Sweet Awakenings

I think we can assume that "Baby, Baby" was inspired by elves.

2011-01-27T17:29:00.001-05:00

I’m nothing if not consistent in my inconsistent blogging. It’s incredibly annoying, I realize.

Anyway.

So, for some reason, Noah has had a post-Christmas obsession with the holiday tune, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”. Possibly because he understands the lyrics to say, “Walkin’ around the Christmas tree...”, which gives him the opportunity to strut deliberately around the room to the beat of the music, as if circling an imaginary tree.

We have a few versions of this song in iTunes (why? not sure.), and I always call up the Bobby Rydell arrangement when it’s requested. Yesterday, after Noah enjoyed his laps of rhythmic walkin’ around nothing in particular, he frowned and told me, “I want Mrs. Claus.” Since I’m quite used to the confusion brought on by random three-year-old whims, I automatically began to search my brain for the answer to the riddle. “Mrs. Claus? I’m not sure what you mean, Noah...” There was a song from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer playing now. Was Mrs. Claus in that movie? Yes, I think she was...I remember her squawking at Santa to put on some weight to fill out the red suit. But did she have a song? And come to think of it, has Noah even seen that movie?

“Mommy! I want Mrs. Claus. Please?”

Ok, he pulled out the magic word. Still trying to figure this out. “Mrs. Claus....does she sing a song, honey? How does the song go?”

Immediately, he jumped off of my lap and started his jolly pace around the room, singing his high-pitched, “Walkin’ awound the Cwismas twee...”

Um, ok. What does this have to do with Mrs. Claus? Finally, I had to admit defeat. “I'm sorry, Noah. I’m not sure which song you’re talking about.”

And then, the slightly exasperated voice of the wise big sister spoke up from her coloring book. “He means the one where the lady sings it.”

The one where the lady sings it? Wait a minute...does he think....?

Yes, yes he does.

He thinks Amy Grant is Mrs. Claus, and he is requesting her version of his favorite Christmas song.

Priceless.

I’m guessing he’s preferential to “Silver Bells” as covered by the three wise men, as opposed to the abominable snowman’s less-jazzy take.

Some bits of completely riveting information

2010-09-01T10:09:00.004-04:00

1. So, I've switched practically my whole online life over to Google now. As a creature of habit, I was reeeally reluctant to make the change. It took days and days of baby steps, but finally one night last week I set up camp in my iGoogle profile, hoping for the best. And OH MY WORD. Why oh WHY did I not do this sooner? I'm totally infatuated with my whole setup. My e-mail perched right above my Reader subscriptions and right next to my Twitter feed...the fun backgrounds and gadgets...LOVE.

2. You know what else I love? Helpful store employees who aren't irritated by moms having airhead moments. I was at Martin's the other day and I don't know what to say other than that I don't know what was going on with my brain. I couldn't locate something obvious, I remembered half-way through check-out that I'd forgotten a crucial item, I left my keys in the cart. It was...epic. But everyone was so great, never once letting on that they noticed my idiocy. It's like the time a few months back when Maya dropped a full grande-sized cup of ice water on the floor in aisle 5, and when I slunk up to report it, the checkout guy bent over backwards to relieve my stress. "You have your hands full, ma'am. It happens all the time. Just let us take care of it, and you have a great day!"

And that's why I keep going back there. That, and the Starbucks kiosk. I mean, let's be real.

3. Know what I don't love? Walking out of the public library with my two-year-old, and being harassed with lewd comments and suggestions from a random man sitting on a bench near the front door. Really? You're going to speak that way to a woman? In front of her child? And what exactly do you think the outcome of this exchange is going to be? Are you under the impression that I will find this charming in some way? Perhaps the "Are you kidding me?" look I shot your way will convince you otherwise. (Not likely.)

4. We took the kids to their first minor-league baseball game the other night. I purchased us some excellent seats, right up front by the action. The weather was gorgeous. And three of us loved the experience. One of us did not. I won't name names, but he's the shortest, blondest member of our family. Thankfully, the manager of the home team handed him a baseball halfway through the fifth inning, which kept him semi-happy and occupied until we left. Note to selves: attempt again in another year. And take a baseball.

5. And just for the sake of total lack of cohesion - a list of more things making me happy these days:

- The sight of Maya skipping joyfully into school each morning and running excitedly out to the van in the afternoon with hugs and kisses and stories to tell.

- The promise of cooler temperatures just around the corner. (70's and sunny for Labor Day weekend? Yes, please!)

- The return of the pumpkin spice latte at Starbucks. A sure sign of autumn, and a sure sign of where a good chunk of my money will be going for the next two months, at which time my beverage loyalties will switch to the peppermint mocha in the holiday cup. Amen.

- Project Runway on myLifetime.com. Top Chef on Hulu. Cake Boss on Netflix on Demand. And not paying for cable.

- The fact that Kohls keeps e-mailing me coupons for $10 off any purchase, despite the fact that I shop at Kohls exactly never - until receiving such coupons, at which time I go find something for $10 and walk out having paid nothing.

- Noah's sunny personality, and his ability to find the joy in any and everything. "That was SO FUN at the library today, Mommy!" "This lunch is SO dewicious, Mommy!" "I LOVE going to the grocery store today, Mommy!" It's infectious.

- My church. I love my church. The end.

With all of that said, I shall now depart to Kohls, where I will search for a nice, $10 item, then to Starbucks for another dose of pumpkin spice perfection. And all of this will be deemed exciting and amazing by my toddler sidekick.

And I didn't even require a sedative.

2010-08-21T16:54:00.003-04:00

I'll admit it. Fevers have always sent me into some level of panic. I've heard all of the biological facts a million times: a fever in itself is nothing to worry about...it just means the body is fighting off infection...no need to administer a fever-reducer unless your child is uncomfortable...kids can tolerate very high fevers without any danger...

I know, I know.

But there's something about putting my hand to a burning-hot forehead and watching the digital display count higher and higher that can turn me into a crazy person.

On Thursday it climbed higher than I've ever seen in my half-decade of parenting. I watched the screen as 102 passed...then 103...then 104...(oh my WORD), then finally stop at 104.5. Temptation to panic? Massive. But instead? I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, walked said sick child directly to the bathroom and stuck her in a lukewarm bath, began Tylenol in alternation with the ibuprofen already in her system, pushed fluids like a madwoman and checked in with the doctor's office, where the nurse confirmed the course of action. And all the while I imagined the calm voice of my mother-of-seven friend Karen in my head.

I wasn't completely without overreaction, of course. At one point that evening, Mark had to stop me from paging the doctor-on-call just to check in, when there was literally no rational reason to do so. And I did sneak into Maya's room once or twice in the night, feeling her forehead until a sleepy hand batted mine away in annoyance.

But all in all? Light years better than the way I've handled moments like this in the past.

Could it be that maybe, just maybe, five-and-a-half years into this parenting gig, I'm starting to figure a few things out?

Found

2010-08-16T13:25:00.005-04:00

My schoolgirl had an unsettling moment this weekend.

While mingling with friends after our Sunday church service, Maya's friend interrupted my conversation with the report that they'd been playing, but he suddenly couldn't find her anywhere. Not a bit concerned at first, I gave the sanctuary a quick scan, my eyes not detecting the familiar sight of the bouncing hair and pink-striped shirt I'd tracked moments before. Assisted by my sister-in-law, I began to scout around. She headed for the nursery, I checked the stage. No luck. She searched the Sunday School rooms downstairs while I walked through the main women's restroom, my heart beginning to beat more anxiously. Meeting up back in the lobby, both of us empty-handed, we were just beginning to ask the other adults in the vicinity to aid in the search, when my eyes fell on the doorknob of the small lobby bathroom. It jiggled back and forth, panic obviously on the other side. Running over, I pressed my ear to the door and heard faint crying.

"Maya?"
"Mommy! Mommy, I'm stuck!"

Relief flooding over me, I called encouragement to her through the door, giving instructions on how to open the lock. In almost no time at all, the door was open, and she collapsed into my arms, cheeks streaked with tears.

Throughout the next several minutes, I attempted to calm her down as we sat together on the floor. I stroked her hair and whispered, "It's ok, it's ok." I told her that the lock on that door was tricky, and assured her that I would work with her to figure it out. I spoke about how, had she been unable to open the lock, we could have removed the door to get her out. Still, she wept and trembled. And then, finally...

"Mommy...I was afraid that maybe you would never find me."

And there it was. The fear underneath the tears. Finally understanding, I looked into her eyes and spoke the words her heart needed to hear. "I would never leave without finding you, Maya. Never. I would just never stop looking."

Within seconds, smiles replaced tears.

In Tim Kimmel's book, Grace-Based Parenting, he cites three core needs that all children possess: a secure love, a significant purpose, and a strong hope. I witnessed all three of those needs manifested in Maya in the aftermath of her experience being trapped in the church bathroom. The very first thing she needed was the security of my embrace. The next was the assurance that so significant was she in our lives that we would never, ever give up on her.

And then, the third. As I tucked Maya in bed last night, she spoke again of the bathroom incident, however this time it was to recall something Mark told her after she relayed the story to him later at home. "I was worried I wouldn't be found, but Daddy told me that I'll always, always be found," she said, sighing contentedly.

Hope. A strong hope.

The hope of being found.

It's a hope, a need, that beats in my heart as well. The incomprehensible love of a Shepherd who guides my life and counts me as precious. The grace and forgiveness of a Father whose welcome never grows weary and whose promises stretch across eternity.

In a life wrought with circumstances that leave me rife with insecurity, heavy with insignificance, weary with hopelessness - the lock is loosed, the door is opened and I fall into the arms of a Savior who whispers the truth that I am found.

I will always, always be found.

Several times yesterday after our return home from church, Maya requested that I recount for her the tale of what happened when she was locked in the bathroom. No fear left in her voice, she eagerly asked again and again, "Mommy, tell me again about how you were looking for me everywhere. Tell me about how you found me." All smiles as she takes it in. What could have haunted her memory as a frightening experience instead has taken root in her heart as one that proved love, significance, and hope.

My challenge is to live the same story. To cultivate a joy that wells up in my heart as I sit in His presence, come before Him in prayer, ask Him to speak to me through His Word.

"Tell me again about how You found me."

Schoolgirl

2010-08-12T10:59:00.004-04:00

I blinked and it happened.

My eyes closed and she toddled toward me, all chubby-armed and wild-haired, babbling her first words.

They opened and she sat next to me on the couch yesterday, all lean with freshly-cut bangs, easily reading books aloud to me from cover to cover. My heart swells proud and breaks open with the bitter sweetness of it all.

I breathed in and she was two, no interest in pink frills or princesses, much preferring trains and trucks and wholly unimpressed with the world of branded merchandise. We were so pleased with ourselves for avoiding the gender-stereotyping and character-driven madness that lines the toy aisles.

I breathed out and she'll skip into Kindergarten tomorrow, clutching her beloved, personalized Ariel backpack. And a significant piece of my heart.

They told me it would happen. All of those veteran moms and wise friends and elderly strangers at the grocery store. With wistful sighs and pats on her head, their own memories playing like filmstrips behind misty eyes. At times I could glimpse the future and see it happen, could recognize it happening already. At others I was too caught in the momentary struggles to appreciate the perspective.

It goes so fast.

Each night this week as I've tucked her into bed, we've snuggled up together, she and I, for some “special, big-girl talks”. It's a tradition we plan to continue one night every week for as long as she'll allow. She pours out excitement about school and meeting new kids and meals in the cafeteria, sprinkled with worries about bullies and who will help when she needs a Band-aid. I speak reassurance and reminders, offering words about kindness to all, and seeking for close friends those who make her feel good about herself; about confidence in who she is and the work of her Creator within her. She takes it all in, and asks if grown-ups still have trouble with those things. I smile and say yes. We do. “I thought you would say that”, she replies. And I marvel at these moments when she's wiser than her years.

She bursts with delighted giggles as I remind her how very proud her Daddy and I are of her. Our big five-year-old girl who collects Care Bears, loves Jesus, and names her favorite activity as “snuggling up with my Mama”.

We pray and lie close. We blink in the dark and breathe deep.

And I savor every blink and breath, because now I know.

