Summertime, Summertime, Sum, Sum, Summertime...

I heart summer. We only get like 2 weeks of it here in Minnesnowta, so we enjoy it thouroughly!

I'm joking, I'm joking. 2 months.

When I first moved here from San Diego, I remember a friend saying to me, "Wanna go to the beach?"

I thought she was kidding. "Yeah, which coast should we go to? West Coast or East? Ha HA!"

She was confused. "No I mean to Lake Johanna to swim!"

I laughed hysterically. "Whatever. THAT little sad stretch of fake sand is NOT a beach! That's a lake. " I laughed for days about the fact that poooooooor Minnesotans didn't even know what a beach was.

Fast forward to um, today.

Corene: We're going to the BEACH! The BEACH! I'm so excited we're going to the BEACH!!!"

Pride swallowed. My own children don't know what a REAL beach is. Ahem.

BUT, I've also learned how utterly AWESOME the not-real beach can be!

My friend Sarah and her little girl Elle joined us at the beach today.

The only real tragedy of the day was my own mommy gag reflex.

It involves the bathroom.

Obviously. Because we all know how clean and sanitary beach bathrooms are.

So, I'm holding the stall doors shut for the girls because *of course* all the locks are broken. They are in seperate, but adjacent stalls. I hear Corene say, "Cool! That's cool! You should show Mommy!"

I didn't stop to think about it. They stepped out and I stepped in.

As I'm using the restroom, I hear them talking. "Wow!" "It goes in and out!" "That's neat!" "Show Mommy!"

I still wasn't even the least bit curious.

Until I stepped out of the stall, when Ava ran up to me and pushed her new found treasure into my face.

A pretty, pink, shiny, tamp*n applicator. An empty one, to be exact.

3 gags, 4 gags, more and more gags. Mommy had twenty-four gags.

After I freaked right out of my skin and yelled at her to "DROP IT, DROP IT!", I promptly scrubbed her hands at that beach sink that HAD ACTUAL REAL SOAP, which I am completely certain was placed there by God just for me.

We had ourselves a nice little talk about touching things in bathrooms, even things that are pretty and pink and slide in and out.

Moving along.

We had a really fabulous time. Summer, friendship, water, good food, children, hand soap....

I've had some of those "time standing still" moments this summer, you know, the kind where you snap a picture in your mind and you just know you will some day (sooner than we think) think, "those were the days!"

I snapped some pictures in my mind of the kids playing in the sand and water together.

I mentally recorded the sounds of them laughing.

I dug my feet into the sand and willed myself to remember these precious days.

Hellooooooooooo out theeeeeeeeeeere...

Under threats of disowning, I hereby re-enter blog land.

For at least a day.

It feels good just sitting here staring at a blank screen. I'm warming up my writing juices. They're frozen from under-use.

And, we DO live in Minnesota, so they freeze more quickly up here.

Speaking of Minnesota, you know I can't go a whole blog post without talking about how flippin' freezin' cold it is. It snowed 6 inches today, and tomorrow it's supposed to be blowing around at about freeway speed.

We have family from San Diego coming in a few days.

Muwahahaha. Snicker snicker.

So. It's Christmas time. Time for some holiday cheer.

I have a confession. I think Santa is creepy.

Call me a fuddydud.

But, we celebrate Jesus' birth on Christmas, and what more amazing fabulous thing is there for us to be celebrating? And Santa has a way of upstaging Jesus at His very own birthday celebration. That bugs me. Really bugs me.

So, last year, I was all about telling my kids that Santa's just a pretend man. They never thought he was real, so we never dashed their hopes. Case closed.

Case closed, right?

Fast forward 12 months to yesterday. Out of the clear blue, Corene brings a clay snowman up to me and says, "I'm going to give this to Santa".

(Rembmber, this child isn't one of those story-teller types. She's my black and white child. She doesn't do imaginary pretending unless she's saying, "Let's pretend ___fill in the blank___". She's serious about this.)

Me: Really? How?

Corene: I am going to put it on a plate by the fireplace next to his cookie (!!!!!!) and put a sign that says, 'For Santa'.

Me: Huh. (thinking... do I dash the imagination? Or do I let this go on?)

Me: We used to put out cookies and milk for Santa when I was a kid.

Corene: (Eyes LIGHTING up) REALLY? Cookies and MILK? Can WE do that, TOO? Does Santa LIKE milk?"

Me: I don't know. I think it was always gone on Christmas morning.

Corene: (Thinking....) But, Mom... what if Santa's allergic to milk??

Me: (Laughing) Should we give him some of your soy milk, just in case?

Corene: But he drank your milk when you were a kid.

Me: Yes, I guess he did.

Corene: So I think it's ok. Let's give him some regular milk.

Me: (Big sigh) OK. That sounds good. (Gulp) I think he'll like that.

Corene: (Big, big, beautiful smile) Me too.

Well, my big conviction of no Santa just went kaplooee. Right down the drain. Something about her sweet belief in something just so utterly unbelievable (reindeer on the roof, and a rather large man coming down the chimney?) warmed my heart and made me smile. I just couldn't spoil the fun.

But, Christmas day? It's a birthday party for Jesus. Birthday cake and all.

How do you make the day about Jesus?

Tidbits of Wisdom

If you hear a little Taz voice saying, "Ready, Set, GO!!" followed by peals of laughter, coming from the bathroom, you may just find yourself a wee little mess of hand soap squirted all over the counter, the floor, and on the hands and clothes of Taz. And, if the moment you walk in to the bathroom, Taz throws himself on the floor in a fit of laughter and glee, you will know that it is time to put new jammies on him and to put the little hyena to bed.

If you hear a little girl say "I'm so tired" at 6:30, walk over to the couch, lay down, pull the blanket up and say, "I want to go to sleep", you will know that it is time to put the sweet girl to bed.

