Heard

I'm reading this book that is changing me, and last night it spoke very clearly that I needed to step back from this internet world for a little while. Then, I went to read this blog and found she was doing the same thing.

I hadn't read her in months, and that is what I found in the 5 seconds before my computer died from lack of charge. I think the message was pretty clear.

So my plan, my goal, my desire, is to stay away until next Thursday, and come back to this world with gifts of word and spirit and creativity that I can't summon right now.

I'll be able to tell you about our last days of summer, Wednesday's first day of school, and meeting Minnow caretaker for the hours I'm in class.

I'll still be around in email and text messages for anyone who needs me. You all are my support system, and I thank you so much for that.

Until Thursday...

Crazy Cajun

Our favorite Cajun place moved. We aren't even sure when and if they'll reopen, and there's been a VOID in our food life ever since. It was the first place we took each of the older boys out to eat as infants.

When I was listening to the radio a month or so ago, I heard a man speaking in a horrible Louisiana accent about The Cajun Shack. I couldn't remember where it was after just one listen, so we didn't go.

Then, after Twitter/Facebook peeps posted about eating Crawfish I got crazy jealous. Crawfish, y'all, are so delicious.

So the next time I heard the add on the radio I took note. Literally. I wrote myself a memo on my phone with the address and location.

We went last week for dinner and Holy Gator Tails, Batman, it was fantastic. The boys got cheeseburgers bigger than their heads on the kids' menu, Husband got gigantic fried shrimp and dirty rice, Minnow got popcorn shrimp and I. got. my. Crawfish.

They were spicy in that way that makes your lips burn so you have to lick them over and over to sooth them. They had a citrusy flavor to them that had me peeling them way before they were cool enough and biting my fingers to stop the intense heat form sinking into my skin.

The music they played was exactly the right volume, and included Nirvana, The Violent Femmes, and that 'Dare You To Move" song that came out when I was pregnant with Winston.

Perfect.

There were boudin balls on the appetizer menu. I've been thinking about them ever since; planning my next meal there.

So andouille and boudin both made it into the grocery cart this week. The plan that formed in my head was crazy but I went ahead and grabbed sweet potatoes, yellow cherry tomatoes, spinach, and that white summer squash that looks like a sunshine flower.

The sausages, potatoes, and tomatoes were broiled on kebabs in the oven with Tony's and garlic powder to season them. The squash were sauteed in butter, salt, and pepper, along with a heaping pile of scallions, that wilted down and then got a little crunchy around the edges.

I put a big pile of baby spinach down on our plates (the grown-ups, anyway) and squeezed lemon juice all over it. The squash came next, in softened moons, and then two kebabs were unloaded on top of that. The scallions became the garnish, and with a little more lemon juice it was mighty scrumptious.


It filled the void, temporarily, but we're planning to take my MIL to eat at the Cajun place soon. The crawfish are calling me...

Breakfast Cupcakes

This recipe was thought up on Facebook a few weeks ago, and after my lovely heckler (Hi, Mz. Sandy!) reminded me of my goal for this blog, I made today the official trial date.

Here are the ingredients:

1 Package Martha White Sweet Cornbread Mix (and the eggs and milk to mix it)

6 large eggs, scrambled and seasoned to your liking (mine had a good dash of both sea salt and black pepper, and a splash of half n half)

Salsa, either red or green.

Shredded cheese; a Mexican blend or sharp cheddar both worked well this morning.


Cupcake directions:

Fill each opening in a 12 muffin pan 1/4 to 1/3 full with cornbread batter. Fill 1/2-2/3 with the scrambled eggs, and then plop in about a tablespoon of your preferred salsa. Top with a heavy sprinkled layer of shredded cheese and bake until super fluffy and golden brown.


Frosting Ingredients (because all cupcakes require frosting!):

1 8oz. container whipped cream cheese

2 big, ripe, avacados

3 limes, halfed and squeezed for juice

A handful of cilantro, finely chopped or snipped

Heavy shake of garlic powder

Slightly less heavy shake of Tony's


Directions:

Stick it all in a big bowl and whip with the hand mixer until fluffy. Taste, and then make inappropriate noises in your kitchen.


