Baby on Aisle Three

The hardest part about shopping with a baby (one who isn't being worn in a sling) is that at the end, there is no place to put the FOOD in the cart.  Still, even though the cashier always looks at me crooked when I attempt to fill 2 square feet of storage space with 4 square feet of groceries, I don't mind.

I like a challenge.  And I like to pretend I'm baby-shopping. 

I'll take THIS one, please. 


What was your day like today?  Any cramming of impossible amounts of goods into tiny spaces?  Any baby-shopping?

Winter is Beautiful -- Except for the Viruses

Winter can be such a beautiful season: crisp and bright and still.

I might complain occasionally of the cold or the cabin-fever brought on by a snowstorm, but all in all, winter isn’t too high on my hate-list.  Of course, my sometimes-fondness for winter isn’t hurt any by the mild season we’ve been having this year.

But for all its beauty, winter has the ability to bring me to my knees.  The dry air and lack of sunshine creates the perfect environment in which sickness thrives.  Having small children, I sometimes think of winter and its accompanying viruses as a minefield.  One we must navigate with stealth and cunning if we are to avoid the worst of the season’s offerings.

Even if your family chooses to vaccinate against the flu, the vaccine isn’t one-hundred percent guaranteed to protect.  Plus, there are numerous other viruses making the rounds each year, meaning that we must take matters into our own hands as much as we are able. 

Here are some simple ways to keep winter’s minions from felling your house with sickness:

Wash your hands
We’ve all heard this mantra before, and with good reason: it’s scientifically proven to remove the germs that would infect us before they can reach our noses or mouths.  If the virus isn’t on your hands, it’s less likely to take up residence in your body.  Wash several times per day with warm water and regular soap to rid your hands of their ability to spread germs.

Turn and cover
It’s almost as useless to cough into a hand as it is to cough without covering at all.  The germs on a cough-catching palm are easily transferable to doorknobs, toys, and friends.  Teach your kids to turn away and cough into their elbows instead, trapping the germs in an out of reach area.

Fuel up

Feed your family foods that are proven to boost immunity.  Load up on onions, garlic, citrus, probiotic yogurts, black tea, bell peppers, fish, and oats.  Eating chicken soup is no joke: the hot, salty broth can thin mucous secretions while the iron and protein in chicken can strengthen blood cells and aid in antibody production.  Be sure to supplement with plenty of Vitamin D (ask your doctor for correct dosages) as its components help our bodies fight illness.  

Count (healthy) sheep
To be able to fight off viruses easily, our bodies need to be well-rested.  Get your kids to bed at regular or even slightly early times during the winter months.  If a virus has already taken hold, keep little ones home in bed to let their bodies heal while keeping their germs contained.

Stay Hydrated
When your body – cells, organs, and skin – is well hydrated, it’s harder for viruses to take hold.  Moist mucous membranes trap the germs that would burrow into our system, causing sickness.  Drink mostly water – all day long – supplemented by hot tea and a little bit of fruit juice, especially those that are naturally full of vitamins, like orange juice. 

Nothing is a foolproof guarantee against our families getting sick during the dry, cold winter season, but implementing these practices to stay healthy can only improve our chances.  

Which, in turn, has the ability to keep winter just as it should be: beautiful and bright.



[Originally published here.]


What does your family do to avoid winter germs?  Share your tips and tricks!

Some Quickety Quick Takes for January

1.  When Landon was born and placed in my arms, he immediately began to nurse.  He knew exactly what to do, and he didn't stop for over an hour.  An hour of sweet newborn baby suckles.  My good friend Jill was there with me and she knew right away that he was going to be my binkie-baby. 

I, however, had no idea.  Neither of the girls were interested in pacifiers in the least, so it just never occurred to me that Landon would need one.  Well, until his second night of life.  Even that early on, it seemed clear that he needed more sucking than I was physically able to provide.  Plus, he cried if he got even a drop of milk when all he wanted was comfort suckling.  Enter: binkie.

Now, I constantly find myself wondering: HOW ON EARTH did I raise two babies from infancy without the benefit of a pacifier?  I'm just not sure how we survived!  Landon is an easy baby, it's true, but the pacifier holds a special place in my heart for the times when he's not quite as satisfied as usual. 

What about you?  Did your babies like binkies? 

I realized he's binkie-less here...it's something I'm trying to ignore just so you can see a sweet picture!

2. Probably not surprisingly, Landon also found his thumb over the past week. What do you think: should I encourage one over the other? Let him have the binkie at-will, but gently remove his thumb? Let him suck his thumb, and slowly forget about the binkie? Or forget about it all, and just let him enjoy his favorite pastime however he finds it?



