tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22277407505752504052024-03-13T00:21:52.961-07:00Life in the Land of Burps and Farts...tales of a girl lost among boys...Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-17366349487758506042011-03-08T16:00:00.000-08:002011-03-08T16:07:42.733-08:00Because We All Know If I Try to Write This On An Actual FRIDAY It Will Take Three More Weeks To Post.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">That said, let's have a little bit of Tuesday Quick Takes, shall we?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>ITEM ONE:</b></span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Lent starts tomorrow. Hmm. Let's talk about that tomorrow.</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>ITEM TWO:</b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I have been promising this recipe to people left and right, but never actually giving it to them. So, FINALLY, here it is: Italian Sausage Soup. (Oh Yes. It Is Delicious.)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">2 cans chicken broth (low sodium)</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">2 cans stewed or diced tomatoes</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">1 yellow onion</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">2-3 zucchinis</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">1 lb Italian sausage (spicier the better) sauteed (buy the uncooked kind, remove the skin & Saute in a little olive oil)</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Few cloves of garlic</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Some basil or Italian seasoning</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">1ish cup pasta or barley</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">1. Brown your meat, drain fat</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">2. Saute all the veggies & spices</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">3. Throw all in pot & let simmer at least 1 hr</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">4. Add pasta last 20mins or so</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I just made another pot tonight and I LOVE THIS SOUP. it's definitely better with some kick, though. I've found that using a mild sausage makes it just kind of meh.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>ITEM THREE:</b></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Have you ever heard of Our Lady, Undoer of Knots? Me either. Well, not until recently, that is. You should <a href="http://www.marypages.com/VirginMaryasUntierofKnots.htm">check her out.</a> I have been appealing to her in prayer over the last couple of weeks for some "stuff" that has been weighing me down, and you know what? She is a powerful pray-er, that Mother of God. Go read about her. Ask her to pray for you. No one is closer to the Son than his Mother.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>ITEM FOUR:</b></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Speaking of things "weighing me down," (or not, in this case) Biggest Blogging Loser is racing toward its final weeks. I think we only have three to go. Thus, the Month Two Update: (Month One Update <a href="http://waitingforjarvis.blogspot.com/2011/02/i-kind-of-feel-like-someone-stuck-me-in.html">here</a>.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">)</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Jan 3, 2011 Feb 3, 2011 (-17.2lbs) Mar 3, 2011 (-28.2lbs)</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPoo8i3hWAow7kUo-Xylz89mNhb8Z4l_dW_gbrBFwldET0DJ-uKNB67nZTxOssFclyNh-rR9a5gwA7wqPp1EyhK8qWIQqOP3F1FO94PLjKck55mJgtStGEyN8rqaOSr8P5iQHipzC6agb3/s1600/photo-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPoo8i3hWAow7kUo-Xylz89mNhb8Z4l_dW_gbrBFwldET0DJ-uKNB67nZTxOssFclyNh-rR9a5gwA7wqPp1EyhK8qWIQqOP3F1FO94PLjKck55mJgtStGEyN8rqaOSr8P5iQHipzC6agb3/s200/photo-2.jpg" width="118" /></a></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQZkdpmFMCHI8QTDGvz2d_X5PzI5wdaFLI_SmNcQhfIoCVvdKJkGHj257K_y2qVgHirWd0B8qSwIum-R_uEyJuA67GWNyS3BybAOr8brVLB1nwgPFE2l_LoXrjbx2fPbVPvVjYRXTIRnJ/s1600/photo-5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQZkdpmFMCHI8QTDGvz2d_X5PzI5wdaFLI_SmNcQhfIoCVvdKJkGHj257K_y2qVgHirWd0B8qSwIum-R_uEyJuA67GWNyS3BybAOr8brVLB1nwgPFE2l_LoXrjbx2fPbVPvVjYRXTIRnJ/s400/photo-5.JPG" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0LJql5PBngYJNmdOXT9s-9gkkqn9xuULtbsfNbT0FYL_NvA2TLt_36ghbMTIx6CC9teA5-vGL0F8Etry_tuBgJ0OH5cTP7jDUwN-ukQK9Eh1TPSKeINHQVu1WqHSp9Te7HmIF8OTtswQ4/s1600/photo-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0LJql5PBngYJNmdOXT9s-9gkkqn9xuULtbsfNbT0FYL_NvA2TLt_36ghbMTIx6CC9teA5-vGL0F8Etry_tuBgJ0OH5cTP7jDUwN-ukQK9Eh1TPSKeINHQVu1WqHSp9Te7HmIF8OTtswQ4/s200/photo-1.jpg" width="149" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>ITEM FIVE</b>:</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> have been a little, shall we say, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">irked</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> lately with some of these social networking sites. No. Excuse me. It's not the websites that I have a problem with. It's the people who use them. Facebook. Twitter. Comment boards. Let's just say this: just because you have a forum wherein you can say ANYTHING publicly does not mean that you SHOULD. Some conversations are meant to be private! Remember that "All I Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten" poster? It's one of those kinds of things. You would think that being kind and courteous and sensitive to the feelings of others is common sense, and yet the fact remains, common sense just isn't so common anymore.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"If your brother sins against you, go and show him his fault, just between the two of you..." (Mt 18:15)</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>ITEM SIX:</b></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other day, when I went to pick up Chris from preschool, I stood outside the door to wait until I could hear that the teacher was at a break in the lesson. They were talking about the weather. It was a cold, rainy day. So, they were talking about the rain and about what happens in places where it's even </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">colder</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> than it was here, and Miss Bonnie asked if anyone had ever been to the snow. And then. Then! Do you know what I heard then? MY SON raised his hand and told a whole story about how he went to Tahoe to the snow. MY CHILD. VOLUNTEERED TO SPEAK. This is the child who has to be forced to say hello and goodbye to the kids in his class each day. I was so proud of him. So. Proud.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>ITEM SEVEN:</b></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So. I'm ten days away from finishing the 30 Day Shred entirely. This is deserving of its very own post, which it will get in due time, but in the meantime....what should I do next? The original plan was to start up with Couch To 5k, but I would LOVE some recommendations for something that I can better work into my schedule. (These days, said schedule means "after all of the boys are asleep, in the comfort of my own family room.") Thanks!</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-69645182418346910702011-02-15T23:08:00.000-08:002011-02-15T23:08:00.343-08:00Because Who Doesn't Want An Excuse to Eat Donuts For DinnerA few months back, I was flipping through a copy of Rachael Ray Magazine that my mom had left with me, when I found this recipe for <a href="http://www.rachaelraymag.com/Recipes/rachael-ray-magazine-recipe-index/breakfast-brunch-recipes/Espresso-Dusted-Beignets">Espresso Dusted Beignets</a>. Never in my life had I eaten such a thing, and the picture made them look SO GOOD. Light! Flakey! Sweet! I set it aside thinking that I'd rip the page out and try my hand at this New Orleans fare at some point. And then I forgot about it, as I have a way of doing.<br />
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Not long after that, Tim says to me, "I was flipping through that Rachael Ray Magazine and I saw something that you should make!" And so, we decided to give it a try for Christmas morning. Because, you know, I didn't have enough going on that day and I might as well get up super early to make the dough, let it rise, heat up the oil and on and on and on. Unfortunately, for all the work, they were kind of...meh. Actually, let's be honest. They were really Meh. Light and flakey they were not. Nor were they sweet. The instant coffee did NOTHING for the flavor, other than make them extremely bitter, and being the type to follow a recipe EXACTLY the first time I make something, there was just not enough powdered sugar to lend any sweetness at all. They were big and bitter. <br />
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I was a little put off.<br />
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Now here we are, two months later, and it's still with me. I can't try something in the kitchen, have it fail (or even have it be "not good enough") and just leave it. A quick search of the Food Network website revealed something that should have occurred to me from the start: If you want a good recipe for southern cooking, perhaps you should start with a southerner. Genius! Enter <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/french-quarter-beignets-recipe/index.html">this recipe from Paula Deen</a>.<br />
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OH. YOU. GUYS.<br />
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They are so yummy. So easy. So not bitter. I used a little heart shaped cookie cutter (we made them on Valentine's Day) instead of cutting them into squares, and they were just so cute. We plopped them in paper bags! We shook them up! And they came out like little powdered puffy hearts of cuteness and deliciousness. Make them for a brunch. Make them for dessert. Or, heck, make them for dinner like we did! The only recommendation I would offer is to halve the recipe if you're not cooking for a big crowd. This makes A LOT of beignets. I gave half of the leftovers to my in-laws and I still have a huge ball of dough in the fridge, so you know what that means! Beignet Dinner Number Two coming soon! This time I think we'll do some in powdered sugar and some in cinnamon sugar. Dip them in some jam or berry syrup and you have the most delicious, home-made jelly donut.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFvXIUcM5DthZB0S3HHW_RuNLXf5ntCRhx9XG-ODzK9e6-Hh5T9G9x7GzVbRW2IIQEwiEuqGucG_WXysV3DLHmifNTH_RtaIe10Ol1BOa59D5OEQgyk9IytLUuzZRKzJsOh4dFbcJy9TU/s1600/photo-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFvXIUcM5DthZB0S3HHW_RuNLXf5ntCRhx9XG-ODzK9e6-Hh5T9G9x7GzVbRW2IIQEwiEuqGucG_WXysV3DLHmifNTH_RtaIe10Ol1BOa59D5OEQgyk9IytLUuzZRKzJsOh4dFbcJy9TU/s320/photo-3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">YUM.</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-2848440964568501962011-02-08T21:57:00.000-08:002011-02-08T21:57:41.850-08:00Whatever You Had Planned For Dinner Tonight....Make This InsteadAs in many families, the kitchen is the hub of our home. EVERYTHING happens in there. So, just over a year ago when we moved into a lovely new house with a FABULOUS kitchen, I was in Heaven. We'll call it a state-of-the-art gift from the previous owners, shall we? And that's exactly what it is. A gift. Sure, it's lovely for our little family, but it goes further than that because there are ALWAYS more people here than our immediate five. Whether it's Tim's family (all local), our priests or friends from church, neighbors, or my parents, the kitchen is always full. And this doesn't include holidays or birthdays when we're even more crowded!<br />
<br />
Yes, we would be that family on House Hunters who comment on how "this kitchen would be GREAT for entertaining!" But at least for us it would be a valid consideration. That makes it less obnoxious, right? And we won't even discuss how much more fun it is to play "I have my own food network show" while cooking in a nice big kitchen than it was in the kitchen NOOK that was carved into a corner of our old apartment.<br />
<br />
Don't even try to tell me that you don't pretend you have your own Food Network show.<br />
<br />
ANYWAY. Having this new kitchen made cooking so much more fun and opened up a world of opportunities for me to try new things. One day last winter during my monthly Costco Meat Counter Prowl, I decided to buy a package of short ribs for minestrone soup. (Yum. Minestrone soup.) Now, I don't know if you've ever bought short ribs there, but surely you know how it works at Costco. Go big or go home. And so I had to come up with something to do with the rest of those ribs.<br />
<br />
Thank you, <a href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Wonderful-Short-Ribs/Detail.aspx">Chef Google.</a><br />
<br />
This recipe is possibly the easiest, most delicious, and DEFINITELY best smelling thing you could ever possibly do with short ribs. Honestly. Here it is, with my modifications:<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"></span><br />
<div class="ingredients" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 10px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><h3 style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #7a7a7a; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Ingredients</h3><ul style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; list-style-type: none; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">1 (28 ounce) can tomato sauce <b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">(</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><b>I used one 14oz can and one 14 oz can diced or stewed tomatoes)</b></i></span></i></span></li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">3 tablespoons lemon juice</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">4 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">2 tablespoons dried parsley<b> </b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;"><b>(instead of parsley & thyme, I use 2 1/2 T Herbes de Provence. DO IT THIS WAY</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><b>.)</b></span></i></li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">1 teaspoon dried thyme</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">2 bay leaves</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">2 tablespoons brown sugar</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">2 teaspoons salt</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">1 medium onion, cut into rings</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">3 pounds beef short ribs </li>
</ul></div><div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-top-style: dotted; border-top-width: 1px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 20px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; width: 300px;"></div><div class="directions" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 10px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><h3 style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #7a7a7a; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Directions</h3><ol style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; list-style-type: decimal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 16px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><li style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="plaincharacterwrap break" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">In a large pan over medium-high heat, stir in tomato sauce, lemon juice, and Worcestershire sauce. Stir in parsley, thyme, bay leaves, brown sugar, salt, and red pepper flakes. Add onions and short ribs, and stir together until the mixture comes to a boil.</span></li>
<li style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="plaincharacterwrap break" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">Cover, reduce heat to medium low <b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">(</span></i></b><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">LOW)</span></b></i>, and simmer; stirring occasionally and skimming fat from surface, until meat is tender, about 2 1/2 hours. Remove bay leaves before serving.</span></li>
</ol><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;"><b>**DON'T turn up the heat and DON'T brown the meat first. I made that mistake last time. Just trust me. Throw it in raw, cover it with sauce, put the lid on and LEAVE IT ALONE FOR TWO HOURS.**</b></span></i></span></div></div><br />
<br />
YOU GUYS. You will love this. The meat falls apart as you remove it from the pot. Put the extra sauce on the table and pour it over your meat & mashed potatoes. Oh Sweet Heaven. And! If you have extra sauce (it makes a lot) marinate and bake some chicken in it a few nights later. It's just as delicious.<br />
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You know how sometimes you cook dinner, eat, clean up and every thing's done and then you go into the kitchen a while later and the Dinner Smell just smacks you in the face? And you think, "ugh. Dinner." You know that feeling? With this dinner, when you walk back into the kitchen, you think, "yum. Lavender." Now that's a nice way to end the day.Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-23751057788395829832011-02-04T15:22:00.000-08:002011-02-04T15:22:57.398-08:00Friday Afternoon HodgepodgeThanks for all of the encouragement on my last post, friends! I can hardly believe it when I look at those two pictures side by side. Never would I have imagined that my body could change so dramatically in just one little month. I was looking at our wedding photos today, eyeing my smaller self with envy and bound and determined to meet that girl again. That said, I won't say that I want that body back. That body hasn't accomplished what this body has - what I want is the strongest, healthiest <i>this</i> body that I can get. Rumor has it that even once you get back to your pre-baby weight, you often don't fit into your pre-baby clothes. And that's fine. But it sure will be nice to get rid of those clothes because I don't like the way they fit anymore, rather than because I've given up hope on even trying them on.<br />
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It's Friday and I'm tired. But the inlaws are coming over for Waffle Night tonight, which means it's time to head out to the store for some last minute groceries. We have Waffle Night frequently - it started out as our Friday Lenten observance last year. A nice, filling, meatless dinner that brought the whole family together. Did you know that I make the Best Waffles You've Ever Had? Me either. No one tell Tim's family that my recipe is straight off of the back of the Bisquick box.<br />
<br />
AHEM. <br />
<br />
A couple of items, for your viewing pleasure:<br />
