That one

My Magic Minnow Boy will be one year old tomorrow...

I'm still not quite sure how that happened. How did he become this scrumptious walking pumpkin who knows my name?

He was the one I was waiting for. The end of my pregnancy with him was so frustrating because I knew we needed him so much and it was taking so, so long.

Who is he? I want to write words to describe him without pasting him down in a way that's not bright enough.

He throws his head back and pooches his lips out like a fish when he pouts. He presses his hand to his mouth like, "kisses, Mama, kisses" when he wants me to come and get him instead of walking.

He's just started the Baby-Booty-Shakin-Dance. He especially loves the cheesy songs the boys' toys play, the Name Game, and Single Ladies. Funny Boy. The song that will always be our is "King of Anything"...

If Winston is like a fragile gift that someone left me to love, and Wednesday is like a permanent attachment to my body, then Minnow is just mine...

He is ... so expressive with his eyebrows, to a comical degree. He loves his brothers fiercely and they love him back in a way that still shocks me. The big boys fight and wrestle and howl at each other, but they adore that baby.

I think my husband is still kind of shocked by him as well. He is so fully himself, and has been since the moment he was born, that it's astounding to think he can't even speak yet.

I feel like this is my forever family. Finally. These are my boys.

I love you, pretty baby. You made my heart fit right. You make me love your brothers better and cut your Papa enough slack to see things clearly.

Happy Birthday...

Comfort Me With Apples

This morning we remembered to eat our apples and honey.

Then we all preceded to be extremely grumpy at each other all morning.

Then it was nap time. Not even Harry Potter could bring us together.

I'm declaring the rest of today a Comfort Day.

Right now that means extra coffee, extra SpongeBob, and a yummy snack.

Later, it means trying out new pasta shapes with dinner: Ditalini and Radiatore.

Before bed, it means giving Harry Another go, and adding as many extra stories as Mama's eyeballs can stand.

My husband's blood sugar has been finicky all day and he's bringing home a disk full of Winston's very first baby pictures.

Comfort...

I have two new pink-topped stools in my garage.

My Amber sent me the link to this recipe, which may very well happen on Sunday for Grandparents Day: http://realmomkitchen.com/27/german-apple-pancakes/

Minnow will be One Year Old in 15 days.

For Starters

My Grandmother began making her own bread every week when I was really little. It was a recipe given to her by a friend that has now become something looked forward to by 2 generations of young people. My cousins and I called it "Grandmother Bread", the newest generation has deemed it "Gigi Bread".

She sent us home with one loaf when we left her house on the 28th of December. That night, when we got to NM, I put it in our little fridge and we ate it the next day for snack.

It traveled home with us. Half a loaf of the treasured bread. It is the kind of thing that is almost too good to eat, so I always have to throw the last bit out from sitting too long in the fridge.

I have asked my Grandmother before for her recipe, but the need for a starter and long travel time back home has prevented me from recreating her bread at home.

Yesterday, one of my most admired online friends led me to a website about creating my own start to the Gigi Bread tradition and I was ecstatic. With familial food feelings abounding, I decided to make my Mama's roast and called her for her recipe.

When I came out to the front of the house today while the boys all slept my house smelled exactly like my Grandmother's house does when we come to visit her. Smells of day long cooking and practiced recipes and warmth. It was shocking to me that I could recreated that smell.

I sat down with a cup of tea to look through my newest Paula Deen cookbook while my babies dozed. I adore Paula's cookbooks for very similar reasons as those smells I was conjuring in my kitchen. After many mouthwatering recipes I came upon one for the very kind of bread that my Grandmother bakes religiously. It is a recipe that's been passed down through the Deen family for generations.

Even though it's not the same as my Grandmother's bread, it is so close that it felt like a gift. And with my mind full of memories, I mopped up the last of my dinner, alone at my table, with a thick slice of the remaining Gigi bread. Now I know I can give my boys this gift even when my Grandmother is far far away.

Starter is a living thing. A life long commitment, if I want to make it. It's a fresh start.