic mother.
Hope you are feeling as confident and assured of your place in the future Hallmark Hall of Fame "Special Mothers" made-for-tv movie as I am today.
Happy Mothering.

Everybody do your share...

2010-05-05T04:31:00.000-07:00

This morning, Munchkin hucked her eggs off her high chair tray and declared herself "STUCK."

I got her out and started chanting the "Clean up, clean up, everybody do your share" song.
You know that song right?

She crouched down next to me, pointed at the eggs, and sang the REAL version of that song. It goes like this:
"Mom-my, Mom-my, Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommeeeeee..."

Yep. That's about right.

Genetics.

2010-05-01T19:24:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, if I got up really late at night, I would go out to the living room, and I would find my mother.

She is a night owl.

Almost without fail, she would be there, eating red pudding and watching something--the Star Trek films are what I remember most.

If I got up at just the right time, she would share a bowl of red pudding with me.
That was the best thing ever.

I understand why she was a night owl. The peace while children sleep. Cleaning up a house or a room and having it stay clean--even for just a little while.

If you came to my house and woke up late, you'd find watching movies. Probably Harry Potter. Maybe Sense and Sensibility. And eating red pudding.

I would share a bowl with you.

My daughter has discovered this habit of mine, that I got from my own mother. She loves to join me for "Girl's Nights."

No one can tell me that those moments of parenthood aren't the best, most magical things ever.

Setting my sights a bit higher...

2010-04-28T09:16:00.000-07:00

One of my goals is to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.

In Africa.

Elevation: 19,341 feet.

And I want to climb every one of those feet. I'm aiming for my birthday in 2014--five years from this autumn.

Now. Unlike becoming a beekeeper, which is easy cheesy, getting my very own Mom Jeans to the top of Tanzania is going to take a bit more:

a) Effort.

b) Money.

c) Planning.

d) Time.

e) All of the Above.

I priced out the trip, with flights, guides, and a bonus day to see the wildlife in the nature preserve there.

I wonder if they have squirrels.

I also priced out the gear that I'll be needing. And I discovered something: mountaineering gear doesn't come in a size bigger than Medium.

Huh.

I guess they figure that We Chubbers aren't hauling our ample-ness up mountains very often.

Which reminded me that I should start training for this ascent into the sky.

This morning I began.

I hooked the child trailer up to my periwinkle bike, plunked Thing 2 and the Wee One inside, and took off. 3 miles later, I thought I was going to die. I came inside, flopped on my couch, and turned on Toto's song "Africa" to inspire me.

Maybe I should aim for my birthday in 10 years instead.

100 Goals: #62

2010-04-24T17:38:00.001-07:00

62. Become a Beekeeper. Check

(And look! I've weaned myself off gloves now! My bees come this Friday.)

Southeast Day of Service...

2010-04-23T04:38:00.000-07:00

Happy Belated Earth Day.

If it wasn't for the fact that Thing 1 remembered that she was supposed to wear green and blue to school yesterday, I would've completely blanked that it Earth Day was even happening. Because all the community "celebrations" are on Saturday, that's why.

We celebrated by distributing paper bags to lots of our neighbors. Attached to each one was a note explaining that we're collecting food for a local soup kitchen. Because they have run out of food.

And that is unacceptable.

In fact, it's a small part of a huge interfaith day of service here in the Southeast this Saturday.

It just has to be a success.

I can't stand the thought of people going hungry.

Neither can Thing 1.

That's why, as we handed out the paper bags, she would run anxiously up to anyone who happened to be out in their yard or getting in their car to give them their bag. Sometime people would see us coming and try to hide in their garage. But she just followed them in there.

The scenario generally went like this:

Startled Neighbor: "AAAAAH! Oh. Hi?"

Thing 1: "We're giving food to the poor people! Put food in the bag!"

Confused Neighbor: "Whaaaa?"

Thing 1 (louder): "FOOD FOR THE POOR PEOPLE. IN THE BAG."

Chagrined Neighbor: "Oh. Uuuuuh. Okay."

Thing 1: "BYE!!!!"

I loved it. I just followed her up the street, carrying her supply of bags. If no one was outside, she would carefully hang them on their mailbox, commenting on their lovely flowers, or the cute cars. (Any kind of small car is "cute".) She noticed every pet cat and pet dog. She was careful not to step on their lawns.

I was so proud.

Now we wait and hope and fill a bag of our own.

I hope for their own sake that our neighbors are generous, or they might get a serious Talking To from my daughter.

Support the Locals.

2010-04-19T05:41:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, in my wanderings across the internet, I came across the "3/50 Project." Now, if you're like me, you saw that name and you thought it might involve math and started backing away slowly, as if you'd found a copperhead in your petunia patch. But read on! The 3/50 Project promotes that idea that if we each choose three local, independent stores to support and spent $50 each month at those stores then we'll save our local economies.

Support local? Spend money I probably shouldn't? I'm in! I chose my three local stores to support: Aladdin's Eatery, Clara's Choice for Herbs, and The Homeschool Room.

Well.

Aladdin's Eatery was an easy choice. My favorite restaurant on the planet, serving gluten-free Lebanese food--with to-die-for American desserts. Even if it was just stopping in for some fresh mint tea once a week, I knew that I could find a reason to visit and support my favorite haunt. That was, until I so purposefully drove up and found a note on the door that "Due to Unexpected Circumstances" they had to close.

Sob.

Next on my list: Clara's Choice for Herbs. I love this little store because whether I stop to pick up flax seed oil for my salads or just some awesome grapefruit essential oil to make my house smell good, I'm treated to some conversation from the (ancient) sisters who own the store, and a scripture to go with my life. (They have an uncanny sense when it comes to that.) So imagine my growing dismay when I drove up recently and there was a huge "STORE CLOSING" sign on the front window.

REALLY??? What did I DO?!?!

Apparently, I have enacted a curse equal to that suffered by the Red Sox for many decades.

Which is why I apologize, in advance, to The Homeschool Room. You're probably doomed, and it's all my fault.

In the meantime, go support 3 local stores everyone--let's keep our amazing local economies growing.

Sold.

2010-04-17T17:05:00.001-07:00

One of my favorite things about the "village" that I live in is the community yard sale, held twice yearly in April and October.

It should be mentioned that The Spouse is a garage sale genius. I can send him out with the most eclectic list, and he will absolutely deliver.

I decided to test this a couple years ago with a list that consisted of the following items:

A little trampoline, preferably with a rail to hold on to.

A Radio Flyer wagon.

A porch swing for our backyard.

A week wacker.

He brought home every single item. Plus a mini lawn mower for the kids. Unbelievable.

I'm not as good at Garage Sale Sifting. But I have a bit of the adventurer in me, not to mention a specific dining room set that I'm wanting, so this morning at 7:36, I set out on my periwinkle bike to see what I could see.

Which is when I discovered that there is a whole subculture that I don't know if I was aware of going on in our communities. My first clue was when I stopped briefly to say hello to my next door neighbor. One of the choice items she had for sale was a black lacquer headboard. Fan shaped. With gold accents. She was firm on the price: $200.

I wondered if she was asking that because it played a part on the set of "The Wedding Singer", but I decided not to ask.

I peddled carefully onward.

The street, you must understand, was jam packed. Cars were parked right in the middle of the road as their drivers threw open their doors to claim the treasures awaiting them on other stranger's front lawns. I heard more than a few curses muttered at "The Dealers" who showed up an hour before the official start time and had already filled their trailers with The Really Good Stuff. They had their loot loaded and were weaving their way smugly through traffic just when everyone else was arriving.

But, for the intrepid, there were still treasures to be found.

I was halfway around the neighborhood when I saw it. I mean IT. MY DINING SET.
The exact one.

The one I've been pining over, planning over, dreaming of.
The World Market Lugano Dining Table with Bench and 6 Chairs.

How did The Dealers miss THIS?!!?!? The owner must've put it out late! I kid you not when I say that I ditched my bike in the middle of the sidewalk, even at the risk of someone selling it for a tidy profit, and grandma-power-walked (because running is against my religion) up to the table. No "SOLD" sign. Only a piece of paper that said "Table, bench, and 6 chairs. $200."

I turned to the owner to tell him that he'd just made my entire LIFE... just as the man closer to him said "I'll take that table."

And I died. Right on the spot. The End.

No, but really. REALLY????? I can't even tell you how tempted I was to say "I'll give you double." But I'm unsure of Garage Sale etiquette, and I wasn't sure if that was even acceptable at garage sales.... is it?

So I forlornly went back to my periwinkle bike and peddled mournfully away. *sniff*

Oh well. At least there is one compensation: that black lacquer headboard is still in my neighbor's front yard, in case I change my mind.

Vogue.