3. You know, for the last 8 months or so, I've dutifully IGNORED Pinterest because I simply CANNOT have one more thing distracting me from the laundry I'd rather not do and the writing I'm too intimidated to begin. I've turned up my nose at invites. Vowed eternal abstinence from the Pin-Empire. 

Wondered how much fun it could be....

Yesterday, I accidentally (accidentally!!) took a teensy, little, bitty, innocent look at a pin somebody linked to....

and ended up spending 15 minutes scrolling through some nonsense that was increasingly hard to ignore. Such pretty, sparkly, ingenious things there were to see. 

So anyway, I fell off of my own poorly constructed anti-Pinterest wagon. Mourn my demise if you care to. 

And follow me over there. Let's see if I can get this bad boy figured out.



4.  Mia's class celebrated their 100th day of school this week, and I found this in her folder:

What's that in her (rather large) hand?  No, not the cane.  The BLANKIE.  Apparently, she still fully intends to hold onto it (though I doubt it will still be pink as its current color resides somewhere between pale gray and pale Caucasian skin-tone) through graduations and weddings and childbirth and all that.

But I fully understand her compulsion: I had a beloved blankie up until I was a junior-higher at least.  Poor thing disintegrated after that.  I've never been the same since.


5.  I'm okay with her being attached to such an innocent thing as a blankie.  I don't mind her being young while she's young, you know?  Because I'm getting glimpses of grown-up Mia.  Here, for example was thirty seconds or so of dinner conversation the other night:

"Mommy, why do boys have big pee-pees?"

"Uh...that's just how their bodies were made.  Because everybody's different, you see."  Vague, much?

"Yeah.  But mommy?"  And here is where I started to break into a cold sweat, worried about the direction of the conversation.  "When will the world end?"

What the...?  Still cold sweats, but for entirely different reasons.

And then we went on to have a little bitty conversation that blew my socks off in its sweetness.  I'll have to tell you about it soon.



6.  But look!  Happy little girls! 

We finally got them into bunk beds, making their small room a little more habitable.  In fact, this is where you can find them any hour of the day, pretty much.  The top bunk is available for entrance only after you've passed the inspection of the tiny bouncers.  If you're not on the list -- no matter how cool you promise to be -- you're not allowed in.  Period.  You're doomed to the living room while the party rages.

7.  So, uh.  I need to go check something realquick on Pinterest.  I'll be right back.  Promise...

Bigger Picture Moment: Positively Filled

The garage door is open, letting frosty air settle around the mini-van as we leave for school.  Lauren drops her backpack by the passenger side, reaches up to the door handle, and tugs backwards.  One hand is not enough -- she stretches on tip-toe now and grabs the handle with the other hand as well. 

I can feel the smooth handle cold in her grasp as if it were in my own.  She grimaces.  She yanks.  She arches and pulls.  And nothing happens.  The latch is too firm for her to open without help.

But, as is her habit of late, I know she'll refuse help or at least become very angry when I attempt to help.  So I wait patiently.  And with my own hand dipped into my purse, I push the automatic button on the key fob.

The door glides open with a soft whoosh of hydraulics.  Lauren's face opens up from within.  She is positively filled with delight.

------------

 

Steam billows in great clouds of warmth as Mia sings in the shower, dancing and slipping.

She pauses while I lather a dob of silvery shampoo into her scalp.  I tell her, start scrubbing from the top to the bottom, and don't forget any chunks of hair.  She reaches up, dancing again, and scrubs one small bit of hair, directly on the top-center of her head.  I squint at her bare attempt.  With four hands, we manage to make each strand and lock slippery with soap.

We repeat the facade.  I instruct, she attempts, I cleanse, she dances.  As the water turns from comfortably warm to bracingly cool, I force one last rinse-off.  She steps from the shower into my towel-clad arms.  I chuff and rub her skin dry as she chatters her teeth behind purplish lips. 

She smiles as broadly at her grown-up ability to shower.  She swells with dignity and dances towards the bedroom and warm pajamas.  She is positively filled with delight.

------------

Landon's bedroom is almost completely dark.  A tiny green light in the corner shows me where the baby monitor lies; a slice of muted white light tries to filch in under the door frame; the digital clock glows red on a top shelf. 

I shift Landon's sleeping head from my left elbow to my right palm.  He is swaddled and compact; he probably won't even register my motion in his perfect sleeping package.  I've done an awesome swaddle, I think. 

What's more, I've done an awesome bedtime.  I rocked him until his eyes became heavy, I walked him until his breathing became deep, and now, I think, I'm within reach of the goal. 

I step over to the crib, nestle him into his favorite position on the flannel sheet, prop his binkie in place with his swaddled fists, and back away.  Slowly.  I don't want a popped ankle or stubbed toe to undo my perfect bedtime success. 

