Fun mommy must leave.

It is 2:06 on Thursday, and the three youngest piggies are down for a nap. Thank God...it's been one of those days. I need to be painting right now. And then running on the treadmill, because yes, I did commit to running a half marathon, and you all have the blog post to prove it. But I am going to blog right now, because if I don't, it's almost like the last hour and a half didn't happen. And it did. I swear, it did.

After having fun friends over last night, then creating the first few of MANY banners (that need to be completed in 72 hours) and updating my blog, I went to bed last night. But my mind had other plans, as it seems the color scheme of banner #4, 5, & 6 was way more important that rest. Enter insomnia, which equals very crabby mommy come 7:00 a.m. this morning.

Finish breakfast with the kids, get them dressed, pig tails in the girls, shoes found, jackets on...blah, blah, blah. The oldest three are out the door and Little J and I head to bible study...where I am so tired I can barely focus on drinking my diet coke and not falling to the floor in slumber.

Home from bible study, hot dogs on the grill. Force feed L. Threaten spankings.

Here's where it gets fun. The snow is still on the ground, and the house is somewhat clean, so why not head outside before naps? Load up three children in snow gear (you know my love of this task). Find one set of snow boots that have made their way to the basement (I do think the children might be trying to kill me...why, oh why, would they add to the insanity of my basement???). Kids are outside, I join them when I'm all geared up as well. At which point I find Little J without a boot.

"Where is it?"
"O-ber der, under da car." The car which is in the middle of our yard, which is covered in 7 inches of snow. Awesome. I'll let you know if he loses his toes to frostbite, it's too soon to tell.

Here's where I try to rally the troops to sled. No takers. No biggie, but then I realize that Big J is hanging inconspicuously at the top of the deck stairs. He's just tired. He doesn't want to sled. It's been a big day back to school. Denial, denial, denial.

"Big J, do you have to go potty?" Instant tears. There's my answer.

Back in the house, strip of the gloves, hat, jacket, boots, snow pants. Here's where I realize he has already peed in his pants, but the poop has not yet made its appearance. Pop him on the toilet, head to the BASEMENT to find new clothes.

Clean Big J up, dress him, reload with snow gear. Here we go.

Snowman made, uneventful. Children now want to sled...okey-dokey. We gather the sleds and head to the bunny hill, during which time Little J's snow boot comes off three times. Chances of frostbite...75%.

Sled, sled, sled. Time to head home, so I send Big & Little J down on a sled together, at which point they eat it at the bottom and Little J face plants. Big tears, and Little J's chances of frostbite looking better and better. Only this time it could be the nose, which would be so sad and would really disturb his cute little face, but then maybe they'll regrow a nose on his forehead like that guy who climbed Everest...and then he'll have a funky nose, but a good story. I digress. L goes down on a sled all by herself, but she lays down and does the "luge" as I like to call it, and she takes off. I mean, she is flying. I am trying to salvage my 2-year-old's facial skin and she is hanging a giant curve that's heading for the frozen lake. She does stop, but boy, it was iffy for a second.

Back to the house, strip the children down. Send the boys upstairs while I give L a dose of water through her G-tube, and a spoonful of peanut butter to add some calories to her day. She proceeds to gag on the peanut butter and throw up her water and previously eaten hot dog on the floor. Wonderful.

Naptime...ahh. Head to my room to change into running gear, only to find the dog has gotten into our trash and mangled every bit of kleenex and dirty diaper that was in there. Great.

See there, now it's entered in the records of history.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow....

One snow day I was prepared for. TWO snow days made me a wee bit nervous. Especially since my two goals for today were to go to Sams Club (my new grocery store) and clean the house. Both made impossible with the presence of four young children and seven inches of snow.

Let me clarify...having my children at home DOES NOT MAKE ME MISERABLE. I love it, but I like to plan for it. Life with four children is all about planning. I do not get a shower unless I plan for it days ahead of time. Enough said. Winging it is not easily done around here, but we sure gave it a try...mostly due to the help of my extremely flexible husband who ran around town for me, while I tried to keep the kids happy, cooked for company tonight, cleaned for company tonight and volunteered for a weeks worth of work at G's school. Remember "bit-off-more-than-she-can-chew" Sara? She's baaaaaaa-ck.

Believe it or not, I managed to keep the kids happy at home for two days. I know we have seven inches of snow, and that is practically a babysitter in itself. But do you know what it takes to get FOUR children ready for the snow???? Or let's just back up one little second...do you know how hard it is to find snow gear that hasn't been touched in a year??? Plus drag two sleds and four children to the top of a very small hill from which to sled? And then try not losing ANY mittens during this process. Because if you lose mittens and bare skin hits the snow, it is over. O-V-E-R. And then there was the general blindness that Little J suffered from, as a result of wearing a girls hat, size 12-18 months? If the hat covers his eyes at three years of age, it would have suffocated a tiny one year old.

But we did manage to get out there for 45-minutes...me with my pajamas on under my ski overalls. Little J asked to be held for half an hour (made very difficult with the carrying of sleds, but whatever). We survived. We burned energy. The young ones took a three hour nap, and G and I re-hit the bunny slope to do some serious sledding.

Here's how the rest of our snow days went:

Homemade playdoh and snowman building. It started with the four kids, but I couldn't resist getting in on the fun...