Stepping Again

2010-08-11T23:43:00.005-04:00

Once upon a time I was a blogger.

Not a great blogger or a frequent blogger. Not one with fancy graphics or an easy-to-navigate layout. But it was my little space on the internet; my safe-haven for feelings and thoughts that longed to escape the confines of my nearly-always-spinning mind. I wrote about things that made me laugh and parenting moments etched on my heart for eternity, and my faith and my friends and the ridiculous adventures of finding particular pant styles and my reflections on the world around me – just trying to sort it all through.

And then blogging hurt me.

So I did the only thing I knew to do with the pain and just forced the door shut. It wasn't worth it anymore.

The problem is that the words were still there. My heart was still there. Paralyzed by a straightjacket of fear.

I spent a long time trying to convince myself that I was better off living under that fear. That I simply wasn't strong enough to open myself up again to the possibility of hurt.

I had forgotten two important things. That He has not given me a spirit of fear (2 Timothy 1:7). And that He is made strong in my weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9).

And so here I am again. Trembling fingers gently wiping the dust off of this web address. Choosing to trust not in my anxieties, but in the hope of He who has given me a love for the written word. And more importantly, who desires that I learn to lay my fears at His feet.

Here we go again.

Noah

2009-07-12T22:32:00.003-04:00

Nineteen months old. So hard to believe. You've entered the wildfire age of toddlerhood, where you grow by leaps and bound seemingly every day. This week you discovered the thrill of momentary flight, hurling yourself repeatedly off of the couch into Daddy's waiting arms...and attempting the same tricks when he wasn't quite ready for the catch. And this week we discovered that you don't so much enjoy taking turns with your sister (not surprised) and that you can count to ten (completely shocked).

And tonight...oh tonight. My favorite moment of the whole week. When I laid you down in your crib, sleepy-eyed but still awake, I covered you with your favorite fuzzy green blanket and stood there a moment, leaning over to gently rub your tummy and return your big smile. After a moment I let my hand just rest on your chest, feeling the gentle up and down of your breathing. And then I felt your two little hands grasp two of my fingers, continuing the circular motion of the tummy massage. And so I stayed a minute more, gazing down at you as you gazed up at me. It was one of the occasions I've had so far as a parent where I suddenly knew without a doubt that I was to savor this moment. That I'll look back on this night as I dissolve into a sentimental puddle on your first day of school. That I'll remember it wistfully when you're fifteen years old. That I'll tell you about it someday when you're all grown up, causing you to smile, shake your head, and say, "Oh, mom."

Finally, I gave you a little pat.

"Night night, Bubba."
"Nah Nah"

"I love you."
"luh loo"

Melt my heart, why don't you. My sweet, crazy little boy. You seem more grown up to me all the time. So for now, I'll treasure these days when you love puppies and bunnies and "choo choos" and Barney and platefuls of cheese and blueberries and reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear 14,367 times a day. When you think your big sister is the coolest thing ever and follow her around all day long, preferably wearing her shoes and jewelry. When you announce the people you love every single time they enter a room. When you dance your heart out to the Wiggles and sing everything to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. When you charm friends, family, and total strangers with that big, mischievous grin.

I love you.

I guess you could put it that way...

2008-10-09T21:24:00.002-04:00

This afternoon, I was doing some pre-nap reading to Maya from her children's Bible storybook. We finished with the story of Jesus restoring the blind man's sight, and as I shut the book, the stalling questions commenced.

"Mama, why were that man's eyes closed?"

"Well, that man was blind. He was born unable to see. His eyes didn't work. So Jesus healed him and he could see again."

"How did Jesus do that?"

"Do you remember in the story about how Jesus put mud on his eyes?"

"Yes, but I mean, how can Jesus DO that?"

"Oh, well Jesus is so powerful that he can do anything, remember?"

"Like what things?"

"Um, anything."

"But like WHAT? Please tell me!"

('Please tell me' is the ultimate in stalling tactics, when she senses the end of a conversation approaching. But I decided this was an important line of questioning, so I listed a few things that Jesus could do, and then remembered another story reference.)

"Hey Maya, what about the other story we just read? Do you remember the one about the storm? When Jesus and his friends were in the boat and the storm came and his friends were scared? Remember how Jesus talked to the storm? And the storm stopped. So even storms listen to Jesus. He made the storm stop."

She considered this a moment and then observed, thoughtfully...

"Oh. Well, that was clever."

Indeed. Yes. Divine...astounding...clever...something like that.

Perspective. It's a good thing.

2008-10-04T17:11:00.003-04:00

Earlier this week I was having one of those days where life felt frantic from the moment my eyes opened. The kids were cranky, my plans for the day were getting altered right and left, and I had a pile of errands to run and tasks to accomplish. By the time noon rolled around, I found myself loading up a fussy baby and sketchy three-year-old, facing the prospect of not one but TWO grocery store stops. Without yet having had lunch. So let's just say I wasn't in the best frame of mind from the get-go.

Store visit number one was not pleasant. We don't shop there often, so I was completely turned around as we navigated unfamiliar aisles, searching for items that (inexplicably) didn't exist in this particular shopping establishment. (You have strawberry, lemon, and funfetti-flavored gallon buckets of ice cream, but not VANILLA? That is bizarre. And inconvenient.)

Oh, and compounding all of this? The Halloween display towards the front of the store that featured a blow-up pumpkin that slowly opened every thirty seconds or so to reveal...eventually...come on now...yep, almost there...seriously now...a friendly little ghost, "popping" up (I put that in quotes because popping should really constitute quick movement) with some fake bags of candy. Why was this problematic? Because although one repetition of this process is enough for any sane person, the suspense is not lost on a preschooler on the second round. Or third round. Or...well, you get the point. So every time we would come within eyesight of that area of the store, Maya would yell, "Mama!!! I want to see that ghost again! He might pop out with the candy and I want to see him because he's a nice ghost and not a scary one and he has candy and why is it pretend and if it was real could I have some and could I have some candy sometime and why does he pop up like that and does he have friends and why does he live in a pumpkin and who gets to eat the candy and why is it all orange and why does the store smell like cinnamon and sometime can you make a pumpkin that blows up and can I touch the ghost and why is he nice and can I SEE him again because he's REALLY COOL, Mama!"

Or something to that effect.

So by the time we headed back to the van, having viewed the wonders of rudimentary Halloween decor several dozen times more than necessary, we were all a little frazzled. Maya was upset because we were leaving "such a fun place and I want to come here again sometime PLEASE...(repeat)..." and Noah was crying because I wouldn't let him eat my cell phone. And I was feeling a bit like George Costanza's dad in the Seinfeld episode with the self-help tape. ("SERENITY NOW!")

Arriving at store number two, I had one thing in mind. Get in and get the heck out. Well the thing is, though, that this store has car carts. Not the kind with the video screen, because I do not do those. And that's a rant for another post. These are just the kind where your child can sit up front, spin a little wheel, and yell things back to you that you can't possibly hear because you're about two cart lengths behind, with a thick layer of red plastic blocking all sound travel. It's actually not a bad situation... Anyway, Maya likes to clean her vehicle before driving. So as I'm strapping Noah into the front of the cart, she grabs a sani-wipe from the nearby dispenser and begins her car wash. (Focusing, mind you, on the TOP of the car. Not any part that her hands will actually be touching.)

But here, finally, was where it happened. Noah was babbling excitedly at the prospect of gnawing on the seat strap, Maya was singing a little song as she cleaned an obscure section of her car, and I was silently counting the minutes until naptime. And that's when a woman, in probably her mid-fifties, enters the store. And as she passed by, she slowed down for just a moment, took in the scene, gave me a wistful half-smile, and simply said, "I miss those sounds."

Now, I frequently have people stop when we're out in public to coo at my kids, talk to them, or tell me they're adorable. I've had more people than I can count tell me things like, "Oh, hold on to every minute...they grow up too fast." And while I know it's true, and know I should be taking that advice more to heart some days, I hear those things so often that I tend to forget them mere minutes later. But this woman's statement stopped me in my tracks. Both literally, as I paused mid-buckle to stare at her back as she walked briskly past us through the entry doors, and emotionally, as there was something about the look in her eyes when they met mine that spoke volumes about the reality of her words. I imagine that her children are grown, or nearly so. That those simple times of car seats and cart straps, urgent mid-store potty breaks, baby babbles and silly songs, are now just precious memories. I miss those sounds. She meant it.

So as I looked down at my sweet boy, now happily grinning a three-toothed smile at me, and over at my daughter, now working at disinfecting the car's wheels, I suddenly felt a welcome rush of contentment. A small part of that, in all honestly, was likely the knowledge that a Starbucks kiosk awaited me just inside those automatic doors. But mostly, it came from the much-needed dose of perspective that God had just gently placed before me. There will come a day very soon when I will walk, without thinking, towards those bright red and yellow carts, only to realize that my child has neither the desire to use one nor the ability to even fit inside. There will come a day when the only things I need the front section for are my purse and a latte. There will come a day when the sounds around me are quieter, calmer, more predictable. And while those days will bring new blessings and joyous seasons, I know I will likely notice the young mother, looking slightly rattled as she maneuvers her noisy children through the store, and I will both smile and ache at the same time. And I will miss those sounds.

I'm thinking relocation was a good decision for Grandma...

2008-08-02T10:49:00.003-04:00

At dinner last night, Maya asked us who makes water. Choosing the simple answer over the scientific, we told her that God makes water. The trail of resulting, unsatisfied questions finally led to an explanation, by Mark, of how there is lots and lots of water on the earth. He gave a very nice, detailed description of rivers, lakes, oceans, etc.

Taking this all in, Maya nodded seriously and said, with understanding, "Ohhhh. Is that why the Indians live in Mexico?"

*blink*

- - - - - -

Last week Maya was feeling sad one morning about Daddy going to work, so in order to cheer her up, he hopped out the door on one foot. The plan worked, as she dissolved in giggles and waved a happy goodbye. Then she turned to me with a logical question.

"Mommy, did you do that when you used to go to work for cats?"

Me: "Ummm...did I...when I...what?"

Maya (exasperated): "Mommy! You know! When you worked at your job before I was in your tummy and you worked for cats!"

Through much sorting, I discovered that she was thinking of the story I had told her about how we came to own our second cat Bogey, after he was hanging around outside the office where I once worked. Apparently, she thought that was why I went to work - that I was paid in cats or something? Which is only slightly less odd than the scenario I was originally envisioning out of her question - that I was actually employed by cats.

- - - - - -

Maya has a fictional grandmother. This grandmother is neither of her two actual grandmas, but is a character that she brings out in conversation sometimes. Apparently, this grandmother is sometimes involved in stories from her Sunday School lessons...

(One recent conversation)

Me: "Maya, do you think you'd like to take swimming lessons sometime?"
Maya: "Oh yes! I love to take swimming lessons. They're my favorite! I used to do that with my grandmother."
Me: "Oh. Really?"
Maya: "Yes. She used to live at Sodom and Gomorrah, but she doesn't live there anymore."
(pause)
Me (inwardly): "EEEEEEK!"
Me (outwardly): "Oh, I see. Well...great, then. So, about those swimming lessons..."

- - - - - -

Three-year-olds. Their minds collect information so quickly that it results in a delicious combination of incredible insight and total confusion.

10 Years

2008-07-18T10:43:00.003-04:00

10 years ago today, I married a guy who just about four years earlier had been a 15-year-old boy, sitting next to me on the band bus, asking me to be his girlfriend.

10 years ago today we were both nineteen. We were children, really.

10 years ago today we had no idea what was ahead of us. All we knew is that we were vowing to face it together.

10 years ago today we stood in front of 200 friends and family members in a wedding ceremony that we laughingly agree we would do quite differently if we were planning it today. Looking back, it really didn't match our personality as a couple, didn't really mirror who we were. But then again, did we really know who we were at that time?

10 years, 3 homes, 2 beautiful children, 2 oft-neglected cats, countless joys, many arguments, quite a few changes (for two people who don't handle change all that well), and multitudes of memories later, here we are. All grown up. (Well, kind of.) Different people than we were. But still, and even more so, ridiculously happy together.