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1.) <a href="http://www.mightymaggie.com/">Maggie</a> linked to <a href="http://www.integratedcatholiclife.org/2011/01/kreeft-the-winning-strategy/">this article </a>the other day and it's FANTASTIC. A great read for Catholics and non-Catholics alike. Lots of food for thought.<br />
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2.) <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/1997/02/laws-concerning-food-and-drink-household-principles-lamentations-of-the-father/5013/">Have you seen this</a>? A couple of my friends posted it on facebook. It gave me a good chuckle. Go read it now. You need a laugh.<br />
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3.) Back to the kindergarten angst for a minute - check out <a href="http://www.renewamerica.com/columns/abbott/110204">this article on Catholic Schools</a>. Further food for thought. Last night I attended the Kindergarten Info Night at our parish school, which stirred up all kinds of new drama and unsettledness in my heart. Mostly because I just loved it. So. Much. More on that to come.<br />
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Happy weekend, friends. Enjoy the commercials.Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-31984012203567552562011-02-03T23:38:00.000-08:002011-02-03T23:44:14.235-08:00I Kind Of Feel Like Someone Stuck Me In The Dryer.Have you ever gotten to the point in the 30 Day Shred where it's easier to just do the exercises the hard way rather than doing the modifications?<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">I have.</div><br />
Have you ever put on your jeans one morning to find that they're falling off of you, even though you just wore them yesterday? And when you investigate the situation, you realize that for the last couple of weeks you were wearing the next size down without realizing it and that today you just grabbed the wrong pair (the ones you THOUGHT you'd been wearing?)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I have.</div><br />
Have you ever lost 17.2 pounds in one month?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I have.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWK_rjlCuIN0FJWiC4HakCKn4oJLefR3uuxKeWSNTprlv36d30MwlAEX_sWFlq5SOrkpbuLculElU_H38JSeAYbxMqJQxnw5mDk2fmhU8WlXORZ835f8f8CUgtFChtdUFEFs7pYRlzaoXP/s1600/photo-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWK_rjlCuIN0FJWiC4HakCKn4oJLefR3uuxKeWSNTprlv36d30MwlAEX_sWFlq5SOrkpbuLculElU_H38JSeAYbxMqJQxnw5mDk2fmhU8WlXORZ835f8f8CUgtFChtdUFEFs7pYRlzaoXP/s320/photo-2.jpg" width="191" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3aGUoghZ2VO6W6t_vOtMQrHkYZCpJyyLdAInmXf-PIe9XAnW_kyDVEyiX4Coxa1KaGLpWhE4wa_bDfNi2XU9qtMP_ry2eqDevjCoKST7hNDnS6DZkH945p0MS_DpCHAWUzhqapEp1TD8m/s1600/photo-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3aGUoghZ2VO6W6t_vOtMQrHkYZCpJyyLdAInmXf-PIe9XAnW_kyDVEyiX4Coxa1KaGLpWhE4wa_bDfNi2XU9qtMP_ry2eqDevjCoKST7hNDnS6DZkH945p0MS_DpCHAWUzhqapEp1TD8m/s320/photo-1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<br />
....January 3, 2011..... ....Feb 3, 2011.....<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am totally in <a href="http://www.shelikespurple.com/shelikespurple/2011/01/biggest-blogging-loser-roster.html">this thing</a> to win it. But please believe me when I say: I've already won.</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-47301313933743381212011-01-31T23:15:00.000-08:002011-01-31T23:15:55.857-08:00I Even Brought In the $100 "Processing Fee." Now THAT'S Commitment.<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Lately I’ve been walking around in a daze with visions of kindergarten classrooms dancing in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I’ve only toured two schools, I wasn’t planning on touring any. Tim and I always thought we had it decided: we believe in and support the mission of Catholic education. As such, the boys would attend our parish school. Later we would choose one of the two local Catholic high schools. And then they’d go on to college. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh – I forgot step number one: we’d plant a money tree in our backyard. (I jest.) (But not here.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s important that you know how much this was part of the plan for us, because without that knowledge you can’t possibly understand the emotional shift that had to take place when we decided that it might be a better idea to look elsewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, by the time all three of our boys make it into Catholic grade school, we will be paying $1500 each month. Twelve months per year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s if tuition doesn’t go up between now and then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know how families do it. I really don’t.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Slightly Tangential Rant:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The case could be made, (of which I will provide the Reader’s Digest Version here) that the cost of Catholic elementary education does not fall in line with the pro-life teachings of the Church. Think I’m going extreme? Bear with me. As Catholics, we are encouraged (expected, really) to be open to God’s creative work in us and have large families, and are also encouraged to support our parishes by attending our Catholic schools and educating our children with a catholic worldview.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the cost of Catholic education continues to rise to the point where it is pricing itself out of reach for these large Catholic families. Are we expected to choose? Have a large family OR send your kids to Catholic school? Or are the Catholic schools getting to the point where they are going to price themselves out of existence? The price tag is already out of reach for many – how much longer can they go on like this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know. I have three children. Not a large family by any means. And yet, large enough to get us to the point that saying that it will be “a challenge” to get them through grade school is the severest of understatements.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sure, the response is that providing this education for your children requires sacrifice. Well, OBVIOUSLY. But tell me what kind of sacrifices a family can make that will scrounge up an extra $1500 each month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That said, Tim and I have started weighing the sacrifice of NOT sending the boys to our parish school (School #1) in the interest of saving and being able to send them to Catholic high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accepting this change in thought has been heart wrenching for me. I like to make plans and stick to them. Changing things up after several years of planning to do something a certain way (okay, even after 5 minutes of planning to do things a certain way) has been PAINFUL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we decided to look into a local charter school (Free!) about which everybody raves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a school of choice (we’ll call it School #2) and it’s in such high demand that admission is conducted by solely by lottery (kindergarten) and waiting list (upper grades).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I toured the school a couple of weeks ago and, although I pretty much hated it initially, I’ve come around to the realization that what I hated the most was that it wasn’t School #1. What I liked the most? Well let’s see – how much the parents love it…the test scores that are head and shoulders above the other schools...the fact that 100% of the students in attendance are there because their parents have CHOSEN to send them there and have taken the time and energy to ensure their admission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s more, but the point is? I came around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had gotten the point (as angsty and stressful as the process was) that I wanted Chris to attend that school. Even though it would be hard to choose <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>School #1, it would be a very smart move to choose School #2.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last Saturday, Tim and I attended the admissions lottery. We went in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knowing</i> it was a gamble (it is a lottery after all) but I think we both really just expected that his number would fall within the admittance range. There had to be nearly 200 families there, each clutching their numbered tickets anxiously. The room buzzed with eager anticipation for the principal to take the stage. When she finally did, she explained the procedures that would follow and then announced how many spaces were available in the kindergarten lottery. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(You see, they accept eighty kindergarten students each year…four classes of twenty…but priority is given to incoming siblings.) Based on the collective gasp that sucked all the air out of the room, I was not the only one who was surprised by the number.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Twenty Six.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">TWENTY SIX SPACES AVAILABLE, to be filled by TWENTY SIX children of the TWO HUNDRED families in the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our ticket was number 73. As it turned out, the first ticket drawn was number 34. Thus, families numbered 34-59 jumped right up and ran to the admissions table. Families numbered 60+ dragged their lifeless bodies over to the waiting list table. Some just left and gave up altogether.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All is not lost. Christopher sits at number 13 on the waiting list and, while it seems unimaginable (based on the interest and the SHEER JOY of the parents in the room) that they would burn through that many spaces on the list by September, it’s possible that he’ll move up. (One of his preschool classmates is number 70!) One thing is for sure – he will hold his space on the list until he moves up to the top spot, whether that happens this summer or when he’s in fifth grade. At that point, we can either accept the spot and move him (thus securing sibling spots for Jake and Nate) or decline.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I want to say that OBVIOUSLY we won’t decline, now I don’t know. I hear that if you get called up in the middle of the school year you have to accept the space immediately and TRANSFER SCHOOLS, otherwise you lose your spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If someone can explain to me how that would be in the best interest of my sweet, sensitive boy – moving him away from his new friends, new teacher, new environment to be the new kid among an even larger community – then great. But I can’t see how that is possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right now, Tim and I are praying that whenever he gets called up, it won’t be in the middle of his kindergarten year. Or the middle of any year, for that matter. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the meantime, today I brought in his registration to School #1. I’m happy that he will be going there, really I am. It’s a smaller, more close-knit community. He already has friends who go to school there. We’re over there all the time anyway, so he is very familiar with the grounds and most of the people. We even have family members who work for the parish.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I won’t pretend that I’m not anxious about this – that I’m not worried about his getting called up to School #2 in the middle of the year – that I’m not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">very</i> concerned about the financials of this whole thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I will say this – I prayed. I prayed so hard about this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I BEGGED God to help us make this decision because I didn’t trust myself and my emotions about the whole thing. I plead for him to make clear to me which school was the most appropriate one for my boy – the best place for him to be. And what did he do? He took one out of the equation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took away the one that I would have chosen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to trust, now, that my prayers have been answered rightly. As Tim encouraged me the other day, “we have to take heart in the knowledge that God will provide for the plan he has for us.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sigh. Sometimes I wonder why it’s not easier to trust the One who loves us so.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-84230222854412597002011-01-28T15:12:00.000-08:002011-01-28T15:12:16.626-08:00Why I'm Participating in Biggest Blogging Loser In 7 (Not-So-Quick) TakesI've been wanting to document why, exactly, I've decided to participate in <a href="http://www.shelikespurple.com/shelikespurple/">Jennie'</a>s <a href="http://www.shelikespurple.com/shelikespurple/2011/01/biggest-blogging-loser-roster.html">Biggest Blogging Loser</a> contest, but the post that I write in my head is about 700 pages of angsty weight-on weight-off struggle. You don't want to know all of that. So, since it's Friday, and since my children are either sleeping or playing outside with my mom, we'll give it a condensed whirl.<br />
<br />
1.) Never in my life have I been thin. As such, my weight has (for as long as I can remember...even in my early elementary years) been on the forefront of my mind. Looking back, I see that even when that weight rested at a healthy number, I would still worry and stew over it because I didn't look like my friends. I remember going in for my high school sports physical, getting weighed by the doctor, and being told, "Wow. You don't LOOK like you weigh THAT much." Compliment? Criticism? Backhanded compliment? I don't know. But here we are fifteen or so years later and I still remember it, for what that's worth.<br />
<br />
2.) In college, two of my dearest friends and I participated in the <a href="http://www.weighdown.com/">Weigh Down Workshop.</a> What a fantastic ministry this is, and I highly recommend it. Through it, I finally learned the value of my natural hunger and fullness signals. It's amazing to me that I had to TRAIN my body (and my mind) to do what it is created to do naturally. Focusing solely on hunger and fullness, I lost fifty pounds. That's TEN five-pound bags of flour. I can't figure out how to carry that much weight around, and yet I was doing it for a long time. I loved following the Weigh Down principles and that program was exactly what I needed at that point in my life. It seemed to me to be Weight Loss Truth, and I couldn't understand how or why anyone would choose any other program to try to lose weight. I was young and naive and didn't give much credit, at that time, to the fact that maybe (JUST maybe) people are different and have different needs when it comes to these things.<br />
<br />
3.) Weighing fifty pounds less than ever before, I wore a bikini in Hawaii. Then I moved to San Francisco to be closer to Tim. Then I married Tim. Then I got pregnant. Then I gained 85 pounds. Seriously. Eighty. Five. I was frustrated by the weight gain at the time, but didn't worry too much because I had the key to weight loss. After Christopher was born I remember telling my doctor that I'd "lost weight before. I know how to do it." And I did. But not well. And while I was struggling with hunger and fullness while breast feeding, a nagging feeling began in me about nutrition. You see, the Weigh Down theory is that God, who created you, created your body to know what you need. It knows when you're hungry, so your stomach growls. It knows when your satisfied, so your body feels full. It knows what nutrients you need so when you're hungry you will desire certain foods to meet those needs. I believe all of this to be true. Really, I do. But I also know myself well and I know that my mind is A LOT stronger than those body signals. Sure maybe my body wants the protein in the scrambled eggs....but my taste buds want that giant chocolate muffin from Costco. I began to realize that, as great as Weigh Down was for me, if I was good at listening to the signals my body was sending I wouldn't be overweight in the first place. I began to think there was something more that I needed.<br />
<br />
4.) Around that same time, other bloggers who I was reading were starting up with Weight Watchers and having great success. I wanted nothing to do with it. My mom did Weight Watchers when I was a kid. I remember she had to go to meetings and weigh herself in front of other people. NOT FOR ME. But those bloggy friends were having too much success for me to ignore and (AND!) they were doing it all from the anonymity of their computer screens. I signed up on my second wedding anniversary - Chris was nine months old. The weight loss was sudden, dramatic, and easy. By his first birthday, I had only 20 pounds to go to my pre-baby weight.<br />
<br />
5.) One week later, I discovered that I was pregnant with Jacob. Scared to death about gaining 85 AGAIN (especially since I was starting 20 pounds up) I was VERY careful about what I ate during that pregancy. After Jacob was born I hit the weight watchers hard, lost all of the Jake weight by his 7-month birthday and only had ten pounds to go when....yup. When I discovered my pregnancy with Nathan. Jake was ten months old.<br />
<br />
6.) And now here we are. Nathaniel is 14 months old. His first birthday had me at the highest first birthday weight of all three boys and, while it didn't drag me down, I was aware of that fact. Aware enough for it to bug me, but thinking I'd get to it eventually. I was ignoring my Weight Watchers (but pretending I wasn't) and pretending the Weigh Down principles didn't really exist. While I had goals for the weight loss, I wasn't reaching them. I was just pushing them back. And back. And back.<br />
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7.) Jennie's contest came just at the right time. It's given me the kickstart that I needed and the motivation, too. Since our first weigh-in on January 3, I've lost 15.8 pounds. My clothes are getting bigger and going shopping in my closet is getting more and more fun as I rediscover my style (believe it or not, I used to have style....not just this winter's "fleece chic" look I'm sporting.) I'm in control and so very happy to be regaining the confidence that I had before. The competition is stiff, for sure, but the benefits are beyond awesome.<br />
<br />