Our happy snowman family....and the happy snowman couple. Mike has informed me that he would NEVER wear that scarf.

Going for a joy-ride...hang on Mike!!

Snowman paintings...we have a little work to do with shapes. And the correct placement of facial features/body parts.

That's all I got...check back for the next installment in my adventures with fondant. I'm getting closer, folks. Oh, and I'm painting crap loads of very large banners. That need to be done by Sunday. Fun...but AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. At least I know I'll get a post out of it.

Back in the saddle...again

It's official. I have decided to run the St. Louis Half Marathon in April. 13.1 miles...here we go.

About this time last year, I began running. For no other reason than to lose those holiday L-B's. Running is painful to me. It doesn't come easily. And in my experience, fat does not give up without a good fight.

After about a month of wanting to cough a lung up (with only 30 minutes on the treadmill, I might add), I needed a little more incentive. Some reason not to give up and start eating brownies. Just kidding, I'm not really a chocolate fan. Sugar cookies with icing...much better.

About the same time, our family headed south for Spring Break '08. Hilton Head, in March, is perfect running weather, so Mike and I geared up for a run outdoors one afternoon. Two things to note about me at this point: I had NEVER run with a partner because I cannot talk, run and continue to live all at the same time; secondly, I rarely ran outside, because I like the control of a treadmill (add hills and volatile weather...you've lost me). So I planned what I figured was a 3 mile route (my standard distance)...and 55 minutes later, we were back home. We ran 5 miles that day.

FIVE MILES!!

From there came talk of training for a half marathon. Forget the 5K, bypass the 10K all together, and head straight for something with "marathon" in the title. I RAN FIVE MILES! At this point, I could have cured cancer and created world peace...that's how amazing that run was to me. How out of character. How completely unbelievable.

Here's the thing--once I decide on something, I will get it done. We started training in April for the Chicago half in September. Twenty weeks to get prepared, way more than enough time just to make sure I would finish. Not do it with speed, or set a personal best...just the basic goal of crossing the finish line. I stuck to the schedule, ran 4 times a week....Five miles became six, which became 10...which ultimately became 13.1.

Mike and I ran our first half marathon on September 14, 2008...in the middle of Hurricane Ike. Which managed to exit the Gulf of Mexico and travel up the Midwest just in time for our 7 a.m. start. Glorious. It was over two hours of running in a complete downpour, and I'm pretty sure I had blisters at mile-marker 4. But I finished! Ran the whole darn race and then shivered for 1 hour, in the continued rain, while we tracked down our bus to get back to the hotel.

So, I'm going at it again. Minus another hurricane or a late season ice storm, I can't imagine this being any more brutal...apart from the fact that I will be running and wanting to die for over two hours. I suppose I'm a glutton for punishment, but everyone needs a little challenge every now and then.

Here's to happy running!!

Dear boys...

Tonight, you fought for this stroller. Fought hard. Tears were shed, tantrums were thrown, hitting and grabbing were involved. This pink stroller was THAT important to both of you. It ended in a timeout, a talking-to, and a generally unhappiness all around. The girls, your sisters, were not involved in any way...it had nothing to do with territory.

Years from now when you are both grown, with girlfriends you are desperately trying to impress and macho-images that you are trying to keep up, I will remind you of this "pink stroller incident" (as it will be referred to from here on out). Just keeping it real, boys. Oh, and don't think I'll forget your fascination with wearing G's sparkly shoes. This is the stuff that makes for dreamy rehearsal dinner/wedding toasts.

Love,

Mom

Add this to the job description

Being a mom definitely means taking on various jobs. Cook. Maid. Counselor. Teacher. Mediator. Chauffeur. Nurse. You get my point.



I am rarely caught off guard by the tasks required of me as mommy. But today I realized that I play a role I could never have expected. NEVER.



It seems that I am a tongue.



That's right, a TONGUE. As in the squishy thing encased by the mouth and teeth. To be more specific, I am L's tongue.



It seems that my feeding-challenged child is having an issue pocketing food in her cheeks. She'll take bite after bite and hide it away until she very closely resembles a chipmunk. At which point, it's so stuffed in there she has an issue getting it all back out. That's where I come it. To scoop the mush out of her cheek and back into the center of her mouth.



A tongue. Awesome.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha....

Oh, fondant. We've had quite a laugh today. Excuse me...I'm sure you would have laughed hysterically and loud enough to wake the three sleeping children upstairs. If you had a mouth. But instead, I laughed hard enough to sculpt my abs and make up for your lack of human-ness. What Wilson was to Tom Hanks in Castaway, you were to me.

The laughing was a good thing, as it began right from the start of this project--so there was never an opportunity to get frustrated. Because I knew from step one that this was going to fail. Fail badly. Fail so badly that I would laugh at myself and not care how crazy I looked.

Let me back up a second and take some of the blame off of my precious fondant. At the end of the day, I think I did actually get the fondant icing right. Shocker, I know. The real problem here was the cake. For starters, the bottom of the cake broke when I took it out of the pan. We'll call that bad omen #1.

Secondly, you know how no cake ever comes out of the oven perfectly flat and square?? Well, to make fondant work well, you have to trim your cake to be flat on top/bottom/sides. No biggie, but when you've already ripped the bottom of the cake to shreds, this can be a problem.

