The Joy and the Care

Girls and their Words

2012-02-17T14:01:00.004-06:00

A few Clara sayings:

Have I told you this one yet? A while back now, she made up a "saying": "There are more doves than blackbirds," and that means there are more nice people in the world than mean ones.

Yesterday, she made up a little (very approximate) rhyme while swinging: "Simple and sweet. That's the life for me."

She frequently speaks in funny little metaphors. Yesterday, I asked her to see if Jane was waking up. "Nope, quiet as a pea in soup!" she said when she returned.

She has started telling Jane what she calls "raisin box stories." Jane loves those tiny raisin boxes, so we have quite a few empty boxes floating around the van. Clara puts them on her fingers and tells mini-stories, just the right length for a baby, she says.

Of course, this verbal propensity has its down side too. She's discovered some bad words, mostly from books--you'd be surprised how many children's books have a mildly bad word or two in there--when I read them, I edit, but the audio CDs don't--whoops. (In all honesty, though, I'd be lying if I said she'd never heard a bad word from a live source, if you know what I mean.) Anyway, Clara is pretty obedient now about leaving these words out of her vocabulary, but she feels free to use them when telling stories or engaging in pretend play, as if she's not really saying the words, her characters are. Hmm.

Now for Jane.

Jane has many, many words and is using sentences now. Some of my favorite sentences that she uses often: "I did it!" and "Put it on!" and "Where'd you go?" Some of her words are always mispronounced; "ningers" for "fingers," "copy" for "coffee," "bada" for "banana," "Gukey" for "Luke," and "Co-wa" for "Clara" though that one is morphing into "Cara." For a while, "Aunt Katie" was "A-gee" but she's getting closer to saying it right these days. She thinks every older man is "Papa," including the garden gnomes we saw at Hobby Lobby today. heh.

Jane is also good at listening to words and acting accordingly. She can take her shoes and socks to the shoe basket now. She will go and get an object from another room when instructed and can go fetch her daddy for me. She can even go ask him for things for me--why do you think she has a word for "coffee"? I love it that as she walks away from me (after getting instructions about what to ask daddy), she yells "Eban!" just like I do when I'm yelling at him from the other end of the house and he's playing violin--which happens often.

Jane has started sleeping through the right, with just a little instruction. Recently when she woke up too early, I went to tuck her back in, and she said, "Janie's tired. Mommy's tired. Ehbody tired," which is exactly what I repeated to her on those nights she was learning not to cry for me in the night, only I added, "It's dark. It's time to sleep." She learned really fast. She's also learned to ask me to sing the songs she likes: her song titles are "Sleep baby," "Tiny baby," "Slip," "Sunshine," and "Yesh." She's sometimes quite insistent on her song choice, as many of you can probably easily believe, having witnessed her ability to pursue her own will.

My favorite Jane words, though, are her terms of endearment. Occasionally, she'll say, "I love you, Daddy!" and she frequently tries to climb up my legs, saying "nuggles?" When Clara cries, Jane often offers her "hug" and "kiss," while lamenting, "Cara crying." Often when Evan or I pick her up, Jane will pat our backs and say, "Luh pat" for "love pat." Today, while I rocked Jane before nap, she gently stroked my hair and said, "Pwetty hair. Mommy pwetty hair" over and over. She's a sweet girl, alright.

After writing the above, I remembered a few more Jane words. Whenever she poops in her diaper, she points to it and says, "dog poop" and laughs. Her idea of a joke, I guess. My idea of a joke is that I taught her to go tell Evan when her diaper is dirty. She walks up to him and says, "Diaper change? Daddy?"

Happy Valentine's Day

2012-02-14T13:32:00.002-06:00

Yesterday was a cold and rainy Monday.

Jane and I had similar feelings about the day. She laid on that quilt (made by Lala for Clara--isn't it beautiful?) for about 20 minutes, not sleeping, just covering her head with her blanket and listening to Raffi. I really felt like doing the same thing (with maybe different music playing but I actually kind of like Raffi). But I didn't. I was responsible. Go me.

The sun came back to see us for Valentine's Day!

Backyard time makes everyone feel better, you know?

Clara loves to celebrate pretty much anything, but she especially gets into Valentine's Day, enjoying telling me, Evan, and Jane how much she loves us. For Valentine's Day, she got me a spatula set (for cake frosting), Jane two pairs of cute socks, and Evan a tie and a box of cherry-filled chocolates because she likes those too and hardly ever gets to eat them. :) All of the gifts, her idea.

I love having a daughter who enjoys celebrating love so innocently and trustingly. She carefully picked out her dress for today (the one with hearts from Trisha!); fortunately, her nails were already painted pink.

And so were Jane's.
Clara gleefully opened her Valentine's Day card from me this morning and completely appreciated it, from the picture on the front to the nice cursive handwriting I used to write her a message. She was all in a tizzy for Evan to open his tie so he could wear it to work. She couldn't wait for Jane to put on her new socks. Right now she's wearing the lavender ruffly dress I gave her at lunch time. And she has begged for days to be allowed to watch My Fair Lady for Valentine's Day so we're going to watch at least part of that this afternoon. (She loves musicals and hasn't seen that one yet.) I love how she celebrates in such small yet enjoyable ways.

And Clara reminds me of the importance of parents' love for each other in a child's life. She is as eager to see Evan and I enjoy this holiday with each other as she is eager to enjoy it herself. I'm happy to have a great excuse to do some thoughtful things today, telling Clara as I go how I'm doing something that Daddy will really love. A special dinner tonight. A yummy chocolate dessert. A pretty table. A funny, sweet card. And of course, Evan's been showering me with little gifts for about 2 weeks now. Clara said the other day, "Is Daddy the kind of person who likes to give gifts more than he likes to get them?" I think so. What a great man to be married to. I'm glad we have a little golden girl to help us celebrate our love today.

Happy Homemaker Exercise

2012-02-07T13:50:00.007-06:00

Now that Evan is feeling much better, and the sun (literally) is shining again after days of fog and rain, my spirits are beginning to lift. For a while there, I was feeling pretty low.

One of the things that makes me feel better when I get sick and tired of my lot in life (who doesn't sometimes?) is to remind myself of little things that bring me joy. Then, once I've reminded myself, I go do one of those things. Want to join me in this somewhat corny but extremely helpful exercise?

I like making sweet things for fun. These mermaids were Christmas gifts for the girls. The shells on Clara's doll ended up a little, um, busty, but that just adds to the quirkiness of these dollies.

I enjoy baking, cooking, and even keeping house. (I especially have to remind myself of that last one right now because I am sick of keeping our house in perfect order for showings while we're trying to sell it. On the bright side, I'm developing some great cleaning habits.) But right now, baking especially makes me happy.

Having my fancy-shmancy Kitchen-Aid mixer makes my life just a little happier. I also have to admit that I derive joy from all my other carefully-selected kitchen gadgets and tools--Evan recently got me a new pan that made me very happy this weekend when I used it to make this yummy and extremely simple dish. Yay for fond! (That only makes sense if you check out that recipe.)

Back to that Kitchen Aid: I like homemade bread and make it every 1-2 weeks. I found a bread that both the girls and I love. So, really, both the baking and the eating bring joy. The original recipe I use is here, but you can change it up quite a bit. Because I want a bread that works for sandwiches, I always keep the bread flour at no less than 4 cups, add gluten, and replace some of the whole wheat with other whole grain flours, for fun and variety. But you could make it 100% whole grain, if that's what makes you happy.

Check out that crumb (fancy word for inside of bread). I always make at least one small loaf, so we can eat some hot because, you know, cutting into a warm loaf of bread seriously injures the long-term tastiness of that bread, but everyone wants a taste of the bread while it's still warm.

And, of course, my girls bring me a lot of joy too. (They also impart other emotions, but let's not focus on that right now.)

Clara is at an exciting stage of life now; she is learning so much so quickly. I've learned to leave her alone while she learns and she does much better. Every morning, we do a math lesson (using Saxon math) and every afternoon we do a reading lesson (using this kind of maddening book) and practice handwriting. She is so proud of herself after doing her lessons. The other benefit? These lessons keep her busy for at least an hour every morning and afternoon, and this child needs to be kept busy. (Don't they all?) 0It makes me happy to see my kid busy. Something about an idle child is so annoying. But a child busy learning? That brings me joy.

Finally, writing brings me joy. I need my journal. If I don't write regularly, I feel like I stop thinking. Maybe I do stop thinking . . . anyway, writing brings my thoughts to maturity and helps me to sort through my experiences and beliefs.

That was a fun little exercise in noticing what brings me joy. And did you see? I did something that brings me joy because I wrote down my thoughts. Now, whether reading this brought you any joy is a different matter! Maybe you can take a few moments to consider what brings you joy--if you want to share, I'd love to read your ideas.

Recuperation

2012-01-31T20:24:00.002-06:00

So . . . Evan had pneumonia all along. And it got pretty ugly.

It turns out the poor man didn't have the flu. He just managed to somehow catch pneumonia (rather than contract it as a secondary infection), which is unusual for a man his age with no other health problems, so he was something of a mystery case during his stay in the hospital.

He spent Thursday through Saturday in the hospital getting lots of antibiotics pumped into his veins and receiving respiratory treatments every six hours around the clock. Let me just say: I am so thankful that we are in the time and place where these kinds of treatments are readily available. Evan was scary-sick, and I shudder to think what could have happened if he had not been hospitalized. Of course, the hospital wasn't exactly fun; while he was in the hospital, Evan said, "This place is killing my spirit." Then again, being there was preserving his life . . . so . . . take your pick. :)

But when you consider what Evan was missing, you can kind of see his point:

Jane loves hats. Even a dolly dress can become a fashion statement. I'm not sure where her clothes were, but does it matter? Look at that sweet little body.

Speaking of bodies, mine is worn out. I am so thankful that Evan is on the mend (you have no idea how wonderful it is to have him back!!), and I am so thankful for our two little girlies who make our home such a wonderful place, but I have to admit that I'm exhausted after these past two weeks. This upcoming period of recuperation isn't going to be for Evan only; I can feel my own body demanding a change. And I'm discovering that recuperation from an illness and recuperation from a stress overload are kind of similar--lots of rest, healthy food, and quiet activities. It's what I've got to do along with Evan for the next week or so.

Pray that we both have the self-discipline to rest. It's strangely hard to do, even when you know you need it.

When the Sick get Sicker

2012-01-26T14:41:00.002-06:00

Thanks to everyone for your prayers. It means so much to us, just knowing that family and friends from near and far are praying for Evan and thinking of us.

This morning, I drove Evan back to the doctor's because he didn't seem any better. His coughing seemed worse. I was waiting with the girls in the car, hoping it would be a matter of another antibiotic shot (in the butt). But then Evan called and said our doctor had told him that he needed to be admitted to the hospital. You can bet I got myself and those girls up to the doctor's office in a hurry then!

When I made it to the doctor's office, our doc called me back to his office and explained that Evan had pneumonia--and it was pretty bad. So bad that he didn't think Evan should go home. He needed to have an antibiotic IV because obviously the antibiotics he had been given hadn't done much good. Our doctor isn't the type to overreact, so it seemed wise to go with his advice.

So I left Evan at the hospital. He'll need to be there for 2 or 3 days, and he's so sick he doesn't even seem to mind laying around in a bed with nothing to do. I feel bad that I can't spend more time with him, but the kids aren't supposed to visit the floor he's on. Hopefully, he'll get better quickly now. Keep praying!

A very sick husband

2012-01-24T20:14:00.004-06:00

Evan has been sick since last Wednesday night. Really, really sick. In fact, this afternoon I was away (teaching his class for him) and the girls were at their Aunt Katie's. Evan laid down to take a nap and neglected to take some fever-reducing medicine on schedule. When he woke up, he felt really odd so he took his temperature and it was 105. If I had been here, I think I would have completely freaked out. As it was, he took some ibuprofen and his fever was under 103 by the time I got home, so I didn't panic.

He went to the doctor yesterday and the doc thought he had some horrible virus that's been going around and also had gotten bronchitis. So Evan's on antibiotics for the bronchitis, but the doctor warned him that this virus has last for two or even three weeks for some people! Oh, the misery. I feel very, very sorry for my sick husband. But from a distance. He has the master bedroom and bathroom all for his very own right now. I'm using the girls' bathroom and sleeping in the guest room. I'm a little paranoid about using this computer, though, because he's touched it. I'll wash my hands thoroughly after typing this.

Seriously, people. Evan is the sickest I've seen anyone (that wasn't dying). After witnessing this, I understand how the flu can actually kill people. Don't get me wrong; he's not in danger of dying, but I can see how the flu could take out a fragile person.

Which brings me to my point: please pray that the girls and I don't get sick. I'm especially thinking of Jane here. We're doing our best to keep ourselves separate from Evan, but still. I think that the incubation period for the flu is fairly short, so it could be that we're already out of the woods, but please pray that the girls and I are protected against this horrible virus.

Also pray for Evan! He's truly miserable right now.

And pray for me. I'm trying to keep our family and house running, and at least for this week I'm teaching half of Evan's classes, and I'm desperately missing my husband and his skills with an espresso machine every morning.

Milk does a body good

2012-01-19T21:40:00.002-06:00

For a child who doesn't think much of food in general, Jane sure likes her milk. And I'm not talking about cow milk, although we've finally got her drinking that--she likes it straight from her fancy Christmas cup.

No, I'm talking the good stuff. "Ma milk" as she calls it. She's eating more food now, and I'm trying to get her to cut back on nursing a bit. In fact, I'm drawing the line: no more night-time nursing. She can nurse before bed, but then must wait for morning for more. She acts as though this is baby torture. She wakes up two times a night and flings her head back and wails pitifully when I say "no ma milk til light comes in the window." Geez, Jane. You're 19 1/2 months old! Do you know how good you've had it? (And still have it?)

I can say that, but, people, she's just a wee bit determined. The poor thing woke up sick after her nap this afternoon. Evan has had a fever since last night, so I'm not surprised the illness is spreading and I DO feel very sorry for my sick baby girl. I even let her nurse after she woke up, even though it hadn't been long since her last nursing. There wasn't much. We're cutting back here, and you know this whole milk thing works on a particular supply and demand principle. She was not happy, and commenced a 20 minute temper tantrum. Kicking the floors. Hitting the walls. Going to her favorite little hiding place and screaming. Standing at the backdoor and screaming to be let "out-tide" while also refusing to put on her shoes. It was intense.

I'm worried about tonight.

Do I stick to my rule or give in for my sick baby? This is one of those questions that I never imagined would actually confuse me when I embarked on motherhood. Does anyone else feel like motherhood is full of these baffling situations--situations that are slightly humorous but also kind of a big deal to your kids? Sometimes I feel so inadequate to sort through these kinds of situations; I'm hoping that someday my kids appreciate that at least I struggled to do the right thing! Not that Jane will ultimately care about that time she was sick as a toddler and I did/did not allow her to nurse during the night. In the end, thank goodness for toddler amnesia for so many, many reasons!

Clara Bakes!

2012-01-13T20:43:00.004-06:00

Aunt Katie got Clara a kid's cookbook for Christmas, and Clara loves it. For a few nights in a row, she requested that I read it to her for her bed time "story." So I read, "blend the fork and the salt with a fork; then add the butter and mix with your fingers . . . " She was spellbound.

One rainy afternoon a few days ago, she got the idea to make "Caterpillars and Snakes" from her cook book. Since we had dinner plans to go out with another family, I gave the okay to begin her baking project. (I don't know about you, but I only cook once per afternoon/evening.)

I had to help, of course, but Clara did most of the work.

She was a careful cook.

And watchful. And maybe a little impatient.

The product was cute! Unfortunately, Clara didn't actually like eating her caterpillars and snakes, which tasted like cheesy biscuits. But that didn't dampen her enthusiasm for the baking--the fun was in the process, not the product!

What was keeping Jane happy while Clara and I were baking? She played with play dough in the dining room. After a while, she called out to me, and when I went to check on her, I was confused. The play dough and all the toys had disappeared. Not on the table, not on the ground. Then Jane pointed to her onesie. I got her out of her chair. . .

And found what I was looking for, safely stowed away.

What Jane loved most about Christmas

2012-01-13T20:24:00.004-06:00

You'll have to forgive me for playing catch-up a bit here and posting a video from Christmas. Here, Jane shows two things she loved most about her trip to California: 1) Grandparents! Grandparents who will act as a personal chariot! 2) Chocolate! A newly-discovered joy. Notice her two words here: "walk" and "chocolate." Both those words were used a lot while we were in California. Now that we're back home? Not coming in so handy.

But Jane's little words illustrate the two best things about visiting family for the holidays. Our number one reason for making the trip this year was our desire to spend time together, developing and deepening relationships with family members. And our second reason had to do with the joy of sharing holiday celebrations (with chocolate!) with all our loved ones. On both counts, we had a wonderful Christmas.

And that wonderful Christmas seems to be ages ago now! So much has happened since then! Among other things, we've decided to list our house and get serious about our desire to move to a more family-friendly neighborhood. I hate to leave our beloved home, which really is a great house; in a perfect world, I'd just move the whole house to that perfect place. But in our real world, houses don't move. People do. And there's no perfect place--just a good place for our family. Pray that we make wise decisions in the next months!

The Vacation is Over

2012-01-08T21:11:00.002-06:00

The girls and I left the comforts of California yesterday on a 6:20 am flight.

Oh, how I dreaded that flight (and layover and second flight) for weeks ahead of time. Too many people heard me complaining about my ridiculously early flight, alone with the children. Why did I worry? It was fine. Both girls were so sweet and good. I managed also to be a fairly sweet and good mother, which is perhaps more surprising.

Busy little Jane, however, slept all of 10 minutes that whole long journey. But she took a 3 hour nap, literally the minute we reached home sweet home. And then after getting up to eat dinner, she slept for 13 hours yesterday night. Poor baby was tired out!

And my big girl? I am so thankful to have her! When we picked up our luggage, I was in a bit of a quandary regarding how to push Jane's stroller and the luggage cart out to the parking shuttle pick-up. Again, why did I worry? Clara stepped up to the stroller and assured me she could push Jane, yes, through a busy parking lot and across airport streets. And she did--safely. I was so proud of her!

Since getting home, Clara has been the happiest little soul. She completely rearranged her doll house furniture (which for her consists of various Calico Critter sets) and introduced two tiny china bears (thanks Miss Chrissy!) to her other china figurines. Oh! The tiny things! The freedom and space to arrange and enjoy them! While she loved visiting family in California and thoroughly enjoyed all her time outside, Clara has obviously missed her miniature imaginary world.

And I severely missed my own little domain here at home. I wanted to kiss my little green teapot yesterday when I saw it there in the kitchen waiting to make the perfect pot of green tea. And my own bed. I did kiss it. You know, I had a birthday recently; it may be due to the fact that I'm over 30 now, but I'm telling you, I'm growing seriously attached to the comforts of home.

Comforts of California

2011-12-17T21:26:00.005-06:00

Christmas vacation has commenced in California has commenced!

Our family has been afflicted with a nasty cold and the girls are not adjusting easily to California time, but otherwise, things are great.

As evidenced by Clara's comments this afternoon as she and Jane played outside in the balmy afternoon sun, looking out over the meadow and rocky hills beyond.

She said to me, "I think we should move to California. . . I could write a book called "The Comforts of California; the Terrors of Texas." I bet a hundred million people would want to read that book."

I happen to like Texas, but I'll admit that not much beats a sunny Southern California afternoon in December. Plus, for us, the "comforts" of California include our family, which can't be underestimated. It's good to be home.

Tiny Uncomfortable Dancer

2011-12-06T20:00:00.005-06:00

Almost a month ago now, Clara performed in her ballet recital. After last year, we were prepared for the 3-hour performance. Unfortunately, Jane chose that evening to come down with that strange bumpy illness. Even a cranky baby sister didn't dampen Clara's enthusiasm that night--though it did result in only a few pictures and a less-than-flattering short video.

Poor Clara, she loves ballet and she loved the recital, but she also loves comfort. And has sensitive skin. Our sweet little ballerina was totally distracted by her costume. Throughout her dances, I think she was scratching at the area where the tutu joined to the leotard, but I have to admit that it looks . . . funny. During her first dance, Clara did finally determine to ignore her discomfort and throw herself into the dance of the butterflies, and then she fell down. But she got right back up, so I'm proud. (Though I do still laugh at this video.)

