Lost in Christmas Emotion

Yesterday I sat between my daughter and a friend's daughter at our church's family Christmas eve service.  There were poinsettias and angels and candles everywhere.  The message was about love and life and Christmas, familiar stories told with language that moved me deeply.  We sang the hymn "Star Child" in the middle of the sermon, and I was done for.  I felt that wonderful, painful, upside down, happy and sad feeling that wells up in my rib cage and emerges through my tear ducts.  I almost went into the "ugly cry" there for a moment.

After the service was over, the mother of a very dear friend who was seated nearby grabbed me forcefully and hugged me like only a mama can; just what I needed.  She spoke warmly in my ear, "Thank you for being my daughter's friend."  Of course I welled up again.  I felt overwhelmed as the reality of my blessings snapped into clear focus.  I felt euphoric and filled with something bigger than myself.  My friend Christy smiled knowingly and asked, "Oh friend, are you verklempt?" as she hugged me.

My husband who was seated a few rows back, caught my eye and sent puzzled and concerned vibes in my direction.  He caught up me with after a few of my best church girlfriends greeted me and embraced me wordlessly.  "Are you okay?" every male member of my family wanted to know.

Of course I was okay.  I was great!  I was alive and full of life affirming emotions.  Being in a familiar place, surrounded by familiar loved ones, and being awakened to the fact that ALL of it is completely sacred can get a girl choked up, you know?  None of my girlfriends required an explanation.  They simply said, "Oh come here, you!" and hugged me until it got weird... just kidding.  (I love you and your hugs, Jennifer Lane.  My friend Jennifer's hugs say, "You are special and important, and I love you" like no words can.)

"I'm sorry. I just don't understand."  my husband said.  This is, of course, completely okay too.  He is also one of my blessings, and boys "feel" blessings in different ways sometimes.  I'm pretty sure he was feeling something when he was making out with me in the kitchen this morning, much to my ten year old's horror.

Merry Christmas, Boys AND Girls!

God bless us, every one!

My Favorite Four Day Weekend

When we lived overseas, I missed Thanksgiving ever so much.  Even though we always celebrated  the weekend before or after with turkey and most of the trimmings, I found myself downright depressed and annoyed when I had to wake up early in the morning on Thursday and Friday and hustle my little darlings off to school.  Thanksgiving weekend is definitely one of the best weekends of the year in my opinion.

We spend the weekend cooking, eating, watching silly family movies, eating, pulling out a few Christmas decorations, reading, playing games, eating a bit more, and beginning to dream about the next time we will bake pumpkin pie.  The Carsons do not "do" Black Friday.  We hunker down, cuddle up, wear cozy clothes and mismatched socks, and savor the fact that we are NOT fighting crowds or being trampled by somebody's Granny who's determined to get her mitts on the last vibrating "personal massager" sale priced on aisle 4.  You're not fooling anybody, Nana!  We all know what you plan to do with that.

For us, we feel that Thanksgiving weekend is better spent catching up with friends...

"Why yes, Maelyn, I also love Dora the Explorer!  I'm so glad we had this little chat."

 

It is also an excellent time to re-connect with a favorite pet after a falling out.

"Emily, I'm really very sorry about that time I put you in a headlock and wiped my snotty nose on your delicate grey ears.  I love you!"

 

Thanksgiving weekend is also a perfect time to take a "pretend nap" with some of your favorites.

"Car-shew!  Car-shew!  Car-shew!"

(FYI This is what my daughter Sophia's fake snores sound like.)

 

To conclude, I shall leave you with three new variations of old recipes I tried out this year.  All of these got high marks, and I think we'll be seeing them again at Christmastime (or sooner).

 

The “I Don’t Even Like Sweet Potatoes, But This Is Awesome" Casserole

Ingredients

2 ½ pounds of sweet potatoes (about 5 medium)

2 TBS butter (softened)

½ cup brown sugar

½ cup 2% milk

1 large egg

½ tsp salt

½ tsp vanilla

Baking spray

Topping

Mini marshmallows

OR

**Meringue: 4 egg whites + ¼ cup granulated sugar**

Preparation

1.      Preheat oven to 400 F.   Bake sweet potatoes on a baking sheet for 1 hour or until tender.  Reduce oven temp to 350 F.  Let potatoes stand until cool to the touch (~20 minutes); peel and mash with potato masher.