2010-04-13T04:50:00.000-07:00

So this probably won't come as any surprise to you, my friends, but here's a confession: I am to fashion what thong unitards are to sunburn--not a pretty sight.

I'm being serious. My fashion sense is so out of whack that I'm holding on to my denim jumpers and overalls, just waiting for them to come back "in." Aaaaany minute now...

(Eeeek! Butterflies! C-ute!)

I blame this on the fact that I was fat in high school. Don't get me wrong--there are advantages to being fat in high school. Mostly the fact that if I were ever to go to a high school reunion (snort) people would be able to say "You haven't changed a bit!" even after 3 kids. Not many people can pull that off. But seriously, what do you expect when you go shopping for your Harvest Ball date in the PRETTY PLUS women's section at JC Penney? Your sense of what's "in" tends to get a little skewed.

Thankfully, I have my daughters to help me, and both of them have better fashion sense then I do. At 5 years and 18 months old, respectively.

I'm not the least bit kidding.

When I need to buy a pair of shoes, I go to Marshalls with Thing 1. Plunking myself down in the middle of the shoe department, I tell her to get me a size 9 and set her free. She brings me back boxes and boxes of shoes, which I try on. Then she tells me which ones to get. Then people proceed to tell me how cute my shoes are. If I stray from this procedure and try to choose my own shoes then I get comments that are more along the lines of "Oh wow! I haven't seen shoes like that since..."

What? Chunky shoes with square toes aren't in anymore???

And just this Sunday the Munchkin came toddling up to me carrying a dress and the matching pantaloons. "How cute!" I thought, and put them on her. Then I reached for the closest pair of her shoes to put them on her. She cocked one eyebrow at me and toddled back into her room, bringing back a shoe that actually matched her outfit. "Oh." I said, placing the shoe on her foot, and feeling a little foolish.

I went to find the other one and when I returned, she had wandered into the bathroom, climbed up on the toilet, and retrieved a matching butterfly hair clip and brush.

"Wow! I didn't even know we still had those!" I muttered.
I swear I saw her roll her eyes.

It's going to be a long twenty years at my house.
Maybe by then, my overalls will be back in style...

Shades of Green...

2010-04-10T16:01:00.001-07:00

For the past week... or more... I took a blog-cation. To spend time with my parents. To spend time with my kids. To spend time in my garden and in my home.

Sometimes, the world right outside your front door is just so beautiful that you can't keep away from it. A friend of mine said that, and for me, that explains my life for the past few weeks. First thing in the morning, I am lured outside to watch the apricot sunrises and check on my baby plants. The feel of grass that is still soft (which will change rapidly here in ye old South) on my feet. Dirt under my fingernails and endless nursery receipts on the floor of my car. I am thumbing through nursery catalogs and coaxing little plants to grow.

Friday, I went to a local hardware store with my Dad and my kids. This hardware store was built in 1901. The floors are made of wood, and they creak. The man who runs it knows everything about gardening in North Carolina, and is an absolute treasure for a poor, helpless transplant like me. My kids love to look at the chickies that they have in the springtime, as well as the big roosters and hens in a pen in the back. Of course, I couldn't resist running my fingers over the plants they have for sale. Nor could I resist scooping up a couple of pickling cucumber vines or some sweet baby watermelons.

It just couldn't be helped. It's like visiting an orphanage, you can't just leave them there.

I hope that wherever you are, you're being drawn out too--into the wide world and the sunshine. It has been such a long winter, even here.
It's time to stretch and breathe deeply and revive.

But I'll be back.

Canned Peas.

2010-03-31T20:29:00.001-07:00

It is 11:29 pm. I am sitting at my kitchen table. The floor is not swept, but the dishes are done, so that's progress. I am addressing wedding invitations for someone who lives in San Diego. My Beloved is in Dallas, which is a 20 hour drive away. Or something like that. The Wee One is screaming in her room, and has been (off and on) since I put her to bed.

There is only one thing I want at a time like this, and it is called canned peas. But I'm all out.

And I'm not even kidding.

I miss you, Beloved.

Come home soon.

Easter Week.

2010-03-30T06:59:00.000-07:00

Confession: I'm really terrible at celebrating Easter. I've just never known how to do it. How to strike the balance between the beauty of springtime with it's bunnies and Cadbury Mini Eggs with the serious observance of Holy Week and Easter.

So we've dyed Easter eggs and hunted for them the Saturday before Easter. We've tried to emphasize the importance of Easter Sunday.

But it's always been small and understated, and it somehow always felt... flat.

This year I was determined to really celebrate Easter. I "invested" in some more Easter decorations. (I have to say "invested" to justify buying them at all.) The Spouse and I started a countdown to Easter two weeks ago Sunday where, each night, our children open a numbered Easter Egg that contains a jelly bean for each child and a scripture about Jesus' life and ministry. We hung colorful plastic eggs on our front tree and talked about the symbolism of things in the spring that can remind us about Jesus.

In short, we did everything we harped and pounded on the subject until it was exhausted.

Sunday was Palm Sunday, and began the nightly opening of eggs that also contained a symbol of Holy Week and the countdown of this sacred time of year. We have talked about the life of Jesus a lot for two weeks now. I have drilled this into my kid's heads. This is going to be a week where they really get it. My hopes are high.

We sat down to read our scripture. My beloved Little Ones are gathered around me.
Filled with anticipation, I asked my five year old daughter what holiday is coming up.
"Easter!" she exclaimed.
"That's right!" I encouraged proudly, "and what is Easter about???"

A heartbeat of a pause. The Humpty Dumpty of my hope teeters.

"THE EASTER BUNNY!!!!!!" she screeched, and both she and Thing 2 started writhing on the floor in delight, amongst the shattered remains of all my plans.

But like a doomed sea captain in a fog, I floundered onward.
"Um, no. Not the Easter bunny. Well. Kind of. But what is Easter REALLY about?" I pressed.

"CANDYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" they both exclaimed.

Deep breaths.
"What, besides candy, is Easter about?" I insisted.

Blank stares.
"A person?" I asked hopefully.

Oh well. Maybe next year. At least there will always be Mini Eggs.

Bummer.

2010-03-26T19:54:00.000-07:00

For the past two days, I have been up in the mountains of North Carolina.

You know, Appalachia is a special place. And it isn't just the charming street names like "Possum Trot" or "Bodwich Bottom" that give it such allure. No, while those are lovely bonuses unto themselves, it is really the view that captures your heart.

Because, really, it's worth the drive just to observe A Century of Cars, all in people's front yards. I was also, of course, SO glad to see that there are places in our great nation where young men can go to their local McDonalds in overalls. I can imagine that my joy is overshadowed, somewhat, by the people who are welcomed with open arms at BBQ establishments sporting signs that say "SMOKERS WELCOME."

You heard 'em right. They can make whatever laws they want in Raleigh, but up here?? You are WELCOME.

(This flies in the face of the sign I saw on a restaurant in South Carolina recently that was going smoke-free due to "an overwhelming healthy consciousness." I have no idea what that means. "Smokers welcome" at least makes sense.)

We stayed at a tiny little mountain inn that was built only 20 years ago, but made to resemble a MUCH older building. Complete with wood burning stoves, very thin walls, and snoring Scottish tourists. We contributed to the ambiance, as we love to do, by bringing in small children that run up and down the halls, slam doors, and a one year old that wails hourly, on cue, throughout the night.

I am assured that old people don't sleep well at night anyway, so I wasn't really worried about disturbing them.

The capstone of our trip had to be the visit to the North Carolina Arboretum, with a special exhibit called "The Scoop on Poop." You might think that just because nothing is blooming, the greenhouses are closed, and everything looks completely depressing and lifeless, it might be better to wait to visit the Aboretum. But then you would miss your chance to learn about feces, take hilariously posed pictures by placing your face in a cutout of someone reading a book in an outhouse, and give in to the temptation to scratch and sniff the "SNIFF HERE" stickers on the exhibits. We even got to race dung beetles pushing balls of "dung."

My trip was complete.

Sunning.

2010-03-21T11:59:00.001-07:00

Spring is here. Truly and for real.

Every year, our subdivision ("village" as they like to call it) has a kite flying festival. I left the car home and walked there to meet my family, which--right now--includes my own parent in laws and sister in law. The blossoms on the bradford pear trees on our street are in full bloom, as of yesterday. It is a blissful avenue of white. In the little ponds and lakes, the turtles are sunning themselves.

That is the sign. It is spring. No matter what, winter can't catch us now.

Maybe not the Sharpest Knife in the Drawer.

2010-03-15T20:28:00.000-07:00

This morning, I was trying to clean out my vaccum with a knife and managed to stab myself in the hand.

And then I fainted.

