Squishy.

My Dad has always done private contracting and when I was a kid, one particular house he built was fairly close to our own. After school, my Mom and brother and I would drive over to the work site to hang out for a bit. My very favorite thing on the site was a massive mountain of dirt that was leftover when they dug out the foundation. My brother and I would climb that mound every evening and get completely filthy, digging and burrowing through the soft, freshly dug dirt. One of those really great childhood memories.

So, when the storms from last weekend left an impromptu shallow pond in our backyard and the kids ended up in it fully-clothed, I acquiesced.

What had started out as an innocent game of throwing rocks in the water soon turned into a mud-slinging free-for-all. And all I could think about was that dirt mound as a kid--the soft, squishy mud between my toes and how absolutely glorious it felt.

Needless to say, I was thrilled that my kids were feeling the same thing.

Naomi's white tutu is now brown, but, it was worth it. Kids being kids--it doesn't get much better than that.

Have a lovely day.

Sweet Weekend.

The girls and I headed to Arkansas to visit my parents for the weekend, after I realized I had not left our town since I was 36 weeks pregnant, which was, oh, almost three months ago? IT WAS TIME TO BREAK FREE.

It was really fun for Naomi to be the oldest sibling for a few days. She was the center of attention and loved every minute of it. Her Pepere made her favorite food (EGGS) and she got to mix birdseed with her Memere. And, they all enjoyed lots of time outside together in the beautiful sunshine. It was so sweet and so fun!








(I love this picture--so typical of trying to get a group shot with two little ones!)



And I got some extra sweet time with the littlest sister, too.






A lovely girls' weekend, indeed.

Have a lovely day!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Advent Wreath.

Okay. I am not bypassing Thanksgiving and jumping into Christmas, but I realized that the Sunday after Thanksgiving marks the beginning of Advent, so I figured I would go ahead and write a post about Advent wreaths, in case you are interested in doing one this year. That way you have plenty of time to get it ready before Sunday while still having time to perfect your stuffing and roast your turkey. Or dump your cranberry sauce from a can. Woot!

So. What is an Advent Wreath? Traditionally, it is an evergreen wreath holding/surrounding four pillar candles (sometimes five). Here is one I made a few years ago:

Each candle represents a different aspect of Advent. The word "Advent" means "arrival", so the candles are typically Hope, Joy, Peace, and Love; however, that can change depending on tradition/liturgy/preference. For a more kid-friendly version, the candles represent things like Bethlehem, shepherds, and angels and follows the Christmas story. A candle is lit every Sunday in Advent (four candles for four Sundays), and in newer tradition, a fifth candle is lit on Christmas Morning. This would be especially appropriate this year, since Christmas is on a Sunday morning! Each candle lighting is accompanied by a brief reading and prayer. In my family, it's a great way to anticipate Christmas morning, keeping in mind the actual reason for Christmas, amidst parties and shopping and chaos and such.

That's it! Very simple, yet poignant.

There are several ways to make an Advent Wreath. When I was a kid, we would use real evergreen and stuff it into a styrofoam ring. Now I just use a store-bought wreath and place the taper candles inside of it. Some people ditch the evergreen and use walnuts, ornaments, or twigs instead, but I'm a bit of a traditionalist and like that the evergreen represents everlasting life. It's totally up to you, though--you can be as creative as you'd like!

For the readings, I have two kinds. One is a collection that I partly wrote, partly assembled from other sources (a more grown-up version), and another is the booklet we used when I was a kid (a more kid-friendly version). Every year on this blog I post the grown-up readings each Sunday of Advent and last year I received several emails from friends saying that they found it helpful, so I'm going to do that again this year. And, since my kids are older and this blog is really about doing things that are kid-friendly, I'm going to post the kid-friendly readings (I still have the pamphlet, circa 1991!) every Friday. So, if you're looking for a place to do kid-friendly readings, just check here on Friday and you'll be good to go on Sunday. Or, you can just read Sunday's for a more "grown-up" version!

Disclaimer: The Sunday readings are a compilation of my own writing plus the writings of others. I used different sources and forgot to cite them (I'm a college graduate, I promise) so I'm apologizing now for the lack of proper citation.

I hope that made sense. :)

And that's it!

Have a lovely day.

Motherhood: Staying Home.

I remember hearing someone say once that the more you stay home, the more you want to be there, and the less you are home, the less you want to be there. The statement was in reference to stay-at-home Moms and our sometimes uncanny ability to be everywhere but at home. There are always errands to run, activities to join, and really, let's be honest ... sometimes we go because we just have to get out! Sonic, Starbucks, or a drive through the park. Sometimes being gone is the little breather we need to finish out the rest of our day, while the kids are strapped in the back!

But besides the necessary driving-to-refocus breaks, I've noticed that the statement is true. The busier I am, the less I want to be home. What I mean by that is, when I've had a few days of go-go-go, I come home and feel like I don't quite know what to do. My home isn't any different than it was the day before, or the day before that, and yet I feel a little helpless and discombobulated. That's when the urge to jump in the car and go somewhere--anywhere--hits again, and while I find comfort behind the wheel, I come home to that same awkward feeling.

