VacMan - An Anthropomorphic Hero

Jade has been leading us through Description and Setting, a writing craft book by Ron Rozelle, and I'm trying to follow along in hopes of learning a thing or two (dozen...).   This week's assignment was to write about an object in or around the house in a way that assigns human characteristics.  Here goes! 



In the world of household cleaners, our vacuum cleaner is the superhero. 

He stands ready in the hall closet, projecting a quiet dignity with his stature and his multiple HEPA filters.  Beside the boxed Christmas decorations and hoarded gift bags, he hides in plain sight.  A hero in disguise. 

There seems to be no crack in his facade; each tool is tucked tightly away at all times under form-fitting covers.  And yet...I believe that under his muscled exterior, he is perhaps terrified of the evils he expects to face.  The upended box of Rice Krispies.  The torn bits of styrofoam.  The cobwebbed corners.  His canister surely shudders in anticipation of the worst jobs, but he is resolute: the house needs him.  The people need him.  Each morning, he is introspective, checking his powers for weaknesses that would break a lesser hero's suction.  He pulls in his gut to calm his nerves, cracking his accordian-hosed neck to release fear like pressure under groaning slabs of volcanic rock.

Although he is a hero, the vacuum cleaner isn't immune to fear.  He merely faces down the hair-strewn carpets with determination, propelling his beater-brush forward whether he wants to or not.  Reaching his long arms under dark beds despite his quavering engine.  Sucking up villainous spiders for the faint-hearted lady of the house. 

He does what he must.  Because if he doesn't, then who will?  He is VacMan.  (A nickname he loathes, but bears with resignation as a tribute to the household he loyally serves.  He prefers his civilian name: Mr. Dyson.)

As he rolls past crawling babies and shrieking children, he renews a vow of protection:

On hardest vinyl, or thickest rug, no pile shall withstand my tug.  Let those who worship crumbs and bugs, beware my power: VacMan's plug.

The Perfect Ending {A BPB Collaboration}

For our Birthday Collaboration, Kat of Sassy Irish Lassie and I had the song prompt "The Perfect Ending" by Straylight Run.  We decided to write a short story -- well, TWO short stories, actually.  We traded photos and used the same paragraph to begin our individual stories.  In essence, we hoped this would be like a 'choose your own adventure' of perfect endings.  Same beginnings, unknown endings, shared images, different takes.  We're excited to see what comes out today!  (Note: Kat's piece should be up later today -- don't miss it!)

Want to play along today at Hyacynth's place, with or without a collaborating partner?  Use the song prompt "For me, this is heaven" by Jimmy Eat World.

The table was rubbed smooth from a century's worth of use.  No longer glossy or reflective, it instead drew its warmth from within; age and experience had lent the wood its own sort of wisdom.  She pressed a sheet of paper onto the table's scarred surface, imagining words seeping up from below to meet her pen.  What she needed now -- what she'd always needed, really -- was to tell the truth. 

A breath of wind pushed through the open window and fluttered the paper under her fingertips.  The knotted wood of the table pushed back, insistent.  And on an exhale, she began to write. 

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

You would never believe me if I told you that I used to be the center of attention.  That I wasn't always the quiet wife and patient mother.  But it was true: I drew interested stares as well as golden honey draws flies.  Before there was you with your centering force, there was me.  I don't tell you this to wipe away all the beauty of the life I've been given now, but to paint it more accurately for you.  So you'll understand where you came from.

The things that have made you into a strong young man aren't secrets, but well-known history: your grandfather's guiding presence; the lake shore you grew up exploring; the press of your father's hand on your back as you learned to pedal a bicycle for the first time; your baby fist clinging to the nape of my neck during a hundred forgotten sunsets.  These are immutable.  They can't change and won't be taken away by your knowing more; a downhill fall of water will always fall downhill.  What I mean to say, in my circular way, is that you are still Andrew and I am still mother, despite my curtained past. 

It began as so many things do: out of the need for one to feel important. 

He made me feel important for a few moments of buried time.

He was a mystery, crouched in shadows, and that's where I've kept him.  I would beg your forgiveness, but I don't regret the secret, at least not for your sake.  If you'd known since your birth, well then -- his role might have been easy enough to explain.  You are a boy who's never known his birth father.  But once the years began expanding around us, with your pale eyes searching for excitement, I kept the truth close until you were old enough to hold it and not be sunken by its weight. 

You are strong now, and able.  The past doesn't grow lighter with time, it only becomes more pliable in one's hands, more difficult to be contained within a single set of arms. 

The trouble with all of this, besides the obvious -- that the man who raised you didn't father you, in the biological sense  -- is that I still feel the irritating desire to twist our shared histories into a damned teachable moment.  The kind at which you'll roll your eyes and from which you'll beat a hasty retreat.  But it must be said.  When I was with the man who never cared to know you as his son, I prayed for him to see me and want me forever.  The needing of him bled through my confidence and my dreams like hot water over a sheet of ice, and still, I counted his presence as essential.  I wanted him to be my perfect ending.  The place I ended up when everything fell as it should.

