A full heart.

Tonight was one of those nights that reminded me what sweet little souls I am raising. 

After dinner, Aubrey asked me (again) if she could have her Blankey back. (You can read about the recent Blankey drama here.) Telling her no was heartbreaking, and she was so angry at me. Aubrey has yet to learn how to deal with her anger without lashing out, and with her vocabulary and gift of sass, her being angry means I get a tongue-lashing of words meant to hurt my heart. I tried to explain to her that as a mom, I didn't delight in keeping Blankey away, that it was a hard decision for me, too. "Really, Mom? You don't know what it's like to have something special taken away. Not like you've EVER lost a stuffy! You have no idea how this feels!" (Yup--only 8 and already pulls this level of sass. I'm DOOMED.)

So, I told her about my own Raggedy Ann doll, a doll I treasured when I was a child, and how one day, after my dad had been telling me for days to clean my room, he swept up all the toys littering my floor into a big trash bag and carried them out to our burn barrel (I grew up in the sticks) and lit them all on fire. My Raggedy Ann doll was in the mess of toys in that barrel, and I was simply devastated. "So, I do understand how difficult this is for you. And that makes it even harder for me to take Blankey away, but sweetie, we have to do this right now. I'm so sorry."

During the story, I watched my daughter's face go from contempt and anger, to shock, to disbelief, and finally, back to anger again. "MOM! HOW COULD YOU TELL ME THAT STORY!!!"  And off she stomped, up the stairs, to her room, furious at me for telling her an upsetting story about a stuffed animal. 

When I reached her room to tuck her into bed, she broke down crying, her anger spent. She clung to me, sobbing, sad for her beloved Blankey, sad for my own lost Raggedy Ann. Suddenly, she broke away and ran to her toy box, and rummaging inside, she grabbed a teddy bear and handed it to me. "I want you to keep it. To take the place of your Raggedy Ann doll. So you won't be sad anymore."  

Be still my heart.

No matter how many ways I tried to explain to her that I was OK, that I'd long gotten over my lost lovey, she wouldn't take back the bear. Then I told her the story of how she'd come to own that bear (it was a gift from her Gramps at Disney World on her first trip to the park, when she was just a baby). I saw her face change, and I asked her, "Would you like it back?" She ran back to the toy box, rummaged around to pull out her stuffed horse, Midnight, and offered me a trade. Then she made me promise that I would sleep with Midnight tonight. Looks like I'll have a little extra company in the bed. 

After these dramatic events, I was in Aiden's room, tucking him into bed. He had heard the entire exchange, and we chatted about how sad she was about the Blanket. Suddenly he jumped up, and dragging a chair into his closet, he reached up onto the top shelf and pulled out a plastic linen bag from the corner of the closet. Inside, Aiden's own baby blankets were neatly folded and tucked away. A few months ago, Aiden decided it was time to pack away those sweet baby blankets that he'd treasured as a toddler, and we decided on a linen bag in his closet (put away, but still close--just in case). He plopped the bag on the floor, unzipped a corner, and laid out the three blankets. Running his hand over each one, he settled on one, grabbed it, and ran into his sister's room and tucked it over her, offering his own blanket--the softest of the three--for her to snuggle. 

And darn it, if my heart didn't break again. 

In the span of this one evening, there have been pre-teen meltdowns, stomped feet, angry words, slammed doors and endless complaints. Brad and I have doled out lectures, handed down a grounding, and threatened more consequences. We've laughed, tickled, hugged and kissed. I've wiped away tears--a tiny girl's and my own. And in the course of the day, these kids have exasperated me, driven me to drink, and filled my heart in a way that nothing or no one else has ever been able to. This motherhood gig has to be the hardest, most intensely-frustrating-yet-amazing job I have ever had. And I am so incredibly grateful for it. 

Echoes: the Project

Over the past year, I've become increasingly aware of just how fast my time with my children is passing. Around my birthday and Thanksgiving, it hit me that I had only 5 Christmases left with my son before he will likely leave home for college. I have just a few short years of childhood left before I'm relegated to an advisory role in his life. This terrifies me, and makes me incredibly sad, but also motivates me to really treasure this time, despite being replete with power struggles and mood swings and pre-teen mouthiness. 

I wrote a poem that captures some of my emotions surrounding this time (it's called Echoes and can be found here). I've also decided to let it drive a series of images that explores some of these themes.

