Mama Carson... Across the Pond and Back Again...

"If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it."

2012-01-31T17:48:00.000-05:00

It is true that I spend just about every waking moment in the presence of my darling two year old daughter. And even though this is a fact, I don't always see her. I acknowledge her rude-sounding demands for cheese and juice. I scold her for putting the cat in a headlock and for scribbling all over my bedsheets with a permanent orange marker. I scoop her into my arms when things have not gone her way and she collapses in a puddle on the kitchen floor, but I do not, in fact, always see her.

And so today, after multiple attention-seeking, naughty behaviors had irritated me to my core, I looked and found a little person who needed to be seen. I also found a little person who has suddenly developed a very vivid imagination, and this little person was a rather wonderful companion for the afternoon.

This afternoon I spent a bit of time looking out the window at reindeer. At first I strained my eyes searching for the actual deer that often trot through our woods, and I could not see them, but Lili insisted, stabbing her impatient index finger at the glass, "A REINDEER!! A REINDEER!! It's RIGHT THERE!" I re-focused, and immediately saw that proud creature pawing at the snowy ground. Wow. I was in awe.

Next we fed pretzels and bananas to a small dinosaur and convinced him that it was a good idea to share his snacks and toys. Then we read and discussed several Charlie and Lola books, played catch with a wadded up Kleenex, and rubbed our heads together as we giggled. And then the most amazing thing of all happened. I saw her. I saw my daughter. I became conscious of the little girl who is making sense of the world around her and creating even better imaginary worlds in her beautiful little brain. And I felt moved to say, "Wow! I really love you, Tyrone!" since that was the name she insisted upon being called at that moment, "And," I added, "I love the person you are becoming."

So I am grateful that I was able to stop for while today and witness my youngest daughter becoming the next version of herself. I am glad that I was able to spend some time in her world, which is much more colorful and playful than mine.

When the Cat's Away...

2012-01-27T18:59:00.001-05:00

...the mouse will eat an entire box of chocolate Nestle Quick.

George and I should know by now that we cannot sneak off to the bedroom to watch some horrible BBC television series without paying a price. We fool ourselves into a false sense of security by assuming that the big sisters are keeping a watchful eye on Thing 3, but there is always that moment when we look at each other and know that somewhere in the house, something naughty is happening.

We both really tried to keep stern, disapproving looks our our faces as we marched her into the bathroom where she would be posing for the newest photos to go into "The Naughty Book," but keeping a serious face is rather impossible when THIS is looking back at you...

"CHEESE! Put ME in the Naughty Book!"

Mission Impossible?

2012-01-15T18:26:00.000-05:00

I hope you are not too disappointed in me. I am simply not finding the time to sit down and write about all of the tantrums and growth spurts that are happening around here. To borrow a phrase, I keep 'waiting to exhale.' Before we had our third baby, it seemed that I had ample time for breaths in and out, for writing, and for reading the most ridiculous variety of novels you can imagine.

But here I find myself, occasionally relaxing, but knowing that while I laze, I am letting something slide. While I was sipping tea and composing that email in which I reminisced about my 11th grade prom dress, my two year old was pulling all of the shoes out of my closet and filling them with fistfuls of cat food. It can also be argued that my time would have been better spent changing the sheets after some child ate a sleeve of crackers (apparently using half of them to make confetti) in my bed. If I were to only write or relax when there was nothing more sensible to do, then there would be no time for any foolishness. Ever. I have convinced myself that this is true even though I know that a better time manager could probably sort my life out for me. An accomplished time manager is simply not who I am. I like to think that I traded organization and time management skills for other gifts.

There is another thing that has gotten considerably more difficult since we brought our third kid home from the hospital. We are finding it impossible to appropriately entertain all of our children at once. The things that are fun for a two year old are NOT the same things that are fun for a seven or nine year old. I realized recently that 99% of the time when we are deciding on an activity, the 2 year old at our house wins (because she is the biggest pain when she's unhappy). Of course this is completely unfair.

A couple of weeks ago, we called our faithful babysitter and had a night out with just our two big kids. Wow! That was nice. We realized that, since their little sister can't roller skate, handle a bowling ball without injuring someone, or sit through a movie, our big kids were missing out a lot. So... a somewhat regularly scheduled "Big Kid Date Night" has been added to our list of priorities.

Today, however, there was lots of snow on the ground, and we were sure sledding down the big hill was one of those rare active outings that the whole family could enjoy together. With some effort, we all bundled up in waterproof, woolly gear and headed for the hill. We did not anticipate this on the three minute drive...

Still we were not deterred; we literally dragged that little girl up the hill were she slept out in the cold, fresh air for about 45 minutes. We took turns sledding and standing guard over our baby.

Finally she did wake up and enjoy the scenery.

She even had a go sledding with her Dad. (Everyone knows that Mom would not have been an appropriate sledding partner for Lili since Mom screams ridiculously all the way down the hill. It's one of the things they all love about Mom even though they never admit it.)

It turned out that Lili wasn't terribly impressed with the sledding and the cold. After two trips down the hill and some animated chatting with a shivering bulldog pup, Lili was ever so ready to go home. Even though her mama was holding her, she howled repeatedly, "I WANT MAMA!!" all the way back to the car.

We counted the afternoon an overall success. 4/5 of us had a really lovely time, and we all agreed: sometimes it's okay if the 2 year old doesn't win.

Woman Cave

2012-01-09T20:04:00.000-05:00

It goes without saying that I love my children and my husband. I love sticky kisses and outstretched arms. I love nursery songs sung by little, frolicsome voices and imaginary play with animal noises. I love dancing and joke-telling and hearing about every one's day.

I love all of these things, but...

I also really love silence and solitude.

Silence and solitude are not easy things to come by in a house full of children. The need for these sneaked up on me recently. It manifested itself through impatient replies, short tempered reactions, and feelings of angst when children plopped their needy little bodies onto my lap.

Over the weekend when everyone had settled in to watch a movie together, I slunk away to waste my time looking at crock pot recipes and other nonsense on the Internet for an hour. I stared at my computer's screen with glazed eyes and allowed the silence in the room to saturate me. I sat in my chair and contentedly relished the fact that absolutely no one was touching me for an entire hour.

When the movie was over, I managed to smile at everyone and wish them a good night and sweet dreams. I then told my husband that I would be sleeping in the guest room by myself that night. He looked puzzled. I assured him, "It's nothing to do with you. I just need some silence and stillness."

"I'm just planning to go right to sleep," he offered.

"Yes, but you'll be breathing." I answered, displaying the most pleasant countenance I could manage.

Men aren't the only ones who need a metaphorical "cave" for occasional escapes. I've been thinking, after enjoying my solo night, that perhaps I need a Woman Cave, a quiet and comfortable spot with flowers and candles and books. No kids or adorable husbands allowed. A wise Mommy friend suggested that all moms need a full night away once a month. I like this idea a lot, and while I doubt I will make it happen once a month, I do hope to listen a little more closely to my inner-introvert and indulge her need for solitude a little more often.

Who's with me?

...And a Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T19:55:00.000-05:00

Things got pretty wild at our house as we rang in the new year. As usual Emma couldn't hold her drink, and Lili wound up dancing naked on the kitchen table. Or perhaps we just put Lili to bed and watched Pirates of the Caribbean followed by Downton Abbey until 1am.

George has been, unfortunately, rather ill for the last few days. He is finally feeling better today, so we toasted the new year with some of Meijer's best sparkling white grape juice and skipped our usual hoppin' john in favor of some turkey chili and tortilla chips.

"Cheers Me, Sophia!"

I'm so happy, it's a little bit scary.

“Each new day is a blank page in the diary of your life. The secret of success is in turning that diary into the best story you possibly can.” ~Douglas Pagels

I wish you a very happy new year full of wonderful pages in the ongoing story of you.

Love,

Meredith

Sleigh Bells in the Air... Beauty Everywhere...

2011-12-29T21:06:00.000-05:00

Christmas has come and gone in a blur of twinkly lights, carols, sugary concoctions, jingling bells, sticky kisses, whispered prayers, and yule tide cheer. Here are a few of the highlights that I was able to catch with my camera.

The night before Christmas eve, these jolly little elves worked diligently to construct this delightful-looking gingerbread house which served as a perfect centerpiece to our holiday table for the next few days. Never mind the fact that my two-year-old ate 37 gumdrops and 24 M&m's for dinner that night.

On the morning of Christmas eve, George managed to make festive pancakes even though we couldn't scare up any food coloring. Sophia and her little sister were rather impressed...

At four o'clock, we all went to church, dragging Pawpaw and Uncle David along with us. Emma rang with the Prime Chimers, Sophia had a lovely reading during the sermon and George and I made it through the Minuet Noel before my voice completely frogged-out on me.

Making beautiful music...

It had been a LONG time since I had sung with my husband. We thought we should take a photo to mark the occasion. Perhaps the new year will hold more musical opportunities for us both.

After our traditional Christmas Eve spaghetti, we opened a few presents...

And I remembered my dear friend Myrt by topping her Christmas cookie plate for Santa with her favorite "doo doo balls". She undoubtedly would have approved of my sock monkey nightgown as well. It was also apparent that Santa approved since ALL of the doo doo balls were gone the next morning.

On Christmas morning I traditionally make something a bit naughty. This year's cinnamon rolls with chocolate icing were no exception. Lili thought they were spectacular... finger-licking-good to be perfectly descriptive...

Mimi arrived on Christmas Day just as Pawpaw and Uncle David were making their way home. There were more presents and good meals to be enjoyed with her. My favorite thing that I found under the tree was...

Can it be true that it is all coming to an end? We are finally beginning to tire of holiday ham and cheesy made-for-TV Christmas movies. It must be time to ring in the new year with countdown lists of the worst fashion faux pas and political gaffes of 2011. Luckily we have a few photos and some sweet memories from this year's Christmas. Mimi was only with us a few days, but while she was here, she conducted art classes in our basement for Emma and Sophia. Both girls painted a stretched canvas flag for their rooms and are so pleased with this memento.

Happy Christmas to you all!

The Best Picture of the Day

2011-12-23T10:10:00.000-05:00

Sure, the photos from Santa's House were wonderful, but this one takes the cake in my view. Last night we went out for pizza with some friends and Lili insisted on sitting next to her buddy Riley. He is an older man (at age 5), and constantly demonstrates for Lili how a true gentleman should treat a lady.

No, chivalry is NOT dead!

Keeping It Real at the Santa House

2011-12-22T22:00:00.000-05:00

PawPaw and Uncle David arrived yesterday, and there were two little girls at my house who were none too excited about having to go to school this morning. They sucked it up, however, and climbed onto the bus bright and early this morning. To ease the ache just a bit, I picked them up a little early this afternoon. School didn't seem all that awful when I got there. Sophia's class was in the middle of a Christmas party with a very strong sugar-theme, and all of the kids in Emma's class were seated in the floor, eating popcorn and watching Ice Age on a big screen at the front of the classroom. Emma's teacher suggested that this animated feature somehow tied into their science unit on prehistoric creatures, but I didn't require an explanation. I used to be a teacher myself and know that on the last day of school before Christmas vacation, we teachers are allowed to use any means necessary to keep the peace.

Lili made herself right at home in Emma's classroom. She helped herself to a cup of popcorn and found a spot on the floor that offered a nice view of the screen. She was completely content during the ten minutes it took Emma to gather up all of her essential bits and papers and fashion accessories. It almost got ugly when it was time to get Lili out of there. I was afraid I might have to make a trail of M&m's for her to follow, but somehow we managed to get everyone out the door without any major hissy fits.

Sneaking out of school half an hour early on the last day makes vacation seem just a little bit more fun. To add to the excitement, we gathered everyone into vehicle and made our way to the Santa House in downtown Midland. There was a bit of a queue and a bit of Christmas grouching, but we were there in time to make it in before Santa took his break for milk and cookies. Lili, however, fell asleep while we were in line, and we knew Santa wouldn't have a chance with her at that point. My brother in law helped out by taking a photo which shows what we all really look like before we get ourselves together and say, "Cheese!"

And here is the whole motley crew with Santa's sleigh. Pawpaw is wearing his traditional jovial smile...

And to be clear, Lili wanted absolutely nothing to do with that Santa Claus. The rest of us thought he was quite wonderful. When Sophia told him that she wanted make-up for Christmas, he told her she was much too pretty without it. Good man, Santa!

"NO LIKE Santa Claus!!"

Best of all two brothers were able to re-live a childhood memory, and Santa happily indulged...

Monkey See...

2011-12-18T14:33:00.001-05:00

In case you hadn't noticed, I am one of those moms. I am the mom who pulls out her camera in order to document "Baby's First Dental Appointment" or "Baby's First Meatball." I have numerous photos taken of my children when they have fallen asleep in unusual places or in comical positions. Heaven help you, if you are a child of mine. Your mama will take photos upon photos of you in the bathtub, pictures of you pretending to decorate the Christmas tree, and she will require you to pose and reenact the really cute thing you did just a second ago when she wasn't ready with the camera.

My adoring two year old has picked up on the fact that we should document every moment of our lives through photography. Lately she has really been getting involved. She has such confidence and passion.

"I'm gonna getchew, Sophia!"

"Beautiful! Beautiful! Show me 'Exuberant'!"

"SAY CHEESE!!"

"I just LOVE it when a photo shoot goes well!"

And now, for your enjoyment, here is a sneak peek at some of Lili's latest work...

This one is entitled, "Sophia's Smile"

This one, entitled "My Feets," is a bit more artistic.

Of course I adore my budding photographer and believe that she exhibits great potential.

"Photography is a way of feeling, of touching, of loving. What you have caught on film is captured forever... it remembers little things long after you have forgotten everything." ~Aaron Siskind

Haircuts are Contagious Around Here

2011-12-17T22:12:00.001-05:00

I had been noticing over the past week or so that our resident toddler's hairdo was becoming a bit wacky and unmanageable. On yesterday she agreed and declared, "I want Kasey to take my haircut!!" Kasey is a good friend who also happens to be pretty great cutter of hair. We were really in luck because it turned out that Kasey was working an had an appointment free just for Lili. Hooray!

"I am ready, Kasey! Take my haircut!"

There at the salon, the little person who terrorizes me night and day, sat and behaved like a perfect angel throughout the entire haircut. The little person who, ten minutes before her appointment, had been standing atop a chair in my kitchen, waving a magic wand and commanding, "YOU MAKE ME EGGS!" stayed still and on her bottom with a perfectly cherubic look of innocence on her face like this...

Of course I am not complaining. I am glad that she is able to exhibit self control and that she doesn't behave like an ornery warthog every moment of the day. The results were beautiful hence Lili's frequent declaration, "I so so cute!"

Post-haircut Lili came home and took this photo of herself.

I guess she actually is "so so cute."

In fact Lili apparently looked so doggone cute that my daughter Sophia insisted that she too needed to visit Kasey for a new 'do today.

Of course she had to have the full salon experience.

Lookin' good!

And because the day hadn't been girly enough already, George and I took Miss Sophia to get her ears pierced tonight as well. She is pretty pleased with her new little silver studs.

"New Earrings" was the "treat" inside today's Advent calendar drawer. When Sophie read the news, she was so excited since she knew this meant that she was actually getting her ears pierced! Emma got to pick out a few new pairs of earrings too, so do not worry. There was absolutely no sister snarling or reverse "Marsha! Marsha! Marsha!"-ing.

And perhaps the best thing of all about today is that it is now snowing! And I am STILL dreaming of a white Christmas. I am pretty sure that my husband promised me white Christmases when we moved to Michigan. He may be in trouble this year. (And don't even get me started on the almost white Easter we had this year, but I digress.)

Happy Festivities, Friends!

Love,

Meredith

Using Our Words

2011-12-10T21:07:00.001-05:00

Have you met my narrator?

Yes, I live with my very own personal life-narrator. As I go about my daily business, her little voice punctuates each activity with helpful comments like, "Mama, you cleaning up cat throw up," and (as I'm climbing into the shower), "You naked, Mommy. You got a booty." I do my best to reply affirmatively to each of these conclusive announcements.

Not only does she narrate my each and every movement, but she has also found herself to be a very worthy subject.. My two-year-old likes to give us up-to-the-minute reports about her state of being. In keeping with the style of a proper narrator, she keeps it all in the third person. "Lili needs chocolate milk," she might broadcast or, "Lili doesn't WANT to take a shower!!"

Earlier this week, I found her struggling to get out of a pair of footed pajamas in her bedroom. She was easy to find as I simply followed the sound of her passionate screeching, "Get OFF Lili's legs, Lili's JAMMIES!!" When I entered the room, she looked up at me, her face full of rage, and exclaimed, "Lili's jammies NOT WORKING!!"

(This is a very artistic photograph with a balloon in case you were wondering.)

A growing vocabulary and the ability to express her feelings should reduce the frequency of temper tantrums, right? I am not, however, exactly sure that this is the case. Sometimes when things don't go her way, words fail her, and the only sounds she can manage are grizzly bear-like growls. Often she is not impressed with the way I have expressed my feelings as her caregiver, and she reverts to her two most favorite and treasured words: NO and MINE. The narrator is still a two year old.

I have thus far made mention of everyday words and angry words, but I have saved the best kind of words for last. Lilianna also has wonderfully loving words tucked up in her brain now. I cannot explain how extremely loved I feel when this little person whom I spend a great deal of energy taking care of asks ever so gently, "You okay, Mama?" anytime I utter an "ouch." It goes without saying that her sincere "I love you's" make the grizzly bear moments far more bearable, and the occasional unsolicited "thank you" causes my heart to skip a beat.

Sometimes she even accidentally utters prize-worthy phrases in the midst of all of the mayhem that goes on at our house. Last night, while I was trying to organize my two older kids and get them into bed, I realized that I had an over-tired two year old on my hands. She even announced (in the first person), "I'm TIRED, Mama!" as she rolled around on the floor. A couple of minutes later, she pulled me away from what I was doing, climbed onto my lap and declared, "I want more mama." Can you guess what happened? I dropped everything , and gave her more of me. I do so like to reward well-chosen words, particularly the sweet ones (even when they are unintentionally sweet.)

