Alone on Christmas

I am happily married, a mother of three wild children, sister, friend, and daughter.... never thought I would be alone on Christmas. But, after all the kids are in bed and my husband left for work, here I sit - ALONE...

Funny, how after a crazy day of cooking, cleaning, unwrapping, refereeing and playing, you would think that I would be thrilled to be alone. No.

So, here I sit. Avoiding the things I need to do. Wishing my husband was here. Hoping that I will gain the courage to face the empty living room that just moments ago was full of crazy, happy, energetic life... Then again, maybe this isn't so bad after all.

I can watch what I want.
Listen to the Christmas music I like.
Sit on my ass.
And Relax.

Yeah, it would be nice to do that with someone else, but then again, tonight I don't have to share the remote.

Merry Christmas! Pass the Eggnog!

Packages all tied up with paper and string

Ahh, the satisfaction of being done with the Christmas shopping and looking at all your packages wrapped and ready to go. I know, sounds shallow, huh?

But I can look back at my childhood and understand why those pretty packages mean so much to me. Growing up, we never had a lot at Christmas. I still remember the year we came home from church to a tree on our porch. A beautiful thing to a kid, whose parent's couldn't afford a tree. I cherish the memories of gifts that were given to us from anonymous people or friends when we weren't expecting any. Those gifts meant even more. I even liked the fact that we didn't get a lot of gifts at Christmas. I remember hearing kids at school talk about the 8 or more gifts they got and thinking how sad it was. At 10 years old I actually told myself that they couldn't enjoy all of their gifts if they got so many.

My other memories of gifts were the matching gifts. One year it was porcelain dolls, another year matching coats, and again matching bikes.... then yet again, at 14 it was matching outfits. Don't get me wrong, it isn't an attitude of ingratitude that I look back on those gifts. I was truly grateful, and still am. But somehow, they left me with a void. Or maybe it was a voice, crying "don't you know me?" "Do you take the time to listen?" Another time, a family member took me shopping for my gift, and  purchased a dress for me even when I told them I did not like it. The gifts were not about the recipient, they were about the giver. Not what I wanted, not what mattered to me, but what worked for them.

These experiences have influenced my gift giving. I want to give generously, to put my heart and soul into giving. To give in a way that shows that I care about the person who I am giving to. I also want to be mindful that it isn't about the money, but the heart.  The result has often been high levels of stress. Trying to balance generosity with prudence is like walking a tight rope over the Grand Canyon. Only, I'm the one that is not very forgiving.

Yet here I am, truly excited about the gifts I am giving. Why? 

Because I have put my heart into them. I am absolutely thrilled to give. And because I've seen little miracles come together to make it happen.

So, here it is... this year started with a problem... my usual dilemma was put to it's ultimate test. This is the year I was supposed to trim down my budget. Due to some financial decisions, which will work for our good in the long run, we are trying to keep our spending closely reigned in. How does one give generously without spending a lot of money? The pressure was on.

To my amazement, when I looked in my gift closet ( I have 5 nieces and nephews... I'm always getting things when I see them) I had almost all the gifts I needed for my nieces and nephews already purchased. 

Next step, poor my heart and soul into gifts from the heart. So over 10 hours later, the homemade gifts are ready (Ok, that is probably an under estimate, but I don't really want to think about how much time I really spent on them, or I will probably just buy them next year).

Without breaking budget, Christmas was well on it's way...  Ok, so I've probably spent well over 20 hours poring over every gift and detail, writing out lists, making sure I haven't forgot anyone. It hasn't been a cake walk. But it is worth it.

On to the next step. *Sigh* My family... I will admit, I have struggled this year. I've even shed tears and lost sleep on more nights than I am willing to admit ( I know I usually admit everything). So, as a desperate mama who want's nothing more than to give to her kids, I begged my Father for help. See, I don't want to just get my kids toys... I don't want them to have an even number of gifts, or even and even amount of money spent. It isn't about being fair or even about providing what I didn't have growing up. 

I want to show my kids that I know who they are, care about what is important to them, and here what they say. I want my gifts to reflect what they love, want and desire, but even more, something that speaks to them that I know what that is.

So how does one do that on a budget? By begging the greatest Giver for a gift. Yes, I have been praying for what to give my kids for Christmas since October... maybe even September. And not just a quick little prayer either.

And the best gift I got this year... My Father heard my heart. He not only answered my prayers, but he did it beyond what I had asked.

Wood that is in the clearance bin, a stranger offering me her coupon, a four week long fight with my husband that resulted in something beautiful, and a buy one get one free of already marked down to 50% off sale, all culminated into gifts I can't wait to give. 

So as I look at my packages all tied up with paper and string, I am truly thankful for the gift of giving. 

Embracing Denial

So I know that denial is actually a bad thing... But today, I don't care. If denial is what gets me through the day, then SO BE IT... I must Deny.

So what am I in denial about?

