I've been on a bit of a mission lately. I'm capitalizing on this second trimester bliss--lots of energy, decent mobility before I get really huge and awkward and a strong desire to simplify everything around the house.
Yesterday, I bit the bullet and began my attack on Emma and Mary's bedroom. Their room has been going downhill lately. Swiftly downhill. To the point where I often don't even step foot into their bedroom because it overwhelms me. I tell them to throw their dirty laundry into their hallway, I retrieve it and look away. They make their beds each morning as part of our routine, but I haven't been cracking down much more than that.
Dan goes in their room each night to read and will often tell them that if he doesn't seem some improvement in their rooms when he gets home the next day there will be no horseback riding that week. But the girls' idea of room improvement is shoving things into random dresser drawers, under beds, and into toy baskets. That's not working.
It's not a new concept around here, but it's one that needs to be revisited more often:
Less toys means they play better. Less clothes means the laundry is more manageable, their dressers are tidy and there's a place for everything. Less "things" in their room, means less "things" on the floor, under beds, thrown into baskets.
So yesterday afternoon the three of us waded into their bedroom and began an attack. We cleaned out, reorganized, threw out, and gave away things from every corner of their room. Everything is gone from under beds. Every dresser drawer has been opened, folded and reorganized. Every book put back into place and many, many toys have found new "homes" out in the (storage) barn, or with another needier family.
I cut back their room to have just a few things : a small basket of schleich animals
It is amazing to me, what simplifying and organizing does for children's play. They could barely get through the last of the dusting and vacuuming before all three girls were belly down on the floor setting up elaborate scenes with their animals and fencing. The room felt lighter, happier and more peaceful. It was a space that they enjoyed.
Once we were completely finished, I gave them a tour of their room. We talked about what was in every drawer, where the Schleich toys went, how books go on the book shelf, where dirty laundry belongs. I pretended they were new children that were moving into my home who needed instruction on how we do things.
And then I gave them a quiz.
They ate it up.
As a treat, and because I had borrowed a sewing machine for another project, I secretly whipped out a little dresser scarf for each of the girls yesterday afternoon. Their bedside table tops are eye-sores. And this was one way to dress up the dresser and added a little touch of sweetness to their room. They were so excited.
About as excited as I was to have a sewing machine in my house again, even if it's only for a few days. When Emma found out I had it she said, "Good. Because I have sooo much sewing I need to get done." A girl after my own heart.
If you haven't heard, I've started an epidemic around blogland, introducing people to the inspiration that is tumblr. Each day a few new friends succumb to the disease. I love it. I have a few kids rooms posted on my tumblr from the past few days that are inspiring me lately--with the exception of the first one, with the bunk beds. I simply liked the beds, otherwise the room is a little too busy for my new simplifying mentality. :) So stop by, take a look around, be inspired. There is so much goodness out there to enjoy.
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?
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.
I read this quote last week on Ali's blog and it has left a serious impression on me. I don't know what it is about these words, but they really were the thing that I needed to hear.
Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.
I think that sometimes, I get too thrown off by a slight bump in the road, an unexpected mess, a bit of disobedience, a forgotten errand or ingredient, an argument between little girls. I forget that these things are just part of life. These things are part of a normal day.
And while I strongly believe that each day holds bits that are glorious, and sweet, and tender and darn near perfect--a normal day, I'm reminded--is an excellent thing. It is something to be celebrated, and recognized for what it is.
Maybe I shouldn't open this can of worms, but I think the search for "some rare and perfect tomorrow" can be one of the downsides of blogging and blog reading. Because it is true, we pick and choose what we share, what we photograph, the stories we tell. We often capture moments that look like bliss. We zoom in on the children playing happily and don't zoom out on the piles of laundry on the sofa and the ping-pong-sized dust balls scampering around under the furniture.
And that's okay. If blogging were only about those piles of laundry and dust bunnies, it would lose a lot of its inspiration. And the celebration of those blissful days and moments and creativity is important.
But if we think that everyone is having a "rare and perfect tomorrow" but us, then we are beginning to lose perspective. If we think our day was less than wonderful just because it was "normal," than we need to step back and take a look at what is good and healthy and what is part of our every day lives.
And though I've somehow managed to change my pronouns from "I" to "we", I'm still mostly talking to myself.
And on some days, when we may be lamenting "normal", there is someone else, somewhere, who is longing for just a little taste of normal once again.
So I hope you know, that this post is written for me. And that when I sat down to write this post, my intention was to only share the quote. I guess I had more to say. And I don't mean this to be a trashing of blogging because those thoughts showed up as I was writing. But lately, I've found myself really trying to keep my blogging habits in perspective.