However, if I really focus on staying home and don't let my mind wander to the great beyond that lies outside our front door (that usually requires spending money, eek), I find that I really enjoy being home. I love doing fun things with the kids while we're out and about, but I've grown to realize that the best way to fill their love tanks is to just be home with them, spending one-on-one time in the environment they know the best. Oftentimes while we're gallavanting around, their behavior can be notably different. That's when I know we've just been away too long. When we're home and I actually make the effort to sit on the floor and dedicate good chunks of time to playing with them, their response is undeniable. They're more relaxed, they're more imaginative, and I can just tell that they're all-around happier. I have great memories of Disneyland and Sea World as a kid, but the memories of playing Breyer horses on the living room floor with my Mom rank just as highly in my book.

This is a challenge for me sometimes because I don't sit still very well. Ask my husband--I'm that obnoxious person who asks questions during movies and who loves to be on the go. If the kids are playing well by themselves, I use that time to do laundry, wipe the countertops, vacuum, etc. Don't get me wrong--the ability to play alone is hugely important, but sometimes I think I take advantage of it. I love being attentive to my kids, but I've noticed a difference between being conveniently attentive and intentionally attentive. When that urge to "get out" comes, I find that I'm dissatisfied and snappy if I can't, and a lot of the time if I do answer the urge and leave, I'm not really any more satisfied than when I left. But if I push those thoughts out of my head and join the kids in their play, I am quickly reminded of how much I really love spending time with them. I'm reminded that their obedience and behavior are not my primary responsibilities as a parent, but that they are to feel loved and secure and valued--that they were created lovingly down to every last detail. That inner sense of worth is priceless. Obedience, without it, just makes a robot.

So, here's to staying home, and the challenge it can be to sometimes actually do it. :)

Have a lovely day.

Even Bathroom Breaks Are Accompanied By Little Hands Knocking.

I sneak in a quick shower before the kiddos are up.

The breakfast show gets up and running and both are fed. I call the doctor because Naomi is congested and hoarse.

Help with shoes and boots and dressing and diapers and pottying and etc.

Loading in the van. Buckling, adjusting, toy-distributing. Sippy cups, check.

Trip to the grocery store.

Trip to the doctor. Just a cold.

Drive-thru lunch.

Naomi falls asleep in the car and gets put down at home.

Cub and I eat lunch and play a game.

Cub goes down for a nap.

I organize our pantries and chop the peppers and chicken for fajitas for dinner.

I sit down on the couch and Naomi promptly wakes up.

I feed Naomi lunch.

I attempt to make pumpkin spice muffins while Mouse plays at my feet.

The muffins are an epic fail and all I have to show for them is a pile of dishes.

Cub wakes up.

I put both kids in shoes, grab some paperwork, head out the door.

More loading, buckling, adjusting, toy-distributing. Sippy cups, check.

I drop paperwork off, run to Target.

Zoom through Target with a brief pause to check out the Christmas trees with a wide-eyed Cub.

Come home, unload Target purchases, walk to the end of our loooong driveway to retrieve our huge trash can and roll it back. In the rain.

I let the chickens out, collect eggs, and head inside to clean dishes from the muffins.

Dishes get done, time to start dinner.

I start dinner while two hungry kiddos observe and occasionally beg.

We sit down to dinner and my legs ache from not sitting for a long time.

Prayer, chatting, nudging to take more bites. Crumbs on the floor, on the table, on the Mouse.

Dadda comes home as we finish up.

I run and give him the biggest hug and tell him I'm so glad he's home.

While he eats dinner, Naomi bonks her head and comes running to me for comfort.

She cries so hard she throws up on me.

I change her and myself.

I load the dishwasher and wash the remaining dinner dishes by hand.

My husband puts her to bed as I pick up a few wayward toys.

All with a 30-Week pregnant-for-the-third-time-in-three-years belly. My body is beside itself.

My husband is now playing with Cub while I sit down for ten minutes by myself to type this post.

One word to describe motherhood?

Constant.

The good, the bad, the busy.

Have a lovely day.

The Thanksgiving Tree.

You might remember my post about a Thanksgiving Tree last year...can you believe it's that time of year again? I can't! Here's a little refresher on the Thanksgiving Tree if you're interested in doing it with your family!

A sweet friend of mine shared this idea with me a while ago, and I'm happy to pass it on.

Firstly, you take fall-ish colored construction paper or cardstock and cut out enough "leaves" to represent each day from November 1 until Thanksgiving Day (this year Thanksgiving falls on November 24th, so you would cut out 24 leaves). Since I used cardstock, I used the first leaf as my template.

Poke a hole in each leaf and feed a piece of string or twine through.

Create a "tree" using a large stick or a bundle of sticks. I have a dried twisted hibiscus I'm using this year. You can either attach all of the leaves now or attach them one at a time. Cub wanted to help me this year, so we went ahead and put all of the blank leaves on our tree.

Every morning, write what you are thankful for on a leaf.

It's an easy way to focus on the poignancy of a thankful heart, and to teach it to our kiddos at a young age. We kept our leaves from last year and plan to continue keeping them--it's so fun to look back!

