MommyCoddle

motherhood

With all the baby talk around here, it seemed somewhat appropriate that this mama would drop her calf yesterday morning, just inside the fence on the edge of our property. She belongs to our neighbor, but my girls "adopt" these calves as if they were our own. 

There was much concern over this calf. Lots of checking in. Lots of reports coming in to me in the house. And a handful of stern warnings from me about nervous mama cows who need to protect their new calves. And the flimsy piece of barbed wire standing between you and that mama.

The patient nudging of this mama cow reminded me of where I was last week in my feelings about motherhood. I found myself in another season of feeling at the end of my rope. Feeling like nothing I was saying or doing was making a difference. Feeling like I somehow was failing at guiding my children in the right direction. Feeling like none of my children were inherently wanting to make the right and good decisions. Feeling like I had a house full of attitudes, that unfortunately and embarrassingly, probably matched my own. 

I shot an email to my husband at work -- what do I do? How do I handle this? What should I say to them? 

He gave me a few ideas. But a few minutes later he wrote me another email. Just remember, he said, it takes a long time to train a child. It’s like doing the dinner dishes. I get upset at the girl’s lack of attention but they are slowly (very slowly) getting better. It will take time for them to get in the habit of doing the job with the right amount of focus. Then it will take a while for them to learn how to do it right. Then it will take a while for them to anticipate what comes next so I won’t have to tell them. But this all takes time.

I keep reminding myself of that first and last line. It takes a long time to guide and train my children. This all takes time. 

Telling them once, doesn't equal a change in heart or an automatic change in the way they do things. They need to be reminded. Reminded again. Taught. Shown. Guided. Encouraged. And reminded again. 

Change comes. But it often comes slowly. Much more slowly than I'm willing to allow. But it does come, and is coming, if I look closely. 

If I give up, get frustrated, get angry, then no one is learning anything except the wrong way to handle a situation that requires resilience and endurance. And I wonder why I'm not seeing any change.

But the changes are there.

They're not leaving the sofa cushions on the floor when they're done.

The boots are (generally) making it back into the boot box.

She's trying to walk away from the situation instead of reacting in anger.

They're drying the dishes without complaining and reminding.

She's talking it out with her sister, before raising her voice. Sometimes.

This all takes times. 

It is the mantra that breathes an extra portion of patience into my mothering. 

cracking the whip

I like to think that I get more organized with the birth of each child. In reality, I think it almost becomes necessity. And that must be why my grandmother, with 15 children, seemed to have an efficient method or system for just about everything. I learned so much from her.

I've been feeling the urge "to crack the whip" (as my mother would say) around here the past few weeks. I'm at the point where my body isn't able to do all that my mind knows needs to be accomplished. I can't get it all done by myself. And my children are definitely eager to help when I present it well. 

They love a system. A routine. (And anything in chart-form that hangs on the refrigerator.) 

One of our usual "nagging sessions" comes in the morning and the evening as I dole out the daily chores. Who's going to feed the chickens? Who did it yesterday? Who feels like they always have to let out the chickens? 

I'm finding that this simple visual system is saving me boatloads of nagging and the jobs are getting done much more smoothly.

The chart I'm using is from Joan Goldner at BusyBody Books. She makes great planners, but this blank 7 column grid pad is by far my favorite. It's 3 hole punched and magnetic. Ours hangs on the fridge. (I also got an email in my inbox from BBBooks last week. They are moving warehouses and having great sales right now...)

I'd love to hear what chores your children help out with around the house. Do you have a system? A chart? A list? How do you crack the whip? :)

sniff, sniff

A few weeks ago, two of my dear cousins came to town for a visit and stayed at my grandmother's house. On their last day, we sat together in my grandmother's bedroom on her boldly upholstered sofa, knitting, looking at old scrapbooks, reminiscing, and assessing the future. 