On the other side of the closed door, I sigh in relief.  My pride at a bedtime well-done overflows.  I am positively filled with delight.

------------

 

And yet, none of us has really done anything on our own.  We each had help or luck or blessings to see us through.  We are each imperfect in our assumptions of triumph.

But our joy isn't dampened by that knowledge.  Instead, it is completed by that knowledge.

It's okay to be filled with delight, however softly our attempts fall into the category of success.

We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful. Please join us here today!  Grab the button, link up, and read a few others to encourage them as they walk this journey of intentional living.

To Inspire and Create

I don't know why I haven't mentioned this yet, because it's really put some fun into the bleak winter days around here.  Want to banish the bleak at your place, too?  Good!  Then follow me!

Each week over at Bigger Picture Blogs, we're doing a little bit of creative inspiration for your day.  Every Wednesday, there'll be a prompt -- a word or thought -- that we hope you'll use to inspire and create through photography! 

Here are some of the photos I've captured for the project since we've begun:

It's so much fun to go through the day trying to find ways to make the prompt come to life in a photo!

I'm using Instagram, but if you use Flickr, Facebook, or just good ol' blogging, that's perfect too.  The idea is to inspire creation, not demand compliance, so do what you like!  Check out the prompt each week and see what's going on on the Bigger Picture Blogs Facebook page to see everybody else's entries. 

I hope you'll play along! 

It's National Peanut Butter Day!

And you know what that means, right? 

We celebrate!  Because here at Heavenly House, peanut butter is a food group unto itself.  Nay -- scratch that -- peanut butter is THE MOST IMPORTANT food group. 

We snack on peanut butter spoons (something that should be marketed by street vendors and deli counters -- they'd be rich) and nibble on peanut butter sandwiches and lick peanut butter fingers.  Which are closely related to peanut butter spoons but with more drool.  We serve it with apples, carrots, celery, bananas, toast, waffles, pancakes...in short, I feed my kids peanut butter whenever they darn-well please, for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.  They love the stuff. 

And I love it, too.  It's packed with tummy-filling protein and fiber, plus the fat in natural peanut butter is of the truly healthy kind. 

So to pay homage to this blessed, gooey substance, Lauren and I made a special recipe today that we'd love to share with you! 

I was first introduced to these cookies when my dear friend Katie brought a batch over after Landon was born.  They kept me nourished for days before I could stay awake long enough to eat anything more complicated.  These are filling enough to stand in for a quick breakfast as you're heading out the door or make for one seriously stout afternoon snack.  They're hearty and healthy and delicious; I hope you like them as much as I do!


Peanut Oat Breakfast Cookies
Makes approx. 9 cookies

1-2 overripe bananas, mashed (about 1 cup)
1/2 C chunky peanut butter
1/2 C honey
1 tsp vanilla
1 C rolled oats
1/2 C whole wheat flour
1/4 C dry milk powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1 C raisins (optional)

Thoroughly combine all ingredients in a large bowl.  Drop by 1/4 cupfuls, 2 inches apart, onto a parchment-lined baking sheet.  Slightly flatten each cookie (they won't spread much).  Bake at 350 for 12 to 14 minutes or until golden. 

Let me know what you think if you try the recipe!  And tell me: what's the most strangely satisfying way YOUR family eats peanut butter?

Stewed Potatoes + Enchiladas = Addiction

There are certain scents that have floated into the love-crevices of my brain and made themselves at home.  Things like my husband's armpit, for a perfectly normal example.  Or the place where his neck meets his jaw.  Or where his shoulder meets his neck.  All of those scents are slightly different and hugely wonderful. 

Then there's my mom.  She exudes a cloud of sweetness that is so imperceptibly right -- powdery and subtle -- and which will always smell like comfort. 

And my daughters...oh.  The silken patches beneath their ears.  The quarter-sized circle where Lauren's hairline part meets her forehead.  Mia's heavy hair, swinging as she runs past.

Now there's Landon.  All three months and 11 days of his life have seen me inhaling so vigorously that I fear I may suck a tiny bit of his essence into my soul with each breath.  There will be nothing left of the poor boy by the time he's walking. 

You know, now it occurs to me --

babies are born smelling SO amazing, right?  There's just something about a baby, and I don't mean the scent of the lotion or shampoo or powder they're usually accompanied by.  It's just a baby smell, you know?  But they lose it.  It vanishes by the time they're toddlers. Maybe preschoolers if you're lucky.

And now I know why.  Mothers inhale it.  There's a finite amount of eau de enfant surrounding each new baby. 

(Woe to you if you try to steal my supply...)

