Monday, January 31, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
"Mommy!!! Don't take my mommy! P L EEE Z E ..." three small children cried out as the scene at the church gym deteriorated quickly Saturday.
Well, that's what COULD have happened. If I had said or done what my motherly instincts told me to do when the lady in front of me started sneering at Numbers 2-4 for cheering enthusiastically for Number 1 as he played his heart out in a non-competitive, church league game of 5th and 6th graders (That Number 14 on the opposing team was no less than 6 feet tall, but I digress.), that SO could have happened. If I had come out with just the right remark to put the same lady in her proper place when she cheered enthusiastically after Number 1 missed his free throws in the last minutes of a non-competitive, church league game, that SO COULD HAVE HAPPENED.
I admit I'm not a sports person. I have said many times, giving me four sons is a hilarious gag for God to play on someone who never has any idea who is playing in the World Series and has actually skipped a Super Bowl party to go to a knitting class. It's just never been my thing. But when one of my boys is playing or doing or participating in anything, my pride in their confidence and effort knows no bounds. I've been known to cry at a curtain call, jump out of my shoes as a 3 pointer hit nothing but net and start a standing ovation after a preschool Christmas program.
Much to everyone's embarrassment, I tend to yell things like, "Go BABY, take it to the basket!" or "Come on score MAMA a basket!" Remember I'm not a sports person. I am simply cheering for my sweet, athletic, confident 11 year old Number 1 as he plays his heart out in a non-competitive, church league game. I also cheer for the other team when they make a great shot or are down by a lot. Maybe not as loud or as embarrassing, but I still encourage someone else's child playing in a non-competitive, church league game.
So today I said nothing. I bit my tongue. I controlled my anger toward the sneering lady for the last 5 minutes of a non-competitive, church league game until the final buzzer sounded and I could cross the court and congratulate the 5th and 6th graders who all played their hearts out in a non-competitive, church league game.
Another day, another story,
Let the discipline begin:
At 92 she's been accused of coloring her hair. She's the only surviving sibling of my Grandmama honey, the last of a breed who calls everyone dahlin and means it. She walks determinedly with a cane, half bent over from almost a century full of life. She holds tight to her history with fierce independence. She intimately knows all her ancestors; the whens and whys of how they all ended up in Tennessee. Her mind is sharper than my own, recalling in detail events, parties, fights and love experienced over so many years. I have driven three hours to sit next to her and absorb the stories about family she loves to share. Painting personalities of long dead great-greats so eloquently and precisely they might as well be in the room.
She told me once when the wind blows as she works in her cottage garden, she knows it's Jesus passing by, reminding her He's taking care things.
I saw her shake her fist emphatically, and ask the sky WHY?! when my grandmother died, tears slipping silently down her beautiful face. I hope the same garden breeze that whispers Holy Presence, gently reminds her that she is an ancestor He's not finished with yet.
|Auntie: taken at Grand'mama's 90th b-day party|
Friday, January 28, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
makes 8 waffles, plenty of syrup
2 c baking mix - pamela's
2/3 c cocoa
1/3 plus 2 T xylitol (or other non-sugar sweetner like rapadura)
1/2 c melted butter or coconut oil
2 c water
Preheat your waffle iron. Mix all dry ingredients well and add eggs, water and melted butter/oil. Cook by 1/2 cup fulls until you've used all the batter. I guarantee your mouth will start watering as they cook - it smells just like brownies. Unless you don't like brownies and then, I don't think I've got any thing for that. FYI: leftover waffles make a great GF bread alternative, and chocolate ones make great pbj's.
While the waffles cook make the 'syrup.'
1 1/2 c organic peanut (or other nut) butter
1/4 c butter or coconut oil
1 c honey, agave or maple syrup
Combine all 3 ingredients in a small saucepan and stir over low heat until butter melts. Adjust to your taste - you might like it sweeter or more peanut butter-y - once you've got it, take it off the heat.
Liberally spread over waffles as they come out.
Jen, Rachel, Kristin, Laura, Maggie, and Kelly,
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
- It is developmentally normal for the average 5 year old boy to rip, ruin and/or otherwise dismantle clothing, specifically pants, within the first 10 wearings.
- Your baby will eventually become a middle schooler, have his own cell phone and communicate primarily through "text messages" that say "Whassup!" "Hey" and "Awesome".