One of my favorite things in my grandmother's bedroom, aside from that great sofa, are the throw pillows that cover it. I've said it before but one of the things I love about my grandmother's house is that her handiwork is everywhere. And those pillows are no exception. Some were gifts, some made by her children and many made by her. 

To me, they are little gestures that carry so much love, care and effort. 

And during the time we spent in her bedroom that Sunday afternoon, I determined that I would make each of the girls a pillow of their own for Valentine's Day this year. 

When I was living on my grandmother's farm, she gifted me a small basket of her fabric scraps and many of those fabrics went into the girls' pillows. At the bottom of that basket, I also found a piece of the same fabric that upholsters her bedroom sofa--enough to back each of the girls pillows. 

As I ironed and stitched the fabrics together and appliqued a special design on the front of each pillow, for each girl, I said to my husband, "This fabric smells like her still." It made me teary, but happy.

And when those three little girls opened their presents Valentine's morning and pulled out the pillows, they clutched them and buried their noses in them. "This smells like Meemu!" And they recognized that fabric and knew bits of it were from her. 

It made all the effort and the sneaking-around sewing, and the borrowed sewing machine, and the stuck fingers, and the ripped out stitches and silly mistakes worth it.

thank you

Even though I turned off the comments on my last post, the outpouring of emails, phone calls, messages on twitter, has been overwhelming. I turned off the comments because I didn't want anyone to feel pressure to say anything. I turned off the comments because sometimes it's just good to say what you need to say and be done with it, expecting nothing in return. But that isn't to say that the messages from all of you that have still reached me, haven't touched me deeply, because they have. 

If you ever question the goodness and care of people, the relationships that have been forged through blogging, I can attest to the fact that both of these things run strong and true. 

The trip to Hopkins with Mary was eye-opening and reassuring. I left feeling nothing but impressed with the care and concern of the doctors, with the way they communicate with each other and respect what each one brings to the table. You know that you are in good hands. 

Again, sparing the details, and after much back and forth with the doctors we are going to take a cautious, but relaxed approach to what has been going on with her. All those difficult words and procedures are going to be put on the back burner, hopefully never to be brought up again, if the course of action we are taking right now takes care of the problems at hand.

They were optimistic. Cautious, concerned, but optimistic that we didn't need to jump in the deep waters of diseases and treatments.

Again, I cannot say it enough, thank you. I hope that I haven't worried you all too much, but frankly, I was worried. All those possibilities and probabilities were a bit daunting to think about. But I feel good about where we are now. 

Sitting in the crowded waiting room of the Hopkins Children's Clinic, one can't help but be overwhelmed. I found myself catching eyes with other mothers, filling out forms, juggling babies on laps, pulling entertainment out of our bags of snacks, crayons and coloring books. They were looks of curiosity -- why are you here? of understanding -- we're going through something too. I sat in my seat and watched a mother testing blood sugar on one child and dolling out snacks, and filling a syringe and giving a shot in the arm of another child sitting in the stroller beside her. I went to the bathroom where a mother had every stall filled. Her son with no arm below the elbow, a toddler waiting patiently on the changing table, another in the other stall. And she was juggling it all with grace and patience, and even had the energy left to joke with me about taking up all the room. 

As we were leaving, Dan said to me, "It is amazing how well we can adapt." How suddenly when faced with something difficult that we think we could never or would never handle, we do. You look across the room at another mother and say, "I could never do what she does." And yet, if you needed to, you would and you could. 

I was thankful to walk out of that clinic with answers. With a good outlook for the future. With an end in sight. But I was also impressed, strengthened and inspired by the families that surrounded me in that waiting room. 

2009 : in photos + words : april

: 26 april 2009 :

| Grateful To The Last |

I hold those two years we lived on her farm close to my heart. I find myself frantically searching my mind for memories, moments we shared. My family, my children became part of her routine ....

The question for the old and the dying, I think, is not if they have loved and been loved enough, but if they have been grateful enough for the love received and given, however much. No one who has gratitude is the onliest one. Let us pray to be grateful to the last. 