Only, with Landon, there are some caveats.  Not to me; I think he smells perfect.  Amazingly, intoxicatingly perfect. 

Mia and Lauren, though?  They sort of disagree. 

Oh, they think he's the sweetest, cutest, darling-est boy in the world, it's true.  But for some reason -- perhaps because we only bathe him when we remember (which is sort of a rare occurrence) -- Mia has designated his particular scent to be that of stewed potatoes.

STEWED POTATOES.

I know.  I mean, what even are stewed potatoes, and how would my daughter know what they smell like?  I'm certain I've never 'stewed' potatoes.  Boiled, fried, baked, roasted...sure.  Still, none of those savory potatoes suggest 'Landon' to me.

Even worse, is the smell of his hands.  Again, not to me.  The fact is, though, that he's only just now starting to un-clench his little fists.  They've gotten...soggy.  Damp.  Three months of damp.  Justin tells me they smell like sour, sweaty toes.

Lauren tells me they smell like enchiladas.

ENCHILADAS.

I'm adrift in a sea of people who don't understand the nuanced perfection of the scent of my baby. 

Still.

I guess he should have regular baths.  No amount of soap can cover eau de enfant completely, after all.  I'll still be able to get my fix.

Let There Be Sleep

I know a few things about babies and sleep.  And if I can wake myself up enough to remember them, they come in quite handy.

Basically, I know this: it’s rough.  Getting a baby to sleep so you can log a few hours of personal rest seems to be one of the greatest challenges of new-parenthood.

With my first child, I was so obsessed with creating the perfect atmospheres and routines for sleep that I became obnoxious and irritable and all-around miserable.   Because here’s the other thing I know about babies and sleep:

It’s mostly uncontrollable.

I’d say that the best thing to do when faced with an infant who won’t sleep is to embrace the wild-eyed pandemonium and know that it will pass with time.  But since I’m too impatient to accept such advice myself, I can’t condone it.  The sentiment is true, yes, but in practice, it’s not so much helpful as hopeful.

Instead, over my years of (slightly) fanatical focus on sleep and how to glean as much of it as possible, I’ve narrowed the essentials down to a few steps.  And even if all of these practices are only marginally useful in helping an infant learn to sleep peacefully, I at least feel good about doing something – anything – to keep our family rested.

For us, it starts early: right after delivery.  In order to avoid the fearsome fate of a baby who has his days and nights backwards, we choose to room-in.  The lights and activity of a hospital nursery are vital for those infants who need such care, but most healthy babies only need to be near their parents.  And getting into a habit of dark, quiet nights can’t begin too soon.

Once home, we immediately pretend there’s a bedtime.  It’s undeniable that infants need around the clock feeding and care, so instilling a bedtime seems silly at first.  But remember, it’s easier to start a habit than to change one.

If your newborn is used to heading out to the living room – with a flashing television or glowing computer screen – for his midnight feedings, he might learn that nights are no different than days.  He’ll be ready for action at all hours.  Instead, do nighttime feedings and diaper changes with a minimum of lights.  As hard as it can be when you’re in the glow of admiring a new infant, aim for little interaction in the overnight hours.  Save the cooing, tickling, and talking for first thing in the morning. 

Although it gets said often, creating a nighttime routine is no cliché.  Babies make connections when events repeatedly occur in the same way.  First comes a diaper change, then lotion, pajamas, lullabies, a feeding, and finally, sleep.  Use whatever methods you’re comfortable with, with the knowledge that the way you begin is how you’ll probably have to continue.  If the baby gets used to a pacifier, swaddle, and rocking before he can fall asleep, he’ll probably require the same bit each night.

When it comes to daytime sleep, my understanding becomes fuzzier.  Errands and appointments and siblings add levels of complication that can make naps very hard to come by.  This is frustrating because all of the experts promise that a well-rested napper will also be a good nighttime sleeper.

It becomes a chicken/egg scenario.   Instead of pondering such mind-traps, may I instead suggest this:

Follow your instincts.  If you have any left after all the sleeplessness, they have to be worth something.

[Originally published here.]

Photo Phriday

It's the light

the sparkle

the shine.

It's on her hands.

But it's concentrated in her heart.

Her soul.

Her smile.

She shines.

And if I let her hold on to me

with those hands

and that soul,

maybe

I can shine, too.

Bigger Picture Moments: Tilt/Shift

For our local newspaper this week, I wrote an article all about babies and how to get them to sleep better from the get-go.  It was full of what I hope will be helpful advice for anyone who happens to read it.  I felt good about it. 

Which is probably why the universe decided that I was getting too uppity and should be leveled down a few notches from my high-sleeping-horse. 

Last night was a horrible night, baby-sleep wise. 