When the cupcakes cool, frost generously and devour.

If I make these again I'll put them in actual cupcake wrappers to help seal the bottoms. Nothing fell out, but the salsa weighs the batter down quite a bit.

What If...

I revamped this space into a food blog?

I'm thinking daily pictures and food in a Bridget Jones Diary kind of way. Yes? No?

It's pretty much my only constant topic except for that little side writing I do. *ahem*

Let's see what happens.

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.

In a Blue Moon

I had an existential crisis on Christmas Eve. I lost my purpose and it scared me so much. It was my husband's birthday, the baby turned 3 months old, the older 2 were sick, and we were supposed to leave the next day on an 8 hour car trip.

I cried, I thought thoughts that I really shouldn't think. It was just no good.

The excitement I usually feel on Christmas Eve was not there at all and it was completely depressing. "Santa" was not happy to give her gifts. The cookie baking lead to fits, the bike for Winston was a complete failure, and all the day's events were leading to the worst Christmas of my adult life.

But then the big boys wouldn't sleep and I started to get nervous about the presents I needed to arrange in secret. The nervousness led to much cherished excitement and I got everything done about the time it changed from Eve to Day on Christmas.

The Day was pretty good. I may write about the gifts that were really successful, but mostly I just want to remember the boys playing all day long, the relaxed "it's Christmas" feelings, and being able to pull together a stellar Christmas Dinner when I thought we weren't having anything but leftovers and candy.

We left on the 26th in a surreal mood. The trip was going to be long, and yet we really didn't care. We were in the van, we were traveling, and it was going to be ok.

Being with all of my Father's family usually makes me want to scream and hide, but this time I relished it. I loved every person I saw, savored every bite of my Grandmother's food, and was even better to my boys that I ever am at home.

After some time with my family we went to NM to see The Mr.'s Dad and his wife. We were snowed in and the feeling was indescribable. We were stuck, if only for a few hours, together. My boys, big and little, and me, in a kitchenette hotel room. The window in the little kitchen faced north, and when Winston woke up he ran to the window with his Papa and said, "Mommy, look! It's snowing!!"

The boys played in the snow, sat at the table to do newly gifted art projects, and swam in the hotel's indoor pool.

We went to visit Grandfather and Lamb (husband's father's wife's maiden name, and the name I'll use here when writing about her) the second day of our trip, after naptime. The Mr.'s father was so grateful that we'd come, even if our only visiting was done in the hospital waiting room. He told me my husband's nickname as a baby as I watched Lamb tear up. We didn't know if he was ever going to make it out of the hospital.

The morning before we left, we took the boys to see them one last time. The Mr. and I were both anxious. It could have been the last time he ever saw his father alive. My husband pulled out the fancy new shirt our boys had chosen for him for Christmas to wear that day and I knew he was feeling a loss even if it hadn't happened yet.

The last thing his Dad said to me was that he hoped he'd make it out of the hospital.

Lamb called yesterday evening when we were just a couple of hours from home.

Today, my FIL is going home. Home to his house, with his Lamb. They asked if he wanted to stay through the weekend, and he chose to leave early. I am so happy that he made it out of the hospital, and so proud that my little ones visiting may have helped him to get there.

Tonight, there will be a Blue Moon in the sky. I want to go home too. I want to find my home inside my own insides, and curl up in my bed there.

Today I have listened to music, read a chapter in a real book, and tried to give myself some room to breathe. My purpose, rather it remains the same, is slightly revised, or radically different, is in there somewhere. I don't want to feel any loss that doesn't yet need to happen.

I can let myself go home once in a blue moon.

Status

We are 3 full days and a little extra from Christmas Day. We have Winston and Wednesday on antibiotics for bronchitis, and the Mama is seriously stuffy-nosed with a frog in her throat.

I need oranges for stockings, another gift for my mother (the handmade thing I had planned didn't happen), and I really wanted to get The Mr. a couple of more things too. Oh! The 24th is also his birthday, so I'm cooking an extremely parred down birthday meal for him. I usually do a Feast of the Seven Fishes type thing, but I just don't have it in me this year. The grocery store and Target both need to be visited tomorrow.

