Chesed

Winter is here. I can tell. My brain is dead. Things feel listless and lifeless. The world is nearly monochromatic. I take that back. There is the grey of gravel and pavement and the sky and the drab, lifeless greyish, green brown of tree trunks and grass and shrubs. When the sun shines, it looks cold. When the sun doesn’t shine, it looks even colder.

Going out means wearing enough clothes to make a small child feel five pounds heavier. Staying in means throwing more wood on the fire and trying to keep your feet warm.

In early November I resolved that this year, I would learn to enjoy winter. Not just tolerate it. Celebrate it. I would notice the beauty of snowflakes. I would revel in small delights like hot chocolate and story time. I would count the days and realize that it is only two more months til the weather begins to warm up a little and I would rationally think to myself, “this is not so bad.”

And then it actually turned into winter. And I cannot find the beauty. When the leaves dropped this fall, I counted months for the first time ever and realized that we live without leaves and green for just over six months of the year. Is it any wonder that looking outside is depressing? I started looking for tiny snippets of color along the school route. The main thing I found was a green real estate sign and yellow curvy road caution signs. Ah, art does add so much to my life.

What do you LIKE about winter? Seriously. Snow does not count. This is one of our barren years. (Not that I actually mind after being snowed in for way too long last year.)

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How well do you speak toddlerese? Liam lacks consonants as badly as I lack joyfulness about winter. The other day I stopped and listened to him. Really listened instead of just instantly interpreting his words in my head. He sounds hillarious! He is expressive enough to make up for everything he doesn’t say and I don’t get stuck very often. Only because I talk to him all day. And when I get stuck, I can ask Adam.

Two of his most common phrases:

“Dat make me deel doe ‘appy.” (That makes me feel so happy — comes in response to anything I answer yes, too, even something as simple as “yes, you may have milk.”)

“Me may eat dat?” No. “Dat make me dick?” Yes. “My dummy i not dong enough.” (I may eat that? … That will make me sick? … My tummy is not strong enough?) or “Me nont die ‘ill bit dees.” (I want to try a little bit of cheese … and yes, I’ve started cheating and giving him a bite or two here and there. It worked til I gave him half a piece at dinner one night AND half a piece at lunch the next day. He cried out with that horrible shrieky cry three times during his nap and finally called me frantically saying “my dummy ‘urts.” So we’re being good again.)

I love the way he says, “danks” (thanks) after everything for even the simplest things. It’s not something I remember teaching him; he’s just a grateful child. But the best part is hearing him tell stories. Here is the latest story by Liam. This one was traumatic enough in real life to give him a nightmare during his nap. Can you figure out what happened?

“Mommy pi Do-di up. Mommy ba dow nil. Mommy died and died. Den Mommy bin. Den Mommy died and died. Den me otch in nindoe. Den mommy died and died. Den Mommy made it.

Our Christmas wish to you (click to listen)

Liam was sitting on the island as David began to fix his honey cake, goat milk yogurt, and the usual array of vitamins. Like always, Liam started insisting, “Me ‘ant, bube’ies. Me ‘ant bebe’ies.”

Adam turned around from the table where he was scarfing down cereal, “Liam, can you say please for your blueberries?”

Liam: “No, me dan’t.”

Adam: in an awed voice of praise, “Good job, Liam, you used a contraction. Instead of saying, I cannot, you said, I can’t.”

It’s snowing!  Aside from a hair-raising, sweat-producing, tire-spinning drive back into the mountains to transport school children, I am overjoyed about this snow.  It feels Christmas-y and cozy and happy.  Funny though that we seem to be the only school for miles around that didn’t cancel and we are located furthest back in the mountains where snowplows are rarely seen and guard rails haven’t been invented yet.  Funny.  Very funny.  Or not.  I suspect the school program tomorrow night may be the significant factor in this equation.  At any rate, my drive for the day is history and I am happily staying inside until it’s time to build snowmen.