: 16 april 2009 :

| Black Walnut's Home Birth |

: 12 april 2009 :

| swarm and settle |

....sitting atop a grassy green hill, looking out over his field dotted with black cows and their calves. Watching the grackles swarm and then settle in a different spot in the field. Swarm and settle. Chuckling at a calf whose slipped under the fence, kicking up its heels at its freedom. Watching the collies as they work over the bulls, who are only slightly bothered by their presence ....

: 7 april 2009 :

| little mysteries |

: 5 april 2009 :

| living a complex life |

I get tired of working, working, working, and figuring out how to make work-time into family-time. I wonder if there will ever be a weekend where there isn't a major project on the agenda. 

I wonder if I'm cut out for this...

In so many words, Wendell Berry says that this life we are leading or striving for, so many people refer to as the "simple life" or "living simply". But in reality what we should be striving for "is the complex life"....

: 20 april 2009 :

| chicken picnic |

2009 : in photos + words : march

: 23 March 2009 :

| How We Do Things |

 :20 March 2009 :

| Family Stories |

These boxes are full of family stories. I sorted, tried to make out faces, noticed how much someone's children look exactly like they did, when they were that age. Marveled at my grandmother, poolside--a handful of kids splashing in the water, a few toddlers watching from wooden playpens in the grass. Children spread around long wooden tables on the patio, covered in newspaper, dipping eggs into colored water. Girls bareback on horses. Weddings on the front lawn with green tents, bright yellow table cloths and daisies. Volkswagen buses and BB guns ....

: 31 March 2009 :

| Five Senses |

So now after all this, I'm not sure if my girls know more about their five senses, or more about how fun it is to blindfold each other and make them stick their hands into unknown bowls of food ....

when it rains it pours

And while that statement could be true about our weather, as of late--it is also true of my life. 

First of all, thank you for all of your well wishes for Mary during her recovery from Lyme's. It is a slow and steady recovery, but thankfully, as of yesterday, I think I can say she's pretty much back to normal. No more croquet mallet crutches, no more "Tiny Tim". 

And just when you think life might settle down again, and things return to normal......you drive your oldest daughter to the barn to go riding and decide to hang around because it will only be a short ride. And you stand there in the ring and watch her pony spook, buck and bolt. And you watch her fall hard onto the dirt ring. And she stands up, bleeding from her mouth, nostrils caked with dirt, cheek scraped--scared, but still tough. She tells you her arm hurts, but she can move it, so you relax a little.

And then, brave little girl, gets back up on that pony one more time. Tears still stealing out from the corners of her eyes.

And here we are a few days later. Emma fractured her radius, but thankfully it is only a thin crack. No cast, just a soft splint. The first night was downright brutal. Tears, pain, exhaustion and things being said like, "I'm scared I'll never be able to fall asleep and I'm so tired." or "I don't feel like myself. I just want to be normal again." Moments where you wonder who is hurting more--the little girl, or the mother.

My friends keep checking on me--asking how I'm doing--one child recovering from Lyme's, the other with a cracked wrist. But really, I'm doing fine. Aside from a topsy-turvy school schedule, and floors that billow with dog hair, dust and bits of wood from the woodstove--we're all doing fine. Hot cups of tea in the afternoons, a table littered with craft supplies, too many episodes of Little House on The Prairie, and visitors bringing sugary sweet cookies and quarts of chocolatey ice cream, all help speed up the healing process, I believe. 

I'll be back here next week with a little more regularity. I have a few things I've been meaning to share once I'm off full-time nurse duty.

Happy Weekend. And thanks for caring about our little family.

**the bucking pony picture is actually not from this incident. same pony, old bucking episode. she stayed on for that one:) **

grateful hearts and full bellies

Yesterday afternoon while my girls were snuggled beside the woodstove "studying" an episode of Little House on The Prairie, I slipped off into the kitchen to make a little thank you gift for my favorite veteran. If you didn't see the video I shared yesterday, that my father shared with me, I hope you'll take a few minutes to watch it. I tend to think I'm a pretty grateful, patriotic person--yet watching that video reminds me of how easily we take our freedoms and safety for granted. It is important to see the faces, hear the words and memories of a generation that has kept our generation free.