But the place I ended up when everything fell as it should didn't look like I planned.  It has a different tint and a softness about the edges, here.   It has it's own perfection, this ending I didn't think to choose. 

What I didn't know was that the only right, perfect ending, has been beside me all along.   

It's you.

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

The afternoon light had given way to evening before she stopped writing.  She sat back against her chair and turned to the window.  Toward the lake and the dock and the sunset, where a stripe of pinkened water forged a path to the horizon.  The letter lay, curl-edged and heavy, on the table. 

But it wasn't a letter, really. 

It was a deep breath.  A morning star.  A blinking cursor. 

It was a beginning.

Celebrating a Sweet Community with Sweet Treats

Welcome to the delicious part of the Bigger Picture Blogs birthday celebration! 

Before we get down to tomorrow's collaborative business of creating words and images, we'd like to share some sweets.  Whip, bake, freeze, sprinkle, and create a dessert worthy of a party, and share it with us here today.  It doesn't have to be an original recipe or even a recipe at all -- if you feel the need to stop by your local cupcake shop or ice cream parlor, that works, too! 

We just want you to have a treat with us to celebrate TWO YEARS of the Bigger Picture.  And don't forget that for your sweet participation in our party, you'll be entered into our Birthday Giveaway.  We've been generously hooked-up with a beautiful creativity package from Compendium to help sweeten our party for some lucky winners:

There are more gifts to come tomorrow, so be sure to check back and get your posts linked here for the desserts and at Hyacynth's place for the collaborations.

My own cake recipes will be up in a separate post soon, but the linky is up and ready to become a tempting thumbnail-oasis.  So settle in with recipe cards, drool-napkins, and your sweet tooth!  We can't wait to see what you're indulging in today!

Happy Birthday, my Bigger Picture friends!

Orange-Yogurt Cake for A Bigger Picture Birthday

When we decided to have birthday cake to celebrate TWO years with Bigger Picture Blogs, I got so excited that I couldn't choose just one. 

And I figured, two years deserves two cakes, right?  Especially since my first cake recipe took almost no effort (although provided tons of sweet reward). 

The recipe for Orange-Yogurt Cake is nearly as simple, but even more delicious than it has any right to be.  It would make a fantastic tea cake, as it's lightly sweet and crazy moist.  I topped mine with some more whipped cream (I couldn't let it go to waste!) but it would be delicious with a cream cheese frosting or a simple dusting of powdered sugar.  Plus, the delicate orange flavor is perfect for any occasion.  In fact, I've got a piece on a plate for my second breakfast as we speak. 

Yes, I DO eat second breakfasts.  Especially when they're fresh from the oven, and wafting their citrus scent all over my house. 

Orange-Yogurt Cake
(adapted from Martha Stewart Living, December 2006)

1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons white sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
pinch of salt
1/2 cup plain yogurt
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon grated orange zest
1 tablespoon fresh-squeezed orange juice
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract


Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Butter an 8-inch round cake pan and set aside.  Whisk dry ingredients in a large bowl before adding the yogurt, oil, orange zest, orange juice, egg, and vanilla.  Stir until smooth.  Pour into pan and bake for about 25 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.  Cool on a wire rack before turning cake out onto a plate for serving.  May be garnished with a dusting of powdered sugar, sugared orange segments, or freshly whipped cream.


*Note: I doubled the recipe and made two round cakes instead of one.  If I'm making a cake, I'm making a BIG ONE!

Now I'm off to treat myself to a sweet birthday celebration!  Join me?  Link your dessert recipes -- old or new -- and be sure to come back tomorrow for the OFFICIAL party!  We're sharing presents and creativity and collaboration...all the good stuff.  I hope you'll jump in and party like TWO year olds with us!

Heavenly Pineapple Cake

I'm a huge fan of real cake recipes.  Those that call for an exhausting list of ingredients and a complicated method of baking, well -- they make me feel like a pastry chef, and that makes me happy.  They also make me feel exhausted and complicated.  Two emotions that don't fit well on my current schedule of baby/preschooler/first-grader  naps/messes/errands. 

Sometimes a sweet treat needs to be fuss-free.  Easy.  Impossible to ruin if a disaster of three-child proportions strike somewhere between sifting and folding. 

This cake accomplishes all of those qualifications.  Heavenly Pineapple Cake is simple, easy, fast, and easy.  Also simple.  And easy.  Seriously, it only has TWO ingredients and TWO steps to completion.  (Perfect for a TWO-year Bigger Picture Birthday Celebration!) 

If that weren't enough, it's also delightfully sweet and delicious.  This cake is spongy and tangy and melty-in-mouthy.  I had to put a moratorium on cake-eating because two-thirds of the pan was empty before I'd managed to snap a photo! 

All of that before I remembered that I wanted to top it with freshly whipped cream.  It was fun and sweet either way: everything I could ask for in an easy, summer treat.  Enjoy!

Heavenly Pineapple Cake

1 box Angel food cake mix
1 (20 oz.) can crushed pineapple

Combine cake mix and crushed pineapple (with juice) in large bowl.  Pour into an ungreased 9x13 pan and bake at 350 for 30 minutes.  Marvel at your dessert-baking skillz. 




