Summertime

I love this time of year. It's not quite as intoxicating at 30 as it was at 13, but I still adore summer break. I think baseball fields and swimming and watermelon. Oh, and if I could do all three of those things in one day, I think I would be in a coma of Summer Bliss.

The kids are enjoying these warm days. They spend two long mornings a week in the swimming pool. And lets talk about comas...nap time those days is particularly peaceful. A bomb could go off and those kids might roll over.

What do I do on these days? After I drop the older three at the neighbor's pool for the morning, I tool around and do a little bit of work, a little bit of playing, a little bit of reading, and a lot a bit of loving on my quickly growing Anna.

Yeah, Summer is a time to enjoy. And we are, friends, we are.

In fact, there is a watermelon calling me right now...

Lickity Split

In less than two months, I will have an official five year old. It's a milestone, folks. One that has crept up unbelievably fast. Have I really been a Mommy for five years? It doesn't seem that long, I swear it.

Well, not quite five years. I have a little over a month and a half to go yet.

I'm not rushing it, is all I'm saying.

With age comes advancements in fine motor skills. Some of those motor skills finer than others. For instance, my not-quite-five year old informed me a couple of weeks back that he wanted a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. I responded with the thought that PB sounded like a fine idea for lunch and that I would get to work on the sandwiches in a couple of minutes.

'I can make it, Momma,' he replied.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him no, I would take care of it, when it hit me that this was a pretty simple task. Perhaps I should let him try it. My negative thoughts were that at least peanut butter didn't ooze out of its jar, so I wouldn't have to clean up any spills.

'Okay, Buddy. Go to it.'

It took half a nano-second for him to realize I had given him permission to work unassisted in the kitchen. He flew into action, getting his step stool out, getting peanut butter, bread, and a butter knife. In short order, he was seated at the table eating his well made sandwich. And he had even cleaned up his mess!

Since then, we have had several lunches that included peanut butter sandwiches, all made by Thomas, of course. In fact, if things are really going well, all I have to do is set out the dishes. The kids can pretty well supply their own lunch. Thomas can even fill the cups with water and serve them to everyone.

It is a sweet deal.

Sunday, I was elbow deep in making baby food for Anna when lunch time rolled around. Thomas came into the kitchen and volunteered to make PB sandwiches for everyone. I pulled out the bread and put the proper amount out for him so all he had to do was slather everything with peanut butter. Then I turned my eyes back to the blueberries and the blender. A few moments later, I turned around to see one sandwich complete and Thomas licking the knife.

Then he went to put the knife back in the jar.

'Thomas! Don't lick the knife and then stick it back in the peanut butter, son! You don't lick it until all the sandwiches are done.'

Because everybody knows you lick the peanut butter off the knife, right? Or am I the only one who does that? And, apparently, teaches my children to, as well.

'Oh...' he replied.

I gave him a clean knife and let him go back to his task.

Later that same afternoon, Sarah Grace was sorting the flatware from the dishwasher into the drawers it all belonged in when Joshua came through the kitchen. (I was in there supervising, but not really, obviously).

'Sarah Grace! We don't put the spoons in our mouth before we put them into the drawer, honey!'

'Oh...' she replied.

My children have a history with licking things. I guess I thought we were past that phase of childhood with the older two. However, it seems that I was wrong.

So...y'all wanna come over and eat with us anytime soon?

Gesundheit

Nothing brings a mother to her knees like sick children. Sick, cranky, lethargic, irritable children. And somehow, summer colds have the ability to wreak more havoc than their winter counterparts.

Yes, it seems that all four children have the sniffles, a bit of congestion, and a lot of whines. I am pumping them full of Emergen-C and reading a lot of books.

Today, before I realized that I had all four of them down with this mess, we went on one of our weekly errands. While we are on our outing, an elderly lady generally shares her home made goodies with us. However, she was short in supply today, so rather than offering the children her usual cookies or brownies, she offered them each a package of crackers. Like the ones you get with salads, just a pack of two saltines or whatever.

The kids were visibly nonplussed, but thankfully, they were kind and remembered their manners.

Granny is sick, too. In fact, she has the worst of it. She has pretty well been in bed for two days running, which never happens. Before we left this afternoon, Thomas offered to save one of his sweets to share with her, although I was unaware of this.

When Mrs. C sadly told the kids no cookies, only crackers today, Thomas thanked her very kindly. He held tight to his crackers and when we got back in the car, opened them up. He claimed to be starving, but I noticed he only ate one cracker. I told him to eat his other cracker and wait patiently for dinner.

He carefully tucked the cracker down into the packaging and told me he was saving it.

'For what?' I asked, somewhat dubious.