1. My son starts kindergarten next year
2. My kitchen floor, or more appropriately the gunk that is hiding my kitchen floor
3. My load of laundry in the drier that is covered with a bucket of lint
4. My stack of presents that need wrapping, but I don't want to waste paper
5. My moldy vegetables and jars of who knows what in the deep recesses of my fridge
6. My friendly black widow spider that greats me each time I enter the garage
7. My garden that apparently has attracted vermin of unknown kind and refuses to sprout
8. My beautiful bright orange sugar pie pumpkins that have been on my counter since October


So, is there anything terribly wrong about pretending that these things are not important? That I don't need to worry about them? Is is possible that they will go away?

Truthfully, only one of those things is truly important. So what if my floor is dirty, that my presents will be haphazardly wrapped at the last minute, that my clothes are covered in lint and wrinkled, that I have a science experiment in my fridge or an odd fly trap. Does it really matter that my garden isn't producing or that I will be eating pumpkins in February? No.

What is important, is the one that scares me the most... my number one. What haunts me throughout the night, yet paralyzes me during the day. My son, my first born starts SCHOOL next year... and I haven't figured out where yet. OUCH! Ok, I've admitted it. Guess I can't embrace denial if I am admitting. Oh, but I long for denial. A place where I can pretend an important decision like that doesn't exist, or were I don't have to constantly feel guilty for not calling and visiting every school in the area.

In honor of truth, I must admit, I am terrified. Not of him, not of school, but of making the wrong decision. How do you know what the right school is? What makes a good school? What does my child need to succeed? How much is too much? Or how little is too little?

I ask the questions, and still feel lost. And so, until Christmas is over, I choose to embrace denial, so I can sleep at night, tackle my laundry, scrub a floor and wrap gifts. I might even bake a pumpkin as well.

Trusting the Griller

The other day, I coerced my husband into enter a grilling contest. He had received 2nd place the previous year and I was determined to show his (my) skills off again this year. I spent hours going over marinade options, took all three kids to the store to purchase the meat (not an easy task) and carefully created the perfect "brew" for my tri-tip. I also  turned the meat every two hours to ensure thorough marination and on the day of the bbq, I was the one that put everything together so we were ready. Then I looked at my husband and said, " don't screw it up". Ok, I didn't really say that, but I thought it.
The contest, held at our church's annual memorial day picnic, wasn't complicated, and only a few people entered. We got to the park early, I was hungry to compete. My husband was not. Over the course of the next two hours, I spent more time moaning, groaning, humming and ha-ing over how my husband was cooking the meat. "Babe, don't you think you should start the meat?" "Is the grill hot enough?" "Did you turn it to soon?" "Let it rest longer." "You're cutting it to thick." "Those pieces are to big." "Why haven't you covered it?"
My poor husband, he didn't even want to participate in the contest in the first place, and here he was, being micro managed, nit-picked and criticized instead of hanging with the guys or playing with the kids. After the picnic was over, I began to ponder what happened. Had I ever really given him control? Was it really about him? Why had I even asked him to grill the meat? Then, the thoughts went deeper. Is this how I am with God? Have I ever really given him control? Do I sit there and nit-pick how he does things? Do I try to micro-manage my own life? How many times have I told God that I want to do something, ask Him to accomplish it for me and then sit there and complain about how it isn't going the way I want it to. Do I tell Him that He is doing it wrong? Do I even give control over to Him so that He can do it?

Proverbs 3:5-6 says "Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. ⁶ Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take (NLT)."  The Message put it this way, " Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don't try to figure out everything on your own. Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; he's the one who will keep you on track. Don't assume that you know it all. Run to God! Run from evil! (vs. 5-7)" 


Why do I fear letting go so deeply. I have this reoccurring nightmare that haunts me. I find myself thrown into a moving van, and I am expected to drive the van from the back seat. We are talking about a fifteen passenger van and I'm steering from the fourth or fifth row. As I careen through traffic I desperately try to make it to the front of the car so I can see what I am doing and not get myself killed. I usually wake up in a panic right before I crash into something. When I don't trust God and follow Him, am I trying to steer my life from the back seat?  Or worse, am I telling God that I trust his driving and then tell him that he is going to fast, or that he is going the wrong way? Is it even possible to navigate through life with such a limited view? What does it mean to actually trust someone enough to let go and not be a back seat driver?
In order to put my trust in someone, I have to decide who I want to be in control.  I have to decide if I want my husband to be in control of the meat or myself. If I am the one doing all the prep for the meat, I should just be the one to grill it, I shouldn't ask someone else to do what I want to do. If I do decide that I want my husband to do it, that means handing over the whole task, and only doing what I've been asked. I must follow his leadership even if I disagree because he is the one in control.
With God, I have to decide who I want to be in control of my life. The one who knows everything, understands everything and loves me, or myself, the one with in the back seat who can't see much through all the seats, head rests and pillows (because there are always pillows in my way, don't ask). I must stop assuming I know all, stop trying to figure things out on my own, and let Him be the one who keeps me on track. All with my mouth closed, after all if I truly trusted, would I have anything to say?