I'm including this in today's Bigger Picture Blogs birthday celebration!  Please share your sweet recipes with us today as we party like TWO year olds!

Tuesdays Around the World: Evening Shade

After the sun, after the water, after the splashes and squeals and kicks...

He is ready to lay still in the evening shade for one, precious moment.  The water was cool but the air is warm.  A soft cloth against damp goosebumps.

But this boy -- this tiny, quiet, beautiful boy -- will not be still for long.

He flips and rolls, discovering the prickles of grass, a fallen leaf, an expanse of lawn...

and he is off.  On his own.  For the very first time and for the millionth time, it just keeps happening.  Children were born to crawl away. 

And mothers were born to watch them go.  We hold our arms limp at our sides, waiting for our embodied hearts -- those children who fill us up -- to turn back, just for a piece of a moment, from their onward adventures.  To need us again.

 

 

Tuesdays Around the World is hosted by Communal Global -- go visit to take a quick globe-trot and make some new friends!

Also linking with Heather's Just Write -- another place to make new friends and share yourself with words.

An Open Letter to The Parking Lot Bully

When you tore off that scrap of junk mail and scrawled hateful words to me, you couldn't have known the true effect you'd have.

I do imagine you were going for something effectual, or else you wouldn't have taken the time to call me a bitch, among other things.  I won't get into the silliness behind calling someone you don't even know, who did no harm to you or your property, a derogatory name, but I will say that I think your vocabulary could use some embellishment.  At a certain level of maturity, the phrase dumb ass becomes less explanatory and more laughable.  I suppose you haven't reached that level yet, though, so I can forgive your choice of words.  Or maybe you are old enough to know better, and truly DID just feel the need to laugh.  I understand: sometimes you need to laugh. 

But I will never understand laughing at somebody else's expense.  For not parking as straight as you wished I would, you found it necessary to passive-aggressively berate me.  In this age of cyber-bullying and online-personality-boosting, I had forgotten that people use the same methods in real life: placing rude notes on windshields, calling out taunting words behind the protection of a crowd, building themselves up by bringing others down. 

I also forgot it was possible in this town.  Joplin has been open-hearted and generous for so long that I never would have imagined a crooked parking job could incite such hatred.  Even if I'd been outside of my designated lines -- which I wasn't -- I'd have been surprised by your anger at such an ugly level.  I did know I was parked less-than straight.  I also made sure I wasn't in anybody's way.  We exited our vehicle without any problems, and left plenty of room for you to do the same. 

But the effect you might have been trying to achieve -- proving your importance?  making me question my parking skills?  displaying your shining knowledge of cuss words? -- fell flat.  Well, mostly.  You did succeed in making me feel embarrassed and sad for several upsetting minutes.  Congratulations. 

The cool part, though, if one chooses to see it (and I do), is that your words helped remind me that the world isn't very nice.  I know the thought is neither new nor hopeful, but I am an admitted idealist, and I sometimes forget (or willfully ignore) the harsh parts of life. 

I watched my kids all weekend, making mistakes and having accidents and at times doing things every way but the right way.  I saw them trying so hard to learn life.  And where I might have grown frustrated or angry with them, I stopped.  I remembered your rudeness.  I remembered that my children are going to experience plenty of angry individuals in life and that I never want to contribute to their accumulation of negativity.  As if it could build up in their hearts like a slow leak of radiation. 

I know they'll be rocked by hatred at some point.  But I want them to remember the encompassing grip of acceptance and love more than the meanness.  I want their hearts to be so full of light that they are not harmed by dark words or shadowy intolerance.

So while you only meant to cause bad feelings and harm with your hatefulness?  I choose to contort your rudeness into something I can use for good.  I choose to forgive your act of intolerance.  I would even hug you if I were to see you again, because our days since your note have been so full of love, silliness, and joy. 

Thanks, bully.  I guess there's a place for you, after all.  Just not as you might have wished. 

Happy Parking!


The Perpetually Positive and Cheerfully Optimistic Lady Who Irritates Your Sense of Parking Lot Superiority,
Sarah The Heavenly

Advice: Love It or Lose It

I’m always on the lookout for a good parenting trick.  Something that eases the passage of potty-training or inspires creativity during a tantrum feels like a golden nugget in my hand.  I weigh its heft, tossing it back and forth to gauge its effectiveness.  As often as I find truly helpful nuggets of guidance though, I also find piles of confusing or discouraging advice. 

Like the parenting book I read once, The Happiest Toddler on the Block, by Dr. Harvey Karp.  One of Karp’s suggestions is to speak Toddler-ese – a way of connecting with the screaming toddler on their level, in choppy phrases and matched emotion.  I even went so far as to try it once, years ago at Target. 

When my toddler began to throw a fit over not being allowed to kick a ball across the store, I stomped my foot right alongside her, imitating her anger.  I mirrored her emotions and her tone of voice, proving my empathy and authenticity.  “You WANT to kick the ball!  You’re MAD!  You’re mad, mad, MAD!” 