'For Granny. I told her I would get her a sweetie and since all I have are two crackers, I decided I would save her one so I could share with her.'

I smiled at him and told him how much I appreciated that he was keeping his word, even though I knew he was tempted to eat that last cracker.

I may have only been smiling on the outside, but people, on the inside, my heart was swelling up with joy!

Hanging In, Hanging Out, Hanging On

Why, yes! I do listen to country music! What makes you ask?

We went to Ohio a couple weeks back to attend my little cousin Deanna's high school graduation. It was a bit of a trip. We left Friday afternoon, made the nearly seven hour drive in about nine hours, spent Saturday prepping for graduation, attending graduation, visiting with family after graduation, then on Sunday, had a big birthday breakfast for my Grandmother, and drove back to the blessed South.

With all four children in tow. Yes, it can be done, and yes, we had a great time.

We also enjoyed a couple of beautiful rest stops in Kentucky. One on the way there had us wandering a walking path that led us up and down and around and rolled and sprawled and was just gorgeous. I wanted to build a house right in the middle of that rest area. It was very restful.

The day of graduation, we made it to my Aunt's house by, oh, noon. Maybe. We had been just a bit lazy that morning. The first thing my poor Thomas did was to somehow manage to release about a dozen helium balloons. Trust me when I say it was traumatic. Dramatic. Because if you know Thomas, everything tends towards the dramatic.

Graduation was held just across the state line in Kentucky. I had packed, and I mean packed, a diaper bag with sippee cups, bottle, snacks, diapers, blankies, you name it, I had it. We approached the doors to the arena, where they were checking bags to ensure that nobody snuck food or drinks inside. It was a sporting arena, so I can understand how this is something that would generally be done. However, this was a graduation for 300 high school kids. Concessions were not being sold. They were not going to lose any revenue over a few sippee cups.

The lady at the door we attempted to enter was very dedicated, though. She wasn't about to let me through that door with sippee cups (filled with water, not anything sticky!) and crackers and baby bottles. We had been standing in line with our brood for nearly twenty minutes, and it was rather hot, people. Now, I never claimed to be nice, but I do try to respect people and their jobs. This lady, though, irritated me. I took my sun glasses off, glared at her as respectfully and disdainfully as I could, and said, 'You have got to be kidding me.'

She rose to the challenge, and reiterated her stance. I glared at her again, mentioned the four little kids, and she still sent me packing.

As cheerfully as I could (for the sake of my children, mind you) I stormed back out to the car. Where I unloaded the majority of the stuff. I then gave Joshua a bag of crackers to stash in his pocket, stored a pack of Starburst in a (clean) diaper, and rolled up a sippee cup in one of the blankets. No way I was going to sit through a graduation without something to placate my kids.

We opted for a different door, lest the lady remember me and opt to frisk us. The second door had a young man posted there. He barely glanced in my bag. Here I had been all prepared for battle over the bottle I left in plain sight, and I simply wound up sputtering my thanks.

Once inside, we found the rest of the family, got ourselves situated, and settled in. I took note of the number of sippee cups that I saw floating around. But don't worry. I have let all that anger go since then.

Well, mostly. Ya'll know I can get fired up pretty easily.

ANYWAY! I had banked on the girls all drifting off to dreamland after the novelty of the arena wore off. It worked.


After graduation, we went back to my Aunt's house and had a lovely time of catching up before we took the kids back to the hotel, tossed them in the pool for a few minutes, then all fell into bed exhausted.

The next morning, we all met at a Cr@cker Barrel to celebrate my Grandmother's 79th birthday. I can say that, because she doesn't read the blog. So unless you tell her I just publicly announced her age, she can continue living on in blissful denial.

All those people? She is responsible for that. And right proud of it, too!

The gentleman holding the camera whose reflection you see in the window? We don't know him. At all. But he kindly allowed me to interrupt his checkers game with his grandson and impose on him to take a picture of our gang. Thanks, Mister!!

And that is the only picture I have of my cousin. Because I never thought to actually utilize the camera I was so careful to remember packing. She's a sweetie! I had all kinds of high hopes that she would come to college here in the South, but she chose to stay in Ohio. A wise decision, given her chosen major and the school she was accepted to, but still....

Then we headed home. We stopped for a good while at a different rest stop. This one was smaller, but well kept and quite lovely as well. I spread out a blanket for Anna and I to enjoy while Joshua followed the kids to a tree that they were intent on climbing. With a four foot leg up from their Daddy, they conquered the climbing of that tree, too!

See the legs dangling from that tree? Those legs belong to one of my little people! Click on the image to enlarge it and see if you can spot those ever growing legs...