Mostly I want this post and this quote to be an encouragement. Because while it left me thinking, it really encouraged me as well.
And this last week, I've really been enjoying my normal. Both the wonderful little nearly-perfect moments, the chaotic moments, and the mundane ones, too. Because they all make up my normal.
And normal is good.
What? Your daughter's cat doesn't sit in a doll high chair and eat cold, gloppy oatmeal off a spoon? Really?
This is Mouse, the cat. He's been around this blog a number of times. Mary's morning routine involves coming down to the kitchen, saying good morning to me, and heading straight outside to find Mouse. She then brings him inside and snuggles him on the sofa or in bed, until I force her to finally come for breakfast.
This morning, she forgot to go to the bathroom before bringing him, so she slid the doll high chair next to me at the kitchen table, plopped him in, arranged his little paws, gave him a spoonful of oatmeal and left me to babysit. He sat there, happily, for quite a long time.
This morning, we're heading out to the barn so Emma can have a ride. She has quite a little list to tackle before she does--including feeding the GIANT hornworm that came inside on Dan's pant leg last night, after he'd been ripping out tomato plants. This thing can eat through tomato plant leaves like nobody's business. It is sick and fascinating, all in the same breath.
And we've started our homeschooling year--which is another post I've been meaning to write. If you haven't read Stefani's series on homeschooling, it is worth your time. I think it is always helpful to read other people's approach, even if it is different from your own. There is always something valuable in hearing how other people do it.
I've got some posts swirling around in my head but with school starting, I've had a hard time finding the time. I think I'm going to have to become a bedtime blogger--which means you'll either hear a mumbo-jumbo of incoherent thoughts from me, or some overly-philosophical take on life. I tend to get very dramatic and poetic at night.....
More soon. Happy Wednesday. (already?!!)
My friend Anne, from National Wildlife's Green Hour blog, asked if I would share these ten tips with all of you--on finding time to get outside with our children, even once the craziness of the school year starts. It is something that I believe is vital and important, so of course, I was happy to share them here. You can find the tips in their original location here on the Green Hour Blog--with live links, a few aren't working for me. Typepad is fussy.
And I would love to hear (and I'm sure Anne would too) the ways that you make time to get outside with your children, even once life gets busy. What are you favorite activities? Do you make time for a walk after dinner each night? Do you send them on a scavenger hunt? I'm sure we all have great ideas worth sharing. It is amazing how easily children become engaged in the outside, natural world.
: BE OUT THERE : from NWF's Green Hour Blog :
Homework, soccer practice, ballet – is there time in the schedule to play outside? Here are some tips to get a Green Hour -- or at least part of an hour – during a busy day:
1. Scenario: Traffic made you late, there's no time to cook dinner, so you drive the family over to the rotisserie chicken place to get a quick meal.
Tip: Keep a picnic blanket in your car for an impromptu picnic on any spot of grass you can find!
2. Scenario: Backpack? Check. Lunch? Check. You're ready to head to school.
Tip: Whether you drive or walk to school, or wait with your child by the bus-stop, take a moment to notice nature. Make it a game of "I Spy" -- or download this nature scavenger hunt at greenhour.org/hunt.
3. Scenario: Your child is studying plants at school and, at the dinner table, recites how photosynthesis works. You, yourself, have never successfully kept a plant alive.
Tip: Start small: All you need is some bird-seed and a sponge. For sponge-garden instructions, visit greenhour.org/spongegarden. Next step: check out National Gardening Association’s parents’ primer for gardening with kids at kidsgardening.com/primer.asp.
3. Scenario: You and your youngest wait outside your older child's school, a few minutes before the bell rings.
Tip: Look up at the sky together. "Wait, mom -- is that a sheep or a donkey?" Picking out shapes in the clouds is a classic childhood activity -- and needs no special equipment.
4. Scenario: Your child looks at you and says, "Mom -- I'm a little old for cloud-watching!"
Tip: For older kids, combine technology with the outdoors and go geo-caching or, the lower-tech version, letterboxing. There are about 20,000 letterboxes and 250,000 geocaches hidden in North America. Visit geocaching.com and letterboxing.org.
5. Scenario: The kids get home from school and immediately plop in front of the TV. You suggest going outside. They respond, "Indoors is more fun!"
Tip #1: Set time-limits for TV watching and video game playing. It won't be popular, so make sure you have a back-up plan. If you have a backyard, kid-customize it with a homemade fort, dart boards, a trampoline, a craft table. Set up a bird house to keep wildlife visiting.