"Words are also actions, and actions are a kind of words."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Now I Am Ready...

2011-11-30T22:27:00.000-05:00

I have been doing a bit (and hearing a bit) of Christmas griping lately. I will admit that I was annoyed when the Christmas music was playing on the radio and in the stores well before Thanksgiving. I have bristled at the Christmas-themed commercials on television telling me and my children that we need to go out and buy holiday-scented toilet paper, battery-operated, musical earmuffs, and the like. I have rebelled against my own Christmas-loving nature since I do not like to have commercialized Christmas jammed down my throat before I've even had time to properly digest the Halloween candy that I stole from my kids' trick-or-treat bags.

But today felt different since a somewhat unexpected winter storm converged upon us last night. When we woke up, it looked like this in my front yard...

School was delayed two hours, so there was extra time for morning chit-chat, hot breakfasts and crawling back into bed with our resident-little squirt to watch Blue's Clues before the school bus came. Later in the day, Lili's best buddy Mae came over for a visit. I cranked up the Christmas music voluntarily and the three of us danced like crazy in the kitchen for nearly half an hour. It looked and felt like Christmas, and I didn't even feel the least bit compelled to go online and buy a digital talking blender/ bread machine. Imagine that!

After I'd had my fill of squealing, singing, and delighted jumping with the wee ones, we decided to go down to the basement and start bringing up the Christmas decorations. Decorating for Christmas is always a process at our house. It happens bit by bit, and the first bits have begun to happen now. I carefully unwrapped a few of my favorite Christmas things like the slightly ugly, green macrame "Noel" sign made by my grandmother as well as the six blond choir boys that adorned that same grandmother's Christmas mantle every year.

How I love those choir boys! Each year they stood above my grandparents' fireplace, surrounded by plastic holly leaves, holding their little hymnals whilst silently singing their hearts out. Now they stand on my living room mantle with their same innocent faces, wide eyes, and mouths rounded into perfect O's. Today I happened to notice that one of the boys had a crack in his face and a chipped hymnal, and it made me love him just a little bit more. He has lived through many Christmases, and I think it is somewhat appropriate that he no longer looks perfect. Christmas is not about perfection.

The little cracked choir boy will not be dismissed to the trash because, in many ways, his cracks and chips make him more lovely and interesting.

The very first Christmas seemed far from perfect according to our modern holiday standards. There weren't any singing, ice skating snowmen or hot deals on the latest electronics. There was a humble girl giving birth in a "nasty barn" far from home. The scenario hardly seems worthy of celebration, but we do celebrate in all sorts of unusual ways. When I think about the first Christmas (not the version that we've romanticized in storybooks with rosy-cheeked shepherd boys and carol-singing livestock), and when I compare that scene to our modern day, materialistic frenzy, I realize that my annoyance at this time of year does not reflect a lack of real "Christmas Spirit."

Yes, we will have red-nosed reindeer, twinkling lights, and bouncy children who are hopped up on candy canes at my house. Of course I will embrace all of those things, but not because my television told me that it was time. In addition to cookie decorating and jingle bell ringing, we will have times of stillness for reading and reflecting. We will share our cares and our questions about the great mysteries of this life, and we will quietly marvel at the faith and hope expressed by those characters who were part of the very first Christmas so many years ago.

My sincerest gratitude goes out to the snow for opening my heart as I opened my front door and felt its silent, wintry beauty fill my senses. Now I am ready for Christmas.

“Let us keep Christmas beautiful

Without a thought of greed,

That it might live forevermore

To fill our every need,

That it shall not be just a day,

But last a lifetime through,

The miracle of Christmastime

That brings God close to you”

~Ann Schultz

Turkey for Me, Turkey for You...

2011-11-25T21:44:00.001-05:00

We've had another beautiful Thanksgiving and hope that you have too. Lili celebrated the day with a festive neck scarf which she insisted upon wearing at the dinner table. Friends shared the cooking duties (and feasting joys) with us, and we dined on all of the traditional favorites including a large turkey who previously lived less than a hour away and was gobbling his little heart out a week ago. He was very fresh indeed, and everyone agreed that he tasted like he had led a very happy life.

We are continuing the celebrations all through this weekend with leftovers, board games, special blessings, and public reflections on gratitude. Emma and Sophie have enjoyed the Thanksgiving Alphabet Game wherein we go through the alphabet naming things for which we are grateful. Lili contributed that she was thankful for "Elmo's World" even though the rest of us were on letter "P."

None of us engage in the frenzy of Black Friday typically. Today was spent playing games, clearing out things we no longer need, and enjoying a lovely afternoon in the November sunshine. Sophie and I took and walk and daydreamed aloud about our holiday menu fantasies while Lili, being pushed in her stroller, finally succumbed to an afternoon nap. Nothing terribly mind-blowing about the day, but I think we all feel nourished and content.

"God has two dwellings; one in heaven, and the other in a meek and thankful heart." ~Izaak Walton

Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

Hey Boys and Girls! The Word of the Day is: Conundrum!

2011-11-21T16:26:00.001-05:00

Children are a conundrum. I said it. When they are babies, they require every ounce of energy a mother can summon...and then some. When they are babies, we mothers find ourselves wishing on occasion that we didn't have to do every bloomin' thing in the world for them. We rejoice when our babies complete tasks independently for the first time. Recently I have found myself becoming ridiculously impressed with my two-year-old's jumping skills. One day she just learned to jump with both feet like a professional kangaroo, and I was dazzled.

Now my two year old can do all sorts of things independently. She can feed herself for example. The little genius peels her own bananas and clementines. She also pushes a small chair around my house and gains access to "up high" things that used to require mom's help to acquire. She dresses herself in completely mismatched clothes and cowboy boots. Most of the time this is all great. Most of the time I applaud her independence and cleverness, but I confess that I sometimes miss that little person who needed me just a little bit more. I miss the agreeable baby who accepted my help and my choices regarding what was best without any arguments. And maybe I spring to my feet and respond to her impassioned shouts of, "I NEED HELP!!" just a little too quickly since those requests seem to come less and less often.

Fast forward a few years.
I have been reading bedtime stories to all of my children since before they were old enough to understand what was even going on. My oldest daughter Emma and I have been climbing into bed with great works of children's literature every night as part of our evening ritual for the last nine years. We've read about big hungry bears, big red dogs, and little houses in big woods. Within the last couple of years dragons and wizards have become part of our reading repertoire and have gripped my daughter's interest quite earnestly. Truth be told, I really like reading about the dragons and wizards too, which is why it pains me so greatly to admit that our nightly reading ritual has been crumbling over the last six months or so.

It seems that I have, over the course of the last nine and a half years, fostered a love of reading in my daughter. This was, of course, the main objective of our ritual story times. I remember saying to her a year or so ago, "One day you won't want me to read to you anymore, and that will be very sad for me." She insisted that that day would never come. Twenty years from now I will surely be driving to her house each evening and crawling in bed between her and her husband so that we can all enjoy the next chapter of the latest Jackie Collins novel read aloud by me (with all of the voices), right? Perhaps not.

Actually, most definitely not. She informed me quite casually one evening this summer, "I don't want a story tonight. I'm just going to read to myself." And now she does this just about every night, sometimes staying up far later than she should to find out how things will turn out for Harry, Ron and Hermione. And although my heart breaks just a little bit when I think about the fact that I am not attending Hogwarts with her through the pages of those fantastic novels, I remind myself that I have helped my daughter discover the joys of reading independently.

There are still some nights when she asks, "Could you read me just a few pages tonight?" And I spring to my feet perhaps just a little too quickly because I never know when the last request will come.

When I was a teacher I had the same laminated poster on the front of my desk each year. The poster showed a photograph of a monarch butterfly and this motto: The object of teaching is to enable the child to get along without the teacher. That declaration inspired me when I was a teacher. It reminded me to think of my students and future-adults, to inspire them to ask their own questions and think for themselves. Being a parent is much the same except only a million times harder. As a teacher, I got a fresh batch of adoring fourth graders every year. As a mom I get to watch that kid who used to be my adoring little buddy, roll her eyes and me and declare, "Ugh! You just don't understand me!!"

Of course I want my children to grow up and learn to be their own wonderful people. That is my sincere desire. The crazy part is that as I watch them grow and become, I feel proud, sad, jubilant and heartbroken all at once. See? A complete and worthwhile conundrum.

Seasonal Stupidity OR "Mom, You're Like the Opposite of a Vampire."

2011-11-11T14:41:00.001-05:00

I have been stuggling this week. Yes, you read that correctly. I haven't even had enough "R" in me to struggle properly. Thus, I stuggle. Every year I stuggle right around this time as the days begin to get shorter. It would appear that my brain and body truly need sunshine to function properly. When the daily sunshine levels begin to decline, I feel as though a fog has settled over my brain. All operations slow dramatically as my energy levels plummet. I feel sad and overwhelmed. This happens every year.

I've tried slapping myself in the face and shouting, "Snap out of it!" a la Cher in Moonstruck, but that hasn't seemed to do the trick. In the past spending early morning time in front of my old friend, the light therapy box and upping my intake of Omega 3 fish oils has been helpful in combating my seasonal depression. Early in the morning I shockingly do not feel like standing in front of a blinding artificial light source. Every cell in my body seems to be pleading with me, "Just go back to bed! It's so warm and cozy there!"

I am proud to say that I fight those persuasive, pleading cells since, in this case, the voices in my head are not telling me what I really need to hear. I force myself to get out of bed. Alley-oop! I greet my two older children with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, and I make breakfast for them while that blindingly bright light box spills its artificial luminescence all over the kitchen. On Wednesday morning my daughter Sophie turned on music, which at first seemed loud, repellant and highly inappropriate at such an early hour. I immediately turned it off and then thought better of it. I turned it on again and just stood still for a moment while I felt the light and the rhythm of John Denver thanking God for his status as a country boy fill my insides. As the faux glow of my lamp and the musical elements of John's rollicking hymn of gratitude settled within me, I felt the fog lifting, and an energetic warmth returned to my core.

A couple of minutes later, scrambled eggs were on everyone's plates, and we were all singing along with Freddie Mercury, "Oooh, you make me live. Whatever this world can give to me, it's you, you're all I see..." And suddenly it was a great day. I was just about ready to go and see a doctor to ask about anti-depressants and melatonin supplements, when my daughter inadvertently discovered the rejuvenating power of "Music Therapy" when coupled with light therapy.

I don't expect that this will be the end of my winter woes, but for now I plan to carry on with this regimen of self-care. Anyone else out there experience Seasonal Affective Disorder? (It sounds so fancy and important when we call it by its proper name.) I am open to any other tips or helpful advice, so please, comment away!

A Bit of Seasonal Fun... Right on Schedule

2011-11-01T16:16:00.002-04:00

My life has been a bit stressful and serious lately which is why Halloween came at a very convenient time this year. It is difficult to feel gloomy when introducing a toddler to her very first jack-o-lantern. Wouldn't you agree?

(The eerie shadow on the left was totally intentional. I am an excellent photographer.)

And even though I am a self-proclaimed hater of crafts, and pumpkin carving is clearly crafty, gathering round the table with my family, each of us wielding sharp knives, made me feel very happy and loved. With my husband's artistic pattern I was even able to carve this top notch Cookie Monster-o-lantern making my excited toddler even more excited...

My nine-year-old impressed us all with her super cool dragon-lantern. She worked tirelessly (and probably a bit too late into the school night) on this fantastic design. She is a little bit of a rock star fireball, you know.

All of this wonderfulness happened the night before Halloween, so there was still a whole other day and night of fun to look forward to. I spent most of the day on Halloween arguing with my two-year-old, who was in rare form. At one point, I snarled at her, "You are supposed to dress as a monster today, not act like one!!"

She replied fiercely, "I NOT A MONSTER!!" Later, after she kicked me in the shins and pulled my hair, I put her in "Time Out," and told her that she could just stay there until she was ready to be nice. Moments later blood-boiling roars could be heard coming from her room. "I READY BE NICE!!" those roars declared, but she wasn't.

Finally on the way back from dropping off a Halloween snack at my second grader's classroom, the monster fell asleep, and I felt confident that she'd be a new girl when she awoke. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so confident. The little girl who woke up informed me with great certainty that she, "NO like tricky treat!" In the end, her sister Sophia convinced her to put on a costume. At the last minute, she decided that she wanted to be a cow because a cow has a tail, and Lili is a bit obsessed about tails lately. She will tell you all about her tail obsession (in the third person) if you ask. She informed me at least fifteen times last night, "Mama, Lili have a tail now. Lili a Cow!"

Thank God for big sisters!

When it actually came time for the "tricky treating" to commence, Lili changed her tune. Neighbors and strangers stopped to compliment her on how cute she was, and she didn't mind that one bit. She very quickly learned to greet everyone, "Happy Halloween!" and helped herself to multiple handfuls of treats at each house. After a round of trick-or-treating with Dad and another with Mom, the older girls decided they were cold and satisfied with their loot. We headed back home. When we hit our driveway, Lili stopped dead in her tracks. She pulled my arm and declared defiantly, "NO! Let's go more tricky treat!!" I bribed her with chocolate milk to avoid a terrifying scene and got her back into the house.

Everyone got into bed eventually. I was exhausted in that satisfying, contented sort of way, and I got to sleep next this this guy all night...

...and of course the little cow crawled in between us at some point in the wee hours.

Happy Halloween, Friends!

Lessons from the Littles

2011-10-27T11:07:00.000-04:00

Toddlers are certainly not perfect little people, and today I am not planning to romanticize life with a two-year-old. There are fits and tantrums, fierce battles for independence, and infuriatingly fickle preferences that cause severe mood swings at random moments throughout the day. Earlier today my toddler begged for a banana, and then threw it on the floor and screamed, "NO WANT THIS BANANA!" when I handed it to her. Earlier this week she decided that the only thing she was prepared to wear all day was a purple Dora the Explorer night gown, glow-in-the-dark pajama pants, and her pink cowgirl boots. I'm sure everyone at the grocery story thought she was adorable in that get up.

All of that being said, there are some pretty wonderful things about these little people. Two-year-olds simply do not hold back their emotions. Sometimes the result is an ugly scene, but other times it is beautiful. I am thinking specifically about the way my youngest daughter reacts any and every time she is reunited with her best buddy Mae. They typically see each other at least a few times a week, but their reaction is one of exuberant, irrepressible joy each time. They squeal with delight. They jump and run and dance. They chant each other's names. They love without any fear or embarrassment.

At some point after the age of two, we stop doing that. I am trying to imagine how my husband might feel if I greeted him toddler-style when he arrived home after a long day at work. Even though I love him even more than my toddler can comprehend, I hold back because I'm tired and a bit weary. Maybe I am even a little bit afraid of rejection. How crazy is that?

So while my toddler leaps for joy and shrieks excitedly, "DADDY'S HOME!!" I barely look up from scrubbing the toilet or doing dishes to say, "Hi. How was your day?" Having recently lost a dear friend, I believe my toddler friends have something to teach me. Having best friends, funny friends, serious friends, caring friends, old friends and new friends is absolutely worth getting excited about. Loving and being loved by my husband and my family should cause me to feel euphoric and gleeful.

I don't allow that glee to overtake me nearly often enough. Somehow life has squashed the fearlessly-loving toddler that used to live inside my skin. I love watching my two favorite toddlers greet each other. I may even be a little envious of the fact that they "get it" and that suppressing their delight never even occurs to them. Having a friend who loves you, a friend who is excited about the fact that you are present in the world is one of the best things ever (even if that friend shoves you and steals your favorite Elmo book later).

So, dear friends, in case I haven't said it lately, I love you and the fact that you love me too and want to be my friend is rawther exciting.

"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same."

~Elbert Hubbard

A Sad Time for the M&M Club

2011-10-23T15:24:00.001-04:00

Of course I am not speaking of your favorite colorful chocolate candies. The M&M club was founded many years ago when two young best friends marveled at the luck they had when their moms (who had been pregnant together) named both of them names beginning with the letter "M". Miriam, my mother, tells me that her first memory of her best friend Myrt (who was actually named Merilyn) involved games of peek-a-boo played through the bars of their individual cribs in the First Baptist Church nursery about sixty years ago.

The two grew up together, Merilyn was graciously granted the childhood nickname of "Myrt," and my mother made certain that this nickname followed her to college and beyond. At some point, in between numerous practical jokes and untold volumes of silliness that caused my mother to laugh so hard that the tears ran down her leg, these two friends made a vow that the M&M Club would endure throughout the next generation. They promised to give their future children "M" names also.

I came along first, and poetically (since that is my nature), I was born on Myrt's birthday. She is appropriately pictured above (at one of our mutual birthday celebrations) wearing the sparkling crown that she deserved every day. Let the truth be known; she really was like my unofficial fairy godmother, and I am pretty sure they are supposed to wear crowns.

I will always remember her sweetness, her selflessness and her one-of-a kind funniness. I think she thought of herself as being a somewhat plain and ordinary individual, but she was anything but ordinary. Her laughter was musical and contagious. Her spirit was generous and uncommonly kind, and she loved wastefully. She gave me my first nickname: Yakky Doodle. (Apparently I had adorable duck lips as an infant. They were adorable, I tell you.) She was the queen of board games and silly songs. She was one of the truest friends who was ready to laugh and play with you or to cry with you, listen to you and hug you if that was what was needed. And with her recent peaceful passing, she has left a Myrt-sized hole in my heart.

My heart breaks for her two "M" daughters, Melissa and Maleigh, since I know they loved their mom even more than I did. I am sad for those of us who are left here on earth without her, but I am also happy for the times I had with her and for the things that she taught me without even knowing it. I have cherished memories of times spent with our hearts intertwined as she listened to my troubles. She was as good at listening to kid-sized-troubles as she was at devoting herself to my grown-up-troubles, but mostly when I think of Myrt I will think of snort-out-loud, silly, celebratory times like this one...

Of course we were dancing in our underpants right before my wedding.

That is just what real friends do.