The trip went well, we had a good time, but folks, Lynyrd Skynyrd said it best..."Sweet Home Alabama"

Bit of Better Batter

My Mother did a lot of building me up during those eighteen or so years I lived in her home. She was always and forever telling me I could do anything if I would just put my mind to it. It took, people. I have few reservations as to what I am capable of. I am often overly confident in my ability to handle things , and horribly prone to over extend myself.

My overconfidence occasionally strays to the kitchen. I have this deep-seated need to be all Suzy Homemaker, something my Mother didn't have quite so much to do with. (Hi, Mom!)

Tonight, just to further confuse my children and their need to figure out the names of meals (breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, supper, etc.) I made Breakfast for Dinner. Let's hear it for easy meals and thoroughly confused children.

Except I fell off the straight and narrow.

When serving Breakfast for Dinner, pancakes or waffles are the bread of choice. Their easy, yummy, and you get to drown them in pure sugar syrup. I diverged, though. I wanted biscuits. Biscuits with strawberry preserves, to be more specific.

Now, as stated above, my Mommy-dearest will not posture and pretend that she is something she is not. She is not a lover of the kitchen. She is not a cooker of more than is, strictly speaking, necessary. Growing up, my sisters and I referred to her as the One Dish Wonder. Oh, she had more than one recipe, but very few that took more than one dish. Casseroles were her game. I tend to branch out a little more, dirty a few more dishes. I enjoy tottering around in the kitchen, following recipes and creating meals.

I don't like distractions, though, so cooking with the Munchkin Brigade under foot is not my ideal set up. But we muddle through and I only yell once or twice. Per kid. Yet, they are not to be deterred from the high calling of Helping Mommy Cook.

I digressed somewhere up there. This is supposed to be about breakfast breads. The ones I usually make and the ones I chose for this evenings meal.

I am a frozen biscuit type of gal. Not much exposure to scratch biscuits. In fact, I have always been a bit wary of the idea after hearing some of LL's stories of scratch biscuit failures. She must have either given up on the things or perfected them, though, as I never hear anything about biscuits one way or the other these days.

Alas, there were no frozen biscuits to be had. Three freezers in this house and not a single one of them housed a blessed bag of biscuits. I gathered my wits, picked up the phone and was about to call Joshua and beg him to pick up a canister of biscuits on his way home when it dawned on me: I could make biscuits. As in flour and, uh, well, whatever else it took to make biscuits with.

I put the phone down and wandered around the kitchen prepping a place to roll out dough and pondering exactly how it was that biscuits were made. I checked online to get a biscuit recipe. Flour, butter, milk, salt. Yeah, sure, I could do that. I went to the pantry to grab some flour and my eyes zeroed in on the Bisquick.

People, I may be ambitious, but when simplicity is staring me in the face and my two brain cells bump into each other and recognize that simplicity, I am going to take the easy route.

I smirked to myself and pulled that box right on down, noting it called for fewer ingredients than the online resource required. It was also simple enough to double the recipe. I dumped the powder and milk in a bowl, mixed into dough, stuck my hands in to knead it and decided instantaneously that there was no way I was going to roll this stuff out.

I grabbed up the box again to see what could be done with the pile of goo I had created and Simplicity herself smacked me. Drop biscuits. All I had to do was drop the dough by spoonfuls onto the baking sheet. How's that any different from cookies? Sweet! I cleaned my hands (ew, dough on them!) and used the spoon to gather a respectable sized drop biscuit.

The dough didn't drop. A dull sensation of dawning came over me and I knew there would be no dropping of the biscuit dough, inspiration hit. Thomas, who had been greatly intrigued by my kitchen finesse, was standing at the island with me and just itching to get his hands dirty. Yeah!! Thomas could get his hands dirty. This accomplished two things: my hands stayed clean and the biscuits would still be made.

Genius, yes?

When I saw those ugly little mounds of dough on the baking sheet, I concluded that they were also like cookies in that they would spread out and be pretty upon exiting the oven. I was excited at the prospect of hot, fluffy biscuits ready for butter and strawberry preserves.

Nine minutes later, I opened the oven and pulled out a dozen ugly biscuits. They didn't smooth out. As I picked them off the sheet, I noticed they weren't anything like the consistency of the frozen biscuits I had enjoyed all my life. There weren't light and airy and flaky. They were squat and rough and, to my utter horror, hard. I was sorely tempted to toss one, just to see what would happen.

I sucked it up and got my hands back in the dough, forming more 'biscuit shaped' mounds this time. Nine minutes later, I pulled them from the oven. This batch were improved only in shape (slightly improved, at that) and not at all improved in airy-ness.