Then there's the pre-icing. You actually need to ice the cake with buttercream frosting before applying the fondant, which actually serves as the glue that binds the fondant to the cake. Got it. I'm not sure who to blame here, the cake or the icing, but when these two met in my kitchen today, things got messy. The already crumbly cake, crumbled some more. Which means any attempts to make my cake square and flat were gone. I had complete corners go missing and huge crevices which I then tried to fill with a mixture of icing and cake, a paste-like concoction that, I thought, would hold the whole darn thing together. No go. See for yourself:

We'll call that bad omen #2.

This being a trial and all, I went ahead with the fondant...rolled it out, struggled to get it off the counter and then plopped it down on the little cake. There was NO draping involved. Only uncoordinated plopping. And laughing. Lots of laughing. Here's my masterpiece:

Because one seriously awkward cake deserves a buddy, I decided to try another. This time I used a heart shaped cookie cutter, which made it much smaller and easier all around. I think try #2 was better:

But really, the most fun was using the fondant to decorate. To make letters, and hearts and flowers. And a big "Ha" since that was the sound repeated over and over and over again. Still giggling, actually.

Here we go Friday

It's just a little after 8:00 a.m. There is a cake baking in my oven. I am still in pajamas. One child is on her way to school. The bus is running late for the other two. I need to be out the door in 20 minutes. The sink is full of dishes that have been rinsed...but the dishwasher is currently full with clean dishes, so we are at a standstill. My husband left 1/2 of a diet coke on the counter...SCORE! This does not count toward my one diet coke a day rule. I wasn't planning on showering, if you're wondering. There's no time for that, and quite honestly, I don't think it would be on my to-do list even if there was an extra 10 minutes in this day.

You might not be able to tell, but I am going somewhere with this day. I will get a few things accomplished. I will knock off my first of hundreds of attempts to make a cake with fondant. Maybe tackle some laundry. A grocery store run is definite (that makes 3 trips this week). I might make the beds. I will feed the children.

More later.

Icing blob and an alien Invasion

January 21, 2009. My first experiment with fondant.

Fondant, for those not in the know, is that new-fangled icing that's all the rage these days. The smooth, thick, moldable stuff seen on wedding cakes. Oh the possibilities, if I can master it. I think it went okay...but I've only just begun. A friend of mine clued me in to a pretty easy fondant recipe, which required 3 ingredients. So far so good.

I kneaded this puppy for a solid 10 minutes, and it looks pretty good. But tomorrow I add color to it and actually attempt to drape it over a cake. That's right, I said drape. So the goal is to roll it out and gracefully lay it over the cake...at which point it will just perfectly lie in place and produce the most exquisite looking baked good of all time. I'm sure there is a catch that I am about to learn. But for now, I am in a state of blissful naivete.

Actually, I'm just hoping for something non-lumpy or tie-dyed looking. I'll let you know, with pictures of course, how it goes.

On another note, it seems our household was invaded by aliens today...the kids pulled these red plastic cups out of some cabinet/closet/drawer/nook/cranny about a week ago and they have been sitting on our counter ever since. Instead of putting them away (wouldn't even know where to start with that), I decided to craft:

Happy Thursday...if anyone has any fondant tips, send them this way!

Interpretive Art on Inauguration Day

Yesterday, I got the paint out for our kids to express their political sides. With all that has happened, the history in the making, the installation of a new President, the weight it carries for civil rights and new beginnings...I decided to let the kids express themselves.

I believe Little J's speaks of cautious optimism. Minimal use of his canvas, says to me, that there is much unexplored territory. Space for the new guy to make his mark.


Big J is full of excitement. Erratic brush strokes and unconventional style mean this is going to be an era unlike any other.



L's use of dark colors could mean a little doubt. Or maybe she's just down on the recession and cynical all around. It's possible she is cautious of the hype, fed up with the political game or reluctant to believe in change. Hard to know with this one.






G's world is a rainbow...she's in love with the pomp and circumstance of the inauguration. The pretty dresses, grand showmanship, 10 balls (what princess gets that in ONE night???). Her motto, in life and politics, is that a little sparkle never hurt anyone. Take note, President Obama.

No...not really. I just got the paint out for the kids to....paint. Political commentary completely made up by me!

We've become one of THOSE families

I think today was the day that I realized I might be able to do all of my shopping at Sam's Club. And it really wouldn't be a stretch to have to store all of my bulk items, because we WILL consume them that fast.

Take my 28 hot dogs, for instance (pictured above). I'm hoping they take us through February, but I'm not counting on it. And did I mention that those 28 hot dogs cost me $7.50??? We're talking Ball Park, beef franks (none of this cheap, knock off meat...who do you think we are??), that would normally cost me upwards of $3.50 at Dierbergs. That's almost two whole packages of hot dogs for free!!! Sign me up--I have a deep freeze, and I am not afraid to use it.

We have been buying practically all of our meat there anyway...because those little packages in the grocery store just don't cut it for a family of 6. Last week, I discovered the frozen shredded cheeses...5 pounds of provolone/mozzarella do come in handy when we make pizzas. Every week. And now instead of 1 can of green beans, I'll buy 12 and make it last.

This totally speaks to the hoarder in me.

