7 Quick Takes Friday, #74

This week, I'm out of things to give you from myself.  But don't be too sad (as if you were heading in that direction anyway!) because I've still got some good places to send you!  

This is a list of some fairly recent new blog finds I've been loving.  Over the past few weeks and months, I've been lucky enough to stumble onto some pretty wonderful bloggers' sites.  Good writers, thoughtful women, talented artists, creative minds...I don't know (most of) these bloggers or artists very well, but I'd love to.  And I'd love for you to, as well.  Check them out -- they're good!

In no particular order:

1. Fluffy Bunnies: Stacia (and her blog) is fantastically fantastic.  For the few days and weeks I've been stopping by her place, I've been uplifted, inspired, and provoked into thought.  I especially love her questions at the end of her posts to draw in her readers.  But she probably wouldn't even need the questions -- her posts are enticing enough!

2. So Much Shouting, So Much Laughter: Suzannah's (which is one of my favorite names, by the way) is probably one of the newest blogs I've found that's spoken to me so quickly.  I love her bright, uncluttered header, her thoughtful ideas about faith and love, and her kind comments.  Maybe most of all, I love that she turns red and sweaty in public speaking situations -- we're kindred spirits already.



3. idontbelieveingrammar: Michelle blows me away.  Every time.  She's so open and honest about her questions and her wonders and her doubts.  She's real and interesting and heart-spoken.  And even though it took me, like, 5 times to write her blog's name without apostrophes or capitals or spaces...I love her writing style.  It's simple and straightforward, and I can't get enough of it.



4. Simple Mom: This site is wonderful.  It's full of helpful ideas and ways to parent simply and effectively, and it's always good.  One of my favorite bloggers, Megan at Sorta Crunchy, is a contributor to Simple Mom, which is one piece of a larger Simple Living Media...thing.  All of their sites are good, but Simple Mom is consistently a favorite of mine.



5. The Blogging Bradleys : Tammy's blog is good for some beautiful photography, but she also comes across as so sweet and funny that I always enjoy my time there.  She gives good advice and funny stories in comments, too, which she is excellent at leaving.  (I wish I was as loyal at commenting as she seems to be!)



6. Madeline Bea: Life Set to Words:  Now, this one isn't quite as recent as the others -- Maegan has been a blog friend for quite some time now as one of the fabulous co-founders of Bigger Picture Blogs.  And she's just...so talented.  I sigh and swoon at her photography skills, but even more so knowing that she works so hard at it.  She's dedicated and creative and encouraging.  And let me just suggest that you go look at some of her latest newborn shots .  I mean seriously.  Could you not look at those pictures and just DIE from overexposure to adorability?  I did.  I died.  Again, SO talented.



7. Art by Erin Leigh : If there is one thing I wish I could do, it's art.  Something with color and shape and materials and light.  Erin would be my inspiration, because her work is just that: inspirational.  Well, and beautiful.  It's whimsical and layered and lovely. I really, really like it, in a way that I haven't liked other art lately.  Yes, I know -- writing and photography and so many other things are art, but...you get me, right?   Check out her Etsy shop to see what I mean. 



I hope you find something you like among my new treasures!  Have a gorgeous summer weekend, and head over to Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes!

Bigger Picture Moment: Smiling Helps

Welcome to Bigger Picture Moments, a weekly writing event sponsored by Bigger Picture Blogs. We welcome you to join us in finding the Bigger Picture amidst the hectic, everyday craziness in your week.


I had a dentist appointment this week -- one I've been anticipating for quite some time.  It was the jumping off point for some important orthodontic work that will begin to change the way my ill-formed jaws fit together. 

It's necessary work.  It's important. 

And I hate it. 

This first step involved a retainer-like splint on my upper teeth, and it's made me into a whiny, irritated, foolish, adolescent-ish complainer.  I have to wear it constantly -- even while eating -- for the next few months at least, and I'm holding out a faint bit of hope that I'll grow more comfortable with it as time goes on.  Because I'm absolutely not used to it yet.  It didn't look thick or imposing sitting in the dentist's hand, but once in my mouth, clicked into place, it felt enormous.  Speech-impeding, lip-thrusting, teeth-squeezing enormous. 

I don't want to speak because it's hard to form the words correctly, and I don't want to eat because it's hard to chew the food correctly.  If I could only get my mind off of it....but I can think of almost nothing else except this fat, molded, plastic thing stuck to my teeth.

And if the awkward discomfort of having an unwieldy piece of plastic in my mouth at all times weren't enough, I'm also frustrated with its appearance.  I'm being vain and self-centered, but darn it, THAT THING IS UGLY!  I'm not a teenager, so why do I have to wear appliances on my teeth?!  I don't want it. 

But here's the part that's really gotten to me:

There is one thing that makes this splint more comfortable, if only momentarily.  One thing that takes away the irritation and awkwardness.

Smiling.

When I break into a wide smile, my lips pull up and away from the foreign plastic, my cheeks scoot back, and my tongue rests happily centered in my mouth. 

Smiling helps.

Now if I could just stop being so grumpy and worried about how the stupid thing looks, I might be able to smile more often. 

But isn't that the case with everything irritating in life?  A simple smile works like a tonic to a sharp-edged day.  It eases the tension and points towards hope.  It floats off of one face and onto another.  It promises a sweet ending to a grumpy mood. 

Smiling helps. 

I'll try.



Corinne at Trains, Tutus, and Tea Time is hosting Bigger Picture Moments this week; link up and share your moment with us! All are welcome!