Tip #2: No backyard? Find your local parks using nwf.org/naturefind. For older kids, start stretching your child's boundaries, allowing them to go for unsupervised walks in the neighborhood with groups of friends. They'll love the feeling of independence.
6. Scenario: Outside, it’s a perfect fall day, but you look at your child’s homework assignments and realize outside play-time isn’t a reality.
Tip: Take homework outside! There’s no reason math problems can’t be done in the fresh air. Set up a clean outdoor workspace for your child on a patio table, perhaps.
7. Scenario: Your daughter comes home from school clutching new-found treasures: three crumbly leaves, two acorns and a dirt-encrusted rock.
Tip: Instead of putting them on the kitchen counter, a drawer, or -- gasp -- the trash, start a nature table. Set a limit of how many items they can have in the "nature museum" -- so they'll keep it to a manageable number. Other ideas: use an old tackle or sewing box, or a hanging shoe-organizer with clear plastic pockets. Have your kids decorate it!
9. Scenario: A blank piece of paper in front of her, your daughter asks you, "What should I draw?"
Tip: Have your child make a map of your neighborhood -- using only natural landmarks. This will heighten his or her observation skills and can be the first step in creating a "field guide" to the nature in your neighborhood.
10. Scenario: It's 8 p.m. Dinner's over, but not quite time for bed.
Tip: Keep flashlights near the door, and go for a
neighborhood night hike. Kids will love the novelty -- and you can
challenge them to identify "night sounds." Learn how to make a moon
journal at greenhour.org/moonjournal.
Last night after dinner, we ignored the dishes and headed down to the stream. I've been itching to take Ruby down there for quite awhile, because I had the feeling she was ready to really enjoy the water. To really swim. The last time I'd been down there with her, she was still pretty shy, only exploring the shallows, not ready to swim in the depths.
Last night, was a different story. Before we even made it to the stream crossing, she was already in and completely wet.
Then Dan started throwing her a stick, just barely into the deep water. She went bounding after it not even phased when her feet stopped touching the rocky bottom and she started to swim.
She'd bring the stick back to shore, stand as close as she could to the nearest human and shake.
Then she'd sit there whining. She'd look at Dan. Look at the stick. Look upstream where she wanted him to throw it. The communication was uncanny. Over and over and over again he played with her. Deeper. Farther. Bigger sticks.
She never tired.
We gave in first.
"We" meaning--me, Dan, Emma, Mary. Elizabeth could have stayed all night.
I'll back later this afternoon--power blogger that I am---with a review and giveaway. Stay tuned!
A few weeks ago, I was sent a FLIP Ultra HD to review. I have to admit, I've been a bit covetous of them for quite some time. The stick it in your pocket, your swim bag, take it anywhere, aspect is so appealing to me. And sometimes, it is nice to see little glimpses of life in video form. I know in a few months, a few years, my children and I are going to really enjoy looking back on these little bits of our daily lives.
I also discovered that not only is it ridiculously simple to transfer my videos from the FLIP
And for the record, the washable paints? Not so washable. Darn. I loved that dress.
Untitled from molly balint on Vimeo.
And of course, a little tribute to our Mallard ducklings. Who are really no longer ducklings, but more like teen-aged ducks. We finally moved them out of their pen and give them free reign around the yard each day.
I have to admit, when Dan brought the ducklings home several weeks ago, I was a bit miffed. Ruby had just gotten back from the ER and I was feeling like I had a full plate. But there is something about ducks that is just so much fun. I think the best part is that it is so easy to make them happy. Water? They just can't help themselves. They love it. And it is so easy to give it to them. We decided that it is time to invest in a kiddie pool. I think they've outgrown the storage tub, don't you? They've certainly outgrown coming into our upstairs bathroom. Soon, we might let them in on the little secret that there is a cool, flowing stream just a short walk away. But we have a feeling they might never return.
Untitled from molly balint on Vimeo.
more information on the FLIP Ultra HD can be found here.
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The winner from Katie's last post :
Lucky number 5, Susan is our winner! Please email me at Katie at DesignerDigitals dot com and I'll send you out the download links!
Thanks for all the wonderful comments this past week!
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.
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.
a good visit with old friends
laundry on the line
first blooms in the garden
a new read-aloud
dinners from our garden
shortbread
a gift of fresh goat cheese and marinated tomatoes
swimming
a bee sting
sunday dinner on the patio at the farm
a long walk up a dusty back road
"plates" for the play kitchen from the tree
sandpaper and mineral oil
singing at the piano
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winner of the Presto Bingo print:
Tammie: oh gosh. its all adorable. Send me an email with your info and I'll pass it on! Congratulations!
but that dandy lion is just out of this world.