I love you, Myrt, and I'll miss you until we meet again, dear friend.

Finding Joy in Unexpected Places

2011-10-15T00:02:00.000-04:00

Because he lives with me all of the time, I sometimes forget what a joy my husband is. I'm not even being sarcastic. Sometimes I just get the tired George who has been at work all day, who comes home and feels compelled to carry out various construction projects around the house. That guy is lovely, but he isn't the life of the party... so sometimes I forget that "the life of the party" is who my guy naturally is.

I am not the life of the party typically. I am the girl who makes a quiet witty comment in the corner at the party. In the beginning our differences drew us together, and these differences have continued to serve us well through the years. He appreciates my unusual sense of humor, and I very much appreciate the fact that he can help me take myself less seriously. But I still often forget how positively fabulous he is. It is nice to be reminded. It is nice to see my husband through someone else's eyes and to remember why he stole my heart in the beginning.

Today's love story, like so many others, was inspired by a colonoscopy. The word itself conjures up amorous feelings, doesn't it? George had to have one of those this week. (To confirm, the procedure was routine and everything apparently looked "perfect up in there".) George seems to have an easier time than the rest of us when it comes to nearly everything. Sometimes it's a little annoying, but mostly it is admirable. He had been warned that the preparation for the procedure would be hellish, but he was not terribly concerned.

After fasting for 18 hours, he spent a couple more hours working on rebuilding our deck. I'm pretty sure I even heard him whistling while he was out there. Then he came inside and drank copious amounts of laxative-enriched Gatorade. And then he waited. I went upstairs and busied myself with reading bedtime stories and getting our three darling children into bed. I may have lingered upstairs for a bit while I facebooked your mom. Assuming the results of the Gatorade cocktail might be unpleasant and embarrassing, I was trying to give the man some space.

I returned to our bedroom an hour or so later and found George tucked up in bed watching a foreign language zombie movie (his guilty pleasure). I hesitantly asked if he was okay and he replied casually that he indeed was, and that it was really no big deal. After three or four trips to the bathroom, he was basically done and had happily moved on with the rest of his zombie-tastic evening.

The next morning, his fast continued, and he carried on with his usual workday responsibilities until noon. We were all set to climb into the car and go to the medical center when he stopped me and asked urgently, "Wait!! Can you write something on my butt?"

"Why?" I wanted to know.

"Because it will be funny." He answered.

And this is why our marriage works... "Okay," I responded, "What do you want me to write?" We had to go upstairs since the only color Sharpie we had downstairs was hot pink. Obviously that wouldn't do, you know. So we raced upstairs and found a permanent marker in a manly shade of blue. George dropped his trousers and thought for a moment. "Could you write... 'Be Gentle.'?"

I quickly got to work; then interrupted my writing to ask, "Shall I write one word on each cheek?"

"I think so." George answered thoughtfully.

And then we were off. He checked in with the receptionist and was taken back to be prepped for his procedure shortly after that. Lili and I took a quick field trip to McDonald's for oatmeal and vanilla milkshakes, as you do when a loved one is being probed. An hour or so later Lili and I were allowed to go back and see George, who was in high spirits as usual. And now we have arrived at the part of the story in which I explain why my husband's colonoscopy reminded me of why he is so great...

Anyone who had come in contact with my husband seemed to have developed a sincere affection for him. He knew all of their names and had even been invited to their staff party next weekend. Seriously. Apparently right up until the moment he lost consciousness due to the anesthesia, he had the entire room in stitches laughing. From what I could gather, my handwritten greeting was also well-received. I sat in a chair by his bedside and just watched as various medical personnel fawned over my husband, and I remembered how I had felt when I first met him. I admit that I did feel quite amorous in those post-colonoscopy moments. The head nurse made a point in telling me he was the best patient they'd had all week.

George got himself dressed, and high-fived the orderly on the way out. "Keep it real, Andre." he said. (Okay, fine. That last part didn't happen, but if John Hughes ever decided to make a movie about my husband's colonoscopy, that's totally the way it would go.) I drove him home and made an excellent post-colonoscopy dinner for him since that is my way of saying, "You rock!" But since I've been writing this, I realized that I still haven't used my words like a big girl to simply tell him that I think he's a little bit special. I think I will go and do that now.

Good night, friends.

Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference. ~Winston Churchill

Fall in My Backyard

2011-10-10T15:27:00.000-04:00

I am always a little sad to see summer go, but this past weekend upon returning from a wonderful getaway to Charleston, SC (more on that later), we had the best of fall and summer. Summer-like temperatures accompanied beautiful fall foliage. Sophia pulled the rake out of the garage and started making a pile of leaves simply because it sounded like a fun idea. Lili quickly joined in, of course.

I am envious of the way that my youngest daughter is always ready to fully embrace a new experience. Last weekend there weren't leaves all over the ground, but now they are every where. Did she approach the strange new leaf pile that her sister had created tentatively and on cautious tiptoes?

She certainly did not.

Happy Fall, Friends!

Love,

Meredith

Sunny Days, Everything's A-Okay...

2011-10-03T16:28:00.002-04:00

Shortly after she came into the world, I decided that one of the reasons Lili was born, one of her important spiritual jobs in this life, was to teach me that it's okay to not be perfect. (I wrote about that here.) Sometimes I still forget, even with all of Lil's assistance, that I cannot make everything perfect. I expect that there are mamas with multiple kids out there in the world who find that they are able to keep spotlessly clean houses, cook nutritious meals for their families, volunteer at their kids' schools and at church, sing in seventeen different choirs and still throw perfectly flawless birthday parties for their completely oblivious toddlers. These mamas have excellent time management skills, of course, and they are a delight at dinner parties where they humbly show off their juggling abilities while wearing the same size jeans they wore back in high school.

I am not one of those mamas. I know you're shocked. I had big plans for Lili's birthday. I made detailed lists and envisioned beautiful Sesame Street-inspired delights. The night before the party, I stayed busy enjoying Lili's actual birthday. I cooked dinner and we all ate together. Then we enjoyed cake after singing "Happy Birthday" with numerous "Cha-cha-cha's" thrown in for extra excitement. Afterwards Lili open her presents, and we watched her tickle Elmo (oh yes) until we'd all had enough. That night I went to bed with dirty dishes in my sink, and I did almost nothing to prepare for the next day's party. Gasp!

So you can imagine my horror the next day when, an hour before the guests were expected to arrive, I hadn't even put the chocolate Sesame sheet cake in the oven, my pepperErnie Rolls had not been prepared, all of the ingredients for my lime sherBert punch were still in the basement, and my husband was outside covered in mud and sweat and still in the midst of tearing down our old deck and putting up a new one. (This is how George rolls. He faithfully arrives fashionably late to all of the kids' birthday parties after working on a manly project in the hours leading up to the festivities. We really don't even question it any more.) The decorations were all in place, the tray of Super Grover's super foods had been prepared as had Oscar's trash with slimy worms and cookie monster's cookies, but I had decided at the last minute to add Rosita's vegetarian chili to the menu, and then everything had gotten off track. Oh, the humanity!

Obviously the birthday girl couldn't have cared less about any of these theme-related menu snafus. I heartily recognized this when it was fifteen minutes till party time, and I was sweating bullets and trying to shake her off my leg so that I could finish all of the stuff that I was doing to make her party so perfect....

Oh hello there, my little karmic reminder!

So... I took a deep breath and remembered what Lili continues to teach me. The small group of friends who were invited were coming to celebrate Lili and not to critique my party planning skills. (One of those wonderful friends had already come over an hour early to rescue me from having a pepperErnie and mozzarella meltdown. Thanks, Kasey!) Then I changed into my party attire, took another deep breath and hugged my toddler. The party guests arrived, and I wasn't ready, but it was all okay because this little monster didn't mind a bit (and it all gone done in the end)...

Thanks to sweet Lili for helping me remember to keep things simple. Gushing gratitude to lovely Lili for reminding me that it really is okay to forget to put Big Bird's birdseed bread sticks out on the buffet table. It never was possible to be perfect, and being present is much more important that being perfect. What would we do without you and all of the wisdom and whimsy you bring, little girl?

Happy Birthday (again!) to our littlest girl!

"Don't worry that it's not good enough for anyone else to hear!

Just sing! Sing a song!" ~Joe Raposo

Somebody Special is Two!

2011-09-30T21:08:00.001-04:00

She thought it was just an ordinary day even though everyone kept wishing her a "Happy Birthday." She merely returned the greeting. "Happy Birthday, Daddy!" she called to my husband as he walked out the door this morning. I suppose it was a pretty ordinary day up until this evening. Even Mom's delicious tortilla soup was a wonderful but ordinary meal.

Today's soup was "lick your fingers" good though, if I do say so myself, and the photos don't lie, friends.

C'est Magnifique!

Shortly after dinner, however, Lili came to the realization that something wonderful was happening. I think this photo nicely captured the moment of glee when it all clicked.

"Oh! It's MY birthday!!"

And because she is such a wonderfully fabulous and amazing TWO year old now, she managed to blow out her own candles. I was a bit impressed apparently. Sophia asked, "Why are you screaming, Mom?" Sorry. It's just what I do when I witness a child-birthday-prodigy.

Of course the fun and regaling is far from over. We are still Carsons, and we believe that children's birthdays should be celebrated thoroughly and over the course of a couple of days. Tomorrow evening a few friends will join us for a Sesame Street themed birthday shindig. Lili is currently obsessed with all things Sesame Street, and as you can see, I am doing nothing to discourage this.

After opening a few Sesame Street themed gifts tonight, Lili decided to adopt all of the Sesame Street characters and make them a part of our family. She just tucked Ernie Carson into bed... right next to Elmo Carson. Of course.

"Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one." - Dr Seuss

I Got Nothin'

2011-09-21T18:46:00.002-04:00

I am feeling terribly uninspired lately. We are continuing to adjust to life on a schedule. We really embraced summer time this year. Early mornings and routines have not been embraced with great zeal so far. I have also been spending a LOT of my energy trying to prevent this person from doing THIS in the middle of the day...

Sure, it looks lovely, BUT if Lili sleeps at all during the day, she doesn't want to go to bed until 10 or 11 o'clock at night. Not cool. So chances are, you might find me playing "Hide Seek," hostessing a bubble bath/ tea party, or singing the Elmo's World theme song repeatedly at about 5 pm each evening. Things could certainly be worse.

Sweet Dreams, Friends.

Routines, Quality Time and Cool Scars (or the lack thereof)

2011-09-14T16:30:00.000-04:00

Boy, my head is spinning a little. We have not exactly eased gracefully into the new school year. None of us seem to have latched on to the concept of, "Early to be, early to rise..." In fact on Monday morning, after she had fallen asleep in her cornflakes three times, I simply sent Sophia back to bed and took her in to school an hour late. I decided it was more important that she be conscious than on time. Call me crazy.

I am enjoying the one on one time that I have with Lili now that those other people are off at school all day. Having me all to herself means that Lil has plenty of time to declare her appreciation for different parts of my body. This is particularly apparent when she climbs into the shower with me, pats me on the bum and chirps, "I like ya booty, Mama." We've also played countless games of "Hide Seek." When the excitement level gets too high, sometimes Lili forgets which part she is playing. She has been known to jump out from her hiding spot and shout, "I FOUND ME!!" on more than one occasion. Additionally she has sweetly nurtured me back to health a couple of times when I have stubbed a toe or gotten a paper cut. "Oh! Owweee!" she sympathizes, "You okay, Mama?" I'm not the only one who wants to just eat her up, right?

Yesterday I also had a rare bit of scheduled 'alone time' with my eldest daughter. We recently noticed an abnormal mole on her hip and followed our pediatrician's recommendation to have it removed.

Sophia was in school; Lili was at her best buddy Mae's house, and I was at good ole Dr. Phenninger's office with a somewhat nervous Emma. As she sipped a complimentary mini can of Dr. Pepper in the waiting area, my attention was focused solely on her, and I realized that that doesn't happen nearly enough. Logically, to ease her fears as well as to annoy everyone else sitting in the waiting room, we played "Club Fist," which took me back in time about thirty years. (Having the "crows peck it off" was one of the ways my Papa Blackburn expressed his love for me.) Club Fist didn't entertain us for too long, and the conversation topics eventually drifted toward the field of medicine and politics. Talking politics with a nine-year-old is a wonderful thing. A nine-year-old simply cannot understand why grown-up politicians cannot get their acts together, speak kindly to and about each other, and compromise occasionally. She even learned a new vocabulary word: intransigence. People shouldn't be so intransigent if they're going to be leaders, Emma thinks.

All was going well until we got into the procedure room and were left alone after the nurse gave Emma a once over. Then I watched my nine-year-old transform into a very frightened five-year-old right before my eyes. She was full of questions and apprehension. While we waited, a call to my mom (Emma's Mimi) helped to ease her fears and distract her a bit, but when the doctor entered the room, Emma tensed up like a turkey at Thanksgiving. Luckily Dr. Phenninger was an expert in dealing with terrified nine-year-olds. The conversation went something like this:

Dr. P: "What's wrong?!"
Emma: "I'm scared."
Dr. P: "Why?!"
Emma: "Because I've never done this before."
Dr. P (with eyes as wide as saucers and a perfect quivering voice): "Neither have I!!"
Emma: Laughs
Dr. P: "Well, I've never done it ON YOU before. That's true. What are you worried about?"
Emma: "I just really don't want it to hurt."
Dr. P: "Listen, Emma, the chainsaw is really loud, but it doesn't hurt very much."

At this point he had completely won her over. Wonderful Dr. Phenninger talked Emma through everything that was happening, and I'll be a monkey's uncle if she didn't prop up on her elbow and watch every bloody moment of the procedure. Before it was over, she was, in fact, offering her expert suggestions to the doctor regarding how he might better "get it all off." Thanks, Emma. You're very smart. Now, shut up.

Later on in the evening, I told Emma, "I know that what we did this afternoon wasn't particularly fun, but I really enjoyed spending time with you."

She replied, "It was really cool watching the doctor cut that thing off my skin, but I'm really annoyed that I'm not going to have a cool scar." I choose to believe that this meant that she really enjoyed spending time with me as well.

Welcome back to the craziness of the school year, y'all!

"Tell Me Every Little Thing" Tea

2011-09-06T19:11:00.003-04:00

These wonderful people had to go back to school today. It was a little sad but mostly good. With too much down time, sisters can really start to aggravate each other. It will also be good to get my precocious toddler back into some sort of sensible rhythm. She currently doesn't believe what the fairy godmother teaches about turning into a pumpkin after midnight, but I digress.

I always strive to be "Super Fun Mom" on the first day of school. I like the set the bar high and then backslide for the rest of the school year. Last night I decided we would have a super girly tea party after school and catch up on all of the day's happenings. So while they were away (and Miss Toddler Pants was conveniently napping), I set the stage...

You realize, of course, that I am still a school teacher trapped in a Mama's body. This fun new chalkboard that my sweet husband hung in the kitchen allows me to channel my inner Mrs. Griswold. (The kids also think it's fun.)

Next I set the table with a polka-dotted bed sheet and pieces of my grandmother's china...

It turned out to be completely unnecessary, but I also made some little tea party topics on strips of paper to keep the conversation rolling. Both girls were eager to tell me about their days, but the "topics", which were folded up and placed in a pretty box, helped keep the conversation balanced. The girls took turns taking a topic from the box and reading it aloud. Then they both answered the question and discussed. Nobody got verklempt.

Did I mention that I also baked a fresh peach crumble? The rest of my accouterments were probably inessential. A pretty table with tea and warm fruit crumble yielded plenty of lovely discussion.

"The mere chink of cups and saucers tunes the mind to happy repose."

~George Gissing

"A Proper Tea is much nicer than a Very Nearly Tea, which is one you forget about afterwards."

~A.A. Milne

"There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea."

~Henry James

Even our grumbly toddler could smell that something nice was happening and climbed out of bed to join the party. "Lili have a sip!!"

Of course it needn't be the first day of school to have a girly tea party. There is a chance I may feel "Super Fun Mom" overtake me again some day soon and surprise my girls with a "just because" after school celebration.

"If man has no tea in him, he is incapable of understanding truth and beauty."

~Japanese Proverb

Outlaws

2011-09-06T13:21:00.001-04:00

I have heard the usual complaints about in-laws. Some of the stories my friends have told me about their horrific in-laws have made my jaw drop and my hair stand on end. I am insanely happy to report that I cannot "relate." I don't have any in-law horror stories to recount. I could complain about toilet seats being left up or about all of my homemade cookies being consumed during a late night card game, but those would truly be half-hearted complaints.

Before my husband and I were married, I already felt like I fit into the Carson clan, and now when we are making plans to get the gang together, I get all bubbly and excited inside because it's fun for an only child to be a part of a big family. When Paw Paw and Uncle David visit, our girl-dominated family dynamic gets turned on its head. There is less drama and more flatulence. Practical jokes are played. Rude pictures are scribbled at the dinner table. Card games (accompanied by colorful phraseology) are played at all hours. The grown-ups act a little more like kids, and the kids don't seem to mind.

When we get together insults and terms of endearment are difficult to distinguish. Whether Paw Paw is shouting, "You lousy, low brow!" or Uncle David is squealing, "Quit bein' so OLD, Dad!" It's all love, and we all know it. Knowing that you are loved just the way you are is rather wonderful. When Paw Paw accompanies my kitchen-dancing with an improvised ukulele performance, it's his way of saying, "Hey, I like your kind of crazy. In fact, young lady, you are speaking my language."

Of course we are not perfect, but no one pretends to be perfect either. No one passive aggressively comments on my "creative" parenting techniques or suggests that my tuna casserole isn't like the kind Granny used to make. We just love each other, warts and all. And we say it... out loud (right after we hurl a playful insult). I love you Carsons and feel so blessed to be a part of the cacophonous and unruly pastiche of personalities that is our family.