(I am a fainter. I'd forgotten that. But at least I didn't pee my pants this time, which I've done before when I fainted. When I was 21. That wasn't embarrasing at all. *snort*)

But the funniest part is that when I related this to my mom/husband/nurse/friend/sister they were less concerned about the fact that I have a puncture wound in my hand than the fact that I was cleaning my vaccum with a knife. "WHY were you using a knife???"

Well, what else are you supposed to use to remove nearly SEVEN YEARS of collected threads from you vaccum? Really--I'd like to know.

But at least I got a tetanus shot. That's a bonus. Bring on your sharp objects: I'm covered.

Unedited Life: Monday Morning

2010-03-15T04:46:00.001-07:00

I finally figured out what was causing this insane breakout of teenage nightmare proportions: my anti-wrinkle lotion. Figures.

I have deep cleaned my house so thoroughly that there's no hope of my regular house ever being clean again. But the insides of all my closets, drawers, and cupboards look awesome. Maybe I'll go live inside one of them.

As I dragged myself out of bed this morning at 5:30 (even though the clock said 6:30) to drag my 5 year old out of HER bed, in the dark, I thought "Move the clocks forward an hour? Really? WHO'S DUMB IDEA WAS THIS?" The fact that all of us, en masse, will follow along like sheep proves that--together--there is nothing that we can't accomplish. Because we'll do whatever we're told.

My youngest is 18 months old and just started walking. But I still woke up this morning wearing a maternity shirt and maternity sweats. Boy are they ever comfy!!

On Saturday, I got to go get "into" some beehives. And guess what? I loved it just as much as I thought I would. It was amazing. These beautiful, graceful creatures buzzing softly around me, covered in pollen, and checking me out just as much as I was checking them out. I held a frame with thousands of bees on it in my two hands and felt not the slightest twinge of fear. Just amazement. Now if I could just get a hedgehog my life would be complete. Hmmm....

Yes.

2010-03-12T04:46:00.000-08:00

Today is my 7th engage-iversary.

It seems like such a long time ago. The weirdest thing, though, is that it was such a long time ago.

I have the perfect engagement story. My Beloved really wasn't to be underestimated in his wooing abilities. When he decided to propose, the man decided to propose. It was fabulous. But my favorite part of the whole thing?

The fact that he proposed with a small, gold wedding band. Because he just couldn't wait for a diamond engagement ring.

And I said "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes."

That's love.

If you haven't read our love story, and you want to, click here.

An Open Apology.

2010-03-10T18:00:00.000-08:00

Dear Grandparents,

We are so looking forward to your visits in the upcoming weeks. I have been scrubbing every inch of my house to make it ready for your welcome. I've picked out your sheets, stocked up on yummy soap, used lavender in the guest towels, planned a menu, and nagged The Spouse about possible things to do and places to visit.

But alas.
The Terrible Toddlers have found us, right on cue.

And I'm really not kidding when I warn: She bites.

Sorry.

Play in the dirt.

2010-03-09T19:02:00.000-08:00

(Don't laugh at my poor, crooked, broken toes. It's not nice.)

I have spent the past two days outside. Barefoot. With my pants rolled up.

It has reminded me that doing that is so good for my soul.

I'm pretty sure that it's working wonders for my kids' childhoods as well.

Today, we all mixed compost (which I explained was cow poop and dirt) together with regular dirt and then planted a beautiful new blueberry bush. We added "apple mint" to our array of herbs that make up the border of my garden. The spearmint and oregano are sending up their green sprouts. I consulted with the kids on where we might want to put some lavender (English is better for attracting bees than French), and if we want to put strawberries near the front.

My oldest made her own lasso and played cowgirl. My son used his blocks to make his own "garden" on the porch. The munchkin crawled and rolled around in the dirt.

I could've lived in today forever.

Today, I was the kind of mother I always wanted to be.

Sentimental.

2010-03-07T13:40:00.000-08:00

I am missing my grandmother.

Which is strange because I wasn't close to my grandmother. Not for any reason except lack of time. She died the summer I was 13 years old. I didn't go to her funeral, but went on a road trip with my friend. We'd been planning our trip for months. I was a teenager, and selfish.What good would it do to miss my trip, anyway? It wasn't like she was actually going to BE at the funeral. I believed she would understand.

I still believe she would've.

Now that I'm older, I'm not sure that I do.

It's hard not to judge your young, stupid self.

After I got back from my trip, most of my grandmother's things had already been divided and given away. To children, grandchildren, and Deseret Industries. I only inherited a very few things. The things I remember most from her house and her garden weren't things I could carry away anyway... the glass door knobs, her raspberry jam in the freezer with the ghost, windchimes on a clothesline, and an apricot tree that knew no rival.

Even writing about those things makes me ache. It's strange, because I don't think I mourned her at the time. Not really. With her beautiful blue eyes, and a smile that sparkled. Only now do I wish for long conversations I never had. I feel cheated. I want to know who she was, and what she might have thought of me, now. Maybe she could've helped me make sense of myself. I wonder what she would say about my children. I want to know more about her parents.

I just never got the chance to ask.

But in my kitchen is my tangible reminder of her. A strange, cast-off thing, on it's way to D.I. when I rescued it and packed it away. I don't think it was special to her. But it's special to me, because it was hers. A french fry cutter, made of steel. It's sturdy and old and makes me think of her, every time I use it. Tonight I used it to make homemade fries for Sunday dinner.

I miss you, Grandma Jean.

I'm sorry I missed your funeral.

I hope you understand.

Evolution.

2010-03-02T10:12:00.001-08:00

This morning, I was perusing through Creative Loafing, looking for cool things to do this month here in the N.C. There were the usual small bands playing at small bars. Support groups. Opera. Theater. A parkour group. Then this listing caught my eye:

North Carolina Naturists!
Celebrating more than 20 years of family-oriented, clothing-optional recreational activities. Call for more info.

My mind began to race--what, pray tell, is a naturist? Well. "At The Naturist Society, we have members who are deeply committed to naturism, and view it as a defining idea of their lives. And we have members who don't give the philosophical side of naturism much thought. They just know that not wearing clothes often feels better and makes more sense than wearing them." (From "The Naturist Society", emphasis added.)

Glory be! There is a TERM for what my children are! Naturists!! (Not to be confused with naturalists, people. Very different.) Not only do my children have a genus and species, but they even have an official club for them! The ultimate opportunity to rub shoulders, so to speak, with their own kind.

I wonder if it's frowned upon for parents to drop their naturist progeny off for the "recreational activity" and head for the nearest clothing mandatory restaurant... hm.

Although, if they offer a special lecture series on "Chafing: Don't Let it Rub You the Wrong Way" then I could consider recreating along with them. Especially if they offer gluten free spelt or oat groats for refreshments...

Update.

2010-03-01T16:42:00.000-08:00

An update on the beautiful bedroom set.

I lost the receipt.

I am humiliated. And a bit delighted.

Return to Sender.

2010-02-26T05:20:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I was NOT in the mood to abide by a budget. (Come to think of it... when am I in the mood to abide by a budget??)

This always happens when I have two free hours with only one child. In always end up wandering in a most dangerous land called Marshalls.

It's like a train wreck waiting to happen, my budget and Marshalls. With my budget being an old, rusted out VW bug, just sittin' on the tracks saying "Go ahead and put me out of my misery" as the Marshalls express comes looming.

I actually had a *point* to going in, though. It wasn't just mindless browsing for some colorful shoes that might make me look thin. (If that makes no sense to you, you're obviously lacking in cankles. See Exhibit B, according to Google image search.)

No, I was there to look for a sensible twin comforter for my son's new bed. I was hoping to find something that was just perfect, because--at Marshalls--you never know. So I was browsing and found a couple of promising, if still just a touch bit feminine, twin down alternative comforters. But then it occured to me--I could sure use new stuff for *my* bed. And if I get new stuff for *my* bed, then I can use my old stuff for Big Boy's bed. It might be a little big. So what? He's always kicking his covers off anyway.

The wheels in my head are turning as I start browsing through more beautiful possibilities. Then I saw this:

Um. Yes, please.

So, with a dash of unbridled abandon and a good heap of stubborn "I don't give a care", I plunked it on top of my cart and made for the register.

Before the hour was out, it was firmly in place on my bed. I confessed my budget sin to The Spouse, but I'm afraid I didn't even ask for absolution. Nope. Some sins you'd just rather live with.

But, of course, the shoulder angel appears. Tsk-ing. "Wouldn't you rather have diapers? Or food?" the shoulder angel whines.

Quite honestly? No.

But the shoulder angel wins. The shoulder angel, when combined with the slightly crestfallen face of my spouse, always wins. So it's back in it's bag. Lovingly refolded, just as it was. With plans to return it, this very day.