2.      Beat mashed sweet potatoes with butter, brown sugar, milk, egg, salt , and vanilla.  Spoon mixture into a prepared 11 x 7 baking dish.

3.      Bake at 350 F for 30 minutes.  Remove, and let stand for 10 minutes.  Sprinkle with miniature marshmallows and bake 10 more minutes.

**Another irresistible topping option: Golden Meringue topped sweet potato casserole:

Omit marshmallows. Beat 4 egg whites at high speed with an electric mixer until foamy.  Gradually add ¼ cup granulated sugar (1 TBSP at a time) and continue beating until stiff peaks form and sugar is dissolved.  Spread meringue over sweet potato mixture and bake 10 more minutes until golden.

 

Sausage Stuffing Muffins

Ingredients:

1 lb bulk sausage (I use turkey to help assuage the holiday guilt)

4 celery ribs, chopped

2 medium onions, chopped

¼ cup butter, cubed

1 package (14 oz.) cornbread stuffing

2 med. apples, peeled and chopped

5 oz. dried cranberries

1 cup chopped pecans (optional)

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. pepper

2-3 cup reduced-sodium chicken broth

2 eggs

2 tsp. baking powder

How to:

1.       Cook sausage in a large skillet over medium heat.  Drain.  Transfer to a large bowl and set aside.

2.      In the same skillet, sauté celery and onions in butter until tender.  Transfer to the bowl.  Add the stuffing, apples, cranberries, salt and pepper.   Stir in enough broth to reach desired moistness.  Whisk eggs and baking powder; add to stuffing mixture.

3.      Spoon into 18 greased muffins cups.  Bake at 375 F for 20-25 minutes or until lightly browned.  Cool for 10 minutes.  Run a knife around the edges to loosen.  Serve immediately.

 

Mama’s Fabulous Creamy Skillet Corn

Ingredients:

2 TBS salted butter

1 small onion, diced

4 ½ cups frozen corn (about 26 oz.), thawed

1 tsp salt

1 TBS sugar

½ tsp freshly ground black pepper

 1 cup milk

½ cup heavy cream (or soy cream)

2 TBS flour

How to:

1.       In a large skillet, heat the butter over medium heat.  When it foams add the onion and cook for 5 minutes, stirring frequently.  Stir in the corn and cook until the corn is hot.   Stir in the salt, sugar and pepper.

 

2.      Stir in the milk and cream and bring to a simmer.  Whisk in the flour and cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture thickens (about 5 minutes).

3.    Serve it up with a smile.

Happy Thanksgiving, Friends!!



So...October Happened

Holy Cow!  Did y'all know it was November?!  We all survived the fall rituals of pumpkin selecting, pumpkin carving, pumpkin soup eating, pumpkin costume wearing, trick-or-treating, and the most dramatic rose ceremony yet (also known as last week's presidential election).  October, for us, has been a wonderfully busy blur.  We have all managed to get to our lessons and practices, get to school on time (most days), and still participate in all of the essential seasonal activities.  My writing has suffered, but my kids are happy, and I am pleased to report that I seem to be keeping my usual seasonal depression at bay with the help of some low dose pharmaceuticals.  Can I get a whoop whoop?

So... for my friend Sonia across the pond, here is a review of our October in pictures....

We picked a peck of impeccable pumpkins at Grandma's Pumpkin Patch.

That kid struggling in the background with the 40 pound pumpkin also belongs to me.

 

Emma's friend Natalie took this lovely photo of us at Bayne's Apple Valley Farm.

There you can buy a $7 caramel apple as big as your head... if you're into that sort of thing.

 

The Sunday before Halloween we all carved our pumpkins.  Lili was much more involved and opinionated this year.

 

I was super excited about my pink pumpkin and thought it only appropriate to give her a hair bow and a set of voluptuous lips.  Lili named my pumpkin Mimi (after her grandmother) and concurred that she (the girl pumpkin) was pretty fabulous.

 

On Halloween night Dad obviously rocked the face paint.

(Sophia went as a butterfly fairy.)