While I was flipping the last of the biscuits into the bread basket, my eggs were getting a bit more done than usual. And the bacon that I usually insist that Joshua cook because he is SO much better at it than me? Crispy. Very crispy.

Bet he'll resume his position at Head Bacon Cooker in our home with a vigor.

I sat down at the table with my less than appealing looking meal, mumbled my apologies to the family, and started prepping my ugly biscuits with butter and strawberry preserves.

People, for all the times I have heard about not judging a book by it's cover, you'd think I'd've learned a thing or two by now. Though they were far from the tastiest biscuits I have enjoyed, those little mounds of ugly bread were really quite good.

Course, this stuff would dress up anything and make it delectable.

Drum Roll!!!

Ya'll, I am overwhelmed. I simply did not expect that many comments! Way to go, people!

I will be kind to you though, and not ramble any longer. You didn't come here to hear accolades. You cam for the winning number. Thanks to Random.org this was super easy. It said #14 was the lucky winner and I counted down to the fourteenth comment (twice, to be sure) and the winner is ...

Jenna! With her twins due in four months! Congratulations!! Girl, I am gonna need a picture of you Moby-ing around with those sweet babies!

I will send you all the information you need to claim this super-duper prize.

I would like to say something witty and intelligent, but the fact is I have to go to some big box store and get some arm floaties for my kids so they can go for swim lessons this afternoon! So, your off the hook.

Thanks all for entering and have a happy and blessed Friday!!!

Top Two...Whoo Hoo

As I sat spooning and then re-spooning food into Anna's mouth tonight, Thomas stood by my side and kept up a steady stream of information to keep me entertained. I must have been looking highly distracted, because he placed his hand on my arm and waited for me to give him my full attention.

'Mommy, do you wanna know my favorite thing?'

'Hmm? What's that?'

'Ice cream....well, ice cream and you, Momma.'

Um...was that a hint or what?

5 Minutes Worth of Reasons To Change My Child's Name

Sarah GRACE Freeman

I was once told by a lady with seven daughters, all with virtues as a part of their names, that it was irony to give a child a virtue name. She shared with me that she and her husband had chosen these names hoping that each of those virtues would be a strong point in that child's life. Twenty years after the birth of her first, she smiled wryly as she shared with me the folly of their naivety.

While Joshua and I weren't hoping to magically bestow these qualities in our girls, we have given them each a virtue as a middle name: Grace, Hope, and Joy. I can tell you that we might should rethink what we did to our first-born daughter. Here is a very abbreviated glimpse as to why...

Within a time span of only minutes, my lovely little lady got up from nap by kerplunking onto the floor. She came up rubbing her hip, but smiling. I held out my arms for her to come give me a hug, and she promptly tripped over her feet and smashed face first onto the carpet. She wasn't smiling when she got up this time, but looked embarrassed and pouty lipped at the same time. I hugged her, then held her hand as we made our way to the kitchen to put together a snack.

As she was picking up her step stool so she could better help me, she dropped it on her toe. No tears, but much howling and hopping ensued. We finished putting snack on plates for everyone with no further incident. As we carried the plates to the table, however, she pitched forward and sent the contents of one plate sailing. She managed to hold on to her plate, but further bruise her pride.

After the snack had been replaced and all the children were done, Sarah Grace got up to put her dish away and when she was done, she came to give me another hug. She was three whole feet away from me when she stumbled and crashed into a chair at the table. She then proceeded to knock the back of her head on the edge of the table as she was trying to straighten up. Tears were beginning to pool in her eyes as she wailed and came to me for comforting.

I wrapped my arms around my sweet daughter and pulled her close. She pulled her arms around me, knocking all my coupon clipping to the floor in the process. She cried harder as she began to apologize and promise to pick them up after her hug. I held onto her for a few moments before she slid down to pick up the coupons.

She had gathered all those little flimsy pieces of paper together from under and around the table, then hit her head again as she started to get up. She held tight to the papers, backed way out from beneath the table, plopped the coupons on the table top, then ran for her source of comfort; her blanket. And tripped just before she picked it up.

By now, the poor child was crying in earnest. She was frustrated, embarrassed, hurt, and weary, despite her nearly three hour nap. I grabbed her blanket, gathered her up in my arms and we just sat and rocked and prayed.

Finally, she braved being on her feet again, put on her shoes, and went outside. That was nearly an hour ago. She has only been in twice since then. Once to go potty and once to get a new boo-boo cleaned up.

I can only pray that Elizabeth and Anna aren't as plagued by their middle names as my poor un-graceful Gracie.

And I can only pray that my little Gracie's mannerisms are filled with more grace than her physical movements.