The plans, as they stand, are to open non-Santa gifts on the 24th. Our has-accidentally-become-tradition Christmas breakfast will be served that morning. We were also going to take the boys to Grandma's house to see their cousins and get their biggest Santa gift that day. It's a good thing I put them together in my MIL's garage, as it looks like that's as far into Grandma's house as we'll be going.

We had planned to leave as soon as we were done with Santa's offerings on the 25th to drive about 8 hours to my Grandmother's house. The 27th we're supposed to drive another 220 miles to see The Mr.'s father and his wife in New Mexico. The boys need more long pants, the baby needs a warmer hat, and we need snacks for the car (see need for grocery store and Target).

So, ummm, HOLY MOLY YOU GUYS.

We have sickness, we have travel preparation with a new baby, and we have unfinished Christmas/Birthday stuff.

I am slightly overwhelmed and extremely calm all at the same time. I guess that's Christmas.

Alive and Well

Hello, Beauties!!

I'm an awful blogger, I know. But I'm here, right now, so...Ta da!!

We are all doing pretty good these days. Winston is so big. I was four feet and eight inches tall in the fourth grade. My oldest son is two inches away from being four feet tall and he is four years old!

Tomorrow is his big Hanukkah show at school (where he is reading and ready for Kindergarten, according to his teacher). He has an assigned seat where I have to bring him in the morning so he can get his flashy golden gelt costume on. We are both very excited.

Wednesday is still the most silly and hilarious boy I've ever known. He turned three, you know, and he is most assuredly not a baby anymore. Now, if we could just get him to potty in the potty it would be glorious. He is right at the age where he is so very big, but I can still scoop him up for spontaneous snuggles without much of a fight.

Minnow is huge. He is divinely cute. Minnow is my favorite snack and just the most snuggly bug of a baby I've ever known. He is laughing, and squiggling, and charming everyone he meets. He got fussy in Barnes and Noble yesterday and caught the attention of the four or five ladies in line. I turned him toward the Giant! Yellow! Gift Wrapping! Sign! and he started laughing. He won over every single one of those women in a flash.

What else do I need to tell you? Thanksgiving was darn tootin'. Whatever that means. My food turned out better than it ever has in the past. Wednesday had two friends come and play on his birthday. They decorated enormous sugar cookies, are squash-berry muffins, and played outside until Winston came in and said, "I'm having a big problem out there, Mommy! I'm too tired to be nice anymore!".

We're spending Christmas at home; a tradition my Mama started in my own family that I appreciated then and do even more so now. A visit to my Grandmother's house and The Mr.'s Dad's house are in the works for after Christmas.

The Mr.'s Dad fell about two weeks ago and broke his leg. They expect him to be fine, but he is tired of being in the hospital and kind of down-in-the-dumps. His wife sent the most beautiful quilt for Minnow with the entire alphabet embroidered on it. His name is at the bottom, with a well placed "Z" to finish it out.

I think I'm just rambling now, but I've missed you so, little blog o'mine.

Some questions I've been pondering: What is a good way to introduce Karate to Winston before he starts once a week next year? Have any of you ever cooked turnips and LIKED them (I really want to try them this holiday season)? Does anyone have a good, Christmas-y, molded, jello salad recipe? I've always wanted to make one of those too.

Love to all of you.....

First Things First

This post must be written before the one about my gorgeous new baby so these thoughts won't contaminate his loveliness.  Let me preface this by saying that I love my mother and I very much appreciate her coming down here to help before, during, and after the baby was born.

BUT

I'm still bitching about all the things that she screwed up while she was here.  I was going to let this go, but I just opened the package of onsies she bought for Minnow and I can't contain it any longer.  