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(Liam’s salad … every now and then we fudge the rules and let him have a little bit of grated cheese.  It makes him supremely happy and gives me fragments of hope for the future.)
What makes your salad happy?  We are enormous salad fans around here.  Tossed Salad.  Cashew Pear Salad, Strawberry Spinach Salad, Throw whatever you have together salad, Greek Salad, Caesar Salad, just don’t give me seven layer salad ever.  Please and thank you.  What’s the salad topping you least like to do without or your favorite specialty salad? 


Last night we were having leftovers so I thought I’d spruce our meal up with salads and apple pie and ice cream.  The salads turned out to be so big and delightful we ate almost no leftovers and left the frig in its same overcrowded state.  Sad.  But the salads were happy.  Lettuce, carrots, broccoli, cucumber, red onion, avocado slices, hard boiled egg, fresh mushrooms, cheese, and croutons and topped with a Red Wine Vinaigrette dressing you really should try.  It’s delightful and so easy.

1/4 c. red wine vinegar
1/2 c. sugar
Cook until sugar is dissolved.  Add:
1 t pepper
1/2 t salt seasoning
Slowly add
1/2 c. oil
while blending.

If only there were cherry tomatoes outside in the garden …


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Tuesday night we seriously fudged the boys 8 o’clock bedtime because I wanted to make gingerbread with them.  I had visions of delicious gingerbread but that would have meant making a regular version and a gluten / dairy / everything else free version for Liam and it looked like too much work.  So we opted for a Liam-friendly version only.  I’d never tried the recipe and in spite of adding lots more rice flour than the recipe called for, it was too runny.  We couldn’t cut out shapes at all. 

I tried to form a gingerbread man and two snowmen but they started spreading before they ever hit the oven and came out shaped like nonsensical blobs.  The two snowmen even turned into siamese twins joined from head to rounded bottom.  We re-shaped them with a knife, made one kind of glaze for each boy and let them have fun.  And did they have fun.  See for yourself.




























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This is one of the boys’ favorite activities in the winter.  I think I learned this game from Amber.  It’s great fun … especially when you go down belly first or sit on a blanket to make yourself slide three times faster.   They also like to prop it on pillows to make a ramp for their cars.  Who knew table boards had so many purposes?



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Last year Adam and I made a paper chain to count off the days til Christmas.  It was so much fun I made one for him again this year while he was in school.  David said I am a cool mom.  I said cool moms would not have thought it was more fun making it by themselves.   I wrote a note inside each one and extended it til New Years Day and he loves it!



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Dove chocolates.  There are only three left.  I try not to think about that.


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Monday night the boys wanted fruit after they were done with their supper.  I looked at Adam in his red pajamas with the green pear he chose and then I looked at Liam in his green pajamas with the red apple he chose and a deeply embedded coordinated gene inside of me jumped up and down for joy.  Some days it doesn’t take much.





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What made you feel happy recently?

All I’m going to say is that I am SO GLAD that tomorrow is December 11th instead of December 4th.

Because on December 4th there were two beef cut up in our basement. I’m not going to say butchered since the men did the deadly and dirty work the Saturday prior and hung them in the cooler.

I am the girl who doesn’t like to cut up chicken in my kitchen sink. I am the girl who would happily be banished from the kitchen forever. I am married to the man who would like to raise pigs and Angus cows and chickens and create a self-sustaining farm. We are a match made in heaven, can’t you tell?

We butchered our first batch of chickens when Liam was four weeks old. Durlin and David did the very bad work, Emily gutted them, and I cleaned. I was fine until Emily got behind and I stuck my hand in a still warm chicken. And I screamed. Give it to me very cold and very dead and I can disassociate. Warm and squishy? Not on my watch.

I was sure I’d need emotional therapy til we got done with the beef. I mean, chickens are at least little. Beef, yikes. But again, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. For one thing, the meat was very cold. And it had been hanging for a week so it wasn’t messy anymore. But let’s just say it was a good thing I had the job of making hamburger as opposed to cutting chunks of meat off the bone. I’m not going to lie. I am a sissy. Give me frogs in the lab any day over butchering. At least they don’t smell like animal.