An Interview With Justin

Q. What did we do on our most recent date?
A. I thought we were going to go for a bike ride together, but instead I took a 30-minute bike ride and you got red-faced and hyperventilated.

Q. Did you think I'd be able to go on a bike ride without expiring?
A. Only if it were a "motor" bike ride.

Q. What did I look like while I rode the bike?
A. You demonstrated expressions consisting of red-faced, white-legged joy, along with sheer pain and agony.  Actually, typical expressions most cyclists express and experience during a ride, only minus the white legs and redness.

Q. Did you think I would ever fall completely over?  (Because I sure thought I would...)
A. Honestly, not really.  But I did think your balance would be better -- as it is, you looked like a newborn deer on wheels.

Q. What kinds of things do you notice on a usual bike ride, versus the things you think I noticed?
A. I have been riding for over a year now, and I don't think I've ever smelled all the things you claimed to smell on our ride.  For example, dill and honeysuckle.  You're the only person to have ever noticed those smells on a bike ride, ever.

Q. How fast did we go?
A. I'm not really sure, I fell asleep at some point and forgot to watch my computer.

Q. Was my whining annoying?
A. Of course.

Q. How can I gain enough balance to be able to take a drink of water while riding -- without crashing?
A. Since you're already 27 years old, probably nothing at this point.

Q. What part of our biking date was the funniest?
A. When you said your legs already hurt after riding about 30 yards.

Q. What part was the sweetest?
A. When you got hit by the dragon fly.  That was definitely the "sweetest"!  Okay, okay...the part where the sunset was shining up over the top of some high storm clouds, and it turned the edges rainbow colored, and you got all sappy...that was pretty sweet.

Q. Does it ever scare you when a car passes you?  Because I thought I'd fall right over into the weedy ditch each and every time...
A. Sometimes.  But I've never almost fallen off the side of the road like you did.

Q. If you could give me some advice on how to become a better bike-rider, what would you say?
A. Training wheels.

Q. Did I look cute with sweat pouring down my face and my mouth open wide, sucking air?
A. It was endearing. 

Q. Did I look cute with a big, fat dragonfly splattered across my neck?
A. Again, it was the "sweetest" part of the ride.  Your scream was hilarious.

Q. Why didn't you let me take my camera with us?
A. Because you couldn't even take one hand off your handle bars to take a drink of water, how were you supposed to take a picture?

Q. Should we go on another bike ride together?
A. I'd like that.  Especially if you can get some spandex shorts...


I'd like that too, babe.  Especially if you can get me a bike-seat made out of couch cushions.  Thanks for a great date, my love!

What Really, Really Takes My Breath Away...

Is when I look at this beautiful girl.

I see her delicate shape, hear her wondering voice, feel her strong hugs

and I know.

She's already a young lady.

Full of ideas, plans, potential.

Breath....taken away.

This post is included in Communal Global's Tuesdays Around The World. 

Shiny, Happy Baby Curls

Mia and Lauren sat in my parents' jacuzzi bathtub, washing the pool water and sunscreen from our afternoon.  While the toddler happily dumped cups full of water all over the place, I soaped up her sister's hair, wondering if the ratty tangles meant it was finally time for her first haircut. 

Four and a half years old, and her hair has never been cut.  The babyish curls at the ends are still sweetly tender and fine, while the long, straight hair above tells tales of a growing girl. 

Conditioner, I decided.  All we needed was a little conditioner, and those baby-fine curls would last a while longer.  Calling out to my dad, I begged for some 'cream rinse.'  That term from the olden days (ha), when Farrah Fawcett's feathers ruled the styles -- I guess we all cling to the past in some ways.  Me to my daughter's baby curls, and my parents to the fancy name of a simple hair product.

"Now Mia," my dad whispered, "This is your Nana's special cream rinse....so special that she only lets the very most special people use it."  Mia's eyes widened as her smile cracked open.  She giggled with excitement, stealing a glance at her occupied sister: there would be no sharing this sea-green conditioner -- it was only for the most special little girl.

"Can I smell it?" she wondered.  Her loyal servant -- Grandpa -- flipped the cap open and waved it under her nose.  She giggled again, ready for the magic to begin.

"Do you know what this does?" my dad continued.  "It makes your hair so soft and shiny...it'll shine even in the dark.  Your hair will shine like the stars!"

By then, Mia's excitement was ready to manifest itself in huge splashing bathtub waves, but we calmed her down enough to rub the conditioner into her wet hair.  She swam around a few more times before I rinsed her off, and sure enough, those rough and tangled edges of hair were silken and slippery once more. 

Wrapped in towels and ushered into the bedroom, my sweet-smelling girls tried to jump on the bed while I tried to wrangle them into their clothes.  Soon, they found dolls or tiny boxes full of treasure (or, sewing supplies to us mortals) and played quietly. 

I didn't want to go home.  There's some comfort about sitting quietly in the house I grew up in, listening to the pretending voices of my daughters at play.  I walked past Mia at her sewing-treasure, and began brushing her wet hair.  Happily, I noticed the ease with which I could comb through her hair, all the way to its ends.  I began playing with it, letting it wrap and fall through my fingers: wet strands of silky weight.

Inspiration hit.  I gathered pieces and began french braiding Mia's wet hair.  (Or, as close to french braiding as I can get...which isn't very close.)  Over and under and scoop and repeat.  Soon her hair was a mess of braid, but cute in its own way.  She ran off to the mirror, simpering and fawning around with her newly fabulous coiffure.