Chocolate Frozen Yogurt

My heater is on, I'm in long sleeves, pants and sox, and the sky is cloudy, but dog on it, it is June and I wanted to make frozen yogurt. Ever since I started buying whole milk plain yogurt, the frozen treat has been beckoning me. Today, I gave in and decided to go for it, winter weather and all.
I was not planning on making chocolate, but in a moment of brief insanity, I asked my son what he wanted. And just like his mama would have said at his age, chocolate was the flavor of choice. I actually wanted strawberry, which I will have to make another day. I started by looking at two recipes on line, but didn't like the sound of either. They used either to much milk, heavy cream or to many eggs. What's a girl to do? Throw out the recipe's and play of course. The result is a tart, creamy and very chocolaty frozen yogurt that is begging for fresh raspberries and whipped cream.

Chocolate Frozen Yogurt
1/2 cup milk
2 Tbs cocoa (heaping)
2/3 cup sugar (I used sugar in the raw)
1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips ( preferably a higher quality like Trader Joe's)
1 egg yolk, whisked
2 1/2 cups whole plain yogurt
1 tsp vanilla

Heat milk in heavy saucepan over medium heat, whisk in cocoa and sugar until smooth. Add chocolate and whisk till smooth. Add two to three table spoons of hot chocolate mixture to egg and whisk to temper. Add egg to chocolate and whisk. Remove from heat. Fold chocolate mixture and vanilla into yogurt. Refrigerate till cool, approximately 1 hour. Pour chocolate yogurt into ice cream maker and follow manufacturer's instructions. Store in freezer in an air tight container.

Dreams come true even at two

I just asked my two year old daughter what she wanted to wear. We walked over to the closet and she grabbed a dress and said, " my dream, my dress". Who would have thought she would have found her dream dress at 2.

Celebrating an Old Holiday in New Ways

No excuses, but I didn't get to post this when I wanted....
Easter... Since I can remember, that word didn't have zing or excitement associated with it. Granted, I have always understood what Easter is truly about, and have truly believed and rested my hope on all that it stands for, but as a holiday, it just wasn't anything that got me jumping. I can't even remember anything we did for Easter as a child or in the last four years for that matter. I know we always went to church, and usually ate a meal, but that is all I can remember.

Thanksgiving... Now that is a holiday that I get excited about. Turkey, family and the avoidance of the commercialism that most other holidays have been tainted by. I've  learned to embrace Thanksgiving and it's purity and simplicity. The result is a fabulous time spent with my dear family surrounded by good food and even greater conversation, and a sense of guilt. As I began claiming Thanksgiving as my mantra or "my holiday" I found that for some reason I also began feeling guilty around Easter. What is it that Thanksgiving and Christmas have that Easter doesn't? Why wasn't I excited to celebrate to celebrate Easter?
This year, I was determined to make Easter important. I began by looking up ways and ideas for celebrating Easter that would be significant. Scoured the internet for ideas about how to get the kids involved, and how to make each thing we did relate back to what Easter is really about. I came up with a few ideas and found that I was suddenly excited about Easter. What was different? During my search for ideas, I read on someone's blog and they commented on how we should put as much energy and time into Easter as we do Christmas. There was my answer. It wasn't about time, it was about investment. I loved Thanksgiving because I had an investment in it. I start thinking about Thanksgiving in December. Yes, a month hasn't even passed before I am longing to be sitting around the table, stuffed with cranberries turkey and my absolute favorite, mashed potatoes and gravy. I am weird, long before school starts, I start thinking about the menu, what recipes I haven't tried and when is it to early to call my aunt (we go to my aunt's for Thanksgiving every year). I am excited about Thanksgiving because I put effort and forethought into Thanksgiving.  And so with Easter, I found that the more forethought and effort I put into Easter, the more excited I got. This is the first year that I felt like I truly celebrated Easter.
It is due to my excitement that I must share the ways we celebrated Easter. This year was a tester year. We tried multiple ideas out to see what worked for us. In the end, I was pleasantly surprised, and to my delight, I have already started thinking about next year.
Here is the list of what we did, and how we felt they worked for us ( two adults, a 4yr old, 2 yr old and infant).
1.  Gift Baskets for the neighbors.
Since Easter is about celebrating the gift of life, I thought that sharing that gift with other people would be an important part of celebrating. So, we collected different items and made gift baskets to give to some of our neighbors. This years baskets included: a candle to represent the Christ's light shining in us, a journal that said hope, to remind us of the hope we have in Christ, a potted flower to represent new life, dyed eggs that had phrases of hope and joy on them, a verse about our joy in Christ and chocolates.
I loved the gift baskets, and we will do them every year. It was a wonderful way to talk about Easter and teach my kids not only about the hope we have, but that we are called to share our hope with those around us. I will never forget sitting with my family praying over each basket as we made them, explaining how each item represented something significant. Each step in the process was significant from having my 4 year old son chose the verse cards and gluing them them together to walking to each neighbor after we prayed for them. We will make a few changes next year. First, we will pass them out sooner so that we have enough time to invite them to the Easter Hunt that our church puts on. Second, we will make our own chocolates. I want to make chocolate crosses so I can talk about how we are molded into the image of Christ.