(And winning a few dollars to replace the hideous chandelier above our dining room table is pretty motivating too!)Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-69160156266247161362011-01-06T00:51:00.000-08:002011-01-10T15:54:20.531-08:00And He Was Really Disappointed That Santa Didn't Leave Any Presents There, Too.<div class="MsoNormal">It’s funny the things you look back on and remember. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Funny, those things that strike you as being so very special even though, to most, they may be so mundane. For as long as I can remember, my Nonna has left a night light on in the kitchen. The whole entire house will be dark, grandfather clock chiming in the middle of the night, and if for some reason you happen by the kitchen you will find that little light glowing right there under the cabinets. Though my days of sleeping in her house have long since passed, I cling to that memory and the warmth, tenderness, and care that it represents. That glowing light in the kitchen was always a reminder to me of how much we were loved. Even in their sleep my grandparents were caring for us. Providing for us. Loving us.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In this house we have an ABUNDANCE of nightlights, nearly all of which are Christmas-themed. My mom has given them to the boys year after year. As a matter of fact, there are two in each of their bedrooms that stay there all year long. They love them and they serve a purpose, so why not? I came across an extra nightlight as I was unpacking the Christmas decorations this year, and the memory of that kitchen scene burst right back into the forefront of my mind. So I brought it straight into the kitchen, above the toaster, where it remained for the duration of the Christmas season.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think that we managed quite well this year, the first Christmas without my Nonno here to celebrate with us. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be, perhaps because I worried so much about it going in. Who was going to hold the big garbage bag to collect all of the gift wrap on Christmas Eve? Who was going to sit at the head of the table? Who was going to tell me that the next baby better be a girl “or else.” (An obvious statement when you learn that the man absolutely LOVED being the father to three daughters.) And yet, the absence of those things went by with hardly any notice.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s funny the way you react to things you don’t think you’d react to and vice versa.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Funny, how you walk through the liquor aisle at Costco and burst into tears when you pass the Johnny Walker Black because that was what you gave him for Christmas year after year. Funny how you debate over whether to purchase the expensive DiSaronno or the cheaper generic amaretto with tears in your eyes and finally, against your better judgment, opt for the pricier version because that is what he always served you. The heart does funny things and responds to memories at the oddest times, doesn’t it?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s not so funny, though, is watching your children begin to understand all of these things for themselves. The loss of my grandfather came about pretty quickly, starting and ending all in the month of July. There were lots of doctor visits, lots of ambulance rides, a long hospital stay. While I never talked about it directly with the boys, I should have known that they were listening. (Christopher, in particular.) Hindsight reveals that I should have been more aware of those little big ears. Blasted hindsight. We never told him that Nonno died. Sure we went to a special Mass for him and we prayed for him a lot, but we never had a “This is what happens when people die” talk with Chris. What we DID do was start visiting my Nonna a lot more frequently. Sometimes he would ask where Nonno was, but never with enough interest for me to worry to much about how I answered. (“Is Nonno going to be there?” …. “No, Nonno is not going to be there.”) Quick and easy. For him and for me. Okay, mostly for me. It is true that I didn’t know how to talk about it with him. My main goal being not to start crying every time we mentioned the name.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This Fall, Tim’s mom came down with a pretty bad bout of Pneumonia. An ambulance came to get her. It took her to the hospital where she stayed for a few days. We talked to the boys about this a lot. Jake came with me to visit her one day while Chris was at school, but as it worked out, Christopher never came in the hospital to see her. He was not visibly shaken by all of this, but when she came home you can guess who was GLUED to her side from the moment we stepped in their front door until the last second he could squeeze out before we left. This went on for a couple of weeks. The other thing that happened at this point was a sudden and severe shift in behavior at the twice-weekly preschool drop-off. While he’d only started school a few weeks before, even in his very hesitant beginnings we never had behavior like this. SCREAMING. CRYING. CRAWLING over the teacher’s shoulders when she would take him so I could leave. It was awful. I spent the entire morning of my birthday agonizing over whether or not he really was ready to start preschool. Maybe we forced him into this too quickly.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I should have figured it out when one day, at that same time, he asked me out of the blue, “Mom? Where’s Nonno?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sometimes I can be so dense.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My mom ended up being the one who cracked the code: Nonno rode in an ambulance. Nonno went to the hospital. Nonno Disappeared. Oma rode in an ambulance. Oma stayed in the hospital…. Suddenly the separation AGONY started to make sense. If my mom’s hypothesis was right, Christopher was becoming aware of the fact that people in his life, people who he really loved, were disappearing. Perhaps he was trying to make sure that would stop happening.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Within a couple of weeks he came through the anxiety and started to give my mother-in-law a little bit of space. We talk about Nonno a lot and when he asks me where he is, I answer honestly: He lives with Jesus now. In Heaven.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Feeling like we’ve both come a long away with all of this, I don’t know why I was surprised with the conversation that we had at my Grandma’s house yesterday afternoon. We had driven down for a quick visit with my Nonna and then headed over to the house where my dad grew up to empty a few more things out. This month marks two years since her death, and we’re still emptying out. (That’s another story all its own.) I was standing in the (nearly empty) dining room, packing a few boxes while Tim had the boys out in the backyard. After a few minutes, Christopher came in and said, “Mom? Did Grandma die?” I surprised myself with my response: “Yes, honey. Grandma died.” What followed was a bevy of questions: Where does she live now? (In Heaven) Why doesn’t she live here anymore? (Because she gets to live with Jesus now) Did Santa come here? (No) Why not? (Because no children live here.) But why did she die? (Because she was very very old and it was time for her to go live with Jesus, but Grandma sure did love you. She loved you very much.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The question that followed nearly shattered my heart into a million pieces, and I type it with tears in my eyes: <i>But if she loved us then why did she move so far away from us?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My boy. My precious little soul. So simple. So honest. So sincere.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So we had a nice long talk about Grandma and Heaven, about Jesus. And he handled it. Not only did he handle it, but he handled it WELL. Sure, he’s now telling everyone he knows that Grandma died. (Which, she did, but it was TWO YEARS AGO.) And his parrot of a little brother is telling everyone as well. But that’s okay. I suppose that’s how he is going to process it. This is important information that he has been given, and while it really happened so many months ago, for him it’s a brand new reality. I need to allow him that.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And so it begins – the time has come for me to share my Faith with my son in a deeper level than I have been required as of yet. You wouldn’t think that someone with a degree in Theology who taught this stuff for a living would feel so…challenged…by the task, and yet I do. Of the very many people who came through my classroom, the three most important students I will ever have are now right here before me. I can only pray that I will live up to the task.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It's funny. Funny, how sometimes the greatest lessons (about some of the hardest things) come at the hands of a four year old.</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-69631745389861041022010-07-31T15:01:00.000-07:002010-07-31T17:55:53.206-07:007 Quick Takes - Picture Wall EditionIt's naptime. Nathan is sleeping. Jacob is in his crib calling for someone, anyone, to release him from that prison. And Tim and Christopher are, I think, watching a show in my bedroom. (Translation: Tim is asleep on the bed and Chris is minutes away from getting bored with his show, jumping around on the bed, and getting in a whole bunch of trouble.) It's quiet, for the most part, and I am taking full advantage of this opportunity to lay down on the couch and do absolutely nothing. Well, except this.<br />
<br />
I can still hear Jake calling and it makes me feel only a little guilty. And a little curious. I want to go down to check on him but know that, if I do, this quiet moment will be lost and so I will let him call for a while longer.<br />
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My chosen position on the sofa has me laying so that I can see our family picture wall instead of looking outside to the backyard. It's a beautiful summer day and looking outside makes me feel guilty for not being out there. Besides, I love gazing at this wall. Seeing the snapshots of so many happy memories, the faces of our loved ones who shared those memories with us.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ1cfjmkwTrjFxyVsEFW-qoI-rJfF6VEnA2Kvr2M6C0PpMzuABXoFiy08DRGGNKHkqmXgzGbqS8Z7pssa9gSfnMjfVrrDHdxmpItS-q6Us7JFLd3_0ahVSbohSOnFXouzvkko71rpG1zAq/s1600/DSC00997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ1cfjmkwTrjFxyVsEFW-qoI-rJfF6VEnA2Kvr2M6C0PpMzuABXoFiy08DRGGNKHkqmXgzGbqS8Z7pssa9gSfnMjfVrrDHdxmpItS-q6Us7JFLd3_0ahVSbohSOnFXouzvkko71rpG1zAq/s320/DSC00997.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Here. I'll give you a little tour.<br />
<br />
ONE. A good number of the frames are filled with photos from our wedding. Tim and I with all seven of the priests who concelebrated our nuptial Mass, us walking along the golf course during the reception, my Father-in-Law's toast. I could stare at our wedding pictures all day long. If you ever come to my house, you can watch my wedding video, okay? I won't offer but if you asked I would jump at the chance to show it to you. Without that day so many other blessings would be absent. God has been so good to us.<br />
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TWO. Each of the boys has an 8x10 of just them. Right now I'm looking at Chris sitting on a swing in my dear friend's backyard. Those big brown eyes looking happily at me through the glass. He is such a big, strong boy. And yet, he's so sensitive and so impressionable. We're struggling with Christopher right now. When we first moved into this house, he handled the transition really well. IF he woke up during the night he'd just get up, run up the stairs and climb into our bed. He had NO fear. Now, eight months later, it's not a question of IF he wakes up during the night, but WHEN. And when he does? He stands on his bed and SCREAMS for Daddy. We've gotten through the phase of him screaming for Daddy and ONLY daddy (seriously. If I went down there he'd scream even louder, "Not YOU! WAHHH!") and he'll allow me to come to him now. But it's bad. It's really bad. He's scared of monsters. Or ghosts. Or bad guys. Or bats. We've switched from Daddy going to him every night and are now seeing what happens if I am the one to go down. I have a slight suspicion that maybe it's less "I'm scared" and more "I want to hang with Dad," so we'll see if this breaks the pattern. But beyond that, I have no idea what to do. If anyone has any suggestions, I will love you forever.<br />
<br />
THREE. One of my favorite pictures is one of my Nonno holding Christopher on his lap when Chris was a newborn. This has been a tremendously sad week. My dear grandfather passed away on Tuesday, July 27. There are many things to say about this, but I think I need a little more time. We'll be going to the Rosary and Funeral tomorrow and Monday and I'm ready for those to be very challenging, but very healing days. For the time being all that should really be said is THANK YOU. Most of my online time during the month of July has been spent begging for prayers, and I have to say that my entire family has really felt the graces that have come from those prayers. Internet friends = awesome prayer warriors. I am blessed.<br />
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FOUR. I have the hiccups. Really bad, really loud, really painful hiccups.<br />
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FIVE. Thirty minutes in (actually, I don't think it's even been that long) and I am now typing this while SITTING UP on the couch with Chris to my left and Jake to my right. At least Nate is still sleeping. We're watching Bee Movie. Because we haven't seen it enough in the last two weeks; although, you may think otherwise when you hear ALL OF US quoting the entire movie, word for word. ("Black and yellow. Hello!")<br />
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SIX. Jake's photo is centered on the bottom of the cluster. My happy little boy sitting at the bottom of a bright yellow slide. He has gotten to the "Why?" stage. It is incredibly cute and infuriating at the same time. He doesn't just say, "why?" He says it quietly, slowly, and he draws out the word into at least two syllables. "whhhyyyy?" It is so precious. Really. The problem, as I see it, is that he is far far FAR more curious than Christopher ever was. There were never this many "Why" questions the first time around.<br />
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SEVEN. My Nonna, my only remaining grandparent, is pictured with Christopher while he helped her blow out the candles on her 85th birthday cake. It is such a happy memory. It is such a unique privilege, I realize, that my grandparents all got the chance to meet their great-grandsons. Even more unique that these young boys (Chris, at least) is old enough to have lasting memories of these people who are so remarkable. So special. So loved.<br />
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I know I have said it already, but it just can't be said enough. God has been so, so, so good to us. And for that we are grateful.<br />
<br />
More quick takes <a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/2010/07/7-quick-takes-friday-vol-91.html">here.</a>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-33575978346484276342010-07-24T00:42:00.000-07:002010-07-24T00:42:28.794-07:00Five.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">Tim's parents were over for dinner a couple of weeks back and, as often happens, we got into a discussion of what life was like for them when they were in our shoes. My husband is a romantic at heart and much of his time is spent wondering what life was like in days gone by. There are few days that pass in which I don't hear something to the effect of, "When I (fill in the blank) I like to try to imagine what (blah blah blah) fifty years ago." And then we talk about it and dream and imagine. But when we are actually in the presence of people who were REALLY THERE fifty years ago, there is little imagining that has to take place because they can fill in those blanks for us. So, after dinner, we were all sitting around in the family room while they shared stories with us. This conversation was of a more serious nature, as we listened to the joys and struggles that they faced during the first ten (or so) years of their marriage, during which (among other joys and challenges) all four of their parents passed away. It was a conversation filled with smiles and laughter, tears and hushed tones. It was the story of their life, so very many years ago.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">Later that night, once we had finally gotten all of the boys to bed, I grabbed a glass of water and prepared for bed myself. I could tell that Tim was lost in thought from the moment I entered the room. When I finally sat down on the bed, he remarked, "My parents had a really hard first ten years, didn't they?" They sure did. What tremendous loss they faced as such a young couple. What huge challenges even beyond the illness and the loss. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">While I agreed with his sentiment, the first words that escaped my lips were, "Look at OUR first five years of marriage. We have had a VERY CHALLENGING first five years." And it's so true. Our vows have been tested and again throughout these first years. They have been pulled and tested in ways that I never imagined we would face so early on in our marriage. Sure I knew that there would be suffering and growth throughout the course of our marriage. Yes, I expected that there would be times for "sicker" and times for "poorer." I wasn't so naive as to think that there would not be "bad times" during our life together. But I <i>was</i> naive. I suppose I never gave it a conscious thought, but somewhere in me I just assumed that the good, healthy, and richer times would come first. Or, at the very least, I suppose I never factored in the possibility that those challenging times would come one after the other in rapid fire succession.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">Ah young love. There we were, walking into the world hand in hand with NO IDEA what was headed our way.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">On the day I married Tim I didn't know that only one year later my mom would be diagnosed with breast cancer and would have a mastectomy only three weeks before I was to deliver my first child. I didn't know that only eight months after that my own husband would suffer from a very serious illness which would lead to his being diagnosed with a chronic disease. I certainly wasn't expecting that two months before the birth of my second child my husband would be laid off and we would be spending the next several months getting his own company up and running, or that just one month after that my Father-in-law would be diagnosed with prostate and bladder cancer. While I knew that my grandparents were getting pretty old, it never really occurred to me that I would be so intimately involved in the details of my grandmother's illness and passing due to other damaged relationships within the family. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">We talked about this for quite a while that night, agreeing that "Yeah, wow. We've definitely had a challenging go of it," but also agreeing that looking back? It doesn't seem like it was that bad. It doesn't seem like it was all that hard.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">Of course it doesn't! The suffering, the challenges, seems so much less in my mind's eye than it did at the time because of all of the joys that were also thrown into the mix. Joys that, also, could not be anticipated or planned for.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">The day I stood with him at the altar provided no revelation of how I'd discover my pregnancy with Christopher just two days before our first Christmas. There was no picture of my sweet Jacob who is so tender hearted that, when seeing my crying recently, grabs my legs and says, "Mom? Tay? Tay Mom?" (And to whom I respond, "yes Jacob. Mommy is okay" with a kiss and a huge squeeze.) We certainly had not the slightest inkling that we'd be moving into the house of our dreams and welcoming our third (THIRD!) precious boy, our darling Nathaniel, both within one week of each other.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">And really? While I knew there would be suffering at some point (and even though those challenges presented themselves a<i> leetle</i> earlier than I'd anticipated) I also had no clue as to how much growth would come from those challenges - growth that I attribute ONE HUNDRED PERCENT to the fact that I had my best friend walking with me, holding my hand, and encouraging me to embrace the challenges with love. With compassion. With humility. With faith. With HIM.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">Looking back on the conversation, I think we were both right. Yes, we have been dealt A LOT of challenges in these first five years. But no, they do not seem all that challenging in retrospect. They don't even seem "manageable" or "bearable." The only thing I see when looking back over this time is Joy. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">And love. And faith. And friendship.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">Yes, our vows have been tested. Yes, they will continue to be tested. There is always something coming down the pike. It's just the way that it is. But our history has proven that no matter what is coming our way we will greet it hand in hand, ready to embrace the challenge.</span></span></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-66646246615891791202010-06-25T10:52:00.000-07:002010-06-25T10:52:54.755-07:00I have 30 seconds. Let's see how fast I can type.The baby is sleeping. The boys are playing (together. quietly. SHHH DON'T TELL ANYONE) so let's see what we can get out of this. A little catch up from the last two months and (hopefully) a little preview of what I hope to unpack in the next little while.<div><br />
</div><div>1.) We went to Disneyland in May. FOR FREE. Oh yes my friends. FREE. And it was awesome. Had you asked me last year if I'd bring three children age three and under to Disneyland I would have laughed you out of town. Clearly I've lost my mind. But you know what? I'm so glad I did.</div><div><br />
</div><div>2.) My baby Jake is two. And talking. I don't really know how this happened. I blame baby #3 for this.</div><div><br />
</div><div>3.) Speaking of baby #3, he sleeps in his own room now. It used to be the guest room. Then life happened and it became the furniture storage. And now? Now we store the guests, the furniture AND the baby there. Oh. And all of stuff that we had to get rid of at the last minute before my sister-in-law's surprise party last Saturday. Thank God Nate doesn't take up all that much space.</div><div><br />
</div><div>4.) Have you seen <a href="http://www.hostesswiththemostess.com/">this website</a>? I love it. It is where I got the inspiration for the aforementioned surprise party and now I can't drag myself away from it. Love love love. What great ideas! Go. Go check it out now. I'll wait.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Well. That will have to do for now. Just trying to get back into the swing of things over here in blogland. Bear with me...</div><div><br />
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</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-76292507735917436352010-04-20T22:50:00.000-07:002010-04-20T22:51:28.013-07:00On Laundry and Ground Turkey.<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I made a rather outlandish claim in my last post, didn't I? There I was all "I've been caught up on laundry for three weeks and aren't I fabulous?" Well, you know what? I AM fabulous because even though we've had some busy times over here at Casa de Burps and Farts, I'm still caught up. OH YES I AM. So take a seat and I'll spin you a little tale on the glories of the Three Basket System.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now. Let's all acknowledge right off the bat that no system, regardless of how many brightly hued baskets from Target are included, will work unless you MAKE it work. It's not like you can just go out and buy the baskets and the laundry will do itself. But let me say this - someone asked me recently, "why can't you just use one basket? Who really needs THREE laundry baskets?" Clearly this person does not understand the Great Laundry Conundrum of how laundry can be cleaned, folded and then just take up residence in the laundry basket until every last item has been worn. And how, also, because that one single basket is occupied, no other laundry will get done. Thus? Three baskets:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Basket Number One ~ This is your Dirty Clothes Basket, intended to transport the dirties from<span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: line-through;"> your bedroom floor</span> your well used clothes hamper to your washing machine. If you are like me, when you get to your laundry room, arms overloaded with clothes you face two immediate problems: where to put the dirties while you empty the wet clothes from the washer into the dryer (which I realize is quite obvious - you put them on the floor...Basket Number One means that you only have to pick clothes up off of the floor one time. Genius!) and where to put the clean clothes from the dryer so that you can make room for the aforementioned wet clothes. Thus? Basket Number Two!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Basket Number Two ~ Your Empty Basket that kinda just chills in the laundry room until the dryer is ready to be emptied. Basket Two is really the "extra" basket in this entire system and, I <i>suppose</i> that it's the one you can live without. But I cannot. Use it to carry your clean clothes to wherever in the house you fold (I use my dining room table). Once you've removed it from the laundry room, Basket One shifts into its place and becomes your new Empty Basket.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Basket Three is the Folded and Ready For Drawers Basket, used for transporting clothes from your folding place back to their respective homes. Once you have folded all of the clothes from Basket Two and placed them in Basket Three, then Basket Two is now vacant and ready to become your new Basket One. Follow? (No? I'm confused too, I'll admit.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Onward!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now that we have addressed the constant rotation of baskets, it's down to the rules.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">1.) Barring any weird schedules or special needs, I only do laundry Monday through Friday. ONLY. As a matter of fact, this is how I try to do all of my chores. I figure that my household chores are my "job" and, just as Tim goes to work during the week and has the weekends free, I should be able to keep to the same schedule. Let me simply say that I LOVE THIS schedule. I love it mostly because every Friday afternoon I line up all three baskets, sort what remains of the folded laundry into them by location to be delivered (Annie & Tim, Boys, Towels) and put everything away. Then I take those lovely baskets, nestle them into each other, set them in the laundry room floor, close the door and I'M DONE. Call me crazy, but I cannot tell you how freeing it feels to close that door on this chore every Friday afternoon. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">2.) Some weeks I have a load going on every one of those days. Sometimes more than one. Sometimes none. It just depends on what's going on in the rest of our lives.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">3.) Socks. I hate folding socks. HATE HATE HATE. Thus? I keep a little basket (blast. I suppose this is basket #4. Which would make this a FOUR basket system. Now that <i>does</i> sound a little excessive.) that just holds socks. I call it the Sock Box. This box serves two purposes. It is used, primarily, to catch all of the socks that I cast aside while I'm in the laundry folding groove. Fold fold fold toss. Fold toss. Fold fold toss toss. Trust me. This saves A LOT of time. With every load of clean clothes I just toss toss toss those little sockies into the basket and don't give them another thought until Friday. Then, on that very last day, when everything is just about finished and I'm almost ready to deliver the lasted folded shirt, I pull out the Sock Box, sort by family member, fold, toss into their respective basket and I'm done. Trust me. One should only have to deal with socks once a week. The other purpose of the sock box, of course, is that it holds all of the strays, so either you have the matches or you don't but one way or another you know where they are. (I even go so far as to organizing the strays by family member and laying them in the bottom of the basket. Then I cover them with a little piece of fabric so that I'm not re-sorting mismatched socks every week. When I come across new strays each week then all I have to do is lift that little piece of fabric and I can instantly see whether or not there is a buddy waiting.) I know. It's a sickness.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'll admit that we've had some weeks here and there that the baskets have not made it all the way back to the laundry room on Friday afternoons. We've even had weeks where they've all just hung out in the dining room straight until Monday morning, but this system has enabled me to at least be on top of it enough that falling behind means just that - I'm just a little behind. Prior to this, "Falling Behind" meant someone better run out to Target to buy some new underwear for everyone because God only knows when the laundry will get done again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlT1GI24sLbvAFmO95KUemUxcVeAPVPWI4YAA-_RZ4M7mgElGLuRMZFQ5g1GfrgoCPChhbXK8MThuwW176E6WXkAqbdpTArMoe9xuCWn3iZ8_l48gU8Kxr33Rj2cIjfRj32AY9wzxH2R4Q/s1600/DSC00426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlT1GI24sLbvAFmO95KUemUxcVeAPVPWI4YAA-_RZ4M7mgElGLuRMZFQ5g1GfrgoCPChhbXK8MThuwW176E6WXkAqbdpTArMoe9xuCWn3iZ8_l48gU8Kxr33Rj2cIjfRj32AY9wzxH2R4Q/s320/DSC00426.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> The green basket on the left has since been replaced due to the fact <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: line-through;">that it did not match the others </span>that it had a big crack that kept pinching my fingers.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">In totally unrelated news, I made these for <a href="http://www.thesweetslife.com/2010/02/apple-cheddar-turkey-burgers.html">dinner tonight</a> and they were FABULOUS. Really. Make them. You won't be disappointed.</div><br />
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</span></span></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-15129069111036998002010-03-25T23:53:00.000-07:002010-03-26T00:00:35.831-07:00Of Note.Well look at that. Here we are about to enter Holy Week and it was JUST Ash Wednesday. Ah such is life. Busy. That's what life is. There has been much ado about EVERYTHING here at Chez Burps & Farts. Among which:<br />
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1.) My oldest son has finally decided that the only appropriate place to dispense his pee-pees is on the potty. OH YES. Last Tuesday, as I was kneeling down to get him dressed, I commented to him that his pull-up was dry. At that moment <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: line-through;">I</span> we decided that we should just try sitting on the potty to see what happens. And FOR ONCE OH MY GOSH YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW STUBBORN THIS KID IS he agreed. And he PEED! And then he peed again! And then we pulled out the big boy underwear that have been sitting in his drawer gathering dust for AGES and now he wears them every day. Each morning we sit together while he's on the potty (or the Pot-tay as we like to call it) and we look through every single pair of underwear that he owns to decide which character's face will grace that cute little bum today. He's doing remarkably well with all of this, even today going into the bathroom twice without my knowing to do his business. Why yes, my son is a superstar. We'll talk more later about the sheer DEVASTATION that occurs when we don't quite make it to the potty. It's heart-breaking really. Let's not discuss it.<br />
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2.) Son #2 has given up the paci. Well. Unbeknownst to him. We are on night four of Project No Paci and, THANK GOD, he's surviving. Monday morning he took it out to drink some juice and, instead of keeping it clutched in his sweaty little fist, handed it to me. So I did what any other horribly insensitive mother would do. I set it aside where he wouldn't see it. It wasn't my intention that it be set aside permanently, it's just that we've been trying to make a point to only let him have it for sleeping times, especially now that he's CHEWING HOLES THROUGH THEM. (On a weekly basis. This chewing the paci thing is getting to be an expensive habit.) And I'm afraid he's going to choke. But then I put him down for naptime and realized, as I was climbing the stairs to rejoin the land of the no-nappers, that I had forgotten to give it to him. When he actually SLEPT without it, I figured Hey, let's keep going. That night was the same. Super sleeper. No problem. Next day? Super nap. No problem. That night? SCREAMAGGEDON. Until midnight I'm not even kidding. While I was debriefing Tim the next morning we pondered whether it was because of the paci or something else. Okay, we figured it was the paci. But I wasn't about to give in yet. "Let's try it one more night," said I. And now here we are at Night Four. Super Awesome. And, I have to say, I haven't seen him with a paci in his mouth since Monday morning and you know what? He looks like such a different boy. Such a big boy. Let's all pause for a collective sigh over how big my baby Jake is getting.<br />
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3.) The sun has come out here in Northern California and thank God for that. This has been a hard winter, what with bringing home the new baby and all. There have been many a rainy day when I would have bundled the boys up and gone out or even played outside (or even in the garage) but you just can't take a newborn out like that. So we've been in the house a lot and that coupled with every other type of stress and exhaustion that comes with new babies has been wearing on me. I've been looking forward to spring and summer so much because it just feels like life will be easier then. Sure enough - the days we've spent outside this week have been awesome. The boys can spend hours digging in the dirt and running around after this ball or that. The weather, combined with that re-energizing that comes after making it through that "fourth trimester" and a few other things have led me to the point where I can feel life getting easier. And that's just what I've needed.<br />
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4.) Speaking of son #3. At four months old he is now spending a lot of his days smiling and laughing. And ROLLING OVER onto his side, and almost to his tummy. He's got the cutest little chuckle and the rolls on his legs are starting to get a little chunkier. While he did torture me for a little while with what I can only guess is a 4-month sleep regression, he is getting to be a better sleeper. I'm winding up right now to get him started on a daytime sleep schedule, although Chris wasn't a napper at all until he was five months old and I didn't even attempt with Jake until AT LEAST that long. So I'm not too concerned with it at this point. Chris and Jake have been super big brothers lately, always sitting next to him and trying to make him laugh or get him to stop crying. That alone makes my days easier. I love looking up and seeing them all sitting together in the family room. It drives my brain to ten years down the road when I'll have big floppy boys lounging in that same room, eating me out of house and home.<br />
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5.) I have been promising this recipe to people left and right without ever delivering on it. So here it is, JUST FOR YOU. My mother-in-law's super delicious chocolate bundt cake (bohn? Bonk? Oh!!! A Cake!!) Name the movie and I'll make the cake FOR you.<br />
1. Blend yellow cake mix with one 3-oz chocolate instant pudding packet and 1/2 c. sugar<br />
2. Add 3/4 c water and 3/4 c oil<br />
3. Add 4 previously beaten eggs<br />
4. Add 1c previously beaten sour cream<br />
5. Stir in 1/2 c (apparently some people measure their choc chips. not me.) choc chips.<br />
6. spray bundt and lightly dust with sugar<br />
7. Bake 45-55 min @ 350 degrees<br />
8. Before you pull it check to see if it jiggles. If it does PUT IT BACK. It's not ready.<br />
9. Before serving, dust some powdered sugar over the top.<br />
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6.) MMMMMMM. Trust me. MMMMMM. Now, <a href="http://hopefullyexpecting.blogspot.com/">Shelby</a> has made this cake and poured a ganache over the top, which I can only imagine was chocolate deliciousness covered in chocolate heaven. Especially if you don't measure the chocolate chips. Really, friends, the more chocolate chips the better. Just keep pouring. You won't be sorry. Another thing I've been wanting to try with this cake is to make it with a lemon (or yellow, I suppose) cake batter and white chocolate chips. I think that would probably be nice and light for spring. And you know, really good.<br />
