First thing.

That first sip of hot tea in the morning.

It is ceremony.

It is sacrament.

It is where I, with bedhead & foul breath, settle back in expectancy.

It is the commencement of a daily ritual, where my restless disposition encounters Your holy stillness.

I take another sip, drink slowly.

Our dialogue is the same:

Me: Oh, holy God, only You can satisfy.

You: Take me, take all of me.

Always You extend your hand.

Always You manifest yourself as tender.

In ragged hoodie & worn-out socks, I am filled.

Me: Oh, powerful & compassionate God, only You can carry this heavy load.

You: Let me take it, all of it.

I am saturated, awash with choice gifts.

I am disencumbered, free of grievous constraints.

Your generosity swirls about me as I sip...& sip...& sip...

-Nikki Mans

*******

 I once dreaded "having" to pray—my list of needs was becoming so long, I was boring myself. 

Blah, blah, blah... Is anyone even listening to this?

I once groaned at the thought of "having" to read the Bible—it was too difficult to understand. I didn't have time for all that confusion. 

But I knew that spending quality time with God every day was something I should value. I was disappointed that my heart wasn't in it. I was definitely missing something. 

So I went on an exploration.

Isn't that what you do when you've lost something— you search until you find it?

To give it to you simply, do you know what I found?

I found that I was doing it wrong.

Dreading & groaning was okay as long as I just showed up.

But I continued to dread & groan, even as I continued the morning routine. 

So here came my next step: Do it differently, girlfriend.

I began keeping a Thankful Journal. (After reading Anne Voskamp's book "One Thousand Gifts".) This journal is life-changing for me. It forces me to acknowledge the things that make my heart happy, which are, ultimately, gifts from God. And, in case you didn't know it, being thankful on a regular basis makes for a joyful heart. True story. My list grows daily. I started 5 1/2 months ago & am at #388. When I get to #1000 I will keep going. How can one stop being thankful??

#244: My 2 dads meeting for the first time

#380: Breakfast cereal that tastes like birthday cake

#108: Street artists who make balloon animals

#112: The snooze button

#176: God's love–especially on those days when I feel tiny & unimportant in this world

#227: Chilling at a coffee shop

#47: Taking a bath in a mansion

I started writing. I found an AMAZING book entitled "Writing to God: 40 Days of Praying With My Pen" by Rachel G. Hackenberg. The daily prayer prompts in the book have launched my morning quiet time into a different dimension. The book combines a brief daily scripture with praying to God in a way I never thought of: using my written words, prayer writing.
(P.S. She has a version for kids, too!)

I started reading inspirational books. One chapter every morning. Every month I choose a new book. My journal is filled with quotes I want to keep. And the words I read often spur new ideas in my heart, which is exciting.

The Mr. initiated us reading one chapter of scripture every day, & then discussing it together. I like the wisdom he has when I have questions. He likes my random thoughts & perspectives. 

I realized that this morning routine didn't have to be a chore. It SHOULDN'T be a chore.  I could integrate the things I love, the things I enjoy doing, into my daily worship time with Him. 

How fun & cool is that????

And if I ever feel so inclined, I will leave my usual cozy spot on the couch & spend my quiet time in new surroundings: In the backyard under the vine-covered gazebo, at the river by my trees, in my cool, dark basement bedroom. 

Getting a new perspective every once in a while is really a breath of healthy, much-needed, life-giving air. (One morning, I sat at the piano for an hour & just sang. That was my quiet time that day. That was it. Another time I just sat in silence. *That was so hard to do!* But it was so fulfilling. My heart let it all out. He heard, I know He did. And I waited & listened & it was perfect.)

 I now anticipate this morning ritual every day. It has become a spiritual adventure. One day I may sketch while listening to worship music, another day I might pull out my ukulele & present a song in adoration to Him. 

Combine scripture & prayer in a way that fuses with the things you're passionate about in your daily quiet time with God.
And I promise you won't dread it anymore.

4 Months Later...

Pardon me while I wipe the dust off this ol' thing...

To say that I have been absent is true.

But don't let the cobwebs in the corner fool you. It has actually been a creatively fantastic 2016 thus far. I'm having an amazing journey & I decided to not sit in it in silence anymore. I mean, I needed to be silent with it for a while.
But now I'm ready to be social. 

During the very first week of January this year, the Mr. & I stepped down from our roles as pastor & worship leader at the little church we were ministering at. It was bittersweet to say goodbye. I have never been gifted with such a blank canvas as that. And I poured my everything into it. Art & music, which are such a big part of who I am, were at the core of what I did there.
So, so, so grateful for the past year there.

I sang every week. I played the piano every week. I constantly learned new music. I created digital graphics. I designed & dreamed & planned & painted. I saw my sketches on paper literally come to life before me. It was awesome.

All my energies were directed toward that one institution. And when that connection between me & that thing no longer existed, I felt lost for a moment.
What do I do now?
Well, if you're me, you make a list.
In giant letters, at the top of the lined pages of my journal I wrote:
"2016 GOALS"
And though this list includes things like:
•finish reading Moby Dick
&
•get my camera repaired & cleaned

...it also includes stuff like:
•draw more
•write more
•maintain a daily "quiet time"
•learn to make pasta
•and macaroons

I also made a goal to create something every single day. Be it a sketch, or a painting, or a craft, or a song, or a video, or a new memory with my family. And I've been sticking to it.
(Follow me on Instagram to see my daily MAKE STUFF updates.)

Oh my goodness, my favorite thing is waking up & getting my usual quiet time with Jesus. And I've kicked it up a notch. I've started writing more. But I'll just have to save that for another blog post. Because I could go on & on about it...

And I didn't know how much I loved to draw! Every day I try to practice, to get better. I've met some cool artistic peeps online, simply through our shared love of pen-to-paper + a #MakeWithMe sketch challenge I joined for the month of January.