Sweet ballerina picture during the rehearsal when she'd only been wearing her costume 10 minutes:

Transformed into . . .

our uncomfortable ballerina and her best ballet friend, who obviously is not afflicted by sensitive skin. I unfortunately didn't get a decent video of this dance because by this point Jane was yelling, "NO NO NO NO" in that way that only Jane has. It was a fun moment for our girls--one was scratching and scowling her way through her dances and the other was screaming in the audience.

Still, Clara's recital was worth all the parental efforts required. At the end of the finale, I handed my ballerina her little bouquet of roses, whisked her off stage, and fairly ran to the van after Evan who was trying to contain the unhappy Jane--once in the van, Clara admired her flowers, which she obviously felt she richly deserved, and chatted happily about unrelated subjects. In her mind, the recital was simultaneously really important and no big deal. It's a sweet way to live, and I'm glad I got to share in her experience that night.

Child Sight

2011-11-28T21:36:00.004-06:00

Tonight while I was making dinner (Turkey Pot Pie!), Clara and Jane were having a particularly good time together. They started off in the kitchen with me, but then Jane was enjoying "packing" a bag she had found with little odds and ends. Clara got the idea then to play the game "Help Jane go to college."

Of course, Jane had no idea what they were playing. She just knew Big Sister was spending time with her, and she always loves that. Anyway, Clara packed Jane's bags, drove her in the van (white couch), dropped her off, and had a little talk with her about staying by herself at college. The talk went something like this: "You're going to be okay. You have everything that you need. Here's your new room and you can put all your things in it. You're going to have a great time! I love you! Bye!!" Then, she switched from pretending to be the mom to pretending to be the roommate, and she and Jane had a great time settling into their new room together. (The room was our red and white striped chair.)

Later in the evening, Clara bounced up to me and cheerfully asked, "Is it your worst nightmare for Jane to go off to college?"

What?!

Sort of.

How did Clara know how much I dread the day I say good-bye to one of my children? I try really hard to be totally positive when I talk about the future with the Clara. How does this child see right through me?!?

Living in the Moment

2011-11-26T19:09:00.001-06:00

Remember how I said awhile back that I loved reading Out of Africa? One of the things I love most about Dinesen's memoir is her ability to narrate an event and intersperse that narration with profound observations that don't weigh down her story but give her reader a chance to stop and, well, think. I used to like novels with lots of plot to keep me turning the pages, but now I like books that make me read slowly and give me opportunities to stop reading in order to think.

Anyway, I was reading towards the end of Out of Africa and came upon this passage:

"The truth, that was underlying everything, was that it [the farm] was no longer mine, but such as it was, this truth could be ignored by the people incapable of realizing it, and it made no difference to things from day to day. It was then, from hour to hour, a lesson in the art of living in the moment, or, it might be said, in eternity, wherein the actual happenings of the moment make but little difference."

The author no longer owns her beloved coffee plantation, but is staying on it long enough to see the coffee harvested, as it now belongs to those who have agreed to buy the farm. Her servants and "squatters" (Africans who work the land in exchange for living there) treat her as though she is still the owner.

I had to read that paragraph twice through because living in the moment is usually held up as an ideal, something we should all strive to realize. Why then did Dinesen say that while living in the moment "the actual happenings of the moment make little difference"? As I thought, I had to reassess my own assumptions about living in the moment: I suppose to live that way must mean living or thinking without regard for consequences or the future.

Babies certainly live this way; they simply cannot conceive of the future and therefore cannot anticipate concequences. When Jane is walking down a sunny path, she's thinking how nicely her feet crunch on the little pebbles and what a pleasure it is to walk rather than ride or be carried.

Young children gradually leave this way of thinking; in stages, they begin to understand that this moment affects the future. (That's why discipline for a 5 year old is so much different from discipline for a 2 year old!) As Clara walks down a path, she sees the good in holding hands and staying out of the water. She's not thinking about whether there are enough snacks in the diaper bag to feed two hungry girls. Children only slowly let go of their moment-living. Lots of grown-ups envy children their ability to forget the future in their absorption in the moment. But, let's face it, a big part of maturing is leaving behind living in the moment and learning to make choices based upon consequences--this maturity is what allows grown-ups to make choices that lead to a future good. Like say, eating 1 cookie at tea time instead of 5 because we would like to continue to fit into our jeans.

But a real problem arises when men and women lose the joy of childlike living in the moment and nothing better comes in its place. We can lose the pleasures of feeling a warm hand in our own and delight in the movement of sunlight in water, and experience only worry or a perpetual and unshakable sense of duty--you might be familiar with the kind of interior dialogue this kind lead to: did I put enough sunscreen on the baby? I ate a lot last night so could we walk a little faster please? These thoughts may seem innocuous but they can become so burdensome that they make us want to escape the "grown up" way of living into a remembered but lost better way.

But Isak Dinesen did not think it was necessarily better to live in the moment. She wanted the farm. She loved owning the farm. For her, living in the moment was "an exercise"--it was an art because it did not come naturally to her. And I think she's right. The truly mature woman (or man) knows that her actions matter, and when they don't, she isn't really living. Women and men seek responsibility--marriage, children, vocation, homes, land, property--we choose to take responsibility for things because of love. And when we are responsible, we know that the things we do matter. Our actions last longer than a moment. And we hope they do!

But, on the other hand, there is something about living in the moment that is worthy of returning to. It is an art worth practicing. Young children are aware of certain consequences in their moment-living: when you and I play together, I feel happy; if I eat this cookie, then my mouth is pleased; if I spend an hour making a castle, then I've spent time doing something useful and pleasant. Their consequences are very near and centered on self-satisfaction. But, honestly, what satisfies a healthy child is often simple and real. Who cares about money in the bank? A green lawn next summer? A flat tummy in six weeks? Those things can't really be enjoyed. Men and women can miss what is truly satisfactory by looking at and living for a future that a) never comes or b) isn't as good as one hoped.

As a woman, I don't really want to live like Jane does--as though my actions have no consequences, as if there is no future, only the now--but I do want to enjoy what is here, like she does, because what is here, right now, is all that it is truly possible to enjoy. I hope and work for the future; I treasure and make amends the past; I enjoy this moment.

To the point

2011-11-25T21:00:00.006-06:00

Okay, real fast. Because left-over apple pie awaits.

The night before Thanksgiving, guess what happened just before bed? Clara called to me from the bathroom with a very small voice, "My tooth fell out." Her voice was so void of the excitement I expected that I thought she was pulling my leg. But, no, her tooth had indeed popped out of her mouth while she was brushing. Luckily, she caught it in her hand.

Yes, the tooth fairy did come. And I might have cried a little, but don't tell Clara.

Now. For the big day itself. I just had to tell you. We smoked our turkey again this year, but this time we steamed it as well. Even though we accidentally cooked it a bit too long, it was moist and flavorful. And SO good that I want another one.

You might think that picture was out of focus, but it was steam, and the turkey had been out of the smoker for 45 minutes!

Apple pie isn't actually that easy. But it is pretty. No picture of the baked pie. Somehow things got kind of busy yesterday, what with getting ready for hosting the dinner and then enjoying our company, which included two families with kids (in addition to ourselves) and another friend. Everyone contributed to the feast and it was truly fabulous.

Do you like the chalkboard? That was Evan and Clara. And look at the size of that table! That table calls out for festivity. And we gave it what it asked for. It was a fabulous Thanksgiving!

Now, for that pie . . .

Thankful

2011-11-24T20:19:00.002-06:00

For this Thanksgiving, something from Laura Ingalls Wilder:

"I read a Thanksgiving story, the other day, in which a woman sent her little boy out to walk around the block and look for something for which to be thankful. One would think that the fact of his being able to walk around the block and that he had a mother to send him would have been sufficient cause for thankfulness. We are all afflicted with mental farsightedness and so easily overlook the thing which is obvious and near."

These two are obviously near, and hard to overlook. I'm thankful for them. But I'm also thankful for my health and strength so I can take them outside and play together; I'm thankful for our backyard with grass in it; I'm thankful for cozy sweaters hanging in the closet and handy pearl beads; I'm thankful for a bathtub with warm water flowing from it where I can suds up baby curls at the end of each day.

I'm thankful for my arms and hands that I use to hold my "beloved people" and the lips I use to kiss them. I'm thankful for the books on the bookcase. I'm thankful for the milk God has given me to feed my baby. I'm thankful for sleep and for waking. I'm thankful for a husband who fills my water cup before bed every night and wakes up before me to make me coffee. I'm thankful for the abundance of food in my refrigerator, pantry, and freezer. I'm thankful that I can turn on the faucet and hand my daughter good-tasting, clean water and then take a long, satisfying drink myself. I'm thankful that I can look into the eyes of my daughter and return her smile.

I'm thankful for my life and for the lives of those I love. In the mere fact of our existence, God's goodness is evident; may He give me the grace to always see it and be thankful.

Hungry?

2011-11-21T20:32:00.002-06:00

Today Clara and I took Jane to her follow-up appointment with a pediatric gastroenterologist in the medical center. All the tests they ran on her last time turned up nothing worrisome. Also, she is now considered in the range of normal for large motor development. Both those things are great! Now, all that is of concern is her fall of her growth curve combined with nystagmus, both of which could be caused by an underlying condition. But it was good to talk with her doctor today because he really listened to me, and admitted that she could just be a small person who happens to have nystagmus. Time will tell. In the meantime, all Jane is going to do is take an appetite stimulant everyday because she's still not eating much.

Although . . . she is eating more than she used to, and she is starting to tell us that she's hungry! Note the insistent point to the mouth and the yummy noise she makes:

Bottom line: for whatever reason, Jane is tiny, but she is mighty cute.

Happy Tunes

2011-11-20T18:37:00.002-06:00

Jane's begun to sing meandering little tunes like this one she was singing this morning. She also dresses up with anything at hand that resembles a necklace--I'm okay with that as long as the "necklace" isn't a pair of underwear, which is one of her common choices. We try to keep her away from the dirty laundry. This morning, she found an ear-warmer. Good choice, Jane.

I'm singing happy little tunes myself now that the illness that began with Jane has made it's way out of our house. Evan and I haven't gotten sick, and although Clara spent three days feverish and miserable, no one else has some down with the red bumps. Thank goodness.

Now that everyone's healthy, it's back to all those appointments and errands we've put off. This is going to be a busy week! Am I the only mom who doesn't mind all that much when illness forces the household to rest together? As long as the illness doesn't involve throw-up, and this one did not. Red bumps may look scary, but they're nothing compared to barfy babies! So while I'm glad to have healthy girls again, I'm somewhat thankful for that week-long interval of rest.

On that note, I bid you good night. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow!

Strange bumps

2011-11-14T20:52:00.004-06:00

You'll be glad there's no picture for this post.

On Saturday, Jane suddenly had a high fever. Even with fever-reducing medicine, she was running a fever over 103 degrees by bedtime. Poor baby! To make matters worse, in the middle of the night, she broke out in these strange red bumps. The fever was gone by today but the strange blister-like bumps remained and spread, especially on her arms and legs. I took her into the doctor last thing today, and our very good pediatrician couldn't say exactly what's up but did narrow it down to one of two possibilities, both of which are strange and uncommon but not dangerous.

Just very unsightly.

In the elevator at the medical building, people looked at Jane and backed off. For the first time in her life, Jane was not admired! She was feared. Poor baby really does look kind of scary, in a stand-back-I'm-very-contagious kind of way. (She's probably not contagious.) I have two types of medication to start her on tomorrow, but the doctor warned not expect results for three to five days. Until then, we won't be going out much. I don't want my baby to frighten anyone.

Worthy Work

2011-11-11T13:23:00.006-06:00

Well over a year ago, I was talking to a friend about the difficulties of keeping a house tidy and clean. She said to me, "But you like cleaning, don't you?" I was taken aback--how could anyone think that I actually enjoyed cleaning? I told her did not like cleaning, but I did like a clean(ish) house. I remember that conversation because I was sort of annoyed that anyone could think that I liked such unpleasantness.

I would have a very different response to that question today.

This morning the girls were happily playing together, and Clara had already tidied the living room and music room, while I worked on the dining room and kitchen. The beds were stripped and the sheets were spinning in the washing machine. I had cleaned out the fridge and organized what was left. Suddenly, I realized that I was feeling, well, happy.

Happy cleaning house? Or happy with a clean house? Both! I've apparently changed in the past year--I can honestly say that cleaning my house contributes to my happiness. While there are certain chores I'll never rejoice in, I realize now that the work--the work itself!--of cleaning a home can be a source of joy.

It's like baking or cooking. Sometimes I do it just to get food on the table in order to feed hungry people. Certain times, food preparation isn't really a joyful experience. But I've gotten to the point that I usually enjoy preparing food--not surprisingly, my skills in the kitchen have also improved.

In cleaning and cooking, I've (finally) discovered something that I always hoped was true but struggled for years to experience: taking care of a family by making home a pleasant and nurturing place is worthy work, not drudgery.

My family inhabits this relatively small space together. What happens in every room matters.

We sleep, play, learn, eat, talk, laugh, fight, grow and love in this house. It's an important place! It's my blessing to be the person to keep and care for this place.

However. Both toilets currently do need scrubbing. :)

Even better!

2011-11-08T20:06:00.008-06:00

Evan's birthday was yesterday. I figured out that this is the 8th time I've celebrated his birthday with him. A fairly small percentage of his total birthdays (41), but think how much has happened in those eight years.

Eight years ago, I drove over to his house on a Sunday morning, made him pancakes and then we went to church together. We weren't even officially engaged yet.

Yesterday:

We had crepes and grapefruit with our two beautiful daughters. Notice how Clara had decorated Evan's chair with scraps from her scrap bag and ribbons. By dinner time she had redone the chair three times, and it was actually pretty impressive.

Sort of hard to see, but he did blow out a candle stuck in the crepe. By evening time, Jane was enchanted with this ritual. I lit a match for her and she yelled, "Happy!" and blew at it.

While Evan was at work, I made the cake. At first he had requested some impossibly fancy concoction, but then he thought twice and asked for a yellow layer cake with chocolate frosting. All from scratch, of course.

Speaking of that frosting,

That's how much butter it required. I gulped and added it all. Here's a good reason to make your own treats--you know exactly how unhealthy they are. We enjoyed the cake, and I won't be making another one for a while.

Evan's requested dinner was fortunately much healthier.

Wild-caught salmon, asparagus, and a brown and wild rice mix. Our hearts breathed a sigh of relief. Nathan and Katie's family joined us for dinner, which justifies the humongous slab of salmon. I made a rub for it, and the men cooked it on that cedar plank on the grill, and it was just about perfect.

It was a sumptuous birthday feast for my wonderful husband. I love birthday dinners!

And I love Evan. Few blessings in this life compare to spending years loving him and being loved by him. Tonight at dinner, Evan said to me, half-jokingly, "I hope our two girls grow up and marry men just as good as their daddy." Clara looked up from her dinner and said sweetly, "Even better!" Evan and I busted up, but Clara was really embarrassed when she realized how her compliment had not turned out well. She exclaimed, "There's nobody better than Daddy!" I think that sufficiently covers her little gaffe and perfectly sums up the way all the girls in this family feel about Evan.

Post Halloween

2011-11-01T19:54:00.002-05:00

Evan's at church singing in the choir for the All Saint's Day service, Jane is snoozing peacefully, and Clara is falling asleep to Willie Nelson's Gospel album. Tonight is vastly different from the sugar-saturated festivities of last night!

See that cast-iron cat? Evan found him and an identical twin at some thrift store last Halloween and we put them on either side of our front door as decorations . . . and they stayed out all year. Why? We're not even cat people! They just sort of belong by our door now. Not sure why.

Back to Halloween! I dug out an adorable blue fairy dress for Jane. Evan's mom made it for Clara awhile back , and it is just perfect for a little toddler who loves to get fancy. When Clara saw Jane dressed as a fairy, she decided she wanted to be sister fairies. So we scrounged in her closet and came up with a costume for her too.

Sister fairies! (Do you like Clara's cowgirl boots peeking out under her dress? She saw no incongruity between the boots and the fairy costume.)

Jane totally doesn't understand the concept of delayed gratification. Her thought process: "Someone just gave me a candy. Get it out of that bag and put it in my mouth. NOW!" She did learn to wave and say, "Happy!" in thanks for the candy she was given, though.

I spent today eating and hiding candy.

Fair Fall

2011-10-30T15:39:00.004-05:00

Are you familiar with this little poem by Oliver Herford?

I heard a bird sing

In the dark of December

A magical thing

And sweet to remember

"We are nearer to Spring

Than we were in September,"

I heard a bird sing

In the dark of December.

I love this poem about hope in dark times, which for much of the world can be symbolized by December. Short days, scant sunlight, and snow can apparently make for some difficult times--I wouldn't know. Here, winter is so much more pleasant than summer that it just doesn't make that great of symbol for difficult times. Late fall, winter, and early spring are the best times of year in our neck of the woods. Just now at the end of October, we're enjoying the outdoors thoroughly.

If I were to use a month of the year to signify bleak times it would be August. But another August is behind us! The sun shines on us more moderately! The wind blows dry and cool from the west! Life is good! It's time to party!

My sister-in-law and I took the kids to the Fall Fair at our church (Luke's school) yesterday. Clara went dressed as Mary Ingalls because, she told me, she loves Laura but she's just not like Laura. She's more like lady-like Mary with the golden hair. She might be right. Anyway, she wore a dress and sunbonnet made by her great-great-grandmother (who lived in Missouri at the same time as the real Laura, by the way) and worn by her grandmother. Pretty cool. Luke was a cowboy. Clara declared him handsome the moment she saw him yesterday, and I agree.

The babies were ballerinas.

Watching the pipes and drums band.

Suffering, Complaining, and Weakness

2011-10-27T13:19:00.004-05:00

You know what's weird? I sat down to write this entry just now, but before I did I checked the comments on my last post. And Elisabeth commented on the very thing I was planning to write about! Thank you for noticing, Elisabeth, that I try to be positive on this blog! A big part of that is due to the decision to stop complaining, and while not always successful, I try.

(I was partly inspired to make this resolution by the Little House books. Remember the time in Silver Lake when all the girls are bouncing along on a wooden board laid across the back of a wagon, and Carrie says, "I'm tired," she immediately says, "Not so very tired," because "Carrie had not meant to complain." Seriously, if I were in rattling along in a wagon all day long, I would have been complaining just about the whole time! But thinking about little brave self-controlled Carrie made me realize that I could change.)

Anyway, in the interest of honesty, I admit that while I try to avoid the spirit of complaining on this blog, some days are downright yucky in our household, and then I do like to complain, usually to Evan but sometimes only in my mind. I complain about the impossibility of getting anything done with Jane around, about how tired I am, about the constant noise, about how my brain is about to explode due to an excess of sensory input. All sorts of things, really. Are these complaints legitimate? Well, maybe. I mean, I do suffer. Not all of mothering is sweet baby kisses. Sometimes I find myself sleep-deprived, hungry, thirsty, and needing to go pee--all at the same time. While certainly not that bad, I do find myself at the end of my proverbial rope at times.

But oddly, when I complain about this suffering, it seems like I'm looking for pity, but this pity is just twisted praise. When I complain to my husband, I want him to note my hard work, my sacrifice, and how wonderful I am! Actually, I do think my husband admires these things about me, but wouldn't it be much better for us both if he could offer that praise straightforwardly, rather than having it dragged out of him as pity? Just as bad, when I keep my complaints in my head, I have this interior woe-is-me running commentary to narrate the events around me. All I'm doing is validating myself as a sufferer.

This week my Bible study group read 2 Corinthians 11:23-12:10, and while I am no expert in biblical interpretation, reading this passage made me realize something about my complaints, suffering, and weakness. In this passage, Paul boasts of his suffering, which is dramatically greater than mine, but then says that he doesn't boast of that suffering, but of his weakness. Paul concludes that he is content with his weakness; God has assured him, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" and therefore Paul concludes, "for when I am weak, I am strong." If you've spent any amount of time in church, that conclusion has become something of a cliche--that is, it's said so often that it's lost its meaning. But this week, as I was mulling over suffering and weakness, trying to get past the cliche, I realized something: when I complain, I am actually boasting about my suffering, so I never admit the reality of my weakness. As a result, I never turn to God and beg for his grace to give me the strength I need.

Mostly when I complain, I'm really announcing the fact that I'm unable or unwilling to do what I need to do. Need to make someone else's lunch while my own stomach is churning with emptiness? Need to deal with a misbehaving little girl when my brain feels fuzzy from exhaustion? I feel that I just can't do it, so I whine, complain, and demand pity. This is a huge problem, really, because only when I am weak, and know it, can rely on God's grace. Is there a huge mess in the kitchen? Is a certain red-headed baby crying to be held? Is a particular five-year-old indulging in a fit of temper because her DVD is over? (You know this happens like every afternoon around 4 pm.) In my weakness, I want to call Evan and start to complain. Instead, I want to learn to acknowledge that weakness, turn to God and ask for his grace to be . . . well, patient, wise, loving . . . and maybe even to have the gumption to unload the dishwasher.