Plus, it's a great fall decoration. :)

Have a lovely day, friends.

The Liturgical Baptist.

When I was fifteen, the Baptist church we were attending suffered a split and my family left along with several other families in the congregation. I was what you would describe as an "active" member of our youth group, volunteering for various ministries along with singing for the worship band and youth choir, and playing the piano for the offertory on Sunday morning and Sunday night. I was known and affirmed for my service and appreciated the pats on the back I received in return. High-five for the involved kid in the youth group.

So, needless to say, the church split rocked my cozy little world and my safe walls came tumbling down. Adults whom I had known for years said hurtful things. Friends whom I had had for years said hurtful things. We were all hurting and we hurt each other in return. I turned my nose up to the idea of ever attending another Baptist church again and I allowed that hurt to settle into the deep recesses of my heart, where a tiny root of bitterness took hold. I can be a slightly cynical person by nature anyway, which didn't help anything, either.

I didn't have an issue with God or really of church in general--just of Baptist churches. I spent the next few years floating between my friends' churches, ignoring the bitterness and therefore letting it grow. My freshman year of college, I took a break from church altogether. I attended chapel at least once a week and felt it was sufficient. And really, at that time, I think it was.

My degree is in Family and Human Services and at the university I attended, this particular degree falls under the Department of Biblical Studies. That meant that along with my classes on counseling theories and family law, I was also taking Philosophy of the Christian Faith, Spiritual Formations, Theology, and the like. I studied the works of Augustine, Kierkegaard, and Bonhoeffer, and spent countless hours in the offices of my professors, discussing questions and revelations I had about my faith and the experiences that were shaping my worldview. I attended liturgical services, went to my first Ash Wednesday service, and observed Lent for the first time. I found these things to be tangible ways for me to worship and not altogether distant from my early years spent at a Dutch Reformed church that practiced its own methods of liturgy. It resonated with me and my faith grew enormously.

My sophomore year of college, I started dating the guy who would someday become my husband. I remember one night casually asking him where he went to church when he was home from college, and he said it was a Baptist church.

I don't like to think that I am dramatic, but sometimes my responses to things can be a little, eh, over the top. I promptly threw my hands in the air and declared that we couldn't date.

Thankfully, he ignored my little outburst and instead listened to the story of my hurt, the reason I felt the way I did. I was surprised when he didn't laugh or toss the story aside, but instead took it seriously. He said we would pray about where God was leading us as a couple, and that would be that. I nodded. That night I started praying. I prayed diligently every night for months, that God would release my hurt and, truly, my hate towards this specific kind of church--the same kind of church that the man I loved, and the man who's family I also loved, chose to attend. That root of bitterness had grown and had been nurtured over the years and was now a strong one. I know it seems silly to be weighted down by something that in the scheme of things seems so ... minor? Insignificant? I mean, the kind of church you attend? Who cares?

But wounds from the church are of the worst kind. If you've experienced that, you know it to be true. I couldn't forget the hurtful words, the dirty looks, from people I used to share my life with. All at a time in my life that was a decidedly poignant one.

In college, I became familiar with the Apostles' Creed. If you don't know it, this is how it goes:

I believe in God the Father Almighty,

the Maker of heaven and earth,

and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord:

Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost,

born of the virgin Mary,

suffered under Pontius Pilate,

was crucified, dead, and buried;

He descended into hell.

The third day he rose again from the dead;

He ascended into heaven,

he sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty,

from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Ghost;

the holy catholic church;

the communion of saints,

the forgiveness of sins,

the resurrection of the body;

and the life everlasting.

Amen.

The holy catholic church. The lowercase "c" refers to the universal church. The universal body of believers. As I studied the Creed, I realized that these were the things that mattered. These were the pillars of orthodox Christianity. If a Bible-believing church taught salvation and adhered to these truths and followed them, then I was on board, regardless of how they chose to worship or what denomination was listed under the name on their church sign.

Maybe even Baptist churches.

It was a historical creed, one that is rarely recited in Baptist churches (though is sometimes sung), that made me open to the possibility of the idea of attending one.

My last semester in college, I knelt one night by my bed and prayed again what I had been praying for a long time--that the root of bitterness would die. And in that moment, it did.

I opened my eyes and couldn't believe it. The hatred was gone. The bitterness was gone. God had answered my prayer. It was the biggest stronghold I have ever experienced and the disappearance of it was, thusly, the biggest relief I have ever experienced. It's like holding your breath just a moment too long and finally releasing it to breathe in fresh air. You want to laugh and collapse at the same time. I probably did.

Ironically, after my attitude underwent this crazy transformation, my husband and I didn't end up attending a Baptist church. We instead went to a church across town and stayed there for six years, and loved it. Then, almost a year ago, we felt God calling us to the church where he grew up. The Baptist church. We wanted our kids to have the experience of going to church with their grandparents, and after months of prayer and discussion, we did it. The transition has been a beautiful one. I'm still the same me--I will still attend an Ash Wednesday service and I still observe Lent and read through the Book of Common Prayer. These are the ways I love to worship. I also love the genuine joy of the body of believers God has called us to, the Bible Studies, the kids running in the hallway after church, and the glow on my in-laws' faces when they see their grandkids in the children's wing. The pastor and I have had really good conversations and even if we don't see eye-to-eye on everything, I respect him greatly and he has shown that he respects me as well, which is huge. God not only released my hatred towards all things Baptist, but He gave me love in its stead.