You could say we were too young, or that we hadn't experienced enough life yet. You could say that we didn't know ourselves enough at that point to know what we wanted. We would simply say, however, that we knew. Without a doubt. And still do. And I look at it this way - I was blessed enough to have a jumpstart on a lifetime spent with the man I love.

Happy Anniversary, honey. I'm looking forward to the next ten years. And I love you like crazy.

Vacation Memories, June '08

2008-07-03T15:11:00.004-04:00

The sunrise over Ohio on a quiet Thursday morning.

Waking the kids as we pulled into a Bob Evans for breakfast.

Maya's oft-repeated exclamation, "This is going to be the Best TRIP EVER!"

Going to bed at 9:00 PM for the first time in many, many years.

Surprisingly beautiful Pittsburgh, ornate homes dotting the tree-covered hills, tunnels leading to the water-framed skyline, a small-town feel in a big city.

Enjoying a morning meal at the local bagel shop, where a group of elderly men met for their regular morning social time, joking with each other and with passers-by as they sipped their coffee. And, in a nod to the changing times, each one had his cell phone casually placed before him on the table, ready to take a call from a wife or grandchild at home. Such delicious contrast between old and new.

Pink sparkly sand, multi-colored rice, huge tubs of water, a Mr. Rogers Neighborhood exhibit, and an afternoon gelato treat all adding up to a delightful day at the Pittsburgh Children's Museum.

Purchasing a coveted pink baseball cap (reading: "Pennsylvania"), along with some not-great sandwiches, at a rest stop along the PA turnpike.

Thanks to the people at Wee Sing, several hundred repetitions of "Jimmy Crack Corn" sung by a three-year-old who only knew four lines of the song, one of them incorrect. ("...Jimmy Crack Corn and I don't caaaaaare, he lives on Drury Lane!" [repeat]) Then having the question occur to us as we walked through a Target store still being serenaded quite loudly by said tune, that it could, possibly, have racist undertones. And having that worry confirmed by a quick Google search on Mark's Blackberry. And then quickly encouraging another song as the anthem of the evening, while making mental notes to hide that CD for the rest of the trip.

Hershey's Chocolate World. Complete chocolate overload with giant walking Kit Kat bars and a ride featuring singing cows ("there's real milk in Herrrrrshey's Milk Chocolate..."). In other words, a preschooler's heaven!

Also at Hershey's Chocolate World - the older woman who insisted on locating her husband by standing in the center of the chocolate aisles with her hand on her hips, angrily bellowing "Mitchell! MITchell!! MITCHELL!!" (rather than strolling over a few rows to where he was innocently checking out some M&Ms) thus causing me to jump a mile and my sleeping son to wake prematurely from his nap. Thanks, lady. And Mitchell...run. Run like the wind.

Happening across "A Day out with Thomas" along our route from Hershey to Philly, fairly certain that we wouldn't be able to get tickets for the train ride at such late notice...and the joy of finding out that we could! My sweet girl in her new pink hat peering down the track to see Thomas pulling in to give her a ride...well, I don't think I'll ever forget that.

My constant thanks to the makers of the Leappad, which occupied Maya for hours and hours of drive time.

One miserable evening spent attempting to get to a restaurant...any restaurant...as bedtime approached and the confusing center lanes of the highway caused us to reroute frustratingly close to several dining options that we just couldn't seem to access. Ending up at a Red Lobster and wolfing down dinner just before Noah entered meltdown mode.

The palpable excitement as we drove into Sesame Place amid light rain showers on our way to Breakfast with Elmo. And having a fully-satisfying experience (despite the less-than-stellar buffet options) as Maya's eyes grew wide with wonder watching her TV friends approach to give her hugs and say hello. So priceless. Actually, there was a price, but we're choosing not to think about that...

The rain clearing as we left breakfast to go explore the rest of the park, beginning with a successful merry-go-round experience, a terrifying Elmo ride "I didn't like the up-and-down, Mama!", and the redeeming teacups, hot air balloon chase, and Elmo fish attractions.

The somehow cozy atmosphere in spite of the theme park setting. Seeing the same families throughout the day, and having plenty to do without feeling overwhelmed by territory to cover.

Three stage shows, where the best entertainment was watching Maya's eyes dance along with the characters.

The "Rock around the Block" parade, which didn't disappoint, even as it left me humming Huey Lewis' "The Heart of Rock and Roll" and Gloria Estefan's "Conga" alternately for several days straight afterward.

Spending hours in the shallow sections of the water park, enjoying the sight of Maya tirelessly scampering through the sprinkling jets and tiny fountains, and letting Noah have the first feel of his tiny feet in the pool.

Uneaten $8.00 chicken strips, passed over for the far-too-tempting Elmo cupcake. Why did we allow that? Vacation mindset, I suppose.

Dinner at Macaroni Grill that night, where watching Maya was like watching an addict come down from a high. And taking a huge piece of cheesecake back to the hotel to share after the kids were asleep.

A peaceful drive from Philadephia to Baltimore, immediately followed by a hair-raising leg from Baltimore to Washington D.C. Highway driving + screaming six-month-old = frayed nerves.

Having family portraits taken by a stunningly talented photographer who also happens to be a friend that we got to meet in person for the first time.

All of us sleeping in one morning after a few particularly exhausting days, getting an unexpected but so totally worth it late start on our next travels.

Eating dinner one-at-a-time a couple of evenings as Noah decided that he had been traveling for too long to allow us a peaceful restaurant experience close to bedtime. He did become the official greeter at the Outback Steakhouse in Maumee, OH one such evening, however - charming all who entered, even as he protested entering personally.

The joys of traveling with a GPS device and constant internet access. So freakishly cool...I don't ever want to do it another way again. Spoiled? Yes. But admitting it is the first step.

10 days of hotel stays and restaurant meals. My kind of vacation!

The close proximity of everything on the East Coast. Several major cities within a couple hours of each other, compared to the wide expanses between areas of activity in our Midwestern surroundings.

The realization, once again, of just how big the world is. And the wonder of God's creation as reflected in the familiar flatlands of Indiana and Ohio, the gorgeous green hills of Pennsylvania, the brilliant views from the edge of the Appalachians...as well as in the beautiful uniqueness of each person we were privileged to cross paths with - the vast array of differences that remind me that the world doesn't revolve around my life and circumstances, and the similarities that underscore the elements of humanity that bind us together.

The incredible love and appreciation I have for my husband and children. I am blessed beyond belief.

It was fantastic.

Pass by quickly and carefully on your way to The Gap.

2008-06-08T20:43:00.004-04:00

I faced a fear head-on this weekend. I wish I could say that it was one of those inspiring, courageous leaps that would earn me one of those little feature spots in Readers Digest, my picture placed next to the tale of a triumph over adversity. But alas, it was instead one of those fear-facing moments that caused me to (literally) turn on my heels and go scuttling back in the direction from whence I came, certain to never make the same mistake again...

I entered a Hollister clothing store.

Oh, I've walked by them many a time. Averting my eyes so that the half-dressed teenage employees standing at the entrance with glassy-eyed expressions that prove their coolness will not have the opportunity to beckon me with their mumbled "welcometoHollistereverything's 20percentofftoday" enticements. But I've never actually entered one. For two reasons. One, I'm nearly twenty-nine years old. Which makes me approximately twice as old as their typical shopper. And two, the place scares the bejeebers out of me. I mean, there are those aforementioned scary kids at the door. Then there's the throbbing music that you can feel pulsating through the floor as you pass by. But the weirdest thing? It's, like, pitch black in there. Seriously, were it not for the music and mumblers outside, I'd have no clue that the store was even open. I read once that cats can see perfectly in a dark room using only the light from a VCR clock. So I have a theory that pre-teens are part feline, in that they can see inside a Hollister store simply using the light from the cash register. Or each other's cell phones.

Anyway, why did I go in? Particularly when I have such an aversion to this store that I've already placed a lifetime ban on my children shopping there? I know, looking back it was totally hypocritical and completely regrettable. But you see, I was in a cargo pants-induced frenzy. My sister and I hit the outlet mall to find me some clothes that actually fit. Shedding this pregnancy weight, while lovely, has left me with very few pairs of pants that don't hang off of me. So I found some jeans, but I really wanted a pair of lightweight cargo pants for summertime. My old standby, Old Navy, let me down. Seriously, their stuff is weird this year. And after scouring several more stores, we were stumped. Where were the cargo pants? Out of style? I don't care. Finally, my sister turned to me and said, exhaling deeply, "Ok...we could look at Hollister."

We stared at each other solemnly, neither one of us wanting to face the reality of what she had just suggested. But she's a few years younger than me and about a million times more style-conscious, so I knew that if there were cargo pants to be found, she'd know where to find them.

"Can we even do that?", I asked.

"Yes." She answered. "It's scary and it's weird and we'll hate it. But they might have cargo pants."

And so focused was I on the task at hand that I agreed.

As we approached the store, she gave me a pep talk, "Let's just move quickly...and don't look directly at anyone while we're in there..." And soon, that cave-like entryway was right in front of us, the freakishly loud music already making it hard to hear each other. With a deep breath, we pushed our way into the chaos. Another element that you can't appreciate from the outside? The smell. Teenage perfume, apparently piped in through the vents, and covering everything with the subtle scent of hormones. Peering into the darkness, we made a beeline for what we could just make out as a clothing rack about 20 yards ahead. Shirts? Pants? Who knew. They really need to provide seeing-eye dogs for any shopper over the age of twenty-one.

On the way there, an employee called out (they're louder inside) "How are you today?"

"Hrmna mrnma", we mumbled, careful not to make eye contact.

When we reached the rack, we hurriedly brought a couple of articles of clothing a few inches from our faces, in an attempt to determine what exactly we had stumbled upon. Pants! But (going completely on feel, here), apparently corduroy flare trousers. Strike one. "Over here!", my sister shouted. I followed the sound of her voice to another rack, where she had found something with promising zippers and buttons. "Hmmm, no!", she called over the music. "They feel like capri-length!." Strike two. We lurched around the check-out station which had suddenly appeared to our right, as we stepped quickly in time to the driving beat of the music. "Hey, I think my eyes are adjusting!", I said, spotting a row of pants that appeared as though they may be in the cargo family. They were...but they were also men's. We had somehow ended up on the wrong side of the store. Strike three. I'm out. "That's it, I'm done!", I said. And we rushed toward the light, the fresh air, the calm and quiet of the outside.

"Well." We walked thoughtfully a few moments before mutually deciding, "Won't do that again."

We ended up back at The Gap. The nice, calm, unscented Gap. Where the light switches were set to the "On" position, the music played at an appropriate volume, and the employees were fully dressed and appeared old enough to drive. And I did buy a pair of pants there. They weren't exactly what I had been hoping for, but they will do. And I purchased them, in part, in thanks to a store that didn't make me feel like I needed to shower immediately after leaving the premises.

So that is the harrowing tale of my search for cargo pants. The moral of this story is, pants - no matter how comfortable, flattering, adjustable, and fun - are not worth ignoring that little voice in your head. And I'm not talking about God's voice this time, although certainly pants aren't worth ignoring His either. I'm talking about that voice that says, "Don't go in there. You're not part-cat anymore. And you will hate it."

Bake this. Like, now.

2008-05-12T09:41:00.002-04:00

Ok people, so you know I love to bake. And over the past few years, as I've expanded that hobby quite a bit, I've made lots (and I mean LOTS) of cakes. And strangely enough, I am slowly but surely shedding my pregnancy weight in spite of this pasttime. But anyway, I was drafted to whip up a cake for a Mother's Day celebration yesterday, and decided to try my hand at a recipe I randomly came across at Velvet Lava. Ann's description of her Red Velvet cake had me very intrigued indeed. I've never been, like, blown away by a red velvet cake, but I wanted to pick something different.

Oh. My. GOSH. This one blew me right over and knocked me out. Quite honestly, not only one of the best cakes I've ever made, but one of the very best I've ever tasted. The texture is sheer perfection, the flavor is outstanding, and the icing - ohhhh the icing - is a delightful departure from a traditional buttercream or cream cheese variety, and instead comes out as a mild, almost pudding-like, vanilla fluff that compliments the cake flawlessly. This one is flying to the top of my favorites list!