Because I have a dreadful time finding MSG free beef broth for Liam, we kept some of the bones and I cooked my own beef broth on Tuesday. Or, I guess I should say, “we.” David put the bones in the roasters and added water. I dumped in some onions and celery and later some seasonings and in general tried very hard not to think about the smell in my kitchen. When David got home I told him I felt like I was living back in the pioneer days. Seriously. He helped me scoop some of the fat off the top and looked at me, way too dead serious, “Do you want to render this for anything?”

We both howled with laughter. I’d like to say I will never, ever butcher pork. But three years ago I’d have told you I will never, ever butcher chicken and look what happened. I don’t think I’m quite willing to take that risk.

I’ll just say I am SO GLAD tomorrow is December 11th.

Tomorrow I get to be girly and scrapbook with friends from church. Now that’s my kind of Saturday.

Kids are just so funny. My SIL and I carpool to share the running back and forth to school love. She has a 9 year old and a seven year old and I have a six year old. Let me tell you, some days are hysterical.

Marilyn’s (9) personality reminds me of Adam. Or maybe it’s the first born tendencies. Just like Adam, she uses big words and sometimes gets all confused. Like the day they were hashing notes from anonymous people. Marilyn was explaining to Rochelle and Adam about how you have to write differently than normal or you can use the computer to “despise” your handwriting.

It was all I could do to keep from erupting in laughter.

This morning we were headed back to school. Liam was just begging and coaxing for attention. “Hey Marden,” he’d say and then contribute a bit of nonsense.

Marilyn would throw her eyes sideways at me in that way kids do when they are trying so hard to be adults and share moments about the kids who are so little. She told Liam something and he did his little quiet, awed intake of air and his quiet, awed “oh, ….” I can’t remember what he said. I just remember the way she threw her eyes at me and grinned and whispered, “His voice was so ‘shrill’ I could hardly understand him.”

Oh, Marilyn. You are too cute.

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Today was one of those days when everything fell in place. I had literally just finished taking all the empty hampers back upstairs and vacuumed the last floor. Laundry. Check. Cleaning. Check. Boys working at the table and all of us singing Christmas songs. Me standing at the kitchen counter making pizza dough. Idyllic. Moments like that are so rare they’ve got to be recorded.

And then I transferred the 16 cup Pyrex with the dough and my one hand still kneading it over closer to the stove so it could rise in the warmth of the pre-heated oven. And I missed. And it all crashed to the floor. The ball of (finally) perfect dough and my favoritest Pyrex that I use almost every single day and sometimes multiple times a day.

Huge pieces of glass went everywhere and the splinters went even further. I’m sporting two bandaids on my feet. I guess that’s what I get for never being able to keep my shoes and socks on.

Let’s just say I was very, very happy to see David walk in the door three minutes later. I love having help cleaning up all the big messes I make.

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Do you share Christmas love with your neighbors and if you do, what do you give them? We’ve given Christmas cookies a few times. Last year I did some cinnamon rolls and some muffins and some cookies and candy … sort of whatever I thought they’d like best went into the basket. I’ve thought of doing a load of homemade whole wheat bread and a jar of my mom’s yummy jam; but the broiler in my oven blew a fuse two years ago and the accubake doesn’t work because of it. I can do anything but bread. Sadly enough, it flops every time since then.

Have you ever done something that’s not food?

I’d like to custom create gifts for the ones we know a little better this year. But there are a few new people and I need some generic inspiration.

Speaking of neighbors, how well do you know your neighbors? How did you get to know them?