 

Emma dressed as a very unique and jolly elf and was proud to pose with her French "Jacques-o-lantern."

 

Tricks and treats were enjoyed by all (including Lil's best friend Mae).

 

Of course George and I joined in with the festivities.

And for the record, he ain't afraid of no ghosts.

 

We are hopeful that November will bring just as much fun and perhaps a little more down time.  Wherever you are, I hope you are enjoying the season.  Please tell Santa Claus to hold off because everyone at my house is seriously looking forward to Thanksgiving.  Until we meet again...

This Is My Brain on Drugs

I suspect that fall has always been rather beautiful in Michigan.  This is my third fall here, but this is the first time I have really appreciated the beauty associated with dying chlorophyll.  Trees have burst into flaming shades of red, yellow and orange.  My three year old and I sit at the window and watch the leaves gracefully cascade toward the earth while she squeals and I breathe it all in as though I were observing it intentionally for the first time.

Allow me to back up.  I am a girl who adores summertime.  I love blue skies, warm water, peaches, and sundresses.  I love the sunshine and the way it makes me feel.  I begin to fret at the beginning of September because I know, from experience, what lies ahead for me as summer comes to a close.  The days get shorter, my brain becomes foggy, and I become as lethargic as an old house cat.

This year I decided to be proactive.  Per my GP's referral, I visited a psychologist/ therapist about a month ago before the weather started to change.  To my surprise she told me that year after year I have been doing all of the right things (i.e. using the light box, eating well, exercising, getting outside).  I assumed that I was missing something.  I felt confident that she would tell me that I just wasn't trying hard enough to be happy and energetic.  The therapist recommended that I start taking a low dose of anti-depressants before my usual lethargy set in.  Before I could stop them, the words flew out of my mouth, "Are you sure this doesn't make me a failure?"

I didn't mean to say it.  I didn't really even know I felt that way.  I have been suffering with seasonal depression for the last seven years because I believed that seeking help and not defeating it on my own made me a failure.  To be fair I did visit a young doctor one dreary morning in Wales about five years ago after I'd had a scary moment of complete, foggy out-of-it-ness and lost track of my three year old in a crowd of school children in town.  He basically instructed me to suck it up and try to take a sunny holiday soon.  Apparently I internalized his advice, and I have indeed attempted to suck it up and deal with my seasonal depression on my own ever since then.

The psychologist assured me that I was not a failure.  She quickly confessed that a daily dose of Prozac had helped her conquer her own anxiety disorder and live a more balanced life.  So I left her office with a prescription for a pediatric dose of an anti-depressant, which I filled but did not start taking.

I waited until the official first day of Fall.  On Saturday, September 22nd I did not want to get out of bed.  Nothing was wrong in my life.  I was surrounded by the usual happy children and dirty dishes.  I stayed in bed until ten and felt tired all day.  The next morning, I dragged myself to church but felt  languid and droopy.  That afternoon I took my first tablet, and I am writing about it now because it has helped and it is not shameful.

I wake up on my own in the morning now.  My eyes open without a great deal of difficulty, and my thinking is much more clear.  My children no longer need to tiptoe to my bedside at 7:30 and attempt to rouse their cantankerous, comatose mama bear from hibernation.  I am conscious of the seasonal beauty all around me for the first time in a long time.  The trees are the right height (ha) and their vibrantly colored leaves have suddenly snapped into focus.  As I am out in my car or on foot, I gaze around in absolute awe.  All of this is punctuated by my three year old's chirpy narration, "What a beautiful day it is, Mom!  The leaves are so colorful."

And now I answer her back sincerely, "Yes, my dear, it IS a glorious day!"

 

The Family that Plays Together...

I had never devoted much thought to the trumpet.  It is a fine instrument, and Dizzy Gillespie was beyond words fabulous, but before tonight, I had never really had a personal experience with the trumpet.

But lately my daughter Emma has been talking a lot about the trumpet.  She is a girl who knows her mind and knows exactly what she wants.  When the opportunity to join the 5th grade band presented itself, she was all over it, and she knew that the trumpet was the instrument for her.

What?  Everybody plays trumpet in bed, right?