Red Velvet Cake & Icing - at Velvet Lava

If you like to bake...or eat...I recommend that you drop whatever you're doing and go make this. Immediately.

Seriously, go.

If it gets up to fifty cents, she may prescribe Levatol...

2008-05-10T15:54:00.003-04:00

It's too true what they say about how you spend far less time tending to your own needs once you're a parent. I'm past due for a dentist appointment, am doing well if I get my hair cut every six months, and can look around my living room and spot several piles of hobbies/projects that are just waiting to be started as soon as I can find the time. (Ha!)

One area, though, where I need not harbor unnecessary concern is my health. And that is because I am undergoing a rigid schedule of frequent checkups with my current primary doctor...my preschooler-turned-physician. She calls herself "Doctor Maya", makes convenient house calls (she lives here, and all), and she takes her job very seriously. She also utilizes top-of-the-line equipment, i.e. the Fisher Price Medical Kit, circa 1978. Lest you concern yourself about my current physical state, I will fill you on the report I received at this morning's appointment...

Doctor Maya began her exam, as per usual, with her trusty stethoscope. It's missing the original foam padding, but that makes it all the better for shoving confidently against any spot on the victim *ahem* I mean patient's chest, leaving a perfect red circle on said patient's skin, to the doctor's delight. At this particular check-up, she chose not to listen to my heart at all, actually, after deciding that testing hers would be "a really great idea". Seemed like a rather unusual method, but I guess once you've heard one heartbeat, you've heard them all.

My reflexes were tested next. You'll be glad to know that I showed remarkable response. Granted, it's hard to say how much of that was due to my fabulous reflexes and how much could be attributed to the sight of a three-year-old approaching me wielding a hammer. But regardless, my reaction upon being whacked in each knee proved most satisfactory to the doctor.

My temperature was judged "pretty perfect", when taken in the space between where my forearm rested on my thigh. An unorthodox choice of locations, to be sure, but I was nonetheless happy to hear the good report.

The multipurpose light tool was Dr. M's next selection. You won't even believe this, but she's such an experienced medical professional that she need not even look through the back of the instrument during the exam. In fact, by merely pressing it to the tip of my nose, jamming it forcefully into each ear ("This part tickles", she warned me. "ACK...erm...yes, yes it does", I replied.), and then holding it in frighteningly close proximity to my twitching eyes, she is able to give a diagnosis. "Looks good."

The blood pressure test is arguably Doctor Maya's specialty. She's exacting in her technique. So dedicated is she to getting an accurate reading, that if the Velcro tabs on the cuff don't line up to her specific liking, she thinks nothing of removing and repositioning it as many times as it takes to get it "just right". She's also quite thorough, squeezing the bulb approximately 21,345 times, all the while reminding me to "hold verrrrrry still". But never fear, I came through the check just fine, and she cheerfully gave me a reading of "Twenty-nine Cents". Phew! I don't have to tell you what a relief that was. I was hoping for under a quarter, but what can you do.

The final stage of the check-up, the grand finale, is always the shot. No matter how recently my last check-up happens to have been, I somehow always need an immunization of some sort. Doctor Maya relishes this task. With a sober expression, she loads up the medication, borrows an appropriate quote from the Berenstain Bears ("You won't even have time to say 'Ouch', Mama..."), and then plunges the blunt plastic syringe into my arm, punctuated with the spoken declaration - "Shot!" It's actually a nice touch. If you're going to get the shot anyway, you might as well celebrate it. I might suggest that to the nurse next time I need a tetanus booster.

So all is well, I checked out fine. She did suggest that I go straight to bed, for some reason. After having been up four times last night with her baby brother, I was actually quite excited by those orders. Unfortunately, she recanted them almost immediately when it was time to turn the tables and receive a checkup from Doctor Mama.

Ahhh...nice to know that I'm in such good hands.

Mmm...regular

2008-04-21T10:34:00.003-04:00

My toothpaste makes me laugh. Seriously, I giggle every morning and evening. Why? Because the people at Colgate have apparently decided to cut costs in the area of advertising.

Our current tube of basic white paste bears a label that boasts about it's "Great Regular Flavor!" Really? This is how you want to make the sale? By trying to drum up excitement using the word regular? You may as well market it as "Fabulous in it's Lack of Improvement!" or "Our Least Creative Version!"

Seriously, I'd suggest either using the word "Classic" or "Original" as slightly more positive replacements. Or stamp the product simply"Regular Flavor"without the unnecessary enthusiasm. When was the last time you raved to someone about the fantastically regular movie you saw last night, or the delightfully regular dessert at the new restaurant in town?

I'm such a backseat advertiser. I will say, though, that my teeth feel satisfyingly regular after having brushed them with my Colgate toothpaste...

I guess they do have Biblical names...

2008-04-17T15:36:00.003-04:00

Maya's been asking me frequently in recent days to act out the story of Noah's Ark with her Fisher Price set. One day, while the animals were in the process of boarding the ark, she requested that I wait to close the boat's door until two extra passengers had a chance to take their places inside...Thomas the tank engine and James the red engine.

"Can Thomas and James go on the ark too, Mama?"

"Um, sure." I answered. After all - if talking, feeling, thinking trains had existed back in the day, I'm sure God would have included a pair among the ark-bound menagerie.

The updated twist on the classic tale grew more involved a few days ago when I was interrupted again, this time in the middle of the Lord's monologue to Noah about the upcoming flood and his related instructions.

"And Noah listened to God, " I was explaining, "and obeyed what he was told about..."

"And THEN, " Maya interjected excitedly, "Noah heard a 'Peep peep!'! Here comes Thomas the Tank Engine!"

That's right - in current repetitions of this story, Thomas and James have developed speaking roles. The new version also involves Thomas carrying all of the animals to the ark. He's sort of a railway assistant to Noah.

It's all good, I suppose. She's taking an interest in Bible stories and exercising her creative muscles at the same time. It does make me wonder what new fusion will show up next. Elmo at the nativity? Boots the Monkey curled up next to Moses in the woven basket floating through Egypt? Only time...and my three-year-old director...will tell.

This week in my kitchen (Week of April 14th)

2008-04-17T15:23:00.004-04:00

Late edition this week, but here it is!

My featured dinner is one that Mary Ann posted on her blog the other week, and I knew I had to try it! Totally yummy chicken and asparagus dish. I made biscuits to go with it and they were so good with the extra sauce!

Here's the link to Mary Ann's post...

*****

Saucy Chicken & Asparagus Bake

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And my baking venture? A spur-of-the-moment decision to whip up something for a playgroup gathering I hosted yesterday resulted in a delightful new favorite...Strawberry Bread! First time I made it, but it won't be the last.

*****

Strawberry Bread

2 1/2 cups fresh strawberries
3 cups + 2 T. all-purpose flour
2 c. sugar
1 T. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 1/4 c. vegetable oil
4 eggs, beaten

Preheat oven to 350. Butter & flour two 9 x 5 inch loaf pans. Slice strawberries and place in bowl. Sprinkle lightly with sugar and let sit while preparing the rest. Combine flour, sugar, salt, and baking soda in large bowl. Mix well. Blend oil and eggs and stir into strawberries. Add strawberry mixture to flour mixture, blending until dry ingredients are just moistened. Divide batter between pans and bake for 45-50 minutes, or until toothpick in center comes out clean. Let cool 10 minutes, remove from pan and cool completely.

*****

This week in my kitchen (Week of April 7th)

2008-04-09T20:45:00.002-04:00

For dinner last night I made one of my favorite spring/summer time salads. I usually serve it alongside some French bread with olive oil & dipping spices. Mmm...

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Grilled Chicken Salad

2 - boneless, skinless chicken breasts; grilled, seasoned, & diced
1 - head romaine lettuce, rinsed & chopped
1 - or 2 Roma tomatoes, chopped
1 - yellow pepper, cut into thin slices
1- avocado, diced
shredded cheese
honey mustard dressing (my favorite store-bought brand is Marzetti's, but I'd like to start making my own)

Toss chicken, veggies, & cheese together and top with dressing.

*****

This was my new baking recipe of the week! All I can say is...holy crap. These. Are. Good.

*****
Oatmeal Carmelitas

Crust
2	cups All Purpose or Unbleached Flour
2	cups quick-cooking rolled oats
1 1/2	cups firmly packed brown sugar
1	teaspoon baking soda
1/2	teaspoon salt
1 1/4	cups margarine or butter, softened
Filling
1	(12.5-oz.) jar (1 cup) caramel ice cream topping
3	tablespoons All Purpose or Unbleached Flour
1	(6-oz.) pkg. (1 cup) semisweet chocolate chips
1/2	cup chopped nuts

DIRECTIONS

	Heat oven to 350°F. Grease 13x9-inch pan. In large bowl, combine all crust ingredients; mix at low speed until crumbly. Reserve half of crumb mixture (about 3 cups) for topping. Press remaining crumb mixture in bottom of greased pan. Bake at 350°F. for 10 minutes.
	Remove partially baked crust from oven; sprinkle with chocolate chips and nuts. Drizzle evenly with caramel mixture; sprinkle with reserved crumb mixture. Return to oven; bake an additional 18 to 22 minutes or until golden brown. Cool 1 hour or until completely cooled. Refrigerate 1 to 2 hours or until filling is set. Cut into bars. *****

This week in my kitchen (Week of March 31st)

2008-04-01T22:15:00.002-04:00

Ok, so the two recipes I'm posting today are not health foods, by any means. But boy, are they good ones!

Maya and I baked up these cookies this afternoon...

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Oatmeal Scotchies

1 1/4 cups flour
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
3 cups quick or old-fashioned oats
1 1/2 cups butterscotch chips

Mix together flour, cinnamon, baking soda, and salt. In separate bowl, beat butter until creamy. Add sugars gradually, then eggs and vanilla, and beat well. Gradually beat in flour mixture. Stir in oats and butterscotch chips. Bake at 375 for 7-8 minutes. Allow to cool on pan for 2 minutes, then remove to wire rack.

****

And later this week, I'll be serving this awesome macaroni and cheese for dinner. It's a recipe I got from my sister, and it rocks.

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Macaroni & Cheese

3/4 box elbow macaroni
2 cups sour cream
2 cups cottage cheese
1 egg, beaten
4 cups cheddar cheese, shredded
salt & pepper, to taste

Cook macaroni to package directions. Mix with remaining ingredients and spread in 9 x 13 pan. Sprinkle with buttered breadcrumbs, if desired. Bake at 350 for 30-40 minutes.

****

This week in my kitchen (Week of March 24th)

2008-03-25T15:22:00.002-04:00

Typing quick because the baby's fussy! :)

Made these for the first time this week - really good!

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Calzones

1 pkg. active dry yeast
1 c. very warm water
1 T. olive oil
1 tsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 1/2 c. all-purpose flour

1/2 c. ricotta cheese
1 1/2 c. shredded cheddar cheese
1/2 c. diced pepperoni
1/2 c. mushrooms, green peppers, or other veggie of your choice
1 tsp. dried basil

1 egg, beaten
marinara sauce for dipping

Dissolve yeast in water; add oil, sugar, salt, and 1 cup flour and mix until smooth. Add remaining flour gradually, forming a soft, workable dough. Knead 5 minutes, until elastic. Place dough in oiled bowl and turn to coat. Cover and let rise in warm place for about 40 minutes, or until doubled.

While dough is rising, mix together cheeses, pepperoni, veggies and basil and chill in refrigerator.

Punch dough down, divide into two portions. Roll out each portion on lightly=floured surface into thin circle. Top each circle with half of the filling mixture and fold in half, pinching to seal edges. Place on baking sheet and brush tops of calzones with egg.

Bake at 375 for 30 minutes. Serve with marinara sauce on the side for dipping.

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On the baking front, my mom's birthday is this weekend, and as always, I'm making the cake! She's requested a basic white cake with my favorite chocolate butter cream frosting. Here's what I'll use, both out of my Ultimate Southern Living Cookbook. The cake is for two layers, but I usually adjust it to make three. I like nice, tall cakes!

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White Cake Supreme

3/4 cup shortening
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 1/4 cups sifted cake flour
1 T. baking powder
3/4 tsp. salt
1 cup milk
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
5 egg whites

Beat shortening at medium speed until creamy, gradually add sugar, beating well.