However, this plan will only work if I can manage to cut down on my regular grocery store shopping. Spending double the amount in two different locations is not my goal, but I can see it happening. In addition to being a hoarder, I am a creature of habit. And for the past 5 years, I have been going to the same grocery store EVERY Monday morning. Until this year, that meant I would drag at least three children (of varying temperaments and listening abilities) through the grocery store. Which was ESPECIALLY difficult when three of the four children couldn't walk. Don't even ask, because I'm not sure how we did it...Baby Bjorns, toilet paper as props, cookies as bribes and lots of crying was involved. It's all somewhat of a haze, but I don't think I ever actually tied a dog leash to the cart and pulled a sled along side (don't think I haven't thought of it). I get stared at and commented to simply for having four children...how bad could it REALLY be if I brought our bicycles with us as well????

I digress. I'm giving Sam's a shot as my one-stop-shop. Sam's, you won me with 28 hot dogs. Really.

Chicken Jar Pie

Tonight I found a new, and slightly more practical use for my baking jars. Chicken pot pie, made in individual servings (which, coincidentally, is what my recipe called for). Here's the finished product:

I say this is a slightly more practical use for these jars, because, if you'll remember, my only previous use for them was baking cakes. And that's just not something I do on a weekly, or even monthly basis. Chicken pot pie, however, can totally be added to the rotation of dinners served around here. And the best part of it all??? The recipe is from Weight Watchers, and the portion size is all measured out. Big bonus, all the way around. Here's a view from the top:

The recipe, if your interested:

2 Tbsp. white self rising flour

1 Tbsp. butter

2/3 c frozen peas

1/2 cup white wine

1 c chicken broth

3/4 pound chicken breasts, cut in cubes (I added more, probably a little over a pound).

2 medium stalks celery, chopped

2 large carrots, chopped

1 large onion, chopped

1/8 tsp. black pepper

1/2 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. rosemary

Buttermilk style, flaky biscuits (from a tube)

Preheat oven to 375. Coat jars or 10-ounce ramekins w/ cooking spray...my jars are 8 oz., but I added a little more to this recipe (just by eye-balling) and made 7 jars (recipe says it will make 4 10 ounce cups).

Melt butter over med.-high heat. Saute chicken, onion, celery, carrots; cook until chicken is no longer pink. Add flour and stir so it mixes with butter (I added a little more butter at this stage). Add chicken stock and wine slowly, stirring constantly so no lumps form. Add peas, rosemary, salt and pepper; bring to boil. Simmer until thick, about 10-15 minutes.

Remove mixture and divide among cups. Cut biscuits in half horizontally, and put a half biscuit on top of each jar (you will not use a whole tube of biscuits). Put all jars on a cookie sheet (I used a cake pan) and bake until biscuits are brown and mixture is bubbly, about 15-20 minutes.

Bon Appetite!

Lake of the Ozarks

This weekend, our family spent a night out at the Lake of the Ozarks with some of our dearest friends, the Canatseys. It is, of course, January, but we were given a clear, 40+ degree weekend, and it was great. Beautiful and great.

I am somewhat new to the outdoors. Definitely in the dead of winter, or at any time when the weather dips below 60 degrees. I packed crafts, puzzles and games, thinking we'd be indoors the whole time. Mike thought I was crazy...I like to call it prepared for when the children are ripping up the floor boards and running through the house with knives.

It was a bit chilly, but we bundled the kids to play outside, go on very young-kid-friendly hikes and even brave a pontoon ride. Lots of fun, particularly for the kids, who are starting to forget what grass and fresh air feel like. If swear, if it doesn't have the stale smell of winter and the faint hit of some sort of virus/flu/disease, it's almost unrecognizable at this point in the year.

In case you're wondering, this is what it takes for a family of 6 to leave town for less than 36 hours. Keep in mind, neither Mike nor myself showered on our quick getaway. I didn't even change my jeans. So WE are not the problem (but I won't point fingers).

4 changes of childrens clothes, including socks (and we all know my HATRED for childrens socks)

2 changes of adult clothing (it seems I overpacked on this one)

4 sets of footie pajamas for the young 'uns

4 childrens comforters

10 stuffed animals

1 puzzle

1 Monopoly jr.

Pencil case full of pens/colored pencils

Construction paper

Plain white paper

Glue sticks

Scissors

Googly eyes

Pom-poms

12-pack of diet coke

1 Gallon whole milk

1 pound turkey meat

1 loaf potato bread

1 dozen eggs

2 bottles of chardonnay

1 very large bottle of Captain Morgans

Uncrustables peanut butter sandwiches

Pop-tarts

Oatmeal Bars

Cookies

Licorice

Kettle Korn

Frozen Pizza

Texas toast

Rice Krispie treats

Antibiotics

Diapers

Libby's feeding tube and formula

Matchbox cars

Toothbrush and toiletries (to keep myself one step ahead of disgusting)

Camera

Book

8 childrens movies

iPod

Cookies 101

At Grace's very first Girl Scout meeting, the troop leader was going over the rules of cookie selling.

"Always give your first name only, and never your address."

To which, one of the very bright 3rd grade brownies replied:

"They can get it on the Internet anyway."

My how the rules of cookie selling have changed. And if anyone is looking for Girl Scout cookies, search no farther.

A dino named Sue

We accidentally had a great morning at the Science Center today...we showed up at 9:40 thinking we'd do the Discovery Room and walk around for a bit, only to discover there's a new dinosaur exhibit happening in their dome.

