Balance.

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T minus 6 days.  School begins in less than a week, therefore its that most infamous of weeks at our house… practice week.  Practice going to bed early.  Practice rolling out of bed in the morning and not hitting the snooze button more than once.  Practice eating breakfast before 9:00 am.  Practice, practice, practice.  And I’m not even talking about the kids yet!

Seven days from now, my life will become considerably more complicated. 

I have grand ambitions for this year to be… better.  Not that last year was bad, but it definitely could have been… better.  I love this quote from Jill Churchill that says, “The most important thing she’d learned over the years was that there was no way to be a perfect mother and a million ways to be a good one.”  I am really trying to be a good one.

I often hear my would-be-mountain-man husband quote this from his favorite survivalist, Bear Grylls:  “10% more effort equals 100% more comfort.”  Although Mr. Grylls is often referring to the likes of crafting a bed of insulating leaves to preserve body heat in a some remote corner of the world, this little slice of brilliance has profoundly impacted the way we run things around here.

It’s really in the little things.  Planning out a menu for the week.  (thus avoiding consecutive nights of frozen pizza and deli sandwiches).  Laying out clothes the night before (thus avoiding various discussions on why the Tinkerbell shirt and cannot go with the Ariel leggings).  Packing tomorrow’s lunch before bedtime (thus avoiding the realization that we are out of sandwich bread 10 minutes before the girls dash out the door). 

Most days it is all I can do to keep my toddler from eating my deodorant, “washing” her hair with lotion, or decorating her room with the “mommy stickers” she found in the bathroom drawer.  (Believe it or not, all of those things really happened yesterday… before 10:00 am.) 

I am learning to pare down my priorities, weeding out the good from the best.  I am working to bring a sense of balance to my home and to cultivate an environment for my family to do the same.  It certainly won’t be perfect, but it can be pretty darn good.

So as we sail into another busy school year, I am determined to laugh more, stress less, and revel in every moment I am given, whether they be sticky or sweet.

And, as always, there will be coffee. 

Tuesday BONUS:  Pour yourself an extra cup and enjoy my favorite version of one of my favorite songs… 

Snacky.

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I love lots of things.  One of those things is food.  Good food.  Not preservative-laden drek with heaven-knows-what fillers. 

My favorite snack (that I don’t have to feel guilty about later) is this:

1 Cracked Pepper & Olive Oil Triscuit + 1 small slice of Provolone cheese + 1/2 cherry or grape tomato

Repeat about 4 times or so.  🙂

It kind of tastes like this:

Yes.  Like the 4th of July in my mouth. 

I love the Triscuits especially because of their commitment to quality ingredients.  The list is short and I can pronounce all of them.  Generally speaking, that’s a good sign.

Mozzarella cheese is also a good choice, but at our house, we are fiercely devoted to Provolone.

Also pairs well with coffee, but then again… what doesn’t???

Musings.

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Monday.

Some days unfold exactly like you expect them to.  Others do not.  Today… did not, but delightfully so.

My morning began with this prompt declaration coming from the vicinity of my sweet Peanut’s bedroom… “My tooth is still here!”  Oh, snap!  This “tooth fairy” went to bed early last night and unintentionally shirked her duties.  (Hello Monday!  Happy to see you arrived in style.)

Ultimately, the kid lucked out, because the tooth fairy will be paying double tonight.

I later found my little Lovey’s clothes in a pile on the stairs. (Oh no.  Somewhere in this house, there is a naked baby.)  I am certain I do not have to elaborate on the mayhem that can arise with a naked baby on the loose.  My Ladybyg soon discovered our toddler hiding under daddy’s desk with a bottle of deep purple nail polish… open, of course… and generously applied to all areas exposed.  (Which was pretty much everything.)

Ultimately, Lovey was bathed in acetone to remove all the evidence and I was just happy knowing she had the forethought to remove her clothing beforehand.

After devouring our evening family feast, we all headed to the backyard to enjoy a cool summer night and watch the kids spin themselves silly on the tire swing.  Then the phone rang.  Our unbelievably awesome friends invited us over to hand-pick corn from their cornfield!  We pile in the van, and… then the phone rang… again.  The Man is called to a quick work meeting… sooo… detour.  We wait 20 minutes while I entertain the kids with my less-than-spectacular basketball skills, then we were off to our originally intended destination.

Ultimately, I learn that my free throw needs a considerable amount of practice and we relish a lazy summer night “down on the farm” with good friends.

And now I’m here.  And I’m tired.  And my Monday post will be posted on what is technically Tuesday since midnight has come and gone but…

Ultimately, I am home.  Where I can roll with the unexpected.  And find joy amid the bedlam.  And the coffee is always hot.

Greenthumbery.

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Or not.

