oh such a copycat

Oh, Pinterest. . .

I did this today with the kids.

Not my idea, wagon or house pictured above.

{But it's super super cute and we have one now.}

I've been thinking today about what a shameless copycat I am. . . it's really quite pathetic.

As a new gym member, do I come up with my own exercise routine?  No, I trot after Deeann, panting trying to keep up, and just copy hers.

Do I come up with my own homeschool curriculum ideas?  Nope, just copy my mother in law.  If my kids graduate from college two years early like Daniel's little brothers with degrees in physics engineering and political science. . .I'm good with whatever curriculum got them to that point.

I worry after reading Ann Voskamp that I'm going to blog like her.  *hit return key five times*  deep, thoughtful sentence.  *hit return key five times*

Hmm.  I try to copy my sister in law's unbelievably organized household.

I want to copy my mom's easy, relaxed hospitality.

I wish I could copy my little sisters' crazy-amazing hairstyles.  (How do you backcomb again?)

I think about copying the mommy-bloggers like my friend Michelle who resolve to not spend any money in January.  (I think I just heard my husband laughing his head off ten blocks away at the FD.)

Sigh.

Nothing's original here, folks.  It's all duplicated from some other brilliant soul.

when carpe diem seems like a good idea

Thud.

Little Eli fell.

The details aren't important; he cried and we both soothed him and worried a little. 

Then he quit crying and started holding his breath with silent, jerky little sobs.

oh, Eli, don't do this. . . Daniel was telling him and my whole body went cold again.

We are going to get some help here. . . I was shaking, running for my phone.  Couldn't find it.  Couldn't find any phone.  Wasn't thinking.

Yes, yes, call. Daniel is saying, just standing there, dazed, holding him.

We can get there faster ourselves, I say and start putting shoes on my man and starting the van and crying to my son to breathe and be okay. 

Drive drive drive I say and then realize he can't drive while he holds him and I can't leave the kids so they have to come with us. I call them out of bed, hating the fear that they are going to feel and load them in.  I am moving like the wind. I leave the door open and candles burning.  I am not thinking.

Still jerky weird gasps from Eli.

I pray, out loud, and words stream out of my mouth as I drive the route I rode fourteen months ago to say goodbye to Gabe.

God, make him breathe,

You are a Healer, God.

God, I need my son,

God You are a Giver. . . be a Giver, God!

Daniel tells me to park at the ER and I refuse and drive to the double doors.  Go, go go, just go get him in there. . .

I see my husband carry my son through those doors through a haze of tears as I park and I hate what he is reliving and I hate what I could find when I too, walk through those doors again. 

I should have come back sooner, I think as I go in, realizing that I'm barefoot.  I just couldn't bring myself to return.  Daniel is here every other day. . . how does he do it?  Same corridors, same trauma rooms, same little private family lounges where peoples nightmares start.

I find my husband and two nurses and I lean against the door jamb and take it all in.  Eli is sitting up in Daniel's arms and making sad little coos to the nurses and they are all smiling and agreeing with Daniel that his respirations sound good but it's good to check and how far did he fall and they have a relaxed camaraderie from working together and everyone knowing why we're paranoid.

I am limp with relief and my face is wet with tears as I sit on the cot and hold him close to my heart.

He's okay?  All that heart-stopping stress?  The doctor looks so young and I feel so old and tired and weary.  He says our son is fine and that he'll run any x-rays or scans that we would like, but really doesn't think it's necessary.  Why was he jerking and not breathing? I ask and the doctor shrugs and laughs and says he was probably really mad.  Eli. . .seriously. . .you took another couple years off my life and reinforced the need for my Loreal 5N.

I left the room, I left the emergency department, I walked out into the parking lot. . . retracing awful steps.  But I was holding my son.  I got into the van and held his face to mine and sobbed. 

I know in my head that these are just childhood events that happen to everyone and and yet . . . he fell and immediately my mind spins an awful movie reel that my heart has already lived.

I'm sorry.

There's nothing we can do.

Going home with empty arms.

Newspaper notices with a photo of my baby.

Tiny grave.