I stepped outside with my camera yesterday, while I waited for the grill to get hot. Within just a short window of time, maybe twenty minutes, I was able to capture little snapshots of our life. I love looking at them today, and realizing all the activity that can happen in just a short span of time. Sometimes, it's nice to capture it and hold it together all in one place....for me they tell a story. And they remind me of little benchmarks in time-- the ducklings daily excursion outside, the last chicken--who keeps close to the house, a new technique for swinging, an upgrade from nakedness to underwear, the agony that is sharing the swing with your little sister, a patient favorite kitten, a rare, still moment between two four-legged friends.....
What stories could you tell, if you captured a good twenty minutes today?
So, while we're talking about great things our grandmothers have passed down to us, it occurred to me yesterday, as I hung a late-afternoon load of laundry on the line, that it was my grandmother who taught me the most efficient way to hang laundry on the clothesline. And not to be a laundry-line-know-it-all, but when I see other people's pictures of their clothes hanging out, I realize not everyone knows this wee bit of insight that makes all the difference.
I love hanging clothes on the line. I've overcome my distaste for stiff jeans and crunchy towels. But I'm also married to the dryer police. Though I've been known to hang out laundry in my mittens, I think my husband would like to see one of those Amish-esque laundry lines running from our upstairs window out to a tall corner of the barn. (He'd also probably like to go to work in a horse drawn buggy, but that's another story....) When he hears the dryer running, it's like he hears money and dollars bills banging around inside, shrinking and shrivelling up into nothingness.
(I snapped my clothesline last week. And now it is a saggy mess. One of these days, I'll upgrade to something a little more permanent. In the meantime, this one gets the job done.)
I remember the first day I hung my laundry out on my grandmother's line. It was when we were living on her farm, while we made the transition to our new life in Maryland. She was coming in from morning Mass and stopped to talk to me while I draped shirts and pants over the line and stuck on a few pins.
She stopped me and told me I needed to figure out which way the wind was blowing. (On her laundry line, there's a little piece of string tied to one end. I don't know if this was meant to tell wind direction or not, but that is what I used it for.) Once you determine which way the wind is blowing you hang the clothes up so that they are open to the wind. This means only pinning one side of your clothes. As the wind blows, it will fill up and flow through your clothing.
There wasn't much wind blowing when I took yesterday's photographs, but you can see how my pillowcases are filling with the breeze in this older picture from my grandmother's laundry line.
It is remarkable how quickly your clothes will dry. It really makes a difference. Especially when you are trying to get multiple loads on the line in one day, or you're married to the dryer police chief--who is also very good at taking clothes off the line and folding them. :)
In other news:
**you must stop by Nancy's blog and read about the new home for two of Black Walnut's kittens.
**edited to add: Anke! How did I miss your blog?? You can see the other kitten, now named "Sweetie" who found a home with Anke. Details on her blog! Oh the wonders of blogging.....
**here is an interesting article from Food Woolf on how to help your local dairy farmer. I'll be interested to hear my husband's perspective on the article. He works in the ag industry and Horizon is one of his major customers. When I complain about the price of milk, he says it's good for the farmer that the price is high. Apparently there are rumors that a local dairy may start home delivery. I'd be the first to sign up.
**a few weeks ago, I introduced my children to the sweetness that is a Wendy's frosty. They'd never had one before. But Amy at MomAdvice makes her own at home.
**And lastly, a very thought-provoking, stir up your thoughts about schooling, blog post at Wild Parenting. (via simplemom)
I find myself wondering when that pit in my stomach will disappear in those moments when I realize my grandmother is no longer just around the corner, putting on soup at her kitchen stove, deadheading the roses along the driveway, or balancing her checkbook in the back living room. There are days that life just happens and the fact that she is missing from it, seems to be part of what's normal. And then there are days where her absences brings a tightness to my throat and a welling of tears in my eyes. Or days that I forget she is gone and I catch myself thinking that we should head there for lunch, or stop by to tell her there are three ducklings taking up residence in our downstairs bathroom once again, because I know she'll laugh and be excited for the girls.
A few weekends ago, my cousins and I sat in my living room, enjoying a glass of wine together and reminiscing. I made the comment that while I was thankful her passing was quick, and not a long, drawn-out decline, it also made it difficult for me to grasp it all. It was too easy to remember her healthy, strong, and just fine. Wasn't it just last week that we were sitting together on the bench under the Sweet Gum tree? Or checking in with each other to see who needed cat food from the feed mill?