In this series, I want to explore the beauty in what I generally find annoying: my children's constant messes. Before you roll your eyes and click away, think about it like this--every day, I nag and yell and scold about the shoes on the floor, the dirty socks stuffed in the couch cushions, the books and papers and toys strewn about. I'm sure you spend a good bit of time doing the same thing, if you are a mom with kids at home. Yet, in this period of reflection, I am fully aware that one day, I will (in some small way) miss this: the clutter that comes with childhood. The noises, the messes, the chaos and unending laundry. And although, I in NO WAY am advocating that we all just embrace the mess and live like hoarders or wild animals, what I am suggesting is that, even in the aggravating reality, there is a beauty to be found. 

Here are a few images I captured today to get the project started. I'd love to hear your feedback on it, or to see you "find the beauty in the mess" in your own home. 

board game
paper airplane
socks on floor

Help! Send a life raft...and recipes!

I'm drowning in blueberries. 

It's blueberry season here in central Florida. Hand-lettered plywood signs dot the highways, directing drivers: "Five miles ahead! U pick blueberries!" Last week, our family donned some long-sleeves, lathered ourselves in bug spray and headed off to Lyna Berry Farms in search of fresh, ripe, juicy blueberries. And goodness, did we find them!

After tying buckets to our waist, we slipped our way through the rows of berry bushes, sampling the various varieties before settling on a patch of the largest, juiciest berries we had ever seen. The size of grape tomatoes, the plump delights fell from the bush at the slightest nudge, into our waiting buckets. Aubrey couldn't resist their tempting sweetness, and she spent most of the morning gently polishing a freshly plucked berry on her shirt (to 'clean' it, of course) before popping it into her mouth. Aiden was a bit more disciplined in his berry picking, sampling far fewer than he placed into his bucket, but soon he was bored with the practice and found entertainment in recycling dropped berries from the ground into projectiles to be thrown at his sister. 

Along the way, we encountered a couple of rabbits, their downy cotton tails flashing as they hopped beneath the tangled rows. A giant grasshopper was found, which Aubrey attempted to feed and Aiden delighted in holding--that is, until the grasshopper decided to poop on the dear boy's arm. Although it would seem such an act would offend the receiving party, in this case, it brought quite a bit of laughter and an opportunity to chase his sister with the bug's droppings. What can I say--the boy is eleven. 

Soon our buckets and bellies were full, and after paying the dear woman who ran the farm, we loaded up and headed home. 12 pounds of blueberries made it home with us. That's when the real fun began for me. I began with baking shortbread and reducing the berries into a delicious compote, which we layered together and slathered with fresh yogurt cream. The next morning, lemon pancakes with homemade blueberry syrup. The following night, a quick blueberry cobbler. Next up, seared pork tenderloin with blueberry pan sauce.  And after all of that, we've barely made a dent in the blueberries! A batch of blueberry jam in in order next, and I'll freeze some of the berries for smoothies. And don't forget the blueberry gin fizz to cap off a day of baking!

Here's one of the recipes, for you to try. Watch the growing calendar in your area for blueberry season and get out to a local farm. Your stomach will thank me later. 

Lemon-thyme Pancakes with Blueberry Syrup

1 cup all-purpose flour mix (I use gluten free Cup4Cup for my wheat-allergic son)

2 tbsp sugar

1 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

Scant 1 cup milk 

2 Tbsp. lemon juice

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 tbsp butter, melted

1 egg

1 tsp. lemon zest

1 tsp. to 1 Tbsp. finely chopped fresh thyme (vary according to taste)

Additional milk, if necessary

Canola or vegetable oil 

2 cups blueberries, washed

1 cup water, divided

1/2 cup sugar

1 tsp. cornstarch

1. Begin by making syrup: place blueberries and sugar in a heavy bottomed pot over medium high heat and add nearly all the water, leaving approximately 1-2 Tbsp of water in the measuring cup. Cook the blueberry mixture over medium high heat, bringing to a boil and stirring frequently, until the berries have burst and the mixture has thickened slightly.  

2. Add cornstarch to the remaining water in the measuring cup and stir until mixture is smooth, with no lumps. Slowly pour cornstarch slurry into simmering blueberry mixture, stirring constantly. Continue to stir blueberry syrup until thickened, about 2-3 minutes. Turn off heat and allow mixture to rest while you make pancakes. (**The syrup can be eaten as is, with blueberry chunks in it--this is how we like it--or you can use a stick blender or transfer the mixture to a blender to puree into a smooth syrup. You may need to add water to get syrup to the desired, pourable thickness. And be careful blending hot liquids!)

3. For the pancakes: place lemon juice in a glass measuring cup (2 cup size). Fill measuring cup to the 1 cup line with milk and allow to set at room temp for 5-10 minutes to sour.

4. Melt butter in microwave or on stove top. Remove from heat and stir in chopped thyme and lemon zest. Set aside. 

5. In a separate large bowl, whisk together dry ingredients: flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt. 

6. Once milk has soured and thickened, add vanilla and egg to the measuring cup. Whisk to combine wet ingredients. 

7. Whisk milk mixture into dry ingredients until just combined. Add melted butter mixture and stir gently. Allow batter to rest 3-5 minutes while you heat griddle.