And as I sit here teary-eyed, I'm not entirely sure as to why I felt the need to share all of this with the Internet. But it was on my heart this morning, so, there you have it.

Have a lovely day, friends.

Vomiting Makes The Heart Grow Fonder.

I think it's safe to say that any sort of stomach bug is my least favorite sort of bug. I had heard of such a bug floating around our area and while I crossed my fingers and took my vitamins and hoped that perhaps it would skip over us, my efforts were futile. Saturday night, Mouse threw up six times in an hour and a half, once Sunday night, and then we all got it Monday night. "It" turned out to be a horribly painful bug, full of stomach cramping and subsequent loss of stomach content. Both my husband and I agreed that this was the worst sickness we'd had in a while, as we laid on the floor curled up in the fetal position, moaning and pounding the floor with our fists.

Yeah, it was that bad.

Thankfully, it only lasted for a few hours with the kids. It lasted for eight hours for my husband and I, and finally after midnight we were able to hold down Gatorade (it never tasted so good). By the next morning, we were at least functioning, and I took advantage of this energy burst to go into psycho-cleaning mode. It seems to me that the stomach bug spreads germs in the worst way and I was determined to nix every last trace of illness in our house. I strapped on a mask and yellow gloves, and after removing the shower curtain, rug, and towels (all of which went in the wash for a spin in the "sanitize" cycle) in our guest bath (where we camped out most of the night), I bleached the entire bathroom. On my hands and knees, scrubbing. GAH. It was awful and felt wonderful. Now, at the end of the day, all of the sheets and comforters have been washed, too. Phew.

While my husband and I tag-teamed caring for the kids and took turns throwing up between hand-offs, it made me appreciate him all the more. He is so sensitive and sweet to the kids and this was especially true last night as he consoled them and held them and loved on them while they were sick. At one point he reached over to me and said, "I feel like death. I can't even imagine how hard this is for you being pregnant. You're amazing." I managed a smile in the midst of a really horrible night.

Now, we are back in the land of the living. Kind of. We're all still feeling tired and weak, but our stomachs are better and the house is sparkling. I'm glad that episode is over.

Have a lovely day.

21.5 Weeks.

I'm not typically a weekend updater, but I realized that by Monday this picture will be null and void, since I will technically be twenty-two weeks then and not twenty-one like I am in this picture.

HUGE DIFFERENCE here, people. Ha ha.

And ... the chances of me getting another picture taken in the near future are pretty slim.

So, here you have it:

The baby bump.

Have a lovely weekend.

Creamy. Yummy.

When it comes to soups, I'm a huge creamy soup fan. You know, the kind that isn't as good for you and usually involves significant amounts of fat and such. YUM!

As I made my menu for the week, I perused teh Internets for a creamy chicken noodle soup recipe that I could make in the good ol' crock-pot. I didn't find one that I loved, but I found parts of several that I loved, so I put them all together and made my own.

Oh my. Oh MY.

It was creamy, rich, amazingly yummy. My husband praised it and my kids devoured their bowls. I also devoured my fair share. So, if you're in the mood for something creamy and hot as the cold weather rolls in, here is my recommendation:

Way Yummy Creamy Chicken Noodle Soup

You will need:

4 cups chicken stock

2 cans cream of chicken soup (I usually try to be all healthy and shy away from using "cream of ..." soups, but this time? NAH.)

1/2 cup heavy whipping cream (remember me not being healthy?)

2-3 cups chicken, shredded (or chopped or whatever you prefer)

3/4 bag of egg noodles

veggies of your choosing (chopped carrots, chopped celery, chopped green onion, etc.)

salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

Dump everything in your crock-pot except the noodles. Cook on high for roughly thirty minutes, and then set to low.

Let it simmer all day and make your house smell amazing.

About thirty minutes before meal time, dump in the egg noodles.

Cook noodles until satisfied (I let mine thoroughly cook so they would have a dumpling-like creamy texture).

Add salt and pepper as needed.

(NOTE: I'm going to go ahead and recommend that you make your own chicken stock. I know, it sounds like a pain if you've never done it before, but it's way easy and you just can't beat the rich flavor. I seasoned my stock with garlic, green onions, bay leaves, salt, and pepper and it tasted amazing. I like making my own stock because I can control the salt content (I think store-bought tends to taste a bit salty, and the low-sodium option tastes a bit bland ... I guess I need a happy medium!). Especially when I'm using other canned soups which are already salty enough--it's nice to have a mellow but rich stock. I also used my chicken from the stock and it was all flavorful and yummy and YUM.)

Dump in bowls and watch your family devour it!

Happy eating, friends!

Have a lovely weekend.

Sabbath Shmabbath.