Up North

2011-09-01T21:27:00.002-04:00

We thought we already lived "Up North" since we are in mid-Michigan. It's certainly farther north than any place I've ever lived before, but local Midlanders constantly refer to the wonderfulness of "going Up North," and now that we've officially been, we understand why. We recently returned from a long weekend up in the Traverse City area where we saw some of the most beautiful sights. On the way up, we even pulled the car over in Paradise, MI so that Emma could have a potty break. The highlight of her day was having "peed in Paradise."

Words escape me as I attempt to describe the breath-taking scenery we encountered up yonder. At several points, I looked through the view finder of my camera and simply sighed and replaced the lens cover. I am not a good enough photographer to capture the immense exquisiteness that is Lake Michigan. Here, however, are a few of the photos I took anyway. Perhaps they are still worth almost a thousand words.

Here we are at the top of one of the Sleeping Bear Dunes. The camera also fails to capture what a strenuous climb it was (for me at least) getting to the top. I hustled ahead with a sleeping toddler strapped to my back, sand crumbling beneath my bare feet and sun beating down from above. When we were about three quarters of the way to the top, my calves were screaming and I started to doubt myself. Luckily my daughter Emma bounded back down the dune, took my hand, and encouraged, "Come on, Mom! I'll give you some of my power." With her help, I did indeed make it to the top where I shouted He-Man's battle cry and was rewarded with a spectacular view.

On Day Two we rented a pontoon boat and spent the day on gorgeous Torch Lake. My seven year old summed up the day well when she dubbed it, "B.D.E." (That's "Best Day Ever," of course.)

Tubing on Torch Lake got four thumbs up and two splashes from our two oldest girls.

Lili and I were very content to relax and leave the excitement to the big kids.

On Day Three we enjoyed the natural and man-made wonders that Traverse City had to offer...

I'm pretty sure that it's written in the Constitution that proper family vacations must include a round of mini golf. And did you know that eighteen holes of golf can bring out at least eighteen different moods in my nine year old? This pirate-themed mini golf course was fantastic actually, and there were "fun" facts about the exploits of Edward Teach (a.k.a. Blackbeard) around the Carolina coast at each hole.

We even let Emma take a silly novelty photo of the us in the stocks. Emma said we should look "desperate and sad," so George and I both imagined how we had felt several hours earlier when our adorable toddler was wide awake in the hotel past midnight. Family holidays are mostly good, but there are also bad and ugly moments to balance things out.

To end it all we spent a lovely afternoon enjoying Lake Michigan. My Michigan friends tell me plainly that it IS the best Great Lake ever, and I think I could be convinced too. And now for your enjoyment... a photo of my naked thighs. I know you were hoping for as much.

Alright now, settle down, Beavis.

But wait! That's not all. The next day on the way home, we stopped by the apparently world famous "Cops and Doughnuts" in Clare, MI. The doughnuts were good, and the mug shots were free...

So to sum up.... We had a wonderful "Up North" vacation. 10-4. Over and out.

The Family Dinner, a book plug

2011-08-25T11:22:00.003-04:00

I recently picked up this book (The Family Dinner by Laurie David) at a friend's house while we were in Kentucky. I casually began to flip through the pages, then found myself, moments later, curled around it as my brain purred and began to devour little morsels if inspiration that lay on each page. When we got home, I immediately ordered a copy for myself. This book merely confirmed things that I already believe about the importance of dining together as a family. It is also full of recipes and suggestions for making family meal time more fun, healthful and meaningful for kids and their parents.

Although this particular suggestion was not in the book, I have begun writing the evening's "menu" on a white board in our kitchen, and my children find this incredibly exciting (especially when a dessert is listed). Anticipation creates excitement.

Last night we also played a couple of dinner table conversation games, which kept my husband and his short attention span thoroughly engaged throughout the meal. We first played "Thorns and Roses" and shared the best thing about our day (the roses) and the worst thing (the thorns). By the way, three different people at our table noted that the best thing about their day was the fact that Lili had triumphed at the potty for the first time ever. You go, girl! (Literally.) The Family Dinner contains a couple of chapters with fun ideas for stimulating conversation and frivolity at the dinner table.

I have one daughter who has, from a very early age, appreciated the sensual value of enjoying a meal, savoring the flavors and embracing warm companionship at the table. I have often referred to Sophia as my "food soul mate." She becomes at least as ecstatic as I am over a beautiful piece of fish and some fresh stalks of asparagus. Cooking and dining with her is an easy and joyous experience...

"WOWZA!"

I also recognize that it is tempting to always call her name first when I need a helper in the kitchen. I am trying to be more conscious about getting everyone involved in the kitchen. Last night Emma helped me prepare everything that was listed on our menu board: bangers and mash, steamed broccoli and carrots, and best of all, chocolate zucchini cake. When we were finished preparing this meal, there was, for some Emma-related reason, water all over the kitchen counters and floors. This was, of course, a small price to pay for quality time in the kitchen with my eldest girl.

Our "Family Dinner" is an evolving experience, but so far, we have just a few Dinner Time Rules:

No TV or phones at the dinner table (of course).
Everyone drinks water with dinner. (My nine year old is not a huge fan of this one.)
You must try a little of everything on the table.
Everyone helps with dinner (cooking/ preparation and/or cleaning up).

Easy enough, yes? I am motivated and excited now, but I am feeling a bit dreadful about the start of the school year and the beginning of after school and evening commitments. Will we still be able to preserve the sacred family dinner several nights a week? Stay tuned.

"All great change in America begins at the dinner table. " ~Ronald Reagan

(Yes, I just quoted Ronald Reagan on my blog.)

Fair Play

2011-08-19T22:20:00.003-04:00

Last year the kids were seriously displeased when we weren't able to go to our local Midland County Fair. Having grown up in the UK, they had never been to a county fair, and they were feeling extremely deprived. We knew this year, even though we were still recovering from a long weekend away in Kentucky, we would have to suck it up and take them out there. I think we managed to tick all of the boxes.

Ooh-ing an Ahh-ing at livestock?

Check.

Indulging in some healthy fair food?

It's no deep-fried stick of butter, but still... Check.

Sitting astride a giant pachyderm?

Why yes, as a matter of fact, we did that too.

How about spending twenty American dollars to ride a giant Ferris wheel?

Check.

Double check.

And finally... giving coins to the creepy and rather sad Capuchin monkey.

Check, please.

Ginkgo Biloba, Take Me Away!

2011-08-11T17:07:00.001-04:00

When I was pregnant with Lili, I developed a severe case of what my kids called "Baby Brain." While we were out driving, I'd occasionally forget where I was and where I was going. I can distinctly remember an occasion when we left my kids' primary school and were driving through the tiny Welsh village of Radyr. I took a couple of mindless turns, then stopped the car, looked over at the five year old in the passenger seat and asked, "Where in the heck are we?!" She stared back at me with her mouth gaping and replied with astonishment, "Don't you know?"

Honestly I did not know. I also wasn't sure what day of the week it was or what the intended destination was when I began driving. I'd regularly haul my happy, pregnant self upstairs, walk into my bedroom and realize I had completely forgotten why I had come up in the first place. I'd wrack my brain furiously for about ten seconds, and then I'd decide that I might as well climb into bed and take a nap since I had come all that way anyway.

I also noticed that I was forgetting words when I was writing or speaking. It was as if a blank Rolodex were spinning inside my brain. Words that used to spring to my fingers or lips in an instant were lost. In their place were cobwebs and Barry Manilow song lyrics. Don't worry, I assured myself, it's just that doggone Baby Brain. I felt confident that I would be clever again one day when I was no longer carrying an alien in my belly.

If you've met my almost two-year-old daughter Lili, you may have realized that she is rather clever herself. Perhaps a little too clever. Clever like a thieving fox! I am convinced that that girl plundered portions of my brain. She sucked my brains right through the umbilical cord, and most of that gray matter still hasn't grown back!

Will it ever grow back, friends? That empty Rolodex continues to spin several times a day as I hunt for what ought to be a completely obvious word or name. Last night, it didn't matter, but I beat my breast and moaned for a good five minutes because I couldn't remember the name of the actor who played "Snape" in the Harry Potter films. I could picture him and could tell you the name of five other of his movies including the 1990 wonderfully, quirky British film Truly, Madly, Deeply, but I could not recall the name Alan Rickman to save my Granny's life! Why?

Should I blame my age, my baby or the Internet? With a seemingly infinite amount of information available to us instantly via Google and Wikipedia, our memories needn't be as sharp as they used to be. I can still remember Susanna Hegner's parents' phone number, the one I dialed thirty seven times a day back in sixth grade, but I cannot tell you what my current cell phone number or my husband's work number is. These digits are all programmed into some technological memory now, and my own memory is gradually turning to mush.

I need a plan, people. I obviously cannot stop aging, and I am unwilling to give up my babies and the Internet. Should I teach myself a new skill every year and quiz myself with the British Actor Flashcard game, (which I will be creating posthaste)? (That's Colin Firth! 10 points to Gryffindor!) Should I take some sort of herbal supplement? Is there some sort of brain-re-grow potion I can brew in the basement? Is there any hope for me? Seriously. Am I crazy?

"When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it had happened or not." ~Mark Twain

Big Kids

2011-08-04T01:00:00.001-04:00

Here is a news flash: I love babies. Babies are little, innocent, cuddly people. Everything in this world is a novel discovery for a baby, and having a baby around makes mundane tasks seem new and exciting again.

Something crazy has happened, however, since our third little bundle of fun came along. Sometime while I was changing diapers and playing peekaboo, my two other little kids decided to grow into big kids.

And guess what?

Big kids are hilarious and fun in a different way. Big kids make jokes that actually make sense. If you aren't careful a big seven year old might, while at the local lake, announce to everyone who is within earshot that she is going to go and dip her "ass in the water." The ass to which she is referring is, of course, a donkey- (a.k.a "ass") shaped animal cracker because a nice seven year old would never use that word in its naughty context, right?

Big kids have their own taste in music and fashion. A big kid will gladly paint your toenails a shocking shade of orange and give you a new hairdo employing sixteen rubber bands and a rainbow/ leopard print scarf while her Pixie Lott CD croons, "Uh-oh, Uh-ooh" in the background. Big kids are just cool like that.

This past weekend I had THE best time in the swimming pool with my two big kids. Not only did we swim and play, but we invented an imaginary Aquacise class with a full cast of colorful characters including the flamboyant instructor Carl and the three squabbling Pootypants sisters: Scarlett, Charlotte and Betty. Aquacize IS such a great way to work off the stress and those extra helpings of biscuits and gravy, girls.

As Mika would say, "Big girls, you are beautiful." I love my big girls and my constantly evolving family. Motherhood is many things, but it is never boring.

My New Favorite Baby and a Birthday Surprise

2011-08-03T21:11:00.001-04:00

I do not advertise over the Internet when I am planning a trip just in case my stalker is reading this blog or checking my facebook status. But now that I am back, I can tell you that we had a lovely long weekend away in North Carolina visiting family and my BFF's new baby Claire. It is indeed a very special thing when someone you love has a baby. All of us thought little Claire was rather fabulous...

Emma loved her.

Sophie did too.

I had a difficult time sharing her.

Lili liked Claire, of course, but she was even more smitten with this Coconut Macaroon;

And George had tons of fun playing Pac Man with Claire's Dad.

Imagine four days in Greensboro with five Carsons in one hotel room. It hardly gets much better. Every night was like a slumber party with our toddler wide eyed and bushy tailed until eleven o'clock. Everyone had their toenails painted an exotic color (including Dad), and we also experimented with temporary body tattoos. The love that my tramp stamp declared was true blue, I tell you. We also managed to indulge in some Krispy Kremes hot off the conveyor belt, dine with the adoring seniors at Friends Home West, and savor a Chik-Fil-a Breakfast. Michigan does NOT know what it's missing!

And as if that weren't enough fun, we also succeeded in pulling of a fantastic birthday surprise for my mom with a small party of fifteen of her biggest fans.

And that, my friends, is a great weekend!

The Naughty Book

2011-07-22T14:47:00.000-04:00

When Sophie was a toddler/ pre-schooler, she seemed to always be getting into some sort of trouble. She drew on her bare chest with permanent markers, cut her own hair, cut holes in her clothes, colored her furniture, scrubbed a variety of random beauty products into her hair, etc. You get the idea. Being the sensible parents that we were, we would scold her appropriately and then go and get the camera and take a few photos. Let's face it, sometimes naughty toddler high jinks are completely hilarious.

As previously noted, since we were such wise parents, we would always explain that we were taking her picture for "The Naughty Book." This proved to be highly effective until she was about three years old. Then one afternoon she came to us with something horrible all over her face and my camera in her hand. She presented the camera to me, grinned enormously and said, "Here you go, Mum. I very, very naughty!!" I expect I took her picture. It is so important to be consistent when you are a parent.

Now Sophie's younger sister is putting all of our previous kids' antics to shame. We are certain that her naughtiness is far worse than any naughtiness we've had to contend with in the past. (Either that or we have simply forgotten how insane toddlers can be.) So George and I have decided to re-open "The Naughty Book." Here is one of the most recent entries...

After she had gone missing for about three minutes, I found this little rascal having a ball with my waterproof mascara. When she saw me coming, she spread it on her face and hair even more furiously. Best to go out in a blaze of glory, you know. As you can see, she was seriously displeased when I took away her new toy and scolded her for being so doggone naughty. (Incidentally "naughty" MUST be pronounced with a British accent. There is no other way in the Carson household.) The removal of this mascara, which involved covering her face in a generous layer of Vaseline and then scrubbing with very warm water, did not improve her attitude at all.

‎To sum up, I am stealing a comment from my clever friend Jantz: "You are in big (click) trouble, young lady! (click) Just wait (click) until I post this on (click) Facebook..."

I am the queen of effective discipline, and don't you forget it...or you may just find yourself in my "Naughty Book."

Just Happy

2011-07-22T14:14:00.004-04:00

I celebrated my 35th birthday this week. I was already happier than a pig in mud, so I didn't need a party to lift my spirits. In fact, in the summertime when "bedtime" is merely a rhetorical concept for my children, every night feels like some sort of party at my house. Honest to goodness, on one recent summer evening all of us girls found ourselves dancing with underpants on our heads in our upstairs office. If memory serves, my husband was "working" at his computer, but someone snapped the elastic waistband of a pair of colorful knickers around his forehead so he wouldn't feel left out. The best part of it all is that I am able, in the midst of these bouts of frivolity, to take a mental moment to process how wonderful it all is. I often sigh contentedly and think to myself, "I am very happy right now." And that is a gift.

My current state of summer happiness is completely enough, but my husband, who is not an accomplished party-planner, managed to secretly gather a few of my new Michigan friends and surprise me with a perfectly pleasant birthday dinner. As a matter of fact when it came time to blow out the candles, I had a really hard time coming up with a wish...

I decided to go with the beauty queen's favorite: World Peace. So that's sorted.

My daughter Emma made for me a book full of artwork, poetry and photographs. It was absolutely perfect. The back cover reads, "Read this when you're happy; read this when you're sad. It will cheer you up to see all of the smiling faces of those who love you... This was made with love just for you." The second to last page was left blank except for the printed instructions at the top: "On this page please stick a picture of your 35th birthday par-tay." I think I will stick this one there:

But I would also like to include for the record my very own "Cake Wreck." According to my husband the lady behind the bakery counter at Meijer was not an accomplished cake decorator. She had, in her own words, only practiced on one other cake. George encouraged her to continue her training on my birthday cake. Of course I love it way more than a perfect cake...

"There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval." -George Santayana

Wonderful Summer Weekend

2011-07-17T19:39:00.002-04:00

I love summer. I love weekends. Combine the two, and I am in paradise. This weekend proved to be especially wonderful. It was full of unexpected moments of perfection like this one when the girls stumbled across a magic froggy (or toad?) in the front yard...

Shortly thereafter the big kids and I went to a local beach with an old friend and her children. Lili stayed at home with her Dad, and I was able to swim and frolic with my big girls in ways that my toddler buddy usually prevents.

I love reunions with old friends!

Unexpectedly our friends were easily persuaded to spend the night, and we let the proverbial good times roll. A backyard campfire and a couple of summer strawberry margaritas accompanied our jolly evening. The second best thing about the night was these Reece's peanut butter cup s'mores.

Have mercy.

The best thing about the evening was the good company we found ourselves in... and the awesome dance party that spontaneously broke out on our back deck.

"We’re going at it tonight.

Tonight there’s a party on the rooftop top of the world!"

And better still... in a moment of weakness this rock star let her mama give her a big hug right in front of our too-cool-for-words company. Keep it coming, Summertime!

"Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all's right with the world." ~Ada Louise Huxtable

'Take Your Daughter(s) to Work' Day

2011-07-10T01:00:00.005-04:00

Since it is my job to look after our home and mother my children, every day is "Take Your Daughter to Work Day" at my house. My daughter Sophia has always been particularly interested in the work that I do in the kitchen. She is also very interested in this blog, which saves my sanity and makes me a better mother. Today she decided she wanted to help me with both...

My oldest daughter Emma and her Dad were having a special Daddy and daughter day out*, so that left me and the other two girls to get on with the everyday business of grocery shopping, cooking and cleaning. After the majority of the chores were done, we decided to finish off yesterday's blueberries by making our favorite fruit crisp recipe. Sophia thought it would be fun to document the entire affair with my camera. So here it is for your viewing and baking pleasure. I have a feeling, I've shared this recipe before, but here it is again fully illustrated.

Apple, Berry, Peach or Whatever Fruit Crisp...

Start with five cups of any fruit in season. Today we used blueberries and few blackberries. Have your helpful helper arrange the fruit in a buttered 8-inch square baking pan. Preheat the oven to 375 F while you're at it too. Be careful not to let all of that delicious fruit make your head spin. Apparently seasonal berries can make a girl feel a little overwhelmed...

Next stir together the dry ingredients:

1 cup rolled oats

2/3 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

1 tsp. cinnamon

1/4 tsp salt

1/4 tsp allspice.

Using an electric mixer, blend the dry ingredients with 6 tablespoons of softened butter until it forms a coarse meal. It helps if you do it in your pajamas with a mixer from the 1970's.

Now crumble the mixture evenly over the fruit. This part is so much fun that everyone in the family will want to be involved.