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7.) Last. And certainly Least. For the last three weeks I have been TOTALLY CAUGHT UP on my laundry. Like, to the point where I'm finding myself looking around to find something (anything!) to make a full load. Don't you just hate me? Sorry. I'm just super proud of myself for being so on it. And I totally know that as we start spending more time outside this will all go to pot, so I have to mention it now. I credit my new Three Basket System, courtesy of the multi-hued laundry baskets that I just can't seem to stop buying at Target. I'd tell you more but I just finished writing a mile-long comment about this very thing over at <a href="http://justatitch.com/being-friendly/amy-vs-the-laundry/">Amy's</a> and I'm all laundried out. But let me just say for now - tomorrow I'll fold my last load of laundry FOR THE WEEK and then? Laundry room is CLOSED. Now that's what I call a nice weekend.<br />
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More Quick Takes<a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/"> here.</a>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-1035661921833074622010-02-17T23:19:00.000-08:002010-02-17T23:22:57.805-08:00Ash Wednesday. Again. Already.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Crèche - cave which houses a life size manger scene." hspace="5" src="http://www.franciscan.edu/imagebase/CampusLife/Chapel/creche.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-top: 10px; text-align: left;" vspace="5" width="310" /></div></span></span></span><br />
<div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, Arial, 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This life-sized creche was my favorite place on my university's campus - just sitting there in front of the Holy Family, pondering the beauty of that moment - the moment of the birth of our Lord. Gazing into the face of the Blessed Mother - so at peace. So humble. So loving. Examining the life of Saint Joseph - so strong. So courageous. And looking at that precious baby laying so innocently in the hay. I used to sit there, in the company of that Most Holy Family, and beg God to bless me with a family of my own. It was my life's dream. My heart's desire. The Virgin Mary was (and is) what and who I wanted to be. I've often said that what I want for my life is to "be" Mary to my own Joseph. To my own baby Jesus.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Perhaps if you're not a person of faith, this seems odd to you. It could seem odd even if you <i>ARE </i>one.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't know who designed this particular creche. I don't know if it was intentional or accidental. I don't know if others have seen in it what still strikes me. But on the back wall of the stable there is a beam that holds up the roof with a structural cross-beam attached. So when you sit there and gaze upon that sweet baby Jesus laying in the hay at the beginning of his earthly life you are instantly confronted with what will happen to him at the end of it. How powerful to gaze upon that sweet baby and SEE HIM up there on that cross - that precious baby who was born so that He could die.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't often think of Jesus in his child form. My Lord, my friend who I have come to know is Jesus the adult. Jesus the preacher. Jesus the friend. Jesus the story teller with the sarcastic flare and sharp wit. Jesus who healed the blind man. Jesus who wept at the death of his friends. Jesus the miracle worker. Jesus the forgiver. Jesus the prophet. Jesus the priest. Jesus the king.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">Jesus the victim. Jesus the sacrifice.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Today is Ash Wednesday. Catholics the world over have been walking around all day with big black smudges on their foreheads and non-Catholics have been looking at them quizzically trying to figure out why we can't all just wash our faces already. I love this day. I love the looks. I love the humility of it all. I love approaching the priest and having him say to me, </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Remember that you are dust and unto dust you shall return."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I use this season for the purpose of preparing my heart for the death of my friend and what that means for my soul. The thing is that now, and for the past three years, it is no longer just my soul that needs to be prepared. I now have three little souls whose (very heavy) weight rests on my shoulders. Today as I approached our priest for the blessing of these ashes, I carried my darling newly baptized baby in my arms. Perfect. Pure. Sinless.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Nathaniel, Love Jesus with all of your heart."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And as we walked back to our pew, I wasn't the only one with that big black cross on my forehead. I find that right now, as I type this, words fail me. (Not good, I realize, as I'm putting this all <i>in writing...</i>but let's face it. If I don't write it tonight it won't get written.) My eyes welled up with tears. My heart broke a little because, just as I would gaze upon that creche and see the dichotomy of that little baby resting in front of the instrument of his death, there in my arms was my little Innocent marked with the reality of his sinful fallen nature.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't know why it is that Lent has always been such a powerful season for me. I don't know why I can't make it through a reading of the Passion on Palm Sunday and Good Friday without tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. Part of it, of course, is that in my heart there has always been this deep abiding love for the person of Jesus and gratitude for his tremendous sacrifice that I so clearly, each and every day, do not deserve. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But you know what? Holding my Little Precious today? I made a discovery. Now, as a mother to my own boys, I walk through this season in the Mary's sandals. I hold in my heart those things that she pondered. Every night in my prayers I thank God for the gift of my children. I ask him to give me the graces to choose the right for them and the courage to raise them well for the time that he has entrusted them to my care, knowing that he chose to give them to me at a specific time and<i> for</i> a specific time. And that realization opens my heart even more to what it is that Mary experienced as she watched her own sweet baby endure the weight and the ramifications of my sin. Then my heart breaks a little more, as it ponders my role not only in the suffering of Jesus, but in that of Mary as well.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So this Lenten season, I will endure my chosen sacrifices. I will persevere in my added devotions. And as I walk hand-in-hand with my Lord on his journey to the cross, I will open my other hand to that of his mother and ask her to show me how all of this looked through <i>her</i> eyes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-36156659190202074562010-02-15T22:53:00.000-08:002010-02-16T16:23:10.257-08:00Jumping on the Food Blog Bandwagon.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the last couple of weeks, I have been the grateful recipient of dinner (and dessert!) help from the wise and wonderful world of Food Bloggers. I don't know why I haven't partaken of this wisdom before, but now that I have? I'm not going back! Today, for the second time in this month, <a href="http://feedyourinnerfatkid.blogspot.com/2010/01/chicken-tortilla-soup-in-crock-pot.html">dinner</a> was ready at 8am courtesy of my crockpot. And? FABULOUS. My in-laws were instant fans of <a href="http://feedyourinnerfatkid.blogspot.com/2007/11/recipes-from-kara.html">this cookie</a> that you should all run to your kitchens to assemble Right This Instant! And this <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2009/11/salted-brown-butter-crispy-treats/">grown-up version of rice crispy treats</a> has officially become the end of weight-loss as I know it.</span></span></span><br />
SO! When my dear <a href="http://barbetti.wordpress.com/">Whitney</a> (who I ate lunch right next to at The Blathering but only really have gotten to know after she went home to her own state) (WEEP) has asked for recipes because she is stuck. Stuck in a rut. Well, friend, ask and ye shall receive. Here is one of my favorites, courtesy of the Raley's "Something Extra" magazine that my mom snags for me every chance she gets.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">GUAJILLO CHICKEN</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Pictures would require scanning and, you know, <i>work. </i>My apologies.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">3 dried guajillo peppers, stems & seeds removed</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I've yet to actually FIND these, so I just use chipotle peppers)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">2 cups canned crushed tomatoes</div><div style="text-align: center;">3/4 cup chopped onion</div><div style="text-align: center;">1/2 cup low sodium chicken broth</div><div style="text-align: center;">2 cloves garlic</div><div style="text-align: center;">4 boneless skinless chicken breasts</div><div style="text-align: center;">2 T lime juice </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>mmm...zest them too...why not?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">1 tsp Garlic salt</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I never add salt to my recipes and it still tastes delicious</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>~~~~~~~~~~</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">1. Puree peppers, tomatoes, onion, broth & garlic in blender until not <i>too</i> smooth.</div><div style="text-align: center;">2. Transfer to md saucepan, bring to boil then simmer for 20 mins.</div><div style="text-align: center;">3. While simmering, rinse & dry chicken, sprinkle with lime juice and garlic salt</div><div style="text-align: center;">4. Grill chicken until mostly cooked through, brush liberally with sauce</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>**I brush a small amount on the chicken before cooking. If you do this, make sure to pour some sauce into a separate bowl so that you're not dipping your raw-chickened brush back into the sauce you'll use later.**</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">5. Remove from grill, place on platter & cover in remaining sauce</div><div style="text-align: center;">**<i>This sauce is HOT. Be nice to your friends and let them add their own extra sauce.**</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">6. Garnish with a little cilantro & lime wedges, serve with spanish rice.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">MMMMMM. TRUST ME. MMMMMM.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Take my word for it when I tell you that you should make a double batch of this. The next night, cook up some pasta and you've got a ready made <a href="http://www.wisegeek.com/what-is-arrabbiata-sauce.htm">arrabiata</a> sauce that won't disappoint.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-5470464569355485732010-01-25T21:38:00.000-08:002010-01-25T23:00:58.825-08:00All In A Day's Work. *updated with appropriate linkage*<div style="text-align: justify;">By the end of my pregnancy with Nate I was tired in ways that I hadn't experienced with the other two. I'm sure we can add up all of the factors: the house hunt, the closing process, the packing, the moving, the adjusting, the unpacking, and well, the gestating. Perhaps more than the physical exhaustion was the emotional one and, let's face it, I was just DOWN. Really TIRED. And really DONE WITH EVERYTHING. A sort of pre-partum depression, if you will. Honestly, by the end of a pregnancy you don't need to do anything beyond <i>wake up</i> to make you ready to get back in bed. So combine the whole Waking Up Thing with everything else and I was just plain overwhelmed. And sad when I would hear about how many wonderful Fall-type things my friends were doing with their days. Up early with comforting meals in the crock pot. Apple picking. Fall walks. It was really quite disgusting, to be honest with you. Just hearing about all of the things you were all doing was exhausting. I wondered where you got the energy. Where you got the desire.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now that I carry my baby outside of my body rather than within and I'm starting to feel more like myself, I'm finally taking the opportunity to do all of those things and have a busy day that doesn't result in the bottom half of my legs ballooning to three-times their size. And so, without further ado, I present to you:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Things I Did Today Because I Can Function Like A Normal Person:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><br />
<ul><li style="text-align: justify;">Hung three pictures on guest bathroom wall</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Hung two pictures in our bedroom</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Talked to my mom. Twice.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Talked to my mother-in-law. Twice.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Talked to my Nonna. Twice.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Called Comcast (again) and politely explained to them that after FOUR service calls last week our telephone issue was still not resolved and now our cable box was broken and no I would not bring the cable box in because it's only been here for 8 weeks and is therefore brand new and should not be broken and I have three babies at home and it's raining outside and PERHAPS Comcast could show a little customer service and have the guy who is coming AGAIN to fix the phones just fix the cable while he's here because he is trained to do so and that's his job.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Told Comcast Guy (still politely) (but much more sternly) (to put it lightly) that no tomorrow morning was not acceptable and that if the first guy had just done it right we wouldn't be having this conversation and that if the third guy (who actually was the first guy again) hadn't decided to leave immediately upon arrival on Saturday night with the promise that he'd come back Monday morning actually CAME BACK MONDAY MORNING then, again, we wouldn't be having this conversation. And thus scheduled ANOTHER service call for tonight. During the dinner hour. Again.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Printed out the remainder of Nathaniel's baptism invitations.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Made lunch for my family. And, not surprisingly, ate lunch alone at the table after everyone else was finished.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Put Jake down for his nap. (Always easy. Always want to stay in his room and hide just a little longer.)</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Stuffed envelopes and found addresses off of whitepages.com because I STILL CANNOT FIND MY ADDRESS BOOK while nursing Nate.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Plopped Christopher on the counter while I made <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/old-time-beef-stew-recipe/index.html">Paula's Beef Stew</a>, peeled potatoes and set them in water for boiling and mashing, crushed garlic, brushed bread and set aside for broiling garlic toast, and made my mother-in-law's most delicious chocolate bundt cake EVER. (All by 2:30)</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Switched the laundry, put away clothes.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Called the salesman from Macy's (because he said he'd call me today and it was 4:30 and I felt like he was avoiding me) to see when our new chairs would be delivered.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Told him that I was disappointed, but understood, that <a href="http://www1.macys.com/catalog/product/index.ognc?ID=252375&PseudoCat=se-xx-xx-xx.esn_results">MY chair</a> would not be delivered until AFTER I have 50 people at my son's baptism reception because he made a mistake and misread his computer screen.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Complained to Tim that <a href="http://www1.macys.com/catalog/product/index.ognc?ID=432505&PseudoCat=se-xx-xx-xx.esn_results">HIS chair</a> would be here next week but mine would not.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Complained to my mother-in-law that Tim's chair would be here next week but mine would not. (Okay so maybe I talked to her THREE times.) </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Told BOTH Tim and his mom that, no, I didn't want to call the manager and complain in an effort to get my furniture here when it had been promised because REALLY I have more important concerns in the next two weeks and is a CHAIR really that big of a deal and besides, what can you do?</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Ultimately agreed with both of them that the answer to "so what can you do?" is "GET MY CHAIR HERE ON TIME."</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Told Tim that I had dealt with enough service calls and managers and blah blah blah in the past week so if he wanted the chair here HE could call and complain and I would support him 100% but I just was not going to do it myself.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Listened in awe as my husband left a very diplomatic message on Macy's Guy's voicemail. (We'll see what comes of that.)</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Invited my sister-in-law over for dinner.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Tested all the phone lines in the house with the comcast guy and they actually work. For now.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Cleaned up dinner.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Put all four Troy men to sleep. (Seriously. Tim is out like a light too.)</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Had my first date with Jillian since I found out I was pregnant with Nate.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">And, you know, wrote this.</li>