A professor in college once encouraged me to keep a sabbath as best as I could, to the best of my ability, one day a week. Obviously, the Sabbath is on Sunday according to Christian tradition, which typically involves church and a nap. But his challenge was a little different. He said for one day, put all work, including homework, on hold (some people have to work on Sundays, right?). For those of you who have a handy-dandy college diploma hanging on your wall, you know that you earned it through lots of homework. Going through an entire day without doing anything--no emails, no Blackboard, no quick 1-page summaries, no reading ... no READING--could be quite a challenge. Especially considering I was a senior when this challenge was issued and my major, Family Studies, was basically a huge pile of reading and paper writing. But, I liked the premise of his suggestion.

I accepted his challenge and found that even if I took a day off, it was possible to get things finished. If I took the time to kick back, relax, pray, refocus, and enjoy the freedom of my day, I was actually more productive throughout the week. A nice little way to recharge. I've taken this practice with me first into newlywed-ness and now into the busy life of a Mom, cleaning up hurriedly on Saturday night so on Sunday, the day of my choosing, I will truly rest.

Because if there is a mess, chances are I won't rest. It's just my personality. My new personality. Because frankly, a mess never really bothered me before I demanded a bit of order in my life to survive the daily (albeit fun) chaos of a young family.

So.

I typically go to the grocery store on Monday mornings.

When I go, the store is usually pretty empty, and the other customers who do happen to be there are usually other Moms. I don't know about you, but I go into the grocery store with a PLAN. I have my shopping list itemized in accordance with the arrangement of the products for which I am hunting, my purse is packed with two sippy cups and some snacks, and I zip through as quickly as I can, knowing my two year old and one year old could potentially lose it at any moment and I don't want to risk it. It might sound nutty, but experience has taught me that a little preparedness is never a bad thing.

Basically I'm a super anal shopper.

ANAL.

Gah. I hate that word.

Anyway! After my luxurious nap on Sunday, I, for some reason, felt compelled to write out my menu and make up my shopping list for the week. After Googling some new recipes and itemizing my list, I looked at the clock and figured that Meh, why don't I just go today? I could get the shopping over with and be done by the time Monday arrives!

Genius!

Stupid!

I loaded up the kids and headed down the highway to our usual place. As I parked my Swagger Wagon, I noticed that the parking lot was rather full. I also noticed that it was a bit like a demolition derby, with SUVs and sedans vying for parking spots amidst crowds of people pouring in and out through the sliding doors. Very unlike Monday mornings.

Throwing caution to the wind, I decided to go ahead and take the plunge into the store.

We were lucky and found one of Cub's favorite carts--a cart with a fire engine attached on the front where he can ride. I plopped Naomi in the front of the cart while Cub crawled into his red plastic contraption and away we went, with me chugging at my usual Shopper Mom pace. Which is fast.

As the grand sliding doors parted for our entrance, I stopped short when I saw the droves of people milling about the store. There were just ... just ... so many of them. I took a deep breath, whipped out my list, and charged through the produce section. I tossed our spinach, squash, grapes, and snobby cheese into the cart before peeling around the corner towards the turkey pepperoni and Smart Chicken. I almost ran into a couple that was perusing, yes, perusing, as in, taking their time, in the meat department, but quick maneuvering avoided a potential accident as we buzzed on towards dairy. I tossed in the heavy whipping cream and organic milk before stopping short by the yogurt. A lady was standing there with some Oikos in one hand and Chobani in the other, trying to decide which to get. Oikos, Chobani. Oikos, Chobani. I stood there with my foot tapping impatiently as I watched her head go back. And forth. Back. And forth.

THEY'RE BOTH GREEK. PICK ONE.

She finally settled on one (ONE!) and meandered away. I slid my cart into her empty spot and chucked five Chobanis in the basket.

I checked my pulse. My pace was still good, but boy howdy, these crowds were about to give me an aneurism.

We hit up the rest of our spots, squealing through frozen bread (Rudi's!), charging through the cereal (cereal bars!) and zooming through pasta (wheat spaghetti!), weaving between customers parked in the middle of the aisles to chat. How nice. Chatting. By the time I yanked the massive cart to the checkout, I was sweating, Naomi was fussing, and Caleb had his legs dangling out the window of his faux firetruck. I organized my items on the conveyer belt (ANAL) and said three cheers for drive-thru pick-up as I hoisted my girl on my hip and held my little boy's hand and trekked across the parking lot to our car. I picked my groceries and away we went.

Oy.

By the time we got home, I was a cranky hot mess. The kids were cranky because I was cranky. As the cargo door on the van slowly lifted in our hot garage, I stood there glaring at the sacks of groceries I had to carry inside. They were heavy. I was hot. I heaved each sack onto the counter before trudging back to the garage for another. The kids were getting hungry and whiny and I was feeling the same, but after the groceries were all schlepped inside, I still had to unpack them. Ugh. I put them away as quickly as I could, with whatever energy I had left, and tossed the kids some cereal bars before slumping onto the couch. I noticed that the kitchen trash needed to be emptied. I winced and let my head fall back on the couch. Meh, trash.

Some sabbath, yes?