Now sprinkle the top with 2 tablespoons of apple or orange juice and bake for 35 minutes. The finished product will smell divine and feed six sensible people...or five Carsons.

Happy Eating! Remember: if you aren't the color of a Smurf after you have a serving, you're doing something wrong.

"Invention, my dear friends, is 93% perspiration, 6% electricity, 4% evaporation, and 2% butterscotch ripple." ~Willy Wonka

*Daddy and Daughter Day Out included meatball subs, a trip to Home Depot, and a colorful roll of Mentos. Emma was thrilled.

Practicing What I Preach

2011-07-09T21:20:00.002-04:00

Last night when I was telling my oldest daughter good night, she didn't even wait for me to sit down on her bed before she asked matter-of-factly, "Mom, what does F#%k mean?" Yes, I am completely serious. Can you imagine this word coming out of my sweet little nine-year-old's mouth?

So what did I do? Did I gasp and clutch my pearls? Did I screech, "Where did you hear that word?!" Did I go weak in the knees? You bet your Granny's booty I did all of the above, but then I took a deep breath and remembered that I want my children to come to me with these questions. And I took a moment and felt very grateful that she was asking me instead of someone else.

Last night I did indeed discuss the f-word with my nine-year-old. We talked about the fact that most "bad words" aren't actually about bad things. I have heard some pretty horrible words used to describe certain parts of the human anatomy. None of these body parts are bad, of course, but some of these words are quite rude and disrespectful. (At this point in the conversation Emma chimed in and said, "It's like someone's insulting your va-jay-jay." Exactly.) The same idea applies to the f-word. Emma already knew about the mechanics of "having sex." She, of course, at the age of nine, thinks it is completely gross, but her dad and I have told her that sex is really nice when a person is grown up, married and in love. (That is all a nine year old needs to know, people.) So I explained that the f-word is like having 'sex without the love'. That word takes everything beautiful and loving out of sex and makes it into something bad. This made perfect sense to her.

"... So what's a d!#k?" she asked next. Oh boy, we've got a long road ahead of us, don't we? The answer to this question brought on a fit of giggles that lasted a good ten minutes. Then I tucked my little girl in for the night, a little wiser but very much on the right track as far as I'm concerned.

And since we're on the subject of that little mademoiselle, here are a few photos of her newly painted, Rock Star bedroom. The walls turned out to be two very respectable shades of purple (Xanadu and Ashley's Heather), and the accessories are a work in progress...

Don't grow up too quickly my dear Rock Star! Childhood innocence is far too fleeting.

"A child is a curly dimpled lunatic." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Summering In Michigan

2011-07-08T16:03:00.002-04:00

Summertime in Michigan almost makes up for the suffocating, frigid, seemingly interminable winter. Almost. But as I have said before, I genuinely love Michigan in the summertime, and here are some more reasons why...

As you can see I took my girls and some blueberry-loving, enthusiastic friends out to Freeland this morning to pick blueberries. We came home with three buckets full, blue stained fingers, and big plans. I see blueberry pancakes, cobblers, buckles and smoothies in our futures as well as more blissful Michigan summer days.

"In summer, the song sings itself." ~William Carlos Williams

A Proper Stateside 4th of July!!

2011-07-06T17:24:00.000-04:00

Dear me, summer is flying by so fast, my head is practically spinning. I'd better post a few pictures from our proper American fourth of July before I turn around and find that it's time for Halloween. We were in the US last year, but I seem to recall feeling exhausted and uncertain about keeping our infant out until 11pm to view the fireworks. But this year, we decided to do it up right with a live, late night fireworks show.

My husband made sure that everyone displayed appropriate, appreciative 'firework faces'.

And some of us made goofy faces without even being prompted because watching fireworks with little kids is just magical. Lili was so impressed, she kept pointing at the sky and shouting, "WHOA! RAINBOW!!" Just try not to smile like a goofball when you have that sitting in your lap! Emma and Sophie were equally impressed with their first big fireworks experience.

She couldn't help but bust out the happy dance.

"You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism." ~Erma Bombeck

Pretty Peas

2011-07-06T16:14:00.002-04:00

I love summertime. I love the sunshine and the relaxing, unscheduled time with my children. Summertime and me are like peas and carrots. Know what I mean? Summertime is an open-ended invitation to stumble onto silly, extraordinary wonderfulness posing as everyday nothingness. Oh Summertime, take your shoes off and stay a while, won't you?

This morning we met some friends at our local farmer's market where we browsed and bought all sorts of exciting summer produce. (I do believe that heaven will smell like peaches.) After a challenging brunch with my overtired toddler, we headed home with our cache of fruits and veggies. The grumpy toddler was down for the count, so the rest of us girls took advantage of the peace and played cards. We also giggled non-stop and ate all of the strawberries we had bought this morning. At one point my nine year old laughed so hard, bits of strawberry came out of her nose. That's how you know it was a good card game.

Next my girls became very interested in a bag of sweet peas that needed to be shelled. Shelling peas can be a bit of a chore unless there are lots of charming helpers involved. When our baby woke up refreshed from her nap, she didn't even have to be invited to join in. She climbed right up on the table with her little bare feet and dived right in. Sensible young ladies, of course, do not sit on top of the kitchen table, but today we were having too much fun with one of summertime's ordinary tasks to be sensible.

Give peas a chance.

Happy children always say, "Peas and Thank You!"

Pretty Peas!!

What kinds of bountiful invitations is Summertime extending to you?

And feel free to leave any other obnoxious pea puns in my comment section. I obviously cannot get enough.

Fearless

2011-07-03T00:34:00.002-04:00

Fear is the root of many evils. Fear motivates prejudices, wars, the hording of resources, and unnecessary, unproductive worry. Fear keeps us from taking chances. Fear can stop us in our tracks when our heart is telling us to "do the right thing." Fear is bad...

...but not entirely bad. Fear is a learned emotional response, one that my toddler seems not to have learned at all. A fearless toddler is a terrifying thing. A fearless, clever, and dextrous toddler is capable of causing her mother's insides to seize in panic multiple times a day. Let's just review today. Shall we?

First thing this morning I awoke with my clever toddler's feet in my face. She likes to be in our bed but hates being under the blankets, so she typically finds her way into our room in the middle of the night and sleeps horizontally between her parents' heads. Why not? We're obviously 'not the boss of her'. Not long after I woke, big sister "Ophie" climbed into our bed and engaged said wiggly toddler in a lovely chat about the monsters on Sesame Street. When Ophie left, Wiggle Worm wiggled her way out of bed and followed in her older sister's footsteps. Moments later I got one of those bad Mommy feelings. You other mamas out there know what I'm talking about.

I dashed out of bed and into the kitchen, where I spied my toddler standing on wobbly, tiptoes on top of the kitchen counter, reaching to get a glass vase off of the top shelf of the cupboard she had opened. She obviously needed that vase for something important. A silent prayer was issued in that instant, and I quietly swept up behind her and removed her from her precarious perch before any skulls were cracked on our impossibly hard kitchen floor. Then I turned around and snarled at the oblivious seven year old who was drawing cartoon characters a mere meter away, "Weren't you watching her!!??" Seven year olds make really rubbish babysitters, for the record.

The usual naughty, toddler high jinks ensued for a few more hours following my breakfast scare. I successfully ejected the mouthful of coins that Lili had after playing in my wallet which she somehow procured even though it was zipped in my purse and on a high counter top. (Note to self: re-read previous paragraph.) I cleaned artistic, marker-drawn graffiti from her arms and legs. I carefully wrestled the sharp knife out of her hand, which she had somehow gotten out of the dishwasher basket. In the nick of time I stopped her from ingesting the contents of a small bottle of white children's paint which she was certain resembled milk. . Baby-proofing a house where other older children live is a serious challenge and keeps me constantly on my toes...

Nothing too out of the ordinary really, but the biggest gut-seizing scare I've had in a while came later in the afternoon. Sophie had been sent outside to water the flowers while Lili sat in the floor of our office (likely destroying important tax documents) with me. Sophie returned and joined us upstairs but sought entertainment elsewhere after deciding we were rather boring. Lili followed. A few minutes later I called downstairs, as I regularly do when that monstrous toddler is not right by my side, "Is Lili okay??"

Sophie answered, "I don't know. Where is she?" This was not the response I was hoping for. I scurried downstairs and saw that the baby gate in front of our laundry room had been left open by some careless (seven -year-old) individual. "Great," I thought. I was certain I'd find Miss Naughty Pants in there eating her fill of cat food, but when I rounded the corner I found, to my complete horror, that the laundry room door that leads to the outside world had also been left open, and the toddler in question was nowhere in sight.

A horrible scream erupted from somewhere deep inside of me, "LILI!! LILI!!" I screamed, and as I stumbled gracelessly out the door and down the steps into our open garage, I saw her standing in the street at the end of our driveway. My heart pounds even now as I remember seeing her there, and my mind races to all sorts of horrible "what if" places. I continued screaming that beautiful baby's name, and she could hear that I meant business, that I was indeed the boss of her in that terrifying instant. She began to run toward me on soft, dainty, bare feet, and I scooped her up and hugged her almost forever and thanked her for not getting run over or hopelessly lost. Then I waited for my heart to stop pounding out of my chest.

You can rest assured that the little gardener got an earful about not leaving doors to the outside standing open, but then I was left reflecting on how utterly helpless human children are at this age and how fragile little lives can change in an instant. My precious little monster has thankfully never known serious pain. She has never been aware of any reason to feel fear. This will change, of course. I am eager for her to learn a bit of the cautious kind of fear that keeps us from petting hungry sharks and jumping on pogo sticks near cliff ledges, but I hate to think of the other very real things that she will grow to fear in her lifetime. Often her round, fearless toddler's face inspires me to be brave and to have hope when hope and bravery are not my natural responses.

Of course I wish I could keep her safe always. I wish I could protect her from all of the things in our world that inspire our darkest fears, but for now I will do my best to keep her environment safe and to shield her from the consequences of her own mischievous antics. Heaven help me!

"When you love someone, all your saved-up wishes start coming out."

~Elizabeth Bowen

The Dad Fairy

2011-06-26T19:59:00.004-04:00

The jig is up.

We were making cupcakes a few days ago, and I sent Sophie to look for the food coloring. We were pretty sure that Dad had stashed it with the camping gear for some reason. After sifting through the still-unpacked remains of last weekend's camping trip in our garage for several minutes, she returned with a fiercely annoyed look on her face and something hidden behind her back.

"What's up?" I asked, "Did you find the food coloring?"

"No!" she snarled, "But I did find MY TOOTH!" she whipped her hand out from behind her back to reveal the paper Dixie cup which housed the tooth she lost on our camping trip.

"So...what does that mean?" I asked. Seven years old is a good a time as any to have one's illusions crushed.

"It means that Dad took it, and I am FURIOUS!!"

"Ok... so what does it mean that Dad took it?" I asked again.

"It means that DAD gave me the dollar." she hissed.

"And what does THAT mean?" I asked feeling confident that she could handle the truth.

"It means..." she pondered as her eyes rolled toward the ceiling, "It means...my Dad's the tooth fairy??" And with that her anger melted into fits of giggles.

"Yes," I cried, "Your Dad IS the tooth fairy!" We then discussed why the Moms and Dads of generations past had invented the tooth fairy in order to ease the fears of first time tooth-losers. Then there was a slightly awkward moment in which I had to admit that we had sort of lied about the tooth fairy. Sophie assured me that it was okay. She was not angry about this deception. Phew!

After a few moments of reflection Sophie also realized that all of the times that the tooth fairy forgot to come, it was actually Mom and Dad who had forgotten to make the tooth transaction, and this for some reason, was particularly hilarious in her little seven year old brain.

Are they still accepting applications for parents of the year?

Happy Campers. Happy Father's Day.

2011-06-20T22:19:00.000-04:00

Here is a question... Has anyone ever woken up after a night in a sleeping bag, outdoors, in a tent, on uneven ground and said, "Wow! I slept great!! In fact I feel fantastic!"

I know you happy campers are out there. You love the sounds of nature in the early hours of the morning. You equally love the sound of the tent zipper being ripped open in the middle of the night to let a desperate seven year old escape and wee behind a pine tree. You love being huddled under blankets with chattering teeth and marveling at how "at one" you are with nature and what not. You also love knowing that there is a strange assortment of bugs flying and crawling around in the tent with you as you shiver and marvel. God's creatures are so precious. I know you happy campers love these things, but I happen to prefer a supportive mattress, climate control and perhaps a gourmet meal or two while I'm on vacation.

Basically what I am saying is that I am an awesome wife and mother. My husband wanted to go camping for Father's Day, and my kids were so excited they could hardly see straight. So I and my bad back took one for the team, and I have to admit I loved being with my family of happy campers this weekend. I even learned (or was helpfully reminded of) a few things:

For some reason being woken by a wild turkey at 5 am is slightly less annoying than being woken by a family of ducks.
Little girls and boys of all ages find peeing in the woods to be an amazing and liberating experience.
Catching one's first fish is simply magical. I don't care who you are.
The tooth fairy makes tent calls.
Hobo Casserole tastes so good after a day out in the sun.
Mosquitoes find my daughter Emma to be particularly delicious. This morning she counted 19 bites.
Hot dogs taste better when cooked over a camp fire.
It's okay if my one year old takes her top off in a boy friend's tent right now, but it won't be in 10 years or so.
S'mores: you cannot eat just one.
Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.
I love my family and consider myself to be one lucky mama.

This little girl LOVED waking up in a tent next to her Daddy every morning. Happy Father's Day indeed!

Bieber Fever, Baby!

2011-06-11T20:01:00.000-04:00

Guess who's got the Bieber Fever...

Just so you know, no one intentionally taught Lili to sing this. It's just so doggone catchy. What are you gonna do? (And sorry the picture is a bit wobbly. I couldn't help giggling and wiggling as I filmed.)

Relinquishing

2011-06-09T11:10:00.002-04:00

I am not a coward when it comes to color. Our last kitchen was a brilliant shade of orange, which we loved, and we have recently painted our "new" kitchen the perfect shade of red. Color is our friend...

We are not afraid of color for the record. My husband and I have been inspired by the new hue in our kitchen, and we are eager to cover the rest of our walls in more exciting non-neutral shades. Our eldest daughter is also anxious to change things up in her bedroom. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

There is one small problem. I don't want to paint my daughter's bedroom "the color of a yellow highlighting marker" (her description). I thought we had settled on a lovely shade of purple, after much hemming and hawing, when out of the blue, she brought up turquoise blue. Nothing in the child's room matches turquoise blue...although it is a lovely color. So we discussed this. Then she suggested a color from our paint sample wheel which was called "Electric Avenue." I will just let you use your imagination. "You are planning to SLEEP in this room, correct?" I asked.

This was when my beautiful, stubborn daughter started to get choked up. She began to express her frustration. She feels as though everything she likes causes her mom and dad to frown. She feels as though her creativity is being stifled and that she must choose what we want in order to keep the peace. Her mother knows that her frustration is not solely about painting her room. She feels defeated every time her mother pushes the hair out of her face and suggests that she get it cut. Her confidence and sense of independence is threatened each time that woman asks her to change into "something more sensible," "something that matches." Sometimes mothers speak before thinking about the consequences of our words. Sometimes I bite my tongue, but my face displays disapproval, and my daughter feels it.

I am very fortunate that I have a rather wise partner in parenting. The Dad at our house rocks. While taking a break from the intense disagreement and frustration up in my daughters room last night, my husband reminded me that it is important that our girls be allowed to try new things, that they be allowed to make mistakes and that they feel free to express themselves... especially in their own bedrooms. He is right. "You have to relinquish control," he told me.

Wow. That is hard for me since I know that the way I want to do things is best. He is right. I need to allow my daughters to make decisions and mistakes for themselves so that they can learn to be their own people. I need to get over the hair in the face and the mismatched clothes. A nine year old should feel that she has control over her own body. I need to let go. Anyone have a paper bag I can breathe into??

So last night we all made the decision that Emma would ultimately choose the new color for her bedroom. Mom and Dad will offer advice, but the decision will be up to her. If she chooses a wretched color, she will have to live with the consequences. This means she will have to "live with" the unsavory color or pay part of the cost of re-painting it. She is happy. My husband is happy. I am breathing deeply and going to my happy place. Stay tuned.

What Saturdays Are For...

2011-06-04T17:15:00.001-04:00

My kitchen is being painted today, so I decided it would be a good idea to get my kids out of the house. I took the lot of them out to an art fair. Seven year olds do so enjoy perusing stalls and stalls of handmade crafts after all. There was also a stall promoting our local animal shelter, and Lili just about wet her pants when she was presented with the opportunity to poke fourteen different dogs and cats with her little index finger whilst woofing and meowing appropriately. Emma decorated a pair of sunglasses at the children's craft area while Sophia created a color-changing bead bracelet, and Lili dumped an entire bag of pony beads on the grass. Check, please.

Once I had invested five dollars in a large cup of "freshly squeezed" lemonade, we decided we had done enough damage at the art fair. We could all tell that our one-year-old was gearing up for a most impressive hissy fit, so we let her push her own stroller right out to the car, and we loaded everyone inside.

Did I fail to mention that it was North Carolina-hot and humid up here? Once we arrived at home and feasted on peanut butter-covered fruit and vegetables, I challenged the children to stay out of the house (allowing our fabulous painter to have some peace) and come up with a creative way to stay cool. My girls never disappoint...

Oh dear, what are you up to?

Wow! That's cold water right from the tap.

None of that sibling fighting seemed to be an issue today.

But you'd better watch your back!

This is most definitely what Saturdays are for.

Evolving Conversation

2011-05-29T19:54:00.000-04:00

I pretty much spend all day everyday with this little person...

Most of the time this is a lovely fate. Occasionally I feel a little suffocated, but since it's my third time around on this toddler merry-go-round, I know that this smothering sensation is indeed only temporary. I am really enjoying being present for the rapid verbal evolution of my little buddy. Several months ago her vocabulary consisted of only three words: Milk, More and Mama, all urgent and essential "m" words.