At 11PM, sweet Landon woke up hungry, so I fed him.  No big thing.  It's the usual.

At 1AM, darling Landon woke up whimpering so I popped his binky back in.  Sorta unusual.  After he nurses around 11, he's usually comfortably out for the rest of the night.

At 2:30AM, precious Landon started seriously crying.  I rearranged his swaddle, found his lost binkie, rolled him back to his back, and felt...wetness.  Poor buddy had had a diaper explosion all over his jammies and blankets and bed.  15 minutes later, he was snug and clean and warm.  And asleep.

At 4:30AM, angelic Landon SCREAMED hysterically into a silent night.  I ran to his side to find him already asleep again. 

At 6:00AM, happy Landon was gnawing on his fist, so I fed him.  No big thing.  Again, it's the usual.

But taken as a whole, it felt like the night that would never end.

Today, my usually smiley boy is a little...

off. 

Kind of like his mama.  I've been fretting and worrying about what this could mean.  Could he be sick?  Could I have eaten something that's upset his tummy?  Could he be falling away from being a super-easy-without-really-trying sleeper?  In short, I've been going crazy, and all because of ONE fitful night. 

It's taken me most of the day to remember that babies are unpredictable. 

As much fun as it is to admit that Landon is a gloriously easy sleeper, it's also imperative that I don't forget the unpredictable part.  The part that tells me not to get too comfortable with any one habit because {BOOM} it will change. 

Tilt.  Shift.

And if I'm not careful, I'll be left thinking that we're doing something wrong when life takes a tilt/shift.

Landon is perfectly normal.  He sleeps well sometimes, he gets fussy sometimes, he smiles sometimes, and he forges new routines sometimes. 

Always, though, he will change.  And if I truly meant what I said yesterday -- that I'm excited to watch my babies grow and blossom into something new each day --

then I need to remember the tilt/shift. 

So maybe I won't fall flat on my face when it happens again.




We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful. Please join us at Melissa's place today. Grab the button, link up, and read a few others to encourage them as they walk this journey of intentional living.

On Growing, Understanding, and Seeing. So: On Children.

It's strange: with the girls, I was always SO aware of the time passing and their babyhoods rushing past without pause.  I was sad about it.  I tried to gather that time to me in thin strands that, together, would be strong enough to HOLD STILL. 

But now, with this third baby, it's different.  I'm not mourning his superfast growth (because it IS superfast) as much as I am appreciating it.  I'm actually excited about it.  Suddenly, or probably NOT suddenly -- it's simply a lesson the girls' lives have taught me so far -- I can see ahead to what he might become.  The little boy he'll be.  The personality he'll develop.

Now, I can't see exactly.  I'd be either rich or insane or both if that were a true capability.

I mean that I can see the possibility he holds nestled in his little fists, his tree-frogged legs, his squeals and smiles.  Whereas before, I only noticed now with my babies.

I feel like my eyes have been opened.  And not only for Landon: it's happening with the girls, too.  I'm aware of their maturity in ways that are exciting and pleasant, rather than terrifying.

Growing is good.

It's full of wonder. 

It's a grand mystery what my children will become, and I'm feeling incredibly lucky to be along for the ride.  To watch them SHOW themselves to the world.

There is so much possibility cradled within each tiny soul.  And forgive me:

I'm only beginning to understand.

What's in an Age?

As far as kitchens go, ours wasn’t a shining example of perfection.

Every counter-top was filled with the detritus of what had been intended as a simple dessert recipe for the kids and me to prepare together.  Along the way, flour had been sprinkled over the floor, bowls had tumbled from the cupboards, and eggshells had been crushed down the side of a cabinet.  

My older daughter stood diligently before the oven window, charting the slow progress of the goodies.  She was the single peaceful inhabitant of the space; my younger daughter was throwing a fit in the middle of the kitchen floor.

It had begun so innocently: fun in the kitchen with mama.  Sweets on the horizon.  Memories in the making. 

But we had veered off-course almost from the beginning.  My six-year-old had the process down without needing too much assistance, but her three-year-old sister was a different story.  She added ingredients without regard for measurements or timing, and frequently attempted to sneak bites of our raw creation.  She leaned her hair into the mixing bowl on more than one occasion and became angry mid-recipe when I suggested a helpful barrette. 

Altogether, this hadn’t been our most successful baking foray.  I leaned against the refrigerator, taking in the scene before me, wondering why this had been such an unusually frustrating experience.  We do things in the kitchen often.  Why the sudden difficulty?

It came to me as my preschooler ran off to her bedroom with a burst of renewed anger: she’s a three-year-old.  She is brilliant and beautiful and sweet (of course), but the fact remains that she is prone to the same traps as most three-year-olds, while her big sister has (mostly) begun moving past those traps.