Last week, I sat in the kitchen with her big wooden recipe box in front of me. I was looking for a few family-favorite recipes. Of course, pouring over your grandmother's recipe box is not exactly the best thing to do to lift your spirits, but there was still a sweetness to it all. The greasy recipe cards typed up on a typewriter, the little slips of paper with her handwriting-- recipes from Terry, NancyAnn, Paige....
Judging by the recipe box and the recipes inside, I can tell my grandmother has had this for a really long time. I'm guessing it's been the recipe box that's been sitting on her counter for as long as any can remember.
When I went home that afternoon, to file away my copied recipes, I remembered that I'd had it on my mind lately to organize my recipe box. I have a recipe box on top of my stove full of a some favorite recipes, as well as some I've never tried, some I've clipped from magazines. And I also have a stack of notecards scattered in a drawer. And a file folder of recipes stashed between the cookbooks on my shelf. And a few blowing around the top of my dresser upstairs.
I decided it's time to start my last recipe box. The one that will sit on my counter for as long as anyone can remember.
Several months ago, I bought myself a new recipe box with this in mind. But it has been sitting empty on my countertop. After going through my grandmother's recipe box, I realized how much of her is inside that box. Her handwriting. Her favorites. My favorites. Family favorites.
So I'm slowly cooking and baking my way through my disorganized, mismatched collection of recipes. When something is a standard, a classic in my kitchen, I move it to it's new, final home. Eventually, I hope to have my own recipe box full of recipes--tattered and splotched from years of use. That they'll become our family favorites. Passed down. Collected. Copied. Loved.
I walked in to the guest room a few weeks ago to find Emma on her knees, on the floor, hunched over something. She was obviously working quietly and intently, and secretively. I stepped closer and she looked up.
In front of her on the floor was a whole battery of off-limits items from my craft stash--sewing scissors, expensive yarn, scraps of fabric, rubber stamp pads, good heavy papers and permanent markers.
I felt my blood boil. "EMMA!!! WHAT are you doing??! These are my things!"
"I had this idea.", she said with a defeated sigh.
I was still upset. This had been happening a lot lately. The sneaking off while I was occupied elsewhere in the house. The getting in to things that normally require supervision. Craft stuff. Food from the pantry. Gardening tools. Things that stay inside the house being dragged outside.
It was making me crazy. Didn't my children understand any boundaries? Didn't they realize they couldn't get into anything and everything, whenever they pleased?
I questioned her further, "Why didn't you just ask?"
"Because I knew you'd say no. You always say no."
And there it was. I was confronted with the truth. Or at least what felt like the truth to her.
Now obviously, I don't say no all the time. But sometimes, I think my pile of "no's" far outweighs my pile of "yes". In fact it could easily bury the pile of yes. Sometimes the no's come from exhaustion--the not wanting to make another mess, the not wanting to break open all the paints or get out the sewing machine, the not wanting to fill another sink with dishes, the not wanting to hike to the stream and carry home dirty toddlers and ten pounds of streambed in a metal bucket.
And sometimes, I catch myself saying no because I think that's what I'm supposed to say. It's what parents do. That somehow I'm teaching them some life skill--to wait, to be patient, that you don't always get your way. And then I find myself thinking, "Now wait. Why did I say no to that?"
And I also realized in some odd way, my barrage of 'no's' was driving Emma to deception. She had ideas and plans that were burning inside of her. Things she had to try. Experiments she had to concoct. Recipes she had to make. She needed to bring these ideas in her head to fruition. And sometimes, the supplies she had at her disposal--some watercolor paints, construction paper, a pair of tiny right-handed scissors, just wouldn't cut it. And more often than not, when she brought her plans before the queen of the house, she was shot down before she even got started.
You've heard me say it a hundred times before, this job of parenting is a continual learning process. And once again, I've learned a lesson. I'm not saying all my no's have magically become a yes--I'm not planning to let Emma float Elizabeth down the stream on an inner tube anytime soon. However, my no doesn't come as quickly these days.
I don't want her to give up on me. To think she has me figured out. To decide that I'm always a no. I want to say yes sometimes. More times. I want to surprise her. I want to follow through on a few of those crazy ideas and see just where that idea takes us. I want her to tell me everything because she knows I'll be just as excited and curious and creative as she is.
I'll say no, when a no is what's really called for. But more than that, I want to be a yes.
