Category Archives: Family

This is war.

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9 days.
I am certifiably losing my mind over one feisty little rodent… the mouse.  This is the first since we moved to our country home in March.
That first night after discovering mouse “presents” on my kitchen counter, I set out a trusty trap, carefully baited with peanut butter (all natural, of course).  I like to use the Ortho Defense Kill & Contain that hides all the nastiness once the trap actually works, and as a bonus, they keep my precocious 3-year-old Lovey’s fingers at bay.
No worries.  I have never had trouble catching a mouse before.  But the next morning, the peanut butter was gone and the trap left intact.  Hmmmmmm… okay.  Fluke of nature.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  The next day, the same scenario.  Bait gone.  Trap not tripped.  And by this time, my sweet hubby has gone out of town for five days for work and I’m left to deal with this filthy creature on my own.  Awesome. 
So, I’m beginning to think I’ve got a faulty trap.  I stop at Walmart in town to pick up more and, of course, they don’t carry them anymore.  I pick up another brand of Kill & Seal traps (gotta keep all those fingers on those little hands) and the next night I set out the new one.  Mouse didn’t even attempt it and guess what.  I’ve got “presents” on the counter for the 4th day in a row.  Ugh.
Night #5.  I have an epiphany when I find glue traps under the kitchen sink.  YES!  I get out the old and possibly defective trap that the darn mouse seems to love so much and carefully place the glue trap directly in front out.  No.  Way.  Out.  Right?  I settle the kids in to bed, sit down to finally unwind with the evening news after a long day and that’s when I saw him.  The little furball darts out from under the couch, across the room and under the tv stand.  Perfect.  Playtime was over.  I went straight to bed, incessantly tried to put it out of my mind, and sincerely prayed that my evil scheme would work.
No.  Dice.  Bait gone.  Trap not tripped.  And glue trap gone???  I employed my three little detectives, but there was no trace of the glue trap.  Did I have a mouse skittering around the house, dragging a glue trap from his nether regions?  How was this possible?
It was Friday.  Hubby was home.  And by now… this was an all-out war.
I informed him of the week’s events.  He heartily chuckled as if I was being slightly over dramatic.  Hmph.  He wasn’t the one cleaning up mouse poop every morning.  
Number 6.  Same set-up.  I had one glue trap left.  There’s no way that the mouse could outsmart my clever contraption twice.  Right?  Fast forward to 4:45 am.  Something is clattering in the kitchen and into the dining room.  Dragging, almost.  Mouse vs. Glue Trap?  Bingo.  I shake hubby awake.  Kind of.  He’s exhausted after a week away and wants nothing to do with the rodent drama.  Then silence.  I lay still, paralyzed by fear, and reluctantly reach for my glasses.  And that’s when we locked eyes.  That mangy little rodent scampered to my bedroom doorway and paused as if to taunt me.  I scream and violently shake hubby from his sleep as mouse darts into the spare bedroom across the hall.  Apparently that room is not nearly as exciting and he quickly comes back for more.  Hubby, still in a slumbered stupor begins hurling balled up socks at my nemesis and declares that there is “nothing to worry about.  He’s gone back to the dining room,” as he nonchalantly rolls over and begins to snore.  Very funny.
4:50 am.  It’s definitely not over.  I stare blankly at the red numbers on alarm clock until nearly 7:00 am (a full hour past my routine wake-up time).  I don’t dare make a move out of bed until I am sure he is through for the evening.
Day 7.  Hubby is still not worried.  He gets Old Faithful, a regular run-of-the-mill wooden snap trap.  We wait until Lovey is fast asleep that evening and he baits the trap.  My sweetheart is confident there is no escape.  Wrong.  Bait gone.  Trap not tripped.
#8.  My dear husband is just as frustrated as I am.  Old Faithful, once again.  New location.  Same result.
So here we are on Day 9.  I’m fresh out of ideas.  I’m tired as heck.  And I’m mad at the cats (clearly not doing their job, although, to be fair it really does seem as if we are dealing with a superior sort of mouse). 
There are two glue traps still unaccounted for. 
Any ideas, Coffee Lovers??? 
I’ll be putting on the extra coffee, right about now… 
This.  Is.  War.
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Survival.

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I’ve tried to hold my tongue.  Really.  I’m not usually one to complain.  Most of the time, I am eternally optimistic, but quite frankly, I just can’t take it anymore.