When God transforms my weakness by his grace, I have the strength I need to take joy in these sweet little people who, in one of the greatest ironies of being human, sometimes make me more crazy than I ever thought possible. :)

A Jane First

2011-10-25T19:56:00.002-05:00

Everyone? Everyone, are you listening?

Last night was the first time, since birth, that Jane did not wake me up by crying in the night. She went to bed at 7 pm and woke up at 10:30 pm but I wasn't asleep yet. I went to sleep after that and slept until 7 am at which time I woke up feeling, well, awake. Imagine that.

Tomorrow Jane will be 17 months old. Many of you are wondering why I didn't force Jane to sleep longer sooner. It's complicated. For one thing, I've always put Jane to bed while she was still awake, so I knew she was perfectly capable of putting herself back to sleep when she woke up. Oftentimes, she does. But at least 2 times a night (and more like 4 times up until 3 weeks ago), Jane wakes up crying and won't stop. She might cry herself back to sleep if I leave her but 10 minutes, 30 minutes, later she's awake again. Another reason I kept getting up to nurse Jane back to sleep had to do with her size. Since 9 months, her weight gain has fallen off dramatically. Right now, she doesn't weigh enough even to place her on the growth charts. It was so difficult to feed Jane during the day, so I felt that it was necessary to let her nurse at nights. Finally, I never forced Clara to stop night nursing; after awhile she naturally tapered off needing to nurse during the nights. I thought Jane would do the same.

Maybe she is?!

It could be that Jane needed a little help in that direction. Several weeks ago now she started on acid reflux medication at her therapist's suggestion and doctor's approval. Could it be that she really has been suffering all this time? Maybe. At any rate, I'm glad that I've been sensitive to her night-time needs all along . . . but I really, really hope that her night wakings are coming to an end.

A hypothetical question, for fun

2011-10-20T13:28:00.008-05:00

Clara is having her piano lesson right now. I've collapsed on the guest bed and am listening to her teacher go over rhythm and counting. Forget babysitting--in-home teachers are awesome. The child is happy and learning. If only I could afford for people to come in and teach Clara reading, math, and languages . . . oh wait, that would be what used to be called a governess. That's what I want, a governess. Clara loves interacting with a different person for learning her lessons. Wouldn't it be great if she could have some loving and intelligent person whose job it was to teach her at home? Other than me, I mean.

Several months ago, Evan was asking everyone a hypothetical question: "If you could have one of these three, which would it be? A private chef? A personal accountant? Or a housekeeper?" (He was thinking of a competent person devoted full-time to these jobs--other than his wife, of course.) He chose a chef. Are you surprised? My gourmet husband. I chose a housekeeper, but wasn't that excited about the choice. I like taking care of my own house, actually.

But now I know what I want! He needs to add governess to the list. Don't get me wrong: I like teaching Clara and Jane. But both my girls seem to learn so well from other people--did you know that Jane's therapist tested her large motor skills today and Jane passed with flying colors?!

Anyway, what would you choose if you could hire someone else to take care of a segment of your responsibilities?

Coming to terms

2011-10-17T19:54:00.003-05:00

Never in my life have I been able to say that I enjoy my daily life more. This afternoon as Jane held onto my shoulders as I swung us high on the backyard swing set, I looked down at her coppery curls, lit up by the late sun and thought, "This. Right here is as good as it gets."

Then I went inside and baked potatoes for the three people I love most and sat down to a simple meal with them in the home we share. Clara laughed at Evan's jokes. Jane called out "Dad-ee!" between eating and throwing food. Then I bathed two girls who had become cranky yet still managed to be so dear. And later we three sat in one chair and read two books while I smelled their clean smells and felt their damp hair against my shoulders. I thought of how earlier in the day, Clara and I drank oolong tea together on the bed while watching a movie and writing thank-you notes. I remembered how sweet it was when Jane woke up from her nap and chased her big sister with straight-legged attempts at running.

This, I thought, is what I want to do most in the world.

But when Evan said that he really wanted to go to Baylor Homecoming this year, I realized that I'm somehow insecure about my decision to do this and leave a career.

(Baby fun. Good friends visited a week ago.)

The current Graduate Program Director sent out a letter a month ago or so regarding a reunion for PhD graduates from the English program. He asked that we answer some questions and send them back whether we were coming to the reunion or not.

Questions about current position. Career highlights. Memories of graduate school.

Even if I had had a full time position since leaving graduate school, my answers wouldn't have been too impressive nor would my memories of graduate school have been all that academic. You know what I springs to mind when I conjure memories of graduate school? Clara's baby days.

(Speaking of babies. Babies love babies.)

But when Evan said he wanted to go to Homecoming, he dug out those letters from the GPD and asked me to fill mine out. I struggled over it. For current position, I wrote, "Homemaker." For career highlights, I wrote something about leaving teaching in order to mother my two young daughters. For "best graduate school memory," I had to honestly say that my best memories of graduate school involved my family--Clara's birth, Evan's graduation, my own graduation just before Jane's birth. I felt like my answers were dumb and that anyone reading them would think, "Well, she's certainly not an exemplary graduate."

I'm not an exemplary PhD graduate. Answering those questions and imagining going to a reunion full of other graduates made me realize I'm a little insecure about that. As if being an exemplary PhD graduate is something I want.* I DON'T want to be the person that everyone admires as having done a lot in my career. I am doing what I want: living with and working for the people I love most.

You know what's at the root of my insecurity here? A desire for admiration. A desire for praise. And I guess a little pride. It's humbling to be known as a homemaker and not have any "highlights" to relate to my former colleagues. But here's where I have be stronger than my petty desire for admiration and tell myself and others the truth: I have chosen what I love. But what's more, that which I love is worthy of all my love (and then some), so I am made happy by my choice and so are they.

Also? I have fun.

(*I am glad that I finished my PhD. Having the degree opens so many doors for me me. I love teaching and I love writing. It's good to have a degree that enables me to do both. But also, the process of getting that degree changed me and my life--I think for the better. I don't know what God has for me in the future, but I'm fairly certain my PhD will be useful.)

Pictures from Clara's 5th Birthday Party

2011-10-07T14:51:00.003-05:00

The Week After

2011-10-05T21:04:00.002-05:00

The week after a birthday. Usually it's hard for the birthday girl. Well, this year, I think it was harder for me.

For starters, Sofie the fish died. And I was doing my best to take really good care of her because, let's face it, even though Clara felt responsible for her first pet, we all know who was really responsible. ME. And she died after I changed her water. Yes, I did something wrong, but I was only following directions. Next time, do more research. Anyway, Clara and I wrapped her in a clean, white cloth that we wrote her name on, buried her in the backyard, marked her grave with a large white seashell, and each made up a poem in her honor. I felt horrible. Clara is planning on getting Sofie 2.

Other little things have gotten to me this week: insurance woes (again?), van troubles, two girls with bad colds. Seriously, all day I've felt like I've bumped along in a mist, trying to keep up with the housework and remember all the extras I'm supposed to be taking care of.

But you didn't come here to listen to me complain. Alright, I'll name some of the good things too, just so you have an accurate picture of our life. Number one, Jane is really walking! And doing lots of other things that she's never done before--like leaning on one hand and playing with a toy with the other. Stuff like that doesn't seem like a big deal, but it actually is huge. Her world is growing! And a speech therapist visited her and said her mouth and tongue look like a child suffering from acid reflux, so she'll start meds for that tomorrow--who knows? In six weeks, she might be eating more, sleeping more, and moving more freely. Second, Clara had a little friends birthday party on Saturday that went really well. It was actually fun for me too! I have pictures, but, like I said, I'm a woman in a fog. Give me a few days, and I'll try to put a picture album together. Third, my parents are coming to visit next week. That's enough to put me a in a good mood. Fourth, I was worrying about money yesterday morning while driving our van with it's check engine light staring at me. As I was grinding my teeth, Clara said out of the blue, "It's bad when some people get a lot of money because then they never spend it." I asked her to clarify and she said, "They just keep it all. It makes them feel safe. But money can't keep you safe!" I asked her what keeps us safe, and she said, "The Lord keeps us safe." Tears came to my eyes. She had no idea that I was worried about our van and, subsequently, money--I hadn't mentioned a word to her. In her mind uncluttered with worry, she had come upon a truth that was beyond my clenched thoughts. If that isn't something to be grateful for, I don't know what is.

Farewell to Four

2011-09-28T08:00:00.005-05:00

Four was a good year with Clara Lee.

All year long, we enjoyed Laura stories, as well finding some new favorites like Sarah, Plain and Tall, The Secret Garden, The Little Princess, Winnie-the-Pooh, and to a lesser degree The Wind and the Willows. She's also more than ever enjoying poetry.

A few weeks ago, she begged me to read her "The Lady of Shalot" after seeing a figurine of the Lady at a resale shop. Afterwards, she said, "The mirror cracked from side to side! That was too scary!" But she also told me the back story--according to her the Lady of Shalot comes from a long line of women cursed by mean old witches for interesting but ultimately not justifiable reasons. She loves less scary poems--right now "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" is tops--and has even written a few originals that were honestly pretty good.

Clara continues to enjoy art. Drawing and painting are her favorites--forget coloring pages. I like coloring pages myself, but who am I to get in the way of the artistic muse? Favorite things to draw: mice, mouse houses, princesses, babies, and our house and our backyard.

This year, Clara completely fell in love with ballet. She thoroughly enjoyed her recital last December, all 3 plus hours of it. She's already memorized this year's dance, and keeps asking how many weeks til the recital. This passion for exhibition. Where does it come from?

Clara and I also went to the Houston Ballet's Nutcracker. The two of us dressed up, drove together, admired the hall, found our seats in a hurry, shared a treat at intermission, and talked about how much fun it was for months afterwards.

Clara's personality continues to develop as she gains knowledge of herself. A few weeks ago, she said to me, "Some little girls are pretty rough and tumble. I'm not into being rough and tumble. I'm into being the little girl that I am."

Some of Clara's recent questions for me: "How old were you when you wrote your first poem?" Ummm. Or, "How old were you when you learned cursive?" She wants me to teach her. I'm making her practice printing first. She's not convinced this is the best way. I found a sticky note on my dresser yesterday with a picture of a princess surrounded my the few cursive letters she knows.

Despite aspiring to be a little lady, Clara enjoys all the things that a child should. Being outside. Imagining. Exploring. She can swing herself as high as possible on our backyard swing set. She's learned to hook her legs over a bar and hang upside down and then flip down. She can doggy-paddle through the pool. Her cartwheel is a work in progress. She learned how to climb a tree this summer.

Clara's sense of humor has grown this year. She has about five jokes in her repertoire, most of them a play on words. She made up two of them herself: "What kind of fish eats mice? A catfish!" And "What does Jillian [Michaels] eat for breakfast? Shredded wheat!" (I'm trying to get into shape. It's painful.) She knows a pun and loves every one she discovers. Is she her daddy's daughter? Yes. Oh, yes.

Clara has loved to laugh all her life. She's alive to humor and delight. I myself can be somewhat of an Eeyore (or sometimes a Piglet), so I really appreciate Clara's laughing ways. And helpful spirit. They go together for Clara. When she's her sunniest, she's her most helpful. And I love it. Two weeks ago, I was sick with a cold and laying on the couch amid the chaos only Jane can create. Clara suddenly said, "This place is a disaster!" I told her I was sorry, but I just couldn't clean it right then. She saw that I was a helpless lump and offered to clean up by herself. And she did it. Really, truly cleaned up. Cheerfully, sweetly.

Four has been fabulous. Clara's interests have become more defined. Her capacity to love others has blossomed. She has become a truly pleasant and helpful oldest daughter and big sister. While part of me wishes Clara could be four forever, I am so happy to greet birthday #5 with her.

Jane's First Steps

2011-09-26T13:56:00.002-05:00

On Saturday, Jane took her first steps on her own! For the past two weeks, she's been working with a physical therapist, and her efforts have paid off! I've also been implementing the therapists suggestions at home, and can you believe it? Jane is taking steps all on her own! She was nowhere near being able to do this just two weeks ago.

I'm so proud of Jane. Of course, the first steps are a big deal for every baby, but Jane has worked so hard to develop the strength and balance necessary for walking. As you can see from the video, she still is a bit stiff-legged and her balance needs work, but she's so determined. After her therapy sessions, Jane comes home and eats a ton and then takes an extra-long nap--she works so hard. Her therapist said, "Jane is a joy to work with--she picks things up so quickly and really tries to do what I show her."

And that's what I'm so proud of; Jane's first steps show that she's a hard-working, determined little girl who meets a challenge with a cheerful spirit. Way to go, Janie Baby!

Good Food for a Good Man

2011-09-23T15:04:00.003-05:00

In July and August, I read through Isak Dinesen's Out of Africa. I loved it. You'll hear me write about it some more, I'm sure. Up first: a reflection on women, men, and food.

Regarding cooking meals for a man she loves, Dinesen (it's a pen name) writes, "There is a particular happiness in giving a man whom you like very much good food that you have cooked yourself."

I'm considering somehow framing these words for displaying in my kitchen. I'm inspired.

Even a simple meal like spaghetti and meatballs with fresh bread can be a source of happiness when it is good food that I have cooked myself for the man I like very much.

In her memoirs, Dinesen writes that in return for a meal, this man "gave me his ideas on food, and on many other things in the world, and told me that he had nowhere dined better." It's the exchange that is so joyful: a woman gives good food that she has worked over herself and the man gives his attention, conversation, and admiration. Call me old-fashioned (or something stronger) if you like, but I think this give-and-take is one of the best parts of marriage. Almost every day I have the chance to prepare good food with a particular (wonderful) man in mind and then enjoy his company and admiration while that food is eaten. Surprisingly, I hadn't precisely realized how much happiness these shared meals bring to me until reading Isak Dinesen's words.

Speaking of which, it's time to stop writing and get a start on tonight's meal.

Sofie the Fish

2011-09-21T20:31:00.003-05:00

Aunt Katie gave Clara an early birthday gift today.

It's a betta fish Clara has named Sofie Lee.

Clara told me, "This is a big change for me. Having a fish is a big responsibility. It's not just like having one little sister or anything."

Nope. A fish is not like a sister.

Jane calls the fish, "Cracker." Can you figure out her thought process? :)

We had to go out the grocery store briefly this afternoon. Clara could hardly drag herself away from Sofie, and on the way home, Clara kept saying, "There's something alive at home waiting for me!" She also began calling me "Your royal majesty" or just "Your majesty." She was in a good mood. She said, "You're the queen of our house, right? And daddy is the king. And Jane and me are the princesses." She called me "Your majesty," all evening. I told Evan that I wouldn't mind if that nickname stuck.

All is well in our little kingdom with a fish.

Good 'n Tired

2011-09-14T20:46:00.004-05:00

We're two weeks away from a major milestone. Major for me, anyway. Clara will be five years old. I think, "Five? That's halfway to ten. And ten is almost adolescence. Ah! Adolescence is almost here! And then she'll leave me."

I know. I need a lesson in living in the moment. Or maybe just a lesson in the goodness of life.

Lately, I've been reading Garrison Keillor's short stories in the evening. I think of him and think, "Funny. Midwestern. And more importantly, not going to keep me up at night." Because I need my sleep and certain books keep me from it. Anyway, I'm loving the short stories; I never knew before how the goodness of life is so often a theme for Keillor.

(Five years ago. FIVE. Back when I was only a daughter and not a mother too.)

I'm not sure why, but the past few months, I've become increasingly grateful for the life God has given me. I think maybe before when I was either working or writing a dissertation I wasn't able to focus on my role as a wife and mother. Before this year, I was distracted (often in pleasant ways--okay, the dissertation was NOT so pleasant but teaching was fun) and pulled in a lot of directions. Right now I am so thankful that I don't have to work outside our home and I can focus on my family and our home and life. And focusing on those things has revealed the goodness and unbelievable sweetness of them.

(Speaking of sweet? Clara's newborn face.)

Tonight for dinner, I surprised Clara with her favorite--beans and cornbread. (Well, her absolute favorite is roast beef and potatoes, but we're saving that for a birthday dinner.) For a treat, I cooked up the acorn squash she had wanted me to make after seeing it on America's Test Kitchen. Right before we sat down for dinner, Clara got out her step-stool and watched as I prepared the squash. She shouted out instructions, "Becky Hayes said to sprinkle it all over with salt! One-quarter cup water! Punch holes in the top! Can I do it?!"

After she finished a whopping bowl of beans and a whacking slice of cornbread, she just about bounced out of her chair when I went to the kitchen for her half of the squash (it was a small one). After cooking it, I broiled it with melted butter and brown sugar slathered on top, so it smelled pretty wonderful. She took one bite and got down out of her chair to hug me. She was that excited. She took another bite, a bigger one this time, and got a thoughtful look. She took a third, smaller bite, and then put down her spoon. "You know," she said, "I think the texture is not quite for me."

I couldn't laugh. I suggested that maybe when she's five, she'll like acorn squash. "Or maybe when I'm six," she said.

Evan couldn't be home for dinner tonight, so we went outside to play after dinner by ourselves, but Jane was too tired, so it was bath, stories, and bedtime for baby and then it was 7:30. Clara munched a few peanut M&Ms (as an alternate dessert since the squash didn't work out) while I cleaned and she told me stories and sang made-up songs that made me think she's listened to enough Chuck Wagon Gang for a while. When I had finally cleaned up, there was just time for Clara to practice her piano lesson before bed. This is not the best time to practice anything, except maybe patience. But eventually, I saw my almost-five-year old's sleeping face.

(The sweetness of that face. And her daddy's.)

All this long day--I was at home with my two girls. My short checklist for today was "Vacuum. Dust. Exercise. Darks Laundry." I checked it all off. But that is not why I'm tired. I'm tired--exhausted, really--by the goodness of my life. Why is it that when we are doing what we love best and with the people we love most, we still find ourselves tired?

You know what else is good? Rest. Maybe part of the goodness of life is having a reason to rest. We can rest because when we fall asleep we know that tomorrow will be just like today, only a little different (to borrow a phrase from Laura Ingalls Wilder).

And after many of these not-so-different days, we find that what was good is even better. Five years of motherhood. Five years of Clara Lee. Five years of goodness.

Jane Makes a Mess

2011-09-10T15:55:00.002-05:00

Here's why a bath follows dinner. And why Jane's chair is in the corner on top of a big sheet of plastic. For Jane, food is more an artistic medium than a source of calories.

Jane's a Ham

2011-09-08T13:17:00.002-05:00

Jane likes to do things to make others laugh.

This trick is a little gross, but impossible not to laugh at. She discovered it all by herself, too.

Taking Joy

2011-09-04T14:03:00.004-05:00

In the past few days, we've been able to do something we haven't enjoyed for weeks--go outside!

And drink Izze!

Both the girls love these drinks. Jane, who will hardly drink water, can guzzle a whole Izze. (They're fruit juice and carbonated water, so I let Jane indulge.)

Inside or outside, whatever Big Sister does, Jane insists on doing too. Fortunately, Clara loves to play with her baby sister. I'm sometimes amazed at how much these two love to play together, considering the age difference.

To end the outdoor fun? A wagon ride, courtesy of Mama.

As Jane gets older, I see more of a resemblance between her and Clara, don't you think?

This morning, Clara was laying on me as I woke up. I was slightly unhappy with this arrangement, but she was looking up at me and said, "Mommy, you're beautiful." I mumbled a surprised thanks, and she said, "And Daddy is . . . what's the word? Handsome. Daddy is the handsomest daddy I ever saw." She was on a roll. "He has olive skin. And blue-y green eyes. And curly brown hair. And you have fair skin. And blue-y grey eyes. And curly dark hair." By now I was a little more awake and enjoying her descriptions. She went on, "And my baby sister has blue-y grey eyes and curly red hair. And I have sapphire blue eyes and wavy golden hair and fair skin." It sounded like she was gearing up to write a novel about this lovely family.

Of all the joys of parenting two girls, this is something I'm really enjoying about having a little girl: her innocent joy in her own appearance and that of the people she loves.

Waking up Natural

2011-08-26T14:00:00.003-05:00

Has anyone else watched Downton Abbey? I thoroughly enjoyed it myself. Remember at the beginning when the housekeeper calls the female servants to get up, and one of the maids rolls over and says, "For once in my life, I'd like to wake up natural." Her comment is meant to make us understand the lot of the servants who are up and scurrying about so that the family can wake up to an orderly house, warm fires, and hot tea.