*sigh*

Oh, how I have tried to master my father’s plant prowess.  But alas, I labor in vain.  It’s not for lack of trying and it most certainly doesn’t seem to be hereditary. 

Up until now, I was a firm believer that I could conquer most anything if I could find a good book about it.  When I first got married, I taught myself to cook.  From a book.  Five years ago, I taught myself to knit. From a book.  I learned how a car engine works.  From a book. 

And this also I have learned… I canNOT learn the art of foliage from a book. 

When I made my first go at greenthumbery, I gave each plant a name. I once had an ivy named Harry and a cactus called Bob Saget. (May they rest in peace.) It has never been so much a game of growing things as it has been a pursuit of keeping them alive.  It didn’t go too well then, and it continues to not go well now. 

(I think people were concerned when we decided to have children.  I know Lee was… but thank God I turned out to be a significantly better parent than a gardener!)

Exhibit A
Note the crispy leaves.  I am smart enough to know that this is not good.  So in hopes of staving off “crispy leaf sydrome”…
Enter the Aqua Globe.  Note that it is empty.  Because it hasn’t been filled in weeks (or dare I say months??).  I think this one has some fight left in her, though… here’s hoping!
Exhibit B
This really used to be alive.  The Man threw it out and called it an eyesore.  I’ll admit, it was a little crispy, but I still had hopes of salvaging it.  Note the empty Aqua Globe.
Exhibit C
This was the African Violet my Peanut gave me for Mother’s Day.  At least I’ve got the sweet pot she painted me.  I can add it my collection of “flower-pots-turned-into-pencil-holders.”  Note the absence of an Aqua Globe.  Doomed from the very beginning.
Annnnndddd I rest my case.  I cannot grow anything.  I once found the perfect garden sign.  It simply said, “I tried, but it died.”  How lovely it would have looked in my dried up flower bed.  I will spare myself the humiliation and not share any pictorals of my outside endeavors. 
Last spring, I planted petunias and marigolds all around the outside of the house only to have them devoured by some beloved woodland creature!  I drowned my tomatoes, starved my peppers, and neglected the surviving petunias on the porch.
This spring, The Man forbade me to spend money on anything green and leafy.
I was feeling slightly more ambitious this year and at the urging of my more-than-capable father, I decided I could start everything from seeds.  This greatly appealed to my frugal self and The Man could hardly argue with the price of seeds versus plants.  How hard could it be?  I started tomatoes, strawberries, pumpkins, watermelons, peas, green beans, onions, daisies, snapdragons, marigolds, sunflower, and petunias.  It was going to be utopian.  Really. 
As it turns out, The Man threw out everything (again!) before I could photographically document the horror it became.
I can never figure out the whole watering thing.  How often?  How much?  My efforts always turn out moldy or dry.  Aqua Globe has offered me little solace. 
Perhaps it is just as well.  There is always the farmers’ market and I am extraordinarily blessed by friends and family who take pity on my poor gardening abilities.  Just this week, our family was endowed with gifts of tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, blackberries, and fresh Iowa sweet corn! 
As the season of harvest fast approaches, I anticipate the baking, cooking, canning, and freezing of nature’s richest bounty (be it mine or someone else’s… but, most likely someone else’s).

Big Breakfast.

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It’s Saturday.  And that can mean only one thing:  Big Breakfast.  It is the one day of the week that I put my whole heart into my favorite meal of the day. 

Growing up, my mother was master of the morning meal.  She believed in good hot food to start the day.  If I wanted cold cereal, I had to beg.  (Seriously, how awesomely backward does that sound?)  Volleyball practice at 7:00 am?  Mom was up at 6:00 am, taking breakfast orders.  Show Choir contest bus leaving at 5:00 am?  Mom was cooking at 4:00 am.  No matter what, we always had hot breakfast.  It is with deep fondness that I recall the aromas and visions of my mother’s breakfast table. 

Pancakes.
Biscuits and gravy. 
Cinnamon rolls. 
Grilled cheese sandwiches.
Eggs fixed every-which-way-we wanted and toast.
And so on…

I am not as entirely amazing as my mother, but I still love to give my stellar family the best possible start to their day.  And this morning was definitely BIG BREAKFAST day.  Pancakes, sausage, blueberries, milk, and of course, coffee.  I admit that I haven’t quite mastered Mom’s pancakes (with those delightfully crispy, buttery edges), but they are still pretty darn good… and so easy. 

I only burned one today (which is definitely good for me) and the smoke alarm didn’t even go off!  (Which may actually be a bad thing.  Mental note:  check smoke alarm batteries later.  Okay, not-so-mental note, but anyway…).  Flipping hotcakes, supervising the syrup bottle, and keeping stickiness confined to the table can be a smidgen distracting.  On pancake day especially, I wouldn’t mind having a couple of extra arms.