2. Resurrection rolls

For breakfast Easter morning, we made resurrection rolls. Although sticky and delicious, I did not feel that the kids found it to be meaningful. I am hoping to try the resurrection cookies next year instead. (For recipe, see: http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/resurrection-rolls/Detail.aspx and http://www.kintera.org/atf/cf/%7B8E975F2E-4C1C-4315-AAFF-34A97EB367B5%7D/Resurrection_Cookies.pdf)

3. Passover Meal
I was the most excited about the passover style meal. Oddly enough, this was the biggest flop. I planned a meal with lamb, charoset, matzos, bitter herbs, salt water and grape juice so that I could talk about the sacrifice that Christ made for us. What I found was that hungry kids want to eat and that the time spent explaining the significants was lost in the hustle and bustle of the meal. Though I will do lamb every year (I will use any excuse to eat lamb), I will not incorporate a passover meal into our Easter. Next year I plan to do a simple communion with the family.

4. Foot washing
I am still amazed at how meaningful this experience was. My children are still asking to do it again. In our house, the most common words I hear are : me, mine, and I'm first. I have truly struggled with how to teach my children what it means to serve one another.


When I saw the idea for foot washing it seemed natural for me. It was probably because foot washing was the gift I gave to my husband the night we were married (I had towels made and my first act as his wife was washing his feet as a symbol of my love and desire to serve him in love.) But for some reason, I put it on the back of my list, thinking, yeah if we get to it. As our evening closed, my husband reminded me of the foot washing and so began a memory to last forever. We  brought out a bowl, pitcher and lots of towels one of which was the towel I had made for my husband. We gathered around, and my husband and I explained how Christ came not to be served but to serve, how He died for as as an act of love and service and how He calls us to serve one another. I also explained that the bible says that the "first shall be last", that part of serving is letting others go first. My "I'm first" son's eye's lit up. He proceeded to list the order that we should wash each other's feet in, with him being last. Without knowing it, I had finally gotten through to my son that being first isn't always important. I will never forget those moments of washing each other's feet. I can still see my son and daughter's small hands carefully washing my feet, pouring water and taking turns drying. This will be our family's tradition for years to come. Serving in love.

Next Easter I am looking forward to another list of things to try, some old, some new but each one a chance to experience an old holiday in new ways.


If you are looking for more creative ways to celebrate Easter, I found the following blog wonderful and the inspiration of many if not all of the ways we celebrated this year:  http://www.aholyexperience.com/

What's a Mom to Do?

Ahhh, Thursdays. The day of the week that haunts me. Preparation is futile, I seem to always sink on Thursdays. Today was no exception. Although the day started out with something amazing and out of the ordinary, a shower, moments of calm were no where to be found. Ok, so the shower was nice. I don't get those in the morning very often, and my husband even made breakfast which helped me get all three of the kids out of the house and to school early. Yahooo! Don't remember the last time I got to school when I wanted to. But that was the beginning of the end. After getting all three kids out of the car, and the stroller mostly loaded up for a morning of activities, I go to bible study at the church where my son's school meets, I realized I was missing one very vital piece of the puzzle- the diaper bag. Quickly I threw the kids back in the car, listened to the annoying kids music over my daughter's screaming and raced back home, knowing that I wouldn't be able to join my son for the parent participation focus of the morning. Oh, well. Deep breaths and I moved on.
The rest of my morning went as Thursday mornings go, and I left the school, cramming four cranky, hot and hungry people into my swaggered wagon past the usual lunch and nap time. As I rushed home, my mind went over the usual options... feed the baby first or the kids first? What to eat? Do I have any milk left? Who should I get out of the car first? (yes, it can require strategic planning depending on who is screaming, who has to pee and who is just annoying me the most.). As I struggle getting three writhing body's into the house without letting the 90 degree weather in, I unloaded a morning's worth of crap in my entry way. And there the crap stayed. Somehow I made a meal while holding a crying baby, fed four people and survived lunch without crying. The kitchen and dining room did not survive.
As if just getting four people fed wasn't enough, I then had to get two of them to bed. One of which is a little Houdini. We have to sew here Pj's shut just to keep her from pooping and smearing it all over the walls. Today, I thought I would see if we could get away with not sewing her. Nope! Thankfully, right after I got the baby to sleep, I caught my daughter just as she was taking off her diaper to investigate her paint prospects. Ahhh, crisis averted.
Now, on to my to do list... water garden, do dishes, sew patch on to canvas... oh wait, that is a lot more than I had bargained for.... I now have a blister on my finger from cramming a large needle through stubborn fabric. Thankfully, I know where that needle is, unlike the one I lost in my daughter's room when I sewed her pj's up... not sure what to do with that one.
By this time, my son has asked me for a snack about 75 times, has yelled, sang and stomped next to his sleeping sister's room and strewn toys across the house. My nerves are becoming more and more frazzled. The girls both wake up crying. My two-year old proceeds to cry like I am jamming bamboo down her fingernails for the next 20 minutes. As I continue to guide the stubborn needle in and out of the even more stiff fabric, I assess whether or not the popsicle in my daughter's hand is dripping on the furniture, hoping her brother will just leave her alone so I don't have to hear her squeal like a pig being slaughtered again.
Deep breath, and now to make dinner. Thankfully I have a gift for making something out of nothing, and somehow pull together a delicious stir fry from my empty pantry. Just as my wonderful composition was coming together, my little world came to a grinding halt. There on the wall of my son's room was his artistic rendition of the stairway to heaven. I'd like to say my heart sank in my chest, but truthfully, by that time my heart was numb from a day of being barraged by the constant pokes and pricks of three kids. The numbness quickly wore off as my son proceeded to show me the rest of his artistic escapade. To the sound of my wonderful dinner burning, I watched as my son showed me his swirls, lines and sketches in bold black crayon on the walls, growth chart, bed, dresser, door, and toy chest. Deep breath, count to 10.  There was my four year old with a half smile on his face, pride oozing out as he showed me all that he had done.What is a mom to do?
The answer, thanks to a little help from my dad, my son is now sleeping on the floor. All that is left in his room is his dresser and the crib for his sister. And now here I sit. A table covered in spaghetti sauce from last night, beans from lunch and noodles from dinner. Three counters full of dishes, books, toys from my son's room and trash from the day. A floor covered in clothes, blankets, stuffed animals, more books, diaper bags, car seat, and whatever else I had to drag out of my son's room. A coffee table full of books, old diapers, broken diapers, toys and my sewing project. Here I sit, one frazzled, tired but alive mama. What's a mom to do?