I got a guitar for Christmas & am ever-so-slowly trying to teach myself to play. I've always wanted to play guitar. I'm not sure I can do it. But I'm gonna try!

And this year I can't wait to learn to make pasta & macaroons.

And guide Pazely along in completing her first sewing project.

And help Zoey learn to film & edit videos for her YouTube channel.

I'm also continuing a challenge I completed last year of reading one spiritual/inspiring book a month. 

Right now I get to create for me. For myself. It feels really cool. My creative efforts have been slightly refocused. I feel like I get to wander more. Peek around new corners. My handiwork involves using different parts of my imagination. It seems to be that way in every major event that has happened in my life: Minor variations on my creative adventures.
And I'm ok with that. I used to not be ok with it though. I used to fight the fact that things changed. No matter how much I tried to keep things the same, I couldn't hold it all in place, I couldn't combat it.
Now I almost don't even notice the transitions. I definitely don't protest anymore.

I'm not gonna lie: Losing my grandmother changed me forever. (It'll be 2 years in June.) I'm afraid to admit that I think I'm struggling to accept the change that made in me. It's the hardest I've ever been hit in life. This last year, especially, has really been a lot of bumbling around, putting on a happy face, finding where I fit now.

All that aside, my heart feels big, & I wake up each day, glad.
Ready to share what's in my heart.
Ready to be more vulnerable.
Ready to share pictures of a macaroon-making mess in the kitchen.
And songs sung off-key.
And poetry made from a morning of prayer-writing.

Annual Refresher Course

Yesterday I returned from a weekend away at Bozarth Mansion in Spokane. I was lucky enough to be part of a Women's Retreat with the ladies of Grace United Reformed Church. My friend Julie invited me for the second year in a row. Such an amazing group of women. I looked back at comments I made on my first venture there last October:

"I would descend the grand staircase every morning, hot drink in hand, ready for a relaxing day of teaching & worship & the chit-chatter of friendly new faces. I lived a few days of freedom... I got lots of tasty nuggets for my soul. And worshiping in a setting like that with all of our soft pretty voices was a special sound...It was hard to leave the mansion. And the atmosphere of not needing to be needed all the time, of duty & responsibility. Escaping reality for a brief moment is a good thing. A necessary thing. Sometimes you don't realize you need something until you receive it. This weekend was just that for me."

All those words remain true even this year. 

Worshiping with other believers, in their way, in their circle, is something I want to practice all the time. At one point this weekend I almost said, "It feels like I'm with family." But then I stopped. Because I WAS with family. And that made my heart so happy. Show me, sisters, how you choose to display your sacred praise to our God. And I will join you. 

Some other highlights from my weekend:

bathing in a mansion

spying a family of five deer feeding in the lawn

white bean chicken chili in the crockpot + homemade pumpkin pudding

seeing familiar faces

road trip silliness, which included researching mythical creatures (did you know there is a mythical being that is shaped like an umbrella, & another that will lure you into its cave & tickle you to death?) + translating words into Japanese (I now know how to say "chocolate mushroom" & "squirrel")

shopping at Cost Plus World Market

spontaneous leaf selfies

giggles with friends

welcome home hugs from the littles

This trip was SO last minute. Like, I found out I was going only 4 hours before Julie picked me up. I almost declined the invitation. (The sniffles & sneezies have been attacking me.) But then I thought, "I love spontaneity. I always want to be a part of it, to force myself out of my little introverted comfort zone." 

And I'm so glad I did. 

♥

Hi. Remember me?

Last Thursday marked the day, one year ago, that my grandmother passed away. My little family & I currently live in grandmother's residence. Her puffy recliner still sits in the corner of the living room, in the same spot it did when she was alive. Only now it is covered with laundry to be folded. Actually, when I look around, I notice there are multiple chairs covered in laundry to be folded. 

*sigh*

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. I always think. 

Watching my grandmother fade away & turn into someone who was not my grandmother, changed me. Forever. I can't quite get back to the exuberant, full-of-energy, crafting-up-a-storm, create-or-die momentum I once had. 

(This blog is definite evidence of that.) 

You want to know what makes me feel accomplished these days? When I cook dinner for my family. It doesn't happen often. 

I currently sit, laptop on lap, legs outstretched on the sofa, coughing & wheezing with "the bronchitis". It has been a doozy of a summer, with this little mama sick the whole while. I'm a busy lady, with no time for this illness stuff. For reals.

The fam & I have been devoting our time & energies to a church the Mr. officially became pastor of in April. The church is in Connell, WA, a 40-mile trip from where we live. We are presently knee-deep in renovating an exciting Kids Ministry, which we are planning on launching in August, so we make the commute quite often during the week. I get to put a different set of my creative skillz to work, & it's rather exciting watching sketches turn into reality. There's no other feeling like a dream & a vision becoming something palpable. And there's something special about being united with a group of people who share the same vision. 

I have also been immersed in music, leading worship every week. What an awesome journey! Being in God's presence is an amazing thing. Although, this bronchitis bizness has been a battle. I think I have stretched myself beyond stretching. I have not had a chance to rest. Why do I feel so guilty resting? I'm at that "I can't" point. I can't. I just can't anymore. My body needs to heal. And so this is me, rambling on, visiting with you, resting. It's nice.

Sometime in the next 3 days I've got a birthday party to plan. I can tell my almost-11-year-old Pazely is getting nervous as her special day approaches, because her mommy hasn't had the usual celebratory frenzy & chaos about her that she should have right about now. Poor thing. I have schemed an outdoor party by the river. You know, so the sand & the water can do most of the entertaining. I see it's supposed to be 104 degrees that day. There may be melting party guests. I will let you know how it goes.

I hope you don't mind if I stop by more frequently to ramble & visit. 

Until next time...

♥  

Macro Intermission

Sometimes you just need to go stick your nose in the bushes.
I've never heard anyone say that before. But I figure it pretty much equates to "Stop & smell the roses".
Except it's winter in my world & the roses are still hiding.