The Kitchen:

She does not rinse the dishes before she puts them in the dishwasher.  My dishes don't get clean.  She puts them away DIRTY.  Then, I have to inspect each thing she put away and put at least half of it back in the sink so SOAK and then be washed again.  I love when people do my dishes for me; except her.  And she will do them even if I tell her not to.  There is no stopping her.  Also, she puts things away in the wrong places.  Bowls with the tupperware, serving spoons with regular ones, cookie sheets with pots and pans.  It's just really frustrating.

The Laundry:

When Wednesday was born my mother did at least 10 loads of laundry in the time she was at my house.  Not one of those loads was actually dried all the way.  But she folded those damp clothes and piled them on our bed.  So when I got home from the hospital I had a bed full of mildew-smelling clothes that I could neither wash or fold by myself.  My husband had steam coming out of his ears.  This time, she did less laundry, but succeeded in DESTROYING the Big Brother shirts I HANDMADE for Winston and Wednesday.  Like hand-sewn patches, hand lettering, iron-ons.  They are ruined, and I'll have to re-do them now.  The other laundry she did was, of course, not dried all the way.  I managed to rescue it from her clutches right after getting home from the hospital.  Lastly, she bought the baby an outfit he already had, in the same exact size, and would not take it back.  And the onsies she bought??  They say "I am the boss", and "It's all about me".  NO, MOTHER.  NO.  Good golly, Miss Molly.

The Children:

After being with her for any amount of time they were like demons on crack.  They were rude, mean, and did not listen to anything that my husband or I said.  This was not a helpful occurrence with a newborn in the house.  We had two of the worst mornings ever in the history of our family as a result of morning visits from my mother (my Dad was here too.  But I don't have anything bad to say about him.  He follows my rules, is calm when the boys need him to be, and cooked dinner for us).  Just GAH.

Me:

She kept trying to be all lovey with me.  I don't do lovey with my mother because she takes it WAY overboard.  I tried not to grimace and flinch, but it was really difficult.

The Hospital:

The morning we were going to the hospital after taking the boys to school, my Dad called her about 6:30 to make sure she was awake.  She told him we were all still sleeping and that she didn't need to get up.  She didn't get up until 7:45 when we needed to leave by 8:15.  AND she went to get ready just as my husband was walking to the bathroom.  We were so close to being late for everything because of her.  Both times my obgyn came into my hospital room during my stay my mother my snoring like a dying elephant on the couch bed.  I was already up and dressed and my mother is laying on the couch snoring so loud that the nurses kept looking at her like, "Shut UP, Woman!".  It was embarrassing.

There are a lot of other things.  But that's enough that I feel cleansed and better now.  Thanks for letting this be a ranting place.  Once again, I'm glad she was here, even if it was hard to put up with.  We couldn't have gotten me in and out of the hospital without her.  

Baby Boy's Bloggy Badge

So, I have narrowed it down to two options for the soon to be born Little Mister's blog name.  I have a favorite, but I wanna know what y'all think first!  Let me know which one fits with the other boy names in the comments if you wanna...

1.  Woods:  Implies nature, has the descending syllable thing with the other boys names (Winston, Wednesday, and Woods).  Plus, it's a slight play on the origin of the baby's real name.

2.  Minnow:  This was kind of hubby's idea.  Instead of having 3 W's, flip the third one upside-down to make an M name.  This one ends in a W though, so the flow is good.  Also, it's funny to think of this guy as Minnow when he appears to be so HUGE.  Adorable word as well!

So, whatcha fink?

School Rules

When the last session of summer camp started after a two week break this year, I was overwhelmed with how sad I felt.  It wasn't the reaction I expected from myself, especially when you consider what a handful Winston (and Winston and I together) had been during camp's intermission.  But there I was, bawling my eyes out, clinging to the boys and wondering why in the hell I paid for more camp when it felt so wrong to send them again.

That singular reaction started a thought process that I'd been trying to avoid for at least 2 years:  Homeschooling.  Suddenly, I felt like maybe there was a reason why I gravitate toward blogs written by homeschoolers, and why I enjoy planning learning activities so much.  Having been bogged down in a constant struggle with him, a method of reconnecting with Winston in a meaningful way that we both thrive on was an imminent option.  Storytime, during projects, and planned activities were our only saving graces during most of the summer.  Would homeschooling allow those peaceful times to expand and improve our relationship?  Also, keeping Wednesday home and teaching him things in a setting where he felt comfortable, instead of him weeping at school drop off, came as a welcome relief, even if it's not quite time yet.