What's really so sad is that I have time to get groceries on Monday. And, if worse comes to worst and I get busy on Monday, I have time to get them Tuesday. But for some reason, for SOME REASON, I decided to take a detour from my Day of Rest and instead forge through a massive commercial building enduring the perils of consumerism with two little kids. A good idea in theory and a really terrible experience in practice.

I understand now why God suggested, nay, demanded a Day of Rest. Not a "One Extra Day To Get Things Done".

So, this is just me saying that I totally failed with resting today because of an apparent attempt at overachieving. But I really didn't achieve much, save for some food in the fridge and a bad attitude.

Next Sunday? Hopefully there's a little more rest in order.

Have a lovely day.

Oh, y'all. I am so tired. After a day full of flight delays that resulted in a midnight flight to an airport way out of our way and a night spent in said airport (by "night" I mean from 2-5 in the morning ... oy), my brain is fried. I'm so glad to be home.

I do plan on expounding the details of the trip, but for now I will leave you with some snapshots. These span from Maine to New Hampshire to Vermont and highlight the beautiful home of my Aunt, sore feet, the joys of the sea, a visit to Seventh Generation headquarters, reuniting with family, and, most importantly, Memere's 90th birthday party, thrown by my Mom and her two sisters. This was really a very special trip.

Enjoy the pictures and I promise a post is coming, after I recover.

Have a lovely day, friends.

If This Never Happens To You, I'll Go Ahead And Bury My Head In The Sand.

The other day I decided to make some cinnamon rolls for my husband. He had eaten some at the party the previous night that made him swoon, so I figured I would try to replicate the awesomeness so he could have some sweets to take to work.

I started in the evening and about halfway through, I realized this was going to be a rather lengthy endeavor. The kids were getting restless and cranky and were pulling on my legs as I rolled out the dough. My husband and I got them to bed and I returned to the kitchen to finish the rolls. I can't pintpoint exactly the moment of epic failure, but between too much butter, a misread extract, and not enough dough, I found myself up to my armpits in what I thought was perhaps an unsalvageable mess. But, I forced through and my determination resulted in three pans of cinnamon rolls. Fresh out of the oven, they tasted pretty good. At least, I thought so.

My husband tried one and nodded and said it was okay.

That's it.

My hours of slaving for a nod of the head and a "it's okay".

I'm not sure what snapped in my head, perhaps a feeling of underappreciation mixed with exhaustion (and, let's not forget, pregnancy hormones), but I gave him a glare and with much dramatic huffing and flailing of arms, I stormed to the bedroom and shut the door.

A few moments later he cracked it open and asked if I was okay.

And then the crying started.

The ugly crying. The heaving. I can't remember the following conversation verbatim, but here's the basic gist of it:

"YOU DON'T LIKE MY CINNAMON ROLLS!"

"I didn't say that!"

"I KNOW YOU DIDN'T LIKE THEM! I MESSED THEM UP!"

(Snort, snort, sniffle.)

"It's fine! They weren't bad!"

"'WEREN'T BAD'?? THAT MEANS YOU HATED THEM!"

"KATIE. The cinnamon rolls are fine! I appreciate you making them!"

"THE KITCHEN IS A MESS AND IT'S LATE AND I DON'T WANT TO CLEAN IT!"

"Uh, okay. Don't clean it then!"

"I'M GONNA HAVE THREE KIDS!!"

(Pause.)

"Um, what?"

"WE'RE GONNA HAVE THREE KIDS!! HOW IN THE WORLD CAN I HANDLE THREE KIDS?!"

"I thought we were talking about cinnamon rolls."

"I DON'T THINK I CAN DO IT! I DON'T THINK I CAN BE A GOOD MOM TO THREE LITTLE KIDS!"

"Uh, Katie?"

"I DRIVE A MINIVAN!!"

"Oh boy."

"I'M GOING TO HAVE THREE KIDS AND I DRIVE A MINIVAN! WHO AM I?! I CAN'T EVEN MAKE CINNAMON ROLLS!!"

"Oh geez. Okay. Katie, I think you're overthinking this ..."

"I HAVE TO CHANGE DIAPERS AND TEACH OUR KIDS TO WALK AND TALK AND THEN I HAVE TO KEEP THE HOUSE CLEAN AND COOK AND BAKE AND KEEP THE LAUNDRY UP AND (snort, snort, sob) ..."

"Calm down. You do a great job."

"AND MY JOB DESCRIPTION IS JUST 'STAY-AT-HOME'!" ARE YOU KIDDING?? WHAT BOZO COINED THAT TERM?!"

"Katie, go to bed."

"I'M JUST ... I'm just ... (sob, sob)"

"You're tired."

"I'm tired."

"It's not about the cinnamon rolls."

"It is a little."

"Go to bed."

"THREE KIDS."

"Go to bed."

(Pause.)

"Okay."

And I did.

Have a lovely day.

A Happy Fourth.

Ten boxes of fireworks

+

Sixty-five guests

+

Kiddos splashing in the pool

+

A ferocious game of backyard volleyball

+

Lots of laughing and chatting with friends and family

+

A few children's tears from the fireworks' BOOM!