Tonight Emma's Dad took her out and signed a rental agreement on a brand new, shiny, fantastic trumpet.  I looked at the final price on the agreement, and made Emma swear that she wouldn't change her mind about the trumpet next week.  She promised.  Then she took off all of the plastic and attempted to wow us with a forceful, solid blast from her new instrument.  She got there eventually, and the littlest Carson, who was by her side chanting, "Blow your horn, Emma!!" clapped her hands with sheer delight as that victorious note finally filled our bedroom.

When she (our littlest) announced, "I want to try," we all thought it would be kind to oblige...

What we didn't expect was that she would take a deep breath and immediately blow the loudest, most clear note ever played by a two-year-old.  No fact-checking required.  We are totally certain she is a child trumpet prodigy.  So while none of us had thought too terribly much about trumpets or other brass instruments prior to this evening, now we are all big fans.  Tonight the trumpet brought us more joy and laughter than we ever would have expected.  Imagine how much fun it will be when one of us actually knows how to play it!

Please remind me of this endearing moment in a few months when I have been listening to my daughter practice playing her wounded giraffe... I mean, trumpet, upstairs every afternoon.  Because trumpets aren't cheap, and that girl IS going to be practicing every day.

(I kind of love these people.)

My Favorite Tap Dancing Time Machine

I don't exactly know where to begin.

Sometimes I feel compelled to state the obvious.  Bear with me.  I am a little slow, and "the obvious" is not always so obvious to me.

I live with three children.  All of them are very comfortable leaning on, nuzzling into, and generally treating my body like a beanbag chair.  Most children are like that.  My daughters think nothing of climbing into my bed and burrowing into my flesh as though I were a favorite cushion.  There is great security in that kind of physical intimacy.  Children know this.  We are all born knowing this, but at some point we forget.  We grow up.  We become independent.  We stop snuggling close to our mamas and friends. (At least most of us do.) 

Not too long ago my eldest daughter told me, "Mom, I just cannot even imagine you being a kid.  You are just SO boring and grown up."  I tried not to take offense.  I am her mother, after all, and it is my job to encourage her to be sensible and not act like an idiot all of the time.  I can totally see how she might interpret that as my being an impossibly boring grown up.  This past weekend, however,  I took that daughter to New York City to visit one of my dearest childhood friends.  Do you know what happens when you meet a childhood friend again after a long absence? 

You become sixteen (or twelve, or whatever) again.  We, unfortunately, met up with Kirk at the hospital in Queens where he had undergone an emergency appendectomy (is there any other kind?) the night before, and the moment I saw him I squealed like a teenager and was running my fingers through his new short haircut before I even realized what I was doing.  It didn't take long before I was in his hospital bed with him, curled up like an affectionate child.  It was far more natural and comfortable to be squished up next to him in that single bed than it was to be seated politely like a grown up in the corner chair that was provided by the hospital.

It wasn't until sometime later the following evening when I found myself once again tucked up in bed with my old friend, that I realized that something wonderful and unusual was happening.  I realized that, although I have many wonderful, warm, loving, and fun "new" friends, I rarely climb in bed with those friends and laugh so hard that one of us might literally bust a post-surgical gut.  That is something that children and childhood friends do.  There is something precious and irreplaceable about an old friend who knew you back before you got your act together and became a sensible grown up, a friend who loved you when you were awkward and had braces and glasses and a desperate crush on Michael J. Fox.

And I realized that for me childhood friends are exceptionally beloved treasures because I don't have any brothers or sisters.  My close childhood friends are the ones who remember the way my mama used to laugh when we were kids, and those friends are happy to point out that I laugh exactly the same way now.  My close childhood friends are enchanting characters in the archives of my soul.  Their faces leap to my mind when I smell chocolate syrup and suntan lotion or when I binge out on candy corn.  They remember the time my sweet grandmother let one rip at the dinner table and the ONLY time I got sent to the assistant principal's office.  Kirk remembers that trip to the vice principal's office particularly well since he was sitting right there next to me after encouraging my irresponsible behavior, and as he retold that story this past weekend, I watched my daughter's face as her perception of her boring mama shifted.  "You got in trouble once??"  she asked incredulously, "That's awesome!!"