So I got on Amazon until the wee hours of the morning and searched through books.  Then I went to the library, list in hand, and checked out everything I could on homeschooling.  I started reading, and encountered far more positives than negatives in the books I'd found.  There was only one instance when I just couldn't finish a section for the principle of it.

Then one day, I happened to be on Facebook when my former voice teacher mentioned spending the afternoon doing math with her 7 year old.  Remembering that my mother had said she was homeschooling I sent her a message almost immediately.  Was she homeschooling?  Yes.  Could I talk with her about it and ask questions?  Sure!

It was fantastic.  Someone I knew as a teacher and friend had already been teaching her boys at home for three years.  I asked her everything I could think of, kept reading, and then asked more questions.  What did her typical day look like?  How did she teach part-time and homeschool simultaneously?  What method did she use?  Curriculum?  EVERYTHING.

I looked up everything she said online and had another brain flash:  One of my best friends from High School was homeschooled until she was a freshmen!  Again, I very quickly sent her a message and hoped for the best.  I wanted her impression now, of how being taught at home affected her.  She responded right back, and had nothing but excellent things to say about her experience.  As one of the most artistic, creative, and expressive people I know, this was very exciting.

But as this break between the end of camp and the start of school stretched on, I got nervous.  Winston loves school, and is in a very good environment right now.  Could I really take him out of there and provide something even better?  I had just started to think that maybe I was getting in over my head when I woke up in a panic Monday night.

There was a meeting for the parents at the boys school Tuesday evening.  The bubble of our experimental "homeschooling" learning (I want to tell you more about this, I even have pictures!) was coming to a close, and school was about to start.  I went to the meeting and left feeling pretty heart-broken.  Hearing everything through my newly educated ears was so sad and worrisome.  The main focus of the directors entire speech was money and not being late.  As I sat reading, I saw that they even included the states guidelines for "healthy" lunches in the handbook!  As a parent, I am already following Kosher rules (for the school), my own families dietary needs (husband is diabetic), and keeping in mind any food allergies that may be present in the boys' classroom.  Please don't tell me them, to include "healthy soups" in lunches when there is a very clearly stated rule that they won't reheat anything for longer than a minute.

Sigh...

On top of all of that, the new director repeated to all of us that she'd had to reassure some parents that the could pick their children up early or only send them three days a week.  This was really disturbing to me.  We are talking about pre-school.  It's not required, and we're paying for our kids to be there.  Of COURSE we can pick up our kids early and send them when we deem appropriate!  

Winston's teachers were awesome.  They're well certified, in love with their jobs, and eager to teach.  The assistant is actually my preferred person for him, but the main teacher worked with him last year quite a bit when one of his teacher's hurt her arm.  But there was one thing that the head teacher said that just ruffled my feathers like nothing else.  She mentioned wanting a better play kitchen for her classroom, and then that she wanted to make the little house next to it into a doll house.  Up to here it was all fine.  Then she said "for the girls".  The kitchen, dress-up clothes, and house were "for the girls", while the carpet with roads on it (!!!  not exactly exciting) and the train table were "for the boys".  I think she must have gotten a look from more than one of us because she corrected herself and called it "dramatic play".  This may not seem like a big deal, but Gosh Darnit if I haven't worked for my boys entire lives to teach them that it is ok to play however you want to.  If you want to dress up?  Then do it!  If you want to imagine you're a chef, or cooking dinner, or changing a diaper, or a dancer then you are more than welcome.  ...It just really ticked me off.  I'm not interested in gender stereotypes AT ALL.  My boys have trucks and wagons and trains and super hero toys, but they also have a play kitchen, a tea set, a baby sling, and dress-up clothes.