Somehow, when I throw both girls into the mix, I suddenly assume that they each know the same things.  That the younger child will behave exactly as the older child, simply because they’re so close in age.  Twenty-seven months isn’t an insignificant age difference, but when they both spend so much time playing with the same toys and enjoying the same games, I forget.  I see them as a matched pair, and I approach them as such.

I give a simply worded instruction that a Kindergartner will easily interpret while a preschooler may either disregard my words or misunderstand them.  She might know exactly what I mean, but her ‘what-if’ button becomes impossible to ignore and she charges ahead without thinking through her actions.

But just because they are so closely linked in my mind doesn’t mean that they should be treated exactly the same in each situation.  The little sister is still trying to learn things that the big sister has long since mastered.   They view life differently.   My preschooler isn’t as able to reign in her impulses as her big sister is, and she doesn’t see why it’s even important. 

Because she still has learning to do.  The lessons are only available to her on a daily basis, and I can’t forget that she still needs instruction just because I’ve already finished teaching a particular lesson once before.

It seems like something no parent would ever take for granted.  Something that should stare us straight in the face each time we glimpse the darling faces of our children. 

But I try to allow myself some leeway around those simple expectations.  Because it turns out that I, too, am a work in progress.

[Originally published here.]

I Think it's Time...

to banish the pumpkin to the forest, don't you?

(Also -- I have a sudden craving for a frozen pumpkin milkshake.  Or a slushy.  Or a pie.  Yes -- frozen pie...)

What are you dreaming about on this January Friday?

Bigger Picture Moments: Life is Like a Box of Jello

At the store, I hastily bought ingredients for some unknown decadence. 

Flour
Brown Sugar
Eggs
Butter
Cinnamon
Vanilla
Cream
Dark Chocolate

And then at home, I searched.  I wanted the perfect recipe.  Something that says eat me, you fool, because I'm so delicious that you'll die a thousand deaths in a split second and then be reborn JUST for the express purpose of taking another bite. 

That's what I wanted. 

As I clicked through pages of possibilities (Foodgawker, I love you), the absolute clarity of the situation sidled up next to me -- as if it were my dearest companion -- and whispered into my ear

you don't have time for this.

And my stinking clarity was right.  I didn't have time.  I don't have time.  There's too much ELSE going on right now.  Obligations of the most rewarding nature, to be sure, but still.

Listen.  I'm a baker. 

I can cook almost anything, and I can do it fairly competently, but baking is my heart's one true love.  (Baking and reading, actually.  Those two tasks could fill my days with pleasure of such an otherworldly quality that I'm sure I'd reach nirvana if left to my own devices.)  Just now, though, I haven't baked much of anything.

It's a greedy wish: who needs to bake, after all?  I don't need to.  I merely want to.

But instead, I've made Jello.

That's right.

And you know what?

Jello is JUST right for our family at this point in time: Silly, Easy, Sweet, and Simple.

When life hands you Jello, make Jigglers.  That's my new motto.

At least until I can get my hands back into the flour canister.




We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful. Please join us at Lenae's place (in Azerbaijan!) today. Grab the button, link up, and read a few others to encourage them as they walk this journey of intentional living.

A Little More and She Would Have Been a Pixie For Real

This business of bedroom sharing has led to an abundance of stuff all shoved into one small space.  Toy bins are double parked and shelves are overflowed.  The closet is a nightmare.

But the girls seem to love their shared space, so we persist.  Well, okay: they actually have no choice.  It's either bedroom sharing or one girl moves into the bathroom.  Which I understand will happen anyway upon adolescence, so we'll forestall it as long as we can.

So the bedroom is crazy.  And on days like the one in question -- a day that will live in infamy -- when Lauren is having a 'nap' alone while her sister is at Kindergarten, she seems to make a bigger mess than both girls would do together.  I imagine her to be compensating for her sister's non-presence with a bit of toy-overkill. 

This day, I opened the door to 'wake her up' and was met by the single WORST mess I've encountered at this point in my motherhood.  Granted, nothing was oozing or bubbling or bleeding...but the toys.  They blocked the door's swing so I could only peek inside helplessly. 

Immediately, I saw that my sweet darling Lauren was trying to hide something.  She sat crouched over a small object in the midst of the rubble, eyes wary, an excuse ready on her pretty lips.  So I shoved in, worried about the stress on the door's hinges from my super-mom strength (hee), to discover the object of her secrecy.

And that's when I realized that the mess was the least of our problems.

For there, in her perfectly formed and innocently soft hand was a pair of red-handled, preschool scissors.

It's true.  She cannot be trusted with scissors.  Not that I allowed her to have them in the first place, only I wish I knew when and how she'd snuck them into her lair bedroom.