I usually double or triple the recipe and freeze the leftover pancakes.  If I am careful to make them the right size, I can pop them into the toaster like an Eggo waffle and eat homemade pancakes all week!  And since I’ve got kids, there is nothing better than using a pizza cutter to quickly cut pancakes into bite-size pieces to get them on the plate in a hurry (because there is nothing worse than cold, floppy pancake).

I make my own pancake mix and store it in an air-tight container in the cupboard.  Most mixes available in the store contain unhealthy additives and hydrogenated oils, so this is a better alternative.  To make a whole-wheat version, substitute whole-wheat flour for white flour, and brown sugar for the white sugar.

Enjoy!

Pancake Mix

7 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1/4 c. baking powder
1 T. plus 1 tsp. salt
2/3 c. sugar

1.  Combine ingredients in a large bowl.  Stir to mix thoroughly.  Store in an airtight container at room temperature.  Makes about 8 1/2 c. mix.

Pancakes (from Pancake Mix)

1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 c. milk
2 T. butter, melted or 2 T. cooking oil
1 1/4 c. Pancake Mix

1.  In mixing bowl, combine egg, milk and butter.  Add Pancake Mix and mix until dry ingredients are just moistened.  Batter should be slightly lumpy.  If batter seems a little thin, add more mix.  Makes about 7 standard-size pancakes.  Double or triple as needed.

Nice Things.

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Someday, I will have nice things again.  Someday when the kids are grown and gone away.  Someday.

My husband and I lament almost daily over our dilapidated (yet still wildly comfy) couch and loveseat set.

We were young newlyweds, blinded by love and the freshness of new life together.  Not a bad thing I suppose, but nary a child was on the horizon and to be brutally honest, I wasn’t even sure I wanted any.  (My, how things change.)

So we settled on a huge furniture set (and by huge, I mean so entirely gargantuan that we didn’t realize we would have to partially disassemble the couch to get it through our apartment door).  But it was such a beautiful sage green that I didn’t care how or what had to be done as long as it was in my living room that evening.

9 years later.  One of our couch cushions has a large smiley face in hot pink Sharpie.  No problem.  Flipped it over.  Another cushion has hot pink nail polish dripped all over.  No problem.  Flip!  Then, there was the incident with the red popsicle.  Well, it really wasn’t anything that a strategically placed pillow couldn’t fix.  And then more nail polish in… you guessed it… hot pink.  And that’s when we introduced the strategically placed afghan.

I think its been about two years since we began the discussion of slipcovers.  Choosing the names of our children was easier than deciding on a slipcover.  And there they sit, imperfect as they may be (and honestly, there is no better place for a Sunday afternoon nap).

If I could do it all over again… two words:  Black.  Leather.

So someday…
when my sweet girls are beautiful women with families of their own,
and my house is hauntingly empty,
and every room in my house is clean at the same time,
and The Man and I have nothing to do but to stare at each other’s wonderfully time-worn faces,
I will have nice things….
that will stay nice.

And I will miss my girls.

“Don’t you see that children are God‘s best gift?
the fruit of the womb his generous legacy?
Like a warrior’s fistful of arrows
are the children of a vigorous youth.
Oh, how blessed are you parents,
with your quivers full of children!
Your enemies don’t stand a chance against you;
you’ll sweep them right off your doorstep.”
Psalms 127.3-5 (The Message)

Little Picasso.

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As with many projects in my world, I have grand intentions that get sidelined by life for indefinite stretches of time.  This unnatural Iowa heat wave and my sickness as of late (from which I am finally almost recovered… almost) has afforded me loads of time indoors to tackle said projects with abandon.  (I even organized my medicine cabinet!  Woohoo!)

So the taming of the paper monster is officially underway!  I loathe piles of paper.  And they are everywhere.  Bills.  Receipts.  Schedules.  Forms.  Mail.  School work.  Newsletters.  Art work.  And on… and on… and on.  At times, I have been slow to embrace certain technologies, but my scanner is my new best friend.  I am in the process of scanning everything (and backing it up, of course, because I am smart like that).  Even the IRS accepts digital copies of tax documents and receipts!

I am a sentimentalist and like most moms I know, throwing away anything my child has made with their sweet little hands is like ripping out a piece of me.  But who am I kidding?  At this rate, I will have to rent a storage unit to keep all the notes and art they make me everyday.  Perhaps my girls are unusually creative and crafty, but something’s gotta give.  So… I started scanning all of their memorable notes, artwork, and school work into .pdf and/or .jpg files. 

