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. 

Echoes: the Poem

With a growling scream, you were free, your infant wail piercing the air as you were placed on my chest, and the soundtrack to my life changed.
Noisier, more chaotic, with lulls and crescendos and crashing refrains.

Infant grunts grew into cries, then wails, then screams of frustration.
Tantrums ensued, your angry shrieks layered over my mortified silence as we moved through public places.
Sing-song voices rang out from the television and the car stereo, while the thin sound of a bucket of blocks being dumped on the carpet competed for attention.
Stuffed animals grew falsetto voices or deep baritones; inanimate objects suddenly grew a personality of their own, with their own opinions and complaints to carry to my ears.  
Tiny giggles grew into great guffaws that rang throughout our home with careless abandon, only to transform into a self-conscious laughter that sought peer approval. 
Sitcoms with their hollow laugh tracks and the tittering gossip filled our living room, then moved to the loft upstairs, and later their muffled voices teased me from behind your bedroom door. 
Game soundtracks, which once annoyed me with their cartoonish "Boing!" and "Beep!" and "Zap!"  were replaced by the haunting sounds of gunfire and explosions, overlaid by discussions of sports stats and the relative merits of the new girl in science class; punctuated by bodily noises and the accompanying hoots of laughter or disgust. 
Soft, mushy syllables sharpened, deepened, then grew piercing; once disarming, words became, at times, a weapon, and occasionally, a commodity more precious than gold. 
Suddenly, the cacophony of youth morphed into computer keyboards clacking, punctuated by notification dings and the ticking of a text being tapped out by your thumb.
Music, with its bass thumps, electric riffs or acoustic twangs blared from behind your door or escaped from earbuds, replacing the sunny chatter that once annoyed me with it's steady hum. 
The timeless sound of too-big feet shuffling along a gymnasium floor to a graduation processional that generations have marched to before.
The piercing shriek of packing tape being wrestled from the roll. The thump of a loaded cardboard box landing on the floor.
Doors slamming, the solid thump of the trunk lid closing.
A muffled goodbye, my head buried in the soft, sweet place on your neck that has tantalized me since your day of birth as I whispered my pride and choked back my tears. 

And then, silence. 

When I am still, I can hear it. The echoes of your voice.
Your childish laughter bounces through the room, teasing me, as I stare incomprehensibly into the mirror in the morning.

I delight in the traces of your presence. The scuff on the wall draws my fingers to it when I pass, and I hear your footfalls as you run for the door, dragging your hockey skates along the wall in your haste.
The dent at the bottom of the stairs, made amongst triumphant cheers as your toy trucks careened down the steps, elicits a smile.
The baby teeth tucked in my jewelry box, as precious as the pearls they lie beside, remind me of the joyful laughter that followed many moments of hesitation and nervous whines. 

And then, the echoes fade. The silence creeps over my memories as a fog overtakes the waters at dawn.

And the quiet is deafening.
 

Dear Aubrey...

My dear daughter, I remember the days when I had to read to you. I remember when you were much more interested in chewing the books than reading them. We would sit in the rocking chair, your diapered bottom planted on my lap, and you would reach up and grab my mouth while I read, jamming your sticky fingers in my mouth unexpectedly. I would laugh and remove them, planting a kiss on your sweet head before distracting you by pointing out a picture on the page. Now you're so big, you don't fit on my lap anymore. You no longer need me to read to you, although you still sweetly seek me out to do so. Your taste in books has changed from talking bunnies and singsong rhymes to Calvin and Hobbes and Captain Underpants; the more potty humor, the better. I have just one request, my girl: never stop sharing books with me. Whether you read to me, or you roll your eyes when I suggest reading to you, just please--let us keep this little ritual forever.

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? 

Beware the sour, unripe blueberry. 

Eeeewwww! He pooped on me!

Raiding the fridge

My son. My little bottomless pit. It seems every time I turn around, he is scouring the pantry shelves or searching the refrigerator doors for something to eat. 

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.