Boxing Day

As I sit with baby in my lap enjoying the first quiet moment I've had in a holiday season, I'm thinking about all of the things that make Christmas memorable. Things change so much from year to year now, as they never did before. As we look back at the photos from holidays past, we can see time pass before our eyes. As a relative said last night, my husband and I could go up to the snow on Christmas Day, take a great photo, and use it for next year's card. But the kids would change so much, the photo would be outdated. It seems we do not change much from year to year -- a dozen more gray hairs or a few more crow's feet -- but our kids change drastically. They get hair where before they had peach fuzz. They grow taller, leaner, more steady. They get teeth. They get dimples. They get little snotty attitudes that weren't there the year before.

It is so important to cherish each day in their little lives. To savor the small moments as well as the big. The first handmade ornament. The first cookies and milk for Santa. The first Christmas as a family. Because next year, the little boy in my arms won't be a baby anymore. Next year there will be no more gummy smiles. Next year the big boy will teach us about Santa. Next year will be nothing like this one. They don't seem to change too much from one year to the next, but when we look back at this year, whether it be next Christmas or ten Christmas' from now, they will seem so small and young and little, and so very far away from who they are now.

Too True

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Book Review: Chill Out, Josey!

Chill Out, Josey!

Somehow I've gotten on the list of Christian book reviewers, which doesn't really bother me because I love getting free books to review, but it just gets a little difficult when review time comes around. I'm also new to the whole chick/mommy-lit genre (I'm more a Stephen King-type gal), so there's another road block I must get past. But I'm enjoying a whole new category of books that I can read in the tub and relax with, and it's a nice change to read something that doesn't start with "It was a dark and stormy night." (Peanuts excluded, as Charlie Brown is fairly popular around here).

Chill Out, Josey is the second book in the Josey series by author Susan May Warren. From what I gathered, in the first book (Everything's Coming Up Josey), protagonist Josey ran off to Russia to find love and adventure, only to have her childhood sweetheart chase after her and declare his undying love. In book two, Josey and Chase (yes, that's really his name) are living somewhat happily ever after back at home in Minnesota. Except happily ever after has a different definition for Chase than it does for Josey. She dreams of suburban bliss, with two little kids in the backyard of their house on the lake (FYI, Josey, it ain't always bliss...). Chase dreams of saving the world, of living his life with purpose. Josey compromises for the sake of her marriage, and before she knows it, they are settling down in Moscow. To complicate matters, she finds out she's pregnant days before their big move. It's silly, it's fun, and it's not deep, but tub reads never are.

It's interesting to read about Josey's struggles setting up their home in Moscow. Warren herself spent years in Khabarovsk, Far East Russia as a missionary for SEND International. Though she never gave birth in Russia, she spent two pregnancies there, and I'm sure many of Josey's triumphs were those of Warren's as well.

The hardest time I'm having with these small-press releases is the amount of errors that run the length of the story. (To capitalize, or not to capitalize the Cold War. You decide.) It seems they never make it past a final editor, and as a result, often have loose ends floating around the main story that never quite get resolved (not really a problem in this book) or just seem as if they should go through one last revision. I wouldn't place all the blame on the authors (though they probably should know better, but you know us writers...), I would simply chalk it up to a lack of staffing/funding at the publishing company. Don't get me wrong, it's not bad enough to detract from the book, it's just that I usually expect a certain level of, well, dare I say perfection, from a published work. A blog, for that matter, you never know what you're going to get...




Technorati Tags: Chill out Josey, Susan May Warren, chick lit, mommy lit, Stephen King, Christian books

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Sleeping with my eyes open

I am so tired lately I don't know how I'm managing to type sentences that are spelled correctly. My days are filled with unpacking, dressing tiny streakers, making PB and J, letting the dogs in and out of the house, and doing enough laundry to fill a Suburban. Too bad we're now on a water meter...

How did those ladies of the 1950's do it? They wore neatly pressed dresses and high heels, played bridge while their kids ran around the yard, and knew how to make Jello molds for every season of the year. Sure, they didn't (couldn't) hold down jobs, write blogs, or even drive their kids to school, but they had to be busy, too, right? Where did they have the time to iron? In high heels? I haven't even touched my iron (except to unpack it) in the last three years. And my hands are so dry from doing dishes night and day that I'd run any pair of pantyhose I'd try to put on. I just wonder sometimes how they looked so put together. Today we seem to run into each other in the store with crazed looks in our eyes, frantically pulling stuff from shelves and dumping it into our carts while we hold our toddlers by the collar and pray they don't start screaming.