Time with my Father

The other day I was going to sit down and enjoy a little time of reflecting and alone time, actually,  I really just wanted to blog. I was ready to relish in my moment to my self, but it did not last long. Only a minute or two.
For many obvious reasons, I started reflecting on parent hood. It always amazes me how at the end of the day, no matter how much my kids annoy the snot out of me, I still love them. Their little quirks and personalities are like roots that dig deep into my soul and no matter how strong the wind of rebellion or disobedience is, the roots are firmly grounded and my heart is still tender with love.
So I love them, now what? What are my expectations? Obviously I want them to behave, to grow into kind, patient and responsible individuals. But do I want more? What do I want out of my kids? What do I gain from them? I was struck with what it was that I really wanted. TIME! I wanted time with my kids. Sweet moments of enjoyment. Not moments of perfection, where each one was behaving, but true time with them where they were at. I wanted time that was spent with them being true to themselves, including the quirks and particular attributes that made them uniquely them. I wanted to enjoy them for who they were.
Suddenly my mind went to my Father. I have always had a hard time understanding His love. My earthly father had offered a very clouded and inaccurate view of what love was, and I had transferred that to my true Father. How does He feel about me? What does He want? What are His expectations? And then I realized. He is no different. He wants time with me. He knows exactly where I was at and still wants to be with me. He does not expect me to be perfect, but wants to enjoy the things He created in me that make me uniquely me. He wants to spend time with me and enjoy me. So my evening ended, spending time with my Father.

My Dear Friend Guadalupe

My dear friend Guadalupe saved us from what seemed like sure drowning. I don't know what it is, but once your kids reach two, every project they will ever do again involves paper. Paper planes, paper trees, paper wind sox, paper kites, paper clouds..... paintings on paper, drawings on paper, handprints on paper.... A fridge can only hold so much. What is a mom too do? I was up to my eyeballs in "beautiful" pieces of artwork that my children adored. 

I made the fatal mistake once of throwing a piece away in front of my son... "That's mine, " he said as he ran screaming towards me as if I was throwing a piece of him away. I've also thrown it away (recycled it) at night when he was sleeping. Inevitably, he remembers his handiwork and asks me where it was.

That is where my dear friend Guadalupe comes in. I now tell my children that we have so many beautiful pieces of artwork that we must share them. Our friend Guadalupe would love us to share them with her. They are usually fine knowing that their artwork is being appreciated by someone, I am happy to have it out of my way, and the world is a more peaceful place for all.... that is until they one day realize that Guadalupe is the name of our local landfill.

Cranberry Orange Bread

My husband's schedule has changed, leaving me alone more evenings during the week. The result: an incessant need to bake. Although I had already made macaroons and german chocolate cake the day before, I needed to make something for a girls night I was having with a close friend. For some reason I could not get cranberry orange bread off my mind.
In usual fashion, I looked up multiple recipes and printed two. Then I took out a piece of paper and forgot to look at those recipes as I wrote my plan down. The result was fabulous. A moist, tender, full flavor bread that begs to be made again and again.