I was feeling restless & needed some inspiration + some vitamin D + some fresh air. So I took a casual stroll around the yard with my smartphone & little macro lens attachment. And I, well...stuck my nose in the bushes.

I love all the textures & colors.  I even spied spring.
There are so many fascinating things to witness when we become a spectator at close range.
♥

Give a kid some cardboard.

All summer my girls have been making cardboard houses. Miniature getaways for their dolls & tiny toys. The tiniest house (in the very last photo) is only 4 inches tall. 

One home came complete with a safety pin chain-link ladder. Another has yarn "ropes" to climb to the top, with encouraging words written along the wall: "If you climb to the top, you're awesome." & then: "You're almost there."

Oodles of  hot glue sticks were harmed in the making of these cardboard houses. Markers, paint, craft foam, magazine cutouts, colored paper, stickers, duct tape...the girls used anything they could get their hands on.

New splotches of permanent paint on the tabletop prove their creative efforts all season long. 

No instructions needed. In fact, no rules allowed.

Without hesitation they create. Invent. Build.

They made magic from scraps.  

Give a kid some cardboard...

♥

Banana Shenanigans

If you decorate fruits or veggies with colorful stickers or tattoos, your kids might be more likely to actually eat them.

(True story.)

Or just add chocolate. You're guaranteed to watch the food disappear.

(Truer story.)

There is a tale behind this photo.

Yesterday at the grocery store I picked out two perfectly, slightly-green-but-not-too-green bananas. Oh wait. Back up. As I, & my duo of children, enter the grocery store, the girls start arguing about who is going to push the cart. They both decide to push it together. I know it looks "cute" on the outside. But it's all defiance on the inside. One hoping the other will back down, so she, alone, can reign supreme the Master Cart Pusher. 

Mwah-ha-haaa!

Whatevs. I got groceries to get. And with that, I snatch the cart.

So, anyway, Pazely decides she wants a banana of her own. She finds the tiniest one she can, & carefully places it in the shopping cart. And then Zoey wants to pick her own banana, too, so she grabs one from a bunch. It's not as small as her sister's banana. And Pazely is sure to point that out.

I'm trying to not have a complex about having 4 random bananas, two of which are lonely & detached, scattered about my cart. What if "the grocery people" think I'm one of those ladies who picks over all the bunches of bananas & chooses only the ones that are her favorite? Like, the ladies that refuse to take a whole bunch of bananas because one in the bunch might be bruised. So she'll pick & choose & start pulling apart the choicest of all the fruit for herself. 

*Do these kinds of ladies even exist?*

I finally decide I don't care. 

Besides, Pazely & Zoey are standing there staring at me.

Fast-forward to this afternoon... 

At home, Zoey grabs a banana to eat, & cuddles on the couch next to me to munch away at her fruity snack. Pazely strolls downstairs. Seeing her sister eat a banana makes her want to eat a banana too. 

Naturally. 

But when Pazely walks into the kitchen, to grab her tiny banana, it is not there.

Zoey had accidentally grabbed it. And was eating it.

*insert daunting music*

Pazely: "Zoey!!!! What banana did you take??!?!?!" 

(She knew which banana Zoey took. She just needed the confession.)

Well, all forms of craziness happened next. Which led to Pazely screaming & crying & stomping upstairs. All the way to her bedroom she wailed "Zoey took my tiny bananaaaaaaaaa! She stole my bananaaaaaaaaa!!!!!" 

I turned to Zoey & asked, "Why did you take her banana?"

Zoey replied, "Mom! I didn't know it was hers. I just grabbed one."

"Well, honey, you know how she feels about tiny things."

Seriously, the girl, from birth, has had an affection for all things little & minuscule. If you want to brighten her day, her week, her life, just give her something oh-so itty-bitty. She will love you forever.

As a toddler she constantly had her hands full of wee-sized toys. She carried them around WHEREVER she went. Now she totes them about in purses or backpacks.

So, back to the bananas...

I remember seeing something on Pinterest about tattoos on bananas. So, I grabbed my glittery Hello Kitty rub-ons & decorated that yellow fruit like nobody's business. Not HER banana of course. This one was maybe a 1/2" bigger. 

Heaven forbid. 

*eyeroll*

I presented her with this banana &, wouldn't you know it, the smile reappeared on her lovely freckled face. The real reason Pazely ever eats a banana is so she can have chocolate. (Second to tiny things is her passion for chocolate.)

And, well, you know the rest of the story...

♥

The beginning of goodbye.

The eulogy was read. 

Before the tombstone was placed, grandmother's ashes were laid inside the freshly dug hole of dirt. Her ashes were encased in a rectangular-shaped gold-colored metal box. A sticker labeling her name on one end. Wrapped in a cheap-looking blue velvet drawstring bag. My father knelt down to place it in that empty grave. On this island. Full of happy memories. 

And one sad one.

Earlier in the day, while waiting in line for the ferry, I saw the box. It was in the trunk of my parent's GMC Envoy. I was disappointed at how unspecial it looked. But I grabbed it with both hands & pushed it close to my chest. 

"I'm holding grandmother," I whispered. 

And then the ferry arrived, so I had to give her back.

At the funeral service, some family & friends placed flowers inside the grave. Others gave sentiments of personal meaning: a ticket stub from her last ferry ride on the island, seaglass (which grandmother loved to collect on the beach, & her grandkids loved to collect for her), a seashell, an agate. I reached inside my pocket & gripped tight to my chosen token. I stood over the hole. With a proper shake of my wrist, I flung six bright white dice toward that velvet bag in the ground. The dice clanked against the metal box, hit the dirt with tiny thuds as they tumbled to the bottom. I knew it was as close as I'd ever get to a last game of Farkel with grandmother. It was my final turn at the dice with that lovely lady of mine. 

Some days I feel as if I might be sick. The sadness makes my insides twist.

She'll never return to me. 

And the absence of her is sometimes more than I think I can bear. 