"You know, Mia," I said. "If you go to bed with your wet hair in a braid, you'll wake up with curly hair!"

She was instantly sold.  And I thought, If she has forced curls from a braid, maybe I won't be so attached to those tiny baby curls on the ends of her hair...

At home, I sang and rocked little Lauren into her bed while Mia was supposed to be laying quietly in her own dark room.  Tiptoeing away from one room, I peeked into the other: Mia was racing back to her bed from the trail of light seeping out the closet door.  She buried her face between her pillow and blankie, baring her braid to the sky. 

"What are you doing, baby?" I whispered.  She wiggled her body and made no move towards speaking to me.  Worried about her dramatic turn, I had to figure out the problem. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

Mia was silent for a minute.  Then in the darkness, muffled by her pillow, she spoke: "Is it shining, mama?"

I was stumped.  What...?  Was what shining? 

I stroked her damp braid, feeling the bumps and folds in the dark, making my way down to the already dry ends.  Her tiny wisps of baby-curl wrapped around my fingers, and I remembered. 

"Oh, sweetie...Grandpa was just pretending about the conditioner.  Your hair...it will be shiny in the sunlight!  But in the dark..."  I bent down to kiss her exposed cheek, to sniff her hairline, to whisper condolences if she was heartbroken. 

But she only laughed.  "That silly Grandpa!  He was using his imagination!"

Relieved, I smothered her cheek and neck with kisses, holding tight to her baby-curls all the time.  "I love you more than all the shining stars in the sky, my sugar-love." 

Mia fell asleep quickly, possibly dreaming about glow-in-the-dark hair and shooting stars.

And I walked into the living room, wondering how I'd ever, ever manage to give her a haircut.  She'll sooner grow shining hair than I'll want to cut it off.

Weekly Column: Yelling Isn't The Answer

When the daily act of parenting gets difficult, it’s easy to raise my voice in anger. There are days when yelling happens without much thought to why it’s probably not the best way to handle my kids, and it never ends well. Here are some good reasons I’ve found to avoid yelling, and to speak respectfully even in the most frustrating of situations.

Yelling doesn’t calm the child.
Instead of diffusing the situation, yelling is likely to make my already upset, chastised, or embarrassed child even more volatile. And a more volatile child is usually not what I’m going for in the discipline department. Since being yelled at makes my child react with fear and frustration, it only makes sense to speak to her with calm tones instead. Hearing a reasonable voice from me helps her bring her own emotions under control.

Yelling escalates my own frustration.
When I yell, my blood pressure rises right alongside my anger. Thinking creatively about a resolution to the problem is what I should be doing, but yelling only undermines my grasp on the situation. Yelling seems to start a cycle of irritation and frustration that will only stop when I somehow manage to calm myself down. So if I don’t want my own mood to swing completely out of reasonable range, I need to modulate my voice from the outset.

Repeated yelling is eventually ignored.
Whether it’s just because they are sick of hearing me yell, or because my raised voice is so common that it no longer holds any urgency for them, I’m afraid my kids will shut out my words if I’m always yelling. I’d rather speak calmly under normal circumstances, and save my yelling for dangerous situations. I want my raised voice to get their attention when they’re about to run out in traffic, not when they’re emptying the Kleenex box.

Yelling begets more yelling.
If I’m trying to teach my kids the value of speaking respectfully, how hypocritical must I seem to them when I yell? Shouting in anger is likely to teach my kids that it’s perfectly acceptable to yell whenever I feel like it. I’d rather them see me feeling emotions honestly and responding to them, but with reasonable words, not hateful shouts. I’d rather they learn how to discuss a frustrating situation, than lash out and yell at people whenever things don’t go their way.

Hopefully, by giving my kids a chance to learn calmer ways to respond, I’ll be teaching them about kindness, patience, and compassion. Now, I’m off to practice what I preach – because it DOES take practice. Wish me luck!


[Online version here.]

Sometimes I Get Bored

I found these characters arranged on Mia's windowsill one day after an un-productive nap time and  had to see what they were up to...I apologize.

SCENE: It's a hot, sultry evening.  Bugs are whirring and zzzzzing along the countryside while the sun blazes from the west.  A small party of sightseers rounds the corner of an antebellum mansion, inspecting the premises.  A bluegrass band is tuning up in the distance, and conversational laughter mixed with tinkling glassware pours out from the open windows of the stately home.

Pink Lady #1: Well, I declare [declayuh]! Who in their [theyuh] right mind holds an open-house ball on the hottest day of the year [yeeuh]?!

Yellow Lady: Now Ella, you know very [verrah] well the Clampit's are a pack of [uh] no-count carpet-baggers, and can't be expected to follow our [ow-uh] traditions!  Why, they wouldn't know a summer [summah] day if it crawled outta their [theyuh] bags and whistled Dixie at them!  [Unexpectedly hee-hawing laughter pops out.]

Young Man: [Rolls eyes.] Apparently, Miss Belle, YOU don't know a summer day, either, or you wouldn't have chosen such an over-padded ball gown.  [Sighs at being confined to the company of such ninnies.]

Pink Lady #2: [Whispering conspiratorially.] My own dress, Mister [mistuh] Charming [chah-min], is not padded in the least...

END SCENE

7 Quick Takes Friday, #73

1. I should warn you that this is The Week Of The Swimming Lessons. (Next week, too!)  I'm so proud of Mia's willingness to blow bubbles in the water and float and jump and listen to the teacher's instructions.