Today she knows and says over 100 words. Since she is my third, I have not bothered to make a list of them. Sorry. It is, however, very exciting to note that this ever-growing list of words results in less and less toddler-style frustration. All people want to be heard and understood, and using one's words is a great first step. Often when she is on the verge of a meltdown, I can stymie the tantrum by repeating her words/ feelings back to her. For example, "Yes, I know!! You want cake!!" Her relieved "yes" discloses how encouraging it can feel to simply be understood. Of course we do not live in a utopia. Acknowledging the desire for cake, permanent magic markers, or a box of tiny beads does not always guarantee a perfectly content baby. Perfectly content babies are so boring though, aren't they?

I also enjoy the fact that I can now have appropriate conversations with this little person who toddles around with me all day long. Conversations usually go something like this...

Lili: MILK!!
Me: Would you like some milk?
Lili: YESH!!
Me: (handing her the milk) Here you go.
Lili: Day-doo.
Me: You're welcome, lovely girl. How about we go and sort the laundry now?
Lili: O-Tay!
Me: That sounds like fun, doesn't it?
Lili: YESH!

...And on it goes... all the live long day. A not small part of me wishes she could stay little, just like this.

"We worry about what a child will become tomorrow, yet we forget that he is someone today." ~Stacia Tauscher

Angels Unaware

2011-05-23T15:02:00.001-04:00

Yesterday at the eleven o’clock church service I sat sandwiched between my two eldest daughters. It was lovely. Emma’s arm was linked through mine as we sang the processional hymn, Onward Christian Soldiers, together. My heart filled with mirth as the little girl to my right sang out so loudly and joyfully even though the tune of this song was lost on her. Standing there listening to Emma sing took me back to other occasions when I’ve stood beside a beautifully off-key singing loved one. My late grandfather Lewis’s hymn singing resembled the sounds a tortured cat might make, but I always smiled inside when I stood next to him in church. Even though the music was like an unknown foreign language to him, the lyrics were stitched into his heart. Any person who stood by his side while he softly squealed along with How Great Thou Art could clearly discern the depth of his sentiment.

I have equally fond memories of listening to my late grandmother Adeline sing “...And he walks with me and he talks with me, and he tells me I am his own…” in the kitchen when she thought no one was taking any notice. Her voice had a sweet, trembling and slightly disharmonious quality, but it was indeed music to my young ears because it carried with it such faith and longing.

My oldest daughter’s singing reveals her exuberant spirit as well. Her voice is untrained, but her heart is wise and her joy shameless. Forget about any sermon. I was being led by the example of the completely unaware angel who was hanging onto the crook of my arm, belting out the lyrics. What a gift!

Sweet Sophia sat to my left. She also sang along softly while following along in the hymnal with her finger, but after the hymn was finished, she became engrossed in a prayer request card which she found in the pew in front of her. She scribbled furiously inside as I listened to the morning’s announcements and as Emma rested her head on my shoulder.

When the minster called for all of the children to come forward for Children’s Time and Sunday school, the prayer request card was left lying carelessly on the pew. Out of curiosity, I picked it up and had a look inside. This is what I saw…

I felt so proud that Sophie found the compassion in her heart to pray for dying werewolves. I was so moved that I almost placed the card in the offering plate as it passed. I feared, however, that the intercessor might not appreciate the sincerity of this prayer request. So I folded the card and brought it home in my purse. In all seriousness... I am glad that she feels "at home" enough in church to draw silly pictures of werewolves inside the prayer request cards. We should all be the same in church as we are elsewhere. Another lesson taught by an unknowing cherub (who pals around with werewolves).

"And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 18:2-3 ESV)

Bubble Bliss

2011-05-16T16:01:00.001-04:00

My youngest daughter is nearly 20 months old. I know! I cannot believe it either. Even more unbelievable is the fact that she had her very first ever bubble bath this past weekend. How is it possible that she has been deprived of bubble baths for her entire life?

We don't tend to take bubble baths at our house since several of us have sensitive skin, but when Sophie started to feel a bit unimportant near the end of Emma's birthday party on Saturday evening, I convinced her that a special jacuzzi bath with her baby sister would cure what ailed her. My mom had just sent us some fancy organic lavender bubble bath, so that went into the water as well... and Voila! We had just produced the world's happiest baby. He cheers of, "BOBBLE! BOBBLE! BOBBLE!!!" could be heard all over the house.

I really love living with a toddler. A toddler knows nothing of holding back emotions. So while we sometimes have back-arching, howling temper fits, we also have the other side of the coin: unbridled, excitement, joy and elation that result from life's simplest pleasures. I had forgotten how enchanting a bubble bath could be. While watching two of my girls, giddy and covered in suds, I had a distinct and fond memory of being in the bath when I was about five and covering my hands and arms in long, white, foamy bubble-gloves. What pure delight!

So it probably goes without saying... this was the first of many bubble baths. Could you send us some more of that good stuff, Mimi? :)

And let it also be told that the bubble bath sorted Sophie's green-eyed monster right out!

"There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them." ~Sylvia Plath

Lord Help the Sister...

2011-05-15T23:19:00.005-04:00

Once upon a time things were easier at my house. Sure there were more diapers to change. There were even more messes to clean up and there was lots of urgent "Feed Me Now, Mama" crying, but when we had two children under the age of two, everybody loved everybody ALL of the time. (The littlest one didn't know she loved everybody, but I'm sure that love was in there.)

Today things are less labor intensive but far more emotionally complicated. Today those two girls are seven and nine. They share the same space, hunger for the attention of the same haggard mama, and they look at life through the lenses of very different personalities. (Don't forget the fact that we have also added another very spirited, cutie-pants baby sister to the equation.) One moment Emma and Sophie may be lying on their tummies, side by side, coloring a beautiful picture together, and the next moment they are furiously screaming at each other. This is foreign to me since I grew up an only child. No one in my house ever shouted. I find it very disturbing. Those of you who grew up with siblings know that it is normal, but you will never convince me that it is acceptable.

Shifting my perception a bit, I realize that having a sibling is a huge educational opportunity, one that I never had. A sibling can teach negotiation skills. She can teach how to see things through the eyes of another. A sibling teaches that you are not the center of the universe, that you must learn to share and to be patient. She can also help you reach new levels of anger and frustration, and she knows how to hurt you at your very core.

Many parenting books and well-meaning friends will advise not to get involved in sibling squabbles. I have heard it said that if you intervene in sibling arguments, kids will never learn to work out their problems for themselves. I happen to disagree strongly. Children are not born with conflict resolution skills. If Mom and Dad don't intervene, the conflicts will be resolved, but it is likely that the child with the stronger personality will come out on top while the meeker of the two will be left feeling like a resentful loser. This is not okay in my book.

I am only just beginning to learn about how complex sibling relationships can be. My husband and I are choosing to regard these shouting matches between sisters as teachable moments. We are trying to help the girls understand each other. We are attempting to teach them strategies for dealing with their raw feelings without being hurtful to each other. We are striving to listen without judgment, to acknowledge hurt and angry feelings and to not place blame. We are confident that we are building skills that will allow them to effectively resolve their conflicts independently in the future. This all sounds perfectly civilized, doesn't it?

Of course Mom and Dad are not perfect. There are times when we get so fed up with hearing the yelling and fighting that we send them both to their rooms and proclaim that they are not allowed to speak to each other for the rest of the day. One would think that being separated from the source of one's everlasting torment would be a relief, but anytime these two are sentenced to a forced separation at least one of them dissolves into tears. Like I said, sibling relationships are complicated.

I welcome any advice or words of encouragement you may have for me. Things will get better eventually, right? Please, I beg of you, don't scare me too much about what is ahead for us in the teen years. Until then I will continue to try to keep my cool while I occasionally reminisce about how sweet things can be...

"Bless you, my darling, and remember you are always in the heart - oh tucked so close there is no chance of escape - of your sister." ~Katherine Mansfield

Partying Like a Rock Star

2011-05-15T15:15:00.001-04:00

My favorite rock star turned nine today. Yesterday we celebrated with bowling, homemade cake and several other rockin' nine-year-olds. I have watched the interests of this girl evolve from pink princesses into rock stars and dragons. In the years to come her passions will continue to change, and we will enjoy the ride.

Some things have not changed like Emma's curiosity, creativity and concern for others. She has so much love to give and she goes about showing it in very inventive ways. Our oldest girl is a rock star with a heart of gold, and we can't wait to see what she teaches us next. Happy Birthday, Emma!

"Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You."

~Dr. Seuss

Mother's Day Humility

2011-05-08T22:14:00.001-04:00

Mother's Day always makes me wonder if I am deserving of all of the praise that those Mother's Day greeting cards deliver. I usually get handmade cards from my girls, and those are the very best. This one from Sophia is very sweet...

It reveals two important facts. First of all, she "apreshates" me, and secondly she listens. She hears me complaining about how unappreciated I feel. Children are not particularly appreciative by nature, so perhaps my complaints are constructively instructive or...er... is it just more likely that I enjoy complaining about picking everyone's socks up off of the floor?

Emma's card related the ultimate compliment...that I am "awesome" in addition to being loving and understanding. I will accept all of those compliments even though I am pretty sure that there isn't anything literally awesome about me. I love to read stories, sing silly moose songs, and bake unusual cupcakes, so that does earn me lots of mom points...but awesome??

I try. That is all I can do. It is nice to be celebrated. Today no one reminded me of how grouchy I can be in the morning when I haven't had enough sleep. They didn't bring up the fact that sometimes I lose my cool when I hear sisters constantly fighting with each other. Honestly sometimes screaming, "STOP SCREAMING AT EACH OTHER!!" is all a mama can manage, right?

Today I enjoyed a picnic in the sunshine with my husband and my three girls. For a few hours today, everything was peaceful and pleasant and everyone indulged my "Did I ever tell you about the time I..." stories. Today I felt loved and "apreshated" for all of the things that I seem to get right. Tomorrow I will try to be more mindful about all of those other things that need improvement.

Happy Mother's Day.

De-Busy-Fy Me, Please

2011-05-02T13:10:00.000-04:00

I have spent the last several months moaning about how over-scheduled we are. I weep and groan about having to drag poor Lili out to swimming and gymnastics and whatever else happens to be the obsessed-about activity of the month. My children don't want to give anything up, but they long for down time. They put off bedtime so that they can have time to chat and argue with each other and just "be" children, unscheduled children. Then they are tired in the morning. Sometimes, as hard as this is to believe, they are grumpy and mouthy to their sweet mama because they are so tired. I think there has to be a better balance. I don't want to live like this anymore, and I am the grown up, remember?

I am the grown-up who happened to completely forget about the fact that I had registered and paid for my two older girls to participate in a gymnastics meet on Saturday. I am sure the meet happened without us, but we didn't even give it a thought. We were busy planting flowers, helping Dad dig a big ditch in the back yard and making cupcakes. I remembered the gymnastics meet this morning as I walked into my exercise class. Oops.

Perhaps this "oops" was just the wake-up call that I needed. It was a bumbling nudge reminding me that we are doing TOO MUCH. Sometimes kids should just come home and ride their bikes. Sometimes it is just fantastic to flop down on the sofa and watch cartoons after school while your mom cooks a great dinner. And here is a news flash: Neither of my daughters are going to grow up to be Olympic gymnasts. I would much rather they look back on childhood and remember things like finger painting, drawing on the sidewalk with chalk, digging in the dirt and helping mom bake brownies instead of a blurred, endless string of afternoons rushing into the car to head to archery lessons and flugelhorn practice.

This is not the first time I have gotten fired up about downsizing our schedule, but with summer coming, I am resolved to follow through and make some changes. Less may be more for our family.

Please know that I am not judging you if your little Junior spends every afternoon training for soccer or the world chess tournament. Every family has to find a balance. Right now I can feel that our family is NOT in balance, so I need to do some tweaking. Wish me luck! There may be a few tears and strops, but I truly believe that more rest and less scheduling will yield happier children in the end.

UPDATE. My husband just called and convinced me that it is not at all as bad as I have convinced myself. Yes, we should tweak and consolidate to make our schedule a bit less hectic, but our children are certainly not stressed out and neurotic. (That's just me.) Change is a-comin' though...

Crafty Easter!

2011-04-24T20:16:00.001-04:00

Holy Week and Easter Weekend have been a flurry of emotions and activities. I have enjoyed spending lots of time at church this week in musical and reflective pursuits, and I have also enjoyed time with my family at home. My Sophia constantly pushes me to engage in crafty ventures. I am easily persuaded but spend most of the time grumbling, "I HATE crafts!"

Dear Sophie, please know that I love you dearly. I force myself out of my comfort zone so that I can glue, stick, cut and color with you... all so that we may have this sought after thing called "quality time" together. See my crafty specimens below...

Specimen A: the chocolate molded/ dipped pretzel rods.

Heaven help me.

Specimen B: The colorfully painted Easter eggs.

Hush your mouth! Don't think this is a real craft? My stained finger tips beg to differ.

Specimen C: the flower-covered Easter bonnet

Behold the craftiness of it all! There was lots of holding and waiting for glue to dry involved.

And Mama didn't even cuss once.

Specimen D: the Easter basket cupcakes.

This is the ONLY kind of craft that I don't mind making.

And nothing says, "Christ the Lord is risen today" quite like a coconut cupcake that has been stabbed with a bent Twizzler. Alleluia!

On a more serious note, I wish you all a very Happy Easter. I hope that you have felt blessed, full of joy and even awe-struck today. I find myself endlessly singing "I Know That My Redeemer Lives," and that is nothing but a good thing.

"On Easter Day the veil between time and eternity thins to gossamer." ~Douglas Horton

Why Big Sisters Rock...

2011-04-19T21:03:00.000-04:00

A great big sister will take you by the hand (or hoist you up onto her hip if the the terrain is too rough for your tender little feet) and lead you into the forest. There she will show you all sorts of enchanting everyday miracles. She will point out the hidden spots where fairies dance when no one is looking, and she will show you a humble, unassuming hole at the base of a tree which just might be the entrance to the underground lair of a tiny (and very kind) dragon. She will encourage you to stomp your feet in the crispy, crinkling leaves. Then she will help you find a stick that is the perfect size for grasping in your toddler-sized hand and casting magic spells on the fat black squirrels that scurry through the trees overhead. That big sister will watch as you take each moment in through your wide-open eyes. She will take pleasure in your glee and astonishment, and she will stay with you and show you "more, more, more" until Mom calls and says it is time to come in...
Because that is simply what a great big sister does. Lucky little you.

Backseat Expressions

2011-04-16T15:09:00.003-04:00

Every Thursday I drive my three children plus one to church for an evening of youth activities. There is always a theme, and it is generally lots of fun. This past Thursday the theme was "Red Carpet," and the suggested style of dress was "dressy." Sophia and I looked through her closet and found her prettiest spring dress with eyelet lace and a pink sash. We pulled out faux pearls, a fancy flowery headband and her super-fabulous "high-heeled" shoes. She was set and gorgeous. Emma, however, had something else in mind... ultra tight black leggings, black leather boots and a short black t-shirt with a leopard print peace sign on the front. I sighed and could not conceal the look of disapproval on my face. "I'm not sure that's appropriate for church," I said, "And I'm also not sure that's what was meant by 'Red Carpet,' Emma."

She regarded me with mirrored disapproval, "MOM! Can't a rock star be on the red carpet??" In the end I persuaded her to go with a beautiful blue and white floral dress and some sparkly ballet flats. Very nice and respectable, but not at all "Emma."

On the way to church Emma and her friend who rides with us each week sat in the backseat of the van. I felt a sense of dread creep down my spine when I saw that her friend was dressed like a mini-skirted, female version of Michael Jackson, and I listened silently as Emma pulled on her sensible dress and grumbled to her friend, "Do you know what I WANTED to wear?..." Emma described the "rock star" costume that was lying rejected on the chair in her bedroom.

"That sounds so cool!! You should'a worn THAT!!" the friend replied supportively.

"I KNOW!!" she cried, "It's like my mom is totally against me being cool and expressing myself."

So there I sat like so many other moms* overhearing a significant backseat conversation that my daughter assumed I was oblivious to. And I felt a little ashamed of myself... not for eavesdropping (since I plan to listen in on those backseat conversations until she has her own car), but because she was right. I DO step in and prevent her from expressing herself too often. I am sure that I could have assisted with the rock star costume and made it more church appropriate while still allowing Emma to be cool and expressive, but I didn't. I am still learning. Since she is my first born, she is the only almost-nine year old I've ever tried to mother. Lucky Emma. She has so much to teach me.

And so later that evening I apologized to Emma for suppressing her inner-rock star. I am slowly learning. Be patient with me, my dear.

*My beloved best friend, Jenny, can you even imagine half of the nonsense Evangeline overheard us discussing in the backseat of the Chrysler during our middle and high school days?? Aye Carumba!

A Bit of Drama

2011-04-12T22:55:00.000-04:00

This little girl is not a complainer. She's one tough cookie. That is why when she was crying and doubled over in pain on Saturday afternoon, I suspected something might be up. Early Sunday morning we were off to our local Urgent Care center. None of the simple, easy to fix ailments seemed to fit the bill. (I had really been pulling for a bladder infection.) The doctor ruminated. I ruminated. We both decided I should take her home and watch her while checking in with my Mommy Instincts on occasion. That wonderful doctor also uttered the word "appendicitis" more than once, so after I got home, I ruminated on appendicitis. Then I Googled "appendicitis." Then I started to worry.

After all of this ruminating, I scooped up the young'uns and went over to the ER where Sophia proceeded to baffle more nurses and a couple of doctors. To complicate matters a bit further, my husband was on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean while all of this was going on. When it looked like things were starting to get hairy, an angel of a friend responded to my distress call. She came and took Lili home from the hospital. She met Emma who was returning from a sleepover. She cooked dinner, changed diapers, ordered stinky people to take showers, and generally did all of the mothering that I couldn't do since I still have not worked out how to be in two places at the same time.