Combine flour, baking powder, and salt; add to shortening mixture alternately with milk, beginning and ending with flour mixture. Beat at low speed after each addition, just until blended. Stir in vanilla.

Beat egg whites at high speed until stiff peaks form. Gently fold bean egg whites into batter.

Pour batter into two greased and floured 9-inch round cake pans. Bake at 350 for 25-30 minutes, or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes, remove from pans and cool completely on wire rack.

Rich Chocolate Buttercream

2 oz. unsweetened chocolate
2 oz. semi-sweet chocolate
1 cup butter, softened
4 cups powdered sugar
1/4 cup cocoa
1/4 cup milk
2 tsp. vanilla extract

Melt chocolates together over low heat, stirring often. Beat butter at medium speed until creamy. Add melted chocolate and remaining ingredients. Beat until spreading consistency.

*******

Balancing the Bunny

2008-03-20T22:11:00.001-04:00

She did it again, she did. My mind-twin, Megan, has once again posted a thought-provoking blog entry that has inspired me to write out said thoughts as a way of working through them.

I am so, so guilty of ritualistic consumption. Before the birth of my son a few months ago, a Monday just wasn't a Monday without a trip to Starbucks following a grocery shopping run with my daughter. There are certain times of year or even mood swings that simply seem to require the purchase of something...whether it be a new pair of sandals at the first sign of Spring, or a baked good loaded with chocolate when I need a pick-me-up. It's not something I particularly enjoy about myself, but there you have it.

Holiday seasons, however, most definitely bring the most challenges to my love/hate relationship with "stuff". Easter weekend in my childhood years was full of "things"...a brand-new dress, often paired with hat and gloves...a corsage purchased by my father for each of his daughters and our mother...a basket filled with sweets and goodies and hidden somewhere downstairs for us to gleefully hunt on Sunday morning...great memories. Mark and I negotiated this point a bit when determining how to celebrate the season with our kids, as his Easters in growing-up years contained far less...er...fluff. And because, let's be honest, spending money in any capacity isn't something he jumps up and down about. (Love you, honey.) But he's fine with each of the kids wearing a new outfit on Easter morning, so long as it fits the constraints of our clothing budget, and he relented on the Easter basket debate (we keep them verrrrry basic).

I struggled at times with the question of whether or not these froufrou indulgences would diminish the true meaning of the Easter holiday. But I've determined that this no longer concerns me all that much. Even with all of the Easter extravaganza of long ago times, I still very much knew as a child that what really made the day special was the celebration of Christ's victory over death. And I've decided that it's much more important to ensure that both the birth and resurrection of Jesus be truths that are held close in our hearts and minds as a family year-round. The holiday hoopla, reindeer and rabbits, stockings and baskets, candy canes and jelly beans can be modestly embraced without undue paranoia as festive ways to mark the seasons, but we will do our best (God, help us) to make the deeper meanings a part of daily life.

There is an element in all of this that does cause me some alarm, however. And that is the fear that our kids (mine, and in society in general) will pay the price for our growing obsession with stuff, stuff, STUFF. I took a trip to Target the other day to pick up a couple of small items to put in the kids' baskets, and I was in complete shock standing in the holiday-themed aisles. Not kidding, it looked as though the Easter bunny had fallen into a blender along with Dora the Explorer, the Sesame Street gang, Mr. Potato Head and a box of pastel crayons and then someone had turned said blender on high and removed the lid. And don't get me started on the candy. Every form of sweet confection in existence...now in convenient egg form! So. Much. Stuff. And all of it for one season. I stood there reeling in front of the shelves and shelves of chocolate bunny choices and wondered just how much we're all messing up our kids by buying into this. Because here's the thing: as nauseous as it all made me, it got to me too. I found myself picking up several knick-knacks and thinking, "Ooo, Maya would really like this Elmo/bunny Pez dispenser...", and "Hmm...I could spend a bit more money and get her the chocolate bunny that's twice as big and wearing a dress..."

I had to work hard to restrain myself from those purchases, and then I walked away feeling guilty! Why?!? I mean I know that part of it is because I love my daughter and want to give her things that will bring her delight. But I know a lot of it is this keeping-up-with-the-Joneses thing that I so easily fall into. I was part of a conversation the other day where a friend asked, "So, what are your kids getting for Easter?" Totally threw me. Is this what Easter's becoming now? Another Christmas? Because I struggle then too. The part of me that shudders when I see mounds of gifts under Christmas trees wrestles with the part of me that wants to shower my kids with everything I know they'd enjoy...or at least enjoy for five minutes. And now it's happening with Valentine's Day too. There are some circles in which I feel awkward admitting that I *gasp* didn't get my children anything on February 14th. But seriously, when did that become traditional? Did I miss the memo? What's next - 4th of July buckets filled with red, white, and blue M&Ms and Cookie Monster waving a flag? Chocolate turkeys at each child's place at Thanksgiving?

It frightens me, because mine is the generation that is said to have "entitlement issues". But for all of my daily struggles with addiction to STUFF, I didn't have nearly the amount of things handed to me that I could easily hand to my children. And I worry that I will totally mess them up. Or that they'll hate me when they go to school and find out that the Easter bunny brought the kid at the next desk an egg-shaped Playstation or something.

So yeah, that's where I'm at. I've made my peace with a small amount of holiday "stuff", not wanting to fall into the reaction mode of boycotting it altogether. But I do see the downward spiral looming in front of me...and I fear that one day I'll push my Target cart too close to the edge and find that I've set my kids up for a life where they expect everything and are thankful for nothing. Lord, help me...

This week in my kitchen - Easter edition

2008-03-19T14:59:00.002-04:00

It's Easter week!

Maya and I made some yummy "bird nests" treats on Monday. Fun, easy, and she loved the whole process!

******
Bird Nests

3/4 cup butterscotch chips
2 cups chow mein noodles
candy eggs or jelly beans (we used Cadbury dark chocolate eggs)

Melt butterscotch chips over low heat and stir in chow mein noodles. Drop in piles on cookie sheet lined with wax paper. Make indentation in middle of each pile to form a "nest". When they're cool, place "eggs" in the "nests".

******

At church this Sunday we're having breakfast together before the Easter service. I signed up to bring muffins, so I'll be taking these - one of my all-time favorite muffin recipes!

******
French Breakfast Muffins

1/3 cup shortening
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg
1 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 cup milk

1/3 cup butter, melted
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon

Cream together shortening and sugar. Add egg and beat well. In separate bowl, mix flour, baking powder, salt, and nutmeg. Add dry ingredients to creamed mixture alternately with milk, mixing each time until just blended. Fill muffin cups 2/3 full and bake at 350 for 20-25 minutes. Allow to cool a few minutes. Mix together cinnamon and sugar. Roll muffin tops in melted butter, then in cinnamon sugar mixture.

*******

Say what?

2008-03-14T22:36:00.003-04:00

Ok, so I posted about this on my baby board when it happened last winter, but looking into my backyard this afternoon reminded me of this classic anecdote, and it still makes me giggle. I just had to relive it...

****
I'm changing Maya's diaper in her room and Mark comes in. This is the conversation that follows:

Mark (softly): There's a body in our backyard.

Me: What, dead?!?

Mark: No, alive.

Me: That's called a person!

Mark: What's a person?

Me: What?!?

Mark: What?!?

Me: What did you come in here and say?

Mark (louder): There's a bunny in our backyard.

Me: Oh!

Turns out he was telling me quietly because he didn't want Maya to get all excited about the bunny if it were to run away before we had a chance to get to the window. (Which it did.) But I couldn't for the life of me figure out who would be in our backyard during a snowstorm, and why Mark would choose to label said person as a "body"!
*****

Ah, yes. Classic.

This week in my kitchen (Week of March 10th)

2008-03-11T15:36:00.002-04:00

I haven't yet decided on my baking project of the week. It will likely be a batch of cookies...maybe peanut butter chocolate chip? Beyond that indecision, however, I do have two recipes to share again this week.

I was introduced to this one by Keara, and it's quickly become a weeknight favorite in our house! The chicken turns out so tender and flavorful, and the BBQ adds a nice kick.

*********
Easy Barbecue Crispy Chicken Melts

Prep Time:15 min
Start to Finish:45 min
Makes:4 servings

3 tablespoons butter or margarine
1/2 cup Original Bisquick® mix
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/4 cup milk
4 boneless skinless chicken breasts (about 1 1/4 lb)
1/4 cup barbecue sauce
1/2 cup shredded Cheddar cheese (2 oz)

1. Heat oven to 425°F. In 13x9-inch pan, place butter. Heat in oven 2 to 3 minutes or until melted.
2. In shallow dish, stir Bisquick mix and pepper. Pour milk into small bowl. Coat chicken with Bisquick mixture, then dip into milk and coat again with Bisquick mixture. Place chicken in pan.
3. Bake uncovered about 30 minutes or until juice of chicken is clear when center of thickest part is cut (170°F).
4. In small microwavable bowl, microwave barbecue sauce uncovered on High about 30 seconds or until warm. Spoon sauce evenly over chicken; top with cheese.

*********

The next one is a dessert I made for a family dinner on Sunday night. It's a slightly adapted version of a recipe from Great Food Fast, a cookbook by Everyday Food, a Martha Stewart publication. If you're a tiramisu fan and don't have the time to put into the full-on authentic stuff, this is an easy and satisfying alternative.

*********
Easy Tiramisu

1 package (8 oz.) cream cheese (or reduced-fat cream cheese)
1/3 cup sugar
3/4 cup heavy whipping cream
1/2 cups strong coffee, cooled
2 packages (2-3 oz.) ladyfingers
unsweetened cocoa powder for dusting

Beat cream cheese, sugar, and whipping cream with electric mixer until fluffy. In 8-9 inch square or round serving dish, place one layer of ladyfingers. Generously brush with cooled coffee, moistening but not soaking the ladyfingers. Spread one-third of the cream cheese mixture over ladyfinger layer. Repeat layers twice more, ending with cream cheese mixture. Dessert may be refrigerated up to a day. Dust top with cocoa just before serving.

********

Enjoy!

Lessons from life with a 3-year-old - An ongoing list...

2008-03-08T22:12:00.005-05:00

#1 - Concepts often elude them.

(This morning as Mark is in the bathroom, Maya is laying on her stomach outside the locked door, peering under the crack at the bottom and yelling at full volume...)

"DADDY!! DO YOU WANT SOME PRIVACY?!?"

#2 - Reasoning with them is futile.

(Yesterday, after she requested raisins for her afternoon snack, and I walked by to notice that she had eaten half of them and left the other half neatly in one side of her bowl...)

Me: "Are you going to finish your raisins?"
Maya: "No, these ones are yucky."
Me: "They're yucky? Why?"
Maya: "Because I don't want to eat them."
Me: "Why don't you want to eat them?"
Maya: "Because they're yucky."
Me: "Ok, but why are those raisins yucky?"
Maya: "Because we should throw them away."
Me (taking deep breath, trying one more time): "Ok, what makes them yucky?"
Maya (shooting me an exasperated look): "Me!"

[I give up]

This week in my kitchen (Week of March 3rd)

2008-03-03T14:35:00.000-05:00

Ready for another one? Well here it is, whether you like it or not!

This week's baking project is compliments of my friend and fellow baking addict, Stephanie, who alerted me to this Dorie Greenspan recipe last week. Tomorrow morning will find me mixing up these delightful-sounding muffins! I'll be sure to report on my impressions.

********************

Ricotta Berry Muffins

********************

And my dinner spotlight recipe of the week is one that I sampled at a Pampered Chef party last week (where I also placed an order for some fun new kitchen gadgets, much to my delight and my husband's chagrin). It's everything I like in a recipe - easy, tasty, and (as food should be) pretty!