♥

The 4 AM Blues...

At 11:30 PM I was having conversations with my 10-year old about elephant seals, because she couldn't go to sleep. (She & her sister have a temporary bed-situation happening on the floor right beside me & the Mr. You see, we are having a slumber party of sorts. The air conditioning had gone out earlier in the evening. It is a steamy 87 degrees up in here. And since it will be morning before the air gets fixed, the least hottest place in the house is the grown-ups' room. Needless to say, it will be an unromantic evening.) For a few minutes Pazely & I passed the time by describing the features of this large-nosed, oceangoing, earless seal. And then she was quiet. Maybe because the Mr. hushed us. (He has to get up early in the morning.) But what he doesn't understand, you see, is that my littlest little & I are of The Order of the Night Owl. We are charter members. I have the paperwork & everything to prove it. (Hashtag not really.) You can't do this to us. We have rights. And responsibilities to uphold. And yet, she abandoned me. Just like that...

It's now 3:12. Everyone is asleep. Except me.
I'm hot. Too hot to sleep.
I am literally reclining in a warm oven.
The Mr. just touched me. DON'T. TOUCH. ME. Ain't gonna happen.
No matter how tired I am, I just can't get to sleep. Worst feeling ever. Like, I've had insomnia before, but this is insomnia inferno. So not only am I cranky about the fact that I can't sleep, but I am grumpy AND perspiring. Ew. Gross.

In my wait to slumber, there is lots of random stuff happening in my brain. Apparently.

• I contemplate posting this Facebook status: "Hello? Has anyone seen my ZZZzzzz's? They seem to have gotten lost." But I don't. Because I'm lazy. And hot. And when you combine lazy + hot, nothing will happen. EVER.
• I also wonder why my homegrown cucumbers are soft. They are slightly squishy to the touch after I harvest them. Note to self: Google that.
• I repent for my sins.
• I douse water all over my body & feel the cooling effects of this, combined with the breeze of the dueling oscillating fans. That's right: We gots two of 'em. Boo-yah. And for some reason they are both on the same shelf oscillating in the same direction. But whatevs. ♫Extra air powerrrr!!!♫ *Sung in a metal/rock style.*
• I decide I need a really good book to read, but not too good, or else I'll get nothing done. Not now, but some other time when I'm glistening less & when the library is open.
• I have a moment of feeling sorry for myself as I watch the black plastic garbage bag, tacked partially over the window, flapping in the breeze of the powerful synchronized oscillators. Aren't I supposed to be crafty? I've had a garbage bag curtain for a year now. So chic. 
• I pray for friends with cancer, & family who are grieving, & healing in the bodies of some I know.
• I acknowledge God as The Big & The Great. And then there's me...undeserving of His love. That He should want me makes me feel at a loss for words.
• I weep for my grandmother. I miss her. And I feel like my tears are selfish. Every single one.
• I bookmark piano sheet music on my smartphone. 
• I feel rumblings in my insides & just KNOW the veggie burger & Satisfries I ate at the wonderfully air-conditioned Burger King for dinner were speaking to me now. And the pie. I had pie too. (The Mr. still thinks it's wrong that I had a veggie patty at BURGER king.)

So. Much. Randomness. All over the place.
I wish it all were as simple as seals with large noses...

i made a pie

This afternoon I had a lovely time hanging out with my mom & grandmother. I was on a mission, really: To make my very first pie from scratch, using my grandmother's long-loved pie crust recipe. My grandmother has not made this pie crust in years & years & years. And years. Ever since she tried the frozen pre-made packages of pie crust sold in grocery stores, she never looked back. Not once. 

My dad, unceasingly, begs & pleads for someone, ANYONE, to make one of grandma's pies with the homemade crusts. But I think mom & grandma pretend not to listen. Or they'll giggle in his direction. It's this perpetual routine they have. And when the holiday season rolls around? There is no hushing that man. 

Just give him a pie already!

Today I took on the challenge. 

But with a twist. In fact, we made a game of it. Dad was about to be the sole player in a blindfold taste test.  I made an apple pie, using the infamous recipe, while mom made a pie using a Pillsbury pie crust.

Grandmother helped me peel & cut apples.

While I rolled out pie dough, the Mr. even stopped by & swapped stories with all the ladies. He shared about how he once made a pie when he was a kid, & it didn't turn out so well. (What?!? I am gaining the most random of facts about him all the time. In fact, I just recently learned that he collected stickers & even had a sticker album in grade school. Huh?!? Pies & stickers? I'm pretty sure I love him even more.) 

Anyway, I had a bit of trouble with the dough, trying three times until I finally perfected the top crust. 

"I think it's too thick," said the Mr. 

As if his 8 year old pie-making self was suddenly an expert on the subject.

OK, my recent new explosion of love for you still exists, but step away, son.

There's nothing creative about my adorable polka dotted design. One word: Pinterest!

While the pies cooked, there was tea-sipping going on. Bits of leftover pie dough were sprinkled with cinnamon + sugar, baked, & nibbled on.

The pies filled the house with a fragrance of fruit & spice. 

And then it was time to eat. 

I'll just get to the ending.

Dad chose mom's store-bought pie over mine.

And so did the Mr.

And so did everyone else.

The Doughboy won.

I have never entered a baking contest, but I decided I would not ever like to enter one. 

I admit, the filling in my mom's pie was much sweeter & her apples were cooked to a perfect limp. Which is weird, because we used the same recipe for the filling. Whatevs. No excuses.

I personally love a thick, flaky crust. 

Which is a good thing. 

Because I have lots of pie leftover.

The winning pie.

♥

Summer Memory: Making Jam with Grandmother

I have dreamed of this day. I'm serious. It was as epic as ever.

Grandma's raspberry jam fits in a category as big as that: EPIC.

As a kid, visits to grandma's house included many things: jaunts down the winding trail to the beach (& the breathless trek back up), long hunts for sea glass, board games with cousins, card games with aunts, a lazy cat on grandpa's lap &, one of my favorites: a biscuit or two smothered with butter & embellished with dollops of grandmother's raspberry jam.