Because those elderly women who did it all in the 50's will give us the look of death.

Winter Wonderland

Since my days are filled with unpacking and I haven't been able to scrounge enough time up to write a decent post, I am publishing my article from this month's Growing Up Chico magazine...

I am counting the days until Christmas. This will be the first year my son, now three, will be old enough to be intoxicated by the sheer magic of the season. Sure, we’ve decorated the house to the hilt ever since he’s been born, but this will be the first year there’ll be more to the tree than just “Don’t touch that!”

The holidays are the time when we unpack our own childhood. We revisit the memories we made as children, remembering holiday traditions long past that still warm our hearts. Our first snowball fight. Roasting marshmallows in the fireplace. The smell of a steaming holiday supper, which for me meant mountains of meatballs piled atop an enormous platter of pasta. I swear I can still smell the garlic. Whether we’re pulling out the ornaments or unpacking the menorah, we’re hoping to give our children the same joy we experienced so many years ago. We’re hoping to make memories that will linger in their hearts forever. And we’re hoping, in a very small, quiet way in the corner of our hearts, to bring back the joy for ourselves.

For we’ve been waiting for this for years, it seems. I know that I spent too many newly-married holidays empty with expectation, wondering exactly what it was I needed to make Christmas feel complete. It wasn’t the giving, the receiving, or even the decorating of my first home that warmed my heart. It was the first time I saw my son, dressed in red velvet with white fur trim, touch the tip of his finger to the flickering lights on the Christmas tree. I watched the smile spread across his little face, and as I did, I felt my heart begin to melt.

It is no longer about fighting for time off from work, fighting with my husband about whose parents we’ll eat Christmas Eve dinner with, or fighting with the crowds at the mall. It has once again become about baking as many cookies as will fit in the oven, drinking hot chocolate in front of the fire, writing letters to Santa in green and red crayon. It is about making presents for Daddy out of glue and acorns and glitter. About elves, reindeer, and the magic hope for snow, no matter how far away from the North Pole we live.

That is the best part of having children, I’m finding out. They bring back the fun, the delight, the joy in the parts of our lives we thought were empty. They make us remember what is was like to wait up all night for Santa, to give a gift we made with our own hands, to be live in the moment and be happy with all that we have.

They bring us back to ourselves.

Movin' on up

Hopefully I have enough faithful readers to notice that I've been gone from the blog world for awhile. "Awhile" as in a week, which is not a terribly long time, but I've missed this page like I've been gone for a month. There hasn't been any good place for me to vent lately. My husband looks at me like I'm crazy when I walk around the house and narrate my every thought. On a blog, it's considered "humor." In real life, it sounds a hell of a lot like "bitching."

So where have I been these long seven days? Moving. As in packing up every last bit of our lives and stuffing it into brown cardboard boxes marked Fragile. I remember moving when it was just the two of us in college: a few half-filled boxes, an old couch, and the back of a friend's pickup. Now it involves enough so much cardboard I'm afraid we've killed an old-growth forest and an entire 40-ft. semi-truck trailer. And about a dozen extra trips to pick up all the "little stuff" that somehow fills our entire garage. It's amazing. It's overwhelming. And we did it all during Thanksgiving!

It's fun to cook a turkey when you're not quite sure where all the pots and pans are. "You know, I'm not really sure we need mashed potatoes!" It does eliminate the excess. But we managed and somehow turned out a California-proper holiday dinner. Our new kitchen is big enough for more than a couple cooks, and also provides me the unique opportunity to chuck utensils at my husband's head while he sits on the couch watching football instead of helping in said kitchen. Actually, I must clarify that he was a really big help (he was the one who made the mashed potatoes) and he only spent about three plays on the couch, which didn't seem enough for him. Maybe next year he'll be able to watch a whole quarter without having to hear, "Daddy, can I watch Curious George now?"

So I'm back. Busy, but back. Expect lots of humorous descriptions of the moving process. Just don't call it "bitching."

Training Camp: Patience

It seems it's always a learning experience with my firstborn. Learning how to survive without sleep, how to change diapers in the dark, to eat dinner with one hand while standing up. And it's been about learning how to give up so much of myself.

The older he gets, the less it doesn't change. When he was a baby, it was about giving up the "me" time. The long showers. Reading before bed. Strolling through Barnes & Noble while sipping a peppermint mocha. Just being alone, period. But now that he's three and I'm looking back through my rose-colored glasses, I still had tons of "me" time. Really, I don't know what the hell I used to bitch about. He was the miracle baby who slept until nine or ten (AM!) regularly. He took three hour naps. He was in bed by seven. God, I had gobs of free time! I used to read the paper while sipping my coffee, wondering if I'd make it to playgroup in time! How spoiled was I?