*******************

Family-Size Baked Burrito (from Pampered Chef, although I've adjusted the recipe so as not to entirely need their specific products)

2 plum tomatoes, thinly sliced
3 cups diced, cooked chicken
1/2 cup chopped onion
1/2 lime
3/4 cup salsa
1 T. taco seasoning
1 garlic clove, pressed
1 1/2 cups shredded Colby & Monterey Jack cheese, divided
4 burrito-sized flour tortillas
1 can bean dip (I'm substituting a can of fat-free refried beans)
assorted toppings, such as lettuce, olives, snipped cilantro, and Avacado Lime Sauce (recipe below)

Preheat oven to 425. Squeeze juice from lime half into bowl, and add chicken, onion, salsa, seasoning mix, and garlic. Microwave mixture about 3 minutes, or until thoroughly heated. Stir in 1/2 cup cheese.

Arrange tortillas on a baking stone (or baking sheet) in an overlapping, circular pattern. (Tortillas will hang off the edges a bit.) Starting in center, spread beans over tortillas, forming a 10-inch square. Spoon chicken mixture evenly over beans. Fold edges of tortillas up and over the filling in an envelope fashion.

Arrange tomato slices in rows over top of burrito. Sprinkle remaining cheese over burrito, covering completely. Bake for 10-15 minutes, or until cheese is melted and edges are brown. Cut into rectangles and serve with toppings.

Avacado Lime Sauce: Mash 1 ripe avacado. Stir in 1/2 cup sour cream, 1 T. lime juice, and 1/4 tsp. salt. Drizzle over burrito.

*******************
Enjoy!

This week in my kitchen (Week of February 25th)

2008-02-26T15:42:00.000-05:00

Have I mentioned that I love to cook? Well I do. Trying out new recipes is such a treat, and baking up some bread or muffins is like stress-relieving therapy for me.

I like to have a baking project every week. This week, what with snowstorms, sickness, and lack of exotic ingredients, I turned to an old standby comfort treat...chilling in my fridge as I type this!

*****
No Bake Cookies

1 3/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup butter
4 Tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup crunchy peanut butter
3 cups quick-cooking oats
1 tsp. vanilla

In medium saucepan, combine sugar, milk, butter and cocoa powder. Heat to boiling and cook for 1 1/2 minutes (be careful not to over- or under-cook). Stir in peanut butter, oats, and vanilla. Drop by large spoonfuls onto wax paper-lined baking sheet and chill until firm.

****

Yum!

As far as dinners go, I'm doing some soup and a good ol' spaghetti night, but I also went with our all-time favorite salmon recipe on Sunday night. We try to eat salmon fairly often because of the health benefits, and this is by far the best way I've found to make it!

****
Spicy Southwestern Salmon

2 T. extra virgin olive oil
2 T. firmly packed brown sugar
2 tsp. paprika
1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. chili powder
1/4 tsp. cumin
dash pepper
1 lb. fresh salmon filets, skin removed

Place salmon filets on broiler tray. Brush with olive oil. Combine brown sugar and spices and sprinkle over salmon. Broil for 2-3 minutes, or until brown sugar mixture begins to melt. Reduce oven temperature to 400 and bake for 10-12 minutes more, or until fish flakes easily with a fork.

*****

Happy eating!

It marches on

2008-02-21T16:59:00.001-05:00

I've often had people tell me, "The older you get, the faster time flies." That wisdom fell on deaf ears during my childhood years, when the months between Christmases seemed endless and summer vacation felt like a blissful eternity. As I entered adulthood, however, I started to believe it. I remember clearly the year I realized that all of the college athletes I watched in televised competitions were younger than me. And now I'm feeling it even more as I approach a full decade of marriage, as it's now the professional athletes who are approaching retirement at my age, and as I discovered not long ago that this year would have been the last year I could have legally auditioned for American Idol. (Not that I ever would...or ever should...but you know, it's good to have options.)

And then there's the huge spotlight that glaringly and constantly points out the passage of time - parenthood. "They grow up so fast" is both the most overused adage that's spoken of this stage of life and the one that's most hauntingly true. It's incomprehensible to me that we've gone from making decisions about when to start solid foods to discussions about when to start preschool. How did this happen?

The other day, as I held my second-born, my sweet two-and-a-half-month baby boy, I watched as he woke from a short nap. As he stretched his chubby arms above his head, his chin jutted out in a look of sleepy, pouty-lipped determination. And I was instantly and unexpectedly transported back to another time, when I gazed down at another beautiful newborn - his big sister, now three years old, who used to make the same face when she slept. "Honey, look! She's doing the chin thing", I'd often call to my husband during those simpler days, when we had little else to do but stare at our little girl and coo in amazement at every expression. I smiled as my mind traced over these memories, and then my eyes misted over as I recalled another one...

Fast forward a year and a half from those days of early parenthood. My tiny newborn girl was now an active, precocious toddler. Those first few weeks of sleepless nights and working hard for smiles were distant memories as the same child now charmed and exhausted us with her happy busyness. One afternoon, as naptime was approaching, she uncharacteristically fell asleep in my arms as I rocked her on the couch in the living room. I gave an inward, "Woohoo!", gathered her up carefully and started a careful trek through the house towards her waiting crib, eager to settle in for some rest and relaxation myself. As I passed through the dining room doorway, though, I glanced down and stopped in my tracks. For my eyes had fallen on her sweet face; eyes closed, cheeks flushed, hair pushed clumsily behind her ears...and that chin...that sweet, silly chin shoved forward, with her lips forming that familiar pout from long ago. The realization of time's ever-quickening pace came crashing down right then, and I knew I was receiving a gift in that moment; both a glimpse back in time and a moment I'd remember the rest of my life. My baby was, for a fleeting second, my baby again.

I don't know how long I stayed there. My arms grew tired and my back ached. A group of teenage girls strolled by outside the window, laughing and yelling in the summer sunshine. And I stood beside my dining room table, tears falling from my eyes as I rocked my baby. My baby who could now run and dance and sing and give hugs and kisses. My now three-year-old baby who today shot me a confused look when I offered to help her switch to a different computer game after she was done with the first one. "I am playing a different game, Mama", she said. "When I was little I couldn't do it because I needed help. But I'm a big girl now." Yes you are, sweetie. I stand corrected. And I stand in helpless, bittersweet awe as I watch time pass by. It keeps marching, yes it does...

What am I into?

2007-10-29T15:22:00.000-04:00

Since I am clearly neglecting my blog these days due to a severe lack of creativity, I'll happily jump on the bandwagon with this fun survey brought to my attention by my dear, Sorta Crunchy friend, Megan.

The Book I am Really Into (or one I want to get into): I've been reading more magazines than books these days, as they require less commitment. But here are three books I've read/been reading lately...on three very different subjects!

Baking: From My Home to Yours - by Dorie Greenspan - Baking is a beloved hobby of mine, and this is one fantastic cookbook! I've had it checked out from the library for several weeks now (keep renewing) and have tried a few recipes, including that cake on the cover...um, yeah...really good!

Once Upon a Town: The Miracle of the North Platte Canteen - by Bob Greene - After watching the amazing WWII documentary, The War, on PBS last month, I've been fascinated by that time period in American history. I'm also a fan of Bob Greene's writing, so this has been a great, heartwarming read.

What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Children's Vaccinations - by Stephanie Cave and Deborah Mitchell - The lovely, aforementioned Megan recommended this book to me, and I'm so grateful! This book is full of great, straightforward, non-alarmist information about common children's vaccines and the diseases they are meant to prevent.

TV Show Worth Watching: That's gotta be The Office. We love it. So smart, so hysterical, and oh-so-quotable. When Michael called Phyllis a "less-urban Aunt Jemima" in last week's episode...Oh. My. Gosh. I'm still giggling about it! I was totally spoiled by the hour-long episodes they started the season with, though. The half-hour ones just fly by!

Movie I've Seen (In or Out of a Theater): We don't really do the theater anymore. It's just not all that enjoyable. The only time it's really worth the expense, the lines, the crowds, the not-so-comfortable seats, etc. is when there's some great action movie where the special effects warrant the big-screen experience. Otherwise, give me my living room, my couch, and my pause button any day! As for the question...well we've been more into watching episodes of TV sitcoms on DVD these days. But I did check out The Truman Show from the library the other day for old times sake. We've seen it a bunch of times, but I really love it.

The Candle I'm Loving: I don't burn candles all that frequently, but I do love fall-scented candles. I have a cinnamon spice one in my kitchen at the moment, and it makes me feel all cozy inside.

Blog I am Always Visiting: Anyone on my blogroll! Or at least those who update their blogs, unlike my slacker self.

What I'm Most Looking Forward to Next Month: Hmm...well I'll give you a hint. It has something to do with a tiny person giving me my uterus back and joining us in the world outside the womb. A world where pummeling my internal organs with tiny fists is a little more difficult. Can you tell it's been a rough weekend? Anyway, I'm really hoping this event takes place next month.

I say strange things now

2007-10-08T20:48:00.000-04:00

Motherhood = odd phrases coming out of my mouth. A couple of today's examples...

"No honey, I can't take my face off. It stays on my head."

"Let's not mix crackers and water together to make paste..."

"We don't ice skate on books."

"Why is the sour cream in the living room?"

Yep, those are some sentences I never thought I'd say!

Innocence

2007-09-28T11:31:00.000-04:00

There must be a time in each of our lives when we lose it. That sweet innocence that causes us to see the world through a beautiful, unmarred lens. When is it? Maybe it's different for each one of us. Maybe it's not one specific point in particular, but a gradual erosion of this perceived utopia. Perhaps each of life's disappointments, each scrape of the knee or unfulfilled wish knocks us down a notch towards the reality that life isn't perfect, people aren't perfect.

I've been very aware lately that my daughter is still very much living in a state of innocence. Sure, she knows her share of disappointments throughout each day. Only one cookie; no more Sesame Street for today; it's too wet outside to play in the yard. Those lessons are good for her, and we try to be deliberate about not indulging her every whim. But in many ways, she's still living in an unblemished world. In her eyes, I can make everything feel better. Her Daddy can fix anything that's broken. Owies always heal. There are always snacks in the cupboard. Every child she meets is a friend.

A few weeks ago at the park, the strap on one of her pink rubber sandals broke and made it impossible for her to walk around. We were near the end of our visit anyway, so Daddy just carried her to the car (and fixed her sandal with some super glue when we got home...because he can fix anything). Then earlier this week we passed an elderly woman maneuvering down the sidewalk in a motorized wheelchair. Maya asked me, "What's that lady doing, Mama?" I explained that the chair helped her to get around, because she had trouble walking. Maya's response? "She has a broken shoe." Again at the store yesterday we saw a man in a wheelchair. She asked about him and I explained once again that some people have trouble walking and they have special chairs to help them go where they need to go. I told her that sometimes people's legs get sick and can't walk very well. She took in this information, and then confidently told me again, "He probably has a broken shoe."

Her responses in these situations really struck me. In Maya's mind, with her strong, healthy little body more than able to carry her easily throughout each day, there is no other explanation for being unable to walk than her one experience of the kind...when a broken shoe was the culprit. She doesn't know a reality where legs don't walk, where ears don't hear or eyes don't see. Life's hurdles can be overcome with a scoop into Daddy's arms and a few dots of super glue.

It's not that I really want her to remain blissfully unaware of hardship. I mean, sure, there are some bits of innocence that I'd love for her to hang onto. As a mother, my impulse is to shield her from things that could cause her pain. I don't want her to experience rejection from others. I'm not looking forward to the inevitable stage where she realizes that Daddy & Mommy aren't perfect. And some elements of her inexperience are just plain convenient! The ice cream truck is just a truck that plays music, for instance. And she still thinks that you need a key in order to access the goodies inside gumball machines. Long live that innocence! But I do want her to gain, in time, a healthy perspective on life's roadblocks. I want her to understand that there are those who are less fortunate than we are and feel compassion for those who those who live with difficulties, physical or otherwise. I want her to be generous and to be thankful for the blessings of health, family, friends, and resources.

I know that with time, she will understand. It's a bittersweet thought for me. Part of me wants her to only know a life where the biggest hurdle is a broken shoe. But I know that, as with many things in this journey we call motherhood, I will have to let go of that wish over time. Life is sure to bring it's share of struggles and tears. And many of those experiences will be valuable lessons that will serve to shape her. But you can bet that Daddy and I will always be there with hugs, prayers, words, and yes...super glue, whenever she needs them.

Have you thanked a cow today?