 

It doesn't hurt that her teacher is fantastic -- really, she's so enthusiastic and lovingly supportive that I couldn't imagine a more comfortable environment in which to learn swimming.

She only teaches two or three kids at a time, so I know her eyes are always on my child, but at the same time she's giving lots of one-on-one instruction. 

Apparently though, it wouldn't matter if her eyes were off of Mia for the entire lesson -- I've got my camera aimed out the window the entire time, snapping fifty shots per half-hour session.  It's like I've never seen my child in the pool before! 

2.  I've been so focused on Mia's excellent progress in the pool, that sweet Lauren's been nearly unphotographed all week.  (Which I tried to justify with words on Tuesday.)  I had to make it better, and snapped a few shots of her to provide some balance in my mind. 

This house belongs to three little boys, and she loved playing with their cars.  Really: she loved the yellow car so much that she's kissing it in this picture.  Such a little lover she is.  It makes me happy to know that those rough-and-tumble cars are being cuddled and smooched after enduring years of rowdy boy-play.  The car may not ever get another kiss in its lifetime, but will know it was loved by a pink little girl!

3. This is what swim lessons coupled in the same week with vacation bible school will do to a person:

4. I found Lauren dancing at my computer the other day, banging on the keys.  Yahoo Search was not amused:

5. I stopped by the office of my sweet friend, Jill, for a quick chat this week, and came away with a new book to read.  Have you heard of it?

So far, it's WONDERFUL!  I was drawn in by the first couple of pages, and now I can hardly put it down.  The characters' voices are original and memorable, and the plot is really holding my interest.  I feel like taking a vacation, just so I can read it!

6. Lauren's rebellious little personality is really shining these days.  Thankfully, she's good-natured about it; there's no trace of attitude or hatefulness about it, it's just fun.  She'll blow raspberries with her mouth full of food, shove her hand in her juice cup, and giggle wildly while I reprimand her.  And her latest (adorably) silly response to getting in trouble is to smile her sweetest smile up at me, and ask, "Is dat funny, mama?"

So many times while she's laughing at her naughtiness, I tell her That's Not Funny!  Apparently she's not buying it.

7. Now I need some advice.  If Lauren is attitude-free, Mia is attitude-full.  Something I told her yesterday didn't make her very happy.  I can't even remember what it was -- probably something she wanted to do and I wouldn't let her, so she was getting angry with me.  "You're not a good mama!" she yelled.  Later, on a different subject, she again yelled, "You're NOT MY MAMA anymore!"

I always thought I'd be broken-hearted when I heard something like this from my child, but I was okay.  What I'm wondering though, is how should I respond to those words?  I ended up holding my tongue and just ignoring it -- wanting time to think about the best way to answer her.  But I'm clueless.  What would you say?

Peace out Homies.  Word to your mother.  (Roughly translated, that means 'Have a nice weekend! Stop by Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes!')

Bigger Picture Moment: It's Real

Welcome to Bigger Picture Moments, a weekly writing event sponsored by Bigger Picture Blogs. We welcome you to join us in finding the Bigger Picture amidst the hectic, everyday craziness in your week.  Maegan at Madeline Bea: Life Set To Words is hosting this week, and Corinne at Trains, Tutus, and Tea Time is hosting next week; link up and share your moment with us!  All are welcome!

You know how you click with some online acquaintances more quickly than others?  Like you're more similar than different, and in perfect understanding of every word they write?  Or maybe their family reminds you of yours, or their experiences are SO vastly exciting compared to yours that you can't wait to read their thoughts every day?  There are people you meet who just beg to be known better, and blogging makes that relationship so much easier to find.

This is where the rubber effects of blogging hit the real-life road: friendship.  I think I've mentioned this before, but one of the reasons I started a blog in the first place, was to make friends.  And ladies?  I've officially made friends!  Let me tell you about one in particular. 

Emily is thoughtful and well-written, kind and creative.  We've known each other online for...what...about a year now?  A year.  And over that course of time, we've grown a real, deep friendship that's surprised me in so many ways.  Mostly in the fact that someone I've never even met can become so dear to me. 

Imagine my good luck: Emily and her family are traveling through the Midwest on their way from Sicily to Japan (quite the pit-stop!) and came to my house for a visit a few days ago.  

And here's where I freaked out.  

A friend -- a kind, smart, lovely friend -- was coming over, and I was nervous.  What if I fell into my always-feared awkwardness and had a red face for the entire visit?  What if our families didn't mesh well?  What if I sounded daft and hickish compared to her articulate, intelligent self?  Justin told me that I'd been exhibiting symptoms of freak-outery for three days before her visit.  I tried so hard to calm down, but...this was probably going to be my only chance to see her for at least a few years.  Japan is a looooong way from Missouri -- I had to make it count.

I reminded myself that Emily and I were close for reasons that went beyond my social awkwardness.  We were friends -- real friends -- even before we'd set eyes upon each other.  Meeting in person would be no different than our on-line friendship.  It would just be louder.  Perhaps huggier.  Perhaps....better? 

Yes.  Better.  In person, our conversation was unstoppable and genuine.  I'm told my face never reddened in embarrassment.  Our families were instantly comfortable.  Emily was even sweeter and more welcoming in person than I'd expected, and I wanted her and her family to move in next door at their earliest convenience.

We watched each other's kids with sighs of contentment, eyed our talkative husbands with pride, and I saw the way her face became animated when she talked.