So I was laying in bed this morning under a Bed in a Bag comforter that our home's former owners left in the bathroom, and not pouting at all, when my Beloved hesitantly told me that he was going out to lunch today, and did I mind?

Nope.

Not at all.

As long as he doesn't mind if I come home with a new dining room set.

He kissed my head goodbye, but I could swear I heard some muttering about an inch and a mile...

Comfortable and joy.

2010-02-24T05:09:00.001-08:00

Today, I'm all about comfortable.

Do you wake up sometimes and just know that it's going to be a sweatshirt and herbal tea kind of day? I do. Sometimes, I know it's going to be a "cute jeans and get stuff done" kind of day. Other days, it's a "gloves and get outside" kind of day.

But today, is a comfortable and joy day. My friend Ruth would've called it a "Mental health" day.

So I'm planning to stay inside, wearing my husband's blue "Purdue" sweatshirt. Spa socks. A strong mug of lemon tea with honey, of course.

And while I'm talking about joy, I just love the graphic that I found for my early spring header. Don't you love it? It makes me smile every time I see it. I can't claim to be into everything that's vintage, but I do have a soft spot for great depression and World War II era graphics. But I still haven't found the perfect background to go with my header. If any of you come across anything that's *perfect*, let me know, will you?

Thanks.

100 Goals.

2010-02-23T04:38:00.001-08:00

I've posted before about my list of 100 goals. The one that I made for a psychology assignment my senior year of high school. It's important to me, that list. Even when my older brother says "You know, everyone else in that class just threw those lists away. Let it go."

I'm pretty sure that he's just jealous. Because even though he has his PhD from some fancy shmancy university in Cambridge, what's the joy in that if you didn't get to cross "GET PHD" off your list??

I rest my case.

Anyway, back to my list.

Every year, I try to work on two or three of these goals. Some of them just happen without my even thinking about them. That was how I crossed off "Drink hot chocolate in the Alps in January." Just happened to be in the Alps. In January. Drinking hot chocolate.

But some take a bit more effort. Goal #62 on my list, which is stored in the file right next to my marriage certificate and our passports, is this: Gather honey.

So for Christmas, my fabulous Spouse paid $30 and enrolled me in the Mecklenburg County Bee School. No huge commitment. Here, take some classes. You all read my blog, you know this.

Well.

Several weeks and a *lot* more than 30 dollars later. I am anxiously anticipating the arrival of my darlings...

As well as all the fun stuff that come with them:

I feel like it's Christmas Eve. I cannot WAIT.

And you know what it means? Not only does it mean a fabulous checkmark next to the number 62 on my list, but it also means a celebratory gift for you, my lovely readers.

Free honey this fall.

Because my followers may be few, but I sure love 'em. :)

Vancouver 2010

2010-02-18T05:38:00.000-08:00

As someone who never participates in, and generally loathes watching, sports, I like to dust off my athletic expertise every few years. What better opportunity to brush up on sports lingo than to offer my very well thought out opinions and commentary on the Olympics??

First up, pairs figure skating.

I think we can all agree that the Chinese couple who has been married 18 years and came out of retirement to compete, deserved to win the gold medal. Even if she did almost fall off in the free skate. Whatever. But what *really* clinched their gold wasn't her gigantic, open-mouth smile or his ever present jazz hands. No. It was when the German couple chose their costumes:

Really? Or in German, wirklich??? Send in the clowns?! You chose THAT as your Olympic theme? Maybe something got lost in translation. It could be cultural differences. But I have a hard time believing that a CLOWN costume says "Take me seriously" in any language.

But, then I took a good long look at the Norwegian men's curling team, and decided that I might be wrong:

Masterfully done, guys. Masterfully done. The circus that loaned you those pants was high-fiving all over the place as you used their elephant cleaning brooms to sweep that ice. Sweep it!

Now. On to women's moguls, or--another way to put it--showing the world how.it's.done.

That is American Hannah Kearney, known in the Olympic village as the "Prude" who didn't do a swimsuit photo shoot in preparation for her Olympic experience. And that is American Hannah Kearney just hanging out upside down. For a long time. While her Canadian competition started bawling at the bottom of the run. I know nothing about skiing, and the only time I've attempted skiing I ended up in a pretzel on the bunny hill, but even *I* could see that her run was flawless. Here's to you, Prudie.

But even watching that breathlessly beautiful run isn't as entertaining, The Spouse pointed out to me, as watching the cross country skiers and biathalon...um....ers... cross the finish line. Why? Because it's like a big game of ring around the rosie:

Sing it with me "ASHES, ASHES, WE ALL FALL DOWN!!!" I love it! I love a sport where everyone collapses in despair/joy/exhaustion at the end. Awesome! So unlike those marathon runners who cross the finish line after more than 26 miles.... and just keep running. Like they can't stop. Take a page from your cross-country friends and collapse in a heap instead. It feels SO much better.

Unless you're Lindsey Jacobellis. And you're sitting on your backside halfway through the course as your competition crosses the finish line and you're thinking "WHAT THE HECK JUST HAPPENED?!"

Well, Linds (can I call you Linds?) I'll tell you what happened. That blue gate? Which actually just looks like a pole? You ran into it. So, Lesson 1 from Torino: no showing off before the finish line. Lesson 2 from Vancouver: don't run into the pole. I mean gate. Maybe next time.

But for our final sport, I'm not sure there should be a next time:

I'm sorry. I try to be supportive and understanding. Everyone has their thing. Some people think curling is cool in clown pants. Some people, I'm sure, watch the couples ice dancing. Even if it's just to laugh. But WHO in their RIGHT MIND trains for a sport called "Skeleton." If I understand it correctly, you get on the sled. Face first. And you go down the same track that those bobsledders and crazy lugers use. At 70 miles per hour. FACE FIRST.

Please. Someone explain to me how this is a good idea. Or even legal. Because it boggles my unathletic mind. Ice + speed + face + downhill does NOT, in my also mathematically challenged mind, = FUN.

Stay tuned. You never know what kind of hilarity is left in the second week of competition.

Modesty.

2010-02-14T08:02:00.000-08:00

You know, something struck me as funny this morning.

I have bought my daughter two Barbies in her 5 years of life. Each time, I was obsessed with finding modest Barbies that had actual clothing. With sleeves. I'm trying hard to impress upon her the importance of dressing modestly, and that modesty is beautiful.

This morning as I watched her playing with them, I was wondering why I bothered. They always end up naked anyway.

Happy Sabbath.

Baffled.

2010-02-11T04:41:00.001-08:00

The older I get, the more I realize--there are just some things that I will never understand.

Some of them are obvious: nuclear fission (or fusion), chemical "moles", how to build a computer, calculus, and the theory of relativity. I have happily left them on the shelf of knowledge and gone, instead, for the books on apiary (bees) and Motherhood for the Homemaking Impaired.

But there are other, less obvious things that continue to confound me.

To begin with. Skinny jeans. On teenage guys. What the??? Who decided this was a good idea? And how are you supposed to tell emo girls and guys apart?

Next up? Haute Couture. It's French for "You MUST be joking."

Does that lady know that doesn't have any pants on? I mean really--does she?

But I know we all look at this and think "But no one really expects me to wear that stuff. I mean, that jacket alone probably costs more than my mortgage." Which is a good point. Until you walk into Target and see how they actually are expecting you to dress. Then "Dior" doesn't look so bad.

Far right conservatives. Far left liberals.
Can't we all just get along??
I'm telling you, what the world needs now is love. Sweet love.

And finally...

I.don't.get.it.

Transfer.

2010-02-10T13:30:00.000-08:00

The Spouse and I are living by, and sticking to, a budget this year. A real one. We are determined to live within our means. We are determined not to dip into savings every paycheck. We are determined to actually HAVE savings at the end of this year, for emergencies. We.are.determined.

But I have to admit--it is hard, sometimes, to make things stretch. Make it do, or do without. I know that sounds like whining. It really isn't. I realize what a blessed life I live, and how fortunate I am. Living this way has made me realize that more than ever.

But sometimes you just don't care. Sometimes your determination slips away and you just want to throw up your hands and pull out your credit card. What does it matter? We've figured it out before. And those purchases are so easy to justify--Thing 1 doesn't have a single pair of jeans that aren't floods. It's Valentine's Day this weekend--why shouldn't I my sweetheart some roses, or at least the stuff to make red velvet cake balls? I haven't seen my mother in a year, and tickets are really *pretty* affordable right now.

But even all those things seem pathetic when you're debating--do we transfer money from savings to fix the furnace? Do we transfer money from savings to pay for school lunches? Do we transfer money to buy the Munchkin's soy milk or let her suffer the consequences of cow's milk?In the end, do we put on coats, make some bread to put jam on, and open the piggy bank and pay for the soy milk in change?