2007-09-21T15:01:00.000-04:00

Driving in the car this morning...

Maya: Look Mama! Cows!
Me: Yeah, I see them!
Maya: Cows drink milk.
Me: Well, cows give milk.
Maya: No, cows drink milk.
Me: Well, baby cows drink milk from their mamas, but big cows give us milk to drink.
*pause*
Maya: That's very nice of cows!
Me: Ah...yes, it is!
Maya: Thank you, cows!

I should wear a blinking sign...

2007-09-01T21:26:00.000-04:00

It's happened more than once in the last couple of days. Maya has hurried towards me, looking to throw herself onto my legs either in protest of an un-granted request or to laughingly escape a Daddy tickle attack...and her little head just completely bounces off of my protruding belly. It stuns her for a moment, but she quickly recovers and adjusts her embrace a bit to the side.

So, the phrase "be careful of Mommy's tummy", once reserved for cautioning my child to please not whack me with toys or limbs in that general vicinity, is now also applicable to her approaching me quickly. *sigh*

Three months to go. I'm not going to get any smaller. Yowza! Perhaps I should invest in a toddler-sized helmet?

Rebel Mama

2007-08-07T15:46:00.000-04:00

I'm a rebel. Well, sometimes I think I am. There are certain circles in which I feel totally integrated, very encouraged by the like-mindedness and support as to the parenting style we've chosen. And in others...well, I just feel...different. Somewhat painfully so. So I'm choosing to label those times my "rebel mom" times, because it gives me a bit more confidence than using a term like, say, "freako mom".

Here are some reasons why I am a rebel:

- We do not use physical punishments with our children. We most definitely believe in discipline, but choose to use other methods to guide our children's behavior.

- I do not believe in sleep-training infants.

- I don't believe that responding to a baby's cries will cause them to become needy, manipulative, or over-dependant.

- I do not believe that infants can be spoiled by nursing them on demand, whether for hunger or comfort.

- I practice extended breastfeeding/child-led weaning.

- I do not believe that babies/children must be kept out of the "marriage bed".

- I deeply believe that my Christian faith supports each and every one of these conclusions, and that there is no Biblical basis I have found which contradicts them.

There are many people in my life who would disagree with some, or even all, of these things. I respect that, and I would never for a second allege, or even imply, that any of my mama friends are doing the "wrong" thing because they choose to parent differently. Everyone needs to choose the parenting style and techniques that work best for them.

But why did I have to end up in the road-less-traveled group? Here's the thing about rebel-dom...it can be a lonely place. And it's particularly frustrating to find that I most often feel alone in Christian circles. It shouldn't be surprising, since the prominent Christian parenting literature, resources, and gurus out there right now mostly seem to line up on the side of a different approach. And again, it's not that I think those things, in and of themselves, are "wrong"...but the ideas and methods suggested often just don't make sense to my heart personally.

Before I had Maya, I pored over parenting books, so desparately wanting to do the "right" thing. But when she was born and I was actually in the thick of parenthood, my heart led me in other directions. This, understandably, caused me some massive feelings of guilt in the begining, as I worried that I was failing as a mother, particularly as a Christian mother. And yet, somehow, I felt that it was God himself who was leading my heart. It wasn't until I found myself in an online community with a group of women from different backgrounds, areas of the country, and experiences, that I learned there was actually a method to my madness. Not only were there other people out there who were parenting the way we were, but there were resources, books, doctors, etc. that whole-heartedly endorsed and supported this approach, and from a Christian perspective! What a blessing! What confirmation!

Two-and-a-half years later, I am so certain that the decisions we've made have been the right ones for us, in spite of the many mistakes we've no doubt made so far. Our daughter is bright, well-adjusted, empathetic, cooperative, loving, and independant, even though I nursed her for two years, fed her on demand, never let her cry herself to sleep, and have never used physical correction. Our marriage is stronger, in every sense, than ever before, even though Maya spent many a night for quite some time sharing our bed. And I'm approaching our second round of the newborn stage with a confidence I didn't have the first time, knowing that the choices we will make are ones that feel right to us and line up with the example that we believe God sets for us as our Heavenly Father.

And yet, why do I sometimes still struggle with feeling like a rebel? Why does it only take one pointed comment or a discussion in which I feel like an outsider to suddenly make me feel so...lonely?

I'm a rebel. With a cause. And it's one I'm intensely passionate about. But sometimes, I have to admit, it sucks.

Smart Alec

2007-08-06T10:28:00.000-04:00

Last night, as Mark and I enjoyed big bowls of freshly cut seedless watermelon, I looked over to see him meticulously picking the tiny white seeds out of the melon pieces with the tongs of his fork.

"It's ok, honey," I teased. "If you eat the seeds, it won't make a watermelon grow in your tummy."

Without missing a beat, he very seriously replied, "I don't know...", with a pointed look at my pregnant belly, which is admittedly looking more melon-like every day.

Very funny, dear. Although I gotta say, that's not at all how I remember it happening...

Edited to add: Is it an indication of just how obsessively I've been poring over baby name books these days that I looked back at the title of this post and went, "Hmmm...'Alec'..." ?

Nah, the Baldwin association isn't great for me these days with that one.

What does it say about me...

2007-07-26T10:37:00.000-04:00

...that a nonfat decaf iced peppermint mocha from Starbucks can get me totally in the Christmas spirit...in July? And that it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to the point of almost mistiness?

I mean, of course, what does it say besides the fact that I'm super hormonal? Oh, and freakishly sentimental. And addicted to Starbucks.

Ok wait, I think I just answered my own question...

It's a Boy!

2007-07-23T21:10:00.000-04:00

For you created my inmost being;
You knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
Your eyes saw my unformed body.

All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of the came to be.

~Psalm 139: 13-16

Faith like my daughter's.

2007-07-21T22:20:00.000-04:00

I've often heard, and taken part in, conversations extolling the importance of "spiritual maturity". That place of stronger connection to God and a deeper understanding of his Word, his nature, and his plans. I've been profoundly blessed by my own meager steps in this process over the years, and I have great respect for those whose incredible faith and wisdom stands as an example for me. Sometimes, however, I think I make it all just a little too hard. I lament my lack of focus, my inferior Biblical knowledge, my infrequent prayers. I find myself succumbing to fearful thoughts and wonder what I must do in order to build up my seemingly "immature" faith. And then, I notice my daughter...

I watch her bow her head in prayer at the dinner table, while her father and I are still filling our plates in the kitchen, and I know that had we not heard her sweet voice thanking Jesus for her food, we would have likely forgotten to thank him ourselves.

I hear the confidence in her voice as she inspects a troublesome new "owie" on her knee, and then assures herself that "God will help" it to heal.

I listen as she struggles through a tearful disappointment and stops mid-wail to implore me, "Let's pray, Mama", only to assure me a few minutes later as the tears dry, "I feeling better now. God helped Maya."

She's two. Two. Hardly enough time to have developed a spiritual maturity. I'd like to say that my husband and I could take the credit for the sweet expressions of faith that come out of this child, I simply can't. Our conversations with her and examples for her fall far short of explaining the connection she has with her Creator. We've certainly never modeled the cheer that she often gives after a declaration that God has helped her..."Yay God!" isn't how I'd ever think to offer praise. It's far too immature, right? Lacks substance?

There's something inherent, something so amazingly simple about her faith that serves as a stunning example to me. That is what I want! I want to turn to my God in every circumstance, with total confidence that my owies will be healed. I want to reach out to him in my dark times of despair, when it's so much easier to wallow in self-pity. I want to turn to those around me during those moments and say, "Let's pray", without my pride or shame holding me back. I want to remember when I emerge from those valleys and realize that "I feel better now" that HE deserves the glory, and not be afraid to make it known that "God helped me". And I want to give my praise, however simple and inarticulate it may be. Because I know that my God rejoices with every "Yay God!" I offer him.

I want to grow daily in my walk with God. I desire spiritual maturity. But what I really long for, what I really need, is faith like my daughter's. I pray she never loses it in pursuit of what a mature spiritual life "should" look like. And I thank the Author of life that he's teaching me more about him each day of Maya's life even as I attempt to teach her the same.

Yay God!!!

Berenstain Bears and Banana Bread

2007-07-18T14:58:00.000-04:00

Mommy guilt is a ridiculously strong force. It's not that I don't think I'm a good mother. I know I am. But I get down on myself pretty easily, for one reason or another.

I love spending time with my little girl. But (and here's where some guilt comes in) I'm not a big fan of getting down on the floor and playing. Of course, if she pulls out her blocks or Mr. Potato Heads and asks me to play, I'll oblige. It's just not my favorite thing to do. I don't love that about myself, but it's true. On the other hand, I'll sit and talk with her endlessly; answer a thousand questions about the cars around us on the road without losing a bit of patience. And then there's our mutual favorite activity to do together...READ! We'll sit and read, literally, for hours each day. I love that time, snuggled together under a blanket on the couch, going through stack after stack of books.

Maya's favorites right now are the Berenstain Bears. Mark and I both loved the series when we were growing up, so we pounced on a great eBay auction shortly after Maya was born and we now own at least forty of them. I pictured the Bears being more a staple of her preschool/early elementary years, but after pulling out a few books out one day, the girl is hooked on Mama, Papa, Sister and Brother. She loves experiencing all of their adventures, and I love the gentle lessons and sweet homeyness of Bear Country. I've chosen to roll my eyes at the criticism of some who shun the books based on Papa Bears doofy ways. Maya has enough books featuring terrific fathers, and has an amazingly involved, intelligent and decidedly un-doofy father herself, that I have no fears that one character is going to warp her view of the entire male gender. The Bears have a way of mixing life lessons and new experiences with a focus on love and helping others, and I love sharing those things with my daughter.

Another activity that I never tire of is spending time with her in the kitchen, baking cookies and cakes and other things that strike our fancy. And for my pregnant self - quite a bit is striking my fancy these days! Maya has developed a particular affinity for banana bread. A few months ago I had baked a couple of batches that we'd enjoy together in the morning, during our cuddle time on the couch after waking up. Last week, out of the blue, she asked me again, "Mama, you make banana bread for me please?" Well, who's gonna say 'no' to that? Not me! I promised her that there would be some waiting for her in the morning, and sure enough - the first sleepy words out of her mouth the next day were, "You make banana bread, Mama?" And had you seen the joyous smile on her face when I told her that yes, there was indeed a fresh loaf waiting for us in the kitchen...well, you would have understood why we went through that batch, as well as another one that I mixed up just a few days ago! To see Maya's happy munching and hear her exclaim with wonder, "Mama made banana bread...for ME!", well it just makes my heart sing!

I think when I really examine my feelings of guilt over what I don't do "enough" of as a Mama, it comes down to my fears that Maya will grow up lacking sweet experiences of toddlerhood and fond memories of this mother/daughter time that is bound to pass way too quickly. I don't do very well with the run-around-the-table game these days, and I can't maneuver around the park as easily right now without needing someone else along to help with the climbing and sliding. But those worries ease when I look at the beautiful things I look forward to doing every day with my girl. We have snuggling, we have our long talks, we have our beloved shopping trips and neighborhood walks. We have the Berenstain Bears and banana bread. And I hope, and trust, that those are all things that will fill her memory bank with sweetness and joy for as long as these two-year-old memories can last.

Gag-tastic

2007-07-17T10:48:00.001-04:00

That's really the only way to describe a morning spent deep-cleaning the refrigerator. I'm not talking just a search-and-toss mission. I mean a serious, remove everything, take out the shelves, scrub and scrape, take-no-prisoners deal. You know that lovely substance that lettuce becomes after a long period of neglect? Yeah. Ew.

It sure feels good to have it done. But there's something about taking on a task like that while 20 weeks pregnant with a head cold that makes you feel like you've just participated in some sort of triathlon. After my fifth head rush of increasing magnitude, I took it as a sign that my body was screaming at me to sit the heck down and leave the freezer for another day. Point taken!

I can now rest my gag reflux until Thursday...bathroom cleaning day.

Who said the life of a stay-at-home-mom wasn't glamorous?

Aspiring to pouch-dom!

2007-07-10T14:48:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, I had this conversation with Maya, who has been quite interested in kangaroos lately...