So not only did I get away to a great city this past weekend, but I also got to revisit some of the best parts of my childhood.  I spent time with a friend who doubles as my own personal time machine.  I have this sneaking suspicion that Kirk may have grown up some too, but I can't be completely sure because whenever we are together, we are teenagers again.  We pick up right where we left off the last time we met, eating cookies and singing show tunes in bed.  We share the comfortable intimacy of kids who don't know that it's weird to sit really close to each other, groom each other, and snort very unattractively as we laugh and laugh and laugh.**

Sometime soon I may write about the rest of our trip and Emma's first Broadway experience, but today, I just had to revel in the joyous afterglow of a weekend spent engulfed in joy and laughter just like the good ole days.  Kirk, we didn't know it when we were singing opera in your living room after school or throwing strawberry milkshakes out the car window, but we were making sacred memories.  I feel so blessed that you are part of my past, present, and future, and until we meet again, I will delight in memories of you that pop up unexpectedly in my brain like bubbles in a glass of celebratory champagne.  I love you, Cletus, and from the bottom of my heart...

Thank you for being a friend!

**My husband wishes for me to note that he adores Kirk almost as much as I do, and that he fully approves of my being in bed with this "other man" all weekend.  Had he been with us on this trip, I have no doubt that George would have joined us in bed and that he would have eaten more than his share of the Oreos.

"Let's Go on an Adventure!"

This was the extremely pleading request of my almost-three-year-old today.  "Can we PLEASE go on an adventure??!"  I decided that visiting the DMV, although necessary and ripe with people-watching opportunities, did not qualify as an exciting kids' adventure.

I've had this idea up my sleeve all summer, and today seemed like the perfect day, not to mention one of our last summer days, to have an OUTDOOR SCAVENGER HUNT!  After rather expeditiously renewing our license plate registrations at the secretary of state's office, I took all three girls to a local forest.  I gave them each a list, a pen, and a camera*, and a super-fun afternoon ensued.  (*Lilianna Carson actually left her camera in the car, but that turned out to be all for the best.)

It was a perfect afternoon for old and young alike.

Here is the list I gave to my older girls:

Can you find….

·        Something beautiful

·        Something that makes a noise

·        Something very old

·        An animal track

·        A feather

·        Something you can feel but cannot see

·        Something with  a strong scent

·        A flower

·        Something scary

·        A good hiding place

·        2 different types of grass

·        3 different kinds of leaves

·        Moss

·        3 different colored stones

·        A berry

·        A pine cone

·        A nut or an acorn

·        Something a deer could eat

·        Something a bird could eat

·        Something with thorns or prickles

·        Something slippery

·        Something soft

·        Something put here by people

·        Something wet

·        Something that begins with the first letter of your name

·        Something shiny

·        Something white

I asked the girls not to remove anything from the forest; this is why we brought cameras.  You may not be shocked to know that my eager, eldest daughter checked items off of her list very quickly while my eight year old, Sophia, was much more discriminating.  "Would a bird really like to eat this?"  she wondered aloud, and, "Hmmm... I'm not sure that this is the most beautiful thing I will find in the forest today."

They took the task very seriously.  At one point I reminded them, "This is just for fun, you know.  You will not be getting a grade or anything."

"Yeah, but if we were getting a grade, I'd be getting a nearly perfect one." 

-Emma Carson, age 10

My youngest had a very simple list, but she was happy to join right in with the older explorers.

Of course the camera doesn't lie.  You can clearly see that I love the nature...

My Michigan friends still have one more week of summer left.  So if you find yourself going nuts next week, please feel free to use my list or adapt one of your own, and send your kids out in the back yard or to the local park for an outdoor scavenger hunt.  A little fresh air and the sounds of sticks and leaves under our feet did us all a great deal of good today.

Happy fleeting summer afternoons!

Love,

Meredith

Just the Two of Us

So there we were in an average, over-priced hotel room while buckets and buckets of rain dumped down on the outside world.  We were just about to put on our bathing suits and head down to the unexceptional hotel swimming pool when my oldest daughter blurted, without thinking, "I don't even mind having a baby sister if I still get to go swimming with my Mom!"