8. Heat griddle or skillet over medium heat. Grease lightly with oil, then ladle/pour a scant 1/4 cup batter to make each pancake. Once edges are dry and bubbles appear throughout pancake, approx. 1-2 minutes, flip to other side and cook an additional 1-2 minutes, until pancake is cooked through and springs back to the touch. Remove and keep warm. 

Serve a stack of warm pancakes drizzled with the blueberry syrup and enjoy! (PS--this blueberry syrup-blended or strained- is also great as a base for a natural soda, if you have a SodaStream or other soda maker; and also mixes nicely with gin, lime juice and club soda for a refreshing summer cocktail!)

 

 

What's your favorite blueberry recipe? I'd love some additional ideas!

How many can I fit in my mouth at once? 

How many can I fit in my mouth at once? 

Beware the sour, unripe blueberry. 

Beware the sour, unripe blueberry. 

Eeeewwww! He pooped on me!

Eeeewwww! He pooped on me!

A Look Inside: Adventures in Homeschooling

Last Thursday, a box arrived in our mailbox. Aubrey, who had tagged along with me to the mailbox, was visibly excited when she discovered keys to a package bin in our mail slot. "Mom! A package!! I wonder what it is?!" she exclaimed, bouncing with excitement as she poked the key into the lock and turned. I slid the box from the package bin. "Well, what is it??" she asked excitedly. "Dead frogs," I deadpanned.

[awkward silence]

"Oh."

Aubrey was less-than-thrilled to receive such an odd package in the mail. I explained that we were going to dissect the frogs as part of our science lesson and she perked up a bit. She ran inside, yelling "Aiden! We're going to dissect frogs tomorrow!" I plopped the box on the counter and began sorting through the remainder of the mail, but soon found Aubrey at my elbow.

"Mom, Aiden said we're going to cut up frogs and look inside them, but I told him that was gross and we would never do that. But he says I'm wrong. Are we going to cut up frogs?" she asked me, certain her brother was wrong.

"Well, actually...we are going to dissect frogs. Dissect is a fancy term, but it means were going to cut open a frog and look at all of its organs and parts inside to learn about it. But the frogs are already dead, and all the blood has been taken out of them and they have been preserved in chemicals, so it isn't gross or yucky. It's just a way of learning about what living things look like on the inside." I tried to hide my amusement as looks of incredulity, disgust, and finally curiosity passed across her face.

The following day, after concluding our lessons for the day, I spread butcher paper across the dining room table, brought out the dissection instruments, and gathered the kids around an empty tray. I ceremoniously plopped the cold and chemical-smelling frog onto the tray, and after donning gloves, we began to explore the external parts of the frog. My thinking was to ease the kids into the experience before jumping into the dissection, but they were antsy to wield the scalpel, so soon we were opening our dissection text and digging in. The kids took turns with the instruments, and were intrigued at first, but soon their curiosity turned to boredom, and after a thorough discussion of the internal anatomy, I turned the frog and instruments over to them to explore. Parts were disassembled. A leg was removed.  It was quickly discovered that eyes were full of liquid that would squirt out when poked with the pins. The frog's tongue was stretched to its full length to see how it could capture bugs. The frog's lower intestines were opened to see its almost-poop. It wasn't a very precise dissection, but the children were fascinated and learning by observation, and their excitement and curiosity was contagious.

An afternoon of 'Roominating'

Last Christmas, in our quest for sophisticated toys that stimulate imagination, we bought Aubrey a Roominate building set. The Roominate sets consist of interlocking plastic pieces that are designed to be open-ended, allowing the child's imagination to take center-stage, as well several simple circuits and various electrical components that can be used to create all sorts of fun things (ceiling fans, a working washing machine, windmills, a circular saw, and more). Although the toys are marketed to girls, they don't play to gender stereotypes and allow a girl to harness her brain while engaging in imaginative play.

Aubrey loved her Roominate out of the gate, but then it moved its way to the back of the toy lineup, where it languished in a bin for about 6 months. Last week, however, Aubrey pulled it back out again and has enjoyed building a house for her Littlest Pet Shop puppies, complete with light and ceiling fan.  She played for hours and was so proud of her final result. I was just happy she sat in a lovely pocket of light in her room to build--what can I say, I'm a photographer through-and-through.

Wet and wild summer days

Days of flash flooding have prevented us from enjoying the beach or the waterpark, but it hasn't stopped the kids from making their own wet fun in the front yard. Puddle jumping and scooter splashing have kept them busy and content these past few days.