I can't believe Eli's okay because I find myself always braced for the worst.  It's eleven pm and I hold him and think back on my demanding words to God and wonder why He even answered.  I don't deserve any of the good gifts He's already given me.

I am not entitled to my children.

My heart twists and I think of the sweet couple in our Compassionate Friends group who lost both of their little boys in a tragic car accident. 

Their days are not promised.

I think of the Don't Carpe Diem post that has been wildly popular among all of my mamma friends and even though I totally agree and have so been there . . . I realize that each day is an incredible gift.

It all blurs together in my mind and I drift into a troubled sleep.

And unbelievably I dream of Gabe.  This is a first for me.  I have wished that I could dream about him because then I could have another memory, even though it wouldn't be real, only a figment of an exhausted imagination.

Someone brings him to a party as a gift to us.

I know he's there, but just assimilate him back into my little nest, like he never left at all.

There's crying and eating and unwrapping gifts and breaking up children's fights, smiling and taking pictures and then the party is over.

The nameless person who brought Gabe as a gift hands me a photo from the party of all of us together and I realize that he had been there.

Where is he??  Why didn't I go crazy with joy??  Why didn't I realize the gift??

He's not here anymore.

And I am left with only a picture, again.

I wake up and can't sleep again, disturbed by the realness of the dream and the reality of never seeing Gabe this side of Heaven. 

Eli is wiggling and talking and I take him downstairs in the early morning dark and start some coffee;  I lay him a blanket and sit next to him, my back propped against my favorite big chair, and I take it in.  He laughs at my feet and I wave them at him.  I pick him up and kiss him.  I take in the moment.  I feel the joy. I am still tingly with gratefulness and relief.

Daniel comes downstairs, headed to a long twenty four hours at work, fixing other peoples emergencies and seeing their raw grief and pain and he stops, too, and takes Eli in.  He picks him up and holds him close.  I tell him about my dream and cry against him, thankful for a man to lean on and love me through life.


And Saturday begins.  Eli goes back to sleep.  Cambria is up, asking in a demanding and whiny way for pancakes. I'm pretty sure I have poison ivy on my face (no idea how it got there).  There are piles of laundry to fold and put away and beds to make and I don't feel super organized today.

It's real life, and it's not glamorized and I know that I will feel irritation today and I know the edgy surreal gratefulness for an uneventful ER visit will wear off and I won't always feel this thankful.

I will wish Eli would just stop crying.

I will say Cambria, you are entirely too old to be sucking your thumb!  Take it out of your mouth!

I will say You will not say "I want pancakes and put syrup on top" to your mamma.

But that gratefulness is right there, under the surface, springing out in a big hurry when I realize how quickly life can change.

So if you're reading this, wallowing in bad attitudes and sleepless nights and groceries and runny noses and toddlerhood. . . I know. 

I am too.

But just maybe carpe minute. In the middle of the crazy unending childhood drama of the diem.

Hug your babies. 

Breathe them in.

Tell them you love them.

Kiss their little baby toes, their little preschooler noses, their little I'm-almost-seven-and-too-big-for-kisses cheeks.

Because tomorrow isn't promised and today -though long and weary and sometimes frustrating- today is what God has given.

Live it!

{all things richly}

Leftover chex mix and Eli snuggles;  

kids in bed and my value pack pecan pie candles from Walmart showing up Yankee;

living room a little bit bare from the lack of decorations and our tree;

I had great plans of compiling a massive 2011 faves list, complete with thumbnails of recipes, trips, music, and even purchases. . . but. . . it's not happening any time soon and since I'm in the middle of reading this amazing book. . .

. . .compiling that sort of list also seemed a bit narcissistic.  As a side note, I am so challenged and convicted by Tim Willard and Jason Lacy's thoughtful critique of how our culture has damaged the individuality of people.  It's an excellent read.

So I'll skip the sweet idea of my year in a nutshell (you didn't wanna read it anyway) and pass on my absolute favorite online reads from the past year.  These posts were well worth my time and the words lingered for days and weeks after reading.  Enjoy and be challenged!



On Forgiveness. 

figuring out how to forgive {your parents}

"I am a daughter failed and I am a parent failing

and I know it in ways now I never knew.

If I rip apart the bridge of forgiveness for my own parents

with my own hands

I destroy the only way my children can come to me."