I have to say, that line has gone through my head more than once upon waking. There's not much "natural" waking up for a mother.

(Slippers I made as a gift for Clara's friend's birthday.)

A few days ago, I was sipping coffee before my eyes were fully open when a little wail called me out of bed. I got up and nursed Jane and rocked her back to sleep--it was too early and she'd had a rough night. When I got back to my cozy bed, Clara was curled up in my spot. She was ready to chat. My coffee was cold. And I knew I should get up and start laundry, tidy up the kitchen and get breakfast for Clara. I love my family, but waking up "natural" is hardly part of my days.

Then again . . . maybe it is. I'm not a servant. I'm in my own home with my family to take care of. My husband takes care of me. (Where do you think the coffee came from?) The work in our house and our home itself belongs to us. I do what I do for my girls because I love them, not because it's my job. I do what I do for Evan because he's the man I love, whom I've chosen to have a home and family with. In short, I do wake up when it's natural for me to wake--considering the people and things I've chosen to love.

However, thank God for Evan's skill with the espresso machine.

Homemaking

2011-08-18T19:18:00.002-05:00

A few days ago, the girls were playing in the sandbox and I was sitting on the porch, sweating and chatting with Clara. Out of the blue, she asked me, "What's a stay-at-home mom?" And I said, "It's what we call moms who don't also have a job outside of home." Clara said, "Oh, so you're a stay-at-home mom. . . but you do go places." I replied, "Exactly. Which is why I don't like being called a stay-at-home mom so much. It's not like all I do is stay at home. . . you can say I'm a homemaker."

(Clara's first loaf of bread.)

And then we talked for a while about what it means to be a homemaker. I "make our home" I told her. I make our food. Keep the house tidy and pleasant. Clean gross things. Give Clara school lessons. Read to Jane. Nurse Jane. Help Clara and Jane play together. Pay the bills. Make arrangements and plans for social events. Keep the yard decent (ish). I concluded by saying, "And that's why it's better not to be called just a stay-at-home mom." Clara agreed wholeheartedly.

Later that day, I overheard Clara getting frustrated with Jane. "Jane!" she exclaimed, "you're nothing but a stay at home!" Take that, Jane.

Jane right now

2011-08-16T16:30:00.003-05:00

Has anyone noticed that all the recent pictures of Jane have included food? I may be getting a wee bit obsessed, I'll admit.

But she is cute when she eats.

Quesadillas and sour cream for dipping. Yum.

Today we went to our doc for a weight check appointment. Darling Miss Jane gained a whopping 5 ounces in the past 6 weeks, despite all my efforts to get her to eat more. I talked for almost an hour with the doctor, and in the end, decided to take her to have some labs done at a lab specializing in testing children, and then I'll take her to this G.I. specialist in town just to make sure that there is nothing underlying her tininess and gross motor delays. But honestly, I've come to the conclusion that Janie's going to come at life in her own way, and I should just enjoy her petite size and slowness to walk. There are lots of benefits of both: She's so easy to carry. She doesn't need new clothes very often. She's cute when she scoots. She can't run away yet. She doesn't need to wear shoes in this hot weather. She seems like she's a baby longer than a more forward child would. I like having a baby.

And Jane is such a funny and sweet baby. She has developed a habit of holding up first her feet and then her hands--palms up--and then her lips for kisses after she finishes nursing. When someone sneezes, Jane imitates the sound by blowing a loud raspberry. The past few days, she has literally learned how to jump on her bottom--a truly amazing feat when you consider the muscles involved. She loves books, but she's very opinionated about which books to read when. She wants to pick the books. In fact, Jane pretty much always knows what she wants. Last week, her molars were really bothering her and she wanted me to hold her a lot during the night. When I would move towards standing up, she would wake up and say, "No." If I continued to get up and walk her crib, her little short "No's" became more emphatic. She has about twenty words now that she regularly uses, the cutest of which are "bee-a-boe" for "bellybutton" and "ma-moe" for "ma milk." She now calls out "Cara" when she wants to play with her big sister, which is pretty much every waking moment. I love this stage--she's still a baby but she can communicate so much and has become so interested in the world around her.

And then there were two . . . violinists

2011-08-15T16:24:00.002-05:00

You may want to adjust your volume down for the following video.

Evan has begun giving Clara violin lessons this past week. The day after her first lesson, Clara got out her violin and told me to take a video of her and then put it on the blog, "so that my Grammy G. and Grammy J. can see me play the violin." So this video is especially from Clara to her Grammies. But I'm sure all the rest of you really enjoyed it too. :)

As many of you know, Evan plays violin. He plays well for an amateur, and he has a very nice violin--or any number of them, depending on when you ask. But he also has this tendency to play his violin in order to release stress. So I have this mad violinists loose in the house, literally all hours of the day. Now I have two!

We're looking for a violin teacher for her. She's truly excited about playing and asks Evan to give her a lesson at least every day. Her lessons right now are mostly about learning to hold the bow and violin, but she likes to saw away at the violin--just like her Daddy. He's a proud papa these days.

Welcome to my home

2011-08-10T14:11:00.007-05:00

Today I'm linking up to Like Mother, Like Daughter and taking a look at the welcome my home presents to visitors. Over there, the focus has been on "reasonably clean," which is about my speed when it comes to keeping house.

The before: front entry with child holding beads.

Now, before I show the after picture, here's the story behind the picture. Last spring, I guest lectured a few times for my husband Evan when his students read Pride and Prejudice. His students and I had a thoughtful discussion about Elizabeth's process of coming to know Mr. Darcy, and also learning to judge others in a new and more reliable way. I pointed out to the students that actually going to visit Mr. Darcy's house and seeing how it looked told Elizabeth some really important things about the man who owned it all--like what he cared about and how he spent his time and money. While the students and I talked, I felt a pang of conscience because at that time if anyone drove by my house or, worse, walked up to the door, I think they would have drawn certain conclusions about what I care about and how I spend my time, conclusions that I didn't care to have drawn about me. Seriously, last spring, the two beds on either side of the walk leading to our front door were weed patches. Hideous, hideous weed patches. Gardening isn't my thing. At all. But it sort of needed to be my thing. Not that my house stands any comparison to some eighteenth-century gentleman's home, but, hey, it's home and as such it speaks volumes, no matter how humble. (How many people go home and garden after reading Pride and Prejudice? Just shows you the unintended and unanticipated consequences of literature.)

Anyway, Evan and I yanked all the weeds and started some ground cover and a strip of geraniums for color. And then a very bad summer hit. We have had almost no rain in months. Our hard work has not really paid off yet. I'm just trying to keep our little plants alive.

How about that after picture? (You've probably forgotten the before picture, if you're still reading.)

Yeah, I know. Even I couldn't tell the difference between the before and after pictures I took this morning. For the record, Clara and I swept up and then cleaned the door. Everything's burnt to a crisp, and now is no time for gardening. Yesterday the thermometer in the car read 108 degrees. So this little area is what it is until the weather changes. In about 2 months.

Now for the inside. First, I got the girls busy because, bless their little hearts, they are mess makers.

How about a craft? Stickers, paper, and crayon. We don't need to be fancy to have fun. In fact, we have more fun when we're not fancy.

Jane enjoyed the craft time quite a bit. I thought she was left-handed, but maybe she's ambidextrous.

Now for the house. This is our "music room," named by Clara because it houses our piano. It's the first room in our house after the entryway. It was already clean. Even I was surprised. Now the entry . . .

The entry. I love that bench. Too bad I usually can't see it. It houses all the stuff that is (or should be) on it's way out. Anyone want a cold-brew coffee pot? Or the current issue of Christianity and Literature? (We get two.)

The diaper bag stays. It simply must. So do the shoes. The little girl shoes go in that basket and mine are next to it. I think it's a good idea to have a few shoes here--that way they don't go any farther into the house. It also gently suggests that guests are welcome to leave their shoes here as well.

What do we see when we look up now?

We already saw that the music room is clean, but just beyond that, the dining room needs help. Pop beads, the computer, and books. Always more books.

Here's the view from the front door. And the dining room is clearly visible, so clean it I must. Actually, this is a new dining room table and I'm enamored with it it, so I usually keep it clean. Evan bought me this table as a surprise--it was on clearance at Crate and Barrel (marked down several times); it has two leaves, seats up to twelve, is a beautiful hardwood with a finish that doesn't scratch and cleans up easily, and I love it. And I love my husband for being so thoughtful and so good at finding deals.

There now. Not too much work and much better. See the tiny crafter? That golden head on the left of the table. Jane is hiding in her high chair around the left-hand corner. I did all the inside tidying while they were busily coloring and using up stickers with wild abandon.

In sum, all that guests see upon first entering is reasonably clean, and I hope welcoming.

Jane Spins and Does Other Things

2011-08-08T21:47:00.003-05:00

This is Jane during dinner tonight. She had a "death first" attitude towards getting in her high chair, so I put her in the jump'n go instead. A good time was had by all. You can hear Clara keeping up the dinner conversation in the background. Anyone who has read Dahls' The BFG will appreciate her topic.

On an unrelated note, the girls and I had an eventful morning. Seconds after I finished my workout, the doorbell rang, and despite my sweat, I answered the door. A construction worker handed me a paper, and then pointed to it and said in broken English, "Your water off." I looked at the paper, and, yes, it did say the City of Houston had hired a contractor to remedy a water leak, and "pert" (and I quote) of the process required water being shut off. I closed the door and rushed to the kitchen sink to draw hot water with which to wash up (me? the dishes? the children? all of the above?), but already there was nary a drop in the pipes. Oh well. As Clara and I walked back through the front hallway, we notice that our street has become a creek; the work crew had opened a fire hydrant up the street. Being the cool mom that I am, I told Clara to get on her old sandals and she went "wading" in our creek. It was great fun. Just like Laura on Plum Creek! Sort of.

After our creek ran dry, I decided to iron instead of showering and doing laundry. Because I'm flexible. I can go with the flow (or lack thereof). I was almost finished ironing when I heard Jane waking up from her nap. Clara was playing quietly in her own room, and I really wanted to finish up two pairs of pants. Since I'm not painstaking in my ironing, this took me maybe five minutes and Jane was just babbling. Right when I finished she began to cry and I went into her room. Do you see where this is going? No water. A baby left alone in her crib for five minutes. If you guessed that Jane pooped and then took of her diaper, you are correct.

I gasped. Horrified. This had been a "loose" poop, if you know what I mean. I picked up Jane and rushed her to bathtub. Turned on the hot tap and . . . nothing. Clara chose this exact moment to tell me something really important: the blue "B" figurine that she had borrowed from me, well, she wanted to give it back. She told me this about fifteen times while I was trying to think about what to do with the dirtiness before me. Suddenly, water began to trickle and then flow from the tap. What luck! I thought. The water came back on! Jane grabbed a bath toy and geared up for a mid-morning bath. I stepped away to grab washcloths when I heard pops and splutters and saw muddy water shooting from the faucet onto my already-filthy baby. Still oblivious, Clara told me that she really thought it was time for her to give back the blue "B" figurine and kept trying to hand it to me. I grabbed Jane out of the tub, rushed her back to the changing table, and did what I could with baby wipes and hand sanitizer. It was not ideal.

I ran water for quite a while before it was clean again. Jane did eventually get clean. So did everything else involved in incident. My day, however, was shot. When Evan came home for lunch, all I could do was talk about what had happened. And then all afternoon, I couldn't really get back into my happy homemaker groove. It was all so terrible.

But I'm okay now.

Girl Stuff

2011-08-02T15:42:00.008-05:00

Jane eating. It's a big deal.
And cute. Janie liked being allowed to eat this plum all by herself. She took little, dainty bites.

I love having girls.

Yesterday, Clara got a big, flat package from Lala (Ellen). Inside was a work of art. Clara exclaimed, "Lala is an artist!" Then she had to call Lala and talk over all the details. Can you see why?

On the front was Lala's house. And inside were pictures of her rooms, with all sorts of beautiful details for Clara to revel in. She was completely fascinated.

I'm glad Clara has Lala to feed her love for artfully arranged surroundings. I'm afraid I'm not so good at this sort of thing. So yay! for Ellen, who told me that there's a fine line between a hobby and obsession and admitted she might have crossed that line. Well, I'm glad she did!

While she was breathlessly examining her present, Clara said, "Lala is my best friend," and also kept asking, "When can we go to Lala's house?"

This morning, she wanted to pose with the house for a picture. She made me promise to get prints of the picture for her and for Lala.

Finally, some Clara stories. Outside this morning, she was helping me weed and something wasn't going her way. She exclaimed, "Oh, crap it!"

Last night as she was falling asleep, she said, "Mommy? I love you badly."

A few days ago, she said, "I'm not much into fighting and being rowdy . . . I'm more into being the little girl that I am."

Today at lunch, she and I were counting by tens. We stopped at thirty to note that it is my age. She told me, "You're right at the perfect age." I asked, "The perfect age for what?" And she said, "The perfect age for being a mommy. You're not young and you're not old."

A green drink

2011-07-28T13:02:00.002-05:00

At Jane's one-year check-up, I found out she had gained one pound in the last four months. The doctor suggested that I try to get her to eat more. And in two weeks we have another appointment to get her weighed and also to talk about her gross motor development. And if we get mixed up, we might talk about her gross eating habits.

Anyway, now I've become a slave to Jane's tastes. With Clara I've had the attitude that if she's hungry, she'll eat. So I give her good food she likes and expect her to eat. If she doesn't, no big deal, she'll eat it when she's hungry. With Jane. No. If she doesn't approve of the food, she won't eat even if she is hungry. (If she's not hungry, then she won't eat at all, so I can't fatten her up by feeding her ice cream. In fact, if I try to feed her a treat when she's not hungry, she'll take it in her mouth and then spit it out.) With that upcoming appointment to motivate me, I've redoubled my efforts to get Jane to eat a decent amount of food.

This effort is complicated by Jane's odd tastes. Imagine my relief when I found something with fruits and veggies that she'll always gobble up. Green drink! I simply must share it!

I've tried making green smoothies before, but, frankly, found them gross. I like my leafy greens but I don't like them cold and sweet. But then my mom and I discovered the "Green Drink" sold by a cult-run farm (they're weird but they have great veggies) near my parent's house in California, and we talked about ways to replicate this delicious concoction, which really is more a drink than smoothie. They key is to use fruits that mask the flavor of the greens. Strawberries work great because they're strongly flavored. The Green Drink I had in California also made use of grapefruit juice, which is another strong flavor. That Green Drink had collard greens and kale, which I leave out in favor of just plain old spinach, which is more palatable to Jane. But those other greens would taste great too. I leave out any creamy ingredients (dairy, bananas) and let the drink be icy but not thick. That way, I can keep leftovers in the fridge and it's fine to drink anytime all day.

Here's my loose recipe if you want to try it yourself:

Frozen strawberries (about 6-7 big ones)
1 cup grapefruit juice
1 (ish) cup water
1 tablespoon juice orange,peach, mango juice concentrate or 1 tablespoon agave nectar
1-2 tablespoons ground flax seed
2 or 3 big handfuls of spinach

Whir it up in the blender for at least 30 seconds to make sure it's very well-blended.

Give it to baby, have a big glass yourself, and feel good. Or, at least, that's what I do last.

Summertime

2011-07-23T15:06:00.004-05:00

My sweet little niece was born two weeks ago, and my girls have enjoyed having their grandparents here for the birth and aftermath. Sadly, Papa (or as Jane says, "Bapa," had to go home last week. Jane especially loves her Papa; he's always happy to read her a "bu" (book), take her outside, or generally carry her around and pay attention to her.

We miss you, Papa!We've been going a little crazy with all this summer heat. No matter how hot it is, we spend several hours outside in the late afternoon.

Cold sand feels good. And is messy.

The pool is cool and clean. Sand first, then the pool. Everyone's happy.

One day we cleaned the dinner potatoes in the pool. Is that gross? They do cook a long time and we hadn't been in the sandbox that day.

Jane calls the swings, "Whoa, Whoa," because that's what she says as she swings: "Whoa . . . WHOA . . . Whoa . . . Whoa."

Later Early Childhood: Busy Doing Nothing

2011-07-12T15:11:00.005-05:00

The piano tuner is here. Plink. Plink. Plink-Plink . . . Plink. For HOURS. I'm feeling a little like breaking something right now.

Instead, I'll write. About being four, or five, or six. The years when a child can really enjoy doing Nothing.

Clara has been listening to the Winnie-the-Pooh books non-stop for the past two days. Right now she lying in her self-created reading nook between her bookcase and bed, books strewn around her, Critters carefully arranged on the shelves nearest her. She's listening quietly and laughing fairly often. This despite the fact that the audio rendition she's listening to isn't even that well done. It doesn't matter--these stories speak for themselves.

There's so much I could say in praise of Winnie-the-Pooh stories--the "I know that person" characterization, the layers of humor, the plots so perfect in their simplicity--few stories written for children are so pleasing to grown-ups too. The end of The House at Pooh Corner reminded me of the particular take on childhood underlying the stories: if allowed to, young children inhabit an enchanted world, which parallels the world of grown-ups but is focused on relationships and time spent simply being rather than focused on getting anywhere or getting anything done. (A.A. Milne's poetry reinforces this view of childhood, by the way.) Some people are fond of saying that the Victorians invented childhood as we know it, but honestly, I think young children must always have been like this--living in a world parallel to the grown-up world but separated from that world by a disregard for (or maybe just incomprehension of) the "important" business of life.

At the end of The House at Pooh Corner, Christopher Robin's animal friends all know that he is going away, but no one knows where. At the end of the last chapter, Pooh and Christopher Robin are left alone and go off on a walk and C.R. asks Pooh what he likes doing best and Pooh says, " 'What I like best in the whole world is Me and Piglet going to see You, and You saying, "What about a little something?" and Me saying, "Well, I shouldn't mind a little something, should you, Piglet," and it being a hummy sort of day outside, and birds singing.'" C.R. says that he likes that too, but what he likes doing best is "Nothing." Pooh asks how he does Nothing, and C.R. says, " 'Well, it's when people call out at you just as you're going off to do it, What are you going to do, Christopher Robin, and you say, Oh, nothing, and then you go and do it." He then tells Pooh that they are doing a "nothing sort of thing" which means "just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."

Then C.R. starts to tell Pooh all sorts of things, about kings, Europe, and "how to make a suction pump," to name a few, and Pooh gets muddled and then begins to wonder how it will be when C.R. comes back from wherever it is he was going, and then in a heartbreaking moment C.R. tells Pooh, " 'I'm not going to do Nothing any more . . . Well, not so much. They don't let you.'" Can you guess where he's going? (School.)

We listened to this while eating lunch today, and I got a lump in my throat and couldn't eat for a while. I said something about this being the sad part of the story, and Clara looked at me uncomprehendingly and said, "What's sad?"

I didn't really explain to her why this farewell was so sad. She's Christopher Robin right now. She still goes to the Enchanted Place where Pooh remains after C.R. has gone to where they don't let you do Nothing. Clara spends her days doing one Nothing after another. Listening to books. Paging through books she can't read. Dressing paper dolls. Playing in the sandbox. Swinging. Splashing or just sitting in the tiny pool. Running through sprinklers. Making a bed for her dolls. "Stitching" a tiny blanket for her baby sister. Arranging a quilt and miscellaneous small furniture to create a hidden corner in her bedroom. Drawing mice and their houses. Making a pillow fort. Giving her dolls a tea party. Nothing.

And one day, she won't much get to do Nothing.

I hope to make that transition a little easier for her than it has been for some children. That's a big part of the reason why I feel such strong aversion to schools that emphasize academic achievement for young children. Don't misunderstand, I think that young children can learn a lot and can enjoy learning, but I hate to think of my imaginative, inquisitive, playful little girl forced entirely away from the enchanted world of early childhood just so she can have her name a little higher on the achievement charts.

Honestly, I haven't been in a huge hurry to get her started on "school," mostly because these days are precious. So short and so unlike any other time of life. When it's time to move on, of course then we'll move on, but not too quick.

Peanut

2011-07-09T16:48:00.002-05:00

Ellen (Lala) is gone now. Sad. I wish I had a decent picture of her visit to show you, but I took most of the pictures with her camera, and with my camera I only managed to take pictures in which someone was either sucking on fingers, closing eyes, or just looking weird. So you'll have to take my word for it: Lala was here. We had a great time. Clara said one day, "Lala? I love you . . . you're one of my best friends." Well said.