Maya: "Where's your pouch, Mama?"
Me: "My what? My pouch?"
Maya: "Let's see it."
Me: "Um, I don't have a pouch, honey."
Maya: "Mama has a baby in her tummy."
Me: "Right...Oh! You mean like a kangaroo carries her baby in a pouch?"
Maya: "Yeah."
Me: "Oh, well people don't have pouches. Kangaroo mamas carry their babies in pouches, but people mamas have their babies grow in their tummies. So I don't have a pouch."
*long pause*
Maya (patting my arm reassuringly) : "Maybe when Mama gets older."

So, lest I fear that I will always go through life pouch-less, my 2-year-old has now reassured me that there's hope for the future!

When giving in becomes a golden moment.

2007-06-21T10:50:00.000-04:00

I subscribe to a "gentle parenting" style when it comes to child-rearing. It took a journey to come to that point...one that I'll have to go further into in future posts. But for now I'll just say that I've found a parenting philosophy that speaks strongly to my heart and makes sense to my spirit, as a mother and as a follower of Christ. I respectfully, yet wholeheartedly, disagree with the more mainstream Christian parenting resources that encourage strict schedules for infants, physical punishments for toddlers, and the need to keep a child in it's "place", so to speak. It's not to say that those who advocate and/or follow those methods are "wrong". It just didn't feel right to me, particularly not when looking at the Father heart of God as an example of how a parent might relate to their children.

But that's not to say that my husband and I don't set boundaries for our daughter. It's a common misconception - go "soft" on the discipline and your children will run amok. It's important to us that our kids grow up learning to be respectful to others, that they know how to deal with disappointment, and that they listen and obey. Our main focus is consistency. If we say we're going to do something, we're determined to do it. Whether it be remembering to read that book that we promised we'd read in "just a minute", or following through on a consequence for an inappropriate action. Of course, we've failed countless times. That comes with the territory. But our intentions are to maintain consistency in an appropriate way. This value is tested every day. And with every such instance I learn something, if I open my eyes and my heart to what the lesson is.

Last night at bedtime, major toddler meltdown ensued. We had arrived home later than usual, so the routine had been delayed a bit - not a good situation for my little creature of habit. We got her teeth brushed, stories read, and prayers said, all the while listening to that droning, sleepy whine. By the time she and I headed back for some pre-bed cuddle time in her room, we had reached the unreasonable stage. I sang her a song, which she wanted to hear again...and again. Recognizing the attempts at stalling, I told her I would sing that song once more before it was time to go in her crib. When she was all snuggled down in the crib with her blanket, she asked again. I reminded her that the "once more" was all done, but offered to sing her usual lullaby, prefacing it with a reminder that I would be singing it one time, and then it was time to sleep. As I expected, when the lullaby was done she asked me to repeat it. I told her it was time to sleep, tucked her in, gave her a kiss and told her "night night". She was crying as I walked out the door. I wouldn't have left her crying while she was a baby, but as a sleepy toddler on a manipulation mission, I feel ok about letting her fuss a bit.

Within two minutes, the cries turned to tired, half-hearted protests, and then she sighed and was quiet. My heart ached a bit, knowing that I had done the right thing by staying consistent, but also fighting the twinges of sadness that I always feel when I have to be tough.

About five minutes passed, and then through the quiet monitor sitting beside the couch, I heard a little voice, whiny tone completely gone, clear-as-a-bell...

"I not sad anymore. I no cry. I happy now. Ok. Mama? I see you?"

Contemporary wisdom would recommend that I stay put. I had done the "right" thing. She would be asleep within minutes anyway. I knew this. But you know what? At that moment, a flock of child psychologists followed by a herd of wildebeests couldn't have kept me from going back into that room. I slipped through the door, adjusted her blanket, and rubbed her back. And then I started to sing her favorite lullaby. As I did, she joined me, in a voice half-asleep, fully satisfied. When I was done, she didn't ask again. Somehow, I knew she wouldn't. This was something different. There was a different tone between us now. I was no longer fighting to keep the upper hand, and she was no longer fighting to try and take it. There was just peace. As I walked back towards the door, she whispered, "Thank you, Mama. Night-night."

Goodness knows I've been swayed by that little girl's manipulation techniques many times, with frustrating outcomes. There will be many such times to come, I'm sure. But last night, my decision to "give in" was one that I wouldn't have traded for anything. I broke the rules, sure. But I had a priceless moment with my daughter. And I learned a little lesson about pride, and about grace.

An arachnophopic preoccupation!

2007-06-18T16:27:00.000-04:00

I hate spiders with a passion that rivals my hatred of camping and the feeling of fingernails scratching denim. Also, tapered-leg pants. So we're talking intense aversion here. Seriously, if I've seen a spider in a particular spot in my house, it will take me months before I don't do a quick, heart-pounding scan of that area each and every time I enter the room after said sighting.

When I was growing up, I was terrified that there might be a spider in my bed, and that I would slip innocently under the covers someday, only to feel eight disgusting legs scampering up my arm. My dad always assured me that it was impossible for a spider to end up in my bed, and explained the physics of how it would have to scale a bed post, push it's way under the heavy blankets, etc. I had a different notion, of course - I figured it could drop from the ceiling. Sort of a Mission Impossible-type insect maneuver. Dad laughed it off, insisting that spiders have no interest in dropping. But I always suspected that there must exist some sort of spider conspiracy against me.

Fast forward several years to one of the first summers after my wedding. I happened to have the lights on one evening as I was pulling the sheets back on the bed. As I pushed the switch to turn on my alarm clock, I spotted a small but furious movement out of the corner of my eye. Horrified, I hooked one finger under the corner of the sheet, held my breath, and lifted the edge. Yes. That's right. One of those uninterested-in-dropping spiders had suddenly developed an interest in validating my fears and invading the bed. MY side of the bed, I might add.

That little incident was years ago, and I still have to check the bed every night to be certain that a new terrorist spider cell group hasn't set their next plan in motion.

Why am I thinking about this today? Because there is a large, hairy arachnid in my minivan at this very moment, and I can't stop thinking about it. My dear husband insisted on borrowing some sort of sprinkler attachment from his parents last night, and then insisted on leaving it in the back of the van for me to happen across as I searched in vain for a spot to load my grocery bags this afternoon. Not to worry, dear. I'll just lift the filthy, cumbersome, inexplicably 50-pound-ish contraption and move it to a different locale in the vehicle. Oh, and I'll be careful not to let the long metal prongs that stick out from the top (and, by the way, spin at random) scratch the interior of the van as I do so. Yeah, that was the plan until mid-move, a huge beast of a spider dropped down by my hand (yes, he was interested in dropping as well - uh huh, who's crazy now?). Before I could find a suitable smashing instrument in my bagfuls of produce, the crafty monster scuttled under the folded-down rear seat, out of reach but not out of mind. I think I actually heard a tiny chuckle as he fled.

After I reassured Maya that all was well, and dodged the "What's 'Oh SHOOT', Mama?" question, I drove home, white-knuckled, just praying that he would stay put until I could rescue me and my child from the vehicle after our safe arrival at home. We made it.

I need to leave again, in this very vehicle, in about an hour. I may need a sedative. What my sweet husband doesn't know yet is that when he get home this evening, he will not only be unloading the death-trap sprinkler thingy from the van, but he will also be spider-hunting. And I won't be satisfied until that thing is found, dead or alive. (If alive, he must be rendered dead.) After all, I sure as heck am NOT going to have Spider Spiderson dropping his clever self down on my shoulder as I'm driving along someday. Because YES DAD, it freaking happens!

Who knew the big questions started this early?

2007-06-01T10:29:00.001-04:00

Up until very recently, I've been able to field Maya's questions pretty easily. I mean, she's two, right? I'm not expecting to get the "where do babies come from" - type inquiries for at least a little while.

Well whaddya know, she pulled one of the Big Ones out of her hat the other day at breakfast. Completely out of the blue. No warning whatsoever...

"Where's God, Mama?"

My spoon froze on it's way to my mouth. I glanced at Mark and our eyes met with the same "Oh CRAP!" expression. I was really hoping to have the perfect answer to this question when it came up...you know, later.

She asked again. This time...

"Where'd God go?"

A million thoughts were racing through my mind. Ok, if I tell her that God is in Heaven, does that create the misconception in her impressionable mind that God is distant...elsewhere...removed? That's no good. But wait, if I tell her that He's "everywhere", is that too abstract for a toddler to comprehend? Does she need a more concrete visual to make her feel secure? Oh my gosh, I'm going to screw her up spiritually for life, all because I gave the wrong answer to this question...CRAP!

We ended up doing ok, I think. Mark started with the answer that God lives in Heaven, and I followed up with the explanation that God is always watching over us, and that He always hears us and is with us. She seemed satisfied, and moved on to more important matters. Like a rousing chorus of the "ABC" song.

Sometimes I think I get stressed way too easily about these things. I know that as parents, our roles as spiritual guides are extremely important. But my long-suspected belief that children have a closer connection to God than we think they do has been confirmed many times over as I've watched Maya grow. This girl remembers to pray for her meals when we don't. And she thanks God every day for healing an owie on her knee that's been long gone. How many times do I thank God when I receive an answer to prayer or an unexpected blessing? Yeah, probably once. Before I slip back into the vicious cycle of complaining about the next thing I wish would change.

I know full well that as much as I'd like my kids to grow up adhering to my exact belief systems and spiritual leanings (because they're the right ones, darn it! :)), it's not likely to happen. As Maya grows into adulthood, she'll form her own views, see God in a different way, develop her own personal faith that may look different, in some ways, than mine. Just as her father and I have done. And I want that for her, I really do. I just need to remember that. And I also want to remember that as much as we will teach our kids about God, they can teach us even more.

So I'll give Maya the best answers I can to these Big questions. All the while trying my best to keep my eyes and ears open for the answers God wants to give me through her.

"Maybe Sometime."

2007-05-29T14:54:00.000-04:00

My two-year-old is very into the art of sneaky manipulation these days. Cute and disturbing at the very same time. One of her favorite methods right now is to circumvent a "no" response from me by slipping a comment in that she hopes will leave the door open for the future.

An example:

(Sitting at the dinner table, Maya starts scraping the tongs of her fork on the table, all the while looking intently at me to catch my response.)

Me: No, Maya. We don't scrape forks on the table.
Maya: No, yes!
Me: No. The fork can scratch the table and damage it. Do not scrape your fork on the table, or we'll have to take it away. Do you understand? No scraping.
Maya: Maybe sometime.
Me: Um, no. We don't ever scrape forks on the table.
Maya: Maybe sometime.

"Maybe sometime". A crafty phrase. Not at all posed as a question, either! It's a very confident statement. A way of saying, "Ok, you win for now, but soon...very soon...I shall scrape away to my heart's content! Sometime..."

As always in the parenting game, there are situations where I choose simply not to fight the battle. If danger or damage are concerns, I'll finish the exhausting conversation. But often, it just doesn't seem necessary. For example, at the grocery store yesterday when she wanted to ride a lobster. "Honey, you're too big to ride a lobster," I said. "Besides, they're all wet and they might pinch you." After considering this reasoning briefly, she declared, "Maybe sometime." Or today when driving through the country, she pointed out towards a cornfield, framed by fences, a little creek and a small hill in the background, and instructed me to "Drive that way, Mama." I responded,"Well sweetie, we have to stay on the road, and the van can't drive through all of those fences and fields." *brief pause* "Maybe sometime." she said sweetly.

In both of these circumstances, I could have argued the point. Crushed her dreams by insisting that human beings aren't made to saddle up crustaceans, and that our mini-van isn't built for off-roading through the countryside. But instead, both times, I simply smiled and said, "Ok." I may regret it in the future, if these particular requests start coming fast and furious. But for now, she's satisfied. And she's happily holding onto the glimmer of hope that one day, Mama will open up the top of that lobster tank at Meijer and let her have a ride. Or that I'll veer off a rural road someday and we'll be lurching through the corn in our Toyota Sienna, laughing and cheering with every jolt. She'll have long enough to live with the realization that things like that can't happen. Sometimes I regret that I know better myself. For now, I'll let her dream. Unless, of course, that dream involves utensils and furniture...