Maybe We Missed Our Calling...

...as carpenters.

Or not. But we did build a loft bed and we had a really great time doing it.

I got it in my head some time ago that I wanted bunk beds for the kids. We started sleeping them all in one room for the sake of having all the children on one level of the house (because I have cooked up all manner of scenarios in my head in which we aren't able to get to everyone). I, of course, got online and started poking around to see what was out there bunk bed wise for our crew.

This is what I fell in love with. The beds, not the price tag. I loved that it could be a bunk bed now, and then a bed for Thomas and a bed for a guest room in the future. I just couldn't justify spending that kind of money on something that I was going to put in a room with a passel of preschoolers.

In the end, I found a set of instructions online and figured, well, we're not doing anything this weekend, so why not? Joshua and I discussed at length (almost four whole minutes) the pros and cons of this idea. We downloaded the instructions, looked at them, and decided we were up for the challenge.

The next day, the boys went to get the raw materials. And the measuring and line drawing and sawing and sanding and drilling and painting commenced.

And perhaps a bit of goofiness, just to break up the monotony of, um, not goofiness.

And cuteness. Because we can't function without it.

At the end of the day, we had done a lot of measuring and line drawing and cutting and sanding. Oh, and I had learned to use a Radial Arm Saw and an Orbital Sander!!

There, there. Don't cry. It's okay. You can learn to use these tools, too. It just takes time.

And a good looking instructor doesn't hinder the process, either.

Then the priming had to happen. Methinks it is much more fun to play with saws and sanders than it is to paint. But one does what one must, I suppose.

After the primer was dry, everyone jumped in to help piece the ladder ends together. Between rain showers, that is.

Next was a bunch of quality time with paint and paintbrushes that we didn't bother to document. If you've seen one can of white paint, you've seen them all.

Why white paint, you ask? It was a decision born of indecision. Thomas' bedding is in primary colors. The girls quilt is in bright pastels. Yellow is the only color they have in common. I couldn't fathom yellow doing anybody any favors in this particular set up. After lot's of hemming and hawing, I chose white. It's easy enough to paint over if ever I make a better decision.

Finally, finally, finally, we moved all the completed pieces into the kids' room. Don't let Thomas' shirt fool you...this did not all happen in one day. In fact, it took so long that this shirt, a favorite of his, managed to make it through the wash and back into his drawer again. You know, just in case you notice little things like that. It was the first thing that jumped out at me, but I know not everyone is peculiar in the same ways I am.

I heard that laughter. Stop it. Stop it now, I say.

It took us ten days from the day we bought the lumber to the day we brought all these pieces of bed into the bedroom. Factor in that Joshua spent four of those days at work, and the four children that think they need to eat meals at regular intervals, and really, I think we did it in about four, maybe five, days.

Thomas took great pleasure in the next few steps. The kid was beside himself with thoughts of sleeping six feet in the air. Plus, he got to really get in on the action here and worked with a ratchet.

And suddenly, we were done.

The kids oohed and ahhed and were thoroughly impressed over their new sleeping digs. And frankly, so were Joshua and I!

The entire downstairs smells of a lumber mill, a smell that is not at all irksome to me. It brings back memories from summers in my childhood when we lived very near a furniture plant. The kids' sleeping room is down right cozy, a drastic overhaul from what it had been. (Dang, I wish I had remembered to take the Before shot to pair up with this After shot) And while the bed is far from beautiful, it completely serves it's purpose and we have the satisfaction that comes when you work together as a family to do something. And succeed!

Between that wonderful satisfaction and this adorable face, I am thinking that bed is pretty near to perfect.

Anna is Six Months!!!

I am six months old...

...and I think I might like the Bumbo.
...and Mommy and Daddy finally graduated me from the bassinet to the crib!
...and I just started eating baby food this week.
...and I am really enjoying it!
...and I am a pro at grasping objects and gnawing on them.
...and I am starting to figure out the movements for crawling!
...and I might really and truly start sleeping through the night on a regular basis.
...and I still nurse!!!
...and my Mommy can't believe that I have actually been here half a year!
...and I had my first case of bed head...today!
...and my Daddy is convinced that I am going to be a redhead.
...and my Mommy really hopes so!
...and I am so excitable and entertaining first thing in the morning.
...and I do not like being a dirty diaper, I want it off the moment I soil it!
...and I still love being my Moby wrap. It makes me and Mommy so very happy.
...and I just really want to be where I can see whatever action is going on.
...and I love nap time!
...and everyone in the house smiles when I start 'singing'.
...and I am just about the most expressive little baby my Daddy and Mommy ever did see.