I'm going to send them this year, even though Wednesday weeps every time I mention it.  He'll get two weeks to settle in and adjust.  After that, if the crying continues I'm just pulling him out.   I'm going to pick them both up before lunch everyday, and after nap, we are going to learn something fun everyday with Mama.  Because when next year comes around, I think we're staying home.

I have a lot more that I'd like to write about when it comes to this decision, what others might think about our family, etc.  So if y'all don't mind reading it I'd love to keep going in another post!

He Dreamed a Dream

Wednesday, right now this morning, as best I can recall:

"There was a FishLady and a GirlPapa and da GirlPapa bit me right dey onna arm (points to his forearm above his wrist)!!"  He bit you?  "Yes he bit me right dey, and I screamed like this:  ahhh (very quiet scream)".  Like that?  "No, like this!  AHHHHHH!!!!"  Oh My, and what else happened?  "And the GirlPapa was mean!  And dey put da fish back in!" They did?  Where did the fish come from?  "Da FishLady's neck!"  The fish came out of the fish lady's neck and they put it back in?  "Yeah!  Right dey (points to the front of his neck)!"  What else happened?  "And the GirlPapa went back to his blue stuff, and the bite came off!"  

And then right now, he walked up and added:

"On the wall in my dream there was a mean song, it was a biting song!"

I don't ever remember Winston articulating a dream so clearly, and that was completely unprompted.  He just walked up to us, after loving on his cat, and told us all of that very animatedly...  

"I had a dream last night, and it looked just like a dream" -Gibby Haynes 

Right Now

I am officially 4 years younger than the Happy Meal this year, and as always, 2 years younger, to the day, than MTV.

In 55 days I'll be the mother of three boys and last week my husband asked me if there was a Baskin Robbins in town.

Last night, he brought home an ice cream cake with "26" piped in crooked numbers on the front.

It's butter pecan flavor, which just happens to be my MIL's favorite. Maybe the pilfering was for a reason.

This morning, a new pink camera made it's way into my hands. The beach is forthcoming as well, and now I don't have to make my own cake.

14 MP, 5X zoom, hopefully some friends, a cranky 4 year old, a chirpy 2 year old, and a husband I cannot imagine life without.

Thank you...

The days before

Last night, while pilfering the ice cream I'd bought for tomorrow, The Mr. told me, "It's not even close to your birthday yet".  How dumb of me to buy ice cream two days before so we could take it to his mother's house.  I even got HER favorite kind.  I bought cake mix and frosting too, because Winston especially expects for their to be cake when it's someone's birthday.  On the frozen foods aisle Wednesday looked at me and said, "I want to come wif you to your birfday, Mommy."  My birthday is just at home this year.

That's perfectly fine with me.  I have issues with my own birthday anyway.  We lost our first baby a month before the biggest birthday celebration I've ever had (Vegas!), and got pregnant with Winston less than 2 weeks later.  Maybe that's why it seems so insignificant.  I didn't really begin until Winston was conceived and born.  It just feels wrong to celebrate too much the person I was before they all came.

Last year, much to my surprise, my husband went all out again.  I used my spa gift certificate, we took a surprise shopping trip to Houston so I could buy some new clothes for myself.  I was shocked, and it took me a long time to process that it was for me.  I dunno...

It just feels weird, I guess.  My mom always texts me at the time I was born, and that means the world to me.  

When you're small, your birthday is so very important.  I want it to feel that way to my boys, and even though he's grown, to my husband.  Even my Mom, who was born on Halloween, gets everything I can possibly create to make her feel special.

I don't know how to feel special on my birthday without feeling guilty.

Yesterday, I hung wash on the line that the woman who sold our house left behind.  I made my Grandmothers' brisket and purple hull peas form the farmers' market.  We listened to my brother's band all day in the van, and I remembered my cloth bags for the grocery store.  

That was all pretty damn magical in one afternoon.  That was enough....  And I'm ok with that.

Finkin' Bout

I know, two posts all smooshed up together, but if I don't do it now then I won't get it done.  This is just a list anyway!

The Things in My Brain:

1.  Homeschooling:  So many of the parenting blogs I read are actually homeschoolers.  I've checked out books from the library but I'm still conflicted.  Do y'all have any thoughts before I do a whole post on this?