ANN from A HOLY EXPERIENCE  

On Motherhood.

(Don't you just want to read her blog when her shoes are that cute?)

The Mom Thing

(on the wild ocean life vs. motherhood )

 I absolutely can't wait to travel the world again, but this time, take a little pair of wide-eyes with me, and show them everything there is to see.

I can't wait to pursue my dreams and ambitions, but this time, teach a little soul along the way how to be a feminine woman in a feminist world.

I can't wait to be best friends with my little girl, and one day, best friends with a woman who will know me like no one has ever known me.

. . .it's possible to live a "wild ocean life". But just what exactly that looks like, may change.

. . .as your life changes, your vision changes too,
and you start to see things more clearly until one day, you realize, you are finding meaning and value in where you are, and what you're doing.

SHELLEY from FRAME OF MIND

On Being Real.

(my beautiful childhood friend Wendi. . . beautiful inside and out)

You may find gorgeous photos of matching pajamas. . . . elsewhere.

It was all going to be beautiful

with lightly falling snow

and sugar plums

and holly decking the halls

and mistletoe kisses

when we all changed

out of our matching pajamas

and into our Sunday - Christmas Sunday - best.

Except we don't have mistletoe.

. . . .

There was no snow.

Everything was brown.

Dave went to church by himself.

I managed the chaos of four little boys, most coughing, a few sick, and all a little hyped up on Christmas excitement.

And no one had matching pajamas. ;)

I took a deep breath, tried to erase preconceived notions of how it was supposed to go, and breathed in my reality.

WENDI from EVERYDAY MIRACLES

And just cause I can't help it,

can I just give a shout out to

Pinterest

and

Spotify

and

Dunkin Donuts Dark Coffee

and

Adele

and

7-Up Biscuits

and

chalkboard paint

and

Loreal 5N

and

the library

and

my Bible study group

and

Goodwill & Salvation Army

(and Forever 21 too)

for bringing beauty to my little world.

Trust. . . in God. . .Who gives us all things richly to enjoy.

I TIMOTHY 6:17b

12/28 fire update

*finally heard he was ok at 3 am, home at 8:30 am, safe, fed, my heart reassured, back out on the fireground tonight again cuz he can't stay away from it.  Whew. 

So glad our friend Troy is going to be okay.  Scary night for everyone and I'm glad it's over.

(please come home to me)

It's one am and I am sitting curled on my couch with my laptop saying things to myself like

You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee

and

this is it! it's too scary!  do some other job!

and

clicking refresh on the different facebook statuses of my friends whose husbands are also out tonight

fighting fire and

making their wives crazy with worry.


A long, long time ago, I visited Daniel at the FD and they got called out while I was there.  The address was on my way home, so I drove by the fire.  There was a gray haze and the lights flashing made everything look ominous and eerie and even though at that time I was well accustomed to the fire service, I drove home f.r.e.a.k.ing out.  There's something about seeing the stuff your man is walking into and your mind wickedly replaying those awful scenes from Ladder 49 (that I never should have watched). . . and after that night I told myself that I would never do that ever again.


Tonight. . . broke my promise to myself and oh I am getting sorrier by the minute.  We returned our Christmas movies and Cambria begged to see Daddy.  I called him and he said to stop by; we did and he came out to the van to chat with me and the kids.   The alarm went off while we were there and I was like, oh, whatever, it's probably totally nothing and they get to see their cool dad be the engine driver and what kid doesn't dig that.

So we followed,  at a subdued distance, Cambria informing me that when she grew up, her daddy {read: husband} would be a fighterfire and she would live right here in this area.

I started getting a bad feeling when they all just kept going.  So often alarms get cancelled, everyone turns around and goes home, and it's just cool lights and wasted fuel.  I like wasted fuel.

When I saw an orange glow coming out of one of the industrial buildings and the cops blocking the road I regretted my decision to follow.  Lights flashing and gray haze and the weird odor of burning destruction and we turned around and came home.  Stupid me.

And my guy goes in there.  Oh please, be smart, be safe, don't let anyone be in there, just let the building burn, please be okay. . .