Its hot.  

H.  O.  T.

I am well aware that among most of the people in my social circles I am in the minority because I truly adore fall and winter.  Summer is my least favorite time of year.  I love a good barbecue on the 4th of July and I’ll even take good water fight now and then.  The true saving grace of summer are the storms.  I love a good, pounding rain and the thrill of an unexpected thunderstorm, but so far, we haven’t had much of that either.


The grass is brown (and crunchy), my feeble attempts at minor landscaping are wilting, and I am completely terrified to open my electric bill.  


I suppose on the bright side of things, I could say that my laundry dries on the line in virtually no time at all, the mosquito population is practically nil, and I don’t have to worry about the kidlets dragging mud all over kingdom come.  


Regardless, we are trying to spend time outside during the coolest parts of the day.  There are simply too many amazing things to explore out here.  

Last weekend, my oldest, Peanut, found this out by the barn:


Scores of freshly emerged baby caterpillars.

A couple of days later, it looked like this:





They were hungry.
Peanut rescued eight of them from that lone milkweed.
The next day, we thought we should go see if we could rescue the rest and transplant them to the other part of the field that is thriving with milkweed.  But they were gone.  
So we have eight lovely Monarch caterpillars who have taken up residence in our kitchen.  
Can’t wait to watch miracles unfold before little eyes.
Time to whip up an ice cold frappucino before heading out to water the tomatoes. 
Stay cool.
Love & Coffee. 
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The Quiet.

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Gosh, I am such a traditionalist.  I just can’t help myself.  It’s my roots.  It’s what I feel.
But it wasn’t always this way.  I grew up staunchly conservative in every sense of the word.  And I fought back.  Hard.  I escaped to a much bigger city, trying to shed my Iowa roots and the stigma that came along with it, the best I could.  At times it was difficult to explain to people that even though I was from Iowa, I didn’t own a pig and I’d never driven a tractor.  (Newsflash:  Iowa is not one big, happy farm.)
But I love Iowa.  And I love cornfields.  And as most of you know, I am now happily planted (and beginning to thrive!) in the country.
I am home.  And it feels good.
I used to think I was pretty cutting edge.  In college, I had a Palm Pilot.  (Ha.  Remember those?)  It was basically a prehistoric smartphone minus the internet.  And the phone.  And the color.  And pretty much anything remotely cool.  Over the years, I incessantly upgraded and upgraded until last April.  I am now the proud owner of a “dumb” phone which does exactly what it’s supposed to do.  Make and receive calls.  (Along with the occasional text message.)
Honestly, most days I prefer hiding from the ridiculous thing.  While the world is longing to check in, link up, and socially network with me, I find myself longing for a disconnect.  In exchange for a reconnect with the people I love most.  I guess I don’t always like being so… accessible.
I like faces.  There is so much to love about a genuine exchange with another specimen of God’s fine creation.  Expression.  Eye Contact.  I am disheartened that most of the young people I know can’t look me in the eye because they don’t know how to talk to my face.  I used to think I had something perpetually stuck in my teeth, but I truly think many just don’t know how to engage in this way.
As a homemaker, I am often regarded as extraordinarily available.  My work at home, however, is noteworthy, intentional, and fiercely un-interruptable.  (I think I invented a word there.)  I am raising three little ladies to know they are worth my time, my attention, and my love.
Perhaps I am deliriously old-fashioned, but I am recapturing a love for the quiet.  Not necessarily the absence of noise, but the kind of quiet that bestills my soul and refreshes my heart all at the same time.
It’s in the moment when I and my girlies are laboring in the kitchen over a fresh batch of sugar cookies, carefully crafting each one, with nary a sprinkle out of place.
It’s in the moment I am hanging the laundry on the clothesline, watching those same sweet girls running in and out of the billowing sheets, catching every sunbeam.
It’s in the moment when I read the same beloved story to my princesses for the 13th time and we all fall into a heap of giggles at the same part, even though we know exactly what’s going to happen next.
It’s in the moment when I revel in the adventures of a warm, summer day over a hearty dinner with my ruggedly handsome husband and three gorgeous girls.
It’s in the moment where the five of us circle the evening campfire, sipping coffee, chugging root beer, and watching the fireflies dance.
So if I don’t answer, please, leave me a message.  And I’ll get back to you.  
“Point your kids in the right direction—
when they’re old they won’t be lost.” 
Proverbs 22.6  (The Message)
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Happy Birthday, Lovey.