So, this little "Veteran's Day Apple Cake" is a good one. Simple, quick, and best of all it's a "one to keep, one to give" kind of cake. The recipe makes two loaves. I owe the discovery of this cake to my sister--who made it for me on our last visit. And I'm pretty sure it comes out of her church's recipe book. I swear, those little church recipe collections are full of culinary greatness. 

:: Veteran's Day Apple Cake ::

p.s. this cake does not fall in the low-fat, low-cal category. but it is high in the yum-factor.

1 1/4 cup vegetable oil

2 cups sugar (see what I mean?)

3 eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla

3 cups flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon salt

3 cups chopped, peeled apples

1/2 cup chopped pecans (optional)

Combine oil, sugar, eggs and vanilla. (I mix the whole cake by hand, and don't bother getting out any kind of electric mixer or my kitchenaid). Sift dry ingredients and add to wet. Fold in apples and nuts. Pour into two greased (or parchment lined) 9 x 5 loaf pans. (my pans are different sizes, I just monitor their doneness at the end.)

Bake for 1 hour at 350. Turn off the oven and let stand in the oven for five minutes or until loaves test done. The tops should be nice and dark and crunchy, the insides will stay moist (one of my all-time most despised words) and delicious.

Now, I know it will be hard, but wrap one of those loaves up and share it with someone special. And enjoy the other one yourself.

Yum.

when all else fails, go to the stream

Each day, as part of our morning routine, I have the girls write a few things in their Gratitude Journals. I've found that it helps them reflect on their day and remember that they have many blessings and much to be thankful for.

Lately, I have to confess, I've been wallowing in some worry. Letting it get to me when my worry can do nothing to help or change the situation.

And it struck me on Monday, that I needed to be keeping a gratitude journal of my own. So I traded in my teacher hat, and became a learner, just like my children, spending a few quiet moments attempting to refocus my worry into what gifts and goodness I already had in my life.

Armed with my new attitude, and inspired by a much-needed day of sunshine, we blew off much of our typical school work and headed outside to the stream.

I packed my camera, my FLIP and we headed out to a newly-discovered spot in the stream--accessible now that the cooler temperatures have dried and pressed down the once long and overgrown grasses and vines. A turn in the stream that has been catching logs and debris for quite some time. It makes for a magical spot. Slightly nerve-wracking for the mother on the shore, but still quite a place to explore.

A little musical montage for you to enjoy....and lest you think that all is magical and perfect here on Thomas Run--allow me to let you in on the behind the scenes:

The movie is set to music because Mary was crying desperately  in the background since I wouldn't let her cross over the stream on the tree trunks without my help (in her very slippery, new cowgirl boots).

The movie is spliced together in order to edit out one child who wasn't completely clothed after needing to "use the facilities" once we got down to the stream, which subsequently led to each child needing to "use the facilities" Funny how that always happens.

And the littlest and probably the most fearless in my brood explores the edges of the water without any care or knowledge of the consequences if she were to fall into the water. (You'll notice the camera lurch when she slips on the shore, and I prepare to dive in and save her.)

Enjoy.

Happy Wednesday, friends. What are you thankful for today?

I should go away more often

There are two things in my kitchen that are lacking : (practical) working counter space and electrical outlets. So when we first moved in, the toaster had only one home--tucked underneath the counter right beside the stove. I'll get back to the toaster details in a moment.

The people who lived in this house before us, "fixed it up." There were two shades of carpeting throughout the house--baby blue and rose pink. And no two switch plate covers were the same--cows, sunflowers, hummingbirds, morning glories, pigs, pineapples. There was lots of gold and oddly ornate (gag) mantle pieces. And we won't discuss the "hillbilly wiring" that ran all around our farm--bare wires tucked into PVC pipes and run underground out to barns, sheds and workshops. 