I put my babies to bed and hope to hear that everything is okay.  I wait for a response to my texts.  One of our friends is now in the hospital from burns.  I am going c.r.a.z.y.  After two hours, I get a garbled text from Daniel saying that he is ok and it's a  BigveryBad fire.  

Um, I knew that. . . please, please, come home to me.

I think that I'm so thankful I kissed him goodbye and I think that why on earth was he talking about life insurance and I think that I wish he'd get just a little bit hurt so he wouldn't be out there anymore and I'd know that he's okay and then I berate myself for thinking that.  I think that I couldn't be a military wife and I think that I couldn't handle my husband being a cop and I think that he'll be so tired and crabby when he comes home and I eat four magic cookie bars and berate myself for that, too.

This will all be funny in the morning, right?  He will have his big story to tell and I will be limp and groggy with relief and we will make some strong coffee for me and some cappuccino for him and we will just chill out and continue our Christmas vacation.

Please come home to me.

more sugar? (orange pecan fudge)

Oh like you need more sugar right now.

I know.

But I like using my blog for a recipe dump. . . that way someone as disorganized as myself can always find that elusive favorite recipe without pulling the refrigerator away from the wall and fishing behind it.

This is (surprise) my mom's fudge recipe and it doesn't quite feel like Christmas without it. 

Orange Pecan Fudge

6 cups semi sweet chocolate chips
2 7 oz. containers marshmallow creme
grated peel from one orange
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 cups toasted pecan pieces

3 cups sugar
2 sticks butter
1 1/3 cup evaporated milk

Butter a 9 x 13 pan.

Have first group of ingredients assembled in large bowl ready to pour quickly. *Tip:  I always pour the chocolate chips into the bowl and then carefully scoop the marshmallow creme into a well in the chips so that when I'm ready to dump, I don't have to scrape any sticky residue off of the sides of the bowl. 

Mix together second group of ingredients and bring to a gentle boil on medium heat.  Boil for four to five minutes.  Remove from heat, add chocolate chip mixture and stir briskly until chips are melted.

Working quickly, pour fudge mixture into the buttered pan and quickly spread out. 

Let cool and cut into pieces.

five dozen whoopie pies

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me:

one jpeg that won't format

two plumbing problems (think bathroom)

three gingerbread houses

four trips to classes

FIVE DOZEN WHOOPIE PIES

oh. .  forget the numbering. . . (it wasn't rhyming anyway)

Cambria somersaulted off the couch. *into the Christmas tree*  *ornaments flying*

Jacob told me today that when he grew up he would live in our town because he wanted his children to be near their grandparents.  .  . *long pause* {brown eyes} "plus then I would be close to you."  awwwww. . .

Eli charmed all the helpers at Fareway. . . so much that they forgot to load the milk I paid for.

I had lunch with a girl friend and it's always a good day when you can have girl talk, queso, and lime in your Coke all in the same hour.

We missed out on our sappy Friday night Christmas movie because of bad attitudes and disobedience. I went to put the kids to bed and discovered Cambria's room a whirlwind of wrapping  paper, ribbon, scissors, tape, gift tags and crumpled tissue.  *add twenty minutes to bedtime routine*

I read two chapters in Rachel Jancovic's Loving the Little Years and was challenged that order and organization come from my attitude, not from what is actually happening.  She words it much better than I do. (If you have littles, pop her book in your Amazon cart asap.  I am loving it.)

And since its two minutes away from twelve o'clock (my nod to the Twelve Days of Christmas song)  I'd better wrap this up and go finish my FIVE DOZEN WHOOPIE PIES.

*** My mom has been making these every year for as long as I can remember.  She ties each little cake up with a birthday candle and red yarn . . .birthday cakes for Jesus.*** 

Here's the recipes I used tonight.  (No one answered the phone at the home front so I had to look to Google.  sniff sniff)

I used this recipe for the cakes and this one for the creme filling.  And wow, are those little babies good.  I had one since the Slim Fast I was going to have for a fourth meal wouldn't work since I didn't have any milk to mix it with. You know how it is.

Sweet dreams!

perfect christmas tree photo shoot (not)

Here is Eli. . . laughing at the crazy family he's joined. . .

And here's an attempt at getting a photo with the fam and our Christmas tree. . .