At that point, I was supposed to lower my voice – still using Toddler-ese language – to ease her out of her tantrum and into placid understanding.  Something like, “You want to kick, but noooo, noooo kick.  At home, we kick.  In store, no kick.”  Once she’d calmed, I could then divert her attention with more small words and sentences.

I might have followed through if I hadn’t seen the look of glee in my child’s eye as I appeared to throw my own tantrum.  Suddenly it felt like I was condoning her wildly expressed outrage.  Not to mention, I was sure there were hordes of laughing customers and employees sniggering at my idiocy.  Probably recording my ape-ish behavior on small, accusatory mobile phones. 

We left the store, by what means I can’t recall; I’ve blocked the rest of the episode from my memory.  I can see how the Toddler-ese approach to easing a tantrum might work for someone else under a different set of circumstances, but for us it had been a no-go. 

The basic Toddler-ese advice was probably sound: let your child know that you recognize and affirm their feelings as valid before teaching them correct behavior, and use small words and phrases to reach them through their emotions.  But perhaps the middle of a busy store wasn’t the best location for our first foray into this particularly awkward strategy.  It wasn’t a happy experience, and that’s just how it goes sometimes. 

Advice is like that: one size doesn’t fit all.  All the self-help books and kindly advice will be worth nothing if they aren’t tailored to the family for which they’re intended, so take it with a grain of parenting salt.  It’s not about perfect advice or strategy because comfort zones and personalities help dictate interactions.   

It’s wonderful to have books and friends and well-meaning strangers tell you how to raise your family, especially when that advice is actually helpful.  But it’s equally wonderful to know when to give the advice a makeover to fit your needs.  Or when to throw it by the wayside. 

As for my family, we’ve still got Dr. Karp’s book in reserve.  It’s not a complete wash-out; there are plenty of helpful ideas within its covers, but we definitely threw Toddler-ese overboard.  Although it landed with a huge splash, abandoning it was less humiliating than trying to imitate my toddler’s angry emotions in public. 

[Originally published at The Joplin Globe]

7 Quick Takes for InstaFriday

1.  Now that summer is here, we are here: 

I think my parents like having a swimming pool because it allows them to have a house FILLED with kids and grandkids and nieces and nephews every weekend.  And telling myself that helps me feel better about loitering there all summer long. 

2.  I purposefully chose a filter that would make my golden, tanned legs look ghostly in this photo.  Honestly...

But the cat seems not to mind the perpetualwhiteness.  He circles my feet and trips me up no matter the pale.  (What IS that with cats?  The way they make you step all over them because they can't stand to be more than a whisker's-width away from your ankles?  I love the boy, but gah.  I need SPACE!)

3.  See?  Here again.  This day, Landon was the only boy in a pool full of 7 ladies.  He splashed them as little brothers should.  They adored it as big sisters of beautiful babies should.  But give it another two years, and I think his adorable splashing won't be quite so well-received. 

4.  There's a new ice cream parlor south of town on a winding, narrow highway.  It's attached to a family-owned chocolate shop.  They also bake sweet cinnamon rolls.  And sell fresh milk from a local dairy.  In short, I'd like my ashes scattered there when I die, because it stands for everything delicious in this cruel, cruel world. 

Oh, and their bubble-gum ice cream is like pink heaven on a spoon.

5.  The girls simply cannot get enough of Landon right now.  He's 8 months old, starting  to crawl, learning how to make us laugh, and smells like babies mixed with utopia smothered in perfection.  Really, we're all having trouble keeping our hands offa him. 

6.  When the sisters are naughty, I make them stand over a hot, soapy sink until they can either admit how wonderful their mother is for accomplishing this task daily, or they promise never to argue again. 

Just kidding.  (Although the arguing thing isn't a bad idea...)  Mia has started pleading with me to let her help wash the dishes.  Something about bubbles and splashing and boredom makes this a desirable task.  I really can't say no, right?  It's like a dream come true!

7.  Somehow, Mia ended up with a scratched cornea this week.  The eye doctor explained it as something closer to a divot, really -- a scoop of cornea damaged by...we don't know what.  But it was excruciating for my sweet girl, who screamed for me to make the pain stop.  She's better now after time and rest -- which is really the only thing to do for corneal abrasions -- but we're left with antibiotic eye drops.

And that's another struggle entirely.

Before I could get her into the doctor's office, I had no idea what was wrong and tried everything I could to help her.  Pain relief medicine, cold compresses, and finally eye drops.  I promised her that eye drops don't hurt, they only lubricate they eye and help flush out whatever's making her uncomfortable. 

Wouldn't you know it, as soon as the drops hit her eye she began screaming that they were burning.  I told her to keep crying and let her tears wash the burn away -- but it must have come out more like "Keep crying, child, let it buuuuurn!"   Because she shoved away from me and hid in her blankie.

Later, as she was sniffling, she looked at me reproachfully.  "You lied to me!  You told me it wouldn't hurt, but it did...why did you say that?  I trusted you!" 

And that's when I decided to go running face-first into a brick wall.  Because honestly, it would have hurt less.