A taste of this jam & I am immediately transported. I am on the ferry boat that takes me to the island where grandma lives. I am in her warm house. I walk past rubber boots in the laundry room & see the cookie jar on the corner shelf where treats are hidden for grandkids. I spy the oval shaped braided rug on the floor in the family room, & smell the wood stove burning. I look through a giant window which overlooks a ginormous yard filled with: plenty of space to run & play, a deck for watching the ocean activity, a forest balanced on either side of the lawn. I walk outside & am surrounded by pine trees. I notice grandpa's rigs & tool shed. I pass by grandma's vegetable garden. 

But I'm getting off topic...

For the last few years I thought how special it would be to make jam with grandma. But I lived so far away & didn't know if I'd ever get to be near her again. Four months ago there were 1,253.18 miles that separated us. Now, I am only .29 miles down the road. Just a simple 6 minute walk away. 

And I returned at the height of jam-making season.

A visit to the Farmer's Market this summer produced 12 cups of raspberries. 12 glorious cups. The berries smelled so sweet & perfect.

Jars & pectin & sugar were gathered next.

This newbie to canning (*points to self*) had a slight freak out moment before it all began, but grandmother calmed my nerves. My mom was nearby to help too. I bumbled around a bit & made a mess far more outrageous than two simple batches of jam should ever make.

Grandmother, taking support from her cane & leaning on the kitchen counter, patiently guided me along. 

I brought her a chair from the dining table & plopped it right next to the stove so she'd be more comfortable. And so she'd be as close as possible in case I needed her.

Grandmother hadn't made jam in years. I think she missed the rolling boil, the skimming of the foam.

She nudged me aside so she could have a stir at the pot. 

That lady got up on her jam-cycle & did wheelies just to show off.

Once the jars were filled, I waited patiently. And then I heard it: PING!!! I squealed. One down, 17 more to go. In a matter of minutes, all 18 jars sealed with that magical sound. I was so excited! The cutest thing was how happy my grandmother was for me. 

The jars of jam are currently down in the cool basement. They are precious to me. I feel like a jam hoarder. But in reality, they are ready to give as Christmas gifts.

The jam is delicious. Tastes just like grandma's.

Made with love. Tremendous big gobs of it.

♥

Dear Teacher...

The following is the newspaper article I wrote for my column, WhiMSy love (in print)
Bridgeport News-Blade • September 1, 2010

After my girls returned home from their first day of school, I rummaged through their backpacks to see if they had any homework. I was rather surprised when I realized that I was the one with the homework! Stacks of papers to fill out, forms to read, and signatures to sign. One particular paper rather intrigued me. My 6 year old's teacher was requesting that parents write a description of their child. It was a way for the teacher to get to know about her students: their learning style, how they play, etc. I just loved everything about this assignment. Here is a portion of the exact letter I wrote to my daughter's 1st grade teacher...

Dear Teacher,

As per your request, here is some information about my child that might help you get to know her...

• She hates vegetables...that come in a can. She prefers them freshly picked—& consumes them at every meal. Her father & I joke that she's gonna turn into a gourd if she doesn't stop eating so many squash!

• Her favorite color is ALL the colors in the rainbow.
• My daughter's knowledge is as deeps as all of the oceans put together—times 10. When she speaks, she says things that astound me, baffle me, & mesmerize me. It's as if she is the teacher & I am her student.
• When she whines (which she rarely does) it sounds like beautiful melodies being sung by angels in heaven. Sometimes I ask her to whine on purpose—just to be lulled by the sweet heavenly tune.
• She not only knows her "please" & "thank you"—she can say them in 32 languages.
• She can speak with the animals.
• She rattles off 17th century prose on a whim.
• She can create a miniature sized origami replica of a city skyscraper that fits on the head of a pin.
• She was once a student of the great chef, Julia Child.
• She has a pet peacock.
• She can quote the Bible's entire New Testament by heart.
• She reads Braille.
• She can juggle chainsaws.
• She refuses to eat candy, except on special occasions—like that time our family took a trip to Disneyland in 2009 & we got to meet the real Mr. Walt Disney himself!
• She composes music in her sleep.
• She's had a slumber party at the Taj Mahal.
• She received her license when she was five—her pilot's license.
• She has dined with 3 presidents.
• She can whistle 4-part harmony.
• One time, she couldn't figure out HOW a man could actually walk on the moon. And then she tried it & totally understood.
• She was born with a birthmark on her left side, of a map of the Western Hemisphere. So, unless we're traveling east, we've no need for a GPS.
• In her spare time, she likes to whittle fallen branches into toys for needy children.
• She once lived in a cannibal village, where she introduced the people to sweet tasty things like cotton candy, hand churned ice cream, & petit fours. Though their dental bills were at an all-time high, on the bright side: the number of neighboring locals disappearing from nearby villages was at an all-time low.
• She is related to Santa Claus.
• She is best friends with The Little Mermaid.
• She can fly like Superman.
• Oh, & she also invented the light bulb.

Of course non of this is true. But it sure was fun to write. I felt like this was my ode to all those super-braggy moms I've met in my life: The ones who go on & on about their terrific and excellent child, even comparing their offspring to yours in that not-so-subtle and very irritating way.

Some of you know what I'm talking about. You listen to stories about how 2nd grade junior reads at an 8th grade level. (This makes you want to quickly burn all the picture books in your own home.) You hear how little Betty Sue has never had a problem being disobedient. (This makes you want to vomit a a little.) It's frustrating that they can't relate to the fact that your 3 1/2 year old is struggling with potty training because their sweet angel was wearing big girl panties at 11 months old.

I think about this back and forth thing that moms sometimes do. They scrutinize each other's kids, they measure up each other's parenting decisions. They parallel their child's achievements against other children'ts achievements. They may not even notice they're doing it. But I do! I notice you're doing it! Stop it, I say!