Cranberry Orange Bread
Makes one large loaf or three small
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
4 Tbs softened butter
3/4 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup yogurt
3/4 cup plus 1/2 cup orange juice
2 Tbs orange zest
2 eggs
1 cup dried cranberries

Presoak dried cranberries in 1/2 cup of orange juice for 2 to 3 hours. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine flour, salt, baking soda and baking powder in bowl and set aside. Combine orange juice, orange zest and yogurt and set aside. In mixer, cream butter and sugar. Add in eggs and continue to beat. Add flour mixture and yogurt mixture alternately on low until just combined. Stir in cranberries. Pour into greased pans and bake 30-35 minutes for small loafs and 50-55 minutes for large loaf.
Let cool completely and wrap with plastic wrap to maintain moistness.

Arrested Development

This week has been tough. Like a cold slap in the face, I have watched myself make more mistakes than I want to admit. My mouth is my own worst enemy.  I know the person I want to be... Kind, sensitive, listening, of few words, wise, sympathetic, slow to speak, always uplifting, encouraging and well, quiet. I am not willing to say that I am not that person, but I have fallen short of my mark most moments of every day. Just the other week, I had thought that I had grown, but now I feel like my growth isn't stagnate but that I have back slid.
I find myself talking even when I don't know what I am saying. It is like I have to talk when I feel awkward, which only makes me feel more awkward. I can't handle silence so I try to fill it... usually resulting in me saying things that I regret. I offer advice, throw out opinions or slander those I care about.
Blogging is a beautiful outlet for me. It gives me the opportunity to think before I communicate. To read and reread my thoughts before I put them out there for others to see. I wish that my everyday communication was more like that. That my words would reflect who I want to be and not the result of me trying to meet my own trivial needs. Somehow I need to no longer be in a state of arrested development. I need to become comfortable with awkward silence, listen first and foremost and never say anything that could hurt.  Oh that I could grow past this.

Life is the greatest gift. The greatest challenge is what we choose to do with it.

My "Shut Up" Light

More often than not, in my conversations, I spend more time talking than listening. It is one of the things I despise about myself. Many conversations have been spent with me rattling off and not taking the time to listen to the other person. This in no way is the way I want things to be though. I actually have to coach my self to stop and listen, ask questions and to SHUT UP! Unfortunately, I don't often follow my own coaching. It is like there is a Shut Up light blinking in my head saying "warning stop talking now if you care about this person". But for some reason, I don't stop. I keep talking. Ninety percent of my conversations, I recount in my head with guilt for not shutting up more. It is something I am determined to overcome. My sister is one of the people that I have the hardest time with. She keeps asking questions and before I know it I've spent most the time talking because I am answering them. I leave the conversation burdened, wondering about her and how she is doing.
Tonight, I have no regrets. I asked questions, I listened and I shut up. My shoulders feel lighter. I fell like walking on air. I don't have to carry the usual burden of guilt of being a blabber mouth to my pillow. There is hope, even for me. Here is to many more conversations where I heed my "Shut Up" light and listen.

Nothing a Tub of Ice Cream Won't Cure

Another day with the kiddos... and 7 loads of laundry. Yeah, today wasn't as productive as yesterday. A cranky 4 year old will put a damper on productivity. But that is ok, because after sitting down with a tub of ice cream, I am ready to tackle the house. Hopefully I can burn off some of that ice cream doing the dishes and folding all the laundry.

I Did It List

As I began to reheat my dinner for the third time my mind swept over my house and the list of things I needed to do still before I went to bed.  The kids are down and I am surrounded with the aftermath of a busy day. The list seems a mile long as I look around at the piles of clothes, shoes, dishes and toys. My heart sinks as I realize that I will have to tackle the mess alone, then I had a thought...
What if I chose to look at what I have already accomplished today, not what is yet to be done ?
Today, I have:

• Dressed three children, each one at least twice
• Changed 8 diapers, including a blowout (if you don't know what one is, lucky you)
• Made breakfast, lunch and dinner
• Made Chicken soup from scratch (Not included in breakfast, lunch or dinner)
• Delivered soup to my brother and his wife 
• Baked Banana bread, with the help of a 4 year old (which means I had a handy cap)
• Took my son to school
• Picked him up from school
• Took my son to his first football practice (aka soccer to Americans)
• Survived 2 hours in the cold with three children by myself
• Fed my daughter 8 times in the last 12 hours
• Cleaned the kitchen and the dishes twice
• Got three wired children to bed
• Washed someone else's hands seven times..... (This is the abridged version)

Wow, instead of my usual blue state at the end of the day, I am energized knowing that even if I went to bed now, I have had an amazing full day. I have accomplished a lot and am proud of myself. 