"Is this something little kids will enjoy," I ask, pointing to the three children circling my legs, all age 4 and under.

"Yeah, I think so. There's a place for them to dig for dinosaur bones, a couple of crafts and the life size replica of Sue the T-Rex."

"Done," I say.

So, we head to our 10:00 date with Sue...past the revolving door (not a hit with children who reacted as if we were leaving the earth and entering the vacuum of space forever) and into a COMPLETELY EMPTY DOME. With an unmanned entrance to Sue.

We enter the area set up specifically for the exhibit to find...a camera crew. Hmmm. We also then happen to notice that all of the signs say that Sue's coming out party is Jan. 17th. Tomorrow.

One frantic woman (who obviously works in public relations and not on the actual floor of the Science Center), a phone call and an appearance by an employee scheduled to work the exhibit later...we were allowed to stay. And enjoy the entire new exhibit. By ourselves.

When does that ever happen????

The kids chipped clay off of fossils, moved a computerized T-rex head, colored some dinos, dug for bones in mulch, and generally wandered to their hearts content without me worrying that they might be kidnapped. Even the crayons on the craft table were new, with perfect pointy heads. And arranged by color.

Which also means that this is the one vacuum of public space in St. Louis not painted with the flu virus. Glory.

Did you know the real "Sue the T-Rex" (who resides in Chicago's Field Museum) was found in South Dakota? I always just assumed dinosaurs lived in weird places like Mesopotamia. Or Madagascar. I had no idea they were so...domestic.

Any-hoo, forty five minutes later, we were entering the Discovery Room to build the most awesome marble run. Of. All. Time.

Love it. Fun mommy returns.

You can't always get what you want...but you get what you need

This morning, my women's bible study started up again....sort of. Usually we meet in groups, discuss a lesson and then listen to a lecture pertaining to the lesson. That normal routine doesn't start for a couple of weeks--until then, we are spending our meeting time listening to a lecture by a woman named Ruthie George.


Two things here: Ruthie is the mother of a good friend of mine, a bridesmaid in my wedding, who also went to high school with Mike. Years ago, she started a bible study in St. Louis that is now THRIVING...but I had never heard her actually speak about the bible, until today.


Secondly...the thought of a two week lecture was not appealing to me in any way. I am a SOCIAL creature. I crave the fellowship of people taller than 48 inches and older than the age of 6. Throw food in the mix (maybe a diet coke as well) and I am yours, forever. So, I headed out this morning in 5 degree weather, hit the McDonalds drive thru for a D.C., and showed up with no expectations that this would rock my world in any way, shape or form.


I arrived a little late (seems no one likes to get out of their car on a 5 degree morning, because the McDonalds drive thru was 10 miles long) and enjoyed 20 minutes of socializing (with bagels, and my diet coke...HEAVEN!) before the lecture began.


Her title: Foundational Truths. Ugh. Focusing on the Old Testament. Double Ugh. Not doing anything for my interest levels. It's not really what I'm in the mood for, or what I think I need. I'm really looking for the "How to love children through whining" book of the Bible. Or the verses that compare the compassion and humility of Christ to Moms of toddlers. Because, this is all about me. Entertaining me. Validating me. Isn't everything?


To say that my expectations were way off course would be a drastic understatement. The lecture was awesome. It could have lasted for 5 more hours and I wouldn't have moved. Not even for food or a diet coke refill.


Here's where I'm going to bring it back to my kids, because that's just where I'm at these days. I can understand my God so much better through my children, because I know what it's like to be a parent who wants all the best for their kids. Who wants none of the hurt or pain or stubbornness. Especially when arguing over something as dumb as eating a bite of grilled cheese. GRILLED CHEESE IS NOT WORTH A TIME OUT!! Seriously, it is painful to watch my children make horrible choices and have to suffer consequences I don't want to give in the first place (and my oldest is only 6...let's not talk about the teenage years). Especially when the choice was an easy one to make (it's a grilled cheese for goodness sake, not liver) and the consequence is unpleasant.


Bingo. Small bit of perspective on the God of the universe. Although I'm pretty sure he handles it with much more patience and compassion than I could ever hope to have in my grilled cheese battles. That's why he's God. And I'm me.


So let's take this parenting metaphor one step further. Ruthie talked for a while about how evil and sin are never God's will. He does not bring that upon us, but he works those situations in our lives for his good. Again, I can relate, because I don't put my children in situations to punish them, ask them to do what they are incapable of or generally try to make their lives miserable. I love them. But loving them does not mean that their actions or bad choices go without consequences. Yes, I am capable of stopping the time out. Or not giving the spanking. But I don't, which means they often see my actions as mean.


There are so many sides to the God coin, that I can't even begin to touch it. He's the scary judge God that can destroy cities and bring plagues. Or he's the biggest-teddy-bear-Dad type that never gets tired of bouncing you on his knee. But both? At the same time? The God who wants only the best for me...but doesn't instantly take away every pain, even though it's in his power?

I seem to want my God to have just one face at a time. Provider, when I need it. Counselor, when I don't have answers. Judge, when I've done something self-righteous or been offended. Encourager, when I feel blah. I want him to be...what I need him to be. In the moment. A fixer.