It's been a weird week: swimming and ice cream and corneal abrasions.  One of these things is not like the other...but oh, well!  Because the weekend is here again, and we're ready to loiter at the pool!  Yay, swimming!  Yay, healed eyeballs!  Yay, summer! 

Linking up today with 7 Quick Takes Friday at Conversion Diary and InstaFriday at Life Rearranged.

Bigger Picture Moments: Rainbow Hunting

I thought it was only the nighttime bugs still grinding their noises into the sunrise.  Crickets and cicadas and katydids making a chorus of zeezerts in the forest.  They'd maybe forgotten the hour and had been so caught up in the joy of making music that they continued to carry on as the sky grew light. 

But the window light was too bright.  And too watery.  The music wasn't of insects, but of rainfall, pounding on the house in a sleepy drone.  Either way, I thought, the hmmmming was welcome.  The better to sing me back to sleep before the kids would wake for the day.  I rolled over and breathed deeply, throwing out a leg from under the quilt.  I love summertime typed itself behind my eyelids.  And then I was asleep again.

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

Breakfast is finished.  The dishes are scattered in unlikely places around the middle of the house.  An empty plate smeared with peanut butter and sprinkled with crushed toast crumbs is on the couch.  A cup of water sits beside a licked-clean bowl of yogurt on the tv cabinet. 

Rain still pelts the windows and I don't mind; the grass is already turning brown.  I whisper to the earth -- soak and savor -- but I know how hard it is to hold onto the freshness.  How quickly a hot wind can make one forget the cool drink that came only hours before.   

There have already been three arguments and it's not even 9 o'clock in the morning.  I might have already soaked and savored the best part of this day while I slept with one leg kicked free.  But that thought is sticky and gritty.  I wipe it away, flicking the leftover bits of negativity into the rain. 

At the patio door, a slanted sword of sunlight pierces the floor.  A sunny rain.  A rainy sun. 

"Girls!"  I am breathless.  "There's sunshine with the rain!  Hurry -- let's go see if we can find a rainbow!"  I am wearing swishy black pajama pants and a too-tight tank-top.  The girls are in their bathing suits, ready for everything summer might require.  They run to the hallway and shove their feet into rainboots.  I find my silver flip flops.  We are out the door in the wet air, startling a chickadee on the porch railing. 

We tromp into glittering grass, searching the skies.  Blue in the west, cloudy in the east where the sun climbs.  We are on the wrong side of it, I think.  But the girls race around the house, flinging the last of the raindrops off of their arms and legs as they fly. 

I watch them, tall and expectant and so ready to hunt a rainbow.  As if it weren't the most simple thing in the world -- refracted light through raining prisms.  As if a rainbow is their only desire on this summer morning, and would fulfill their every ideal.

It's only beautiful, I think.  Only colors.

But it's the fleeting surprise of the colors that make them worth hunting.  I watch my daughters hold hands and choose vantage points and laugh at preposterisms, and though there is no rainbow for us today, I see colors.  I see beautiful.

I see the fleeting surprise and I whisper to myself as they dash around the corner of the house--

Soak and savor it, Sarah.  Don't let the next hot wind erase the freshness of this moment.

And as I say it, the rain stops completely.  The clouds are wiped beyond the ring of trees, and there is nothing but a wide, jewel-blue sky to hear my promise. 



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 Alita's place today! Grab the button, link up, and read a few others to encourage them as they find the fullness in the simple. 

Who Wants Some Cake? THIS GIRL!

I believe the real reason we have birthday parties is so that we can have some cake.  Right?  I mean, every day is an affirmation of the progress of time -- the shadows move down the wall at the same pace every day -- so we have to differentiate the celebratory days from the regular days with something special.

Enter: cake.  I'm a fan of cake of all sorts.  As long as it's sweet, it's on my to-devour list.  So when my Bigger Picture Blogs friends decided to throw a birthday party to celebrate our TWO years of community, I immediately yelled three words:

I WANT CAKE!

Thankfully they agreed, and one week from today -- next Wednesday -- we'll be sharing CAKE here at This Heavenly Life!  I hope you'll stop by then to see what we're all baking up!  And please, please, share YOUR cakes, too!  You'll be able to link your cake posts so we can all get giant sweet-tooth cravings in anticipation of Bigger Picture Blogs turning TWO!  Share a cakey recipe just for the occasion or even head to the nearest cupcakery and snap a photo of your sweet indulgence.

Either way, your linked post will enter you for a special birthday giveaway! 

Whattaya say?  Will you join us for cake in honor of great friends, creativity, and community?  I hope to see you next week as we party like TWO year olds!

We Like to Party!

You know what's worthy of celebration? 

Friendship ::: Community ::: Creativity ::: Acceptance ::: Encouragement ::: Joy ::: Growth

Because next week marks Bigger Picture Blogs' TWO YEAR birthday, we're celebrating all of these aspects with a fun little exercise in creativity!  And because YOU -- the community of friends and writers who make Bigger Picture Blogs possible -- are central to our celebration, we need your help!  We're setting up a party for June 28th with groups of TWO friends sharing TWO views to celebrate TWO years of Bigger Picture Blogs.  Please sign up and join us as we party like TWO-year-olds!