Sophie was sent for uncomfortable tests with her fretting mother by her side (wearing a hefty lead vest). The tests were not helpful in determining what was causing her pain and tenderness. The surgeon and I agreed that I should take her home and bring her back early the next morning for more blood work. If she showed no signs of improvement, that appendix would be coming out.

The next morning, Madame S was still quite sore and tender, but there was a spring in her step that hadn't been there the day before. After we returned to the hospital, she appeared to move around with much greater ease and even caught a case of the giggles at one point. Additionally she was ravenously hungry. Insert great sigh of relief here. I hate that she underwent a CT scan at the age of seven when she didn't have appendicitis, but I am thrilled that she didn't have appendicitis! What in the heck DID she have, you may be asking?? Who knows? The doctors scratched their heads and said, "Abdominal pain can be caused by a wide variety of things in children..."

For now I am overwhelmingly grateful. My children are healthy and happy. I also have a wonderful friend who didn't even pause before agreeing to spring to my aid me when I needed help desperately. Did I mention the fact that she spent the night on Sunday and took care of Lili on Monday while Sophie and I were back at the hospital? I seem to be blessed with good friends everywhere we go. Grateful me.

Today Sophie was back at school and even went to her two hour gymnastics training after school. No more drama for that girl. Enough is enough. After my whirlwind weekend with Sophie, Emma did hold me captive last night for a few minutes to tell me that ALL daughters need quality time with their mothers... most specifically daughters named Emma. I assured her that she needn't develop an abdominal infection to get quality time with me. We will be putting a date on the calendar soon!

"Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint." ~Mark Twain

The Doorknob

2011-04-03T17:35:00.001-04:00

Sophia got something very special for her birthday this year:

A new doorknob.

The previous hardware on her door was one of those fashionable French door handles, and that simply would not do. You see, Lili has mastered the art of opening a French door handle, and therefore Sophia could frequently be heard screaming, "OH NO!!!" upon discovering what that little monster had done in her bedroom whilst she was away at school. The logical request came about consequently... "Dad!! Can I puh-lease have a new doorknob for my birthday so that I can keep Lili OUT?!"

Sophia is obviously pleased with the alteration.

Lili, on the other hand...

Not so much.

"If you don't understand how a woman could both love her sister dearly and want to wring her neck at the same time, then you were probably an only child." ~Linda Sunshine

Spring Family Vay-Cay!

2011-04-02T20:34:00.001-04:00

We were all geared up for sun and fun in Florida last week. What we actually got was lots of rain... painful, dumping, drenching, relentless rain...and some fun. We did enjoy celebrating Sophia's birthday with family, and we managed to catch one sunny day at Universal's Islands of Adventure theme park where we took in Harry Potter's magical world and sampled some of the Three Broomsticks' Butterbeer. (Curious friends, it was much like a caramely, vanilla-ish, frothy cream soda. Tasty, sweet and a little sticky.)

Pictured above is Hogwarts and the ride which required nearly an hour long wait. Since we were in good company and had sunshine, it was worth it.

Traveling and "theme parking" with a toddler was no picnic, but I did very much enjoy seeing things from her diminutive perspective. The aquariums at Sea World elicited such squeals of excitement from her, that we all spent more time watching her than we did observing the aquatic life. At Universal we were surrounded by larger than life, noisy attractions and Lili paused to observe a tiny lizard...

...and stopped to sit and regard a pot of chrysanthemums.

And that is why traveling with a toddler is magical. The magic makes up for the stubborn strops and out-of-control tantrums. Even when we got caught in that blinding, drenching, unrelenting rain at Sea World, Lili laughed all the way to the car as I held her in my arms and ran for all I was worth. Her innocent and naive laughter was highly contagious. By the time we all got back to the car, we were soaked and utterly cracked up.

In spite of all of our weather woes and conniption fits, this little girl had a brilliant birthday...

"Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd to look behind,

And count each birthday with a grateful mind."

- Alexander Pope

Spring Snow Day Number Two

2011-03-24T22:17:00.001-04:00

Today was Day Two of our Spring Snow Spectacle. School was canceled again. My choir's Lenten concert at church was also canceled. I could have been annoyed or depressed, but instead I chose to take the "Whee-Monster" out on the sled and pull her around the neighborhood. She did not disappoint and cried out "Whee! Whee! Whee!!" all the way home.

Her glee was so contagious that we all had to take turns running with her en tow.

That was the only sane thing I did today since shortly after our jog through the snow, I thought I should take all three girls bathing suit and shoe shopping. Lord help me! Bathing suit shopping after you've had three children is depressing enough WITHOUT having those three children in the dressing room with you as you attempt to squeeze your stretch marks into some horrible piece of floral lycra. Lili dumped goldfish crackers all over the floor, pulled everything out of my wallet and made several great escapes under the dressing room door while I was in my underwear. Sophie and Emma helpfully giggled and regarded my cellulite with great skepticism throughout this process. Then Sophia found my camera hidden somewhere in the depths of my giant purse and began a Cover Girl photo shoot with Emma whilst Lili pulled off her socks and shoes and rolled around on the floor. I am pretty sure I have deleted all of the photos that included images of my half-nude pale body partially stuffed into a tankini. Here is one of the few survivors...

To answer your question... no, I didn't buy a bathing suit. I gave up and we headed for the shoe department where entirely new mountains of drama erupted. By the time we were finished three-fourths of us had new summer sandals, and Emma learned an important lesson about not settling for whatever happens to be available. Then we took our little boxes of sandals and trudged through the snow and slush back out to our car. I love spring in Michigan.

Healthy Mama's Waffles

2011-03-23T13:06:00.004-04:00

What can I say? Today is the third day of spring and we have about six inches of snow on the ground. The children in this family are also getting over Strep throat, a wicked ear infection and some sort of virus that requires the afflicted to sleep on her mother's face and cough all night long. I would seriously be losing my stuff if we didn't have a sunny holiday planned for the near future. All of that being said, a snow day is still fun and a little bit magical, and I am almost annoyed to admit that it really is beautiful out there. As Sophia said this morning, "Mom! You have to come out and see this! It's so crystal white!"

A snow day also means that you must have something nice for breakfast. On school mornings there typically isn't time for bacon and eggs or Granny's famous homemade coffee cake, but on a snow day, there is nothing but time. Today this mama made waffles with a healthy twist.

Choose a whole grain pancake mix and add a scoop of protein powder. Prepare as directed for waffles,and feel a little bit self-righteous. This is way healthier than Bisquick.

My little buddy also helped me sautee a couple of bananas in a bit of butter with cinnamon and and a titch of brown sugar. We also heated some fresh blueberries in the microwave with a little squidge of agave nectar. My measurements are not an exact science.

When was the last time YOUR breakfast made you feel so happy that you busted out a goofy pose like this? I added a small dollop of whipped cream, and NOBODY missed that high fructose corn syrup that Aunt Jemima is peddling these days.

Happy Spring!

Our Belated St. Patrick's Feast

2011-03-19T21:37:00.001-04:00

Since we all were at church on Thursday evening, we were a little late in celebrating St. Pat's Day at home, and we just HAD to celebrate at home since, for some reason, the United Methodists don't serve Guinness at youth group gatherings in the fellowship hall. Our little celebration tonight also gave Lili a chance to dress up in her fab new green t-shirt again and gave the rest of us a chance to eat lots of good food.

First a little leprechaun visited our kitchen table and delivered a rainbow fruit salad and dropped a few of his gold pieces. That cheeky little blighter also poured a whole pint of lager into my Irish stew as it simmered on the stove, but none of us minded that a bit.

Cheers! Bless your little Irish heart and every other Irish part.

Of course Lili remembered last year's first and only taste of Guinness, and she decided to have another go. Her brilliant mum did not discourage her.

Don't the old hatch, Babe.*

And finally, Sophie and Emma were most excited about our dessert, a Lucky Leprechaun Sundae: rainbow sherbet with whipped cream and a cherry on top and a little leprechaun's treasure tucked in for good measure.

We hope you had a lovely St. Patrick's Day wherever you are. We are especially missing our UK mates as we celebrate. "May your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow, and may trouble avoid you wherever you go."

*No babies were harmed or fed alcoholic beverages in the course of these celebrations, just so's you know.

Mama Doesn't Blog Like She Used To...

2011-03-18T09:22:00.002-04:00

Here is a photo of the number one reason that I do not write as much as I would like. I have this precocious little helper. She is ready to start her own blog since she is familiar with the workings of a PC and she is all full of self-awareness. Allow me to 'splain and digress... Earlier this week, Sophia and I almost lost our minds with excitement since, while reading a story called Peekaboo Park, our Lili identified herself by name for the first time. Allow me to digress again. Peekaboo Park is one of our favorite stories for several reasons:

It is a very short story, and therefore, perfect for someone with the attention span of a gnat or a toddler.
Page two's lift-the-flap reveals "A Buzzing Bee," and gives Lili a chance to perform her first-class impression of a bee who zooms around buzzing, "Wee wee wee wee wee..."
The other flaps offer pleasant opportunities for quacking and ribbiting when lifted; always a good thing.
The final flap reveals a mirror and a "happy baby" who always proves to be a completely hilarious character.

So earlier this week, when we read it and arrived at that final lift-the-flap, Lili jabbed a pudgy little finger at her reflection in the mirror and cooed, "LILI!!" Her mother and sister, who were enjoying story time as much as she was, almost leaped out of the story chair and squealed with delighted surprise. To be honest, I think we may have freaked her out a little. Our wee lass knows her name, and I suppose she should since it is likely the most common word spoken at our house.... even though there are all of those times I get confused and call her "Sophie." (I am slowly but surely turning into my grandmother, Gladys.)

So... back to my original point... I know that there will never be perfect writing conditions, but this month seems to have been particularly hairy. We've had lots of sleepless nights, snotty noses and unsettled tummies. Additionally I now apparently have to compete with this little leprechaun for the use of my computer. Anytime that I write during Lili's waking hours (which happens to be MOST of the hours in the day), I know that something naughty is happening in another room. Perhaps all of Emma's underpants have been pulled out of her drawer, or maybe Sophia's cache of Valentine candy has been compromised, but if I don't have her directly in my sights, I know that girl is up to some sort of mischief. Writing can be a precarious business. At this very moment, Boo Bear has just wandered out of the office and into her sister's bedroom with a rascally gleam in her eye. I had better dash.

Yikes! Was that the sound of an entire box of Legos being dumped in the toilet?

The Journal

2011-03-11T22:10:00.004-05:00

I have this daughter who challenges me on a daily basis. She sometimes shows me things about myself that I do not like. She stretches me and makes me grow as a person. She also makes me mad, makes me laugh, and makes me think. Wasn't life easier when she just needed some milk and a nap? I do love that girl, but we have our struggles. Sometimes I am not perfect. Sometimes I do not say the right words. Should I simply overlook it when she wants to leave my house for school with a ponytail sprouting from her forehead like a unicorn horn while wearing her Dad's Panama Jack tank top from 1989 over a pair of tight sweatpants and snowboots? Often I long for a rewind button; I know that some of our exchanges could be infused with a little more motherly love and understanding, but truly she cannot leave the house like that, right? Enter the journal...

The journal was Miss Smarty-Face's idea, and when she suggested it, I was immediately on board! As you can see, she chose a design that fits her personality to a T: multi-colored skulls and cross bones and hearts. That's my girl. Emma thought it would be cool if we had a journal through which we could send letters back and forth to each other. Isn't she clever? Often we write about trite silliness. We write about what we like for breakfast or why we're looking forward to the weekend. Sometimes we get a little more serious though. In her journal Emma is allowed and encouraged to write things like, "It really hurt my feelings when..." or "When you were my age did you sometimes..."

And I get to write back... after everyone is in bed, and the house is quiet, and I am not feeling stressed about getting her (sensibly dressed) out the door to tuba lessons. I get to read and "listen" to how she's feeling and respond to her "wonderings". Sometimes it's hard to feel special when you are one of three girls. It's easy to feel like mom doesn't have enough time when you need her or that she expects you to just look after yourself since you are nearly nine years old and all... But our journal is one very special thing that is only for me and Emma, and I am so proud of the fact that she was the one who prescribed it as good medication for our sometimes rocky relationship. Our journal is a great way of making sure nothing important is left unsaid. It gives us a chance to say sweet things to each other, and it gives Emma a chance to ask questions or tell me things that are easier said on paper than aloud.

Of course we still talk, and talk, and talk, but the journal allows us to communicate on a different level AND lets Emma know that even though she is one of three, she is one of a kind and so special to me.

"What the daughter does, the mother did." ~Jewish Proverb

Meditation for Mamas?

2011-03-07T21:54:00.002-05:00

We have been a house full of sickies all week, and I decided to take a few days off from the blog and not write about the joys of mopping up bodily eruptions at all hours of the day and night. You are welcome.

Still all of this mothering has made me feel tired and introspective... not that much introspection is very possible with three children, mind you. I know that there is a season for all things. Right now I am in the midst of the serving, mothering, laundering, sleepless season, and I find myself craving silence. There will also be a season for silence, but then I will, of course, crave the noisy chaos that a house full of children brings.

Over the weekend I was attempting to catch forty winks before an evening out with my husband. I had just started to drift into that drowsy, dreamy wonderland where frogs wear tutus and angels whisper all of the secrets of the hereafter when dear, sweet Sophia stomped into my bedroom and announced (loudly), "Mom! I'm really hungry!!" It is safe to assume that I didn't hop up and make her a grilled cheese sandwich right then and there. You are correct in thinking that the girl hightailed it out of there moments later apologizing and declaring, "I will just get myself a bowl of cereal."

So there I was, awake and annoyed. Before I drifted off to sleep, I had been reading about Padre Pio of Pietrelcina who wrote (among other things), "Through the study of books, one seeks God; by meditation one finds him." And I lay there wondering, how on earth does a mother of young children ever find the time to meditate?

I remember a day several years ago when I sat in the bathroom. The bathroom had been a sacred and private place before I had children. On this particular day there was a whining toddler tugging on my trousers and a four year old standing at the door observing and commenting on the events that were taking place. "There are times when I just want to be ALONE!!" I moaned.

That darling, curly-headed four year old responded matter-of-factly, "But you can't, Mom, because we always want you." How true, and how truly wonderful, but we mothers still do crave alone time. Quiet, meditative time is nearly impossible for mothers of young children to find. We have mother's ears, which my husband refers to as my "wolf senses". Mother's ears hear everything when we are trying to unwind and relax (even if Dad is minding the whippersnappers). We also have mother's brains which are capable of imagining all sorts of ridiculous worst-case scenarios about our children as we attempt to find quiet time for prayer or contemplation.

All of that being said, motherhood is chock full of divine moments. When we are not tearing our hair out marvelling at the most recent naughty high jinks of our little darlings, there are these sublime moments that allow us to feel the presence and perfection of God. There are soft baby kisses on our cheeks in the dark as we sway with a sleepy baby in our arms. There are moments when we find ourselves having magical, meaningful conversations with a long-legged, big kid who was a toddler only yesterday. A three-year-old reminds us of life's ordinary miracles as she squats over chubby ankles to gaze in wonderment at rocks and caterpillars and such. There are also times when we get to watch in astonishment as our children's gifts are revealed. We sit with jaws dropped in awe of our little child who just wrote a beautiful poem, or kicked a winning soccer goal, or wowed an audience with a perfectly sung rendition of Tammy Wynette's "Stand By Your Man."

It is also true that the love that I feel for my children is so powerful that it gives me a small insight into the perfect love that is God. Although I crave quiet time with a clear, unworried mind, I am not lacking in sacred moments: holding a sticky little hand or looking into a daughter's perspicacious eyes.

Don't get me wrong. Quiet time is still required, and I may be hiding in the closet at this time tomorrow just to get a little of that stuff.

"Heaven is at the feet of mothers." ~ Arabic Proverb

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Sant Hapus!

2011-03-01T20:46:00.002-05:00

It's St. David's Day again, and we have done just a little bit over here to celebrate the day. First I did what every self-respecting Welsh granny does today. I made my own Welsh cakes from scratch. Thank you, Delia Smith. I would have made you proud. I have to admit that I am just a little bit proud of myself.

Next I sauteed up some chopped bacon and leeks in a pan with some butter. That's right. I said bacon and leeks.

Then I added some white wine, cream and Parmesan cheese and tossed it all with some pasta. Trust me. The leeks make it Welsh, and it had me singing that favorite rousing hymn of Welshmen from the Valleys to the Brecon Beacons: "Feed Me Till I Want No More."

Emma and Sophie helped make a Welsh dragon out of Lili's hand prints.

Mostly we just enjoyed having a meal with our favorite Welsh lass, Lilianna Gwyneth. Those Welsh kids are fabulous dinner companions...

"Yes, those are leeks stuck to my eyebrow."

Come dine with me! I'm a star as you can see!

Quality Time...

2011-02-27T20:11:00.001-05:00

looks like this...

Helpy Helperton

2011-02-24T10:16:00.001-05:00

It's really the least she can do. After all SHE is the one who is responsible for all of the spaghetti scribbles all over my cupboard doors.
Teach the children well, y'all.

Little Darlin', It's Been a Long, Cold Lonely Winter

2011-02-23T09:37:00.003-05:00

It started snowing again on Sunday afternoon. By the time we woke up on Monday morning, there was about seven inches of that stuff on the ground. The kids already had the day off school since it was President's Day, and George cleared the driveway and went to work because he is apparently no longer the sensible Southern boy I fell in love with. The little girl pictured above has a habit of standing at the window and moaning, "EMMA!! EMMA!!" while watching her older sisters frolic and cavort in the Winter Wonderland that my front yard has become.

So on Monday morning I thought I would make Lili's dreams come true by bundling her up and letting her go out and play with those big girls in the snow. My favorite weather guy assured us all that the snow was wetter and heavier and perfect for snowman-making, so we were all ready to show off our wintry artistic skills.

On went Lili's undershirt, trousers, sweatshirt, snow pants, double socks, boots, mittens and hat. At this point I was exhausted and ready to call it a day, but we had winter work to do, so out the front door we all tromped. Lili marched her little self all the way down to end of the driveway, had a look around and then marched straight back again.