Last week Jane also had her one year check-up--we're running a bit behind here. The doctor placed her on "weight watch" (not to be confused with Weight Watchers) because she's now barely in the 10th percentile for weight. Remember what a chunky little newborn she was? She's turned into a real peanut. I understand why our doctor wants to keep an eye on her weight, but I can tell him right now why she's no longer the chunk she once was: 1) even if she's hungry, she won't eat unless the food offered is something she's real excited about, and 2) if she's not hungry she won't eat a thing--in other words, she's not aware that there's always room for ice cream. A few nights ago, she actually spit out the ice cream I offered her. So is it any wonder that she's a petite little thing?

An illustration:
Jane at one year, wearing my thirty-year old pajamas.

Clara, at nine months, squeezed into the vintage pajamas. (Remember the bald days? Awww.)

Notably, in one way Clara and Jane are a similar size: they both have big heads. (Jane's head is 90th percentile. Clara's was something similar.) I attribute this to Evan; he's got a big head. Literally, heh.

Socially, Jane seems to be an extrovert like her big sister. (How did I end up with two extrovert daughters?) Jane loves a crowd. She makes friends quickly. She charms. And she loves attention. In fact, at this very moment she's crying at Evan's feet while he plays the piano. All that attention being wasted on an object--not acceptable! Oh, and now he's dropped her off at my feet and gone back to the piano. So guess what she's thinking of the computer? Odious inanimate object. Can't say that I entirely disagree!

I'm Tired. You?

2011-07-03T08:42:00.003-05:00

Jane.

Jane.

Jane.

Is going to drive me nuts.

She's always been such a good sleeper. A surprisingly good sleeper. For months, her going to sleep habit has been to nurse and get into bed while still sleepy and then roll around a bit and snuggle her blanket while falling asleep. That was good. But since we've gotten back home, she has changed. So unfortunate. She refuses to go to sleep unless I rock her. If I try to put her to bed before she's in the deepest slumber, she screams. I think I slept five hours last night.

In her defense, she has a mild cold. But still, I'm tired. I think she is too. Not that she's going to give in and go to sleep.

At least she's cute.

Home and Hot

2011-06-30T16:25:00.003-05:00

If you're used to the heat in summer in Houston, it really isn't that bad. But when you've spent seven weeks in the temperate climate of San Diego, well, Houston feels hot. It makes me tired. Can you imagine living in this place before the days of air conditioning? When tempted to complain, I try to think about that.

We need to drag out our tiny swimming pool and spend the afternoons lounging as Clara has suggested: drinking iced tea and eating cookies. Jane would like that. She's quite the water baby. She splashes wildly and kicks madly. Soon as I can muster the courage to clean up the backyard and put up the baby pool, I'll be Jane's hero. (As if my night time treks to her bedroom haven't already earned me that privilege.) In the meantime, we're heading over to Nathan and Katie's house to enjoy their real pool!

Speaking of which, I need to hop up and get a salad ready to take with me for dinner after swimming.

The bright side

2011-06-21T16:58:00.003-05:00

We've had a tumultuous ending to our trip to California. I don't want to go into details, but our family is doing alright even though we've had to delay our return home by one week. I wish we were going home today, as planned, but I'm choosing to enjoy being with family and friends for one extra week.

Last week, we took a trip to the beach one afternoon, even though it was cloudy. When I was a kid, "the beach" was synonymous with "the most perfect and complete joy." I want Clara to enjoy the beach like I did. Last week, we didn't know then that we would stay another week, so despite the uncooperative weather, we took the girls to the beach. I was freezing, but the girls thought it was fabulous. Jane loved the sand. She did eat one handful, but didn't repeat that experiment.

Jane especially loves to feel the sand between her toes.

Evan earned his Father's Day present this year. He took Clara out in the waves; you couldn't have paid me enough money to take off my warm clothes and wade out into that freezing cold water.

The weather has now warmed up a bit, and Clara has been enjoying picking blackberries with Grammy. The rest of us have enjoyed eating them.

The girls have both enjoyed playing in the backyard, especially the tiny pool. We're soaking up all the outdoor time because I know the heat will be oppressive once we return to Houston.

Clara is obviously a born Texan because her idea of a good afternoon is drinking iced tea and eating cookies while lounging in the pool. Jane is quickly catching on to this.

Yesterday we took another trip to the beach (same one--Carlsbad) since it was a beautiful day. Jane loves the beach, which is unfortunate for a fair-skinned red head. She had to wear long sleeves, pants, and a hat, but she still enjoyed every minute.

See those white feet with the red nails? That's just about the only evidence that I, too, have been on these excursions. The abundant sunshine, cool breeze, and warm sand were just what I needed yesterday. Jane and I shared a Hansen's soda--I know, giving soda to a baby--tsk, tsk; I'm an irresponsible mother. I just wanted her to be happy. And she was. She and I lounged in the shade while Evan took Clara into the waves.

Then, Evan took both the girls for a long walk, while I sat back in a beach chair and stared at the ocean. I hadn't brought a book and I was glad. I guess something of the enchantment of the beach remains for me too. I'm glad I have Clara and Jane to motivate me to rediscover that joy.

Felicity

2011-06-13T17:35:00.005-05:00

I noticed something recently: I can stay at home all day, quite contentedly, if Evan is out. If he's around, then we must get out of the house. He's restless and I can't just do my puttering around that otherwise keeps me occupied all day. You know, cleaning here, cooking there, bringing order to a neglected corner, playing with the girls; I love all that. (This holds true even while we're staying with my parents.)

One day last week, Evan was at home with me and the girls, and we had to get out of the house but didn't really have anywhere specific to go. So we began to drive and ended up at Pannikin in Leucadia, which was a pleasant treat for the whole family. I've been craving good coffee, and the teeny tiny picnic table outside was just what Jane wanted.

Then, we went to a fantastic nearby park that we just happened upon. (Cottonwood Creek Park if anyone else wants to check it out). Jane spent the whole time on the swings.

Too bad she's not a cute baby, huh?

Cozy Mornings

2011-06-06T18:25:00.003-05:00

The view on Sunday morning.

Over the weekend, Clara and my mom went on a couple of outings just the two of them. In the car they had a conversation about the different things people think are important. Unprompted, Clara told my mom, "Well, I think friends and family are the most important things in life."

"Congratulations, Jane! You're one year old today!"

2011-05-27T13:10:00.004-05:00

That's what Clara told Jane yesterday morning after she blew out her candle in a waffle.

A year ago, I held Jane in my arms for the first time. The night she was born, I didn't want to name her yet because I was so surprised by her: she had red hair and was chubby. Not at all what I had imagined. And the name I had thought to use (Mary Anne) didn't seem to fit. So all that first night, I held my newborn girl and thought what to name her as I drifted in and out of sleep. I held her in my left arm, with her head snuggled against my neck. I lowered my cheek occasionally to feel her soft hair against my skin. Those first quiet moments with my red-headed baby girl will stay with me for a lifetime.

The next morning, I decided we should name her Jane. We had had a list of three or four names that we would choose for our baby and though I had thought initially to use a different name, Jane was also a favorite name of mine. Evan had wanted to name her Jane the moment he saw her.

When Clara came to visit Jane for the first time, she said as she walked along the hospital hallway, "Why did my mommy have a red-headed baby?" But when she got into my room, she reminded me that she had guessed Jane would have red hair (a few weeks earlier) but I had said it wasn't possible.

Shows what I know.
Clara was also the one who kept suggesting the name "Jane" while I was pregnant. She's been a special big sister all along.

Can you believe how Janie has grown in a year? She started off as a big baby and has gradually lost ground in the "percentile" charts, but isn't she just a perfect package?

Last night, we had a little family party. My parents' very sweet neighbor made Jane this cake yesterday. Clara helped Jane blow out the candles. She even made a wish for Jane: "that we could keep spending time with everyone," is I believe what she wished on Jane's behalf.

She thought the cake was great fun. (Notice that she eats with her left hand.)

And she loved her present from Clara.

When Clara or cousin Paul tried to take it from her, she grabbed it back and screamed. She's got a mind of her own. Go Janie!

I can hardly remember a time before Jane was in our family. Her cheerful and determined personality have brightened our days and brought us joy. Happy birthday, Jane, our sweet baby girl!

Vacation: So Far, So Good

2011-05-25T21:30:00.003-05:00

On Monday I told Evan that we had to go somewhere. It was cold, overcast, and damp, but I couldn't bear to spend a gloomy day like that inside. If it were winter, I'd be all about curling up in front of the wood stove with a good book and watching the girls play in the living room. But it's summer. And we're on vacation. So we went to the beach. It was cold.

Don't you love how Clara and Evan are walking the same way in this picture?

They built a sand castle together.

Actually, Evan built something that looked more like Stonehenge while Clara dumped a tiny bit of sand in a pile occasionally and skipped back and forth to the water's edge. But if you ask her,daddy helped her build a sand castle.

Jane and I waited farther up the beach and shivered together. Jane was okay with this arrangement until she ran out of cheerios in her little snack cup.

Clara, on the other hand, didn't see a thing wrong with playing at the beach on a 55 degree day. She would have stayed hours if we had let her.

Evan even walked her pretty far out into the waves a couple of times. Good thing I had spare clothes.
A few times Evan had to hold Clara up and run fast to get away from a wave. Here, I think he was being a bit overcautious. But Clara loved the drama.

After the beach we had a little lunch and went to my favorite kitchen shop, Great News, which Evan's brother and his wife introduced us to a while back. I realized while I was there that I'd much rather shop for kitchen stuff than anything else really. Hope that doesn't say anything too horrible about the direction my waistline (and rear end) will be taking.

And finally back at home in the evening, my mom took Clara off-roading in the red truck.

They went up and down the dirt road in this field seven times. They honked and waved. My mom said Clara kept saying, "Go faster, Grammy." Honestly, as I watched them from the backyard, I found their speed somewhat alarming. But apparently Clara and her Grammy are made from the same mold--they came back laughing and wind-swept. I'm supposed to go with them next time.

And tomorrow? It's Janie's first birthday!

Barfy Night

2011-05-21T23:06:00.002-05:00

Do you want to hear a gross story? Seriously, don't read this if you're squeamish.

Last night, a little after midnight, Jane woke up to nurse. After she finished, I put her down and went to the restroom, but hurried out a minute later when I heard her crying. She usually never cries at night after being nursed. When I got to her, I immediately smelled barf. I snatched her up out of her now-filthy bed and she prompted threw up all over me. I woke Evan up and told him to change the bed and then grabbed jammies to change Jane into. But I was tired and the extent of the mess only gradually dawned on me. I got her in fresh clothes only to realize the barf was in her hair, so I took her to the bathroom and asked Evan to hold her for me while I wiped her face. She was screaming this whole time. Just as I got her face clean and began to dab at her hair, she threw up again--this time spewing all over herself, Evan, and the bathroom. Evan, who was not wearing a shirt (EW!), freaked out and demanded to be cleaned off first. I guess the orange colored barf dripping down his stomach was making him sick. I wasn't feeling too hot myself.

Fortunately, that last projectile vomit emptied her tummy and she obviously felt better, so I put her in a warm bath while Evan continued to clean up. Three hours, twenty-five lullabies, and one gazillion pats on the back later, Jane was out for the night and so was I.

This morning, Clara enjoyed hearing about the barfy night that she slept through and the story led (naturally) to other stories of the barfies. I remembered the time I threw up a bologna sandwich. I've never eaten one again. My mom recalled a bad incident involving cherry pie, and Evan told how he couldn't eat black licorice for a long time after seeing it in his barf. But by far the best story was my mom's story of her brothers getting sick on a camping trip and throwing all their barfy blankets out of the tent in the middle of the night. The next morning, a swarm of squirrels had gathered around the blankets to pick out the bits of hamburger that had been last night's dinner.

So. Barfy nights happen. Fortunately, Jane is all better. It was just something she ate--she seems to have a sensitive tummy. After a quiet day and a pleasant dinner with old friends, we're looking forward to a much quieter and less messy night tonight.

Little adventures

2011-05-16T22:20:00.003-05:00

On Sunday we had a little adventure with Clara's cousins Owen and Elliot. We took the ferry over to Coronado island, had lunch, wandered around, and came back. It beautiful weather and a great way to spend time with family. It did sort of become more of an adventure when a group of Asian tourists grabbed the kids in order to take pictures with them. The boys were quick and got away, but Clara is going to be in a few vacation slideshows on the other side of the world. Jane, too, actually. I was holding her and one woman came after me saying, "Red! Red!" And the next thing I knew, her arm was around me and her friend was snapping pictures of the three of us.

Before that, on the ferry. Clara was so excited for "my first boat ride!" We had to run to catch it, and that just added to the excitement.

Clara was thrilled to hang out with her cousins for the day.

Four year olds have a unique perspective on the world. Partially because it's okay for them to get down and look at things while sticking booties in the air.

I, too, have a picture of the red-headed baby for my vacation album.

Today we relaxed at home (my parent's house) and went for an evening walk in the field behind their house.
I can't tell you how many adventures I had in this field as a kid. It was great to go out and see the same wildflowers growing and remember how it felt to be the same height as the grass.

Is this not a serious jogging stroller? It's also great for off-roading.
And is this not a fabulous face?
The sun was setting over what Clara has named, "Moonlight Meadow." She has quite the poetic flair.
This was way better than any little old dandelion you might find on a lawn. Only Moonlight Meadow has such fascinating plants.

When we got home, we had hot tea. Now Clara is cuddled under a blanket between Grammy and Papa reading bedtime stories. And now . . . it's time for bed.

News not much worth reporting

2011-05-15T10:46:00.003-05:00

We arrived in California and have been enjoying the cool weather and time with family. It's strange that while we're on vacation I feel like I have nothing to write about. We're doing stuff, just not stuff that makes for exciting reading: Drinking coffee. Playing in the backyard. Getting groceries. Cooking amazing dinners. Laughing at Janie. Visiting family. Eating. Going for walks. Taking naps. Reading books. See what I mean? We're happy but there's not much to tell you about. We'll try to start having some adventures. Stay tuned. (But don't hold your breath.)

Cuteness Herself

2011-05-07T14:10:00.003-05:00

Have I mentioned Janie's scoot? She won't crawl, but she has no problem getting around the house scooting on her bottom. In this video, you can sort of see how she does it. But mostly, this clip shows Jane's approach to the world she's discovering right now. She's determined but cheerful. She's awfully fun to watch these days.

I'm in the midst of getting ready for our summer trip to California. Clara wakes up every morning asking how many days until we leave, and so do I, but in a different way. Don't get me wrong, I'll have a wonderful time on vacation once we're gone, but getting to that point . . . well, as soon as I get everything all ready to go, I'll really need a vacation.

Clara's Poetry

2011-05-05T09:26:00.004-05:00

Lately, Clara has renewed her early-morning trips to my bedroom. I hear her breath as she comes down the hall and then she slams, head-first, into my side of the bed. She's half-conscious so it's surprising that my bed is the first thing she slams into. Anyway, many times it's so close to getting up time that I just pull her into bed and we doze for half an hour or so. When Evan brings in the coffee (isn't he wonderful?), Clara begs me to read. When I haven't had my coffee yet, I can't possibly read. If I've had one cup, I'm up for poetry and that's it. So we've been reading a lot of poetry in the mornings. And last week on the baby food aisle at Target, Clara began to recite some of her favorites. Another woman shopping looked at me and sighed. "She makes me tired," she said. I was surprised. Tired? By poetry? It's one of the few things that doesn't make me tired; in fact, I find the sound of my girl reciting poetry rejuvenating. I think people are often prejudiced against poetry because they don't realize how fun it is. Poetry with a good meter and rhyme telling a good story is absolutely delightful.

What do you think? I particularly liked Clara's selection yesterday morning.

I like what I do reprise

2011-05-03T14:45:00.004-05:00

Yesterday was an utterly exhausting day. Our old station wagon seems to have finally kicked the bucket. It was stranded about 10 miles down the freeway and we needed to get it home, but, alas, it couldn't make it. Finally, we got it to a Toyota dealer (it's a Camry), but they called not too much later saying it was such a sorry case that they wouldn't even look at it. Well! In the midst of this scrambling to figure out what to do with our sad car, we had errands to run and Clara had to get to the much-dreaded swim lesson. I think we were home for a total of one hour and out on four separate trips before evening time.

The girls held up surprisingly well. Me, not so much. This despite the fact that on one of our errands I got a beautiful new pair of shoes. It's a long story involving an ill-advised Groupon deal, but someone in our family had to get a pair of shoes yesterday, and I was the lucky one. Usually new shoes brighten me right up, but not yesterday. Nope, I was downright ungrateful.

I wore my new shoes today and felt better. Also, I got to do my thing without much interruption. Which forces me to realize that I have really settled into the stay-at-home mom gig and I really like being home. I don't just sit around and eat bon bons, though, you know? I'm busy all day here, but it's a pleasant kind of busyness. It's taken me awhile to get to this point. Really, I've only been able to focus on my job as a homemaker since this January. Before that, I was always either teaching or working on my degree. Now I'm free to enjoy being a homemaker, and I am enjoying it.

Just don't drag me away from my job--it makes me cranky.

Swimming and Sitting

2011-04-30T14:43:00.004-05:00

Clara is in the midst of a two-week swim course, which actually teaches kids important swimming skills. At first, she loved the lessons. But by the fourth day (Thursday), her teacher had to come and pry her off of me and carry her to the pool. Before her lesson on Friday, she told me two hundred and eleven times, "I hate swim lessons." I resorted to some advice Pa gave to Laura: "What must be done, is best done cheerfully." Clara made a good effort for a little while, but once at the pool, she trailed after me crying, "I don't want to do it cheerfully! Waaaaa!" Jane, too, was crying in her stroller. I looked like a stellar mom. Clara did manage to enjoy the Friday lesson, though.

We had a wonderful past two weeks with my parents. We did a few ambitious things including a trip to the Brenham Blue Bell Ice Cream Factory and a trip to the Butterfly Center at the Museum for Natural Science. But the most fun was to be had in the backyard.

Jane loved her Papa. Perhaps because he was willing to sit around and help her eat cupfuls of cheerios?

Remember how Clara looked forward to a tiny swimming pool when we moved from our condo to a house with a backyard? We've enjoyed that pool for a long time. Lately, we get it out every afternoon. It's a great place to enjoy snacks and conversation.

My cousin Matt, who happens to be coming over for dinner tonight because he's in town for a class, used to say that my family liked to sit around a lot. He didn't understand us--he was more of a get up and get going kind of person. Everyone in my family, not so much. We like to sit. Talk. Eat. That's our idea of a good time. Evan is sometimes impatient with this idea of fun. He says, "Don't you want to get out of the house?" To which I say, "Sure, let's go sit in the backyard." This is not what he wants to hear. So sometimes I get myself going, for his sake. But really when I'm with family, I do like to sit, talk, and eat. And when I'm alone, I like to sit and read. So it's great when my parents visit and we can do our sitting around thing.

Easter Festivities

2011-04-26T14:31:00.003-05:00

How's that for a creative title? It's midafternoon and I haven't had my tea yet.

We had our first Easter with Jane! Of course, there were bonnets.

And after dinner, the Easter bunny left eggs in our yard. This year, he cleverly labeled them with the first initial of the child the egg was meant for. We only had one mild skirmish.

Clara ate a lot of her candy right away. She kept telling me, "We have to celebrate, right?"

Jane is the cutest bunny ever. She found these ears in her basket and immediately tried to put them on. How did she know what they were for?

My parents have been visiting for the past week and we've been having a great time. Last night I hosted a baby shower for Katie, which was great fun. Also, Clara began swimming lessons this week. We're having so much fun that I find myself in desperate need of caffeine every afternoon, right about now. So I'm off to fill my little teapot!

Beans and Time

2011-04-19T15:33:00.006-05:00

I was just looking for ideas in my recipe box on allrecipes.com. And I noticed a recipe that I'd added to my collection two years ago today. Literally, it seems like I found that recipe a few months ago.

For that matter, it seems like I'll see this little face (from two years ago) when I peek in Clara's room during rest time.

Nope. Gone are the crazy short curls and a pudgy belly. She's still my little girl and all, but how did she change so much? Is two years such a long time?
So when I hold Jane, I can hardly imagine how she won't always be a wide-eyed baby, watching her big sister run and jump. Is it possible that Jane, too, will get big? It's a strange thing about motherhood: certain days can feel like eternity but somehow it's all going by so fast.