For all the details, here's the official invite:

Bigger Picture Blogs is turning TWO!

To celebrate our second birthday we are hosting a very special Bigger Picture Moments that will stretch our creativity and connect our community! We will be randomly pairing up groups of two community members to create a post for our special birthday celebration link up on Thursday, June 28 at Undercover Mother; our creative collaborations and the birthday linky. Each creative collaboration duo will be given a prompt and work together to create a piece with one visual.  PLEASE SIGN UP HERE TO BE PART OF A COLLABORATION! 

Like any good party, there will be gifts, too.  We have a few lovely, creativity-inspiring giveaways in store for a few of the party attendees who link up their collaborations!

And what would a party be with out some treats? Join us Wednesday, June 27 at Sarah's -- the day before our big birthday bash -- to feast on ideas for some delicious treats to bring to the celebration. We'll each post our favorite cake/dessert recipes, baked with our own unique flavor, and link up our treats so we can share some sweetness with each other. Those who link up a recipe will also be entered into our birthday gift giveaway. And feel free to be as creative as you so desire with your recipe, heavily flavoring it with sprinkles of your life or who you are or what you love.  

Come celebrate Bigger Picture Blogs' SECOND birthday by pairing up TWO things that are at the heart of BPB: creativity and community.

Let's party, friends!

So what do you say?  Join us next week as we celebrate everything good about Bigger Picture Blogs!   Because there is so much to celebrate!

Backyard Camping

Did you know that June 23rd is the Great American Backyard Campout?  Yeah, I don't really know what that means either -- I think it's a sort of experiential fund-raiser -- but it DOES sound like a good chance to put this week's newspaper article to good use.
How do you guys do camping?  Are you avid outdoorsmen or timid wanderers?  And do you have any camping trips -- home or away -- scheduled for this summer?

When I was a kid, my family's camping trips were huge affairs.  We packed enough supplies to live comfortably in the wilds of an overflowing campground, strolling past other campers and families similarly outfitted.  It was nature, yes, but it was so crowded.  While I enjoyed the trips back then, now I find myself longing for a camping trip in true wilderness.  Something off-the-map, secluded, and completely, utterly natural.

But when I let my mind wander the possibilities, I get hung up on technicalities.  Not having camped for years, the idea of hauling our three small kids out into the woods somewhere without amenities seems ripe with opportunities for disaster.  I can just imagine the tempers that would flare as we tried to relax in nature.  Somebody would need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and be too afraid of the dark to leave the tent, using the corner of the sleeping bag instead.  Somebody would drop every bit of her dinner into the dirt, and devolve into tears at the loss.  Somebody would be driven insane at the constant flux of bugs – somebody named mom. 

All of these speed-bumps, though, don’t remove the core of my hopes: that we will get to experience the outdoors as more than just a place to play on a pretty day.  That my kids might see the wilderness as more than something that exists beyond us.  That their imaginations and respect and memories of being out there would grow. 

So how can we experience camping without worrying about irritated, bored, or disillusioned campers?  Without being so overcome with doubts that we fail to try camping altogether?

The solution is sitting right behind us. 

Our backyards are the perfect way to dip our shivering toes into camping’s unknown waters without jumping right into the deep end.  Instead of packing for a long drive to a faraway venue, a prospect that seems as daunting as the camping itself, it’s just as exciting for little ones to set up a tent in the backyard.  The novelty of outdoor sleeping is enough to satisfy the kids while keeping the experience harmless if things start to go wrong. 

Get ready by finding flashlights for each child, a sleeping bag, and a tent.  Since you’ll only be steps away from a house, a cheap tent will do perfectly.  Fill a cooler with food that the kids can grab themselves: prepared sandwiches, bags of chips and cut fruit, and plenty of special snacks.  If you’ll have a campfire, set careful rules about its care and supervision.  If you live near the woods, allow plenty of time for exploring, without schedules or expectations.  Part of the fun of camping is its freedom.  Let your kids experience that freedom as much as safety dictates. 

For a further step away, try a grandparent’s or cousin’s backyard – still simple enough to be comfortable but innovative enough to be exciting.  When everyone has time to get used to the idea of sleeping outside with critters and nighttime sounds, and all the parents have gotten over their worries, a far-away camping trip will seem more possible. 

I have a feeling that backyard camping will be a breeze for the little ones, but my own reservations will take longer to overcome.  I’ll blame it on my years of enjoyment of things like air conditioning and mattresses – things that can’t compete with nature in the long run, but put up a shockingly good fight in my pampered mind.

 

[Originally published in The Joplin Globe.]

On Father's Day

A man who isn't afraid to wear the teething necklace is the best kind of daddy.

Justin let me sleep in after a particularly long night of awakenings and broken sleep the other night.  I would have cried my appreciation if I hadn't fallen directly back to sleep before the words I'll take care of the kids had even finished filling the air. 