</ul><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Whew! It sure is good to be back!<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">-<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-16120911011390206892010-01-21T22:35:00.000-08:002010-01-21T22:35:25.500-08:00Sure Target Has Moved On To Valentine's And Summer, But I'm still Back At Christmas.<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today I was sitting in the play room, gazing upon my still-stacked-high-with-Christmas-stuff dining room table and lamenting to my mom about how much I hate our dining set. Perhaps, I told her, I would hate it a little less if it weren't taunting me with its resident mess that should have been packed up weeks ago. </span><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. My mom, in her loveliness, told me not to worry. She said she'll help me pack everything up while she's here visiting and then maybe when I can SEE the dining room set we can figure out how to make it so that I LIKE it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She's a smart lady, my mom. You see, the issue of my frustration today had really </span><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">nothing</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> to do with the dining set (which, really. I really dislike it. REALLY.) And more to do with the fact that I just can't get that Christmas stuff out of the way. It's not getting done. It's there. It's looming. I should do it and I can't. JUST. CAN'T.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I were looking for a way to describe how this Christmas was for us, that sentiment nails it. This was the Christmas of "I just can't get it done." I think what it comes down to is that we were SO looking forward to the holidays this year. We had our new baby. We had our new big, beautiful home. We wanted to decorate. We wanted to make it magical. And, you know, maybe somewhere in there we'd fit in a little bit of Holy too. That's the important part, right? Don't forget The Holy. </span><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Riiiiiight</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. HOLY. Jesus is the reason for the season and all that. To be honest, this Christmas blew past me so blasted fast that if I were to put on paper my mental calendar of the past few months, it would go straight from Thanksgiving to today. It CHAPS MY HIDE that this was our reality - that there was no Advent this year - but that's how it happened.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Make no mistake - our Christmas was lovely. But it was fast. It was exhausting. And? Many parts of it were a chore. Getting the Christmas tree. Putting it up. Decorating it. You name it, it was on the To Do List just waiting to be scratched off. Just so we could say it was done.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We have our own little traditions that we're putting in place for the boys, among which include my in-laws joining us for breakfast on Christmas morning so that they can see the boys open the presents that Santa has brought. Once gifts were opened and little people were distracted, I sat down with my coffee and my mother-in-law to enjoy a nice visit. She began telling me how, the day before, she had turned off the TV entirely. She knew that Christmas day would be too hectic to truly meditate and recognize Christ's birth, so she did it the day before.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Truly meditate on Christ's birth. Attempt to comprehend the love behind the Incarnation. Ponder what humility came with that Divine Condescension. I can't remember the last time that I had that privilege...that I made that time for myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Days later, in the car by myself, I found myself reflecting on this conversation. The time goes, I realized, we'll be deep into the season of Lent. Another penitential season. Another time of preparation, this time for the holiest days of the year. Another season that, if I'm not careful, will blow past me with little more observation than a few meatless Fridays. In considering these two holy holy seasons, I became frustrated by the fact that (especially now that I have children) they always seem to just pass me by. Sure, I make efforts to recognize the seasons, but year after year they pass before I even realize what's going on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I cruised down the highway that day, I began to get a little down on myself. My spiritual life is so different now than it was as a single person, most specifically as a college student living on a campus where you were inundated with holiness. There was no escaping it, no ignoring it. During those years I found it nearly impossible to be too busy to pray, too distracted to meditate, too tired to devote myself to the observance of the life of my Lord. I wondered how I could be a good example to my children in what is TRULY important when, this year, I couldn't even get it together enough to finish the superficial stuff.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As my mind drifted on to my sweet little boys - those little Men In Progress whose souls have been entrusted to me - I started to fret about how in the world I will be able to adequately mold those souls when most of the time I feel like my own is barely hanging on. How can I show them the holiness of Christmas and the love of Good Friday when my own daily prayer consists mostly of a frantic glance at my crucifix and a whispered, "Help me, Lord! Hold me up, Blessed Mother!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the verge of despair, a little angel must have whispered in my ear. Nudged me with a gentle reminder of what a priest friend of ours said to me not long ago. He said, "parenthood is not a contemplative vocation." Thank God for guardian angels whispering in ears! It's true, isn't it? Every once in a while when I make it to daily Mass, I always marvel at the fact that I can sit and listen to a homily from start to finish with no distractions. No one squirming. No one falling off the pew. No one putting stickers up and down my arms or rearranging the missals and hymnals. Right now, what makes me holy is the daily sacrifice of being Christopher's mommy. It's the tenderness with which I hold Jake THE WHOLE ENTIRE TIME I'M COOKING DINNER just because he still wants to be my baby and it's one of the few times I'm not holding his new baby brother. My holiness comes in the exhaustion from staying up all night with newborn Nathaniel who thinks sleeping is for babies. Er...well...you know what I mean.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I didn't understand in the conversation with my mother-in-law is that she has a privilege that I do not simply because of the season of life in which she currently resides. That is not my season. Not yet. Mine is one in which she has already lived, and through it, she has earned her contemplative time. My time will come. Until then, my holiness is to be found (as a </span><a href="http://www.katewicker.com/"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">blogger</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> who I'm continually learning from says) "in the trenches of motherhood." That is where my soul resides and where my children will learn all of those things for which their souls thirst.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But in the meantime? I have GOT to put away those Christmas decorations.</span>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-22032095706313648462010-01-04T21:40:00.001-08:002010-01-23T21:44:23.812-08:00I Do Believe We're Due For A Rant From My (Self) Righteous Soapbox.Several years ago (back when I was young and carefree, living in San Diego with my <a href="http://hopefullyexpecting.blogspot.com/">fabulous roommate</a>) there was a notepad-sized piece of yellow paper affixed to my bathroom mirror on which was A List. The List contained bits and pieces of conversations with others that, when taken out of context, could be deemed as nothing better than completely inappropriate for mixed company. Or any company, for that matter. One of the items on said List was spoken by yours truly, and I believe it said something to the effect of:<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>"You know, Shelby. You should really try to be more like me."<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Ha! I remember exactly where I was when I said that. And I remember it being added to The List almost immediately as it really was said in jest. Who can remember the original context? Not I. And that's not what's important here. What's important is that, lately, this has really come back to haunt me. The difference? Now I'm dead serious.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>I said it to Tim the other day. "You know, my life would be SO MUCH EASIER if people would just think the way that I do and then BEHAVE PROPERLY." Being the loving, obliging husband that he is, he agreed with me and we moved on. (I married a <i>very</i> smart man.) I'll admit that I did feel a bit snobbish after uttering (okay SPEWING IN FRUSTRATION) these words and figured that perhaps I should examine my own self before declaring myself Miss Manners And Good Behavior. So, after a good deal of self-reflection, I've figured it out. It's not that I wish people would think more like me (well. okay. I do, really. But read on.) but rather that I feel as though the ways that I think and the manner in which I behave are deeply rooted in common sense. And common courtesy.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Two things that, frankly (and I don't care if you're name's not Frank.) aren't that common anymore. <br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>CASE IN POINT:<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Today I filled my car up with three sick, almost sick, and very sick little boys for an impromptu visit to the pediatrician. Christopher has been alternately hacking up his left and then his right lung for a week now, Jake started in with the cough yesterday, and little Nate is on day three of the saddest sounding little cough you've ever heard. It was one of those mornings that I was watching the clock hit 9:00 so that I could call to get the in as early as possible; and yet, I was dreading this call as well. DREADING talking to the receptionist who has never gotten a single appointment scheduled correctly for me. Never. (Honestly, I'd rather pull out my own teeth than deal with this woman.) (I'm sure she's a lovely person, but she can't schedule an appointment to save her life.) (Really.) Lucky me, I called the advice line and when the nurse did end up recommending that we come in, she scheduled me herself.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>I will be doing all of my scheduling through the advice line from now on. One way or another I'll find an excuse to do it.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>When we arrived for our 10:30 appointment at 10:28 (!!!!ontimewiththreekids!!!!) I had the boys wait outside the door while I popped my head in to say that we were there. They have a sign on the door requesting that any families with flu-like symptoms come in through the back door, and while I was confident the boys don't have the flu, I also didn't want to get any of the other babies in the waiting room sick. (See? Common Sense! Common Courtesy!) Unfortunately for me, of the two receptionists, the only one at the desk was She Who Cannot Schedule. And, no surprise, she was dealing with another mom and clearly was in the middle of Something Confusing. (I will refrain from commenting on the "confusing" in the interest of being charitable. Mmmkay?)<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Clearly she was busy. So, I made eye-contact and then closed the door and stood outside the window in the cold with my three snot-faced babies. Certainly they could hear the coughing from inside. Moms with kids went in. Dads with babies came out. Everyone exchanging pleasantries. "Oh what a cute baby! He's just a week older than ours!" "Oh thank you for waiting for the other door. We really appreciate it." "Oh there's another door? I didn't even know!" (First timer.)<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Did I mention that it was cold outside? Did I mention that my kids were sick? Did I mention that Receptionist SAW US STANDING OUT THERE as I repeatedly stuck my head in the door?<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>I was getting angrier and angrier with each passing minute. I really felt that it would be wrong to take my germ-laden kids into the waiting room where they could get the other kids sick. But you know what? MY KIDS <b>ARE</b> SICK AND THEY'RE STANDING OUT IN THE COLD. What a conundrum. Finally, Receptionist Who Gets Things Done, returned to the desk. It was 10:35. All I had to do was say hello before she knew who we were and was hopping back out of her chair to run over to the back door to let us in out of the cold. You see, friends? Common Sense. Common Courtesy. Sick kids inside a warm doctor's office.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>WHY ARE THESE THINGS SO HARD FOR SOME PEOPLE TO FIGURE OUT?<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>This whole common sense thing has been nagging at my brain for the past couple of weeks. It didn't just start today with my poor little children standing out in the cold with snot icicles dangling from their noses. The pressure is starting to build within me, though, and I'm afraid that my Common Sense volcano is going to erupt one of these days just because someone leaves an empty glass on the counter rather than putting it in the empty sink. <br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Ah, pet peeves. Aren't they delightful? What are yours?<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>*****<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>By the way, we came out of that visit $90.00 poorer, but three kids healthier. Chris has a cold along with his first ear infection and a prescription for Bubble Gum Medicine (amoxycillin), Jake's already downed his second dose of cough medicine, and little Nate was sent home with a nebulizer with saline solution that steams up in his face and makes it look like he's taking a little smokey tokey. Hey, you have to find the humor in this somewhere, right?<br />
</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-25574261910837120542009-12-28T22:40:00.000-08:002009-12-28T23:44:59.917-08:00So Much For Installments...It's time to be done with this whole "birth story in installments" thing. I'm just too infrequent a poster to actually make that happen. So let's get on with it.<div><br /></div><div>We woke up bright and early on the 12<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> with Christopher asleep between us in our bed. This is nothing new - he's been showing up a lot since we moved to the new house. It's a disruption, and often it's frustrating, but the good thing is that when we wakes up (even the very first night we were here) he just gets out of his bed, runs down the hallway and up the stairs, and just climbs right in. No crying or screaming from his bed requiring us to make that journey in reverse. So we have to keep the complaining to a minimum. Anyway. As frustrating as the day and night before had been, the morning came early but went smoothly. Chris did wake up before we left, allowing me to take a couple of photos with him - cute ones too, as he showcased his little tiny belly right alongside my big huge one. (You know we don't do photos here, but you can see the evidence of this on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">facebook</span>.) Jake was still sleeping and, to be honest, it was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">heart wrenching</span> for me to leave without saying goodbye to him. But leave we did.</div><div><br /></div><div>Checking in and getting settled at the hospital was a breeze, and before I knew it I was all gowned up and resting comfortably in my bed waiting for the variety of nurses and doctors to come and give me all of the info necessary for the day. I felt calm and comfortable. This c-section thing really is old hat by now. The one thing that did have my blood pressure on the rise was the prospect of having the IV placed. Last time it took four nurses FIVE separate attempts to get that thing in. As a matter of fact, they had to call an anesthesiologist to get the job done. It was AWFUL. So when the nurse came in this time I pulled that whole "be your own advocate" thing and told her, in no uncertain terms, that we were not doing THAT again. She was awesome. So awesome that she immediately called in the nurse on the floor who she considered The Best at this whole IV thing. And you know what? She really was The Best. No problems whatsoever.</div><div><br /></div><div>With that done, I thought my worries were behind us. I had been informed from the very start that my 10am reservation in the OR had been postponed, as they'd had an emergency c-section early in the morning, bumping the 8am and therefore bumping me. No big deal. I've been the girl having the emergency c-section and bumping the others out. What goes around comes around. They told me we'd be leaving my room for the OR at 10:55. "They" being this awesome nurse...<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">hmmm</span> what was her name? Oh yes, NANCY. I LOVE NANCY. She must have been about 65. She was tough. But not scary tough. She was one of those nurses who knew what she was doing, (she was training a nursing student and every other word out of her mouth was "this is how you have to do it. It's not how *I* do it, but this is protocol and this is how you do it." <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Hmm</span>. I suppose that sounds bad now, but it was just because she has been doing this for so long that there are things that she just KNOWS you know?) had the tender heart of a nurse, but also had a sense of humor that could carry you through any anxiety that you might have.</div><div><br /></div><div>So. They were supposed to come get me at 10:55. At 10:50 Nancy pops her head in and says that it looks like we're going to be delayed again. There was a girl down the hall who had been laboring all night, was 100% dilated and effaced and blah blah blah, had been pushing for however long, but the baby just wasn't coming. They were going to take her in and get the baby out pronto. My heart fell for that girl. How horrible to make it that far. To work THAT hard and then to have to go into the OR. I know how that feels - actually, I don't. I didn't get nearly as far as she did. With Christopher I only got to 6cm before they took me, and I was STILL frustrated. So they took her and that was fine with me. I had my IV. I had my husband and my mom with me. I had my cell phone keeping me connected to all of my lovely friends sending me encouraging texts and tweets. No worries. No worries at all.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then my doctor came in. For the record, he came in with a Starbucks in his hand. To a fasting <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">pre</span>-op pregnant mama who is already having to sit there and watch her husband gobble down a fresh donut, this was torture. And I told him so. As it turns out, I know NOTHING about torture.</div><div><br /></div><div>His first words as he walked in the door? "We're screwed." He began explaining about the scheduling problems that had taken place that morning and how we just keep getting bumped and bumped. He went on to tell me that he didn't know if we'd be able to "do this today." The fact that it was only 11:00 had me a bit baffled, and I told him so. His response? "But I'm going to the 49er game."</div><div><br /></div><div>OH YES HE DID.