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If you haven’t checked out our book blog for a time, there are new entries there. Don’t forget that Marital Bliss is now also on Amazon! You could even redeem with swagbucks and win a free book! If you’re ordering something from Amazon, it’s a great way to get your book with free super saver shipping. I do so love swagbucks (a search engine that rewards you with points at random intervals which can in turn be exchanged for gift cards or products … click on the search and win link if you want to know more)

Vision Publishers has decided to raise the price of my children’s books to 10.99. I am running a Christmas Special on them for $9.99 each if you order directly through me. I have been blessed over and over again with so many kind words about these books. It is hard to describe the feeling you get when someone says, “We Build A House” is my child’s favorite book. He has almost all the words memorized.” I get lost for words trying to describe it; but there is something deeply gratifying in knowing that you have helped to create one of those cozy child and parent snuggled on the couch storytimes. I feel grateful. For the dream God gave me. For the people who shared in the journey and believed in me. For the parents and aunts and uncles and grandparents who gave the books to their children and are giving a child the gift of time spent reading.

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Good Night all ~

Now that it’s colder and we’re spending more time inside, the boys and I have been making trips to the library. Some days I go and randomly pull books off the shelf and come home with one or two books I really like. Other times I go and randomly pull books off the shelf and come home to discover I love an armload of them. I wish I knew more about children’s literature and what to look for.

This time I found three books the boys and I both love. That rarely happens because of their age gap. I am hoping that someday I will be able to consistently read books they both enjoy. For now we take turns. One chapter in Adam’s book then a story for Liam. Another chapter for Adam then a story for Liam. Or sometimes David will read to Liam for awhile and Adam and I will read all evening. Right now Adam and I are reading Davy Crockett. We read two books about Jamestown over Thanksgiving that he absolutely loved — “Our Strange New Land” and “The Starving Time.”

It’s a juvenile stretch for Adam; but he smiled and said he wanted a zillion. Liam and Adam complement each other so well. While they look like twins born four years apart, they have night and day personalities. Or Venus and Pluto. Adam hated kisses and cuddling from the time he could voice an opinion. He may as well have come out of the womb walking he was so grown up. And somehow he thought cuddling was way too childish for him. Liam is much cuddlier. He hands out kisses, says I love you, and thinks hugs are funny, not claustrophobic. Adam is slowly becoming more ok with hugs and kisses as he watches Liam revel in them.

Adam and Liam both love this book although now that Liam has insisted we read it twenty-five times, Adam is more than ready to move on. The story reminds me of the way old books were written … where kids got to do grownup things.

And this one would make my dad proud. Maybe all those years of pounding Black History into us paid off. At any rate, the story is full of delicious word choices and very well-written. My favorite line is, “I have found hope and it is as brown as me.” I love pulling up my long-forgotten deep South drawl and explaining the history behind the story to Adam. I love seeing his quietness as he stretches to take it in. Great book.

I’ve been reading more, too. One of those little rewards for cleaning til my hands nearly peeled for three weeks. The first book I read was a novel about a child with mitochondrial disease and an innocent woman accused of Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. I’ll refrain from listing the title since I’ve had hackles coming back at me because I do not always read christian books. The story was very well-written, but more than that, it addressed big life issues. And even though I’ve only heard of Munchausen Syndrome during my clinicals at a children’s rehab center, I found myself processing my own life. And more then ever before I realized that when a person goes through something much more intense and overwhelmingly terrible than most people, the simplest things about them are often misunderstood and misinterpreted. They are often lonely and somewhat socially isolated. And the people around them don’t get it. Not because they don’t want to care. But because they really do not understand. They do not really see what is going on. They do not know how to respond. And so, unintentionally, they sometimes pour on a whole lot more pain.

My favorite phrase in the book was, “The opposite of fear is not courage. It is faith.”

On Monday I read, Putting Off Anger, by John Coblentz. I cannot praise the book enough. Incidentally I’ve had the book on my shelf for nearly ten years (boy that makes me sound old) but never read it. Then my sister, Beth, sent it to me on loan after a phone conversation she and I had on forgiveness. How do you forgive someone who has hurt, manipulated, and controlled you for decades? How do you forgive when someone does not apologize or change their behavior? How do you forgive when it feels as though your life has forever been shaped … when you find yourself reacting in unhealthy ways to situations and you wonder where all else you’re reacting? How do you forgive when it feels as though you’ve been robbed of the gift of normal? How do you forgive when you have forgiven a million times and still you feel yourself unconsciously stiffen when you unexpectedly hear that person’s voice?