Back to the beans, which started this whole moment of reflection, since I've been making these beans for two years, I guess it's about time to share the super-easy recipe for beans with you:

10 cups water
2 cups dry pinto beans, rinsed (I don't soak them and they turn out fine every time)
2 tablespoons lard (I use coconut oil, actually)
2 teaspons salt
Bring the water to a boil. Add the lard or coconut oil. Bring to a boil and add beans. Cook over medium heat 2-2.5 hours; season with salt and cook til tender--about 30 minutes more.

For two years, Clara has been wolfing down these beans. Sometimes I season them with whatever strikes my fancy and serve them with cornbread for dinner. Or, I sprinkle them with cheese. Or add them to quesadillas. Or use them in chili, as I'll do tonight. Anyway, it's an easy way to make beans quick, and they're always about ten times tastier than anything you can get in a can.

So I leave you with an easy way to make beans and a brief reflection on the strange time of motherhood.

Helpful Rituals

2011-04-15T09:00:00.004-05:00

Yesterday after I came home from a long day taking Jane to the doctor, I knew what I needed to do. Briefly tidy up the house, just enough so the mess didn't make me anxious, and then make a pot of green tea. Tea in the afternoon has long been my way of resting, regathering my senses, and distancing myself from stress in my life. I used to feel a little guilty over my little tea ritual, but I'm waaaay over that. Now I think it's healthy and I love it.

We all need little rituals like this. I'll tell you about mine if you'll tell me about yours.

Every afternoon I brew a 2 cup pot of green tea. I used to make some sort of black tea because I thought I liked it better than green tea, but then I realized that I just didn't know how to make green tea. First of all, water temperature is really important. Here, Evan's persnickety-ness has rubbed off on me, bless his little heart, so I use a thermometer to measure the water temperature--it has to be 180 degrees for most green tea. Then, I time the steeping for precisely 3 minutes. I also use really good loose-leaf tea. You know that tea bags are basically made up tea dust, right? If you're fine with tea dust, then stick with it. If you think you don't like tea because you've only had cheap tea bags, then consider some good loose-leaf tea. We use Upton Tea, but there are lots of good sources. Besides taste, I like doing my tea this way because those minutes of waiting for boiling water to cool a bit and then waiting for the tea to steep give me a chance to do a quick clean of the kitchen. Those few minutes make a surprising difference when it's time to get dinner ready later.

Anyway, on with my ritual. After I've brewed my tea, I pour a little for Clara and mix it with water. She loves green tea and I figure it's good for her--also, it teaches her to enjoy beverages that aren't sweet. If we have cookies in the freezer, then I get one for me and one for Clara. (All our homemade cookies go straight to the freezer. Out of sight, out of mind. Plus, they keep for a long time.) We each take our tea to a separate place to rest a little. Clara often listens to Laura stories during tea time. I read or sometimes just sit and stare and sip. Some days are like that. Those days often require a second cup. I steep the same tea leaves again. That's the beauty of green tea. You can steep it three times and the second and third steeps are caffeine free, so drink away! (Also, if you don't want any caffeine in the first steep, steep it for 30 seconds, pour out the water and re-steep it for 3 minutes in fresh water. The 30 second steep works to decaffeinate any tea.) My sitting and sipping lasts for 20-40 minutes and at the end of that time, I really do feel revived. I can face the rest of the day! And anyone else with young children knows, being able to face the later afternoon and evening hours is a big deal.

So that's what I do. I have to. I'm dependent on this little ritual now. We all need ways to cope and this is mine. Do you have a helpful ritual that you'd like to share?

Girls and their Conditions

2011-04-14T14:51:00.006-05:00

One great thing about living in Houston is the access to top-notch healthcare. Tuesday I took Clara to a pediatric dermatologist (just down the street!), and today I took Jane to a pediatric neural ophthalmologist at Texas Children's Hospital. Both the appointments were illuminating and I was grateful to the doctors who looked over my girls carefully and told me what to do for them.

Clara, it turns out, most likely has keratoderma. I made the mistake of looking this up online after I came home from the appointment. Never, ever look up any skin condition on the internet. The pictures. Ugh. But Clara's skin looks nowhere near like those photos, which are, of course, the most shocking pictures of the condition that can be found. Nothing like a few revolting pictures to enliven internet research, right? Anyway, this diagnosis seems accurate and sheds light on my own childhood skin problems. While there's no cure, there are some treatments we've started and her little feet already look (and feel) better.

Clara has spent this week trying to remember the new name she has for her skin problem. If you meet her anytime soon, she just might inform you of her condition. She has a definite interest in "conditions," especially her own.

Now today, she's trying to remember the names of Jane's problems. Mercifully, Clara did not accompany me and Jane to the appointment, which was and hour and half long, but she did want the details afterwards.

Texas Children's is in the Medical Center, a part of Houston I haven't yet had the privilege of visiting. I could have gone without that privilege a bit longer, actually. Two things induce extreme stress for me: driving to busy places I've never been before and teeny parking garages. I had to brave both of those for Jane's sake. I think 4 new pimples popped out of my skin this morning. Stress does that to me. Ugh. But the doctor's visit itself was not nearly so stressful as Jane's last ophthalmologist appointment, and the long and short of it is, that Jane has congenital nystagmus (not a neurological disorder), but it is possible that a certain kind of albinism is the underlying cause of the nystagmus. It's hard to see right now if she has albinism or not. (Obviously, this is not the kind of albinism that results in in white and pink coloring. But her red hair might be connected to the kind of albinism she could have.) At any rate, she is obviously seeing well right now, and this doctor reassured me that vision often gets better with time. Good news, Jane!

In any case, we'll follow up in a year or two and in the meantime, we'll be enjoying every day with our red-headed beauty who is now bouncing on her bottom (no crawling for Jane apparently) all over the house and getting into everything. She is increasingly determined to get what she wants at any cost and her sweet smile makes us forgive her audacity. But I can't take my eyes off her for a second. Good thing she's fun to look at.

Strawberry Picking

2011-04-07T16:30:00.004-05:00

Katie and I took the kids to pick strawberries today. It was one of those breezy, slightly muggy but still cool spring days. Perfect for berry picking and playing under the trees. (Not so perfect for hair, but that's Houston for you.) I had so much fun that I already want to go back! So I need to eat down that five and a half pounds of strawberries we brought home. No problem.

What will she say when she's sixteen?

2011-04-02T09:50:00.003-05:00

Clara is officially four and a half. Here's what she said to me yesterday morning as I put medicine on her sad little feet. (We're going to a pediatric dermatologist in two weeks hopefully to get her problem resolved.) I had just put Jane down for a nap, and as I sat rubbing the lotion on one little foot, Clara asked me what I was doing next.

"I need to vacuum the living room, dining room, and music room while Jane takes her nap," I said.

"Oh no, mommy, I know your little ways," Clara said.

"What are my little ways?"

"You always try to do too much and then you make me late for ballet," she said in her complaining voice, holding up her other foot.

Indeed, this is one of my little ways. I hate to leave the house with necessary work undone. So I rush around in the mornings cleaning dishes, vacuuming, tidying, and generally finding ways to make us late to whatever it is we're supposed to be getting to. This drives Evan nuts. And now Clara has noticed too. If she notices my foibles so easily at four, what are things going to be like when she's a teenager?

I like what I do

2011-03-31T15:06:00.003-05:00

Today I had to pick something up on campus and it was a beautiful day, so Clara and Jane and I turned it into a little outing. We strolled. We snacked. We sat. We did not eat the gravel. (That was really only a big deal for Jane.) Clara made up a little game involving gravel and sticks. Jane was fascinated.

On our way back to the van, Clara picked a bouquet of flowers from the weeds growing in the grass. And I thought, "I like what I do." Not all days are so idyllic, but usually one day a week the girls and I can take our time and just hang out. And if there's one thing I'm good at, it's hanging out and doing nothing except what sounds like fun.

A cottage of one's own

2011-03-29T15:37:00.006-05:00

What keeps us from being happy? Last night I read the tale of The Fisherman and His Wife to Clara. (My brother Nathan and I had a version of this story on record with a little paperback book to follow along in--the record made a little DING sound when it was time to turn the page. When I read this story, I still hear the narrator's slow, low voice from that record.) Anyway, the story made me think about how easy it is to want more, especially when we get a little. I'm fairly wary of the fisherman's wife's sin: I try not to want more stuff and more power because the importance of humility and contentment has been drummed into my head for many years now. But if I'm honest, my temptation leads me to a not-entirely unrelated sin. I want time. Time to be alone. To read. To think. To daydream. To pursue my own interests. In short, I want time off from all the stuff I need to do, including--believe it or not--being with this chatty and cheerful bonny babe. And I think some time alone is okay. Obviously. I'm enjoying some of that time this very minute. But I also have noticed that when I do have a little of this time that I so crave, then suddenly I want more. And I get cranky and demanding and generally unpleasant when I can't have it. Why is that?

I do truly need some of this time. Just like the fisherman's wife desire for a cottage is understandable, so I think is my need for time. But her demand for a reasonable need leads her down a dangerous path. And so might my desire for my quite reasonable need of time alone IF I'm not grateful for every second alone that my "beloved people" give me. ("Beloved people" is a Clara term for family and close friends. Don't you love it?)

It's tempting not to be grateful. After all, I need this. But don't I give my child food she needs and expect her to be grateful? Just because we need something doesn't mean that we demand it from others. I'll probably be working on getting this for a long, long time . . .

No time like the present to start, though, right? Isn't that a great thought?

Signature Jane

2011-03-24T15:33:00.002-05:00

Jane has her little ways. One of her favortie noises right now is this strange gargle. It's her happy noise--sort of like a cat purring--in fact, she's making it right now as she sits at the toy basket pulling things out and putting them back in.

She has a few words too. Just now she picked up a book with photos of babies and she is pointing and saying, "Bay-buh." She also says "mama," "da," "nigh nigh," and "buh-buh" (for bye bye). For bubbles she sometimes says, "buh-buh" also but more often now she makes a blowing noise. I'm not sure if she's trying to say "Clara" but she often yells "la-la" at her big sister.

She's still not crawling, which wouldn't bother me a bit except for the problem with her eyes, which necessitates lots of questions about her development. She does scoot around on her bottom, using her heels to propel her and she does a sort of army crawl when forced to. :) But mostly, she likes to sit and play. She's usually playing happily. If there is no toy she can reach, she fiddles with her buttons, the bit of diaper sticking out from her onesie, the carpet, or her piggies. She plays with her voice. She is extraordinarily good at keeping herself entertained. But she likes best when I put her near a basket with all sorts of objects in it that she can remove, explore, throw or put back in the basket. She loves to look at books, by herself or with me or Clara.

I like to sit around and look at books a lot, too, so the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. :)

Six Years

2011-03-18T20:57:00.002-05:00

Evan and I celebrate six years of marriage tomorrow. He bought our anniversary present to each other today--Miss Silvia, which is a strangely named but truly amazing espresso machine. Miss Silvia is for him, the coffee he makes with it will be for both of us.

Recently while rummaging through our dresser drawers, I discovered the a bunch of envelopes with little numbers in the corners. Each envelope had ticket stubs or receipts from Evan and my first dates. He had saved them and then given them to me in order when he proposed. On each thing, he wrote funny little jokes about the occasion. I also found a hideous crocheted thingie he had made under my tutelage--he was really interested in spending time with me, not learning the craft, obviously. When he proposed, he wrapped the ring in it. (He doesn't take himself too seriously. I've always loved that about him.) I also found the only love letter Evan wrote to me, which he gave me right before proposing.

At first, I thought I might get out that stuff and put it in a little memory box type thing so we could find it easily and preserve it. But then I pushed it to the back of the drawer and closed it up. Now I know it's all there, and it's not lost, but there's something sweet about all our early love treasures at the back of a dresser drawer, ready to be re-discovered by one of us. The days of courtship and early marriage were a sweet time of life, and I don't want to buy a brightly colored box and think that I've stored those memories. Those days are better stored in a regular old dresser drawer, the front of which always faces out and looks like all the other drawers that hold things like underwear and pajamas. But at the back of one of those drawers are a few fading slips of paper that contain within them the fleeting moments of the first days Evan and I knew each other. Like the papers themselves, those memories sometimes get lost amidst the everydayness of our marriage--it's nice to stumble upon them again, and be surprised by love again, every so often.

Daddy's Home!

2011-03-13T22:33:00.002-05:00

For weeks I've been meaning to have the camera handy to capture Jane's joy when Evan comes home in the evening.

Now he's home for Spring Break! We celebrated the beginning of our week by ripping out and replanting our two front flower beds (66 square feet each). It took us all afternoon and now I'm thoroughly exhausted. We're moving on to the fun stuff tomorrow, thank goodness. I love when Evan is at home with us--good thing he's a professor, huh? (Although I do wonder if Jane and Clara will ever understand how the rest of the world "works" . . .)

A rich and steady time

2011-03-09T14:14:00.004-06:00

As we were reading the truthful and sad ending of E.B. White's Charlotte's Web last night (see post below), we came upon this sentence and I had to read it twice and now share it with you:

"Life is always a rich and steady time when you are waiting for something to happen or to hatch."

Wilbur, the radiant and humble pig, awaits the birth of Charlotte's children all winter long, watching over the egg sac Charlotte made before she died. She herself could not live to see the little spiders hatch, but Wilbur, who loves what Charlotte calls "this lovely world, these precious days," has been given a chance to live and the center of his life becomes the egg sac and his eager expectation of the little spiders that will hatch from it.

The sentence about this being a "rich and steady" time for Wilbur makes me think about what times of waiting have been like in my life. The most obvious times of waiting have been for major life-changing events, like my marriage (sixth anniversary next week!) and the births of Clara and Jane. I'm not sure that I experienced those times as "rich and steady" though, and I wish that I would have. I think that for me times of expectation and waiting have been more "hectic and nerve racking." Probably because there isn't much actual waiting--I tend to not inhabit that time of waiting but rather worry about the impending change or getting every little thing prepared for that change. On the other hand, there's Clara, who is currently awaiting Easter because she knows that my parents are coming to visit. About fifteen times daily she says, "I can't wait until Easter. Grammy and Papa are going to be here! How many weeks until Easter? I wish it were tomorrow!" Her kind of waiting may be rich--there's lots of focus on the joy of the anticipated event--and it may result in a steady stream of talk about this event, but it can drive me nuts.

But maybe it shouldn't. Maybe Clara's kind of waiting is the rich and steady waiting of a child. The wait for Grammy and Papa's visit (and Easter) is the most important thing on her horizon. When she thinks of the future, she thinks mostly of that event. Or, she thinks of going to California in May to visit the rest of our family. At any rate, her life is made rich and, in a way, steady by the way that she waits for the joy of being with the people she loves.

As we begin Lent, I am aware of the need to provide spiritual guidance for my child, but I have to admit that there is much I could learn from her. When I await Easter, I, too, would like to enjoy a rich and steady time, and perhaps the best way to do so is to recognize that I am waiting. My life is a time of waiting for the joy of being with Christ--a joy made possible by his death and resurrection. How can I use this Lent to allow myself to be reminded of this? I hope to abstain from doing things that rob me of time so that I can make time in my daily life for prayer--time spent with the God who is Love--and also can make time for the people he has given me to love. So, first of all, I am going to institute something I've dubbed, "simple fare." While I'll still provide healthy and nourishing food for my family, I'm not making dinners--we're going to have foods that require very little preparation. (And are not fake prepared foods from the freezer section of the store.) Dinner hour has become two or three hours lately and has become stressful for me and therefore the rest of the family. It's time to take a step back and reconsider how the evenings could be more peaceful at our house. Second, I'm going to limit my time on the computer to 30 minutes per day: just time to do the things that I truly enjoy (keep touch with all of you) and that I need to do (pay the bills), but no more. And I hope that this Lent will be a rich and steady time that will spill over into the rest of the year.

The Power of Literature

2011-03-08T19:58:00.003-06:00

Jane is getting over a case of roseola (which Clara thought was a pasta), and has been cranky for the sixth day in a row. Poor baby. Clara is coming down with a cold today, which means Jane will get sick with it in a few days too. Poor babies. (I'm considering not leaving the house again until cold season is over.)

Anyway, today was a day of great crankiness in our house, and I only managed to deal with it by getting Jane to bed by 6:30 pm. Evan was at church, so I thought Clara and I would have a quiet evening reading cozily in bed. We had about five chapters left of Charlotte's Web and tonight seemed like a good night to snug up and finish it. Well. Charlotte dies. I did not remember this. Or maybe I blocked it out, as Clara is currently wishing she could. Anyway, I was reading along about how Charlotte creates her egg sac and lays her five hundred and fourteen eggs and thought that the mention of her weakness and tiredness were referring only to that herculean task. But, no, she really is getting weak, so weak in fact that she cannot accompany Wilbur home from the county fair that is the scene of her selfless triumph and Wilbur's salvation.

I realized too late that all this was heading for poor Charlotte's quiet demise, but Clara begged to read more and I thought she would be okay (and she will be). So I read on. Man, is E.B. White a good writer. He makes a spider's lonely death so unbearably sad. I felt like crying. Clara wailed. And wailed. And begged to finish the book. So we did. It was moderately comforting that Wilbur took the egg sac back to the farm and cared for it. But . . . Charlotte was dead. In light of that unalterable fact, the next generation of spiders for Wilbur to love was no kind of comfort to Clara. We finished the book. She sobbed off and on for an hour. I tried to distract her by talking with her about other things, by singing to her, by offering other books to look at. Sometimes she would get interested in something else, but always a few minutes later . . . her lips began to quiver, her eyes fill with tears, and she opened her mouth to wail a lament for the loss of Wilbur's true friend.

Then, Evan came home and offered to read to her from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which is the book he's been reading with her. Now she's howling with laughter in between shouting things like "ew!" and "why?"

Not perfect

2011-03-05T21:32:00.003-06:00

Several mornings ago, Clara woke us up yelling, "I have to pee!" I stumbled out of bed and escorted her to the bathroom and back to bed again. Since it wasn't even 6 am and she usually sleeps until 7 or so, I firmly instructed her to stay in bed. And not call for me. She looked up at me from under her covers and said matter of factly, "Nobody's perfect." Despite the early hour, I was awake enough to be taken aback. Do I expect perfection?

Tonight as I was helping Clara wash her feet before bed, she banged her foot hard against the counter and made a loud noise. Jane's been sick so I am a wee bit paranoid about noise near her room when she's sleeping, so I said, "Why do you do stuff like that?" Clara, again in her matter-of-fact voice, said, "Oh, I'm like you." I asked her what she meant and she said, "You know, sometimes you do things too." "Like what?" I said. "Like sometimes you don't make a very good salad." (Apparently some people thought tonight's salad wasn't that great.) I was enjoying this conversation by now and said to Clara, "So what you're saying is I'm not perfect." She had walked to her bedroom by now, and was pulling off her dirty little leggings. She said, "No, you're not perfect, but I'll always love you."

Misc. Books

2011-03-04T15:30:00.005-06:00

Several weeks ago, Clara asked that we move her bookcase to be near her bed so she could read in bed, like she sees me doing. It was actually a fairly difficult task--I really had to think about how I might reorganize the furniture in her small room. Finally, I did it, and she has begun to spend an hour or so every morning reading in her bed. Which means I get to spend an hour or more reading ALONE in my bed.

Let's train Jane too!

I should clarify: Clara does not yet know how to read. I mean, she can sound out easy words but she's not truly reading yet. For a while (like three days), I tried reading lessons with her. While we both liked the idea of reading lessons, neither of us enjoyed the actual process. Plus, she's four. Let's enjoy pre-workbook life a little longer, shall we? So we "work" on reading skills throughout the day--sounding out words in Jane's board books, reading signs as we drive, stuff like that. We still do little preschool activities that incorporate letters and the sounds they make, but I try to keep those lessons focused on an activity, like drawing a letter to a friend or cutting paper up to make a book. Anyway, all that to say, she loves books but she doesn't read them yet.

Last night, Evan read from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at bedtime. You know how Dahl makes Charlie's family soooo pathetic and really draws out the "will he or won't he find a ticket" drama. When Charlie finally finds the golden ticket, Clara jumped in bed and screamed. Needless to say, it was not exactly easy for her to go to sleep when Evan finally refused to read another chapter. All day today, she has been talking about how Grandpa Joe is going to go with Charlie to the Chocolate Factory. She can't wait until tonight.

Literally this last minute, the Laura story she was listening to (the last few chapters from Silver Lake) ended and Clara looked up from the toys she's playing with and said, "It's much more fun to hear things than see things. It lets us imagine things more."

So there you have it. Joy in the imagination. I love reading with a four year old.

I need this

2011-02-28T15:47:00.002-06:00

Does anyone else have a hard time saying that?