And I'll tell you the sad, sad truth:

It was ALL I could to to keep a straight face while explaining the consequences of her illegal activity. 

My mouth simply would not stay stern. 

This one...

This one is going to keep me on my toes.

And I love her to little bitty bits.



Now, tell me: should we go with bangs?  Or a super short and sassy bob?  Because we lost our time machine in all the mess of the bedroom, so there ain't no goin' back...

Resolutions!

Even though the New Year is already a few days old, I’m just now getting around to making my resolutions.  (It’s a good thing one of them isn’t ‘be more punctual’; I’d fail miserably.)  Many of my personal goals are those that could easily be shared among any parent of young kids. 

These resolutions aren’t groundbreaking, by any means.  In fact, their promises are so simple and universal as to be essential ingredients in every child’s life.  So feel free to join me as we begin another year as parents, resolving to be the very best we can be for our children.

This year, I resolve to:

Accept my children without qualifications, not trying to change their inherent personalities to better fit my desires.

Say ‘I love you’ every single day without fail, never taking for granted that they know how loved they are.

Set aside a designated amount of time to spend interacting with each child, each day.

Show respect for my children’s thoughts, fears, and concerns by listening without judgment.

Ask questions that will draw my children into conversation, and be completely present in those conversations.

Not discount the youthful joy my children have for simple things.

Allow my children’s independence to flourish by letting them try new and difficult things, whether or not I think they’ll enjoy or excel at the experience.

Follow through with logical disciplinary strategies.

Lavish my children with physical affection every day.

Remember to speak praise for a job well done instead of only focusing on my children’s mistakes.

Allow my children to make mistakes without becoming overly angry, knowing that mistakes can lead to lessons learned.

Never forget that little eyes are watching my attitudes as well as my actions.

Read with my children every day.

Encourage dreams and creativity by outwardly acknowledging my own dreams and creative pursuits.

Get close to my children at the very moments that I am having the most difficulty connecting with them.

Look beyond my children’s negative reactions to the deeper causes of those reactions.

And perhaps most important of all, find a way to keep the children snug in their beds past sunrise on weekend mornings.  Because if all else fails, restful sleep might still redeem us.

What did I leave out?  What actions do you think more parents should resolve to take in the coming year?

[Originally published here.]

My (Not-So-Blind) Psyche

In the dream, I'm half-blinded with fuzzy vision.  I stumble from room to room or from person to person, searching for help with my sight.  Pastels and floating lights cloud my path, like tinted cotton balls packed around my eyeballs.

And there is always some urgency.  Some necessary reason that my sight MUST be restored soon, or else...

There might be a storm approaching, with wind whipping and raindrops lashing.  There might be a consuming fire, and I can smell the acrid smoke, like a fire of its own, burning inside my lungs.  More usually, it's not so dire: the kids want breakfast or I'm late for an appointment.  Sometimes, I'm at an appointment.  An imaginary work meeting or important presentation.

So to remedy my blindness, my cotton-packed failure to see, I race to the nearest mirror and open my contact case.  There, I sigh with relief.  Help is on the way, in the form of a tiny, gellish disk.

Except, in the dream, the contacts are not tiny.  They're huge and unwieldy.  They fold over in my palms, flopping uselessly.  They might be the size of quarters.  Sometimes they're the size of saucers.  As the dream proceeds and I become more helpless trying to wrap the slippery disk around and behind my sightless eyes, the contacts expand.  They take both hands to hold.  They bear the thickness of a slice of provolone cheese, but translucent.  Blue-tinged.

And I despair.  Haven't I always known how to do this one simple task?  I've been putting contacts in for years -- without incident.

But I never seem to notice that the reason I can't do it this time -- the reason it's impossible -- is because the circumstances have changed.  The objects of my necessity are overwhelmingly impossible to bring within my control.

I wake up either irritated or terrified.  Rubbing my eyes to wipe away the reminder of fuzziness that still threatens me.  I turn on the bathroom light, blinking away the stabbing darts of brightness, and open my real contacts. 

I breath out gratefully.  The contacts are tiny.  Dime-sized and razor-thin.  I know I can handle these babies.  I place them in my eyes, wondering how I could ever not understand why a dish-sized contact wouldn't fit under my eyelids. 

I walk out of the bedroom, and I confront the day, ready to tackle the known tasks that lay before me. 

But I'm suddenly worried that I won't recognize a circumstance requiring something more of me than I have to give. 

Hoping that I won't wear myself out trying to fit a frisbee into the space designed for a mere sequin.

YOUR Favorite Moments from 2011

Today is the day we usually pour out our hearts at Bigger Picture Blogs and share the moments that have helped us glimpse a bit of the most important things in life.  The joys and frustrations and worries and realizations and exhalations that make life life. 