I learned so much about myself as I read. Things I really did not want to know and yet desperately wanted to hear. It was humbling. Horrifically revealing. And yet, indescribably freeing. I’ve heard things on forgiveness. Good things. But every time I hear someone talk about it, it’s about an event. Or a relatively short time period (a year or two, maybe). And admittedly, sometimes the offensive acts they’re talking about are ENORMOUS. But there is one difference. They have some kind of closure. It WAS heinous. And while they have memories that no one should ever have to deal with, it’s not their current life situation. How do you feel not only forgiveness, but FREEDOM in your heart when you know that tomorrow you may be cut wide open again? How do you live with outstretched hands?

Recently I was in a Sunday School class and the teacher started talking about the discipline of suffering. I was wide open. Until. He wrapped up suffering in a neat little gift box and plopped a bow on top … here is your divinely inspired package to make you holy. I felt tears stinging the back of my eyes and I had to get out. I sat in the car and sobbed so hard I felt the car shake. I cried for the years of pain. I cried for a few friends of mine who are going through a life of suffering that would make most people buckle. And I cried because I had so much stuff bottled up that was recently unearthed. Things I thought I’d taken care of way back then.

How can suffering be a divine gift? If we would have needed suffering in that way, God would have given it to Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden. I believe passionately that God brings Redemption through suffering. Every Christian does. It’s the basis of Christianity. Jesus suffering on the cross to free us. And it is the belief of Christianity for every believer. God works through suffering to refine us. To make us Holy. But deep down I cannot see God saying, “Here, I couldn’t wait to give this to you.” No, no, no! He does not give it. He allows it. Why do you think God had to turn His face away when Jesus died? The idea of God liking suffering is unthinkable to me. The fact that He brings beauty out of the ashes of suffering nothing short of a miracle.

But back to Coblentz’ book. I felt as though someone was freeing me out of a cage as I read. He talks a lot about ongoing difficult situations. About the way they distort our perspective. About the way we begin to develop anger patterns that stay with us even when we are not in that same situation. There was something healing about the way he wrote … this is what happens to people, not, you are a bad person because you became angry. He talks about people in the Bible who experienced ongoing suffering. He talks about people today … but again, not in a this is a worst case scenario … you should be doing better with what you’ve been handed. But best of all, he repeatedly brings you back into a focus of God. A focus of truth. And just as we naturally develop patterns of anger and bitterness, we can choose to develop patterns of faith, forgiveness, love, and gratitude. When we believe God is. That He is good. Sovreign. That He wants to bring out a message of grace in our lives. That His purposes are higher than we can see (and maybe won’t see for a very, very long time).

It was as though I felt my entire world perspective shift. That recent letter full of critcism, the words of rejection … they sort of faded away. I don’t know what’s going to happen with the old history. I think I may be forgiving and learning patterns of faith for the rest of my life. But it feels as though I’ve been set free from so much. And for the first time in a few weeks, I felt something strange. And then I realized my eyes were back to normal. They crinkled when I smiled.

Audrey has such a fun contest going on. A week or two ago she invited anyone reading her blog to put together a favorite outfit or two and send in a photo and now all readers are invited to cast a vote for their favorite. It’s been so much fun to see the post emerge and the fun comments as people gave their opinions.

What I love best about it is seeing women’s personalities emerge. Ever hear someone say, “that looks just like you?” It’s often because it’s something similar to what you’ve seen them wearing … but what makes them choose that color, texture, pattern in the first place?

I grew up hearing often that clothes do not make you who you are. It’s true. But I’ve also learned a few other things about clothes. Without me realizing it, clothes often show what is going on inside of me. David noticed this first when he took a load of laundry to the washer a year or so after we were married.

“I can tell you’ve had a rough week,” he said. “Look at that pile of darks.”