So their kitchen "remodel" involved lots gold knobs and white-plastic-y covered cabinets.

We discovered the plastic covers on our cabinets thanks to the location of the toaster. After several weeks of use, the toaster heated the cabinet doors, which in turn melted the plastic laminate covering on the cupboards and caused it to pull away from the wooden cabinet frame underneath.

Soon, I began to discover places all around my kitchen where this white cover was peeling away from the cabinets. It was like a nasty hangnail--so tempting to pull off, but painful (to look at) if you did.

Dan would often casually mention that he could probably heat the covers off the cabinets and paint them any color I wanted. Some day. I knew this wasn't high on the "to-do" list--seeing as the basement is so wet it causes our living room books to mildew, I still turn on my shower with a wrench and pair of pliers, the door on the chicken coop is about to fall off, and we still don't have enough firewood for winter. 

But it never fails that if the girls and I disappear for a day or two, Dan always gets into some project, like the headboard he made me one weekend when the girls and I slipped over to my mom's house for a visit.

It is always exciting to come home and see how he's rearranged furniture, what pictures have been added to the family wall, how much of the laundry he's gotten done, or what toys have "mysteriously" disappeared.

But this weekend, while I was rediscovering my family's history and he was taking care of three girls, the house, the animals and the cleaning...he also managed to melt off the ugly white plastic laminate and repaint ALL my kitchen cupboards.

I don't know how he does it.

And even though my kitchen still has no great counter space, vinyl floor that always looks dirty even when it's clean and popcorn-textured ceilings, I'm in love. With my husband, of course, and my new happy kitchen.

there and back again

This weekend, I did something that fell into two categories...something I haven't done in a really long time, and something I've always wanted to do.

On Friday morning, I packed my bags (equal parts knitting/camera supplies and clothing), waved goodbye to my three little girls and headed out on the road with my dear cousin Maggie. We were on a little pilgrimage of sorts--the something I've always wanted to do. We took a long weekend away to visit our other dear cousin Catherine and experience first-hand some of our family history.

We saw the homes that my father, grandmother, grandfather, and other "great-greats" grew up in or called home. We stood on the shores of the bay where my grandmother once played and sailed. We visited gravestones, yacht clubs, cottages and main streets.

We hoisted each other over tall privacy fences to snap pictures and get closer looks.

We sat around, knitting in our laps, watching old movies and slide shows mourning, yet adoring the loved ones we've lost.

We laughed until our sides ached.

We cried some more.

I tried to figure out a way to really describe my weekend away, but I am truly left without words. It feels like something that can only be understood by a handful of people who know what I know, have known what I have known and long for the same things I long for.

But I can tell you, that getting to experience my family's history in such a tangible way has left a deep impression on my heart.

I haven't done something like this in a very long time, leaving all my babes behind and going somewhere by myself. But I am returning with a sense of refreshment, contentment and a joyful sorrow that has been escaping me for quite some time.

a day like this

Saturday afternoon, Dan headed over to my Grandpa Sayre's farm to chop and split some wood. He took Mary and Emma with him. When Elizabeth woke up from her nap, she was heartbroken, that everyone had gone to Grandpa's without her. So we jumped in the car together and headed over.

We got there, just as the first hints of nightfall were arriving. The sun was leaving it's warming golden glow on every hillside and slipping between the trees.

I'm so glad I thought to throw the camera in the front seat of the car with me because I couldn't even make it up Grandpa's long driveway without having to pull over and take a few photographs.

When we finally pulled into the house, I could hear the chain saw, but couldn't see Dan anywhere. Down over the steep back hill, I found him slowly taking apart a downed Ash tree.

Elizabeth and I started the hike over the hill, knowing (and thankful) that we could get a ride back to the top in the truck. The girls met us from behind a few strides down the hill--they'd been down in the barn, jumping in the corn and checking out the cows.