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I have to tell you that this did not come out of thin air. He had told us at my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">pre</span>-op appointment the day before that he was going to the game. He even made some kind of comment about how he hoped the hospital was running on time because of said game. </div><div><br /></div><div>I THOUGHT HE WAS KIDDING. </div><div><br /></div><div>HE WAS NOT KIDDING.</div><div><br /></div><div>So there he is telling us about this game and I swear to you this was one of those times when if looks could kill he was lucky that we were in a hospital. Between me, Tim, and my mom it's really a miracle that the guy was still standing for the daggers shooting across the room. I don't remember the whole conversation at this point, but I do know that I asked him if he was going to send me home or if I'd stay over night. To be honest, neither was really an option in my mind, but the thought of going home and living the entire Day Before The Surgery AGAIN was already making me want to pull out every single hair on my head one by one. The answer, of course, was that YES HE WOULD be sending me home.</div><div><br /></div><div>I looked at Tim. He's always the one I look to when the truth needs to be spoken. He is my support. He is my advocate. He is the one who is not afraid to ruffle any feathers. He asked the doctor how long this c-section was really going to take, knowing that the game wasn't going to be starting any time too soon. "Aren't they pretty quick?" we asked him. It's pretty well known in our hospital (as I'd been told many times that morning...as well as during my previous hospital stays) that my doctor is not only an excellent surgeon, but that he is also remarkably fast in the operating room. He runs a tight ship. He doesn't mess around. He gets the job done. So his response to our question was, "well, MY c-sections are pretty fast, but I'm not the one doing the c-section."</div><div><br /></div><div>And then my brilliant husband spoke up and TOLD him that he'd be assisting with this first surgery to ensure that I could get in for mine. Okay. Well. He didn't really TELL him the way I made it sound, but he did it in his only gentle way that I knew exactly what he meant but the doctor didn't get pissed off and send us home immediately. He left us saying that he would go and offer to assist the other doctor, thereby hurrying things up a bit, so that we could meet our boy today.</div><div><br /></div><div>When Nancy came to check on us several minutes later, I asked her if I was going to be having a baby that day. She had seen him heading toward the OR but knew nothing beyond that. I took that to be a good sign while she went to find out whatever she could. When she finally returned, she walked into the room quickly with a Strictly Business look on her face. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Let's go." She said.</div><div><br /></div><div>HOORAY!!!!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>She put my little blue <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">grippy</span> socks on my feet, wrapped a blanket around my naked bum, and off we went to the operating room. For those of you who have not had the experience of walking yourself into your own surgery, let me just say that it is one of the most surreal experiences of your life. I've had three c-sections, two of which I have walked myself into that room. It's so casual - you walk all the time, you know? Walk to the park. Walk to the mailbox. Walk to the kitchen. Walk into a completely sterile room where they will paralyze you from the waist down, cut into your abdomen and remove a new person from your body. No big deal, really.</div><div><br /></div><div>RIGHT. NO BIG DEAL.</div><div><br /></div><div>I left Tim and my mom in the hallway, and Nancy brought me to the operating table. My memory of doing this with Jake was so much different than what I experienced this time. With Jake, everything was ready. I went in, they gave me my shot while I cried into the nurse's shoulder, they laid me down and got me ready, Tim came in, Jake came out. This time, I suppose because that room had seen so much action already, nothing was prepared. I sat there on the operating table for at least ten minutes while I watched the different nurses and technicians set everything up. I find it surprising (even looking back after the fact) that it was not nearly as nerve-wracking as one would think. I sat there and studied the room around me, looking at all of the supplies that lined the walls, asking questions about what's this and what's that, watching the tools being laid out and the baby station being set up. It was rather fascinating. My doctor came in and HE was the one who had me curl into his shoulder while they gave me my spinal. He chatted with me the whole time and even though I was still remarkably PISSED OFF with him, he made me feel comfortable in the situation. After all, he was the only person in the room who I'd known for longer than a couple of hours, so I figured it was better to be appreciative of his presence than anything else. After all, we'd passed the point of no return. I was definitely having a baby that day.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once they got me all set up and pulled that curtain up over my face, Tim came in. It made me cry to see him. Suddenly, I was anxious. It's such a strange experience - I know I've said that before, but it really is. Being awake to hear all of the Doctor Speak, to feel the tugging and pulling, to hear the suction, to smell the cauterizing. Ugh. There is a reason I'm not a nurse.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then. All of a sudden. THE SQUAWKING.</div><div><br /></div><div>If I wasn't crying already, it definitely started at that moment when I heard that very tiny but very loud SQUAWK. I remember looking at Tim and asking if he could see him. I remember waiting to hear FOR SURE that "It's a boy!" I remember my doctor saying, "he looks good, Anne" just as he's done twice before. I remember being aware this time that I could not stop crying. Sobbing. There was nothing I could do to stifle my sobs. Nor did I have any interest in doing so.</div><div><br /></div><div>Although I couldn't see over the curtain, I was aware of the fact that they were carrying my little Nathaniel over to my right to where the baby station was set up and in the flurry of activity taking place around my own table I suddenly heard a hearty laugh spread throughout the room. I knew what happened because my Jake had done the same thing. I looked at Tim and asked, "did he pee?" Boy did he. He peed all over that operating room. I joined in the laughter in between my sobs.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nancy pulled the curtain away just enough that I could see that little slimy naked baby. They held him up and there he was. My boy. My Nathaniel. My baby who looked EXACTLY like his oldest brother....except for the fact that he weighed nearly three pounds less. Yes, my friends, THREE POUNDS. Weighing in at 7lbs, 14oz, little Nate had the stats of his brother Jake and the face of his brother Chris. A true combination.</div><div><br /></div><div>I could not take my eyes from him. And I could not stop the sobbing.</div><div><br /></div><div>I cried more with this delivery than, I think, I did with either of the other boys. Don't get me wrong - there were tears shed with my big boys. Lots and lots of tears. But these were different These were cries of joy, of course, but I think the real cause of the tears was relief. This was a hard pregnancy that ended with so much activity and so much "to do" that I felt like now we could finally get on with things. We could finally just start loving our boy.</div><div><br /></div><div>They let me hold him before they took him off to the nursery for all of his tests. "Hold" is really a relative term when you're strapped down to that operating table and you've got narcotics screaming through your system. The nurse laid that little hat-wearing burrito on my chest while Tim held him in place. And I kissed him. And I cried. And I remembered, once again, that any anxiety I had over how to love ANOTHER one wasn't worth any of the time that I'd wasted on it. I loved him. Plain and simple. Son number three hasn't pushed the other two out of the way. He doesn't take more love from me at the expense of the others. He just slides right into place, filed in my heart next to his two brothers and his daddy. Right where he'll always be, and really, right where he always has been.</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-12371290249549514002009-12-14T23:26:00.001-08:002009-12-15T00:07:36.341-08:00You Should Have Known I Wouldn't Be Back In Just One Day (aka Nate's birth story, part deux)Ah friends. Let's see...where did I leave off? That's right - I didn't really start. So let's get this party started.<div><br /></div><div>The craziness of the move and move-in was eased when my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Mommy</span> arrived on the 9<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">th</span>. I cannot express to you the joyful anticipation with which I awaited her arrival. I felt like once she got here everything would just get easier. And you know what? It did. We still had a lot of stuff to get out of the townhouse, and my intention had been to turn in the keys the next day. But it just wasn't happening. And I was EXHAUSTED. And cranky. (I know. Imagine that.) Everyone was telling me to take it easy. To not push so hard. To stop with the moving already and let everyone else finish up the job. The problem with this is that I am a little bit freaky over letting go of control. Okay. Perhaps more than "a little bit." A lot bit, okay? A REALLY REALLY LOT BIT. So I pushed and pushed - pushed myself, pushed my family - to get everything finished by this arbitrary, self-imposed deadline. I was probably driving everyone crazy but if there's one thing I've finally learned about myself through this process is that Being In Control = My Crack. Seriously. I'm addicted and I need to stop it. I didn't realize this, of course, until I was talking to<a href="http://hopefullyexpecting.blogspot.com/"> Shelby</a> and sharing with her a bit of my frustration over "everyone" not following my commands. Perhaps I mentioned that I have a hard time not being in control. And, just perhaps, Shelby's response was a knowing "I KNOW you do."</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Hmmm</span>. Now that can get a girl thinking. When your best friend confirms something that you really just said jokingly, and does so with that tone in her voice that tells you that this just might be One Of Those Things. (You know what I'm talking about. One of Those Things that you need to <i>work on</i> about yourself.) You'd better do it. Blast. But! I heard it in her voice and it finally clicked! I finally understood - I had done ENOUGH. It was <i>okay</i> to ask everyone else to do the rest. So I did! And that was, by far, the most freeing moment of the entire experience. Simply lovely. I let go. I never went back to that townhouse. I gave Tim all of the keys and I erased it from my brain. Simply <i>lovely</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now I tell you all that simply to say that, even having let go of the entire experience, the night before I went in to the hospital I was still beyond exhausted. I had been hoping that my last day as a mom of two would be relaxing. That I would have time to just prepare myself - mentally, physically, emotionally. Perhaps I'd actually pack my hospital bag. Maybe I'd get a few things in order at home. I could have a leisurely meal with my family. I could talk to some friends. I could write out some instructions for my mom and sister-in-law who would be doing the bulk of the babysitting.</div><div><br /></div><div>Uh, yeah. Right.</div><div><br /></div><div>At this point I don't remember what filled up that day. But I remember that it was busy. I remember that the Little People were very VERY needy. I remember that my mom was buzzing around here like a bee getting things put away (we were deep in the midst of kitchen set-up that week) and while that was helpful, I've learned that what I really needed her to do was to help me by taking the boys so that I could handle my own stuff. (This is a post for another time, but the whole experience really did teach me that when someone is helping you, it really is okay to clearly articulate what YOU need...rather than just being grateful that they're helping at all. AND I actually did get to the point where I did it. AND!!! It works. Imagine that.) I remember that Tim was busy working, knowing that he, too, was going to be out of commission for the next few days. I remember that the phone was ringing OFF THE HOOK. Friends and family members checking in, wishing me good luck, assuring me of their prayers.</div><div><br /></div><div>By the time dinner, bath and bedtime were upon us, I was DONE. And, yet, "done" wasn't an option. I still hadn't packed. I still hadn't made my lists, which was particularly troubling because I KNEW that my mom and sister-in-law were kind of hanging out waiting for some instruction from me that I hadn't been able to provide for them. Hadn't even been able to THINK about. And unfortunately, having the baby STILL felt like just another item on the To Do List.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think we had finally gotten Christopher to sleep, or at least snuggled in with my mom, when my dear college roommate called from Toronto to check in. As soon as I saw her name on the caller ID the tears started to flow. I cried because I was exhausted. I cried because I was frustrated. I cried because I was nervous. But most of all, I cried because I knew that <i>she knew</i> EXACTLY what I was going through. (She has four girls of her own....and she didn't get the luxury of scheduling a labor-free c-section at the end of all of <i>her</i> pregnancy exhaustion.) As always, she calmed me, encouraged me, and made me laugh. My closest girlfriends always seem to call at the perfect time. How is that?</div><div><br /></div><div>By the time I hung up the phone, my little Jake was asleep on my bed next to me. It was, by far, the easiest bedtime he'd had since we moved in. (I should have talked to all of my girlfriends that week - boy would it have spared me some bedtime frustration!) Although I was calmed, the stress and the drama of the overall day continued well into the night. It was a challenging and frustrating day to the very minute that I fell asleep. And, just as it was the night before Jake's birth, I laid in my bed in joyful anticipation of meeting my new son coupled with the recognition that I'd be leaving my two big boys behind and when I returned life would never be the same for us. We'd never be our little family of four again and there were going to be some big transitions to deal with.</div><div><br /></div><div>And! Most of all? I lay there PRAISING GOD for the fact that, for the next four days I would not be responsible for a single thing in the whole wide world. And THAT, my friends, helped me to sleep <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">veeerrrryyy</span> soundly.</div><div> </div><div>**Next Time: Clearly The San Francisco 49ers Are More Important Than My Baby.**</div><div><br /></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-39202682907837794742009-11-30T21:57:00.001-08:002009-12-08T21:53:41.888-08:00Now That I've Finally Sat Down To Type This, Someone Will Start Crying Or My Battery Will Die. TRUST ME. (Also, now, Nate's Birth Story: Part One.)It's December. Effective tomorrow, it's December. <div><br /></div><div>Thanksgiving has passed us by, as have the move and the birth...(well, hey, would you look at that. CRYING. Will be back to finish this post in a week or so.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Sure enough. It IS a week or so later and here I am, listening to my little Nate scuffling in his chair next to my bed (don't even get me started on the possibility of sleeping in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pak</span>-n-play...or sleeping in the chair for that matter...) threatening to wake up and need me. And, thus, keep me from writing this post YET AGAIN. It's not that I have ZERO time to sit down and write his story. It's <i>certainly not </i>that I have zero INTEREST in writing his story. It's just that by the time we get the big boys to bed (it's still hard for me to believe that Jacob is now a "big boy") and I get the kitchen cleaned up from dinner the time that I have to work on this little critter's Christmas stocking becomes less and less. And THAT project actually has a deadline. All that to say, thanks for being patient.</div><div><br /></div><div>At any rate....here we go.</div><div><br /></div><div>First, let me just say that I take my hat off to those of you who actually have babies the normal way. Having a planned c-section takes a lot of the stress out of the waiting, for sure, but it also is SO EASY. I'm sure that there are many graces that God gives to you when having a baby (regardless of which way that baby comes out) but by the time The Night Before The Big Day was upon us, all I could think was "I don't know how anyone could go through labor and delivery after all of this." I was SO. TIRED. I was SO. EMOTIONAL. Plain and simple, I was exhausted. Granted, we were still in the process of moving into a new house, but even setting that aside I just don't know how you all do it.</div><div><br /></div><div>My biggest concern amidst all of the busy-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ness</span> of Project House and Project Baby was that the house would be so all-consuming that we'd get to the point where having the baby was just another thing to be crossed off on the to-do list. In the grand scheme of things, that second project is so much more important than the first and I didn't want to <i>lose</i> it, you know? As it turns out, I did kind of lose it...but it didn't really matter all that much. Because I was still there. I still remember everything. And? Because I still get this little baby FOREVER. God has entrusted this precious soul to me and even though the circumstances surrounding his birth were hectic, the rest of his life is before us. THAT is what is important to me. THAT is what I'm thankful for.</div><div><br /></div><div>That said, I think I'm going to take a lesson from <a href="http://ennorath.typepad.com/arwens_blog/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Arwen</span></a> and stop here. Let me do this in little bits...smaller chunks of writing = smaller blocks of time (for me and for you!) = more time for me to change a certain <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">someone's</span> diaper. (I'm beginning to sense a certain aroma wafting up past my nose.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow: The Night Before The Party.