No kidding. Aside from a few pieces of underwear, the lights pile was pretty much nonexistent. I thought it might be coincidence until the pattern showed up again and again. I wear dark colors a lot because I like them. But when the piles of laundry look that unbalanced, it’s usually because something heavy has been warring inside my spirit.

I love that when I was growing up my mom let us choose what we wanted to wear. I look back and moan at the horrendous pictures of me in light blue dresses and bright pink socks. “Mom, what WERE you thinking?” I asked her one day. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I let you girls choose some of your own clothes.” Oh. Now that I have boys of my own I am realizing just what kind of grace that took as a parent. And I’m afraid I’ll have to admit, I am not as good a mom as she was when it comes to kids picking out their own clothes.

As I grew older and outgrew the light blue bright pink color combinations, I learned that choosing my own clothes was still fun; but that I also loved finding things that made me feel comfortable. I learned that some colors made me feel happy, some confident. And that no matter how often I tried to convince myself, I would never look good in the gorgeous, summery coral color my SIL Jo positively glows in.

A couple of years ago a friend told me she never forgot what I told her years earlier. “When you’re going to be in a crowd and you know you are going to be nervous, be sure to wear something you feel totally comfortable in so you can forget about your clothes and stop the self-consciousness.” It made me laugh because I did not remember ever saying it, but I still do it. Having a belt that will not stay where I want it or a shirt that forever rides forward instead of staying up on my shoulders or heels that make me be watch my footing are not my first choice for an event that makes me nervous. Just one less thing to worry about.

Anyhow, enough about me. Go check out Audrey’s fun post and vote for your favorite outfit.

Sad
(still cannot believe the petunias looked like this yesterday)

that summer ended

that color filled days are being exchanged for drab, cold ones

Happy

that November gifted us with a few days of gorgeous nearly 70 degree weather

watching the boys absolutely delight in pulling out flowers and turn it into imaginative play as Adam payed Liam toll on his way to the “dump”

May winter be kind to us and brief in its stay.

It’s break time.

I’ve been cleaning and cleaning and cleaning this week. It’s time to get at it again, but I am stalling.
Monday ~ clean up from the weekend
Tuesday ~ serve hot lunch at school with three other ladies and help with the annual housecleaning at my mother-in-laws house.
Wednesday ~ start the major housecleaning at my house
Sometime this weekend ~ our turn to clean the church house

I really thought I was not going to do that major overhaul cleaning at my house this year. But I have this problem. When my friends start talking about doing theirs, I look around and see all the dirt that does exist. And then memories start washing over me …. the scent of Murphys Oil soap lingering in the air from a room that has just been thoroughly cleaned … the way everything looks so organized and empty and in place and how restful it makes me feel …. the fun of having everything be so clean at once and the way it makes me want to do all kinds of fun projects ….

And so I’m in the thick of it. Cleaning out drawers and closets. Washing down walls and trim and doors and furniture and everything that has a surface except the ceiling. Scrubbing beyond filthy windows and taking out the screens for the winter. It’s fun and drudgery all at the same time. I love how squeaky clean our bedroom and bathroom feel. I hate the way I always seem to push mess in front of me and the hallway and guest bedroom look like a weapon of mass destruction was set off.

So I’m procrastinating. A little.

We had so much fun doing hot lunch Tuesday. When I was in high school, one of the super creative moms in church did a McDonalds lunch for her turn. We LOVED it. Her son (who was probably in second or third grade at the time) said, “Mom, why can’t you just be normal sometimes?” And the rest of us were all wishing our mom would be that cool.

Ever since I was married, I’ve wanted to recreate the fun. And finally it was the perfect time. Doris had been thinking hamburgers and Naomi said her husband said french fries when she asked him for menu suggestions. We had as much fun planning it as the kids did eating it. It was so much fun to hear them come through the line and mutter quietly, “this is so cool.” And gratefully Adam is still little enough to think I’m a normal mom.

Hamburgers

French Fries (fried outside in a deep fryer just minutes before serving …oh YUM)

Sodas

Ice Cream Cones and Sundaes with lots of toppings

M says M – M – M, McDonalds.