Awesomeness is in the eye of the beholder. Some of us just keep that awesomeness to ourselves, so as not to step on the toes of our neighbor who probably has an equally awesome kid. Perfect children do not exist. Yours is not the exception. Neither is mine.

♥

Rule #2: Never act like a cheetah.

I took the girls to their elementary school talent show a couple weeks ago. They went to support their friends performing in the show. I think Zoey & Pazely really wanted to be IN the talent show themselves, but they couldn't think of a talent to do. They are, I admit, talented little humans. But I'm just not sure they have (as of yet) a talent that is ready for a performance-type setting.

Do you want to watch someone juggle 2 balls? Or sit, watching from afar, while someone draws puppies in their sketchbook? Would you be willing to watch a magic show where the magician kindly asks you to close your eyes right before "the big reveal"? Do you want to hear half of the holiday jingle "Up on the Rooftop" played with two fingers on an out-of-tune piano?

My favorite performance was when a 2nd grade little boy got on stage with his electric guitar. His rocker dad helped him set up a bright orange mini amp. The microphone was set a bit too high, so while the boy sang a blues song about cats, he also stood on his tippy toes.
I also loved the boy who played the violin. That's talent.
And I'd have to say the trio of girls that performed The Cup Song were rather entertaining.

One 4th grader got on stage, just she & the microphone, & began singing. No canned music. Just the melody coming  out of her mouth. It was a song she wrote. It was so quiet in the room. And I thought, "How brave she is."

There were tons of girls decked out in 80's gear. Bright neon. Big hair. Fingerless Madonna gloves. I loved it. It was a flashback to my own days of elementary school talent shows.

And then there were other things I recall...

The MC was a beauty queen wearing a skirt too short, paired with shoes too tall. I was mortified at how much leg I saw.

Many munchkins sang inappropriate songs about boys, with phrases in them like "animal attraction". My girls didn't recognize any of the songs that their peers were singing. (Yes, I am that mom. My 2 children are clueless about the Top 40. Let alone the bottom 20.) And I was embarrassed as I watched 3rd graders shaking their "stuff" while dancing to the music on stage. Eight-year olds shouldn't move like that. (Oh, you better believe I am that mom.)

Some performers simply cartwheeled back & forth across the stage for 3 minutes straight.

Most acts involved a song loudly playing while the talent show performer sang over the voice of the actual recording artist on the CD. So strange. I turn on the radio & do that every day. What happened to the awesomeness that is lip singing? That was the thing to do when I was a kid. In fact, I can clearly recall my lip-singing performance in 4th grade of "Let's Hear it for the Boy" by Deniece Williams.  ...Oh-oh-oh, maybe he's no Romeo, but he's my loving one-man show... Ok, I admit. That's not really fitting for a 9 year old to sing either. An almost 10-year old shouldn't be singing songs about a boy pulling her near & it making her want to cheer.

Some of the stuff was flat-out painful to watch. I was regretting that I hadn't brought those 2 balls. And I became instantly motivated to get a more rigorous schedule in effect for Zoey's piano lessons.

I looked around & noticed 5th graders flirting. WHAT?!
I saw 2nd grade thugs. HUH!?

And you better believe I had something to say to the 6th grader who took my jacket off the seat I was saving, & tossed it aside as she declared something about how her & her friends "...HAVE to sit in the front row." I grabbed a chair, stuck it at the end of the row & had her & all her friends shimmy their buns down the line, while explaining that the jacket she tossed aside was MINE & was put on the chair for a REASON. I endured evil glares of disrespectful 12-year old girls, as thoughts about how unawesome I was filled their noggins.

At halftime, cookies were served. I saw swarms of elementary kids attack the table of cookies, grabbing entire boxes of treats for themselves. Like hungry cheetahs pouncing on their prey. Some children even stuffed half a dozen cookies or more into their pockets. Kids dropped cookies on the floor, stepping on them, unaware, & making a mess. Greedy punks. My own kids began to pout & saw the unfairness of how they each only got ONE cookie. I had them turn around & look at the dozens of people that didn't get ANY.

It was an interesting evening.
I used many examples of the night at the talent show to explain to my girls how NOT to act.
(For example: Rule #1: Don't wiggle like that.
Rule #2: Never act like a cheetah.
Rule #3: Don't you ever steal an old lady's chair.)
But I also apologized for not being more encouraging about getting them on that stage with their own act.
We will polish our skillz & give it our darnedest next year.
♥

*I do applaud all the students that performed for the show. It takes guts to get out there in front of a crowd, center stage. I also applaud the parents who sit through it all. That is true love.*

Animal friends

Last night was the first night in 5 days that I didn't wake in the wee hours of the morning because of the birds. Button quail, to be exact. We are bird sitting for some friends who {I'm jealous} have flown to Washington to spend time with family.

The button quail are housed in a sweet little vintage cage, though separated, because they keep pecking at each other's heads.

And, surprisingly, they have no names. My friend says she calls them "her boys". And, jokingly, she said {as she giggled}, "You can name them if you want." All joking aside, they are now named Chicho & Miguel. Although, Pazely (the 8 year old), wanted to name one Squirm (because it squirms a lot), & the other Poopsie (because...well, you know). 

We feed & change their water daily. And on occasion we'll give them a treat: oranges or lettuce. Their cage is looking pretty messy, much like my house---except I don't poop everywhere. So, it looks like I'll be tidying up the creatures' cage today.
My bird-owner friend said, "Don't worry if something happens to the birds while I'm gone."
"Like what?" I asked. "Like, if they die?!"

I thought bird sitting would be good practice since the girls want a bigger pet so badly.

The girls currently have beta fish. But what they really want are animals that can be held & cuddled. (And I'm not saying they haven't tried those moves on their poor little fish.)

We left on a 4 day trip just recently & forgot to ask anyone to come over & feed  Jo-Jo & Bud ("Bud" is short for "Rosebud". I laugh every time I say that.) while we were gone.