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The little one is 3.  

Today we will celebrate with cake, presents, and enchiladas (her favorite).  

She is the rambunctious one.  The ornery one.  The one who wears me out consistently.  

She is bold, daring, and aggressive.  She laughs at danger and scoffs at calamity.  She is her father’s daughter.

She is mama’s sweet little shadow.  She bounces along to the laundry room to pour in the soap and sort the colors.  She skips to the kitchen to empty the dishwasher.  She gallops into the the bedroom to pair up the socks.


She begins the day like a firecracker on the 4th of July and rip-roars through each day, turning somersaults into her bed to bring the day to a screeching halt.  

And this exhausted mama follows suit shortly thereafter.  

She makes me smile.

Lovey is 3.  

There is a strange phenomenon in our sweet family.  It began with Peanut who was born the day for my birthday.  A darling gift just for me.  Then Ladybug came forth the day before my mother-in-law’s birthday.  Pure providence.

Then, Lovey.  Born the day before my mother’s birthday.  Which also happened to be my late Grammy’s 80th birthday.  Dear Grammy entered sweet rest the day before little Lovey came, just one day shy of 80.  

Another perfect gift.  At the perfect time.  

I love you, Little One.  Please, slow down.  I want to squeeze more into every day I have with you…

Happy Birthday.

Daddy.

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I probably don’t say it nearly enough.  But I love you.
You showed me what it was to be strong, courageous, and loving.
You instilled in me a love for our rich American history, simple living, and unwavering faith.
You taught me how to ride a bike, how to change a tire (though I could probably use a refresher course), and how to make your famous raisin cookies. 
You tried to teach me to take care of plants, flowers, and things that grow in the dirt, but… let’s move on…
You were a fountain of wisdom, even when I didn’t listen.  You still are.  I’d like to think I listen better now.
You demonstrated the importance of being a lifelong learner, always encouraging me to study, and memorize, and soak things in. 
You taught me to pray when things good.  And to pray when things were bad.  And to be thankful for all things at all times.  
You showed me how to be a giver.  Holding nothing back.  Making sacrifices.  And I watched as God blessed our family beyond all earthly reason.
You showed me how to set priorities, standards, and boundaries for life. 
You told me it was okay to make mistakes, okay to be wrong, and okay to fail once in awhile.
You taught me to be adventurous.  Like the time you had an awesome idea for Mom’s birthday cake.  You made it from scratch yourself (who needs a recipe?) and it was so heavy with all that fruit that it wouldn’t stand up on it’s own.  I still remember propping that thing up with toothpicks and dowels to make it presentable for her.  One of my favorite memories.  Best.  Cake.  Ever.
You showed me how to be spontaneous and enjoy life, embarking on a week-long camping trip at a moment’s notice, jumping into the family van to run to the ice cream shop on a hot day, or setting up a real-life game show in the dining room and giving out real money for prizes (because of this game, I still remember the capital of Virginia). 
You instilled in me a love for coffee.  Waking up to that earthy aroma each morning still brings a sense of security to me… and reminds me of you.
You are an example of everything a dad should be.  And you showed me how to pick out a good one for my own sweet girls.  Most days he reminds me of you.
Thanks, Dad, for everything.
Happy Father’s Day.
Love you.
 “Listen with respect to the father who raised you,
   and when your mother grows old, don’t neglect her.
Buy truth—don’t sell it for love or money;
   buy wisdom, buy education, buy insight.
Parents rejoice when their children turn out well;
   wise children become proud parents.
So make your father happy!
   Make your mother proud!”
Proverbs 23.22-25 (The Message)
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Simple.

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I think that is one of the biggest reasons I love coffee so daRn much.  

Simplicity.  Beans.  Water.  Brew.  Done.

I’m a bit of a purist.  I drink my coffee mostly black.  Sometimes with a smidgen of sugar.  Or honey.  That’s it.  

Simple.   


The older I get (which I like to think isn’t all that old yet) the more I long for the simple things in life.  I really don’t want much.  I don’t need a lot.  In fact, whenever someone asks what I really want for my birthday or Christmas, I find it difficult to think of anything at all.  I have food on my table.  I have a lovely place to live.  My family is healthy and safe.  I have incredibly loyal friends.  Beyond that, I really cannot comprehend what might be important.  