(not stolen this year)

and also the smallest e.v.e.r. . .

and not from a romantic tree farm, but from Menards

two balsam firs left, propped in the balsam fir corner. . .

(what, people?  it's only December third!!!)

we took one. . .

and then we managed to get every head in the picture. . .

then we had to keep trying for a better one. . .

with the camera battery light flashing (story of my life)

and Jacob and Cambria were both trying to stand on the same chair

and Jacob fell off.  You can see him in the lower left had corner.

He's crying.

And this last one. . . well. . . this is why we get other people to take pictures for us.

But I can't help but thank God for the joy that He's brought this year. . .

so thankful. . .

my heart is so full. . .

tonight we eat our annual  Christmas tree enchiladas. . .

kids go to bed happily relatively peacefully

Daniel's having fun at his gym night. .

I put lights on the tree and cuddle Eli and turn Michael Buble up. . .

sitting here writing and eating peppermint patties (I think they're fat free)

and I just praise God.

So many empty places in my heart that He's filled.

Thankful for my crazy little family. . . each one.

my observations of some people

Some people just can't do ten minute ab workouts.

Some people do side planks that only lift them 1/2 inch off of the carpet and then they are left to fall, panting to the ground.

Some people ironically find the ten minute ab workout link while searching for appetizer recipes that involve cream cheese and bacon.

Some people buy jeans they don't even like just because the tag reads the pre baby years size. . . and they fit. . . is there a way for these people to wear the size tag on the outside?

Some people get exhausted but never actually raise that heart rate in a fat - burnin way.  {Their heart rate gets raised. . . just not in an exercise way.  More in a can't-believe-their-daughter-just markered-on-the-knees-of-each-of-her-five-pairs-of-jeans way.}

Some people keep postponing their Christmas pictures because they keep envisioning losing twenty pounds overnight.

Some people have friends that are such amazing cooks and baby-meal bringers that they weigh more than when they left the hospital with their little punkin. {Blame the friends. Blame the friends.}

Just some observations.

(not) bridging the gap: life after loss

It was a quandary to me as I searched books and articles and blogs and stories of others who lost children why the grief road seemed to stop if they had another child. 

Another book would would be written.  Mourning into Dancing. {or some other beautiful thought}

The focus would change.  My baby is safe in heaven, I'm moving on.

The whole blog would move. Thanks for reading our story; we're so thankful for your support and love.  Visit us over *here* as our life goes on.

I wondered:  did another child fill that immense gap so completely that the need to spill the grief out just. . . ended?

did they just want to set the pain aside for awhile and focus on the joy?

how did they go on?

did they still go lie on the ground in a frozen cemetery and weep?

were birthdays still oh.so.bittersweet?

did they hesitate on sharing the number of children when asked?  did they sometimes say three and sometimes say four?

did they fight the urge to sign every name in a little row at the end of letters?  Or did they, like me, just give up and start signing cards "The Smith's", avoiding the glaring omission of one name from the happy roster?

Why did the story always seem to stop when another child was born?

I won't do it, I vowed.  If we had another child, I had a strong desire to keep writing, to keep spilling out whatever the emotions were, for the sole purpose of letting someone following me on the grief road know what could be ahead.

If it suddenly turned all roses, well then so be it, jump on the baby wagon, my grieving sister, and have another child!

If it was terror and worse than before, well, honesty is helpful and at least I would be honest.

I will keep writing.  I will keep telling the story.  I will keep spilling it out.  And I won't move to another blog!

So now it is my turn.  I have a beautiful son after a horrible tragedy.  I think I understand why some others choose to stop telling the story. . .

. . .I want to cherish every single moment in a way I wouldn't have ever understood before burying one of my children.  And that means that moments are so precious;  sitting at a computer staring at the ceiling composing my life story just doesn't seem like the best use of the time God has given.

. . .of course I'm just busy and sleep deprived (notice how I've worked that into every post lately) and that plays into the lack of public sharing, be it online or in the church or community.

. . .then there is the utter lack of words to describe the juxtaposition of emotion going on in my heart.

But I still have that same burning desire and need, to keep telling the story.  It's not as smooth and not well written and not agonized over like some of the other things I've written.  Just doing some heart dumping here.