What seemed like a few seconds of bliss were broken an hour later when he crept into the dim bedroom with a plea for help.  Landon needed rice cereal, and while Justin excels in every possible area of fatherhood, rice cereal preparation just isn't something he's had much practice at. 

"Sarah," he whispered, drawing back the curtain of hair that had fallen over my face.  "How do I make bubba's cereal?"

I rolled over reluctantly.  Smacked my lips in retaliation.  Blinked at the father of my children.  And said a prayer of thanks for such a wonderfully present husband. 

"Um," I mumbled through foggy lips.  "Use about four tablespoons of cereal and thaw a baggie of milk in a bowl of hot water.  Just use enough milk to make it stirrable -- I don't know how much."

He kissed my forehead and escaped the quiet room.  I drifted away while the girls pretended to be lost baby raccoons in their bedroom.  Or maybe I dreamed that part.  But in another flash of a second, Justin was back, whispering again. 

"Babe.  Babe?  Is this the right tablespoon?"  His eyebrows were creased with concentration and in his hand was an old, plastic measuring cup.  1/3 cup, from the looks of it.  He turned it over, studying it before looking at me again.  I couldn't help it; I snorted.  I covered my face with my hand, rolled into my pillow, and tried to talk--

"That....that's....oh, honey!  You have a one-third cup measure!  I said tablespoon!" 

"I....what?  Well, all the the numbers have rubbed off of these cups!  How am I supposed to know what a tablespoon looks like?"

I sat up and grabbed his arm to steady my laughter, to speak with import:  "It looks like a spoon, for starters."

A smile twitched at his lips.  "Fine...but...will you please come help me?"  His eyes were puppy-dogged and hopeful.

And while nothing would have made me happier than to stay curled in bed for another half-morning, I went.  Because it's not every day that this man needs my help; how could I deny him in his noble quest for a tablespoon?



Happy Father's Day, Justin!  I love laughing with you as we do life together!

Bigger Picture Moments: The Years

The years are stacked up neatly beneath us, thin but soft.  A layer of cushion.  I can see exactly how many have been added to the pile -- nine years -- and flip them over in my hands, counting them with memories. 

Then, here we are.  Perched safely on top.  Dangling our legs over the edge, looking up into the sky, where more years are stacked somewhere just beyond the sunrise.  The weight of them presses on us like a promise, thick in the atmosphere. 

We've had nine of our years so far.  And the rest of them are waiting patiently to be unfolded, laid down, smoothed out.  Waiting to be wrinkled and washed and smoothed again.  Waiting to be filled with love.

We hold hands, lacing our fingers together as we watch the sun coming up today, giving us another year.

It is a beautiful sunrise.


Happy Anniversary, Justin!  I love you!



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 find the fullness in the simple. 

Spirited

I always knew the girls were spirited but seeing them like this is a little bit...haunting...don't you think?  Overexposure and a too-open shutter will do that to you, I suppose. 

But it was kind of fitting for the occasion.  We helped welcome my brother's family into their new home --  a beautiful place on a big stretch of land full of fruit trees and wild grasses and weathered buildings.  The barn is magnificently aged and worn, but the house itself is entirely refinished and comfortable.

And just the slightest

bit

frightening. 

Hear me out: there are hidden closets and passageways and trap doors.  There are secret entrances and deep closets.  It's a hide-and-seeker's dream.  I know the girls will have the MOST fun playing there with their cousin, but it was all I could do to walk through the empty rooms without shivering -- on a hot day. 

Once they get furniture arranged and family accents placed, it will not be frightening at all. 

Except for the basement with its steep, narrow staircase. 

And the tiny, child-sized door leading to the attic from the upstairs bedroom. 

And the way the little gabled cutouts seem to hide the barest whisper of a shadow...

Old farm houses are awesome, as long as I'm only stopping by for frequent visits.  Because peeing my pants each time I tiptoe past a trapdoor or over a creaky step would just not be conducive to my cool-mom status.  I need to guard that diligently as I fear it's already waning; my spirited kids see right through me. 



What do you think?  Would you love to live in an old farm house?  Or are you more likely to be a skiddish, pants-wetting visitor?

Tuesdays Around the World: Mia

As soon as she stepped foot out of Kindergarten -- what?  two weeks ago?  a lifetime ago? -- she declared herself a First Grader.  I know what that means.  That means 7-year-olds.  And homework.  Sleepovers.  It means almost-a-second-grader.  Almost a teenager and almost a young lady.  But she is my first baby, so I contradict her: she will not be a first grader until she steps foot in the classroom.  Even then, I will be suspicious.  First graders are not little.  They are full-grown, still-growing people, walking away into life. 

"Mama, when I was a baby, did I make cute noises like Landon does?"  She asks from the back of the car as we're driving across town.  Landon is gurgling and squealing delightedly -- delightfully -- in front of her. 

"Of course," I tell her.  "You sounded a lot like him, all bubbly and happy."

But as her attention refocuses out a tinted window, I panic; I can't actually remember the sound of her baby gurgles and her sloppy raspberries.  They must have sounded just the same as her baby brother's.  As her little sister's.  Babies do this.  But was her inflection sharper, softer, broader, tighter?  I can't hear it in my head.