In the end--what is a want, and what is a need?
In the end, how determined am I?

I.am.determined.

I think.

My Unedited Life: February.

2010-02-09T04:10:00.001-08:00

I blame my current blog fog on the fact that it's not yet halfway through February.

I detest February.

For the record, I don't know anyone who doesn't detest February. Unless they live in the Southern Hemisphere where February is warm.

I believe that's because I have to spend the *entire* month fighting my most basic February Survival Instincts.

Like hibernating.

(Don't even think about it, Romeo. True love does not wake True Love.)

Carbo-loading on comfort food.

(That.sandwich. Oh my. The utter perfection of that food.)

And watching various versions of Jane Austen adaptations.

(And for the record, it's edited. Also for the record, The Spouse and I agree that if my triple great-grandparents hadn't become Mormon and crossed the ocean and then the plains, I would probably be Bridget Jones.)

But no. Instead of doing what comes naturally (preferably from the comfort of my own bed under layers of down comforter, as nature intended) I actually have to get UP in the morning. And FUNCTION. Turn down the heater so that the gas bill doesn't equal the mortgage. Tip-toe out to the mailbox hoping for a new Netflix envelope. Carefully inspect my trees for any signs of spring. Watch my children slowly descend into cabin fever. Visit the Sandals website daily and gaze at azure water. Survive.February.

Which is why I have nothing blogworthy to say.

Polite cough.

2010-02-05T06:20:00.000-08:00

The Munchkin developed a cough Sunday. The kind where I said out loud to the Spouse "Hm. I don't think it warrants a trip to the Urgent Care. But maybe I should take her in tomorrow."

Three days (and sleepless nights) later, I finally decided to take her in. I dropped Thing 2 off at our co-op preschool (apologizing in my head for his constantly runny nose) and headed to the pediatrician's office. Parked. Grabbed the Munchkin out of the car and headed in.

The moment Herr Doctor breezed into the room, Munchkin started wailing--squirting gigantic tears *off* her face. (How DO kids do that??) I was delighted by this. Because, you see, a good temper tantrum usually leads to a coughing fit. So we'd be able to get an accurate diagnosis. I am nothing if not a logical parent. Doc sighed and asked me to hold her on my lap, which did nothing to comfort her. She was now simply screaming in BOTH our ears, which seemed unfair to me. He was being paid to have his ears screamed in.

Herr Doctor whistled and said "Sounds like a case of RSV. Bronchitis. Maybe both. How long has she sounded like this again??"

My good parent meter wobbled slightly in it's dial.

"But RSV kids are usually pretty happy even if they sound terrible..." he continued as he peered in her ear "...but with a raging ear infection like THIS one has..." changing ears "or a DOUBLE ear infection like this one has, it's no surprise she's miserable."

Good parent meter tilted ominously toward the yellow.

Herr Doctor now looked in her mouth, whistled again, "And her throat is really red. And she's cutting all 4 molars. Poor kid."

He twirled his stool around and leaned over her chart and started making notes, giving instructions: antibiotic, humidifier, rest, fluids. "Oh. And make sure you keep her bundled up. It's cold outside, and that can wreak havoc on these little bodies."

I looked down at my hiccoughing daughter in my lap--shoeless, sockless, hatless, coatless.

The good parent meter tanked. Red alarm bells going off.

But then I reminded myself--I had put socks on her. She took them off herself. And at least I'd gotten her coat into the car. So that wasn't as bad as leaving it home.

"Give her her medicine with food--you know, breakfast would be perfect."

Crap. Breakfast. The Munchkin looked up at me accusingly and sniffed.

I humbly took the prescription and vowed to do better. Or at least to remember to refill the humidifier with water before turning it on "high" for the night.

(On a side note, coming out of the doctor's office I saw the coolest thing! There were 50+ robins in the trees, on the ground--everywhere! They were so fat and twittering and happy. I have never seen that many at once. It was incredible.)

Plateau.

2010-02-02T12:36:00.000-08:00

I have hit a weightloss plateau.

It feels like this:

And my low-calorie, gluten free options are looking about as appealing as this:

(That, my uneducated friends, is a pile of yak poo.)

I'm almost desperate enough to eat these:

Almost.

Fate.

2010-01-29T07:39:00.001-08:00

There are some things in life that you can just count on. They just go together.

Like how huge sweatshirts are as comforting as a hug.
Like how every time I bathe, lotion, and clothe Thing 3, she poops two minutes later.
Like how cheddar cheese just gets yummier and yummier the older I get.
Like how gluten will, of course, be in your formerly favorite foods. Except cheese.

Like how your heater will break, just before it gets really cold.
Like how when you finally (FINALLY!) make an appointment to get your fe-mullet cut off and hopefully look like a human being, the weather forecast for your appointment time looks like this:

Which would not be a big deal in 90% of the country, but down here? This means almost a sure cancellation of the appointment and the triumph of the femullet.

There are some forces of nature that you just can't fight.

Adventures.

2010-01-28T15:06:00.000-08:00

I have embarked upon a remarkable adventure lately.

Well.

For me, anyway.

And that adventure is called "Try to contribute a little income to our home."

I started out looking for graveyard shift positions at The Valmart, because with a Bachelor's Degree that is almost 6 years old and still brand-spankin' new in the package and gathering dust, I'm not qualified for much.

But then a little voice whispered that I should start an Etsy business. I wasn't sure if this voice was crazy. Because I am not fabulously talented like my friend Erin over at Sutton Grace. (seriously. check her out.) I can't sew to save my life. I love to make handmade cards, but really? I'm no better than everyone else, if we're honest.

But I had put together some graphic design for friends recently, and had a fabulous time doing it. So when that little voice became a little more insistent, I thought, "Hm. Maybe I could do a little graphic design. Maybe."

And guess what????

Turns out, people kind of like what I make.

And that makes me feel amazing.

So I guess the point is kind of "Follow Your Bliss". Because I don't have a degree in graphic design. Heck, I don't even have photoshop. I just have Gimp, which is free. And for the first time in 6 years I am contributing, in whatever small way, to my family and society in a way that makes me feel bigger and happier and my life a bit fuller.

Here are a few of my favorites, so far.

A Keeper...

2010-01-27T06:21:00.001-08:00

Last night, after a frantic drive in an area that I am not familiar with, I pulled into the parking lot of a generic daycare that was absolutely packed with cars. A smiling man with a badge waved me on to the grass next to an ancient Ford truck. (I would so love a truck like that.)

I stepped out of my car and took a deep breath, clutching a yellow and black spiral bound notebook and pen. For the first time in almost 6 years, I had a class to be to.

I walked quickly to the front door. I had gotten lost on the drive, and didn't want to be late. On the glass there was taped a sign: "Welcome to Bee School."

Inside, there were more than 100 people. Some of them had generic name tags, which I was handed and told to write my name on. There were others milling around the edges proudly displaying tags that read "BEE MENTOR." How I wished I were already a bee mentor. They crossed my name off the list and handed me a "goody" bag. I wondered what you put in a goody bag for a beekeeping class?? Honey???

I peered inside hopefully and saw... stuff. A small rolled up bunch of burlap. A little stick. A big stick, cut in funny shapes. I smiled inwardly with the giddiness of the first day of class. I always get this same high from realizing that there are things that I don't yet know, but by the end of the class, I will know. And that makes me happy.

I looked around the crowded room and spotted an empty chair squeezed in between two other women. One of them looked kind of like me--the Mom type. Pink sweater. Inconspicuous earrings. The other woman looked like the Executive type. A bit intimidating. I slid into the seat and tried to make conversation with the Mom. She was rather cool, and gave short answers. When I asked her what brought her to learn about beekeeping, she arched one eyebrow and said "For personal reasons." I felt a bit rebuffed. Maybe we weren't supposed to make friends at Bee School.

I turned hesitantly to the Executive, and she gave me a broad smile. We had a warm conversation. Turns out that I was right--she is an executive at one of the big banks here. When I asked her why she was interested in beekeeping, she just laughed and said "I have no idea! It's just an itch I have to scratch." I loved her instantly.

The class started with a prayer to "God Our Father... er.... Or the Great Creator... whoever made the bees" and then launched into the lecture, and I furiously took notes. The history of bees. The earliest bees. The evolutions of beekeeping. Flavored here and there with stories from the teacher's own experience with his 50,000 bees. When he would go off on a story, I found lots of opportunity to look around the room and look at the kind of people who are interested in beekeeping.

Old Farmer types sat with slouched postures and closed eyes. A mom and dad with their son, who--from the disappointed look on his face, had hoped there would be honey harvesting at the first class. Lots of organic types with sigg bottles, short hair, and flowing clothes. An eclectic group.