When Dan finished, and we finally got back up to Grandpa's house, he came out to say goodbye. We stood there for a long time, the girls playing in the back of the truck, Grandpa and Dan talking about property lines, woodburners, farming and politics.

And I stood back, making sure no one toppled out of the truck bed and soaking in the scenery as the light changed from golden yellow to deep blues, to pink, to dark purple. 

At one point I stood with the sun setting at one shoulder, the moon reaching into the sky at the other.

It was remarkable.

Grandpa told the girls how, on nights like this, he comes out to those chairs and watches the clouds and waits for the deer to come out of the woods. And how just a few nights ago, he counted 37.

Some light rain finally chased us home--dirty children, a tired, sore and hungry husband.

As I pulled out of the driveway, waving to my girls sitting three across in the truck, all I could think was how blessed I am, we are. To have places like this to come to. To have views like this to cherish. To have people like Grandpa to share stories with and love. To have strong bodies to do work. Warm homes to protect us in bitter cold. And a place like this, and people like you to mark the moment, and share those feelings of fullness and contentment that come at the end of a day like this.

I guess it's time to spill the beans

Good morning, friends.

As I sit here this morning, (oh! afternoon, actually)... I've given my girls a break from school. They are off running around in the breezy, sunny outdoors, soaking up the sun and stretching stiff, creaky school-time bodies.

And I am here, enjoying a few moments of quiet before I head into the kitchen to determine what "delicacies" to put on the table for lunch. 

But today, today! is the day that I have decided to spill the beans. I have decided it's time to let you in on my secret. My news.

I am happy to share with all of you that I am expecting baby number four at the end of March.

I am blissfully happy to be two weeks into my second trimester, after the most difficult first trimester I have ever experienced.

I can only say that what I went through bordered on what I almost have considered depression. A complete lack of energy. A constant fog. A pile of emotion. A whole lot of exhaustion. A lack of interest in anything. And a constant state of nausea. 

But thankfully, as the second trimester approached the fog lifted, and I finally find myself returning to normal.

And while I am being thankful--I could not have made it through that first trimester without my wonderful husband. Who not only worked all day, but became mother and homemaker by night. And when I (often) came to him in tears, drowning in guilt over what I wasn't doing, he simply said, "Your job is to grow a baby and rest. That is all you need to worry about right now." 

I've been hesitant to share my news after my experience last fall, and I still find myself somewhat cautious. But as my husband reminds me, "telling people means more people to pray for the health and care of this new baby".

We are happy. The girls are ecstatic. Baby dolls are the new "it" toy around here. Elizabeth tells me she can see the baby in my belly button and "shhhh. he's sleepin'. " And they throw around names like "Texas" and "Susannah".

I think I'll go make some lunch and work on that list of names.....

ribbons and recipes

Last Tuesday afternoon, Emma and I found ourselves scrambling around a sticky hot kitchen. While I gave her directions on measuring this, leveling that, and "do you know what it means to cream the butter and sugar?" and "you should really crack the eggs in a separate bowl first, but we don't have time for that."; I also fielded the whining from a jealous little sister, "You never let me do anything in the kitchen!" and tried to comfort and keep tabs on my three house guests who I worried were wilting in the heat and bored out of their minds.

For the two days prior, we'd lost electricity in a storm that seemed to settle in and swirl around our valley. And so this day, fair day, we were left to prepare almost everything.

We were multi-tasking wonders--between baking and measuring, she'd do another touch-up on her painting. I'd dry the paint with the hair dryer while she wrote out the labels for her photography--I don't want to talk about how many times we had to redo the labels.....while the cake baked, she changed her clothes, threw her hair back in a ponytail and we searched for our gate passes and read through the all directions one more time.

I quizzed her on things I thought the judge might ask about each of her projects:

What kind of paints did you use?
What's the name of your cake?
At what temperature did you bake your cake?
What kind of camera did you use?