Well, we came home from the trip & the girls immediately went to their rooms to check on their fish. Pazely's  fish, Bud, was swimming around all happy-like. Zoey's fish, Jo-Jo, was sitting very still on the bottom of the tank. I tapped the bowl, I shook it a bit too. I cried out, "Jo-Jo!!!!" But, nothing. Zoey fell to the ground & screamed, "Get out mom! Get out of my room!" I felt so heartbroken. She didn't even like that fish all that well. Yet, she became very upset at finding it so lifeless. 

My insides literally felt crushed for my little girl.

And, this, my friends, is why I don't want to have pets. I can't bear the day my girls may have to say "goodbye" to their friend forever. 

I closed the door to Zoey's room & left her sad & mad. She didn't like me all that well just then, being a fish murderer & all. I could just picture the day, many years later, when my children were all grown up, & Zoey recalling, "Hey, remember that time mom killed my first pet?" What a horrible thing to have attached to you.

As I walked down the stairs, I felt so numb. 

Then I heard Zoey shouting, "He's alive! He's alive!"

I darted back up those stairs & swung her door wide open. And there was Jo-Jo, slowly swimming to the surface. 

He's a heavy sleeper I guess. Either that, or we caught him mid-death.

I cannot explain the sense of joy & relief I felt. My heart was flooded with gladness. I hugged Zoey.

I looked her in the eye & stared into her blue eyes as if to say, "See, I don't kill stuff."

And she looked into my little brown eyes as if to say, "Can I have a kitten, mom?"

And then I looked into her eyes & spoke without speaking, "You'll have to ask your dad. And you know what he's going to say. He hates cats."

And then she sighed out loud.

As I walked out of Zoey's room, I gave Jo-Jo an extra pinch of stinky fish food.
Way to stay alive little guy!


Well, I hear the birds calling. Time to clean someone's house.
♥

Cha-ching.

Last week I helped Zoey clean her room. As in floor-to-ceiling organizational throw-down. I like to do a major overhaul in the girls' rooms a couple times each year. So the clutter doesn't get out of control. And when I "helped" Zoey, I mean that I cleaned while she lounged on her bed watching me. For the most part.

All this tidying & un-cluttering spurred Zoey's little sister, Pazely, to put her own room in order. While Zoey was watching her mother transform her bedroom from messy to magnifico, Pazely was whipping her own space into shape. It was a regular cleaning party. I paused once or twice to help Pazely bring a shelf into her room & find little bins to hold her favorite tiny things & drawing supplies.

After about 7 hours of work (spread over two days), I was finally done!
It is so funny to watch the girls in their clean rooms. They hang out in their "new" digs for countless hours, happy with smiles. Everything is fresh & novel. It's like they've been handed the keys to their very own private, glorious toy store. And yet, they've had it all along, only in a discombobulated state.

As the Mr. got home from work, the girls squealed as they pulled him up the stairs to show him their new rooms. I heard the Mr. tell the girls, "Wow! You should do something special for mommy for all the hard work she's done."

Several minutes later Pazely walked down the stairs & found me in the kitchen preparing supper. She wrapped her arms around me & then handed me an envelope she made with paper & staples. Inside of the envelope were a handful of coins.
Seventy-three cents, to be exact.

Nebraska's minimum wage rate, as of March 2013 is $7.25 per hour. I basically got paid about 10.5 cents an hour. It doesn't take a math whiz to note that I made well under minimum wage. Will I report this to the United States Department of Labor? Probably not. Ok, ok, I won't.

Here's another way to look at it: Pazely just gave me over 20% of her weekly income. That's quite a sacrifice on the part of an 8 year old. And I felt terrible that she was giving me her hard-earned cash. So I kindly shared how grateful I was for her gift, but pleaded for her to take it back. She looked as if she were about to cry. Which made me feel like crying. And I'm pretty sure I broke Mommy Rule #14:
Accept the gift. Take it. No matter what. 
(Even if it's alive.) (Or smells.)

So I took it.

Being a mom is my job. And, no, I'm not going to get into the whole long list of things I do as a mom, adding up how much more I WOULD get paid, compared to the regular employed people of the universe, if I DID get paid. And, no, I'm not going to get into the debate of how mommies work every waking hour of the day (& some non-waking hours too), can't clock out, don't have scheduled breaks, can't switch hours with co-workers, can't call in sick, don't have paid vacations, & can't quit to pursue other employment opportunities.

 But I will say this...
The next day I secretly deposited the money Pazely gave me back into her piggy bank.
Would you even DARE to give back your paycheck at work??
I didn't think so.

Giant gold star for TEAM STAY-AT-HOME-MOM.
☆

14

I didn't remember until I was just finishing breakfast prep for the girls this morning: Today is my anniversary. As the Mr. was strolling past me in the kitchen to help with the laundry, I stared at him, a little surprised at my forgetfulness. "Happy Anniversary," I uttered. He responded with the most jolly, "Happy Anniversary!" as if he knew all along. He didn't remember either. I know he didn't.

As the girls were eating their breakfast, I asked "Do you know how long mommy & daddy have been married?" 

Pazely squealed: "Forty-two years!!"

"What?" I said, "We aren't even forty-two years old."

I gave them a riddle. "To find out how long we've been married, add Zoey's age (10) PLUS Pazely's age (8) and THEN subtract that by the number 4."

They started yelling out answers:

"15!!!"

Me: "What?"

"16!!!"

Me: "No!"

"11???"

"12???"

Me: *slaps forehead*

Despite the fact that my 3rd & 4th grader need to revisit the basics of 1st grade mathematics, the answer to the riddle is 14. The Mr. & I have been married for 14 years.

This year our anniversary falls on a Wednesday. It's a regular work day. Busy & such. We have church tonight. And the girls get out of school early today. At breakfast Zoey stated the obvious to me: "You get Pazely & I for most of the day mom!" Which means there's probably not much time for proper anniversary celebration. Pazely replied, "You can always put Zoey & I in our rooms so you & daddy can be alone."