2.  Activities:  When do I start the boys in things outside of school?  Scouts?  Soccer?  Fencing (so cool)  Martial Arts?  Music Lessons (high on the list)?

3.  Composting:  Do any of you compost?  I know it's supposed to be easy.  we could have a separate garbage can in the kitchen, and there is a place for the actual composting can behind the garage.  Is it going to attract bugs?  Because I can't be carrying a baby in a sling to take out the food for composting and be attacked my bugs.  (Yes, I did lay awake one night thinking about that)

4.  A Texas Blogging Meet-up:  Swistle talked about an anti-Blogher meet up, and now that I know I can't go to Blogher in NYC next year, would this be something worth doing?  EDITED TO ADD:  Danielle from Left of Lost was my bravery inducing inspiration.

Grace(less) Under Pressure

It was pretty clear from the moment Winston woke up on Wednesday morning that he did not feel well.  As soon as I walked in the room I was commanded to "Go Back THERE, Mommy!!  I Don't WANT YOU To Be Out Here Yet!!!".  I went and sat an the dining room table, took off my glasses, and put my head down; it was going to be one of those mornings.

It never let up.  The fit that started when he saw me only escalated and by 8:09, The Mr. and I had decided he shouldn't go to camp that day (his lunch was made and he was already in his swim clothes).  He was, of course, furious with me (even though the Papa made the choice as well) and wailed about it for another ten minutes.  Then he suddenly asked if he could please take off his swim clothes and have regular ones since he was staying with me.  

After we dropped off Wednesday, who watched us both go with a quiveringly brave wittle face (sniff sniff), I took Winston with me to Walgreens.  He helped me push the cart, picked out a snack, and remembered every single thing we needed to buy, as usual.  

Once we were home and he had some serious allergy medicine in his system he relaxed completely.  It used to be just be me and him at home, and I miss it so much that I cry almost every time I think about it.  We used to play and read and just hang out ALL DAY, and he is so big now, so smart, so handsome.  He is not my tiny boy anymore.  But on Wednesday, we rescued a small sliver of our pre-brother relationship.

We lay on the bed in his room after I'd done something cleaning, looking at cookbooks and just being silly together.  And after promising him for 3 weeks that we would go out to eat, just the two of us, we finally did.  He was perfect in the restaurant, and we even went to Half-Price Books together.  He sat on the floor and looked at books in his own little world, while I gathered nifty stories for us the bring home.

The rest of the day was fairly successful as well.  There were a few behavior bumps when Wednesday was re-introduced into the picture, but it was an excellent and much needed day overall.  Winston's snot is almost gone, his gremlin-like allergy voice has disappeared, and I know we loved each other a lotta-bit more.

Then Thursday came.  Oh my, was it a day.  My nickname as a child was "Grace" in the most sarcastic fashion imaginable and I lived up to it yesterday.  I was horrible Thursday morning.  I needed a serious timeout.  A headache woke up with me, I hollered at the boys, I cried, I whined, I spilled, I choked on nothing to the point I almost got sick.  It was rough.  Wednesday was staying home with me, and after we dropped Winston off at camp, he proceeded to get into The Mr.'s desk 5749583405834 times, pester the cats until they scratched and bit him, and was otherwise clinging to me like a velcroed monkey.  

We picked Winston up, naptime was crap until we all conked out, and when we got up I remembered I'd promised a meal made in the pressure cooker.  Sigh...  If that wasn't the perfect metaphor for our day I don't know what could have been.    

Now, I'd never used that thing when my Mama wasn't here with us.  I think she's used it 3 times for different holiday meals at my house.  I found a recipe for chicken tacos, and after reading the directions 4 times and practicing opening and closing the lid, I started cooking.  5 minutes.  Cooked chicken in 5 minutes, and it wasn't even scary!  Did it taste like cardboard?  Yup.  Did everyone eat it?  Yup.  Will my MIL with a heart condition who doesn't like spicy food get all of our leftovers?  Yes Ma'am.  So it, like the rest of the day, was enough to get by, but not my best work by any means.