I suppose that is why I am accruing a slew of gourmet coffees, kitschy coffee mugs, good chocolates, homey candles, and trendy scarves from well-meaning friends and family who have no idea what else to get me should an occasion arise.  And that’s not a complaint, because I truly adore all those things.  And I love that those closest to me know me well enough not to splurge too much.  I like simple things.  


Is it ironic that over the course of time, we have continuously innovated and modified our culture with inventions and technology designed to make our lives simpler?  To have more free time?  To make things easier?  Yet, as a whole, people are busier than ever (and grumpier), starving for real relationships (like the kind where you talk to someone’s face, reading everything they are feeling through their eyes, instead of misconstruing a facebook status), and jamming every parcel of spare time with something else (just for the sake of having something to do).  

Moments slipping away.  


It’s okay to relax.  It’s okay to keep it simple.  It.  Is.  Okay.  


And that’s what I keep telling myself.  

Our darling little town hosts a “Summer Sign-Up” event each May where parents can sign their kids up for every activity under the sun for the summer all in one sweep.  It really is a convenient little concept, however, I most generally walk away from the evening with a full calendar and empty pockets.  This year was different.  I walked away with hoards of paper fliers in hand, determined to just think about some things before signing our summer away.


And guess what.  I didn’t sign up for a thing.  Not a one!  (Except for the summer reading program at the library, which is free, and totally non-committal).   

I have the made the decision to take this summer and simply reconnect with my darling girls.  I want to dig for worms, roast marshmallows over the fire, camp out in the trees, throw a tea party under the perfectly aged peach tree, unearth family treasures and memories hidden in boxes packed away far too long, makeover their bedrooms into a dreamy wonderland all their own (involving them each in the creative process), bake cookies for a friend “just because,” go stargazing, lay in the grass and pick out cloud shapes, sew coordinating sundresses for all 4 of us, host mid-summer barbecues for all their friends and cousins, and I could go on.  And on.

And who knows?  Maybe we’ll like it so much that our “Simple Summer” will evolve into “Freedom-from-driving-20-minutes-into-town-every-time-I-turn-around Fall.”


Sometimes it’s okay to just be. 

And coffee.   Always coffee.  

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1-3God, my shepherd! I don’t need a thing.
   You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
      you find me quiet pools to drink from.
   True to your word,
      you let me catch my breath
      and send me in the right direction.

 4 Even when the way goes through
      Death Valley,
   I’m not afraid
      when you walk at my side.
   Your trusty shepherd’s crook
      makes me feel secure.

 5 You serve me a six-course dinner
      right in front of my enemies.
   You revive my drooping head;
      my cup brims with blessing.

 6 Your beauty and love chase after me
      every day of my life.
   I’m back home in the house of God
      for the rest of my life. 

Psalm 23  (The Message) 

This post is a part of Simple Lives Thursday.

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Cheesy.

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I have been forever on the look-out for a great cheese sauce recipe.  

I miss my dear Grandma’s famous macaroni & cheese and aside from never even remotely approaching her greatness, the processed cheese isn’t that good for me anyway.  

(You can read more about my last attempt here:  Dear Grandma.) 

My sweet girls are suckers for mac & cheese, yet I cringe a little every time I set a runny mess of pre-packaged orange noodles on the table. 

I had a pretty good go at things the other night with a cheddar cheese sauce, but it still needs some work.  The girlies gobbled it up and that’s always a good sign!  Almost anything homemade is going to be cheaper and healthier and that’s something I can feel good about all around.

My friend, Lori, (who is a superbly fabulous cook) once posted her cheese sauce recipe on her blog (made from real cheese!).  I can hardly wait to try it as it looks amazing.  Lori knows her way around a kitchen so I know it must be good.  As a bonus, she also includes her Alfredo sauce recipe.  Go here to check it out:  Cheddar Cheese Sauce.

Lori’s blog, 4newtons, has some other really great recipes featuring whole foods.  Her spinach dip is pretty amazing, too.


Grandma’s Mac is about to get a makeover…

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10.