So many evening have been spent overwhelmed by my to do list. It seems like a never ending flood of things to do and I spend more time feeling guilty for what I haven't done instead of proud of what I have done. I want that to change. No, I am not going to get rid of my to do list. I am just going to start a new list: my I Did It List. At the end of the day I want to be able to say to myself, it isn't about what did not get done, it is about what did get done. Instead of regret and dread, joy and pride over all that I do, because I am pretty amazing (or so I've been told).

According to My Son...

Since yogurt comes from milk and milk comes from cows.... Strawberry yogurt comes from strawberry cows and vanilla yogurt comes from vanilla cows.

But Why Daddy?

On my walk this morning, I found myself basking in the beauty around me. The air was cool and clean from the rain earlier, the sky was a wonderful deep blue above and warm and yellow ahead as the sun peaked over the houses and mountains. All around me signs of spring were calling me. Daffodils and tulips were bobbing their heads under the weight of the sparkling dew and the trees were adorning themselves in different shades of pink and white blossoms. It is mornings like this that I am in awe of my Maker and all that He has done.
Then like a brick wall, images of what is happening in the world came smashing into my mind. I saw the images of the tsunami tearing through towns in Japan, whole buildings floating down the street. My heart cried out. How could the same God that I worship and adore, the one who created the blossoms and causes the sun to rise be the same God that allows people's whole worlds to be destroyed? How can his creation be so beautiful and so terrible at the same time? Then just like my two-year old daughter, I looked up at my Father and asked why. And He answered, through my daughter.
You see, my daughter's latest thing is to ask why for everything. "Sweetie, I need to change your diaper." "Why". "Because it will give your bottom owies if I don't. "Why?" "Because poop hurts our bottoms if it sits on it to long" "Why?" "Because it is dirty." "Why?"...... and so it will go on until she is distracted by something else. It does not matter how good my answer is, she still asks why after. I don't believe it is a game, she is genuinely curios about the answer, but the truth is, no matter what answer she gets, she will still ask why. I also know that there are some answers her brain are not mature enough to understand. "Well sweetie, the ph imbalance will cause a break down of your skin and the bacteria in your fecal matter can cause infection... " isn't really a response a two year old is ready to tackle.  Not to mention, I would still get the same response, "why". The problem is not my answer, it is just where she is at developmentally.
I am no different. I ask God, why expecting to be able to comprehend His answer. But the truth is that no matter what answer He gave, I would still respond with "but why".  I have come to understand that I can not claim to understand God, and I am ok with that. It is almost freeing. Knowing that God is bigger than I am, knows more than I do, is more powerful than I am is actually very liberating. I am at peace not having all the answers. Because I know that He does have the answers, and even if He gave them to me, there is no guarantee that I would be ready to hear them and understand. So just like my daughter, I will still ask why, turning to my Father hoping for an answer I can understand. And just like her I will be ok not understanding everything, because I know that my Father does know and that is what is important.

Food Affair

It started out as innocent flirting, but now I am full fledge addicted. I had no idea what I had been missing for all these years. I thought it would be a one time thing. I wasn't planning on it being so wonderful. Ricotta cheese is AMAZING! I find myself pulling out the container and eating it by the spoonful.
My other foods are getting jealous. Pizza? Who needs you when I can have a sandwich with ricotta and veggies. Ice cream? So forgotten when there is peach sauce and ricotta with vanilla to be had. I even used it in my frittata recipe. I am obsessed.
My wonderful husband just rolls his eyes as I break out another slice of toast to slather with ricotta. I am also currently looking up recipes for making it from scratch. I might have to add an extra bit of exercise to my routine though.
Here is to another day where Ricotta Cheese and I will be found enjoying another moment of taste bud bliss.

And just incase you wanted to try it out, try this sandwich. I've had three in the last 24 hours.

Ricotta, bell pepper and cucumber sandwich.

• 1/4 cup ricotta cheese
• 1 slice of rustic Italian bread, toasted
• 1 clove garlic
• 5 thin slices of red bellpepper
• 5 thin slices of english cucumber
• 1/2 of a green onion sliced length wise
• Drizzle of olive oil
• Salt and Pepper

Cut garlic clove in half and gently rub across toast a couple of times. Spread ricotta cheese on top of garlic toast, then place onion and bell peppers on top of cheese. Layer with sliced cucumber. Finish with a drizzle of olive oil, salt and pepper. Enjoy!

Perfection Comes in Small Packages

It is amazing how the stress of the day just melts away when you are holding a newborn. Ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes is the ultimate therapy. Nothing truly crazy happened today, but I was in one of those moods. The world seemed to be crashing in and all I wanted to do was pout.  It didn't seem like anything could get me out of my funk, but as I held my perfect little newborn nephew, all in the world was right again. Even my headache disappeared as I gazed into his baby blues. This is one happy auntie.

The Sofia Effect

Why can two adults handle two children, but three adults can not handle three kids? Tonight, I sat there amazed at how, even with an extra set of hands, my world felt absolutely chaotic. Not sure how to wrap my head around it,  my sister  explained what she calls the Sofia Effect. Relief flooded in from the ability to finally name my dilemma. 