To be honest, at first, there were tears.  “Mom!  You’re throwing my monster picture away???  I made that!  For YOU!!!  Don’t you care anymore???”  Then, I showed my angels the technological wonder their fine mother had created.  As soon as they saw their work displayed on the computer screen and were informed that it could be printed out at any time or sent to Grandma through email or publicly posted to facebook at any time… they were more than thrilled.  Opportunities.  “We could be famous.” 

And then it happened.  The deluge.  A plethora really.  “Mommy, scan this picture.”  “Hey Mom.  I’ve got another one for you.”  “Mother, I’ve written a complete dissertation on the theory of relativity.”

I’m no longer certain if I have tamed a monster or created one because my “To Scan” pile seems significantly more daunting than it did a week ago. 

At any rate, here is a sampling:

Yep.  Its a beaver.  Impressive.

Hey, look!  Its me… and a beautiful rendition if I may say so.
Annnnnddd… this is mommy yelling.  And girls crying.  This was probably early in the morning before I had my coffee.
Oh look.  Its me again.  With a flower.  Happy pictures of mommy are a good thing.
And mommy again.  Love it.
Hawaii.  So much to see here.  Turtles.  Apple trees.  Babies.
Nap time is over.  So is my coffee break.
(Iced Starbucks Espresso… delish!)
Happy Tuesday.

Giddy.

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8 days and counting.  I continue to fight a fierce summer cold  and I hope to be on the other side of it very soon.  I have consumed copious amounts of coffee to counter my ailments… sweet balm of Gilead. 

This morning, I again awoke in a congested stupor, stumbling down the stairs and into the kitchen for my beloved brew.  I propped myself up against the kitchen counter and waited…  and waited… and waited… but the familiar din of my coffee machine was strangely absent, replaced by an angry hiss. 

I retraced my steps in my feeble morning mind.  Filter.  Coffee.  Oh.  And then the light bulb.  Water!  You must add water to make coffee. 

It’s mornings like these that require a sort of “pre-coffee” just to make coffee.  I’m not sure how that would work exactly, but I think someone should look into it.

Now that I’ve got my fix, I am ready to enjoy a beautifully lazy Saturday with my sweet family.  I am beside-myself-giddy that my grocery store has Starbucks coffee on sale for $7.98!!!  So first order of business… buy more coffee.  And filters.  Out of those, too.

Happy weekend, Everybody!!!

Thanks to www.freefoto.com for the awesome pic.

In the quiet.

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As a busy mom of 3, these moments do not present themselves very often, but here I am.  Five minutes of quiet solitude. 

This verse really made me smile today:

“God’s Word is better than a diamond,
better than a diamond set between emeralds.
You’ll like it better than strawberries in spring,
better than red, ripe strawberries.”

Psalm 19.10 (The Message)

Better than red, ripe strawberries.  Mmmm… chewing on that thought. 

I see the bottom of my beloved coffee cup and I hear little feet on the stairs.  Its go time!  Off on a grocery adventure with 3 little ones on a blistering 115 degree afternoon.  Thankful for this pocket-sized oasis in my day.


Shenanigans.

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So I was not planning to post this morning, but I just had to get something off my chest (no pun intended).  You may have heard by now of the imminent U.S. release of the Breast Milk Baby Doll.  It’s a baby that…. wait for it… breastfeeds!

See it here:

http://thebreastmilkbaby.com/

Now let me be clear, I breastfed all 3 of my babies, two of them for 8 months and one for a full year.  I wholeheartedly advocate it when its possible, but understand its a personal choice for every mom… and that’s totally fine with me.

This morning I saw a facebook post from my local news station about this doll.  There were only a few comments, but all were negative.  Of course, I felt the need to contribute and here is what I said:

“Not sure why anyone would be offended by this. Children mimic what they see anyway. I nursed all 3 of my kids and the older ones were always ‘nursing’ their baby dolls. They have dolls that do everything else… personally, I’m more disgusted by the ones that poop all over the place and stain my carpet.”

And then the firestorm.  I didn’t exactly start my day with the intent to incite controversy, but I am truly astounded by the flurry of mean, distasteful comments. 

Perhaps I am naive, but I simply cannot understand the angst so many feel against something that is so natural and nurturing.  For my girls, it would be strange to give a bottle to their baby dolls, simply because they did not witness it happening much in our home.  Would I purchase this doll?  Probably not, because my girls have done a fine job of make-believe up to this point. 

Some argue that its too sexual or wonder why the emphasis on breasts at that age?  What?  Really?  For girls growing up in a home where they see their mother breastfeeding a younger sibling several times a day, its absolutely not sexual.  Its dinner!!!  I am much more concerned that Walmart is marketing padded bras to my 7-year-old.  (Believe it. It is disgustingly true.)

Stepping off my soapbox for now… time for coffee #2.  (Sorry, I’m still a bit grumpy from this hot weather.)