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I love him.  
And he loves me.
He protects me.
He provides for me.
He prays for me.
He is the spider slayer and critter catcher.
He bestills my heart and makes me swoon. 
He makes amazing Chinese food.  He knows how to tie all sorts of amazing knots.  He is a master gamer and could beat anyone I know at any video game hands down.  
I choose to love him every day.  And he chooses to love me back.  Even when my makeup is not done, my hair is in shambles, and I haven’t had a drop of coffee.

 He loves me when I forget to pack his lunch, when I shrink his favorite shirt in the wash, and when I have a good girly cry for no reason at all. 

We are two made one.  

He.  Is.  Mine.

Happy 10th Anniversary, My Love!  Here’s to many more…
 
 “Hang my locket around your neck,
   wear my ring on your finger.
Love is invincible facing danger and death.
   Passion laughs at the terrors of hell.
The fire of love stops at nothing—
   it sweeps everything before it.
Flood waters can’t drown love,
   torrents of rain can’t put it out.
Love can’t be bought, love can’t be sold—
   it’s not to be found in the marketplace.”
Song of Solomon 8.6-7 (The Message)

Mango Mania.

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Yes.  That’s what it’s called.  The color my sweet hubby selected for our kitchen facelift.  It would be far more accurate to say that he absolutely insisted on it.  I am certain we spent at least 45 minutes in the paint aisle going around about this color choice.  Me, holding my ground for a subtle aloe green.  Him, pressuring me to go bolder.  Ay yi yi.  It was clear that I was not going to win this war.  After all, it’s paint.  If it doesn’t turn out, you paint over it.  No problemo.

Lucky for us, the previous owner nicely remodeled the kitchen, leaving only the walls undone.  So the last 5 days we have been buried in our kitchen, held hostage by layers of crumbling wallpaper, joint compound, and paint fumes.  I am happy to report that the deed is nearly done.

Hal.  Le.  Lu.  Jah.

We knew going in that the kitchen would be the toughest room in this house.  And because I spend so much time in there, it had to be done first or I was going to tear my hair out.  We meticulously removed 5 layers of wallpaper.  Yes.  Five.  This house was built in 1900 so we knew there were likely some hidden surprises beneath those layers.  I was time-traveling via wallpaper, literally peeling decades off these walls.  I am not sure which I found most intriguing, the 1950s fruit bowls or the circa 1930s teapot prints. 

My kitchen is mostly dry and back together.  And… I love the Mango Mania.  It’s warm and Tuscan and not nearly as wild as it sounds.  As much as I hate to admit it, my sweetheart was right.  In this case.  And now I get to pick out new window treatments and accessories to go with my new kitchen colors.  Score.

And when I find a way to manufacture more time into my schedule (ha!), I will be stripping paint from the gorgeous woodwork on the five doorways in the kitchen.  (Yes.  Five.)  Seriously, who paints over such things?  Happy this madness seems to be contained to the kitchen and the wood work in the rest of the house is beautifully intact. 

Originally, this five-day vacation was slated to be just that.  Vacation.  Friday is our 10-year anniversary and our intention was to finally take a trip to celebrate.  But then we bought a house.  And I got a new kitchen for my anniversary.  And you won’t find me whining about it one bit. 

So don’t worry about me.  I’ll be sipping coffee amid the warm, Tuscan mangoes.  Wait.  Are there mangoes in Tuscany?  Well, whatever.  It’s just plain pretty.

BONUS TIP:  We found ourselves in need of an extension for the paint roller and not wanting to make another trip into town.  Hubby discovered he could unscrew the broom handle and it was a perfect fit to screw into the end of paint roller.  Voila!
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The Week.

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Last week.
My sweet husband will readily tell you that he doesn’t particularly care for that week.  He is not ever quite prepared for it.  And quite frankly when it’s all said and done… we are mostly broke.
It’s that week.  The week where one right after the other comes Peanut’s birthday, my birthday, Mother’s day, and graduation all in one sweep.  We devour cake til we burst at the seams, host hoards of   screaming, rambunctious  sweet, calm, and lovely girls for a sleepover, and deliver well wishes to esteemed graduates til the cows come home.  And somewhere in there, sweet hubby will find time to slip me a thoughtful card or whisk me away to a fabulous dinner.  Sometimes both.
To celebrate the passage of another year, I sipped expensive coffee, indulged in good chocolate, and savored every moment with my adorable little family.  
And I miss blogging.  Can’t wait to post some new recipes later this week.  And catch up on everything.
Now if I can just get through dance recital next week…
Love & coffee!
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