 

And I got to hear her laugh.

Blogging friendships are real.  Whatever may be thought of blogging and its supposedly narcissistic undertones, it's valuable.  It's a way to connect.  It brings people together.  It's real life.

I can't wait to see Emily and her whole, wonderful family again -- we decided that we've got to meet once or twice more before she flies off to another continent, and I'm counting down the days.  This time, I promise (to you all, to myself, and to my poor, put-upon husband) not to freak out.

Now, tell me: has blogging brought you into any deeper friendships?  I hope so!  But if you're still looking for new friends, might I suggest a visit to the other participants in this week's Bigger Picture Moment?  You can't go wrong, there!

Tuesdays Around The World: Today

Today, we're having fun with Mia's first swim lessons!  I hid behind the patio doors to take these pictures, hoping not to distract Mia from following her teacher's instructions.  Lauren played in the room behind me, but since I was terribly focused on my BIG girl -- swimming! -- I didn't get a single photo of Lauren's activities.  I felt really bad for leaving her out of this fun experience (she was begging to swim) so, to make up for it, and since I place undue guilt on myself for any imagined neglect towards the second child, I'll narrate her actions as well as Mia's.  (And I'm sorry for that huge, run-on sentence.)

Shall we begin?

We shall.

Mia's swimming to the side!  (Lauren's eating grapes and reading a book!)

Mia's jumping in!  (Lauren's sneaking off to an attached bedroom!)

Mia's blowing bubbles while floating!  (Lauren's tooting loudly in front of the other parents!)

Mia's holding on to the side without touching the bottom!  (Lauren's spilling her grapes all over a 6 foot radius!)

Mia's jumping in AGAIN!  (Lauren's making a beeline for the staircase!)

Mia's listening to -- being cheered on by -- her sweet teacher!  (Lauren's sitting -- chastised -- on the bottom step!)

Fun, huh?  Just be glad I didn't narrate my own actions during this whole lesson.  They would have involved lots of sweat from the excruciatingly hot day, and lots of frantic searching for my suddenly lost toddler.  She's a quick little thing.  Second-child syndrome must give her super-human speed.  (Either that, or she was just blessed with a super-distracted mama...)

Tell the world about YOUR today at Communal Global's Tuesdays Around the World!

It's Too Hot To Write

(But she's too cool to smile.)

Hopefully I'll muster up some un-sweaty gumption and eventually write something!  But don't hold your breath...you might pass out in this heat.

Weekly Column: Just DON'T Say No

Toddlers are funny little creatures.


If you tell them to stop plunging their hands into the peanut butter jar, they’re likely to listen, and then run those greased-up hands through their hair. If you say ‘NO!’ they might look at their hands as if they’re just realizing that they’re coated in peanut butter, and begin to wipe them on the carpet to ameliorate the situation. If you scream ‘Stop!’ they may just burst into tears before running to you and grabbing hold of your clean shirt by way of apology. (I know none of this first-hand, of course…)

When you tell a little one ‘no’, that’s all well and good. What’s even more important, though, is to tell them what you DO want them to do. Instead of giving a simple ‘NO!’ it’s much more helpful to say ‘Hold out your hand – don’t touch anything – and stand still while I get a towel.’

Until they’re old enough to figure out the best way to handle a peanut-buttered hand, it’s your job to tell them. And that goes for just about every situation they get into that is against your wishes. For example, instead of saying ‘STOP!’ when a toddler is dancing on the coffee table, it’s probably more helpful to say, ‘Get down, please.’ Or instead of giving a stern ‘NO!’ and then walking away when a little one wants to dig in the potted plants, it might work better to follow up with an alternative -- something you DO want them to do, like ‘Come play with this tightly closed peanut butter jar.’

But that one’s a tricky alternative.

Because toddlers are also highly dexterous creatures.


[Online version here.]

7 Quick Takes Friday, #72

1. Did you know that 'miniscule' is actually spelled 'minuscule'?  How weird is that?

2.  Mia got a new bed this week.  It's stunning to see just how tiny she looks engulfed in the middle of a twin-sized bed.  The bed is vast and broad and enormous while she is small and precious and innocent.  I'm starting (starting?) to have symptoms of clingy-mommyhood just looking at her.  She's a little girl.  Not a baby.  Not even a toddler.  A little girl.   

3.  While Justin put the bed frame together, Mia was by his side 'helping' and questioning his every move.  She loves to be involved in things like this: building, cooking, organizing, cleaning -- she's quite the willing apprentice.  And I don't really think Justin minded her presence too much.  I peeked in the room once during the process and heard Mia saying, 'Oh, good job Daddy!  You're a genius!'  His chest may have even puffed out a bit. 



4.  To make room for the new bed, we switched Lauren to Mia's toddler bed.  This doesn't seem so monumental to me, maybe because we've already been through this transition once, but also because a toddler bed is exactly the same size as a crib.  With her I can still pretend she's a baby.  Only, when she falls out of bed at night and tells me a long story about it the next morning, my baby-bubble is burst wide open.  'Mama, I fall out da bed yast night an I cwied an daddy hold me and we tnuggled!' kind of makes me think she's a little girl now, too.  Will it never end?!

5.  Here's my sad news for the week: The bird's nest and all the tiny blue eggs were destroyed.  I've been just a bit on the depressed side all week because of this, and I've GOT to snap out of it, but I also had to tell you guys.  You who were so excited with me and helpful with advice -- I couldn't leave you hanging. 