It's not that I'm just so unselfish that I never let myself be needy. Oh no. Quite the opposite. I'm so fond of being in control and feeling important that I get busy doing things that stress me out and make me crazy. Last week was a really busy week at our house, and I was, um, hormonally challenged, so I should have known that I was going to unravel at some point. But no, I tried to muscle through. Nothing spectacular happened: I didn't strip off my clothes and run naked through the grocery store or anything. I just finished yesterday in a teary heap.

Today, I figured out that I needed a few things: alone time, a quiet day at home with the girls, lots of outside time, and no pressure to get stuff done around the house.

What's the big deal? Why can't I let go and just admit what I need sooner?

Here's something else I need:
time to admire this little cutie, who is now nine months old!

Mothers and Daughters

2011-02-17T11:29:00.010-06:00

Last Thursday morning, Katie took Clara with her and Luke to the zoo. I took advantage of the Clara-free time to get several important things in the mail—including three birthday presents (one of them a bit late, sorry cousin Elliot!) and one very belated wedding gift. Then, while Jane napped, I finished reading the last few pages of Little Women. My friend Chrissy had given a copy to Clara, but since Clara is still a bit young for it, I decided to enjoy the book by myself. Or, as Clara says, I read the whole thing “with my eyes.” (She calls the kind of quiet, solitary reading grown-ups do, “eye reading.” She finds this way of reading baffling and uunappealing.) A few weeks ago, my mother and I decided we would read the book at the same time. I don’t know if she’s been doing her eye reading, but I hope so because the last chapter describes the family’s celebration of Marmee’s sixtieth birthday.

And guess who celebrated a certain important birthday herself recently?

Happy birthday, Grammy!

I’ve immensely enjoyed reading Little Women; even though it’s not a perfect book, I love the concentration upon the love binding the women of one family. Now that I’m the mother of two girls, I am increasingly aware of the significance of female relationships within a family. In fact, at thirty years old with two little girls to call my own, the importance of mothers is just beginning to dawn on me. What better time to reflect on that than my mother’s milestone birthday?

As a little girl, I was only occasionally made aware of how important my mother was to me. For instance, there was the first time I went to camp. I was only nine years old and a week away from my mom seemed like eternity. I tried not to admit it because I felt that I should be enjoying myself rather than counting the days (hours?) until I was back at home, but, really, at nine I wasn't much more than a baby. In addition to losing my only washcloth, being made to dress up ridiculously by the older girls, and taking only one shower all week long, I got horrible chapped lips and didn’t even notice my lips were raw and cracked until my mom came to pick me up and pointed out my obvious need for chapstick. I don’t know which was more soothing—the cherry-flavored relief on my lips or the fact that I was back with my mother who noticed my needs and knew how to take care of them.

Or, there was the rainy day that my mom somehow forgot to pick Nathan and I up from school—I think we were in fifth grade. She didn’t really forget, she thought the neighbor would pick us up, but for some reason that didn’t work out . . . anyway, the details are foggy. All I remember is walking home with Nathan in the rain. It wasn’t much more than a mile; in fact, we frequently walked home on sunny days and it was usually a rather pleasant walk—through fields, mostly—but it was decidedly unpleasant on a rainy day. Nathan and I spent a lot of the walk wondering how our mother could let this happen to us and feeling sorry for ourselves. When we arrived home, my mom was sorry for us too, but didn’t freak out. She just helped us find dry clothes and made us a hot treat—hot chocolate and fresh cookies, I think. Sitting in the dim rainy-day house, dressed in fresh dry clothes, and eating treats, I felt so cozy (to use one of Clara’s current favorite words) that I was almost glad to have walked home in the rain, just so I could enjoy this homecoming. At the ripe old age of eleven, it felt good to be reminded of my mother’s power to comfort and make things right.

While I more sensed than thought about how I loved my mother's care, I was more aware of her guidance of me. How could I not be? A kid definitely notices when being forced to do things like slave away with a dust cloth and vacuum cleaner. Honestly, as a child, I didn't always view my mother as a loving guide--sometimes I regarded her more as a taskmaster. Once, while in the midst of my Saturday chores, which included such difficult tasks as dusting the living room, cleaning the kid bathroom, and tidying my own room, I told my mother, "I think you had children just so you would have someone to do all the work." She laughed. She didn't get mad, she didn't argue, she just laughed a genuine laugh of amusement. If you've ever heard my mother laugh, you know that usually her laugh makes you laugh too. And I did. While I laughed, it just began to dawn on me that my mother made me work for good reasons . . . and she worked very hard herself, almost always for other people.

Sometimes my mom had to teach resort to more direct teaching methods, and I sometimes resisted. A lot of what she taught me was practical, like proper dish-washing techniques and the right way to stir milk as it comes to a boil. I can still hear her voice when I resisted her methods: "Bethany, be teachable." Those words sometimes made me mad. But they always stopped me in my tracks because she called my attention away from my intention to do it myself back to the inescapable fact that she knew more than I did and was trying to teach me something I actually did need to know. Maybe because I became accustomed to learning from her about practical things that I was willing (mostly) to learn other things from her as well. Things like, say, which young men to date. Did you know that my mother talked me into dating Evan? In a kind, light-hearted way, that is. And then she saw me again a two and half months later and I told her we were going to get engaged soon. So, I guess I listened. She knew more than I did, but I'm a quick learner.

As I parent my own two sweet daughters, I am continually reminded of how my mother guided and taught me in everyday ways as she brought me up. Now, I'm the one instructing Clara to be teachable as I try to show her the proper way to scrub carrots or wash lettuce. And I know how important it is to teach her these things, so that we establish a teaching relationship based on her trust in my knowledge and on my love for her presence by my side. I hope the habits we establish now carry us through to the kind of relationship I have with my mother.

At some point, a mother has to let go of her daughter. I'm really aware of that now that I have two girls. Just ask Evan; I'll say things like, "Do you realize Clara's only got fourteen more years before she leaves our home for college?" This drives him nuts. I think I'm rubbing off on Clara because yesterday she was gazing at Jane across the table and she said, "Don't you think life is going by so fast now?" I asked her what she meant and she said, "Jane is almost a whole month older already. And soon she'll be a year old." I almost cried. But when I stop and really think about my own growth from childhood to adulthood and my evolving relationship with my mom, I think, "There's nothing to be afraid of." And, really, there's not. There were sweet and good things back then--like comfort and nurturing care--and there are sweet and good things still now--like comfort, care, guidance, and a new generation of babies.

Mom, you've taught me so much in my life. Thanks, especially, for teaching me how good life is and continues to be when mothers and daughters love each other.

Sun Therapy

2011-02-14T14:25:00.002-06:00

We love the sun. (In the winter, anyway.)

Jane's second favorite outdoor activity: picking grass and tasting it. (It never tastes good but she's a hopeful taster.)

Everyone finds it easier to smile outside.

Big sisters are so handy.

Jane's number one favorite outdoor activity: swinging.

A Drowsy, Dreary Day

2011-02-09T16:26:00.003-06:00

That's what Clara called today.

She also suggested that we have an early dinner and go to bed. At not even 4:30, she thought this was a good idea.

It is a cold day, and I, too, am feeling drowsy. I've done my best to make it not dreary. We made these hearts, had an under-the-table picnic of the leftover corn dodgers (they were good with honey butter), had tea three times and cookies once, and read any number of books. Not too bad. Clara especially enjoyed the heart craft. She told me, "That Mrs. Stewart is really crafty." (Evan said, "Especially when it comes to stocks.") I think Clara is Martha's newest fan. (This may be hard for me.) Despite discovering Marth, however, the cold dreariness of the day has just been too much for Clara. And me.

How can I be expected to make dinner under these conditions? Or put away the laundry? Or lift a finger to do anything other than pick up a teacup and novel?

Can you imagine what my house would look like if I lived somewhere with real winters?

Celebrating Laura

2011-02-07T14:48:00.003-06:00

Today is Laura Ingalls Wilder's 144th birthday and you'd better bet we're celebrating. Clara is wearing her calico, I'm wearing my "dark delaine," and Jane is wearing a calico onesie. We're doing the wash, just like Ma would have done on a Monday. For dinner, we're having pork ribs with corn dodgers and molasses.

This afternoon, Jane was having a difficult time going to sleep, so I wrapped her in our coziest blanket and rocked her in her room while Clara sat in her room listening to Little House in the Big Woods. I listened too while snuggling my Jane. We listened to Laura's description of her sixth birthday. Pa tells her one Monday morning that she was six years old. He gives her a birthday spanking, with one to grow on, and then a little wooden man to keep Charlotte company. Ma gives her five little cakes to celebrate each year Laura has belonged to Ma and Pa. Mary gives her a dress she had made herself for Charlotte. For a treat, Pa plays "Pop Goes the Weasel" for Laura and Mary. And that is her birthday.

Ma and Pa's love for Laura clearly shows in the simple celebration. As I sat holding Jane's heavy sleepiness against me, I marveled at how Ma and Pa loved their girls just as I love mine. I know how Ma must have felt when she baked up the simple cakes for her little girl and watched Laura's pleased face as Ma explained what the five cakes meant.

That feeling of knowing exactly how Laura's parents felt reminded me of a passage from a Mark Twain book that wasn't completed. No. 44, The Mysterious Stranger is admittedly a weird story. A man watches guests arriving for a party, but they're all skeletons and each one has a tab explaining how it died. One is a young woman whose tab explains that she died of grief after her child disappeared. The narrator remarks, "It brought tears to my eyes and made my heart ache to see that poor thing's sorrow. When I looked at her tab and saw it happened five hundred thousand years ago! It seemed strange that it should still affect me, but I suppose such things never grow old but remain always new."

Twain's character remarks on the unchanging nature grief over the loss of a child, but his observation is really based on the enduring love of parents for their children. The love shared by the Ingalls family that Laura describes in her stories is probably the greatest appeal of her books for "such things never grow old but remain always new," and parents and children alike still long for that kind of love in their home.

So today as I wear a dress while doing the wash and try my hand at making corn dodgers with an eager four year old, I'm glad to celebrate Laura, who did such a great job of reminding us of the things that "remain always new."

In the Past Week

2011-02-06T20:42:00.002-06:00

Last Sunday, we had tea and poetry outdoors.

Then, we almost had snow. The forecast was a 70% chance of snow for Friday morning. Clara woke up early, only to find no snow. But see our icicles? A cold comfort.

And our little cute scoop recovered from her ear infections, though she now thoroughly hates grape flavored amoxicillin. Jane also has a new front top tooth, which is handy for grinding against those two cute lower teeth.

This morning

2011-02-02T21:53:00.003-06:00

This morning our pipes froze. Evan woke me up to tell me the pleasant news, and we bundled up to figure out where the freeze was. Fortuantely (?) the pipe at the water main was all that was frozen, and thanks to a 100 ft. extension cord and hair dryer, we had running water again in a matter of minutes. Then Evan had to spend the morning re-insulating all our exposed plumbing.

This morning, Clara wanted to see if Jack Frost came. He obviously had come; there was ice on the inside of our windows, but she wanted to see more. We explored the yard in the frosty morning. Jack had made a thick ice rink inside Clara's wagon. He froze the seat of her lawn chair. Jack also turned the water in her play kitchen sink to ice. Oh, Jack, we hope Mr. Squirrel could find his ice skates and mittens in time for your arrival.

This morning, I decided to weigh Jane's wet morning diaper. It came in at 15.65 oz. She weighs 16 lbs. 11 oz. Pretty impressive output, eh? And all she's drinking is "domestic," as our pediatrician says.

Ear Pain

2011-01-31T16:00:00.002-06:00

Jane has another ear infection. We went to the doc this morning and got some antibiotics, so hopefully she'll be free from the pain of the infection. Poor baby.

It's amazing how a baby's ear infection sets off a chain reaction. Because Jane has been unable to sleep well or play happily since Thursday, we have 1) no bread, 2) no cookies (ah! tea time without cookies!), 3) not been able to hang out with friends, 4) a messy house, 5) lots of laundry in various stages of cleanliness, and 6) not been able to be as physically active--ah! cabin fever!

Amazing how two little tiny ears can throw a whole family into confusion.

Bathroom Clean

2011-01-30T15:06:00.006-06:00

If you can hire someone to do your house chores, or if you love to clean and do it well, then you will find this post extremely strange. But maybe others will find this housecleaning solution (pun, pun) helpful or interesting.

I'm not the world's best housekeeper. I try, though, to keep the house tidy enough to be pleasant to be in and also clean enough not to make any of us sick. However, I was failing on both of these counts when it came to my bathroom. I let it go in there while I was pregnant with Jane. My back hurt throughout most of that pregnancy, and, really, it was almost physically impossible to scrub all of the shower. So I just let things go from bad to worse. And things did get worse. As my mother tells me, "We're living in a dirty world," and my bathroom attested to that. Other than spray-downs with bleach spray, I let it go. And, honestly, the other bathroom wasn't much better. How embarrassing.

But here's the story of how one woman coped. Neither one of my bathrooms is gleamingly clean still, but both are on the road to recovery. Here's how I did it.

First, I had to make it easy for myself to clean. I decided that I needed to collect a few cleaners: 1) Bleach spray for disinfecting, especially the toilet area. Small bottoms and hands use our toilets--they need to be truly clean. I also need 2) a bottle full of very diluted Dawn dish soap for that nasty bathroom, and 3) a Windex-like cleaner because clean mirror does a lot for me, and 4) Comet with bleach. I use it on the shower and bath floors. It scrubs, it disinfects. A little goes a long way. I put a bottle of each of these in a caddy with a roll of paper towels and my favorite scrubber, Chore Boy's Golden Fleece. I put this caddy in my bathroom, and I also put an extra bottle of bleach spray above the toilet in the kid bathroom-you know, for those emergency quick-cleans.

Second, I let go of perfection. I no longer have an all or nothing mentality when it comes to cleaning bathrooms. Now, I take short-cuts. Before throwing a washcloth used only to clean Jane's face and hands into the wash, I rinse it in hot water and use it to wipe out the sink. Or, I dash dawn water on the ground and use my towel to scrub it up and then wash that towel right away in hot water.

Third, I have a routine. On Wednesdays, I thoroughly scrub in, around, and on the toilets. Any other day, I just quickly scrub off nastiness. On Saturdays, I wash every last bit of bathroom laundry, so we have a fresh supply for the week.

Fourth, I clean myself and the shower at the same time. Several times a week, I shake some comet on the golden fleece scrubber and set it near the shower. At the end of my shower, I grab that scrubber and quickly wipe down the walls and floor. Each time I focus my scrubbing efforts in one corner--corners are the worst!--and the rest gets a quick wipe. Then I wash my hands and thoroughly moisturize them with lotion after I dry off.

A bonus to cleaning the shower while I'm in the shower: Clara does a great job of keeping Jane entertained while I shower.

Really, Jane enjoys every moment.

So. I apologize to everyone who had to use my bathrooms while they were neglected. But things are better now, and it only takes me 1-2 minutes per day to keep that up, with a little extra time twice a week. Why didn't I figure that out sooner?

So Much

2011-01-26T14:14:00.003-06:00

Yesterday Clara and I took Jane back to the ophthalmologist for two tests on her eyes. The first test required electrodes on Jane's forehead, earlobe, and the back of her head. The test was meant to measure her visual perception while she looked at a computer screen checked with white and black squares and during a series of strobe-like flashes in an otherwise dark room. She wouldn't look at the black and white screen long enough to make that part of the test useful but her results from the flash test were normal. The second test required that the technician put thick lenses on Jane's eyes. On the back of these lenses were four small prongs, arranged like the corners of a square. Obviously, Jane wasn't going to let anyone put these things on her eyes so she had to be sedated. And halfway through the test, she woke up--not all the way, but enough to squeeze her eyes shut and try to jam her fists into her eyes, which was frightening. I was trying to hold her wiggly body and both her arms while the technician, who was rather panicked, tried to remove the lenses from her now tightly closed eyes. Clara thought it was quite a show. The half of the test we completed was enough to convince the diagnosing doctor that her eyes and optical nerve are normal for her age.

All this was good news, so we went over to her pediatric ophthalmologist right away to talk to him. Jane was back asleep again and he said that the results indicated that Jane only has congenital nystagmus and no other problems, but then he woke her up to examine the movement of her eyes. After carefully looking at her eyes, he sat back and said, "This doesn't look like nystagmus. It looks like something else." He said that her eyes don't have the rhythmic back-and-forth movement he expected to see and her eye movement looks more like oculomotor apraxia, but he's not sure, so now she needs to go see a neural-ophthalmologist in a few weeks. He asked me about how Jane is doing developmentally, and I told him honestly that her eyes are the only thing that seem unusual about her. So. We'll wait and see what the next doctor says.

A strange thing happened the night before last. Jane almost always wakes up every three to four hours lately. I get up with her (rather than let her cry) because I know she just needs to nurse, and from what I've read and from what I know from experience, a baby of her age might truly be hungry that often at night. Anyway, even though I've decided that I'm going to get up with Jane, it's the hardest to pull myself out of bed for her 11 pm. For some reason, getting up after only an hour or so of sleep is brutal. But the night before last, when I heard Jane cry at that hour, I struggled out from under the warm covers, searching for my slippers with my feet, and suddenly the words, "His goodness faileth never" were in my mind though I didn't consciously think about them. (That's a line from the hymn "The King of love my shepherd is," an adaptation of Psalm 23.) As I nursed Jane, those words stayed in my head, and sleepy as I was, I couldn't remember where I knew the words from. In the morning, yesterday, I remembered how I'd had "His goodness faileth never" in my mind and I remembered the context, and I wondered how those words came to mind when I was barely awake and struggling against a powerful desire for sleep.

Truly, I don't know how those words came to mind, but that doesn't change the fact that I can use those words to reflect on my parenting of little Jane at this point in her life. She's 8 months old today, and I'm beginning to feel the toll of nighttime parenting for the past 8 months. I wish I could say that my spirit is willing to get up with her and it's only the "flesh" that is weak. But, really, my spirit often rises in me against Jane's bleating cry in the night. (To be clear, I don't hop out bed at the first sound. I can tell whether she's just stirring in her sleep or whether she's really needing me.) During the day, I've done a lot of thinking about how I'll mother Jane at night and I've decided that I'll nurse her every 3-4 hours, as it's probable that she's hungry. But my spirit rebels at this decision when I'm tired. I even get angry at Jane.

How hard is it to get up at night with Jane? It's the hardest thing I have to do for her right now, and it isn't that bad. Or bad at all. She wants me to pick up her sleep-warm body, hold her against me and feed her while one blanket warms us both. And this "demand" I find hard to meet with goodness! Maybe those words were divinely given. Because as I've reflected on what they mean, I've begun to think that perhaps those sleepy minutes with Jane are given to me by God's never-failing goodness. And I'm thankful.

But you know what? It'll still be a struggle to get up with her tonight. :)

Internet Free

2011-01-19T12:20:00.003-06:00

Our only laptop broke last week and since it's still under warranty, we sent it in for repairs. That computer is my only means of connecting to the internet at home so I've been pleasantly internet-free. You wouldn't believe how much I've gotten done around the house. I completely reorganized our mud room, laundry room, living room, and dining room. Our house looks better than it has in, well, ever. When I have my computer back, I'll put up pictures. I've also been experimenting with baking different sandwich breads, have been teaching myself to knit, have finished a few crotchet projects, and have started "pre-K" activities with Clara. Also, I've had enough time to play a little just with Jane and read to her. AND I've started to do Jillian Michael's workout: The Shred.

About my fitness: I wish that I didn't have to resort to wild-eyed Jillian in order to get fit, but I'm desperate. A work-out video is what fits my life right now. And he's probably going to kill me for writing this, but I've got Evan to do this workout with me. When he saw how it challenged me, he thought it might be worthy of him too. So every morning, it's me and Evan working out with Jillian. Clara joins us too.

About my free time sans computer: I love it. I'll admit that the internet does provide convenience and a better way to do a lot--online recipes, blogs, and banking, I've missed you. But I've had a more pleasant time with in my home with my family than I've had in months. So I'm somewhat looking forward to the return of my computer but not entirely. See you all then!

Oh, the irony

2011-01-10T21:18:00.003-06:00

This morning Clara woke up about half an hour earlier than what I consider acceptable. I heard her breathing in my ear. I hastily got up and walked her back to her bed. She climbed in and I climbed in right after her--you know, to make sure she stayed there. I was awoken sometime later by her patient voice: "Mother, could you get out of my bed? I need some alone time and want to read some books."