Just to see what she'd say, I asked, "What would daddy & I do ALONE??"

I turned to see her make a pucker face & listened as she made loud kissy noises.

Zoey looked at her sister & said, "You're gross."

After the Mr. handed me a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses this afternoon, we had a nice little lunch at our favorite place in town, Gracie Mae's Bakery & Cafe. I got my usual chicken panini & the Mr. got the Cuban.
Earlier in the day the Mr. had thrown his arm up in the air, gave a fist pump, & said, "We did it!"
Seriously, I not only look at our annivesary as a celebration, but as a "We have overcome!" moment.
"We didn't give up!"
"We have made it this far!"

Marriage. Is. Hard. Work.
And anniversaries are a chance for the Mr. & I to give ourselves
HUGE FREAKING PATS ON THE BACK.
♥

Handcuffs in the crisper

One of my favorite things is to happen upon toys left mid-play. Call it entertainment. Or call me kooky.
Just recently, after the littles were put to bed, I walked downstairs to turn off the light in the playroom. From the looks of things, there had been some intense play going on. But before I turned out the lights, I took a peek at just how Zoey & Pazely left things.

I began at the giant Barbie house, & this is what I observed...

Barbie is washing dishes at the kitchen sink.

A male doll (not Ken! *gasp*) is reclining on the couch, covered in a crocheted afghan.

The two cats, elephant, dog, & monkey have been fed.

There is a pail full of pies on the balcony.

Stuff is shoved underneath Barbie's bed—just like my own daughters' beds!

A TV is tossed on a sofa chair, like a throw pillow.

A ballerina lies motionless in a grocery cart on the 3rd floor.

The baby, wearing a romper from the 1980's, is eating donuts in the corner of the fitness room.

Two bales of hay sit atop the stairs.

A tropical bird, resting in a men's loafer, sits on a shelf next to the recycling bin in the kitchen.

Thirty-one shoes are piled in the corner of the garage.

I opened the fridge: Barbie's apron was in the crisper drawer, along with a pair of handcuffs & most of the fine china.

A raincoat rests in the crib.
Ken (so there he is!) is lying face down in a horse pasture—wearing a firefighter uniform.

A giraffe is driving the Jeep.

Out back there is a child dressed as a witch playing with her pet turtle & a giant salisbury steak.

You just can't make some of this stuff up.
(Barbie doing dishes?!?! Pfft.)
♥

Jesus did not have a bachelor party.

On Valentines Day the Mr. & I showered the girls with gifts throughout the day. First, the breakfast menu contained heart-shaped pancakes & pink milk. (Scissors & red food coloring to the rescue.) I spread the table with a red gingham cloth atop a piece of vintage lace fabric. (Well, half the table. The other half is covered in that puzzle we're working on.) Real fancy plates & cloth napkins completed the look. Sweet cards from mommy & daddy sat on each of their place settings, along with a stuffed doggie. The girls sipped their pink milk from straws fashioned with lips on the end—so it looked like they had big smoochy mouths when they drank. (Hilarious!) 

After school, the girls came home to a snack of chocolate dipped Oreos that the Mr. & I had picked up at our favorite local bakery earlier in the day. 

In the evening they were surprised with a new Wii game & a box of chocolates. (I borrowed a pecan caramel cluster.)

Sometime during the day Zoey asked, "Why do we celebrate Valentines Day?" Before I could retort with an answer having to do with some Saint named Valentine, Pazely piped up: "I think it's the day Jesus got married. Today is his anniversary!" Oh my word. That child has had too much chocolate. I snorted so hard that milk almost came out of my nose. 

And I was drinking iced tea.

Yesterday the girls had the day off of school because of Presidents Day. As we sat down to breakfast this morning, I asked them, "Why did we celebrate Presidents Day?" Pazely responded, "I smell oatmeal. I don't know."

So far, I'm doing an awesome job of keeping my children in the dark about the history & origin of holidays.

So I decided to dig deeper & pulled a few random celebrations out of my hat:

Why is February called Black History Month?
Zoey {age 10} thought maybe the word "black" referred to something that was dark & sorrowful & maybe it was a month to remember a lot of sad, dark, tragic accidents.
Pazely (age 8} thought that maybe it's because pink & black looked pretty together.

Why do we celebrate St. Patrick's Day?
Zoey: "Oh, I know this one. Because of this guy who, when he was a kid, was kidnapped by pirates, then they took him to this place & he worshiped God but his master worshiped twigs. When he grew up he became famous & wise & told people about God."
Pazely: "Because little leprechauns give us presents & we get to find clovers on scavenger hunts."

What is Memorial Day?
Zoey: I think it has something to do with Abraham Lincoln.
Pazely: I don't know. What does "memorial" mean?

I don't reveal this question & answer scenario to make fun of my children. Kids say the most honest & adorably innocent things. It does make me giggle though, & it sort of reminds me of Jay Leno's 'Jaywalking' series on The Tonight Show.

There are plenty of adults who don't even know why we celebrate, commemorate or memorialize many holidays either.
I just don't want my kiddos to grow up to be one of them.

So I'm on a mission.

•Starting now, I will begin to help my munchkins understand why we have a day off of school on the 3rd Monday of every February.
•When March 17th rolls around, we will research the complete history of that green holiday. (Zoey actually had a few of the facts correct. Although I'm still stumped on the "twig worshiping" bit.)
•We will push aside the barrage of retail sales & ad flyers on Labor Day, to truly discover why it is in fact called "Labor Day".
•We will remember Mr. Columbus & find out why his epic boat ride was so important.
•We will observe, with respect, the birth of Martin Luther King, Jr. & the greatness that his story tells.
And so on...

These annual rituals of  remembrance will become much more significant.
And we just might become a band of holiday history snobs.
♥