6. This is what happened, if you're interested:

We had a large box delivered and the UPS man left it right under the porch light.  Right under the bird's nest.  Thinking it was too heavy for me to move, I left it there until Justin got home from work.  Sometime that afternoon, the neighbor's cat scaled the box and ripped the nest to bits, crushing the eggs in the process.  (I would have suspected our cat, but I know where he was all afternoon: hiding in our garage.  He's been a mess since the fireworks a while back, and has been pretty skittish.)  There were tiny, wet, feathered birds in each egg, days from being ready to hatch. But days away from being able to survive outside the egg.  Justin found one that was barely moving, and scooped it back into what was left of the nest, hoping the mama bird would be able to care for it.  But she hasn't been back. 



7. The worst part (somehow) is that the cat was only playing with them.  He didn't want to eat them -- the eggs were just smashed from the fall.  He didn't need the eggs for any reason, he just wanted to mess with them.  And in messing with them, he killed them.  I'm so sad and mad and guilty.  If I'd only moved that box, which had turned out to be light after all...

And I know that these eggs and birds may have met a similarly gruesome end out in nature somewhere, but it doesn't make me feel any better.  I felt protective of them.  I felt some ownership and hope for their flight.

Blech.  I wish I had a happier ending note.




I do hope you have a gorgeous summer weekend, and be sure to head over to Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes (probably with happier ending notes...).

Bigger Picture Moment: The Grumpy Gardener

Welcome to Bigger Picture Moments, a place where we step back and take in life. There are moments where we’re so caught up in it all, the hectic, mind-boggling pace of the day. but here we encourage you to take a moment and view the Bigger Picture. Whatever that means to you. A moment where you recognized the role your faith plays in your every day life. A moment where you take note of motherhood and the importance of what you are doing. A moment that made you stop and breathe in the bigness of it all -- the hugeness that is life and all the small moments adding up to one Bigger Picture.

We hope you’ll join us! Take a few moments, think about your week, and pour however little or much onto a page. Then share. Melissa is hosting this week, so head over to her place to tell us about your moment. Link up, grab our button, and share your Bigger Picture Moment. And while you’re at it, share the love and check out at least one other participant’s moment, too! Maegan will be hosting next week, so keep an open mind and heart throughout the week and come back to participate again or for the first time! All are welcome!






Have you ever planted a garden?  In case you haven't, here's how it goes:

The patch of ground you choose needs to be carefully prepared in the cool springtime.  You'll stir some rich compost into the crumbly dirt, raking it around and deciding where each future vegetable will grow.  Arms full of tiny, leafy starter plants and baggies of seeds, you'll be ready.  You'll sprinkle pin-head sized lettuce seeds onto the damp soil.  Poke holes in which to rest the green bean seeds.  Scoop mounds of dirt over the tomato plant's roots. 

And then you'll wait.  Months will pass.  Your garden will change and possibly flourish -- one can never know for sure.  It's the waiting, the hoping, the wondering that makes me so happy about a garden. 

But in my waiting, I never really consider TOTAL failure.  Things may grow oddly or produce less fruit than I'd hoped, but it will still be there.  Still a garden of promise. 

This year, however, my garden is not promising.  Its promise has been stamped out at every pass.  First, my spinach was gnawed by unseen bugs.  Then, my romaine was worthless because of my own ignorance about the best planting widths.  The zinnias in a pot on one corner (just for the bright beauty of them!) died one scathingly hot day when I forgot to water them.  The broccoli produced enough for two side dishes, which was nice, but surely they should have grown better than that?

The few things left to me -- tomatoes, red bell peppers, and green beans -- had all my hopes pinned on them. 

I walked outside to check on them a few nights ago just as another storm was approaching from the west.  We've been having enough rain lately that it's been over a week since I had to water the garden, so I hadn't stood over the plants to admire their progress for several days.  What I saw crushed me.

The ends of all the tomato plant branches had been chewed off.  Something -- a deer? a raccoon? -- had eaten my baby tomatoes.  And the green beans were in bad shape, too.  There were more bug-eaten leaves than whole leaves, and any beans left on the plants were short and curled in on themselves, as if they'd given up all hope of surviving.  The peppers -- the strong, hardy peppers -- were the only remaining promise in my garden now.  My hopeful spring planting and tending had left me with four pepper plants, and nothing else.

I stalked around the yard, squinting my eyes past the fence into the woods, shooting angry daggers at whatever had taken advantage of my hard work. 

The next day, I pulled on Justin's heavy work gloves and marched to the backyard to do some surgery: the bitten and ravaged plants had to go.  Yanking and pulling, throwing clods of dirt and sprays of leaves behind me, I cleared most of the garden.  My arms ached from tearing strong broccoli roots from the dirt.  My legs itched from the spindly plants brushing past on their way to the ground.  I was sweating and scowling and enjoying every minute of my temper tantrum. 

Later, after washing my hands in cold water, I felt better.  The black dirt in the garden was pitted and tossed around, but it was a clear space again for the most part.  It could rest until next spring, when I vowed to try again, and DO BETTER. 

Because what would the struggle of gardening be worth in the first place, if I didn't learn something for next time?  That's got to be the one, minuscule, faintly pulsing pin-prick of light at the end of the tunnel: I learned from my mishaps and I'll do a better job next year. 

But those tomato-eating critters have GOT to go.

Don't You Love It

When you're enjoying the post dinner-time calm of dish washing and scrubbing while your daughters are playing happily in the bathroom together, and then your naked two-year-old dances into the kitchen, singing a song into her microphone, also known as the toilet brush?