So tonight. . . this is for the mammas reading who ache for the little person they lost. 

I lost my little man, too.  My arms are full, but they still ache.

I weep holding Eli.  I weep for how short my time with him may be.  I weep because there are no guarantees. 

I smile to the happy world who rejoices that God has brought joy into our aching family, and I smile into my son's blue eyes, and I try to squash the nagging fear that our time with him is not promised.

I have moments of absolutely irrational fear.  Eli's first little cold last week turned me into a post-partum basket case.  I thought breastfeeding kept newborns from getting sick!  I ranted to the kids' nurse.  She laughed at me and pointed out that he could be much sicker, and I knew she was right, but that night I could feel panic set in as I go the kids ready for bed.

Another mom whose son died from SIDS said it well:  when your child dies while peacefully sleeping, your confidence as a parent is shattered.  So true.  If you can't protect your child from death while everything is fine, then how on earth are you going to protect him if something is wrong?

At eight-thirty I heard a knock on the door and I went to answer it, somehow not surprised to see Deeann standing there, coming to chill out with me and chase my fear away with girl talk and distraction.  Wow, did God know what He was doing when He sent her into my life.  She looked at my sniffling Eli, who, in my mind had a combination of RSV, bronchitis, pneumonia and whooping cough, and pointed out that he was breathing pretty well.  It's true, he was, but fear makes you irrational and irrational I was. 

The kids talk about Gabe now more than ever.  It seems to me that Eli brings memories of Gabe back to their minds more clearly.  They have even more questions (I thought we'd answered them all. . . but no!) and their own fears and worries.

JD: Mom, I just wanna know why I don't cry much about Gabe.  (I explain that emotions manifest themselves in more ways than tears.)

Cambria: Mommy, I was just wondering. . . are we gonna get Gabe presents for his birthday since he isn't here to open them?  Could we get them anyway and we open them?  I choke away the tears and tell her that we'll totally get Gabe presents for his birthday. . . images of a two year old and chocolate cake and little fire trucks flood my mind and I leave the room so that my sorrow won't make my little girl think something was wrong with her idea.

JD, carefully tucking a bear that he's loved for years into his bed:  Hey, Mom, I named this bear Gabe.  And I kinda act like it's Gabe. *lovingly pats bear*  Once again, I'm caught off guard and turn away to hide the tears.  I've learned that the children will shut their feelings away from me if they think that I'll be sad, and I walk a careful line trying to allow them to see my true heart and being a safe place for their own emotion.

Then there is this super ultra protectiveness over Eli.  It freaks us all out a little, I think, to see him sleeping.  Jacob has asked more than once. . . mom. . . is he dead?  It's his reality.  I hate that death is so real to him, but I can't change it and so I choose the privilege of showing my children the reality of this fragile gift of life that we hold so briefly in our hands. 

They've seen death, bitter and cruel and far too soon. 

Now they get to see life, fresh, and new and so full of promise.

That's what it's like, dear mamma of a baby you can't hold anymore.

There's not a careful bridge between the horror and loss and the beauty and joy.  They just kinda intertwine and pop  in and out of each other at odd random times and sometimes the sorrow for the baby you lost is just gut wrenching and sometimes the fear that you'll lose the ones you have is debilitating.  But then you're surprised by the exploding joy you feel rubbing your nose against that fuzzy bit of hair and you're overwhelmed by the assurance that God is still so very good.

And you're super sleep deprived, so you end the post and go to bed.  ZzzZZzzzzZZZzzzzzzzz

Rock Star Granola Bars

I've been meaning to post these granola bars for.ev.er. . . they are so good, but they're always gone before I can take a picture. I like to name stuff, too, so here's your  rhyme and reason for why these should be called Rock Star Granola Bars. . .  it does rhyme. . . and Granola Bars just sounds boring.

Tonight I took the camera out the minute I finished the recipe.

I changed a recipe from Taste of Home. . . you can see the original recipe here. These are chewy, not too sweet, and sooo adaptable.  I've made them without chocolate many times, and I'm sure they are much healthier that way. Wink wink.