Then she sat down in the snow and sobbed. She had had enough, so in we went. Off came the hat, the mittens, the coat, the boots, the snow pants, and the sweat shirt, and she resumed her usual spot at the window calling out, "EMMA!!"

Those other two girls stayed out there and tried to fashion a snowman out of the dry, powdery snow in our yard. After about forty five minutes they had achieved what looked like a large snowy anthill. Cold and frustrated they came in and had some hot chocolate and suggested that it might be a better day to watch a movie and do indoor crafts. In other words, Winter, the romance seems to left this relationship. I think we need a break. Winter, I think it's time we see other people... er, seasons. Unfortunately my Michigan friends assure me that we still have another good month of winter up here. Ho hum.

I suppose if it's going to be winter a bit longer, I can enjoy another month of hot soups and chilies and other comfort foods. I have been trying to redeem myself since I apparently made the "bitter" Irish oatmeal that Sophia wrote about in her school journal, and, by golly, I think I may have done it on Monday morning. I made baked steel cut oats which I had pre-prepared and allowed to "marinate" in the fridge overnight. Interested?

Baked Steel Cut Oats with Dried Fruit, Coconut and Spices*

1 TBS butter
1 cup steel-cut oats
2 cups water
1 1/2 cups milk
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 cup mixed dried fruit (We used a berries and cherries mixture.)
1/2 cup unsweetened dried coconut
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp salt

1. Lightly grease the baking dish with butter or non-stick cooking spray. Melt the 1 TBS butter in a saucepan over medium heat and add the oats. Cook, stirring frequently for about 3 minutes or until the oats start smelling toasty. Add the water and milk and bring to a light simmer. Remove from the heat.

2. Stir in the brown sugar, dried fruit, coconut, cinnamon, ginger and salt. Pour into a baking dish and cover with aluminum foil. If time allows, refrigerate 8 hours or overnight.

3. When ready to bake, preheat the oven to 375 F. Place the baking dish on a baking sheet and put it in the oven. Bake for 35 minutes (or 25 minutes if the oatmeal was refrigerated overnight) until the oats have absorbed the liquid and are creamy. (The oats will look soupy at first, but they will thicken after they have cooled for a few minutes.

This recipe made more than the four of us could eat in one morning, so we refrigerated the leftovers and had baked oatmeal for breakfast again this morning. It was just as good today.

* This recipe came from one of my new favorite cookbooks Not Your Mother's Casseroles by Faith Durand.

Stay Warm Out There, Kids!

Fair and Balanced Parenting

2011-02-22T20:07:00.004-05:00

We are too busy, and there is not enough time to spend with the beautiful little people in my life. This week we are adding swimming to the agenda which means we now have something extracurricular going on every night of the week (except Friday because that would be completely insane). I swore it would never be like this, but here we are with double gymnastics, swimming and church youth activities. There is not enough down time.

Even when we are home it feels nearly impossible to spend individual quality time with each girl. There are always plenty of house chores and laundry to be done. There is also the matter of fact that we have an impish toddler running around who requires constant supervision and who doesn't cooperate when the big girls set up an intricate board game on the floor. (Even now as I type, there is the risk that she could, at any moment, scurry over here and press the power button on my computer.) Yesterday, after she had helped with a dozen chores and been a complete angel, Sophie came in to find me rocking a grumpy, sleep-fighting Lili. She held up a hand drawn sign printed on green construction paper which said, "Can you please play with me Mom??"

How I wanted to just drop everything and scoop that snaggle-toothed little girl up into my arms, but I knew if I plopped Lili into her crib at that moment, she'd scream for an hour and be a complete bear for the rest of the evening. Junk. Twenty minutes later I had to take Emma to her gymnastics class, figure out what was for dinner and pull all of the "pinks and reds" out of the dryer.

This is my new Mommy-Challenge. As the days race past me like Trevor Bayne at the Daytona 500, I struggle to find time to spend with each of my girls individually. They are constantly growing and changing, and right now, they want me. It will not always be the case that they so desperately want to spend time with their mama, so I need to take advantage of this window. I need to figure out some way to spend quality time with all three of them independently. This is no easy task, and I am open to any advice or suggestions you other yummy mummies out there might have.

Right now I am feeling that my Sophie is especially in need of some Mommy-time, so I am planning to take her out to breakfast sometime this weekend, just the two of us. She will order the "little farmer's breakfast," and we will draw and color and chat and maybe even play a card game. Quality time for Emma comes almost nightly when we curl up with a good book. (Currently it's The Witches by Roald Dahl.) Emma also likes to chat and talk and discuss. If given the chance, Emma also appreciates opportunities to communicate, converse and verbalize. No big whoop. Don't get verklempt. Of course Lili and I already get plenty of quality time making our favorite animal sounds, exchanging kisses, playing "I'm Gonna Get You", sharing snacks and reading her current favorite book Sometimes I Like to Curl Up in a Ball, an incredibly charming story about the daily adventures of an adorable wombat, highly recommended for the one year old in your life. So there you go.

I continue to search for that loophole in the space-time-continuum which will allow me to have a few more hours in the day. Until then I will just have to be a bit more proactive in seeking out little bits of time to spend with the little people who matter who matter most to me. (That crazy snaggle-toothed face won't hang around forever, you know. In a year she will be a completely different girl. Breakfast date, here we come! That's a mighty fine place to start.)

Hat Pants

2011-02-17T12:19:00.000-05:00

That's right. Free your mind. A sassy pair of pants needn't solely adorn your bum and legs.

Ta dah! The right pair of pants can say the world, "Hey! I'm a girl who walks to the beat of her own drummer (wearing nothing but a pair of striped pants on my head)."

Bid those "Bad Hair Days" a fond farewell. Who needs 'em. Ha ha ha!

As William Shakespeare said, "This above all: to thine own self be true." This morning my own self told me to wear my pants on my head, and I listened.

Have a great day!

Love,

Lili

Just a Little Valentine's Day Reminder From Back in 2008

2011-02-13T12:00:00.000-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day, Y'all!!
Love is Something

Meredith | Myspace Video

Let's Make a Memory, Y'all.

2011-02-12T19:51:00.006-05:00

Last weekend Sophia informed me, "I cannot wait to make Valentine's cookies with you!"
I was all, "Say what? Valentine's Cookies?" And then I searched my memory for a time in the past when we had made Valentine's cookies and came up with nothing, but she insisted that cookies were called for. And apparently I didn't take much convincing. I dug up my best sugar cookie recipe, and we all got down to business last night.

EVERY girl wanted to be involved.

It turned out that this was a pretty excellent way to spend a Friday evening.

And we all "felt the love" before it was all said and done.

Now about that recipe...

Best Ever Sugar Cookies

(Courtesy of the Family Fun Cookbook guaranteed to 'unleash the creative cookie monster in anyone.')

1 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cream of tartar

In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar until fluffy. Add the egg and beat well, then mix in the vanilla extract. In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking soda and cream of tartar. Add the flour mixture, one third at a time, until thoroughly combined.

Divide the dough into two equal portions and flatten each into a disc. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 2-3 hours, or as long as your patience will allow, making sure the dough is cold enough to work with. (We never manage to wait a whole two hours!)

Preheat the oven to 350 F. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough until it is about 1/4 inch thick. Cut out the cookies by hand or with cutters. Transfer the cookies to a baking sheet, leaving about 2 inches between them. Bake for 8-10 minutes or until lightly brown around the edges.

Cool completely before adding frosting. Baked cookies can be stored in an airtight container in the freezer for up to one month before frosting and decorating and for up to three days at room temperature. (They never last three days at my house .)

Most importantly, enjoy!!

Life is too short to not make the Valentine's cookies!
(Example of "Creative Cookie Monster" below)

It Has Taken Me a Week to Write About This

2011-02-11T15:47:00.000-05:00

Last Friday Lili and I took my husband to the medical center to have a "little procedure." This procedure will ensure that Lili is the last Carson girly to spring from our loins. I've done my mourning, but honestly after the post-birth experience I had with Lili, I knew I was finished. George states, for all of you trembling, scalpel-fearing dudes out there, that it would be "nuts" (pun possibly intended) for me to have a surgical tubal ligation. The procedure for a man is much simpler and carries almost no risks, while tubal ligation carries a very slim chance of significant health issues. It should be a no-brainer, and for the record, my body has been through enough with carrying, giving birth to, and feeding these wonderful children.

That being said, since it was such a simple procedure, Lili and I actually sat in the room with George while the extremely jovial Doctor Pheninger did his thing. Dr. P apparently really enjoys his job. He told us this many times. He also related a series of cheeky anecdotes while he clipped and snipped. I did not want to watch and kept my attention focused on the top half of my husband. I was seriously hoping, however, that Dr. P was watching as he jabbered on about how exciting he finds seminiferous tubules to be. At one point I felt a wave of panic as I saw smoke billowing out of George's nether regions. (I later found out that this was normal since there was some sort of cauterizing involved in the process. Can we just not talk about it?)

All in all, the entire event took about ten or fifteen minutes, and George says he felt only a minor amount of discomfort. Done and dusted. On the way home, the Valium that he took beforehand started to kick in, and George insisted that I stop by Burger King to feed his munchies. George was given the instructions by his doctor to go home and immediately lie down with his feed up and apply ice to the "area." I have learned that George becomes light-heartedly defiant while under the influence of controlled substances. Upon returning home he decided that dancing in the kitchen seemed much more appealing than following doctor's orders. "Come here and dance with me, " he purred as he knocked his hips from side to side and made bicycling movements with his clenched fists, "We don't dance enough!"

It took some effort to get him to abandon his dance party of one and lie down. I prepared a gallon-sized Ziploc bag full of ice for him and helped stuff it down his pants. "That's a LOT of ice," he hiccuped, "You flatter me." Funny guy. I decided the the best way to get him to rest was to leave him without an audience. Ten minutes later he was asleep, and he pretty much slept for the rest of the weekend. I am not sure what was in that tablet he took, but George had no trouble, after his initial rebellion, taking it easy for the rest of the weekend.

So that's it. All done. In a few months we'll be carefree kids. Totally carefree. That's the way it works.

Happy weekend to all.

Third Babies...

2011-02-05T11:00:00.000-05:00

Life is busy with three kids. I've said it before, but it still astounds me. When you are a third (or fourth or fifth, I'm told) baby, you just have to learn to go with the flow. You want to do everything the big kids do...even if you're exhausted. Sometimes it all just catches up with you...

Thank God for babies, for their energy and enthusiasm, for their innocence and their spirited zeal. And THANK GOD for nap time... whenever, wherever, and however it comes!

Snowpalooza/ Groundhog Day

2011-02-02T21:39:00.002-05:00

Just the other day I was complaining about how busy we are, how we don't have enough time to just hang out and play with our kids. Life is full of all sorts of running around and organized activities, and I was becoming downright fed up with it all. But today we had a "Get Out of Jail Free" day. Today was a SNOW DAY!!! Our local news dubbed the storm, which dropped about a foot of snow on us, "Snowpalooza." Bless 'em, those weather guys were so doggone excited. We were pretty excited at our house too since a snow day means... a little extra rest, lots of good, take-your-time and sing-while-you do-it cooking (Today's fab meal was real Italian spaghetti Bolognese with plenty of red wine and garlic.), crafty fun for the kiddies, and playing in the snow.

It also happened to be Groundhog Day. I know that Punxsutawney Phil in Pennsylvania didn't see his shadow and predicted an early spring, but we here in Michigan aren't holding our breath. Emma, Sophia and I had the most fun making our own Michigan Groundhog cupcakes...

We sat at the kitchen table for at least an hour and just cupcaked. (That's a new verb, y'all.) It was so pleasant, and we all realized how much we have been missing family down time. Even Sophia sighed and said, "I love this. I wish we had more time with our family."

Sophie's little guy, "Michigan Mitch"

Hey Sweetheart, want to do this again tomorrow?

We do love our snow days. I have never really been a snow hater, and if it takes 12 inches of it to give me a perfect day off at home with my family, I say, "Bring it on!!" Sophie discovered that she could stand in the snow, which was above her knees, and free fall backward landing softly in her waterproof snow gear. Then she spent the next hour doing just that over and over again.

Emma did a little snow swimming...

And now it looks like we get to do it all over again as school as been called off for tomorrow as well!! Perhaps we will choose some different activities that Lili can be more involved with. She was DESPERATE to help out with those cupcakes.

"Please get in my belly, you little chocolate rodent!"

HAPPY HAPPY SNOWPALOOZA/ BLIZZASTER/ GROUNDHOG PROPHESYING DAY 2011!!

"Snow provokes responses that reach right back to childhood. " ~Andy Goldsworthy

Baby's First Snow Fest

2011-01-31T21:24:00.001-05:00

Actually it was the first Snow Fest for ALL of the Carsons on Saturday in Frankenmuth. The giant snow sculptures were certainly impressive, but the best thing about our day was reconnecting with an old friend who was in town with her adorable family. She and I were pregnant together twice, and her boys and my girls seemed to pick up right where they left off about six years ago...but without the diapers and oral fixations this time. Here are three of them frolicking amongst some typical Michigan winter scenery...

And here is another particularly impressive snow sculpture. It kind of makes our anatomically correct snow dude from last winter appear inadequate. Poor guy.

As spectacular as those snow sculptures were, we found ourselves even more captivated by the breath-takingly beautiful single snow flakes we kept finding on each other. Here is a rather poor photo of a perfectly wondrous pair of tiny snow flakes that landed in Emma's hair...

After a few hours in Frankenmuth we decided we were cold enough and headed back to our cars. On the way Lili expressed her extreme displeasure with the freezing temperatures. Her little mittens just weren't doing the trick. When George buckled that sad sack into her car seat and took off those mittens, he discovered that her fingers resembled icicles. Oops. Note to self: Buy Lili some better mittens, Luckily she got over it. All three of those girls recovered from our busy day out in the tundra....

"January brings the snow, makes our feet and fingers glow." -Sara Coleridge

Stay Warm, Y'all!

There's a new Lambie in Town...

2011-01-28T20:20:00.000-05:00

...and his name is Monkey.

George bought this little guy many months ago in a shop called Mothercare in the UK. Monkey got packed in a box and was rediscovered a couple of weeks before Christmas. Since Lili didn't remember Monkey, George decided he would be a perfect Christmas gift for his littlest girl. Since then Monkey has become a favorite. Lili looks for him at bedtime and becomes distraught when he is not immediately available. (Apparently he is a busy primate.)

George brilliantly suggested that we get a couple of other identical monkeys so that we wouldn't have as many panicked "Lost Lambie" moments as we did with Sophia during her tender toddler years. George obviously forgot that Monkey was from Britain. This explain all of the cups of tea and plates of biscuits he demands throughout the day.

Happy Weekend, Friends!

I Am the Grown Up!

2011-01-26T16:26:00.002-05:00

I have this daughter named Emma, and she and I have had a passionate relationship from the beginning. I told my husband earlier this week that she is like the boyfriend that I am head over heels for, but with whom I eventually have to break up because we fight too much. Obviously I do not plan to "break up" with my daughter, but I do need to remember that I AM THE GROWN UP and when she pushes my buttons, it probably isn't the best course of action to stomp my feet and scream, "Arrrgh!! EMMA!!" in the middle of the grocery store.

Hugging seems to help. When I find that I have allowed myself to be dragged into the childish drama, when I realize that I am arguing fiercely with an eight year old, when I just want to vent and scream, I remember: I am the grown up. And I stop. And I hug that impossible little girl for as long as it takes my blood pressure to regulate. Then I say, "I'm sorry." and "I love you." Because I am the grown up, and I am the one who is supposed to remember and understand how difficult and awkward growing up is. I am the one who is supposed to be compassionate when the drama erupts. I am the one who is supposed to set a good example. I am not perfect, but I am getting pretty good at hugging and saying, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I got frustrated and raised my voice. I'm sorry you had to learn a hard lesson today. I'm sorry that you don't have a perfect mother, but God put us together for a reason."

Who knows why Emma and I butt heads so regularly? Why does it bother me so that her hair is always in her face or that she is constantly forgetting or losing things? I am guessing that she and I have a lot to learn from each other. Just like that boyfriend who was tons of fun one minute and then aggravating as snot the next, a day with Emma is both the best and worst of times. Unlike that old flame however, she is stuck with me for good, and I wouldn't have it any other way... Let's keep hugging until I can say that with even more confidence.

"A daughter is a little girl who grows up to be a friend." -Author Unknown

p.s. Thanks to Molly Cook Photography for these fab pics of my beautiful Emma.

p.p.s Thanks for allowing this mom to be so honest.

My Week With Mitch

2011-01-19T22:18:00.000-05:00

This week I have spent a good bit of time with Mitch the painter. Mitch resembles John Jacobson (show choir choreographer extraordinaire) in manner and voice. I am pretty sure he is constantly high on paint fumes as he becomes far too excited about ordinary topics of conversation. Mitch also has a startlingly loud voice and has scared the crap out of me several times this week when he comes up the stairs and his flamboyant voice booms something like, "Hey!! Do you mind if I use the slop sink in your laundry room??" Mitch has been re-painting our basement after the flood fiasco of 2011. The basement looks great now that it has been painted in the lovely shade of "Goodwin Court". (Ah, I know you are just picturing it right now.) The key to Mitch's speed and accuracy, as far as I can determine, is the horrifying death metal he plays in the background all day long. I can only surmise that Mitch paints so furiously well due to his fear that the devil himself is about to drag him to Hades through the speakers of his portable stereo.

I am really going to miss Mitch. I think we will have to have him back again soon to spruce up some of the upstairs rooms...

The Rules

2011-01-18T08:27:00.001-05:00

Since I shared some of Sophie's diary, I thought it would only be fair to invade Emma's privacy as well. I just found a notebook of hers open on the bathroom counter. Here is what I read...

For What I'm About to do There are Some Rules.

No hitting people with books.
No slapping people on the bottom
No doing things that involve someone else's underpants.

Thank You!

You might be wise to follow these rules yourself today.