I stare at her in the rear view mirror, at her sister in the next seat, at her brother -- all I can hear is right now.  This very minute, the bubbles and screeches and questions and giggles and songs, they fill my head to the exclusion of memory although I desperately wish to hold it all, every scrap and snippet, snug for the rest of time, until it stands still and eternity holds us...

But then they are all three silent at the very moment my eyes begin to prick with hot tears, and it is okay. 

I can't hold the yesterdays.  I can only step into the tomorrows. 

First-grader or not, she is living into tomorrow.  I guess I'll join her.

Tuesdays Around the World is hosted by Communal Global -- go visit to take a quick globe-trot and make some new friends!

Also linking with Heather's Just Write -- another place to make new friends and share yourself with words.

7 Quick Photos

1.  I tried to get pictures of Landon planking (or whatever the baby approximation of that is), but the boy army crawls too quickly these days.  He was on me in a heartbeat.

2.  He's developed the affinity of babies everywhere for playing with mom and dad's high-priced technology rather than those juvenile, primary-colored baby toys.  Just the good stuff, man.

3.  Mia was browsing through pictures of friends, and sat down immediately to write a pen-pal letter.  But it had to be done outside, where she could enjoy both fresh air AND privacy.  Pen-pals are too important for mama to see what the letter is about; they are only required to write the address on the envelope.   

4.  In the girls' bedroom under the bunk bed beside the box of Barbies, there is a magical place which holds Landon's third greatest love (because my cell phone and camera take top honors): the Barbie cars.  These have the added benefit of being NOT off-limits, so he scoots across the house and into the girls' room whenever he gets a chance.  He grunts and squeals the entire time.  To reach the Barbie cars = baby nirvana. 

5.  On his way to nirvana, though, he usually has to watch out for dressing up girls. Their high heels are dangerous and not at all well-controlled.  But they do make a satisfactorily noisy clamor.

6.  If it's not one dressing up girl, it's another.  In fact, it's USUALLY this one.  Lauren of the I'm-a-princess-ladybug-ballerina-fairy-fighterfighter (firefighter. try to keep up.) and you have to be the evil queen-butterfly-prince-raccoon-bad guy.  She is four, and so must I be, if I am to keep her adequately entertained.

7.  And I just figured you NEEDED to see this sour-face.  The pears and blueberries gave him quite a pucker...

What have you been up to this week?  Any dressing up or sour-face-making?  And what are your weekend plans?

Bigger Picture Moments: In With the Sweetness

I will admit that I did not crawl out of the right side of the bed today.  Instead, it was the we'll be bored and irritable today side of the bed.  The keeping the girls busy without making messes because we need to sell the house side.  And maybe a little bit of when can I do something just for ME? side of the bed. 

Part of it is me feeling inadequate: it seems like the girls are arguing more than ever, leaving me to wonder.  How do I fix this?  Or at least not make it worse?  How much bickering should be allowed, versus how quickly I step in and cry uncle? 

Another part is my reaction to my energy-filled four-year-old.  Lauren is wild this summer, blooming into a big girl but still using little girl tactics, and it's not bringing out the best in me.  I'm losing my temper daily, which will only pave the way towards losing my temper hourly.  I don't want this.

I don't want to be angry with their learning how to be or with Lauren's exuberance, but when it's directed at an overwhelmed brother or used (loudly) when I'm trying to rock that brother to sleep... I just get so frustrated.  And the whining...and the hurt feelings...

So I woke up dreading the new day.

When Lauren came into the kitchen before breakfast, I kissed the top of her head, breathing in her sleepy scent.  In with the sweetness, out with yesterday's frustrations.  She stood at the back door, looking up at the bird feeder and to the shrubs beyond.  I tensed, waiting for her demand.  I'm hungry!  I need a drink!  What can we do today?  I knew what I would do; I would encourage her to think for herself.  I would remind her that she's capable.  I would smile and trust.  But still, I was tense.

Instead, she kept silent.  She squinted into the bright sky and unlocked the door.  Stealthily, she tiptoed onto the patio, crunching bare feet over discarded sunflower seed hulls.  The birds flapped away from the feeder noisily, disturbed.  I waited for her irritation; I thought the birds were what she wanted to get close to. 

She stepped to the shrub, lifted her arm, and plucked a flower.  It fell to the ground.  Again, I expected irritation.  Again, she kept moving.  She squatted down with her nightgown brushing the concrete, and smiled when she reached her treasure.  She stood and lifted it to her nose.  She came back inside the door, closed it, and locked it.

And handed the flower to me. 

I was ashamed of myself.  If each moment has the capacity to be something special -- either in a grand, spectacular way, or in a mundane, plodding way -- and I ruin it with horrible expectations, what is left?  I held Lauren's hand to my lips, kissing her generosity and innocence, and whispered a new incantation: in with the sweetness, out with the expectations.

The flower sits on the windowsill above my sink.  Admonishing with an open face.  Guiding with a bright smile.  Showing me what to see, serene in its observation.






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 find the fullness in the simple