1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup oil
1 lb. mini marshmallows
1/3 cup honey
1/4 cup peanut butter
dash vanilla

Melt butter, oil, and marshmallows.  Add honey, pb and vanilla.  Pour over dry ingredients:

5 cups old fashioned oats
4 cups rice crispies
1/2 cup wheat germ
1 cup dry roasted peanuts
1 cup raisins
1 sleeve graham crackers, crushed
1 cup coconut

Mix together; with buttered fingertips,  press into greased jelly roll pan.

When slightly cooled, press mini chocolate chips onto the tops.  Lately I've been melting butterscotch and chocolate chips together and drizzling that on top.  I assure you that either way, they are delish.

Autumn Eatin'

Pumpkin Pancakes. . .

Caramel Corn. . .

Pumpkin Cinnamon Rolls {with cream cheese frosting}

Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies. . .

Pumpkin Pie. . .


Sigh.

It is hard to think about saying goodbye to baby pounds with all of this yummy stuff going on!


*. . .do not think about the leftover pumpkin cinnamon rolls on the top shelf in the fridge. . .*

If there is one thing I enjoy as much as eating great food, it's planning menus of great food!  I haven't posted menus here in about for.ev.er but I make one out pretty much every week.

Menu planning was new to me three years ago. . . but since then the idea has steadily grown on me and I can't imagine life without it. It is so amazing to have good healthy meals planned;  it saves me so much stinkin' time and energy.

(and I don't have much time *or* energy to spare right now)

(have I mentioned being sleep deprived?)

My family likes different meals and I like cooking them, so we usually have a pretty varied meal schedule with old standbys thrown in here and there.  I usually plan one "breakfast for dinner" night and we religiously eat pizza on Friday, so I only have to come up with five dinner ideas. 

I usually make sure I have ingredients for one weeknight dessert (in case I forget someone's Cubbie treats for unexpected company) and one dessert on Sunday.  Other than that I don't buy stuff for desserts because, miraculously, sugar has a way of showing up in our diet every.single.day.  How is that??

Breakfast meals are pretty much the same;  I rotate the kids favorite hot cereals, baked oatmeal, fresh fruit and toast for weekdays.  Saturday mornings are for pancakes, Sundays are flavored yogurts. (The kids pick out yogurts for each family member every week. It's the highlight of the grocery shopping trip.)

Lunches are super simple and very light.  We don't eat breakfast super early so no one is ever very hungry at lunch anyway.  I don't usually plan anything for lunches. . . leftovers are fine, pb&j, soup and crackers or even raw veggies and dip.

For meal planning inspiration I have about four websites that I always visit.

Kraft Foods is sure to have great, easy ideas.  The recipes are always a hit, but I usually only pick one meal from their site because it tends to be expensive and not super healthy.

You can be sure to find economical food over at the Five Dollar Dinner Mom.  I don't often follow her recipes, but I use her ideas a LOT.

It is definitely hard to beat Taste of Home for amazing, economical, yummy recipes.  I learned to cook using their magazines;  I think the first meal I made for Daniel and his fam was from Taste of Home.  (Ha ha. . . it worked.  He married me. )

My new favorite is definitely Pinterest.  The inspiration is limitless and it compiles the best of the food bloggers in one easy place.



Here's what we're eating over here during the next few days:

Saturday:   Roasted Vegetable Minestrone & 7-Up Biscuits {just been dying to try these}

Sunday:   The Blue Plate Special,  {hot roast beef on white bread topped with mashed potatoes and gravy. . . oh yum. oh comfort food.  oh waistline.} Green Beans,  Seven Layer Salad, and something pumpkin for dessert.   

Monday:  Birthday Party for my mother-in-law.  I'm making this yummy stuff.

Tuesday:  Shredded Beef Sandwiches, Red Cabbage Apple Slaw & Sweet Potato Fries

Wednesday:  Baked Potatoes, Orange Roughy & Green Salad

Thursday:  Zucchini, Black Bean and Rice Bake (the kids and I loooove rice.  We'd eat it all the time, but Daniel isn't a fan.  We schedule the rice around his days at MFD. Ha ha.)

Friday:  Taco Pizza & Green Salad



Speaking of pumpkin stuff. . . you know. . . all roads lead to the newest little pumpkin around here. . .