I wondered how long she had been waiting to say something like that.  Earlier that afternoon the two of us had climbed into the car and driven less than an hour away where we checked into a hotel and headed out to do some shopping.  She had hardly stopped talking since we left the house.  At one point she paused to take a big breath and then carried on telling me about everything important that happened in fourth grade, things I had never even imagined.   There weren't any toddlers to chase or sighing eight year olds to console.  All of my attention was focused on Emma, and when I agreed to buy her a pair of leopard print Fergalicious ballet flats, her voice reach new octaves.  This time away with my daughter was long overdue.

Emma at Culver's where she ordered a Coconut Cream Concrete Mixer

Let me back up just a little.  Would you like to know what I've been doing all summer?  Too late.  I'm going to tell you anyway.  All summer long I have been losing my mind agonizing over all of the fussing, fighting, and arguing that the children at my house do.  I have begun to write about it on several occasions, but during my rare moments of alone time, I always determine that I would much rather engage in some sort of escapism than reflect on what has been plaguing me all day. 

We have had countless conversations about how lucky my daughters are to have each other, how their relationships will likely be the longest relationships they have in this lifetime, how important it is to remember and appreciate each others' differences.  I have conducted seminars on nurturing the needs of introverts verses extroverts.  My extroverted daughter Emma concludes that extroverts are ALWAYS the ones who have to sacrifice in order to give introverts their quiet, alone time.  She is probably right.  In an attempt to appease her introverted sister and mother, she has been trying to squelch and swallow her extroverted natural tendencies all summer.  And when she falls short, we growl at her.  We tell her to "calm down" and to "stop being so LOUD"!

I had always been told that when I had a third child, I'd need to be hyper vigilant and not allow my poor middle child to feel overlooked and left out, but it has become very clear to me recently that my eldest is the one who needs some extra attention.  Being the oldest can be quite a burden, especially if you are a sensitive girl who doesn't want to add to your weary mama's work load.  Maybe there's also a little part of you that just can't bear the rejection of your mama saying, "I'm sorry.  I am just too tired to [fill in the blank] with you tonight," so you just start swallowing your wants, and you start feeling less and less important, and you just stop asking your mama to do those little things that make you feel warm and fuzzy and like a loved little person.  All of this can happen so quietly that it almost goes unnoticed.

Things were feeling out of balance.  Sibling sniping was at an all time high, and I felt like I was absorbing it all, leaving my children with a husk of a mama.  It was my husband who noticed that I was looking puny and defeated, and he suggested that I get some time away.  When I thought about taking my oldest girl with me on a little adventure, I started to feel energized.  So I made it happen.

We didn't need to go far, but the moment we hit the road, I realized how much my daughter and I needed time away together.  I realized just how much she had been yearning for her mama's undivided attention.  I realized how quickly she is growing and changing, and I remembered how proud I am to call her my daughter.

After an afternoon of shopping and indulging in a fabulous, intimate dinner (at our favorite fast food establishment),  I was caught up on everything that she had been thinking and feeling over the last year or so.  We decided to return to our hotel and go swimming... and I actually swam.  There wasn't a toddler on my hip.  There wasn't an eight year old begging me to "watch this" every 30 seconds.  I put my head under the water and swam pretty much just like Michael Phelps does, except for the fact that my abs are a little stronger than his.  My daughter and I raced back and forth across the pool.  We somersaulted in the deep end, and we jumped back and forth from the hot tub into the cold swimming pool.  "Doesn't this make you feel alive, Mom?"  Well, of course it did!

That night we curled up in bed together and watched a movie.  The next morning, we packed up our stuff and headed to Emma's dream destination:  Bronner's, the world's largest Christmas store.

We spent several hours in this store.  I learned to sympathize with husbands who wearily follow their shopping spouses while carrying pocketbooks and making supportive comments like, "Yes, dear, that one is lovely."  Emma wanted to find an appropriately suitable Christmas ornament for each person in our family.  I totally held it together as she agonized over which glass Santa Claus had the cutest and jolliest face and which traditional Christmas pickle seemed the most sincere.  We had fun, and my girl Emma felt like the only girl in the world.

After completely losing track of what day, time, and season it was while we were in Bronner's, we parked and walked around the charming Bavarian town of Frankenmuth.  Emma decided we should dine at the apparently world famous Bavarian Inn.  I'm sure you've heard of it.