The teacher emphasized very carefully the importance of being a bee KEEPER and not a bee HAVER. He said that if you have a hive of bees for only one year, then you are a bee haver. You don't care about your bees. They are a passing whimsy... nothing more. And he was scathing in his wrath for such people. "Bees are a GIFT and a BLESSING" he emphasized, "they are not here for your AMUSEMENT, so don't get them if you aren't prepared to take care of them and put up with them and get stung. A LOT."

A sobering point.

"But," he went on, "the thing you'll need the most to be a beekeeper is a love for it. And a love for them. For the amazing creatures that they are. That's what will make you a good beekeeper."

As I got in my car to drive home, that point was still in my mind.

I think that you could say much the same thing about children.

And I decided that I need to be a better childkeeper and less of a child haver.

Next week?? Building your hive!

Gold Medal Parenting...

2010-01-24T07:07:00.000-08:00

I am the most fantastic mother. Ever.

This is what I was thinking this week as I scrambled over the seats in one of my friend's vans so that my son could pee in a pop can. The situation was desperate. And I certainly didn't want him to pee all over her beautiful van. So the Welch's grape soda pop can got to go above and beyond fulfilling the measure of it's creation.

I thought about what a fantastic parent I was, again, later in the day as I ran up the stairs at the local ice skating rink to grab Thing 1 from ballet, having left Things 2 and 3 locked in the car downstairs. It was pouring rain, for crying in the mud, and Thing 2 had no shoes. Because I'd forgotten them. So I ran upstairs and came rushing back downstairs, only to find my son standing in the lobby, barefoot, holding a dollar, with some woman holding his hand and glaring at me. "Is he YOURS?!" she growled, as I worried that her laser beam gaze was going to melt me on the spot. I didn't even reply, just grabbed his hand and shoved him out the door. Because she had no idea what a phenomenal mother I am.

It just confirmed to me that I am, truly, going for the gold medal in parenting as drove away from the ice skating rink with all my children screaming and I did the thing any good mother does: I pretended that there was a plexiglass barrier between the driver's seat and all the passengers (like in a limo) and made my way to the local Little Caesar's Pizza where I bought two five dollar pizzas to throw in the lion's den with my children while I went to hide in the bathroom as soon as we got home.

Weakness.

2010-01-19T08:36:00.001-08:00

Dear Dave,

I used your Marshall's Gift Card.

I am sorry. It just couldn't be helped.

Love,
Becca

Celebrating Martin Luther King Day...

2010-01-18T05:41:00.001-08:00

My children are clustered on the floor playing one of those games where you try to catch the fish. I am trying to figure out how to celebrate Martin Luther King Day.

Because it is something to celebrate.

My oldest daughter's very best friend is the most darling little African-American girl. Emily isn't colorblind, as some people say. She loves that her friend's skin is like chocolate, as she says. She thinks that it is beautiful. She also thinks that her own skin, which is "bright", is beautiful. And I agree. I also love to hear her pretending to speak Spanish, as she slowly learns, and I love that she has friends named Fabiola and Jahir.

Martin Luther King Jr. said,“…I have a dream that my children will one day live in a nation where they are judged by the content of their character and not by the color of their skin!”

I dream that, too.

In honor of the day...

Frederick Douglass' favorite food, Split Pea Soup
1 cup chopped onion
1 teaspoon vegetable oil
1 pound dried split peas
1 pound ham bone
2 bay leaves
salt and pepper to taste

1.In a medium pot, saute onions in oil or bacon grease. Remove from heat and add split peas, ham bone or chopped ham. Add enough water to cover ingredients, and season with salt and pepper.
2.Cover, and cook until there are no peas left, just a green liquid, 2 hours. While it is cooking, check to see if water has evaporated. You may need to add more water as the soup continues to cook.
3.Once the soup is a green liquid remove from heat, and let stand so it will thicken. Once thickened you may need to heat through to serve.

I will be doing this in the crockpot, on low, all day long, and serving it with rolls on the side. I can't wait.

And for dessert, we'll be serving Martin Luther King Jr. favorite food:

Pecan Pie
1 cup light brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 cup butter
2 eggs
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup chopped pecans

1.Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).
2.In a large bowl, beat eggs until foamy, and stir in melted butter. Stir in the brown sugar, white sugar and the flour; mix well. Last add the milk, vanilla and nuts.
3.Pour into an unbaked 9-in pie shell. Bake in preheated oven for 10 minutes at 400 degrees, then reduce temperature to 350 degrees and bake for 30 to 40 minutes, or until done.

Edit: So, dinner was wonderful! Although we ended up with split LENTIL soup. (Already in the pantry = not having to go to The Valmart with The Childrens = :) ) and chocolate silk pie since one of our dinner guests was allergic to nuts. It's all about the spirit of the thing. We also assigned everyone a part and something to wear for a costume. Everyone read a short page about their person, with their best accent, and our guests included Frederick Douglass, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Ruby Bridges, Abraham Lincoln, and--of course--Martin Luther King Jr. We have a tradition. Next year, expect pictures. ;)

Help for Haiti...

2010-01-17T18:14:00.000-08:00

There are so many people reaching out to help the people in Haiti. I think all of us are yearning to do something--anything--but giving money just feels so... not enough. I think we all wish we could actually send bottles of water or open our home for awhile. For most of us, giving financially is one of the only things we can do. I spent some time investigating which charities were the best to contribute through, right now, to help in Haiti. Keep in mind that most of these charities have their own focus and mission in Haiti, and you may want to choose the charity that applies to the area where you would serve directly, if you could.

All of the following charities all have a Four Star Charity Rating.

Action Against Hunger USA --Already on the ground when the earthquake hit, this is a great organization if you'd like to contribute to the urgent need for food and water in Haiti. They are working to provide water to 35,000 residents and refugees from the quake, as well as basic sanitation supplies.

Unicef -- If you are drawn to the plight of the children in Haiti, then there is no better organization in the world than Unicef. 100% of your donation will go directly to caring for children. Since almost 50% of Haiti's population are children under the age of 18, who are particularly susceptible to disease and malnutrition, it is essential to get these children food, water, shelter, and reconnect them with their families.

Doctors Without Borders -- I have really come to admire Doctors Without Borders for the work that I've watched them do in the Darfur region of Sudan. They are truly courageous, amazing people who do amazing work. I've been really, really touched by their desperate need in Haiti. They are still working to save the critically injured in the most awful circumstances. Performing surgeries out in the open. Trying to save lives without equipment. If you want to help the people that were injured in the quake, then please--give here.

There are so many more amazing, worthwhile charities that you can give to, or rather--give through. For more information, please visit http://www.charitynavigator.org/.

Of course, I find myself closing my eyes and just praying a lot. Praying for the people on the ground, who are able to do and be what I am not. For the people still worrying and wondering about family members. For children who have lost their parents, and parents who have lost their children.

It's the most I can do.

Turning 30...

2010-01-13T07:23:00.001-08:00

Something terrible has happened.

I have turned 30.

I don't know when it happened. I don't think it was on my birthday in October, because I didn't feel any different than I had the day before. When I was 29. So it must've crept up on me since then. Slowly. Like a haircut that grows out and you suddenly realize the truth: you have a fe-mullet.

That's how it feels to realize that you're 30. And it's about that cool, too. (Let's pause for a moment to consider Kristen Stewart's fe-mullet, shall we? I mean, she isn't even 30. And has millions of dollars. So there is only one explanation: Robert Pattinson is rubbing off on her. )

But back to me and my oldness.

I have lots of proof of my coming of age. For example, I have started washing my grapes. I can't even snatch a handful straight out of the bag without rinsing them in the sink, and I shudder just thinking about rat hairs (an average of 3 per bag of grapes) and grape harvesters going straight from Port-a-Potty to vine. Gross.

I never used to care. I used to just blissfully toss grapes in my mouth, tra la, as I put the groceries in the car. They looked clean to me, thanks. But now that I'm 30, I can't do that anymore.

Also, my car. It was made when I was 16 years old. That does not bespeak youth, my friends. Because "youth" drive cars that either a) bought by their parents or b) are so stinkin' old that they're retro and cool again. I know. Because when I was in high school I had the privilege of inheriting my brothers/grandmother's gold Dodge Colt hatchback. It was a fabulous stick shift that screamed "I'm too young to care! Bwahahah!" As a bonus feature, when you turned it off, it would turn back on again. Like Herbie. You literally had to kill it as you pulled into a parking space. It was the coolest car in the history of the world.

(RIP, 1980 Dodge Colt.)