Hmm. Small glimpse into the minds of my kids. Remember my post on schitzo mom? Punisher one minute, story-reader the next? They are so much like me, just smaller in size. They want a mommy who is fun. Sometimes she plays with playdoh. Sometimes she takes them to the park. She'll make mac-n-cheese when asked...NOT grilled cheese. She will do what they want, in exactly the moment it is desired. Sound familiar?


For as much as I struggle to understand the God who doesn't make life easy and problem-free and perfect all the time, my kids are struggling to understand the mommy who has to send them to time out and take away privileges (and generally make life unbearable sometimes). It pains me that they cannot see that much of my "mean-ness" is for their greater good, that they can only see the mommy of the moment and not the overall picture. Thirty-two year olds and four-year-olds are really one in the same when you think about it that way.

And here's the really convicting part, for me. Unlike God (because we are so alike, I'm sure you are having a hard time telling us apart?) it's sometimes a struggle to be fun mommy. High energy mommy. Not-freak-out-and-get-hysterical-when-painting-turns-bad mommy. I am distracted a lot. I am selfish more than I'd like to admit. I fixate on stupid things (like the mixing of playdoh colors). So I worry that the picture they are getting is one of a diligent, scatterbrained and often exhausted mommy. Not enough calm and patience to balance the drill sergeant. That they will look back one day and just think I was really hard on them, because they didn't see enough of the side that would do puzzles all day long or let them splash in the bathtub, just because it made them happy. At the end of the day, however, I know I could never possibly find this balance and that my imperfections lead them to the cross...that there is a bigger plan, even in the ways I cannot be a savior to my children.

Apparently Ruthie knew I needed this, a reminder of how all the unchangeable parts of God really fit together into an eternal picture, that I can only catch glimpses of every now and then. Isn't that the best I can hope for my kids, as well? That they may not understand me as mommy and all of my crazy ways, but that they can trust it is all in their best interests and follow obediently? And that, at the end of the day, my Jesus will pick up where I have freaked out...and carry them the rest of the way.

Two words. Pot Roast.

I LOVE pot roast. Love, love, love it. Can't get enough.

I did not grow up eating pot roast...in fact, it is definitely the sort of food I would have boycotted throughout my childhood. My obsession with my favorite food was fully realized when I was pregnant with Little J and my mother-in-law just happened to be making it for dinner one night...just the smell of it as we walked into the house was practically enough to send me diving into the pot to inhale it through both my mouth and nostrils. Okay, not really...but you get the depth of my love. For pot roast.

It should also be mentioned that this passion is much to the dismay of my hubby, who considers it wet, fatty meat.

Until tonight, I've never actually made a pot roast, but it turns out it's pretty easy. You're just cooking a big hunk of meat in its own fat and juices (I guess Mike's description holds some truth). Cooking it for hours and then adding some veggies. Ta-da!

Pictured below is the reaction of my family. Incredible buzz-kill for my favorite meal of all time...which I totally expected, but secretly hoped they would surprise me and ask for it every night. To which, I would gladly oblige.

This was not a look I just happened to catch on film...it is actually the expression that was plastered to his little face for 30 minutes.

Family, you had better get on board. Pot roast is my thing. MY THING! I will not make this dish for myself alone, because I WILL eat 4 pounds of meat by myself, in one sitting. And that's just not good for anyone. It will be the dish you remember me for, the one you ask for when you're home from college, the one you want when you're sick, the one you insist on for Christmas, the one you pass down to your children. And your children's children. Deal.

Well, I had one taker. At least Bailey is on board.

The wheels came off this bus...and it crashed in an explosive mess

It's one of those nights...Mike is at bible study, so I flew solo. No biggie. After 2.5 years with four children, I am now confident I can keep them alive, for an evening, all by myself. What's the worst they could throw at me? Tantrum? Puh-lease, been there. Fighting with siblings? That's what time-outs are for. Broken bone/concussion following a stairway fall? Okay, that could be a problem...we'll stay on the first floor only.

It was a pretty standard night, the kids were mostly on good behavior, dinner was well received, spirits were generally up. And then we hit bath time...and Big J had the NERVE to touch the bottle cap Little J had been playing with five minutes earlier. Because in Little J's world these days, everything he has ever laid eyes on is his, no exceptions.

From that point on, it only goes downhill. Tonight, a temper tantrum turned to hitting (never okay), which then turned G into a puddle of pitifulness...which led to lots of discipline. Granted, they are tired. They are at the end of their proverbial ropes. It's bedtime. But I decided not to let it go...and here's why.

A few weeks back, I wrote a post about how I try to show grace to my children...and how it backfired a little. Okay, a lot. Not that I don't cut them any slack. But when I am cutting more slack than I am correcting their bad behavior, we have a problem. Which leads me back to the tiredness. Yes, I could have let this go. Chalked it up to a long day and non-typical behavior (it usually isn't this bad). But then again, can't we all blame ALL of our bad choices and poor attitudes on something? Being tired? Or overworked? Or stressed? Does it make it okay for me to pick on my husband or snap at my friends because I am tired? Sure, they'll understand and love me anyway, but that doesn't make it right.

Tonight it was time to teach my kids it's not okay to hit. Or scream. Or cry uncontrollably and lose all ability to function. Or disobey. Even when you're tired. That you have to be able to pull it together, even when the world is unfair. That someone else's bad choice does not make your retaliation okay. And yes, mommy will love you regardless, even if we have to learn a very hard lesson at a very bad time.