+

Lawn chairs

+

A table filled edge-to-edge with pies, cookies, cake, chips, deviled eggs, cobbler, and homemade ice cream

+

Disc golf and Bocce Ball in the front yard

+

Tiki torches

+

Flags and sparklers

+

Bug spray

=

One heck of a Fourth of July.

(And two very, very exhausted hosts. YAY for coffee.)

(And yay for a home where we can do stuff like this--a dream come true for us. Exhaustion is a bit more tolerable when it's accompanied by joy. What fun memories were made!)

I hope your Fourth was a good one!

Have a lovely day.

Thursday Randomness.

* I am now obsessed with making s'mores in the microwave. I stack a little chocolate on top of a graham cracker and top it off with marshmallow. Then I start the microwave and wait until the marshmallow begins to balloon up ... then I snatch it out and place another graham cracker on top. It all melts together. Amazing.

* I have recently discovered the joy that is makeup remover wipes. Confession: I do not wash my face before bed. Thusly, these wipes are what I believe to be the next best thing.

* I am eleven weeks today. I can't believe next week I'll be out of my first trimester. Crazy.

* At one point today I was cleaning coffee out of the carpet, opening a can of corn, and texting. I'm not sure how all three were accomplished at the same time, but they were, and I am proud.

* I made manicotti for the first time last night. Huge hit.

* The nurse checked my chart today and confirmed that this was my fourth pregnancy, correct? I told her yes, that the first pregnancy ended in miscarriage. She then raised an eyebrow and proceeded to tell me I have been pregnant every year since 2007. I think my head exploded.

* Naomi just crawled in with a graham cracker in her hand. She found my stash.

* Speaking of my daughter who inhales everything, she is still in the 28th percentile for her weight. I'm fairly certain she will be her father, who had knobby knees until after college.

* Caleb just crawled in my lap and we took this picture. I love him so.

* Now this same Cub wants to sing a song. So, see you later!

Have a lovely day.

Slick.

I realized I never wrote a Father's Day post, so we'll go ahead and call this one it.

This is one of the best memories I have of my Dad.

When I was a kid, I really wanted a slip 'n slide. A specific slip 'n slide, in fact, that was advertised throughout morning cartoons and the TGIF line-up. I can't remember the exact name of this particular piece of slippery plastic, but I remember the sing-songy slogan that accompanied the commercial: "You run! You slide! You hit the bump, and then you DIVE!"

AWESOME.

On the commercial, the slip 'n slide looked enormous. It showed teenager-sized kids running at full speed and then in slow motion it showed them landing on the slip 'n slide with huge waves of water pouring over them. After sliding down the massive slide, they would hit a huge bump and go plunging into the pool attached at the end. Sheer watery perfection.

My Dad knew how much I wanted this slip 'n slide and since California summers are a tad toasty, he decided to take me to Toys 'R Us one day to buy it. I was giddy. We searched the store until we found the massive display ... and saw the box that the slide came in. It was tiny. My Dad read the measurements on the box and realized the slide was seven feet long. He grimaced and put his hand over his head to show me how tall seven feet was. My little heart was broken. The commercial had LIED! With my head down, I told him it was okay, I didn't need the slide. And we left the store.

However, instead of going home, he took me to a hardware store. Puzzled, I followed him inside as we wandered to the back of the store. He pulled out a box labeled "BLACK TARP" and raised his eyebrows with a very sneaky smile. I had no idea what his plans were, but we bought the box and headed home. I went to my room while Dad stayed outside and a little while later, he called me down. I walked outside and couldn't believe my eyes:

Down the slope of our front yard laid a massive black slip 'n slide! It was five feet wide and thirty feet long. My Dad hooked a sprinkler up to the top, squirted some dish soap at the starting point, and had thusly created the most impressive and amazing slip 'n slide I had ever seen. My jaw dropped open in amazement. I jumped up and down, giddy to try it out. Within minutes every neighborhood kid was in our front yard, mesmerized by the massive piece of summer fun sprawling down our lawn.

We used that thing until it shred to pieces.

I thanked my Dad profusely, but I think it was the change in my countenance that pleased him the most. And now, as a parent, I get it.

Happy (late) Father's Day, Dad. :)

And thank you for the "above and beyond" moments.

Have a lovely day.

Puddle Jumper.

(Look! I put a random stock photo of a child that is not mine on my blog!)

Our house came with a circular above-ground pool. It wasn't anything I was necessarily wanting, but my husband, ohhhhh my husband, he saw it and fell in love. As long as he was cool with the maintenance, then I was cool with using it! :)

Having the pool has turned out to be an amazingly wonderful thing. The kids and I can swim during the day and every night after dinner, we all go for a family swim. It's kind of like being on vacation every night. So fun! Now, the random stock photo image above is to give a shameless plug for these amazing floaties known as Puddle Jumpers. These awesome floaties have revolutionized the swimming experience for our little man. Our little Cub has always been a bit of a fish, firstly with a little inflatable boat before he was a year old, then with holding on and swimming around with us last summer, and now these things. When the hot weather arrived, I first bought Cub a pair of arm floaties. He didn't like them one bit and was afraid of going underwater. Some friends of ours had a Puddle Jumper for their daughter, so I went to our local Wally World to get one for Cub (I found it in the life jacket section, but I do not think it technically qualifies as one ... at least we wouldn't use it as one on the boat!).