My current car has none of the above qualities. Sometimes I have a certain impoverished pride in it. Like it's my own version of thumbing the powers that be and all their minions in pristine, new minivans and Honda Pilots all around me. That I am superior from them, in my bumblebee of a minivan. But in truth, I'm sure that it tells them exactly this: "I'm 30 and I don't care."

Other evidence:
I'm suddenly obsessed about putting eye cream around my eyes to avoid the "signs of aging."
I will no longer eat dough that has raw eggs in it. Yech.
I find myself saying "Why is it so COLD in here?" all the time.
All fast food suddenly tastes like grease. I could swear that some of it, at least, used to taste good.
And finally--I have started actually, truly, trying to be frugal. And by frugal I mean "Oh dear! One more day until payday, and we're completely out of food! Oh well, I'm sure I can defrost this unrecognizable meat and toss it in a pot with this limp celery and make a fantastic soup. Ohhh...and while the fridge is empty, I can give it a thorough scrubbing! Bliss!!"

It is official. I am old.

Night....

2010-01-11T07:15:00.000-08:00

Last night, in the middle part, Thing 1 started crying. In all her five-year-old-ness, she was longing for some "Girl Time" and a "Girl Show." At 3:00 in the morning. I told her that mama wasn't up for Girl Time. Mama wanted sleep. So she settled for me snuggling in next to her while she fell back to sleep.

As I lay there with my tall, thin little girl curled up next to me, I started remembering the first night home with her when she was a newborn.

It sends chills down my spine to this day.

Do you remember your first night home, with your first baby? Especially if you were alone?

We had come home on that bright June day and I had laid The Baby down in her crib. Brand new crib. Brand new crib set. Coming Home Outfit that was way too big. She looked so incredibly tiny in that huge crib, but I walked away and considered myself a success. I had put The Baby down for her first nap. Ten minutes later, a tiny squawk, and I jumped off the couch and waddled to go and get her.

And so went the day.

Evening descended and The Spouse went to bed. I was left holding this little person, and I had no idea what to do with her. We'd bought all kinds of contraptions... but which one was for the first night home???

I laid her in her crib. She screamed. Holding her out at arms length, I put her in the car seat. I'd seen parents do that before. She screamed. Feeling a little frantic I put her in the portable swing we'd bought and turned it on to it's highest setting: ZOOM. Her head flopped to the side and her body lunged forward. I snatched her out of the still moving swing.

WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS THING????

I walked to the kitchen and considered calling the maternity ward at the hospital. They'd managed to get her to sleep for two nights. Maybe they could tell me what to do. Heck, maybe I could just take her back there for another couple nights. Or months.

Fear clutched at my heart as the clock slowly ticked past midnight and tiredness set in. Why wouldn't she sleep? I'd changed her 10 times. I'd fed her every other minute. She didn't look the least bit drowsy.

Drowsy.

I turned on our huge, old garage sale television and put "Pride and Prejudice" in the player. Jane Austen always lulled my off to sleep. Surely a 5 hour BBC version could do the same for a newborn.

Around 4 in the morning, she finally drifted off to sleep. On the hard floor. With my hand under her little head.

Picture me laying next to her. Cold. Uncomfortable. Not daring to move in case it woke her up. Terrified to leave her there. Maybe she would turn over (HA! FIRST TIME MOM ALERT! HA!) and smother. Maybe someone would break down the front door and kidnap her. So I slept fitfully for an hour, until she woke up.

The next night, I called my mother and begged her to come over. I couldn't handle another night. And my Mother has never appeared more beautiful in my eyes than she did that night, like a shining Angel of Salvation come to rescue me from my own ineptitude. In all her seasoned wisdom, she found the solution that saved us: put her in the laundry basket and tilt it up because she has reflux.

And there was peace.

I thought of that last night, as I extracted myself to go back to my own bed. And I hesitated, just the last bit. Time is going so fast. There are so few nights like this left. I was tempted to stay and be cold and uncomfortable, just to stay there with her and smell her curly hair. I was tempted.

But sleep and comfort won. And there was peace.

Random Things

2010-01-08T04:10:00.000-08:00

1. I got a new candle yesterday at Marshalls. It is called "White Rose Truffle." Doesn't that sound disgusting? But it isn't. It actually smells really, really good. Kind of like white chocolate and unicorns and daisies. I'm loving how my house smells.

2. Yesterday I got into a fender-bender with a guy at the BP. It was my fault. But I really think it was his. The reason that I think it was his is because I didn't have to put on the brake to stop, and it took him several feet and a sharp brake. Furthermore, while my *vintage* 1996 Honda Odyssey now has a dent on the front, right hand corner--his *vintage* Buick LeSabre had only a crooked metal strip, which he kicked right back into place before telling me "It's needs ta be FIXED." (By the way, if ever there was a car that screamed "Go ahead and hit me!" it's mine.) I'm pretty sure when he says that it needs to be fixed, he's referring to the transmission that's rotting out, the tires that were obviously bald, and maybe that rear window that was covered in plastic and duct tape. I tried to emphasize to the insurance that I in NO WAY came near the engine, the roof, or his poor precious neck. (This is just a law suit waiting to happen.)

3. Anyone seen the movie "New Moon"?? You know when they go see a movie, and the title is "Punch Face"?? I can not think about that title without laughing. They couldn't come up with anything better than THAT???? Hilarious make believe hollywoodland.

4. SOMEONE ate the last of my gluten free Chex. I want to cry.

5. How much crying in one day is normal for a three year old? I'm just wondering. Because yesterday, I swear, it.did.not.stop. And I know I'm not the WORLD'S GREATEST PARENT by any means, but I'm doing my best here. I'm not denying the child life or air, which is how he behaves. Goodness. Can't wait until HE wakes up every morning. Sometimes, motherhood just bites. I'm sorry. But it needs to be said.

And on that cheery note!! *wave*

Good, Better, Best.

2010-01-04T08:26:00.001-08:00

As I've mentioned, my theme for this year is "Good, Better, Best" based on THIS speech by Dallin H. Oaks. (It's a really good read.) Every day, I'm trying to weigh my choices, and take that split second to make a better or best choice. In my first few days, I've been amazed at how MANY chances I have to choose. This morning provides a perfect example.

The Spouse woke me up at the unholy hour of 6:30 so that I could get Thing 1 out the door to school on time. (I smile as I say that because he woke me up just as he was leaving for work, so I have NO room to complain, really.) I got my daughter up, dressed, fed, and ready to go. As I shut the door after putting her in carpool, I turned and faced my silent, dim house. The other two kids were, miraculously, still asleep. I shuffled towards my room thinking about how I might sneak in another 10 or 20 minutes of sleep, which sounded blissful. It's cold here in North Carolina right now, and our house is drafty, so I couldn't think of anything better than snuggling down in my warm covers.

Then I heard the little Jiminy Cricket in my head whispering "Is there something better you could do before the kids wake up?"

To which my instant reaction was "What could be better than sleep???" But my answer was already there:I could work out. If the kids slept 20 more minutes, I would have my weight lifting in for the day. I wouldn't have to try and do that while keeping kids happy. And that would be a better way to spend 20 minutes than sleeping.

Cue big sigh.

Then Jiminy Cricket piped up again "Come on, isn't there anything better than working out?"

At which point, Jiminy Cricket was becoming annoying. Because wasn't working out and giving up sleep ENOUGH already?? But there it was. If the kids slept 20 more minutes, I could have my Bible reading done for the day.

Trudging back to the bookshelf, I reached up and took down my Bible.

Choosing "Better" and "Best" isn't easy. Although it's easier if you think of things in those terms. Also interesting that, once I was done with my reading, I automatically went and did my workout while the two younger kids ate breakfast. Like that decision was already made. So I'm learning that, for me, being "good" is fairly easy. Coasting along and doing the basics is something I've gotten pretty good at. But taking it up even one, let alone two more notches? That's tough.

Especially when one of your choices is sleep.

Countdown to Midnight...

2009-12-31T18:19:00.000-08:00

Or 8:00, Eastern Standard Time. Whichever...

(Cake plate! Eeek!)

(sigh. I think she's so beautiful.)

From our family to yours, Happy New Year.

(Don't we look circa 1909 or something? Cracks me up...)

New Year's Eve 2009...

2009-12-31T08:12:00.000-08:00

Or is it 2010? I never know if it's the year you're leaving or the year you're entering...

Anyway.

One of my goals for this year is to save money. Which means I've chosen 3 holidays (4th of July, Thanksgiving, and Christmas) that I can go crazy on, and the rest? They are going to require great creativity, not to mention restraint.

Have you noticed that I'm big on holidays?

This is going to be a challenge.

New Years Eve is my first test. No trips to to the store allowed.