Yeah, me too.

Don't Get Hitchcocky

Circumstances have changed with the little bird's nest since I wrote this post on Sunday, but I still wanted to tell this story in the meantime.  I'll update you later this week.


The little bird is still living at our house. Her nest is still cradling four tiny, blue eggs. But she's so quiet that sometimes I forget she's there -- no peeps or trills or chirps announce her presence. No, she announces her presence in other ways.

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Soon after Justin and I got married, we got a kitten. A tiny gray thing, sleek and rowdy, he was the perfect addition to our apartment. He was so entertaining: on his first night in our living room, he sat on his back legs, front legs extended down to dainty perches. We'd played with him and loved on him so extensively that as he sat there, his eyes started closing. Slowly and without notice from him, his lids drooped and finally shut entirely. Still seated upright, he tipped over...over...over...until he hit the ground with a sleepy thump, waking at the last second and shaking the sleep away for a few more minutes of play.

When we'd had him for a few months, he got a respiratory infection and sneezed all through the night for a week. He sneezed so hard and so often, that he began spraying pink-tinted, bloody mucus everywhere he went. I was distraught -- our beloved kitten, so sweet and happy, but obviously not healthy. A trip to the vet confirmed that he'd be fine, we just needed to put a humidifier in the bathroom, lock the kitten in there with it, and let him regain some moisture in his sore sinuses.

As much as two people could love a cat, Justin and I did. He wasn't the stereotypical cat -- no aloof superiority from him, only sweet playfulness and happy greetings. He lived strictly indoors with us, and we doted on him.

Then we had a baby and our sweet cat was suddenly a nuisance. He scratched in the kitty litter box -- loudly -- and woke the baby up. We occasionally found him perched on the edge of the crib, curious about the wiggling baby inside. The final offense came when we spotted a miniscule black flea tucked under my daughter's infant sock line. That was it: the cat was kicked out. He'd always begged to be let outside, and we'd never let him. I was too afraid of him running away or being hit by a car, so he'd rarely tasted such freedom before. Thankfully, Justin had been against de-clawing him from the beginning, so our innocent house-cat would learn to take care of himself in the wilderness of our neighborhood.

Four years later, he's still here: purring himself around our legs as we walk up the front steps, sunning on the edge of the garden, tolerating the torturous advances of a two-year old, and meowing impatiently at the door at mealtimes.

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Justin had just finished an evening bike ride, and neither of us had yet remembered to feed the cat. It was late, it was dark, and we bickered about whose job it was to walk all the way around the porch to the cat's food bowl. Since Justin was only wearing a towel after his shower, it fell to me: surely I wouldn't make a mostly-naked man feed the cat, would I?

I grumbled while putting aside my computer, I grumbled while scooping cat food out of the bag, I grumbled as I opened the front door -- quietly, so as not to disturb my sleeping daughters. I started out slowly. Our porch light is burned out, so I felt sure there were raccoons or opossums or some other terribly dangerous creatures lying in wait. Not being immediately attacked, I closed the door behind me, and stepped away from the door.

I remembered the mother bird too late. Startled, she swooped off her nest and fluttered around wildly for a moment. I ducked and covered my head -- without lights, I had no idea where she was, other than what I could gather from the sound of her aggressively flapping wings. I tried to get away from the nest as quickly as I could, but she followed me. Bursts of air puffing around my head, I tired to dodge her even as I knew I didn't want to slap the darkness around me. I didn't want to hurt her, but it appeared that she absolutely DID want to hurt me. She darted past my ears one last time before I made it to the other side of the porch, where kitchen lights poured out at me.

Banging on our locked back door, I yelled for Justin to rescue me from the deranged, protective bird. I threw the cat's food down, and pounded on the window panes -- all thought of not waking my sleeping daughters faded in the terror of the attack bird's ferocity. Justin rushed to the door, not having a clue what was wrong. Was there a snake? A raccoon? A june-bug (one of my particularly fearsome fears)?

He tried to unlock the door quickly -- obviously, his level-headed wife was in some sort of distress -- but the lock is tricky. It sticks and hangs. It requires finesse and strategy and the use of both hands. Since Justin kept one hand on his dangling towel, it seemed like he'd never be able to let me in and save me from the (now long gone) bird. Screaming near-obscenities at him to open the door lest I perish from the vigorous flapping of bird wings, I begged him to drop the towel.

He did. There stood my fully undressed husband, trying to jimmy the lock while his flailing wife waited not-so-patiently on the other side. 

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The unflappable cat sat serenely eating his dinner. 

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The bird's heart rate returned to normal sometime later on her nest.  She probably second-guessed her choice to build it on our porch.

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I burst over the threshold spewing some frantic retelling of my adventure and why Justin should be the cat-feeder for now and evermore.

Riding For Glory

I just have one thing to say: This man...

....is incredible.  He's an amazing father, a phenomenal husband, and a spectacular man.  But also....

He can ride 103 miles on a bicycle in 6 hours and 9 minutes.  I wouldn't call him a superhero or anything....

Unless it were true.  Which it is.  He's a superhero!  He rode in the Tornado Alley Bike Tour this weekend, and I suspended the kids' naptime so we could go watch him cross the finish line.  (I know -- this is big for me, too!  Where's my medal?)

The girls were a combination of moody....

Distracted....

And hyper from the non-napping. 

They agreed to pose for a picture or two, before darting off again to play.  I think they were proud of their dad: I know I was.