Not only was she impressed with the friendly blokes in lederhosen, but she was also a huge fan of the five different varieties of lemonade and the obviously authentic Bavarian chicken pot pie that she ordered.  It hardly gets much better when you're ten.  When we returned home that evening, I brought back a different girl.  This girl was happy and relaxed.  This girl felt loved and important.  This girl was not constantly on the brink of rolling her eyes at me.

So here is what I've learned.  Spending quality time alone with each child does not bring sibling spats and screaming matches to a halt, but it improves the dynamics in the house overall.  My daughter Emma and I now have a weekend of memories stored up in our emotional bank accounts.  Now I am not only the mom who asks her to "PLEASE calm down" when she morphs into a cacophonous bounding bundle of frenzied elbows and flip flops.  I am also the lady who huddled under an umbrella with her as we skipped through the rain, laughing with each other, knowing that there was no where else we'd rather be. 

I hope that the next time it feels like emotions are raw and patience is impossibly short at my house, I will remember that what my kids need even more than a lecture about personality types is time alone with me to play.  Sometimes my girls need a break from practicing good manners and waiting for their turns.  Sometimes a girl needs a chance to be completely selfish and to have her mama all to herself.  Sometimes a ten year old wants to curl up in bed next to her mom and sleep there all night with nobody else squeezing in between them.

The real moral of the story is that we need some helpful grandparents living nearby.  That would sure make all of the above a lot easier.  What do you say, Mimi?  Our Michigan winters aren't THAT bad.







Babies' First Baseball Game

There really is no excuse for this.  We have been back in the US for over two years now, and we have a local, hometown baseball team.  But we just hadn't taken our poor children out for an evening of watching America's favorite pastime.  They were seriously deprived... but that was so last week.  Now they have experienced the thrill of a minor league baseball game.

We paid six bucks each to sit on the lawn and watch the game.  It was worth the price of admission when Mama got a little choked up after a Vietnam veteran invited us all to stand for the national anthem, which was played by a lovely brass band.  My kids have stopped asking, "Mom, why are you crying?" because I do it so frequently.  (Watching the Summer Olympics has been a complete sob-fest incidentally.)

 

All of the kids decided the best thing about the game was the stadium food.  My daughter Emma will totally appreciate my posting this very attractive photo of her and her authentic foot long, ballpark hot dog.  Lili and I were completely impressed with the "Super Nachos" we ordered, but to be fair, that girl will sit and eat sour cream with a spoon, so having a tortilla chip as a vehicle for her cheese and "white stuff" was really just a bonus for her.

After she tried helping herself to someone else's "bag of squishy pink stuff," Lili's Dad bought her  a bag of her very own artificially colored, spun sugar, and that was really something worth getting excited about.

"It's so FLUFFY!!"

And even though the home team didn't win, we still had fireworks and ice cream served in a plastic hat.  And those Carson kids are just a little more Americanized now.  

What shall we do next? 

 I vote for family cheer leading camp.

"A hot dog at the ballgame beats roast beef at the Ritz."  

~Humphrey Bogart

Lili's Super Simple Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream

There are several recipes out there for "3-Ingredient Healthy Ice Cream."  Just so you know, this is NOT a particularly healthy recipe.  It is, however, very fun and easy enough for a two year old to make (with a little assistance).  We got this recipe from one of those Good Housekeeping magazines your mama gave us.

Ingredients:

• 1 pint (which is 2 cups) of heavy whipping cream
• 1-14oz. can of sweetened condensed milk
• 1+1/2 teaspoons of real vanilla extract

Directions:  Whip all of the above in the bowl of an electric mixer until it forms firm, stiff peaks.  (This will take at least 5 minutes.) Transfer the mixture to a loaf pan.  Cover and freeze for at least 8 hours.  Lick the beaters.  Stick your face in the bowl and lick that too while you're at it.

 When you take it out of the freezer the next day, it will be very cold.

You might be a little annoyed that your mama wants you to hold it while she takes a picture.

...But not as annoyed as you feel when she says you cannot have any ice cream until you've eaten your dinner.  Honestly, what is up with that woman?

Oh Sophia, Did I make that lovely ice cream for you?
I did??  Well, that was very nice of my little self, wasn't it?