I was on my best behavior by bedtime, and stories were super fun and we all went to sleep feeling loved and peaceful after our long, long, LONG day.

This morning went extremely smoothly, and now I'm here by myself, regrouping and thinking and writing.  There's a song I sing to the boys almost every night that asks God for love, and power, and grace, and that is what I ask for today.  Love oozing from every pore, power over my own emotions, and grace enough to forgive myself and be the Mama I long to be.

 

For Them...

I finally let my tears go this morning.  I always hold them back when I hear these words, but I was alone in the van and it was ok.  

There's always one song with each pregnancy that holds my heart, and this says the things my mind cannot find.

Sweet Dreams by Jewel Kilcher

The shadows are waltzing
The moon beams are calling
Like a dream I am falling into
Silver threads lined with dew
Twinkling stars seem to shine just for you

Behind your eyes
Are endless blue skies
You travel places i want to come, too
Each breath that you breathe
Is a brush stroke that leads me to you

So sleep
Fall into night’s indigo hue
Believe me, its true
Theres nothing that I would not do
For my dream is sweet dreams for you

It seems far away
But there once was a day
It was grey in a world without you
To this heart like a dove from above
The miracle of your love found me

So sleep
Fall into night’s indigo hue
Believe me, its true
Theres nothing that I would not do
For my dream is sweet dreams for you

So hush you bye
And don’t you cry
Sweetly dream, little baby

Yes, sleep
Lose yourself in night’s indigo hue
Believe me, its true
There is nothing that I would not do
For my dream is sweet dreams 
Yes, my dream is sweet dreams for you

www.jeweljk.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttwkbAz021U

Scenes from Almost and Saturday

Late last night I finished my book.  I was, and still am sad that it's over, as the author hasn't written as more non-fiction that I can tell.  Still too awake to fall asleep with Wednesday, I went to Amazon.com and began my insomnia ritual of going through all my lists.  Did you know you can leave comments for yourself on your wishlist?  Adding a few words for the things I'd saved for Christmas or Halloween was very satisfying.  I am also feeling very "called" to homeschool the boys, in some context, these days.  I found a bunch of good looking books for beginners, and then stumbled upon a couple of Listmanias that really shortened my search.  But I still wasn't sleepy, in my brain or otherwise, so I went to look at the cookbooks.  Oh the lovely cookbooks!  I think I saved about 30 to my wishlist.  (Like this one, and this one, and this one, Oh My!)  I had just started a search for baby and Mama yoga DVD's when the battery on my laptop died.  I gave the sleeping 2 year old a large pouty lip and reluctantly got under the covers to go to sleep.

Now, as I write this silliness, I'm sitting on the bed in the boys room in the middle of a de-funked naptime.  The big boys went to the beach with friends this morning while Wednesday and I tackled the farmers' market (where I could feel the sweat dripping down my legs) and Target (where a grown man couldn't say "excuse me", but instead just pulled out in front of my very full cart on the way to check out).  When we all got home, the plan was for the boys to come nap with me in our bed and for The Mr. to finish cleaning up beach stuff and read.  I sang the songs and held the hands and patted the parts, but neither of my creatures would sleep.  Winston started fiddling with the tag on a stuffed animal in the co-sleeper and Wednesday just wouldn't keep his arms still.  So I told Winston to go "out there" with Papa if he didn't want to nap so we wouldn't have to fight about his behavior.  Then, I realized that Wednesday wasn't going to go back down either.  Sigh...  "Do you want to go back nigh-night or do you want to get up?"  Get up, of course.  So I took a much needed shower and brought Wednesday to the front of the house, thinking we could just move along with our big meal of the day and I would just push past my tireds again.  

Now, or course, Winston has decided to take a nap on the couch, and I got shooed out of my own living room.  Rocking and holding didn't produce more nappage for the little one, so now I'm here and he's there <<<<<  playing with Handy Manny and pulling books out of the shelf.

Happy Saturday, my dears.  I hope your nap times are long and your patience isn't short.