And I tried to give her gentle nudges of things she might want to share with the judge:

You could tell her that the eggs are from your own chickens.
You could tell her the story about how you finished your painting and then your little sister got into the paints and covered it in black.
You could tell her how your mother is this amazing photographer who takes stunning pictures and she taught you everything she knows and she has this photography project called ha......(kidding. i didn't say any of that. of course.)

And right on schedule at 4 o'clock, we all loaded into the car, her bag carefully packed with half a cake on a pretty teal plate, her photographs and her painting of a sheep. We made our way to the fairgrounds and found the judging table for the Clovers--the children who aren't quite old enough to be full-fledged 4-Hers yet.

She walked up to the table. And I stepped back.

The judge was sweet--overflowing with compliments, asking sweet simple questions, nowhere near as difficult as those she'd fielded from me. And I smiled as I heard Emma tell the judge the story of the ruined and rescued painting.

And then her things were carried away, into the big home arts building under the green flag of clovers. Set on display among other children's projects--birdhouses and scrapbooks, knitted turtles and cross-stitched pillows, model rockets and strawberry jam.

When we came back to the fair Friday night, I believe she entered the fairgrounds skipping. So proud of that little white card in her hand that proved she was a card-carrying 4-Her. So excited to show her Daddy her projects on display and dying to see those silky green ribbons she knew would be hanging from each one.

So, I thought this morning in honor of the sticky hot fair days that are behind us, I'd share Emma's recipe for Sour Cream Pound Cake. A recipe given to me years and years ago, which we've since made our own. It is so good and just the right amount of sweet. One of the judges even arrived at Emma's table, fork in hand, "I just have to try this cake." And afterward, I heard her whisper in Emma's ear, "You make one awesome cake little girl." and she reached for one more slice.

Enjoy.

COUNTY FAIR CAKE

3/4 c. butter, soft
2 1/4 c. sugar (and that's why it's so good)
4 eggs
2 1/4 c. flour
1/4 t. baking soda
3/4 c. sour cream (i like to make it an overflowing 3/4 cup.) (can also be subst. w/ yogurt)
1 t. vanilla
1/2 t. lemon extract (optional. we never add it)

Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs one at a time, beating after each. To creamed mixture add sour cream and flour mix, alternately. Starting and ending with the flour mix. Mix until just blended after each addition. Stir in flavorings.

Pour batter into a greased and sugared (that's the key) bundt pan. Bake at 325 degrees for an hour or until toothpick comes out clean. Cool in pan for 10 minutes. Remove from pan onto a wire rack and continue to cool. Sprinkle with powdered sugar.

the weekend

Yesterday afternoon our house was silent except for the humming of the fans. Every single member of the family fell sound asleep for Sunday naps. Very long, deep Sunday naps.

It had been a big weekend--my cousin's wedding and reception at their farm, lots of family in town, and the beginnings of going through some of my grandparents' things. There were many moments where I felt like I was moving through time in slow-motion, puffy-eyed and exhausted by emotion and other moments of belly-aching laughter and sweetness that I never want to forget.

I think that's a sign of a well-lived weekend.

I've got more things to share with you including some new additions to our growing animal kingdom--if I can just get them to get over their shyness in front of the camera. But for now, I think I'll spend the rest of the day in recovery mode--reclaiming the house and tackling a much neglected mountain of laundry.

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Chronicle Books winners:

Little Oink :  Ericka

Oh, Little Oink looks so cute! I've been checking out all of the "let's clean up" books from the library that I can find...it's not a favorite chore of my 2 year olds. Or mine really! And Secrets of Simplicity, someone PLEASE tell me what they are! Where are they hiding?

Horse Crazy :  Meghan

Always love books! I like the looks of Horse Crazy :)

Secrets of Simplicity : Shannon

My daughter is crazy for horse books and is just beginning to truely develop the love of reading and I am much in need of a little simplicity. Thanks for sharing!

Winners: Please send me an email with your mailing information and I'll pass it on to Chronicle Books.