Oh, squishiness!  Love our little Eli David!

Overheard:

"When you are like. . . one. . . you can play basketball with me."

glitter glue & gourds

Glitter glue + gourds & pumpkins from my friend Becky. . . so autumn!! 

(and can i just say it feels good to be sleep deprived & typing with one hand again?)

eli {pt. 2}

The kids went to Deeann's until my mom and dad could get them and we headed up to the hospital (a forty minute drive). 

We googled name meanings on the way and narrowed our list down. . . both of us had been planning on two more days of baby preparation.  You can do a lot in two days and . . . we felt a little rushed and harried. 

I was trying to be relaxed, even though I wasn't, and so I requested a smoothie from the McDonald's drive through before we got to the hospital. As I sat there, breathing through my contractions and sipping my smoothie, Daniel started snickering and suggested that I finish my drink before we got to labor and delivery:  "They'll never admit you if you walk in slurping that. No one ever believes you're in labor anyway, and your smoothie won't help!"

I thought he had a good point, so I stood in the hospital lobby and gave myself a brain freeze before facing the daunting task of convincing the triage nurses that I was indeed about to have a baby.

And once again, I didn't exhibit enough classic labor symptoms to be admitted, so we hung out on the floor and walked the halls, burned our baby playlist from itunes, chatted about names, with me growing crosser and crosser as my labor progressed.  Anyone who has had a baby knows that you can be okay one minute and when that next contraction starts, you can turn into a grumpy bear.  My fear has always been that I'll swear.  That didn't happen, but according to my husband, I was really rude.

We were walking around the corner of the nurses station and Daniel didn't know that I was laboring and he pointed to this little fuzzy orange hat placed on the statue of a child.  "Look, isn't that cute?"  Apparently I growled:  "I don't wanna look at that punkin hat."  He loves to tell that and point out that all of the nurses heard me, too.

I had such different emotions this time.

I didn't want any pain. I was scared and stressed. I think the past months have just been so painful and so stressful that facing the prospect of known pain was discouraging and scary to me.

After four hours and my doctor's insistence, I was admitted and finally had a beautiful warm room and a hot shower and music and soft lights. . . all of those cool delivery room things that I love about our hospital;  I was in transition and didn't really know it and since everyone else thought my labor was going to take awhile, I requested asked for  begged for an epidural. 

Another thing Daniel loves teasing me about:  I didn't realize that the anesthesiologist was on call and had to drive to the hospital. . . I guess I just thought he was taking his sweet time in a doctor's lounge or something and I said at one point "Where is Mr. Epidural?!?!"  Daniel insists I said that just as he walked into the room.  I don't know.  I'd like to think he didn't hear that.

I'd never had an epidural before, but it wasn't a big deal at all;  however, just as he finished, and advised me that I would be feeling warm tingling in my toes, I told my nurse. . . "Ummm. . . I have to push."

And I did and squeezed Daniel's hand about in half and the room filled up in a minute and the epidural was pretty pointless and my doctor was looking at me and saying, "you push and I will lay him right up on your stomach!"

Pain, pain, pain, a year and a half of hopeless, wrenching pain, ache ache ache, so much loss.  I was so, so scared.  Daniel was turned away with his head against the wall, crying out to God. 

And more pain, now.

All this pain

I wonder if I'll ever find my way

I wonder if my life could really change at all

All this earth

Could all that's lost ever be found

Could a garden come up from this ground at all?


And suddenly there were tiny cries.  And Eli.  And he was in my arms and we were looking at his perfect little body  and Daniel was weeping.  Oh, Jesus, thank You, thank You, thank You.  I couldn't believe he was alive.  I sobbed.  He was warm.  He was perfect.  He was ours.

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of us.

His cries were different than Gabe's and I was thankful for that and instantly aware that Eli was his own little person. I can't even describe the way my heart exploded with love for the little person God had given us in the midst of so much grief and so much darkness.

All around

Hope is springing up from this old ground

Out of chaos life is being found

In You. . .

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of us.

. . .You make me new, You are making me new. . .making me new. . .
(Beautiful Things, Michael Gungor Band, playing while Eli was born)