Who knows how this went over in the minds of 2, 4 and 6 year olds...I can only guess that they think I'm a wee bit scary and mean. But tomorrow's another day, I'm sure another lesson, another opportunity to try to find the balance between grace and accountability. Another chance to paint and color and build a super fort....to be the fun mommy that balances the all-business mommy.

Hopefully one day they'll understand it, and not just think I am schizophrenic...because that's what it feels like!

Note to self and husband: used diapers have no place in the washing machine.

See, I try to go downstairs and get caught up on the 25+ loads of laundry in my basement, only to find a surprise awaiting me in the washing machine. If you ever want to test the limits of the modern day disposable diaper, here you go. Amazingly, the diaper, while expanded, is still sort-of-normal looking...but is extremely heavy. Oh, and the Velcro tabs held up beautifully, so there is a plus, in case your child ever finds themselves swimming in the washing machine or a tidal wave, they will be forever attached to this enormous weight. But it leaked it's stuffing everywhere...and that stuff is weird. It kind of feels/looks like clear jelly. And it is literally...everywhere.

In all honesty, I would just leave this clean-up for later (I'm good like that), but I need to wash G's leotard for gymnastics. At 5:15. Nothing like a deadline, right?

You just can't win with our laundry. Don't even try.

I hate socks

Really, I hate kids socks...but that's only because I am a-O.K. with wearing a pair of socks two days in a row, which makes my need to find my own socks much less urgent. But every night around 10 p.m., I head to our basement (which is surprisingly, still a black hole, even after the clean up) to gather outfits for the kiddies to wear the next day.

FYI--if you're wondering why I go to the basement for our clothes, here it is. Our washing machine is down there. And there are SIX of us living here (4 of us being very, VERY messy). So you can imagine the piles of clothing that amass at warp speed. Then having to wash those piles, upon piles, upon piles of clothing. I'm tired, and we haven't even gotten to folding...which wouldn't be so bad, but then there's putting it all away. Which still wouldn't be so bad, IF one feisty three-year-old didn't insist on taking EVERY item out of her drawers and wearing them all during naptime. So, no more clothes upstairs. We just separate shirts and pants and place them all in bins assigned to each child. Kids socks all go into one big bin. When you have four kids, somethings got to give...for us, it's any sort of normal laundry system. And ironing...but frankly, we never did that when we were childless either.

So, every night, I head to the basement to gather outfits...it takes about 5 minutes total to pick the actual clothing out. It takes another 20 minutes to find socks that match. And that's where I want to skewer my eyes out with a very sharp object...that's how much I hate searching for tiny, white socks. We're not talking about color-coordinated socks to go with an outfit (I'm not really into that)...we are talking about your basic, generic white socks. Shouldn't be that hard, right?

Right. Except that I am probably staring at 20 loads of CLEAN laundry sitting in the basement, unsorted. And those kids socks get lost in the shuffle of sheets, towels and clothes. Or, I happen to burn through every set in the clean clothes pile...which means there are hundreds of them in the dirty clothes pile just waiting for me. The solution? Wash the clothes. Which then adds another 5-10 loads of laundry on top the the existing 20. That pile of laundry is about to grow a brain and take over the house, I'm sure of it. It's already smarter than me, and definitely bigger physically. If you don't hear from me in a few days, you know what happened.

Can someone just create a sock you wear all day and then eat for dinner?????? Totally practical, maybe a little gross, but I think I'm okay with that if it means I never have to search for another child's sock ever again!!!!!!!

This is what happens around here on Sundays

Everyone's attracted to a good fire...but I don't know how I feel about this. Little J (pictured below) is in fact watching a pre-recorded fire. On television.


This DVD was purchased for our "Tacky Christmas" party, because nothing says tacky like a fake fireplace on TV, located just feet above the real fireplace. Our tacky, fake, digital fire has become an easy child pleaser around here. And I'm noticing that kids REALLY love tacky. Cheese puffs. Taffeta dress-ups. Really pink lipstick. Outrageous, over the top, cartoon character themed Christmas lights (or clothes, or shoes, or underwear, or backpacks, or bedding...you get it). Why is it cute when you're 3 and tacky when you're 30???

So, Little J watched this version of a fireplace for almost 25 minutes. Granted, it does change from traditional, to modern, to Christmas, to psychedelic (not kidding)...and it crackles. But that's about it. On any normal day, our kids only watch about a half-hour of TV after nap time...but can you really call a non-changing, video-taped version of a real fire actual TV??

And just so you don't think we are total psychos, here's this weekend's art project...remember all those Real Simple/Martha Stewart Living magazines? We turned them into flower pot collages. Next I'm going to cut out all the food pictures, so they can do collages on plates. Nothing exciting, but just an idea I have on hand when they are hanging from the door frames. And I feel like I am doing a good thing by recycling paper that I have been holding on to for 5 years...but let's face it, at some point these pictures will probably find their way to the trash (maybe 50 years from now when my children are sorting through the storage locker of stuff I have saved for them) and my efforts at saving the planet will be for nothing!

And now to leave you with one other cool thing I found online, a while back...dealing with old catalogs and magazines. Probably a bit out of the ability range of my children (ages 6 and under), but a neat idea none the less. I tried to put the actual pictures on here, but failed...so click here for the blog that references it (very cool ideas on here all the time from this pro blogger!)

My productive Saturday

Husband gone to a Christmas tree burning party...check.