</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-22349246109151819662009-11-07T16:23:00.001-08:002009-11-08T23:59:33.238-08:00The Calm Between The Storms<div>Six weeks ago I had two items on my pre-baby To Do List. One: make Baby's Christmas Stocking. Two: Complete this years Christmas Shopping. The logic was simple - having a baby six weeks before Christmas would completely erase those next six weeks in terms of Getting Things Done. And, as you know, Getting Things Done before Christmas is quite a task. I figured the task was easy enough - take the stocking from looking like this:</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjNJY_hm9wbFvEhQ19NCYJ8Wl9wc7hlyoP-kqXrL1BXpi13OQpuJwhzCBpC8uDdlLouY_Q3NeIQEtadMRWiDJUrHd9TAtfqXyfaVJSzdvo64E7DfqKW6p9iK6aqT1EpfbFYkFfcCHNEkvX/s1600-h/DSCF6955.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjNJY_hm9wbFvEhQ19NCYJ8Wl9wc7hlyoP-kqXrL1BXpi13OQpuJwhzCBpC8uDdlLouY_Q3NeIQEtadMRWiDJUrHd9TAtfqXyfaVJSzdvo64E7DfqKW6p9iK6aqT1EpfbFYkFfcCHNEkvX/s320/DSCF6955.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402005311703161250" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">to looking something like these:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><a href="file:///photo.php?pid=1772368&id=722926652" id="myphotolink" style="cursor: pointer; color: rgb(59, 89, 152); text-decoration: none; "><img src="http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2115/244/114/722926652/n722926652_1772367_1526.jpg" id="myphoto" style="border-top-width: 1px; border-right-width: 1px; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-width: 1px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-right-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-bottom-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-left-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); cursor: pointer; " /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My life was so much simpler back when I made Christopher's stocking. I knew it would be a project...didn't know HOW MUCH of a project I was looking at, though. My mom had made our Christmas stockings, and when I found kits similar to what she 'd done for us, I knew I had to do the same for our boys. Turns out that they're a liiiitle more intricate these days. And boy do they take a lot of time to complete! As life would have it, by the time I started working on it my little newborn was in a lovely pattern of being asleep by 9pm for three or four hours. At that point, I'd flip on that night's Hallmark Channel Christmas Movie and get to work. I got in nearly two hours of work each night, and yet the stocking STILL wasn't finished in time for Christmas. (It WAS, however, ready in time for New Year's which worked out quite well because that year we spent Christmas in Tahoe with my family and then had a big Second Christmas with Tim's family on New Year's Eve.) That last week was all I needed to get it finished and it was so lovely. And I was so proud that my boy would have this stocking every single year.</div><div><div><div><br /></div><div>Life was a little different when Jake came along. He wasn't NEARLY as good of a sleeper, so my work time was really chopped up, but the fact that he was born in May meant that if I planned well, there was no excuse to not have it completed. Plus, by Jake's first Christmas, Chris was old enough to know what's up and I JUST KNOW he would have questioned why Jake didn't have a stocking for HoHo to fill. (Yes, HoHo. He still calls him that. EVERY SINGLE DAY BECAUSE HE LOVES HOHO SO VERY MUCH.) (Did I mention this takes place EVERY SINGLE DAY?) (GOOD.) This second time around, I thought it would be fun to keep track of how many hours it took for me to complete the stocking. Every night I logged my start and stop time, and friends? It took me thirty-six hours.</div><div><br /></div><div>THIRTY SIX HOURS went into the making of that Christmas stocking. And, yes, I am just a little too proud of that.</div><div><br /></div><div>That said, I knew that Nate's stocking was going to take a long time. I knew that there would be NO time between his birth and Christmas. I KNEW I need to start it at the beginning of October and work for at least ONE HOUR every night in order to get it done on time.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then we went and bought a house - a process that absolutely destroyed every plan I had on my pre-baby agenda.</div><div><br /></div><div>Don't get me wrong. I love the house. I WANTED to buy the house. I wanted to be IN the house before the baby arrived. Obviously, right? Wouldn't that make so much more sense than trying to move with a newborn? Of course it would! We'd been looking for a few months by the time we found this house, though, and as my due date was getting closer and closer I was beginning to accept the possibility and then the (I thought) reality that we would not be in a house before the baby came. I resigned myself to bringing Baby Nate home to our 3-bedroom town home (in which every room is occupied AND now that Tim works from home, no longer has a kitchen table as it has been converted to a work space) and I convinced myself that everything would work out just fine! After all, what does a baby need beyond a few jammies and a place to sleep, right? Right! OKAY, I had a few mild panic attacks, but beyond that, I was fine.</div><div><br /></div><div>But then the price dropped on this house that I had already seen and written off because 1) it was way out of our price range and 2) I didn't like it. Don't get me wrong - it was fancy and lovely, but the floor plan wasn't my ideal and, let's face it, it's easy to "not like a house" that's too expensive for you to buy. BUT I DIGRESS. We walked through the house again (for me. For the first time for Tim.) Again I didn't like it. But Tim LOVED it. You can ask <a href="http://hopefullyexpecting.blogspot.com">Shelby</a>. She was there. I really didn't like it. I had Serious! Objections! And then my dear friend Shelby (who was SUPPOSED to be on my side) admitted that she liked it. And then my other friends presented easy solutions to my objections. And THEN <a href="http://justatitch.com/">Amy</a> and the Blathering crew had this joke about First World Problems. And <i>THEN </i>I realized that maybe, just maybe, the fact that the (big! beautiful!) laundry room was not exactly where I would like it to be was not quite a valid reason to walk away from this house.</div><div><br /></div><div>AND THEN!!!! My DAD talked me into it. My. Dad. This is a whole other post just waiting to be written.</div><div><br /></div><div>From that point everything happened quickly and our situation changed from accepting that we wouldn't be out of our townhouse before baby was born to moving into a big, spacious home exactly one week before my scheduled c-section.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then my head exploded.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, not quite. But that's how the past few days have felt. Like my head is ready to pop off...and my bellybutton too.</div><div><br /></div><div>Suffice it to say, any plans I had to be ready for Christmas before my birthday even hit were erased from my psyche. Christmas stocking? What Christmas stocking? Shopping? Sorry! Mortgage! Getting ready for baby? Installing infant seat? Washing baby clothes? Finding bassinet attachment to pak-n-play? Fat chance!</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm seriously losing more and more of my mind with every hour that passes. My body is getting ready to evict the baby, my brain is trying to keep everything straight, and my emotions are...well, rocky at best. But it's all good because all of this is a visible sign to me that God does answer our prayers. He does carry us through. He DOES give us blessings beyond our wildest imaginings. He did it last Thursday when we slept in our new home for the first time, and He'll be doing it again THIS Thursday when we hear that precious little squawk for the first time.</div><div><br /></div><div>All of these blessings have been a challenge in many ways - not the least of which is the fact that we've been so busy and so scattered, that I feel like we haven't even had a moment to anticipate the baby. Yes, the physical preparations, but even more so the emotional excitement of what is to come. And yet, anticipated or not, he comes. And won't that be an exciting day?</div></div></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-56447764149720791402009-10-10T20:52:00.000-07:002009-10-10T20:55:10.782-07:00My Parents Were Awesome.Just found <a href="http://myparentswereawesome.tumblr.com/">this website</a>, courtesy of <a href="http://www.testosterhome.net/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Testosterhome</span></a>. I can't stop looking at the pictures. Nice to see that so many people recognize the lives that their parents had before they were so busy keeping little people alive. Go check it out!Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-31458678060474717772009-10-09T20:16:00.001-07:002009-10-09T20:26:19.015-07:00Not Sure If This Is As Bad As The Time I Trapped A Moth Between My Ear And My Pillow Or Not...Tonight, as I do every night, I snuggled up to a very wiggly Christopher while reading books and getting my nightly mammogram. It's our routine. It's what we do. And after several months of this, I've learned his sleepy pattern and can actually find it relaxing to my weary body. (Well, all except the mammogram part. I'll never get used to that.)<div><br /></div><div>We read our book, talked about what we did today, gave Goodnight Kisses, said our prayers and told Jesus that we love him. Twice, due to the fact that there are two separate crucifixes hanging in his room. One receives a "Night night, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Deedah</span>," and then the other "I (love) You, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Deedah</span>!" I patiently waited out his squirming and wiggling, his demands that I sing quieter because "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Shhh</span>! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Dadub</span> Seeping!" and then that I "turn you up, mom" because he can't hear me, and our <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">verrrry</span> drawn out reading of Counting With <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Caillou</span>.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I watched him begin the process of fading into oblivion, I felt a little tickle on my chin. Naturally I figured it was a stray hair floating out of my disheveled 'do. That is, until I discovered the real cause of the tickle...out of the corner of my eye I saw it crawling down onto my sleeve. Why, yes. Yes, it was. A daddy long legs. CRAWLING ACROSS MY FACE.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pleasant dreams.</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2227740750575250405.post-37127053034216426752009-10-06T11:28:00.000-07:002009-10-06T12:12:19.414-07:00Perhaps You Don't Always Have To Feel Guilty For Being Honest.I've been thinking a lot lately. A. Lot. It's pretty much What I Do, considering the fact that every time I sit down it takes at least 30 minutes (really) for me to get back up, and maybe I should just sit here a little longer and daydream about this or stew about that. I've already resigned myself to the reality that, right now, my kids watch COPIOUS AMOUNTS of television and play Little Amadeus on the computer for a much longer <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">time span</span> than is reasonable because, really, I'M TIRED. I'm having a baby in 5 weeks (getting my delivery date on Thursday!), my husband is occupied with either working or getting healthy, and my three-year old doesn't take naps.<div><br /></div><div>Oh yeah. And my house is a pit. A PIT, I TELL YOU.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, while everyone else in the house is busy doing whatever I can find to occupy them which requires the least amount of effort from me, I think. I consider the mundane little things that I really don't care all that much about...because if I <i>did </i>I would have taken care of them by now and I wouldn't have to take care of them anymore...such as taking care of this blog and making it look somewhat presentable. Or, you know, CLEANING MY HOUSE. But there are other little bugs that have landed in my ears that I can't seem to get rid of. Items of note that happened to enter my brain at rather appropriate times that make me think, "Hey. Maybe I'm not so awful of a person for thinking about this...."</div><div><br /></div><div>Recently, Shelby asked a question on Twitter that really got me thinking. She said something to the effect of "Trying to make lemons out of lemonade. Parents: what do you miss about your kid-free days that I should be ENJOYING right now."</div><div><br /></div><div>That question couldn't have come at a more appropriate time. This summer has been a season of challenges for us in a variety of ways, particularly in terms of my learning how to take care of two needy children, a husband who is ill, and my own <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">nauseous</span> self all while growing a little person inside my belly. There were several weeks during which both boys wanted Mommy And Only Mommy, Jake wouldn't fall asleep unless he was bounced up and down ENDLESSLY (which, actually, worked out okay considering I had stopped Shredding once I found out I was pregnant. That kid is tougher than Jillian on her best day.) These were the times when, in the midst of it all and despite the fact that I know I love my kids and my husband and would NEVER trade them in for ANYTHING, I fell quite easily into the trap of lamenting the ease of my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">pre</span>-children life.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I felt so guilty for it.</div><div><br /></div><div>The instant one of those thoughts crept into my head, I would BANISH it. I would lecture myself, "There are so many people who don't have NEARLY as many blessings as you. Grow up and be grateful." I would offer up my "sufferings" for those moms I knew who no longer had the blessing of gazing upon their sleeping child...for those mothers (and I know more of them than I wish I had to admit) whose sons had been taken from them, not as young children, but still far too early in life. Those women who would probably give their last breath for the ability to stay up all night with their crying baby. To bounce up and down in the hallway, stepping on stray <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">legos</span> in their bare feet, all in the Fat Chance Effort of getting that child to at least stop crying, let alone fall asleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>These thoughts were helping me to keep everything in perspective. Somewhere in me, I realized that it's okay to "feel your feelings," and acceptable to get frustrated in the moment...who doesn't? And while I recognized that to be true, I suppose my bigger fear was that I would just turn into a constant whiner and complainer who was incapable of keeping ANYTHING in perspective.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hard on yourself much?</div><div><br /></div><div>So when Shelby asked that question, I really gave it some thought. I shared a couple of items with her, mostly in jest, of the things that I miss. The more I thought about it, there are a WIDE RANGE of life changes that occur once you introduce these little people into your life, funny and serious. Among them:</div><div><br /></div><div>-- Being able to use both hands at the same time.</div><div>-- Actually being ALONE in the bathroom.</div><div>-- Not having someone SIT ON YOUR LAP while in the bathroom.</div><div>-- Using the facilities with the lights on.</div><div>-- Quiet.</div><div>-- Cooking dinner without constantly ensuring that someone doesn't fall off the counter.</div><div>-- Not worrying.</div><div>-- Sleep.</div><div>-- Running out for five minutes and it really only taking five minutes.</div><div>-- Hopping into the car, turning the key, and being on the road.</div><div>-- Looking in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">rear view</span> mirror to make sure you remembered to put the baby in the car.</div><div>-- Looking into the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">rear view</span> mirror to make sure <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">every one's</span> alive.</div><div>-- Using a purse that's not filled with dripping juice cups and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">hotwheels</span>.</div><div>-- Not feeling guilty over how you divide up your time between your kids.</div><div>-- Not feeling guilty over how you divide up your time between your extended family.</div><div>-- Talking to my husband.</div><div>-- Sleeping in. </div><div>-- Watching whatever I wanted on TV.</div><div>-- Taking <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">NyQuil</span> when sick and sleeping through an entire cold.</div><div>-- Showering every day.</div><div>-- Having a (relatively) clean house.</div><div>-- Doing 15-minute chores in under 45 minutes.</div><div>-- Going for coffee with friends WHENEVER I wanted.</div><div>-- Sleeping through the night without checking to make sure <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">every one's</span> breathing.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's more, I suppose, but you get the point. Looking at this list, especially those things that just make parenthood FUNNY, I can see what is really lurking just behind: The things I DON'T MISS about my child-free days. Those are the things that usually prohibit me from saying the above out loud. The unfulfilled desires, the much longed-for dreams, the anxiety of "what if it will never happen," the negative pregnancy tests, the tears, the well-meaning yet always falling short sympathies of friends and family members, the empty arms, the feeling of a heart that's just lying in wait for the love of a child.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I only had to wait for five months after we got married before I was pregnant with Christopher. Five months of, what I thought was, AGONY. When, really, I had no idea. </div><div><br /></div><div> My words always fall short. I know there is nothing that I can say to ease the painfulness of the wait for my friends and family members who are in this Limbo. I know that, despite the fact that I've felt the feelings of anger, despair, anxiety, sadness.... feelings which I have known throughout my life and can empathize with to a certain extent, I cannot share the application of them in this situation, in these lives. What I can offer are my listening ears and, more importantly, my earnest prayers for these people who I love so dearly. And I trust that these prayers are heard, and answered, by a God who can see the suffering in the context of the Whole Plan rather than just the anxiety of the moment. A God who will see to it that these families are complete, in his own way. In his own time.</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08132737557854212284noreply@blogger.com3