Congratulations on your second century-ride, babe!  I love you the most. 

(But I would have still loved you the most, even if you'd bonked at mile 4.  Though this would have been a less sweaty kiss, if that were the case.)


By the way, the shirts the girls and I are wearing in the last pictures are from the charity started by Justin's family for his cousin, Glory, who died of cancer.  She was only 22, and many of her symptoms were sadly overlooked.  The charity is called R.A.C.E. -- Raising Awareness of Cancer Early-on.  Stop by the website and look around if you'd like to help!

Weekly Column: They DO Listen!

My toddler – she of little hair – is starting to notice the possibilities for hair bows and barrettes. She wants to wear them, prance around in them, and admire her reflection in them. And then she wants to rip them out after about 3 minutes. They don’t last long, though they look awfully cute.


For the most part, I’ve taken this as an unchangeable truth: she won’t wear pretty things in her hair.

But the other day, I needed her to wear a barrette. The front of her hair had been coated with sunscreen, and I couldn’t let that oily strand fall into her eyes any longer. I clipped it back with a jeweled bow, and crossed my fingers that she’d keep it in throughout our errands that day. Before leaving, I had an idea, though: I’d tell her not to rip the bow out.

Sometimes I forget that my toddler has the capability to do as I say. She CAN listen and follow directions just fine, but I get into ruts where I assume her age-appropriate rebellion and curiosity will always prevent her from listening. I have to remember that she’ll never follow a direction if it’s never given; I have to give her the benefit of the doubt.

That day with the hair bow was a revelation: she didn’t pull it out. She reached up several times to touch it and repeat, “We don’t take it out,” but she left it there for hours.

I’ve already learned to accept that toddlers are growing into themselves with bouts of refusal and disobedience, but now, I’ve also learned not to assume that disobedience or willfulness will always prevail. I’ve learned to trust that she might surprise me with her understanding and reasonability. And I’ve learned to give her a chance to make that choice on her own.

7 Quick Takes Friday, #71

Quickly, quickly, here are 7 things I'm loving right now:

1.  I've never liked lipstick or lip gloss, so I stick to balms and have tried for ages to find one I really like.  Last week I gave into the scandalous $5 price tag for Burt's Bees lip balm, and it was SO VERY WORTH IT.  It's smooth without being waxy, has a faint peppermint scent and tingle, and the shade I got -- peony -- has a very light, pretty tint.  It looks completely natural and fresh, and I'm loving it!

2.  My cousin Joy just began her Mary Kay business, and I now find myself perusing the catalog regularly.  When I ran out of my usual drugstore lotion last week, I decided to skip a trip to the store and bought Mary Kay's Hydrating Lotion directly from Joy, instead.  And wow.  This is lotion -- creamy and long-lasting and barely scented.  So, you guessed it: I'm loving it!

3.  I'm a latecomer to any fashion trend, you know?  Leggings, sherpa-lined boots -- and I'm sure there are more, I just can't think of any since I'm so behind the fashion times --  all are out of my usual comfort zone.  I've only recently stumbled across scarves, and I'm a little in love with mine from New York and Company.  It's not exactly like the one pictured, more multicolored and softer, but I can hardly believe how much I use it.  It's a blanket at the movies, an umbrella in the rain, a cover for my baby's legs in a cool restaurant ... I never imagined I'd use it so much, and I'm loving it!

4.  The thunderstorms we've been having sporadically over the last few weeks are so gorgeous!  I've always loved storms, and those that pop up in summertime seem more spectacular than most.  The heat of the day collides with the humid air, and grey, roiling clouds seem to build out of nowhere, whipping up the wind and rumbling with thunder in the distance.  I'm really loving them!

5.  My friend Emily is leaving Sicily today, her home for the past few years, and she wrote a beautiful post yesterday describing her thoughts on the occasion.  And if you've never read Emily's words, you really should -- she writes so beautifully!  Her post about leaving Sicily is a gorgeous example of why I fell in love with her blog in the first place: the descriptions, the thoughtfulness, the pictures she paints with her words...her blog is uplifting and real at the same time.  As sad as the post made me for her sake (And even a little bit for my sake!  I'm going to miss seeing Sicily through her words!), it also made me excited to read about her next adventures in Japan; I'm sincerely loving it.

6.  I'm so picky about the way Justin smells, and when he finds something we both like, I tend to obsess a little about it.  Every Man Jack Shave Cream is my newest favorite.  I imagine it works really well -- his jaw is always smooth and welcoming -- but what I love about it is the scent.  So clean and simple!  Not fussy or perfumey, THIS is what a man should smell like!  In my humble, wifely opinion, that is.  I'm (swoonfully) loving it!

7.  I snuck Pride and Prejudice into the DVD player one night this week while Justin was in the other room.  Tricky, yes, but...I love it!  This is the older version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, and it makes me giggle, sigh, and get teary.  At my favorite scenes -- those with Elizabeth meeting Mr. Darcy unexpectedly at Pemberly -- I had such a wide, goofy grin on my face that when Justin looked over at me (knowing exactly what expression I'd be making, because I make some variation of it throughout the entire movie) he laughed.  Then he said, "You're so beautiful, sweetheart."  It must be Pride & Prejudice: it makes me beautiful.  Therefore, I'm loving it.  (Not to mention my sweet-smelling, sweet-talking honey.)

What are you loving lately?  Let me know, and be sure to stop over at Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes.  (I'm loving those, too!)