I stumbled out of her bed, handed her a random bunch of books, and got back into my own bed. Only then did I realize what she had said to me and I had a fit of giggle which completely woke me (and Evan) up. Better my giggles than the radio alarm. Big girl, you have your alone time. And your books. :)

In the bleak midwinter

2011-01-09T12:55:00.003-06:00

Yesterday it was balmy and the sun shone pleasantly. A thunderstorm early this morning heralded a cold front blowing in and today is gray and misty. I rushed home from church with Jane leaving Clara and Evan to party it up (extroverts), and then tucked Jane in tightly, turned up the heat, and made some hot chocolate. Dishes are in the sink from who knows when, goo is on the dining room table, and clutter from before we left for California is in various stages of being put away but I'm sipping my hot drink and my feet are up.

Since getting home on Thursday, Evan and I have been rushing around trying to get everything back into place and re-ordered. We are, again, rethinking our house. When we walked through the door of our house after driving home from the airport, Evan and I both were struck by how much stuff is in our house. We both want our house to be relaxing and welcoming, but our stuff is in the way! Part of the problem is the hodge podge of furniture in some of our rooms. Our dining room in particular is too crowded and unpleasant. We have a corner hutch, a small buffet, a two-shelf bookcase, and child's table with two chairs all in addition to our big table, four chairs, and two high chairs. What were we thinking? Our teeny mud room is also in need of attention. We have crammed in there a book case and a cheap hutch all jammed full of stuff. Yesterday, Evan got a heavy-duty shelving system and we're going to get that room organized and functional. Then, we'll deal with the dining room.

This decision to declutter and jetison comes partly as a result of my New Year's resolution. As I was packing my suitcases to come home, I was trying be thankful for my nice things as I packed them up, but it was hard because I had too much. I realized that having too much gets in the way of gratitude because an excess of stuff stresses me out and feeling stressed precludes thanksgiving.

I'm Back!

2011-01-05T10:08:00.006-06:00

So I took a long break. Not just from the blog but pretty much from the internet, except for a few necessary emails and bill paying. It was great. But now I'm back with a few New Year's resolutions.

I don't know if I've ever made a resolution in earnest before. I'm not much of a resolution type--perhaps I lack resolve? But this year, I am resolved.

Resolved: I'm not going to complain. It's perversely pleasant to complain, but not at all pleasant to listen to complaining. Also, despite the fact that I enjoy voicing my woes, doing so really drags me down.

So instead of complaining, I'm going to cultivate gratitude. My first step toward being more thankful is praying with Clara at her bedtime; I'm trying to name every thing that happened in the day for which I'm grateful. Of course, Clara herself is one of the things that I'm most thankful for, so I want her to hear me say that every day. But I also want her to hear me give thanks for other things. I want my family to know that I am thankful for them and our life together right now.

I'm thankful for our time in California! We enjoyed our families so much, and I had a much-needed chance to rest.

I'm thankful that I turned thirty here. For my birthday, Clara and my mom organized a "big shoot," as Clara called it. Nathan and I both shot the bb gun 30 times at water bottles. I'm thankful to have a family that enjoys just being together and can be creative about ways to have fun and celebrate. I'm thankful for my twin brother--we've celebrated every single birthday together--for thirty years!

Finally, I'm thankful for this past year. I'll always remember 2010 as the year Janie Marie joined our family. Our red-headed beauty.

A Jane Moment

2010-12-14T09:57:00.002-06:00

My Kitchen

2010-12-10T15:55:00.010-06:00

I wasn't going to force myself to muster the energy to write about my kitchen today, but I really was inspired by Auntie Leila's posts on flow in the kitchen and her admonitions to make the kitchen look inviting. Flow in the kitchen is actually something I like to think about. My own mother is something of an efficiency expert (and also loves that aspect of Cheaper by the Dozen), and so I've long been aware of the importance of not wasting time with unnecessary movement in the kitchen. Auntie Leila inspired me to think about the efficiency of my kitchen again, so I'm participating in her linky party.

First, a word about my kitchen. Our house was a foreclosure and the kitchen was none too pretty when we moved in. It had been re-done in the 80s with dark grey walls and laminate counters, white cabinets, and black and white patterned vinyl squares. Also, it had had a fire in it and most of the surfaces were blackened with smoke. Totally depressing. But we didn't have much money--we bought a foreclosure for a reason. Something HAD to bed one, though. First, we scrubbed and repainted the ceiling and then started in on the walls with a red paint that was my really bad idea. Then, literally on the day Jane was born, Evan laid a vinyl plank flooring over the hideous black and white pattern. It looked better. A few months ago, I used some graduation money and repainted the red and remaining grey walls a lovely green. Evan replaced the hardware and put in new lighting (all on clearance, I must add). Now it looks decent. Okay, now you appreciate how far this humble kitchen has come. Here goes.

It does a lot. We are always in here.

We've lived in our house two and half years, and I've rearranged the kitchen three times now. Each time it gets better. Evan and I also rearranged the living room 6 times and the "music" room twice and the bedroom twice and, well, you get the idea. What can I say? We're a couple that likes to change things around, in search of a better way. At this very moment, no joke, my husband is in the kitchen saying, "I love what you've done with the kitchen! It was such a good idea to move the teakettle!" Pause. "Does the dish drainer have to face this way?" It's the weak link.

Here's my kitchen sink. Auntie Leila is right; it's imperative to have something pretty to look at here. The window looks out over our narrow driveway straight at the side of our neighbor's house. At least they're tidy neighbors. On the window sill I have some plants and I keep my teapot there too. I use it all the time, so it really doesn't need to be put way. I moved my teakettle to be right next to the sink now, and the tea cups and mugs are in the cabinet right above it. Hmm, I guess for me, efficiency at the sink is as much about tea time as it is about getting dishes clean.

Here you see the area left of my sink: I moved the toaster oven and teakettle over there. The dish drainer used to be there. The knife rack is one of my favorite efficiency innovations Evan and I have implemented--no more knife block on the counter! The dish drainer used to be here, but it rendered the large empty corner behind it useless, and this kitchen isn't big enough to waste counter space.

Evan just went in the kitchen again. He said, "Honey, this kitchen just 'sings!' as my mother would say." Glad he likes it. And I like that little expression of his mother's, too.

Here's the view on the righthand side of the sink. I've moved the drainer here, so that all clean dishes are now on the right side of the sink. They're all put away in the cupboard above, or in the case of mugs and tea cups, across the way. But I make that extra reach for the mugs because then they're right where I want them for tea time! I use that small space there for chopping and prepping veggies for dinner. The cutting board is handy. Also, my standard seasonings are on the rack above as well as my liquid measuring cups for quick access--I use those measuring cups all the time! Also, do you know how long it took me to think to hang a pot holder there? Seriously, what's wrong with me?

Here's the other side of the kitchen. (Note the ubiquitous violinist.) On the right here is Evan's coffee set up. That, too, is an extremely important part of the kitchen and must be organized just so. Evan makes me two lattes every morning and I don't want to have to wait extra time because things aren't convenient for him. The coffee stuff is in the cupboards above. There's a task light here and my KitchenAid (can't do without it), and I do my baked goods on this side of the kitchen. Flour and sugar are in canisters under the counter and the pantry a shelf for baking stuff too. So handy. Note also the step ladder and bumbo. For Clara and Jane, respectively.

That's my kitchen. Can you see why I wasn't sure I could get up the energy to write about it? I have way too much to say about this room.

Little Miss Jane

2010-12-08T21:41:00.002-06:00

The day after Thanksgiving, Janie celebrated her six-month birthday. And she can do so much now! She can sit alone, though I often put a pillow behind her because she still sometimes topples backward when she gets tired, and I'm a responsible mom, you know. She babbles babababa, a-puh, and wawawawa. She yells. She huffs and she puffs (so cute). She has two teeth that she got in the space of this past week.

During my graduation weekend, Clara gave Jane a nickname that I at first disapproved of: "little cute scoop of poop." But then I said it myself a few times and found out how fun it is to call Jane a cute little scoop of poop. Now, it's my favorite thing to call her, endearingly. (I made the mistake to call her this in front of one of Sunday School kids and he looked at me, then at Jane, and then walked away.)Before you judge me, try it out for yourself. Look at this little face and say, "You cute little scoop of poop." That's just what she is. :)

As she celebrates her 1/2 year birthday, Jane is entering a new stage of babyhood. She looks for chances to play with her family. She imitates our noises and then looks at us with one eyebrow raised. She reaches for whatever we find interesting. At this very moment, she is desperate for a sip of Evan's beer. (Wait till you're a few months older, Jane.) She cries when someone she loves walks past with out stopping to pay attention to her. Her coppery red hair is growing, and there's a good chance it's going to be curly.

When I change Jane's diaper, I go through all her names as I talk through the diaper change. "My little red head, my chunka monka, my Janie Marie, my little cute scoop of poop!" Her eyes light up as she watches my face and her whole body listens to me. My little Jane is such a delight.

The Mundane Mysteries of Motherhood

2010-12-02T20:25:00.004-06:00

Now I know what I can get done in one day. Not so much . . . or then again, a whole lot.

Wake up. Get Jane. Nurse her. Hear Clara wake up. Note with pleasure that Clara is getting books from the bookshelf and reading in bed. Way to go Clara! Sit with Jane in bed and drink coffee (carefully). Sit with Clara and Jane in bed and drink second cup of coffee (even more carefully). Get out of bed. Get Clara bowl of cereal. Tidy messy house. Nurse Jane and put her down for a morning nap (already?). Get myself a bowl of cereal. Get dressed. Ride exercise bike and let Clara watch Babies. Read while riding bike and answer questions about the movie, again. Check email. Help Clara get dressed. Try to get dressed. Help Clara get over nasty boo-boo from climbing on exercise bike. Succeed in getting dressed. Write shopping list. Give Clara snack. Eat snack myself. Get Jane. Change poopy diaper. Nurse Jane. Get out the door (Heruclean effort). Shop at Target for 4.5 minutes. Find place to nurse Jane (again?). Finish shopping at Target. Drive home. Lug stuff into house. Nurse Jane. Doctor Clara's boo boo. Draw a bath for Clara to help her boo boo. Put Jane down for nap. Put groceries away. Check on Clara. Have small dramatic scene with Clara who cannot decide if she wants to get out of warm bath or not. Put other Target stuff away. Check on Clara. Put in a load of laundry. Fold laundry from yesterday. Quick clean of closet so I can put clothes away. Put away 3 loads of laundry. Move load from washer to dryer. Check on Clara. Put new load of laundry in washer. Check on Clara. Realize Clara and I have not eaten lunch. Now 2: 30 pm. Realize the true source of small dramatic scene with Clara, feel like a bad mom, and go get her some food. Lure her out of tub. Put medicine on boo boo. Let her eat in bed. Find the desired audio book. Press play. Need time. ALONE. Folding laundry. Eat a bowl of cereal for lunch (at least it was a different kind than I ate at breakfast). Do more laundry. Split a grapefruit with Clara who is done with alone time. Go get Jane. Nurse Jane. Start a loaf of bread. Leave kitchen-aid kneeding too long while comforting sad Jane. Feel Jane's first tooth coming in. Yay for Jane! Set dough to rise. Call Evan. Hear him say, "Can I call you right back?" Realize it is the only words I've had with an adult today other than conversation with checker at Target (and few words exchanged sleepily over coffee cup this morning). Nurse Jane. Heat up dinner. Evan home for 10 minutes, just time enough to play violin and give me chocolates. Evan not eating with us--event at school. Realize I have not had a drink of water all day. Frantically gulp water. And also remember to take vitamin. Beans and cornbread third night in a row for Clara. Just like Laura! yay! Spice it up with cheddar cheese. Clara's happy. Painstakingly measure out probiotic powder and put in Jane's sweet potatoes. Feed Jane very carefully. Tell Clara story. Eat my leftover chili before it gets cold. It's actually delicious. Nurse Jane. Braid bread. Clean dishes. Rescue Jane from Clara. Give Jane antibiotic for ear infection. Comfort Jane. Put Jane in pajamas. Read books with Clara and Jane. Put bread in oven. Nurse Jane. Put her to bed. Get Clara ready for bed. Read books with Clara. Run to get bread from oven. Lie down next to Clara and almost fall asleep. Go eat a big hunk of fresh bread. Drink water. Write on blog. Remember two loads of laundry that are done drying but not folded. Look up and see messy house. Sigh.

And that's my day, to the best of my memory. Honestly, some parts are a little hazy, like how many laods of laundry I did, how many diapers I changed, and how many times I nursed Jane. But I think I have it right. Now we all know what I did. And it isn't really that much. So here are the mysteries: Why did it take me all day? And why is there still so much to do?

Happy Thanksgiving from a Nursing Mom

2010-11-25T13:56:00.003-06:00

We're smoking a turkey. Two pies are in the oven--apple, which promises to be the favorite, and pumpkin, which I just have to have. Orange Cranberry Sauce is chilling in the fridge. In two hours, all our guests will arrive, along with the rest of our special meal. Can't wait!

During church this morning, I nursed Jane quietly while listening to a sermon on Christ's words telling his followers not to worry. I pondered the connection between thankfulness and a decision to trust rather than worry. And it struck me that our first food, mother's milk, teaches us how not to worry and how to be thankful. When the baby is hungry, the milk is there. She eats within an embrace. She does not worry about the next meal and the mother does not have to either. The baby watches her mother as she is fed and the mother watches her baby as she gives food. The baby is thankful for what is here right now. Between a nursing baby and mother, love and provision are inseparable.

As we get older, we tend to want more (of everything!) than we need. We want more food, more clothes, more stuff. By focusing on getting more (whatever it is), we pretty much ensure that God's love and his provision come unraveled in our minds. Sometimes we even make the grave error of thinking that if we have a lot, then that means God loves us a lot. The problem is, when we desire a lot, then regardless of whether we get it, we don't really know how to be thankful.

So this Thanksgiving, I guess I want to look at God like Jane looks at me while I feed her. Is that weird? Okay, so it is a little. And if the turkey weren't needing to come out of the smoker, and if the pies weren't needing to be turned in the oven, and if the table didn't need to be set, then I could think about what I mean a little more and make it sound less weird. Anyway, happy thanksgiving everyone!

Moral Tales

2010-11-18T14:45:00.003-06:00

Clara is feeling much better today. But she's still a little tired, so for an afternoon rest, I decided to let her watch the DVD from my wedding for a treat. She's seen it before but it's been a while, so it's like she's watching it for the first time. Clara's comments and questions as she watches are so indicative of all the things that are important to her right now. She is noting the people she knows, figuring out why people are doing what they're doing, and commenting on what people are wearing.

She was admiring everyone's "fine clothes," as she says. She said, "Oh, I think your dress is just beautiful . . . was your dress all that you were wearing?" Confused, I said yes, that and a veil. She said, "But I bet you were wearing your prettiest underwear--all clean and white and starched."

Can you tell that she inhabits the world of Laura Ingalls Wilder?

Several weeks ago, we were in the bathroom at Dillards and the floor had been recently washed so it was wet. After having been traumatized by a trip to a Walmart bathroom many months ago, Clara was alarmed. She exclaimed, "My land! Is that urine on the floor?"

I was recently working at the dining room table and Clara ran up and told me she was running to the back of the house. "But," she said, "I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail!"

In addition to the language of the stories, Clara has internalized the morality of the books. If anyone is being mean or selfish (even just the teeniest tiny bit), Clara is quick to say, "That's being Nellie Olson!" Nellie is great for teaching little children about true kindness, by the way. She often says things that sound nice, but are meant to belittle or bully others. Clara is just shocked by how evil this is.

You know that prayer at the top of my blog? It is partly a request for help in teaching children to love the right things. People, including children, act based upon desires. So if we hope for our children to act rightly, we must train their desires--we have to teach them to love rightly and reject the right things as well. Stories, I think, are one of the best ways to do this. But "moral of the story" stories often fail to do this convincingly; these stories teach children to repeat a pat moral but don't do much to transform their desires. Real stories are not written simply for the sake of communicating a moral; these stories present a picture of what it means to be human in a particular time and place. This is why I love the Little House books. Laura's stories appeal to readers by great plots and compelling characters, and thus can also happily lead children to an abiding admiration of what is good.

Admiration of goodness and for clean, white, starched underwear--that's why we love the Little House books. :)

My Turn

2010-11-17T12:03:00.004-06:00

Clara has been sick since Monday. First, she had a stuffy nose and scratchy throat, but now she has what my family always called "the barfies" and a slight fever. Last night, for probably the first time in her life, Clara went to bed at 7 pm. (And right now, both she and Jane are sleeping. Another first.)

Last night, Clara also had her first night-time barfies. For the first time, I found myself in my bathrobe, barely able to see through sleep-squinty eyes, trying to catch barf before it hit the carpet. Ew. I was not entirely successful. Our carpet is great at hiding things, which is not a positive quality when what it is hiding is the former contents of a four-year-old's tummy. The type of carpet we chose was not my only regret as I worked with a wet rag on the floor last night. I also regretted this strange impulse I have to really understand what it is I'm cleaning. I found myself identifying every little piece of barf--"that's a tiny piece of the grapefruit from breakfast . . . wow, that was still in her tummy? I wish I hadn't made a tomato-based stew with potatoes last night. And, what on earth is this? I better take it into the bathroom to get a closer look." (It turned out to be spinach from lunch.) Before the next barf-in-the-carpet incident, I need to get this impulse to identify under control.

As I cleaned and then comforted and then desperately fought sleep while reading aloud, I remembered several times when my father came to my rescue when I had the barfies as a little girl. Once, I threw up all over a blanket that I loved and was so sad. My dad washed it in the middle of the night, and I felt so thankful to him, as if he'd done something really extraordinary for me--washing my gross barfie blanket! in the middle of the night! I loved him for that. As a coincidence, I had that same blue "kitty" blanket at the foot of my bed last night for some extra warmth. I told Clara how I had once gotten sick in the night and then I covered her with the same blanket. Who knows? Maybe I'll be washing it in a rush later today or tonight.

As I made a little nest for Clara on my bed this morning and read to her for a couple of hours, I remembered my mother doing the same for me either on her bed or on the couch. Once, she picked me up from school and settled me with blankets and pillows on the couch and read a long book to me. In the middle of her reading, I felt sick all of the sudden and couldn't make it to the bathroom in time. I vividly remember sitting dolefully on the couch watching my mother scrub my breakfast out of the carpet. Then, I snuggled deeper into my pillow when she picked up the book again and began to read. Even though I felt physically miserable, never had I felt more loved and secure.

Both my parents taught me that there's something to be grateful for when a child is sick. When I quietly clean potato, spinach, and grapefruit pieces from the carpet and then pile pillows and blankets on my bed to make room for the child who made that mess, I am showing my daughter how I love her. When I clear my schedule of all work--teaching, cleaning, ironing, and cooking--and take time to rest with my sick little girl by reading to her, I am showing her that I care for her more than all the other stuff in my life. Clara's sickness is an opportunity to show her how I love and value her.

But I hope she gets better soon!

Surprise Sleeper

2010-11-15T19:19:00.004-06:00

When Clara was a baby, I received all kinds of advice on getting her to sleep. When I was expecting Jane, I heard more advice--different people told me how to get babies to sleep better, longer. But I had been broken in by Clara. I was skeptical. As Clara's mother, I knew that I couldn't make a baby sleep. It's like a horse and water, you know.

But now that I have Jane, I understand all the advice I heard much better. Jane is one of those babies that the baby books are written about. She's the stuff advice is made from. If Jane is acting cranky, I can put her in her crib, pat her on the back a few times, and leave the room. She might fuss a tiny bit, but she's asleep within minutes, sometimes even within seconds. Truly, this never worked with Clara. I tried. Clara is one of those super-alert, with-it individuals who requires lots of winding down time. So I'm a little shocked by Janie.

On another note, today Clara told me that Jane didn't have feet. I said she did. Clara said, "No, those aren't feet. Those are sugar lumps." I thought this was a fairly accurate description of baby feet.

And speaking of babies. Clara has really been enjoying the movie Babies. The movie has no dialogue, just baby footage. It's lead to lots of discussions about how different people live and the things that bind all people together as well. Plus, it's just fun to watch when you, too, are taking care of a baby all the time. Anyway, I recommend it.

The Big One

2010-11-09T13:51:00.002-06:00

Can you believe it? This man? Forty?

For Evan's birthday, we took a trip with Nathan and Katie to San Antonio. And Evan got a new violin, which he's been enjoying for a few weeks now. The violin is beautiful and sounds perfectly lovely, so he's a happy forty-year-old man.

But we still haven't had a birthday cake! We're celebrating all week, though, so I'm still planning a really great treat.