The Sofia Effect, as defined by my sister is a mathematical formula. Two children create an addition situation. When you have a child, one more child adds to the chaos. Three children creates a multiplication situation.  When you add on another child, the effect is a multiplication of the chaos. 

In my house, the Sofia Effect is in full bloom. Somehow the mess that two children can make explodes exponentially when there is a third to take care of. Between the 300 plus toys strewn across my living room, the poop piles in the bedroom, the full dishwasher, sink and counters, the dirty laundry tucked in random corners, shoes under tables and chairs, pink tutu's, glow in the dark bracelets and bag of frozen chicken open and all over my freezer, I somehow made it out alive. At the end of the day, I can say that three is definitely harder than two, but  with a sister who can make my children light up like it is christmas and the help of my amazing husband we made it through the day, the kids had a blast and the house is put back into functioning order. I even made chocolate pudding and stir-fry. Now to enjoy my homemade peach sauce with some vanilla ricotta and the few moments of peace and quiet as my children sleep, because the Sofia Effect is even stronger at night.

Life Lesson # 389 The Glasses Test

If you can't see whether or not your glasses are on while looking in a mirror three feet away, then you do not have your glasses on. But if all else fails, do the feeler test.

Moments of Brilliance

Every once in a while, I think I have moments of brilliance.  Those wonderful "ah-ha" moments where I think, maybe I actually have a brain. More often than not, they are quickly followed by a sharp reminder that again, a brain functioning on under 2 hours of sleep a night is not functioning at all. Ok, so I usually do get more sleep than that, just not lately. My silence as of late has everything to do with my lack of brain function. Every time I get an "ah-ha" moment of something to post, a child pees on the carpet, dinner is burning or I just can't keep my eye's open to go write it down. Twenty minutes later, I have either forgotten my wonderful brilliant thought, or it has lost all of it's brilliance as I clean up another bodily fluid that's not my own.
Today I had another moment where I thought I was brilliant...well maybe not brilliant, but at least pretty clever.   I had the idea of encouraging my son's growth by having him start clearing the table as his new "contribution" instead of setting it. After a few reminders, I stood there watching him clear the table, proud of myself for my initiative. Not more than twenty seconds later, I was chastising myself for my premature celebration. There was my son, holding his sister's plate upside down, licking every last drop of ketchup from the surface. This is one "brilliant" idea that might come back to bite me on more than one occasion.

Tapas Bar

This is it. The year I will turn thirty.  A strange concept, considering I never thought I would live past eighteen. Here I am, no closer to where I thought I would be and no farther away either. The truth is, I had no true idea of what I wanted to do with my life. All I knew is that I wanted to do something “big”.  Honestly, I haven’t done anything big. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t accomplished anything.

            I remember over the years, I figured that if I accomplished something big, that it would make me worth something. I began to have a Savior Complex. I believed it was my job to save the world. Yes, I’ve tried. It was just this last week that it finally hit me that it wasn’t my job.  So then what is it that I am to do?

            I think part of my pursuit of doing something big meant that I have always been in search of what I am good at. I used to look at my siblings and see the things that they were good at and be jealous.  It seemed that everything that I was good at one of them could do better. I even began burping; yes burping, just because it was something I thought I was better at. Took a little while to break that habit.  My joke was that they were dipped in the gene pool and I was dunked. I have told people that to this day.

            This is the year that ends. I may not be really good at one thing or even pretty good at a few things, but I am even better at being average at a lot of things.  I finally have peace. After 29 years, I am perfectly fine having a small amount of talent in multiple areas. I am like a Tapas Bar.  I am not meant to do some big astronomical earth shattering feat such as solve world hunger, end the AIDS epidemic, stop relationship violence or invent an alternative fuel source. I am here on this earth to do small acts that make a difference in the people’s lives that I meet day to day. As I do these, I will be a few steps closer to the person I was meant to be. I will be a Tapas Bar.

            

It's all in the Name

It is funny how much of who we are can be tied up in a name. My name is Bethany. For years, I have never understood why. I’ve been in a name “crisis”. My siblings all had really neat names, and I felt that I had the common bible name. Or so I thought. I even had a problem with what my name meant: house or place of the unripe figs. What the heck does that mean?  Today, I figured it out. I am no longer in crisis; instead I am finally, at almost 30, ready to embrace my name.

            Unripe fig resembles where I am at in life. Just like a beautiful fig on a tree, I am sitting here waiting. As I wait, I am growing. I spend my time soaking in the sun, drinking in the rain, and growing. Always growing. I am green because I am not done yet.  I still have growing to do. I am still not sweet enough.  And when I am, then it will be time for me to be picked and enjoyed by the one who made me. Yes, you may put it on my tombstone, ripe fig. Until then, I am unripe, otherwise known as ripening.