I found some posterboard behind the fridge and decided to make it into a table runner. I cut it in half, then let my kids march all over it with paint on their feet. It was a hit. The feet go with our theme for the evening and year. My chosen theme for the year is "Good, Better, Best" and the theme for our New Years is "Best Foot Forward!"

So far, so good...

Now. What is already in our pantry that I can make a celebration out of??

Realistically Speaking...

2009-12-29T05:06:00.000-08:00

I love New Year's Resolutions.

I get into the whole spirit of the thing, complete with a topic and themes and divisions.

But I'm thinking this year, the theme should be "Keeping it Real" and my resolutions would go something like this:

Spiritually:
Go to church.
Don't eat all the kid's fruit snacks, while at church.
Judge more.

Physically:
Consume your own weight in aspartame.
Be the same weight next year as you are right now.
Don't have to buy clothes in the next size up.

Mentally/Emotionally:
Read more books for avoid housework.
Find even more methods of escapism.
Avoid people.

Wife and Mother:
Make sure the TV is on by no later than 7:30 am.
Save the planet--use febreze rather than actually doing laundry.
Spend every penny of the Spouse's hard earned money.

*smug grin* I'm pretty sure I could follow through on THOSE resolutions. My. What a thrill that would be. (Ok. Fine. Real ones are in the works.)

Oh My Stars...

2009-12-28T05:15:00.000-08:00

I am slowly putting away Christmas.

Not in a grand sweep. But just a little at a time.

We ate the last of Grandma Johnson's scones yesterday. Last night, we played the cheap version of Jenga, "Jumbling Towers" and ate our Christmas oranges. Not to mention the Symphony bar from the Spouse's stocking.

I put away the stack of books and dvds. Some of those, I'm happy to wait a year to see again. I'm gathering the Christmas music and CDs. Those will be put away today. Except the Carpenters Christmas CD. I need that for a few more days.

And I'm carefully taking a few ornaments off the tree every day and putting them away. I have a thing for stars, and so my tree has lots of them. When I lived in Switzerland, I fell in love with their tradition of putting stars everywhere at Christmas. America has stars on the top of our trees and a few ornaments, but in Europe, I saw stars everwhere. So I brought home star shaped Christmas light covers and sparkling star ornaments. Slowly, over the years, I've added to my collection. Dear friends have added to my collection. Now, my stars get a special box--all their own.

I'm putting my stars away today. Because, once I've let go of those--the rest is easy.

The Thoughts that Count...

2009-12-26T12:06:00.001-08:00

When it comes to gifts, it's the thought that counts.

And the day after Christmas--there are some thoughts that are counting a bit more than others.

Thing 2 received a "Power Wheels" 4 wheeler from Goodwill/his dad. He knew that we had it, and he knew where we were hiding it. But that didn't seem to diminish his delight when he saw it. My favorite moment for him was when he "offroaded" over the other gifts, with a determined and triumphant look on his face. Precious. Almost as precious as the Wee One riding all by herself.

The gift that seemed to mean the most to Thing 1, in all her Age 5 wonderfulness, was not the pink bike that she had asked Santa for, and was happy to receive. Nope. The thing that I've seen her enjoy the most was the random little "Ice Cream Scoop" game that I got, for super cheap, as an after thought. Thank heavens for after thoughts.

The Wee One liked her gifts. But not nearly as much as she likes the 4 Wheeler. Good thing she has a brother that shares. Unless he doesn't feel like it. In which case, he tries to run her over with it. We're working on that. He's usually pretty repentant, which means she gets a turn. I wonder if throwing herself in front of it is her tactic to get a ride, actually.

And the thoughts that counted the most, for me? Well, I have a wall vinyl that says "Come What May and Love It" in my living room now, where there wasn't one last week. It was one of those gifts that I hadn't asked for, but really have been wanting, and a dear friend just... noticed. That means the world to me. I can't see it without smiling. And from my own sweetheart? Well--he gave me several really great gifts, but two were my favorite. The first was a framed picture of the mountain I grew up looking at, most of my life. It's called Mount Timpanogos and it towers over Utah Valley. I have climbed all it's 12,000 feet. Twice. I have signed my name in the book at the top, and dangled my feet over the razor sharp edge, looking down at the mountain goats below. Then I slid down a glacier. I love this mountain. So I began, quite awhile ago, looking for a print, but found that most photographers favor the East Face over the West Face. While the East Face is pretty, it is not the one that is most familiar to me. So my husband sought out pictures taken by amateurs, rather than professionals, and found one in public domain that he printed off and put in a frame for me. It is truly beautiful.

The other one? A class in beekeeping this winter. My Mom asked me "Why?!" and I told her: It's because it's one of my 100 goals, to gather honey. In 2010, I'll be checking that goal off my list. I love it, and the thought behind it, because my goals are important to me. And I can't do them without him. (Especially the "Climb Mt. Kilimanjaro" one. Maybe next year???)

He also gave me (and himself) tickets to Wicked next spring for our anniversary. And that is great... but those didn't hit me as much as the other two did. Even though they cost the most. Isn't life funny that way?

I'm wondering what each of you were given, that made you smile or took your breath away. Care to share?

The Middle...

2009-12-24T23:12:00.000-08:00

It is 2:13 in the morning. Christmas day. And I can't sleep. I don't even want to. What does that say about me?

Since I can't sleep, I've been laying in bed, thinking about things.

It started because my lips hurt. They are cracked and chapped. They are cracked and chapped because I've been kissing my Spouse. A lot. Which I should explain about.

Every year, we try to give each other a homemade gift. One year, I made the Spouse a scrapbook of his semester in Jerusalem. Or at least part of it. Last year, he made me a sparkly red book of coupons for chores around the house. Which he completely came through on--even mopping the floor at the end of a long day. Three times.

This year, I decided to give him a different kind of homemade gift. It was called "Let's fall in love all over again." Which sounds funny to me, because I consider myself pretty smack in love anyway. But I thought about how fun it would be, if we could spend some time being giddy over each other. Although I had no idea how to approach it.

So I started off the month by just trying to be the Nice Wife and not the Ornery Wife. I tried to make dinner every night. I tried to not throw the kids at him when he walked in the door and beg for the keys to the car that has a working radio. Sometimes I did great. Sometimes I failed, and Ornery Wife came out of hiding. But I was trying. And the amazing thing was that I found myself thinking about the Spouse more often. Wanting to call him. It seemed like even mundane things, like folding the laundry--a chore I detest--could be a happy thing, if I sat there and thought of all the things I loved about him, while I folded.

So, on impulse I started the 15 days of Christmas. Each day, I tried to think of something to do. Some way to serve him. Something, anything, to delight him.

Somewhere in all of these 15 days, I realized that my gift was working wonders for me... but I wondered if it was working for him??? Was he falling any more in love with me? Was I doing the right things? Then I decided that it couldn't matter. Because I couldn't control that. But I was getting butterflies when he called. So I'll take it.

On the 5th day of Christmas I painted the bathroom. Again. Because I finally (finally!) found the right color. It was right in front of my face all along. But I digress... I was painting and the gift was "For the 5th Day of Christmas, your true love gives to you--5 colors of paint!" So I primed the cupboards, and thought of his hands. I taped the baseboards, and I thought of his laugh. I just couldn't stop thinking of how amazing and fantastic and HOT my true love is.

So when he came home, there was kissing that needed to be done.

It's been 10 days since then. And my lips are quite happily chapped.

It has been a phenomenal Christmas gift to give myself. I think now I will do the 7 Days of New Year... what do you think?

Twas the Night Before Christmas....

2009-12-24T16:41:00.001-08:00

Christmas Eve day is my favorite. I mean, seriously, is there any better day of the year?

I've wondered, sometimes, why I enjoy the Eve so much more than the Day. I think it might have something to do with the fact that there are just more traditions to Christmas Eve. But I also think that the anticipation of wonderful things is the absolute best part.

So today, we celebrated by:

Holding our annual snowball fight.

Stuffing our faces with "Grandma Johnson's Scones" for dinner. (You really ought to try these. Tast-yyyyy.)

For the recipe, click HERE. :)

In the evening, we had our annual family circus known as "The Nativity."

And finally, after listening to Danzel the Elf (a recording of an ooooooooooold record) and sprinkling our Reindeer Food on the lawn, it's time for bed. (If you want to make your own reindeer food, we just mix oats with glitter. The kids love throwing it on the lawn, and watching the sparkles catch the light.)

Which is Santa's very favorite time. To put a log in the fireplace and watch a movie. And eat his scone. With milk.

But, in all truth, my very favorite part of today? Dave and I were up early, just the two of us, and we read some of our favorite scriptures together and talked about the Savior. The kids woke up slowly, and in good moods, and joined us one by one. For just a little while, there was peace on earth. At least at our house.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.