But instead of writing something new today, we'd like for you to head over to Bigger Picture Blogs and link up with your own favorite Bigger Picture post from 2011.  Something you wrote that has continued to resonate or that you wish more people had gotten a chance to read.

My own favorite post will be up over there later this week -- so far we've already shared Hyacynth's and Melissa's -- but in the meantime, I want to read yours!

So go on -- tell us:

What was your favorite Bigger Picture Moment from 2011?  Please link it up so we can rediscover your moment!

And thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who's become a part of the Bigger Picture Community for sharing your lives with us this year.  I'm so ready to see what 2012 has in store for all of us, together.

Understimulation for the Win

Picture it if you dare: a fussy baby who will not be consoled.  The baby is healthy and comfortable if perhaps a bit tired, but nevertheless, she will not stop crying.

My 365 Photo Experiment: Concluded

Once upon a time, I received a camera for Christmas.  It was an intelligent beast in my incapable hands, confounding me at every turn.  Still, I was besotted with its clarity of focus and impressively hefty weight.  So I snapped some photos.  I felt the limitations of my ignorance.  And I resolved to get better.

Now, one year later, I am no better but perhaps even more besotted.  After my year-long experiment with photo blogging, I have this to say: God Bless memories.  I started out wanting to improve my skill and knowledge of photography, and ended up recording the priceless moments of (almost) an entire year in the life of This Heavenly Family. 

It shows the gaps in memory when I chose sleep over photography after the birth of our newest family member.  It shows a mostly nonexistent November because all of our photos became lodged within our old, broken computer, never to be seen again.  (Or at least until we procure a new flash drive or external hard drive with which to escort the month of November onto our new computer.)

Most importantly, it shows our life unfolding.  And I've realized that I simply cannot give up my photo blog after only one year of recording. 

So, yes: this is the conclusion of 2011's photography experiment. 

But, no: it's not the end.  Because this is January First, 2012.  And there are more memories waiting. 

These were some of Justin's and my favorites from the year.  Enjoy! 

January

Because every frozen winter day needs a bathing suit plus rain boots and a pair of binoculars.

February

Because when snow is piled up to your thighs, you must plow through it, right?

March

Because when you manage to focus on a flower that outshines the hands in which it rests, that's a pretty spectacular flower.

April

Because this was the most beautiful spring in recent memory.

May

Because life flies by; shove your bare foot into the wind every chance you get.

June

Because when you pose under a bridge, everything is a bit more glamorous.

July

Because running and smiling go together.

August

Because when it's so hot, the swimming pool is the only acceptable destination.

September

Because this much color should never be restricted to terra firma.

October

Because when life emerges from your body, it's pretty much the most momentous thing.  Ever.

November

Because babies need to be photographed upside down and right side up and backward and forward and every other way imaginable.

December

Because the holidays make us a little bit prone to decorating ourselves.

Now, go: start YOUR photography journey in 2012!  Let it be about memories or skill or practice -- just DO it.  If for no other reason than because looking back on your year in twelve months will make you laugh and cry and dream.  All good things.  Happy 2012, my friends!

Recipes

Savories
7 Quick Meals
Chicken and Black Bean Salsa
Chicken Noodle Soup
Coconut Chicken
Parmesan Tilapia
Zuni Roast Chicken


Sweets
Berry Berry Deep Dish Pie
Brown Sugar Blondies with Chocolate Chips
Buttercream Frosting (THL's Favorite)
Chocolate Chip Cookies (THL's Favorite)
Chocolate Chocolate Chunk Muffins
Floating Peach Cobbler
Fresh Lemon Crinkle Cookies
Peanut Butter Crunch Balls
Peanut Oat Breakfast Cookies

Favorites

These are some of my all-time favorite posts, and what This Heavenly Life is all about.  A little bit of silliness, a little bit of thoughtfulness, and a whole lotta love.


An Interview with Justin
He's Scandinavian, I'm Argumentative
Let the Blushing Begin
Like a River
Melodrama Suits Us
Ruby Red is for Love
Snapshot: Lunchtime
Thankful for the Pause
The Donut Shop of my Dreams
The Locksmith
The Toothpaste Gospel



If you have a favorite post you think should be included here, let me know! 

Creative Writing

Sometimes there are other voices in my head, and they beg to be released.  Sometimes I let them out.  Here is what happens, then:


Short Fiction
Drizzle
Fluid
Full Bodied
Heavy Metal
Lost amid the snow
Multi-layered
Smooth
The Picnic


Poetry
Frost
Ode
The Abyss
Toddler
Underneath the Mistletoe