Oh my.

Within a few minutes, he was swimming by himself around the pool. The floaties are made of the same material as a life jacket (not inflatable, but foam) and the section across the front gives them extra support to stay above the water. Oh my goodness, it has been so amazing to see Cub flourish and swim on his own when he wears his Puddle Jumper. He also feels safer about going underwater and will jump in by himself. How fun!

Sadly, I don't have any really great pictures of him wearing his Puddle Jumper, so the stock photo will have to do. But trust me, the smile is the same!

Have a lovely day, friends!

The Toddler Transition.

I have a 15 month old son and another little one due in October. Any advice/suggestions on how to make the transition easier for my son once our new addition arrives? :)

First of all, congratulations! The more the merrier. :) It sounds like your little ones will be about the same distance apart as mine. As far as preparing Caleb for the transition, there wasn't much that could be done as far as trying to explain it. He would say, "Baby in Mama's tummy!" but he really had no idea what that meant. I just tried to get him used to what it would look like having a baby around. I put a doll in the car seat carrier, the swing, etc. I still don't think it really mattered much to him, but at least I was trying!

There was one thing we were very resolute about and that was celebrating our last weekend with Caleb before his sister arrived. I was induced, so I knew when the baby would be born, but this would work even if you had a general idea of your due date. We took the whole weekend to celebrate Cub and prepare the house, together, for the new baby. We baked cookies with blue and pink sprinkles, to celebrate both baby sister and big brother, and Caleb happily decorated them. I made a "Welcome Home, Nomi!" sign and Caleb "painted" it with finger paints (more like smearing than painting, but it worked!). I still have that sign tucked away in Naomi's nursery. Then we took Caleb to the zoo and out to this really fun pizza place for dinner. The whole weekend was about having fun and being excited about the changes to come and I'm so, so glad we chose to do that.

As for the actual transition of having a new sibling, that's just a work in progress! Every toddler is different with every baby. Some toddlers are immediately in love with their new sibling and want to hold them, feed them, etc. Cub wasn't quite that enthusiastic--he liked Naomi at a distance, but that was it. But, when he realized she was here to stay, he started warming up to her. Now he misses her when she's gone and he's definitely taken on the older sibling role of showing her how things are supposed to be done. :) My advice for the actual adjustment stage would be in two parts: Firstly, when the new arrival is an infant, let the toddler "help" you by grabbing diapers, throwing diapers away, hunting down pacifiers, etc. The more they feel included with the new baby, the better. Secondly, when the kids are old enough to start interacting, give them time to do it alone. I try to give them some time to learn to play together on their own, instead of rushing in to moderate as soon as I hear a squabble.

Don't get me wrong--you'll need to teach your toddler how to play, too! It's important for toddlers to learn how to play with infants and it's important as the Mom to be sympathetic to both parties. Caleb should learn to share, but it also stinks when your little sister invades your space and messes with your stuff. I've taught Caleb that when Naomi takes a toy he wants, he should gently take it back and give her another toy in its place. She doesn't really care (yet) and it teaches him how to be proactive with her, rather than simply defensive.

I hope this helps! Congrats again on the little one, how fun!!

Have a lovely day. :)

Heavenly Things.

When I was a kid, my Mom used to keep classical piano music playing throughout our house. We had an intercom system, so she would time it to play softly up to our rooms to wake us up in the mornings and to accompany us as we played on Saturdays. Thusly, many of my childhood memories have that soft music as their soundtrack.

Our good friends came to visit us this past weekend and we found ourselves in a discussion about heaven. We talked about the Garden of Eden and of perfection and of the beautiful things that God has created. The discussion then moved towards heavenly things. We talked about how we hoped for heaven, and realize that perhaps there are things here that God has given us as small glimpses of the heavenly life. Like relationships and the beauty of creation. It was a concept I hadn't really thought about before, that perhaps God had given us things here as tiny whispers of things eternal. Things that barely scratch the surface of what we will someday see, but things that nonetheless can take our breath away, if we let them. After they left, my husband and I sat outside that evening, listening to the wind in the trees and the chirping of crickets and frogs, and my mind wandered to the idea that these were, possibly, heavenly things. The essence of them, at least--peacefulness, quietness. The joy of being together. Things so pure and whole that only a loving God could have created them.

And again I think about my childhood and that music. And I think that my Mom, unbeknownst to her, was introducing something of a heavenly thing for my brother and I, as much as it was in her power to do so, surrounding our little lives with beautiful music. Peacefulness, quietness, beauty--our feeble human attempt to capture grace. And it makes me wonder if I do the same for my home. We pray. We read the Bible. But am I fostering the kind of space that allows for heavenly things to be seen? Or do I forget small details and allow the rush of the day to dictate the moments in our home?

Whichever is true, my hope is for the former, not the latter.

Just some thoughts today.

Have a lovely day.

Six Years.

And many more to come. Happy Anniversary to the love of my life!

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