Two bathrooms scrubbed clean...check.

Countless bottles of lotion/soap/hair product/face wash/suntan lotion thrown out of closet that had not been cleaned in, probably, 5 years...check.

Three hours of whining, handled (repeatedly) without losing my mind...check.

Kitchen floor swept...check.

No shower, two days in a row...check.

Dinner made (and not purchased, small miracle)...check.

Almost 100 ounces of diet coke, guzzled...check.

Chocolate chip cookies made (with double the amount of vanilla and almost 1/2 the butter, told you I can't multitask)....check.

Four children bathed...barely, check.

Bathroom floor re-mopped after children bathed....check. Sigh.

Chocolate chip cookies awarded...check.

Four sets of little teeth brushed...check.

Vitamin gummies dispersed...check.

Prayers for rolling pin, Lovie, Halloween kitty, tape measure and monkey...check.

Dog fed...check.

Last iota of my patience and energy gone...check.

Kitchen cleaned...check.

Lean Cuisine nuked for my dinner...check.

Several requests to Big J, that he not roll/bang his rolling pin (his oh-so-loud and incredibly non-cuddly toy of choice for the evening) on his bedroom wall... check.

3 cookies and who-knows-how-much raw cookie dough consumed (so far)...check.

New episode of Grey's Anatomy playing in quiet house...check!

Advent Boxes

I finally have some shots of the advent boxes I've been working on! Yeah...this is a big miracle, because this project has proven a little more unruly than expected!! Five days in, and I have 6, almost seven boxes, done...and I think I have mastered the spray paint. It's still very touchy and unpredictable, but the key for me has been MANY light layers of paint (vs. only a few thick layers).

The idea for these advent boxes came from here...though, there are a sea of great ideas out there. I believe the boxes pictured on this blog are much smaller than mine, but I needed containers to accommodate treats for 4 kids...plus, these are your average sized cookie tins that were readily available at our local Hobby Lobby. I loved her idea of using non-traditional colors, so I went with Chocolate brown, sea foam green and red--sky's the limit on your choices!

So here are my steps:

1. Spray tins with white primer...as mentioned in a previous post, this was learned the hard way, and will really help cut down on the number of paint layers needed. My tins were covered in all kinds of Christmas craziness, so I really need the primer to cover that up.

2. Paint tins...IN LIGHT LAYERS! I probably needed 4-5 layers total, but when I used the spray paint sparingly, they dried very fast and the process moved along much quicker. Plus, I also eliminated the headache associated with paint streaks...ugh.

3. Cut numbers or use precut numbers.

4. Modge-Podge numbers on to top or sides (whatever your preference)...I heart modge-podge. This is my first experience with it, and I love it. It looks like glue going on (apply w/ paint brush) and dries in a perfectly glossy coating. Brush strokes do show, so you'll want to be neat.....but this stuff puts a really nice finish on the tins.

5. Let dry and...WA-LA! All done!

I'm in a groove now, where I'll start a few boxes while the kids are having breakfast, and sporadically go down to the basement to add another coat throughout the morning/afternoon. If I'm really on the ball, I'm ready to modge-podge by late afternoon. Initially, it was taking me almost two full days to get one box done...so I've come a long way, baby! Looking forward to packing all 24 finished boxes by Feb. 1st and having my first major Christmas project done for the year (11 months early...WHAT?).

Does anyone else have this problem??

Playdoh. The kids love it. I actually don't mind it so much, because, while it does manage to get EVERYWHERE, it's still a pretty simple clean up. My beef with playdoh is really in the "pretty"...as I like to call it. I've mentioned my obsession with "pretty" in previous posts--it is a constant struggle in my life. And as my kids were playing with THEIR playdoh today I actually had the realization that I am neurotic.

I love new playdoh. I love the colors, all bright and smooth...and separate. G got the ice cream maker for her birthday and I love the cute little dishes of ice cream it makes. With confetti sprinkles.

I love it until I realized a few things...to make the playdoh ice cream look as "pretty" as the box, you need to have a degree in engineering and the fine motor skills of a neuro-surgeon. Secondly, kids do not know how to play with playdoh and not mix the colors. This is fun for them. Pretty, is not so fun.

For 5 years, I've tried to teach my children to play with their playdoh colors separately.

Pretty. But totally crazy. And ridiculous, because I don't think any of our playdoh has ever stayed with it's respective color. It's like the green is drawn to the pink...and the brown, and then the purple. And then over time it forms this weird gray color. It is one big bin of free-lovin playdoh. And it's really ugly and kind of a strange crunchy texture, maybe from drying out over time, but also, possibly, from the Dorrito crumbs that were on the table a month ago when we played with playdoh. Because obviously, I am SOOOOO concerned with how pretty the playdoh is and not-so-much with how disgusting the kitchen table is.

And that folks, is pretty much the sentence to sum up my life.

And then, at the end of the day, it's never once occurred to me that your average-sized container of playdoh costs, like, 40 cents. Cheaper, even, if you go generic...and even more cost effective if you make it (which I have done and actually prefer, because the texture is better, I think). Plus, every single kids birthday party you go to is guaranteed to provide you with a goody bag that contains...you guessed it...playdoh. I am actually now convinced it might be harder to live a playdoh-free-life than find a solution to global warming.

So, who the heck cares if the colors mix??????