Now I'm trying to deal with the constant shadow. The nonstop questions. The laying under me feet while I wash dishes. The playing with my hair while I talk on the phone. The sticking his fingers in my closed eyes at six-thirty in the morning. Compared to this, colic was a cakewalk. I struggle everyday to use my nice words. To not lash out. To count to ten and breathe, Lynda, breathe until you see spots in front of your eyes and you think you might pass out.

Tonight I nursed the baby to sleep while Carter poked my knees with some dead bug he found on the carpet. I leaned my head back and tried to go to my happy place, but it was nearly impossible to tune him out. I struggled with PJ time, teeth brushing, story time. It was nearly more than I could handle.

And then, just then, did he play his hand. He whispered, just as I was leaving his room, Do you know what, Mommy? I love you really much. I looked back to see my cheekbones and his daddy's dimples on his beautiful smile. It was all I needed.

It was all I needed to know that I am doing just right, no matter how crazy it feels sometimes. I am loved. And oh, so do I love him back.

No matter what time of the morning he sticks his fingers in my eyes.

Great site: The Visible Embryo

The Visible Embryo is a great site for those of you preggo mommies out there. Goes through each stage of development with actual sizes and incredible descriptions. The best site I've ever seen for checking out exactly what your baby looks like!

Motherhood Favorites: The PortaMEe Baby Carrier

I just discovered this great baby/toddler carrier that I think is going to be a must-have! It's called the PortaMEe, and it's a hands-free carrier with back support for babies up to 35 pounds. I don't know about you, but I have a heck of a time managing my sling/Snugli and lug my diaper bag on my back, all while holding my preschooler's hand. What I like about the PortaMEe is that it includes a center-flap wallet, cell-phone pocket, diaper pocket, and a hip-mounted bottle holster. There's no need for a bag! Perfect for those grocery store runs when your baby has hit the age where he doesn't want to sit in the carrier anymore. It's hard to grab canned foods from the bottom shelf while juggling your five-month-old...trust me.



With a 16 lb.-plus baby to lug around, I'm constantly ending my evenings moaning about how much my back hurts. My sling pulls on my upper back, and my Snugli does, too. The PortaMEe has "ergonomic lumbar support" with flexible padded bars. It provides fundamental eye-contact with your baby (What? There's spit-up coming from where?), includes infant head support, is nursing-friendly, and exceeds all ASTM soft infant carrier standards. That's a plus when you're reaching for the teething ring your baby's dropped for the twentieth time. I don't know about you, but I'm always a little freaked when I have to do that.


The only downside I can find to the PortaMEe is that it's got a pretty hefty price tag. It retails on their website for $180 (with a $700 courture version...just in case you're invited to Britney's next baby shower), which is a pretty steep price for a carrier. I think my stroller was less than that. I suppose you could forgo the Petunia Pickle Bottom diaper bag and spring for this instead, as they run about the same price. But the PortaMEe does support kids up to 35 pounds, so you may end up using it a lot longer than the sling or even the stroller.

Maybe I'll just have save up my Starbucks allowance for the next, uh, 35 or so weeks. Or wait for Brit's hand-me-downs...

Sunday Night Suppers: Taco Night

Here's a great fun, family recipe. The kids will love choosing their toppings, and the adults will like the fact they don't taste like Taco Bell tacos!

Tacos

1 1/2 lean ground beef
1 tsp. minced garlic
1 tsp. chili powder
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1 can green chili and onion diced tomatoes (Mexican style)
Flour or corn tortillas
1 can black beans
Toppings of your choice (tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, olives, avocados, green onions, sour cream, hot sauce)

Brown ground beef over medium heat with garlic, chili powder, and cumin. Add tomatoes and simmer for 15 minutes. Heat black beans in small saucepan over low heat. Heat tortillas on cookie sheet in 250-degree oven for 5 minutes in between layers of wet kitchen towel (prevents tortillas from drying out). Spoon ground beef into tortillas, let everyone choose their toppings.


South-of-the-Border Side Dish

3 green onions
4 medium-sized zucchinis
3 yellow squash
1 cup sliced mushrooms
chili powder and cumin to taste

Saute green onions in oil, add zucchinis and yellow squash. Cook until zucchini begins to soften, add mushrooms. Continue cooking until zucchini turns opaque.