- It is statistically probable you will want a tummy tuck, boob job or bladder lift in the future. Start saving now. $100 a month for 60 months will make a nice dent in the Kindergarten Year Renovation & Reconstruction Fund. Double that if you have c-sections.
Monday, January 17, 2011
He's just 5, how can he already grasp such deep love and grace?
Disclaimer: Names, pets, towns, places….basically most info has been altered/changed to protect the innocent and the ridiculous.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
I hope for the end of poverty and violence and world hunger and cancer. I want all those things. I really, really do. But right this very instant, all I can focus on is the secret to getting Number 4 (3.5 years old) to poop in the potty.
I know. I know. I've heard, tried and given to countless friends over the years, ALL the advice like "when they are ready it will happen" and "you can lead a kid to the potty but you can't make him go" and "no one goes to high school pooping in their pants" and "go cold turkey and get rid of all the training pants" and MY PERSONAL FAVORITE "stay home for a week to focus on poop". We all know that is simply impossible AND exactly where I would end up if I didn't leave the house for a week. Cue Ozzy Osborne's "Crazy Train".
I've tried using the big potty. A little potty drug out from behind all the Christmas decorations in the attic. Underwear only (good thing I have plenty of hand-me-downs to toss). Training pants only. Scolding. Not scolding at all. Ignoring and complete focus. He is ready, if hiding and/or locking yourself in your room to poop signals readiness.
I've been down this road before. This ain't my first potty rodeo. I am certain at least one of The Brothers had this same resistance. Too bad I cannot for the life of me remember what I did about it. Probably absolutely nothing. 'Cause I know with all my heart "when they are ready it will happen" and "no one goes to high school pooping in their pants" and "you can lead a kid to the potty but you can't make him go".
Another day, another story,
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
1/2 c melted butter or coconut oil
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Add 4 boys, farm life and thirteen years of parenting experience and the opposite answer surfaces.
I am now the one in the field cheering on their crazy stunts, admiring the toughness that keeps them playing long past frozen fingers and snow-packed boots. While praying the entire time, of course.
Safe? Not a chance.
Fun? Without a doubt.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
I'm certain I was channeling Elvis - or at least Mojo Nixon's version - as I concocted breakfast this morning.
Make Waffles using your favorite mix, or heat up some frozen ones.
Make The Sauce - enough to spread over 4 big homemade waffles
In a pan over med low heat mix:
6 T. butter
1/2 cup honey
1/4 cup peanut butter
After that's bubbly, gooey and yummy, add 3 sliced bananas.
Stir to coat and then top waffles with The Sauce.
Elvis was definitely at our breakfast table this morning!
A re-post: I thought you might like something fun to do on Saturday morning - which happens to be The King's (and my nephew's) birthday!
linked to Kristin whose WFMW tips are fabulous...
I've stayed up late chatting with our last Christmas guest and Butterbain has taken up residence on my side of the bed. I smile in the dark, knowing butterbain's presence is evidence of his cunning and useful smile. I skooch him over, making room for myself on the edge, ease under the heavy quilts and turn to hug him up. Dreaming deep he turns to me, as does mainbain, and as I drift off to sleepy town, I realize I have no idea which arm belongs to my 5 year old baby, which one is mine and which one is mainbain's.
My last conscious thought is how sweet it is to be tangled up together. Not fully able to parse where I end and us begins.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Number 4 protests, "I don't want to marry a girl!"
"You're 'pose to marry a girl," Number
3 continues, "You are just 3. You don't know how life is!"
Another day, another story,
Saturday, January 1, 2011
2010 was filled with joy and sadness. New beginnings and bittersweet endings. Hilarious and unbelievable moments. We are thankful most of these experiences were chronicled right here to share with each other and our readers.
For 2011 we are striving for contentment. Of course there's always room for personal improvement, but realizing most of life is simply out of your control tends to open up the possibilities. Chances are this year will contain the astounding, the disappointing, the ho-hum and the surprising. And probably a liberal smattering of everything in between. Whether our lives run smoothly on track, become de-railed or just seem simply monotonous, we hope to find gratitude in it all. Focus not on what we want, but what we have.
"For I know the plans I have for you. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to bring you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
Em and Lib