If you turn around and another little girl is standing at the door, lower lip out, shaking, and looking forlorn, and when you ask her what's wrong, she says, "I... I don't KNOW! I just... I think I just want... to... CUDDLE!!!", and then bursts in to tears, you will know that it is time to put her to bed.

And then after an extended cuddle-fest, you will put them all to bed and smile.

Because it's only 7:30PM, and all your children are fast asleep.

If all three of the above scenarios happen within 15 minutes of each other, all before 7:00PM, you will THEN know that they stayed out REALLLLLLLLY late last night having fun with Auntie Dawn and Uncle Lee (While Mom and Dad had a cozy alone-night IN eating Carne Asada Tacos a la Jenny...)

Yerrrr the BEST-y.

Empathy...

...of the greatest kind.

Yesterday morning, on the way to see the beloved Miss Jen (Corene's OT), I was trying to balance too many things. Taz, the diaper bag, a book, my purse, my coffee...

My coffee...

My coffee, that had been handed me by Mocha Man only moments before I walked out the door, that even had a wee bit of whipped cream on top. Oh, how excited I was to drink that coffee.

My coffee, that, in a terrible turn of events, slipped out of my hand and in slow motion, crashed explosively on the ground next to my car.

"Oooooooooooooohhhhh!" I exclaimed, as I stomped my foot. Giving my very best pouty face, I added the choice word, "POOP!" (That's Jennyese for swearing).

I looked up at Ava's face, poking out of the car door.

The girl's eyes were tearing up.

She looked... so. very. sad.

"Oh, Moooooommmmmmmy."

"Poop", she added, in the most pitiful, sweet, sad tone ever. Then she looked at me and matched my pouty lip.

I laughed so hard. That girl has such empathy. She was genuinely hurting for me.

She is surely the offspring of A Latte Talk, no?

And you know what? As my friend Jenna pointed out, a little empathy goes a long way. I giggled about her teary eyes all morning. I wasn't upset about the coffee at all.

I did make another latte when I got home, though.

Of course.

Happy Birthday Corene

Firstborn child. Oh so like her daddy.

Black and white thinker. Rule follower. Bossy Natural leader.


Impossibly sensitive, yet outrageously wild at times. Prone to anxiety.


Holder of a tender spirit. Giver of the best hugs.


Organized. A sorter, a list maker, an organizational giant (This is the one trait she did not, repeat did not get from her dad. Well, she didn't get it from me, either, truth be told).


An incredible sense of humor. Joy that bubbles over.


Sweet child, it took me 5 years to "get" you. OK, OK, I still don't totally "get" you. But... I do. For a whole year now, I really can see underneath your utterly complex make-up.


It took me 5 years to throw away the box I was trying to stuff you in. To ignore the parental legalism that was swimming in my head. To look at you as the young lady the Creator of the Universe had molded with His very hand.


It has allowed you to blossom and grow instead of be stifled by that box that you just didn't fit in.


I thank God every day for you. I thank Him that He's pricked your heart with such a love for Him already.


And, I thank Him for the relationship that He's given to us. For the times you intertwine your fingers together behind my neck and whisper "I love you" in my ear. And for the times we talk and journal through your feelings, and you go from despondent to joyful in a matter of minutes.


I love you, sweet Corene. Happy Birthday, big girl.

I promise, the moment she got off, she wanted to do it again.

Click on the picture.

You must look at these overjoyed faces in more detail.

In the throes of Summer...

And I just can't do Foody Friday every week... I'm Foody-Burned-Out.

Don't worry, I'll do it again in August... maybe not every week though. Unless someone else has a hankering to host it...

So.

Just one more thing before I'm off again to frolic in the sun.

Sugar is evil.

I believe that it is a product of the fall. Yes I do. I know that it tastes good. I know that it is so very yummy.

However.

A)It is addictive.
B)It is bad for you.
C)It makes your children into monsters.

Monsters, I say. Monsters who do not have the capability of ceasing their hyena-like laughter or running around like crazy folk.

Even worse than good old fashioned sugar is the stuff they put in grape pop. What is that stuff, anyway? It absorbs into a 4 year old's bloodstream in .04 seconds from swallowing. Not to mention that the stuff tastes nasty.

And it stains.

I'm off to soak a dress in oxi-clean. And read books to my monsters.

And give a good dose of Benadryl.

Kidding.

Guilty Pleasures

Doritos are dangerous.

It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it

It's summer. We are SOOOOOO off-schedule, it's not even funny.

Actually, it IS funny. And fun.

The kids go to bed by 10pm, we all wake up sometime around 8am. Sometimes 9. And then we lay in bed, all 5 of us and laugh and talk. It's some of my favorite times.

And it's times like this that I'm thankful for a husband with a musician/realtor schedule, whatever that is. He works odd hours, and sometimes long hours, and we miss him for dinner more often, but he's around for morning cuddle time.

Maybe I should be embarrassed that I'm still in bed at 8 or 9. But it's only a season, and I'm determined to enjoy it instead of think about what I could/should be doing instead. It's been special.

Matt and I were talking this morning during said cuddle time and one of us made a comment about rich people having servants. So the inevitable question arose. It's a question that I hear at the very least 37 times each and every day. "What does _(fill in the blank)_ mean?"

"What's a servant, Mom?"

"Well, it's someone who serves you. Someone who does things for you."

"Someone who cooks, maybe, and cleans your house." Matt clarified.

"Ohhhhh. Uh-huh. (In ALL sincerity) So you (gestures to Matt and I) are our servants!"

I laughed until my stomach hurt and I had snot coming out my nose.

I realized later that I never told her why we were laughing so hard.

I never told her that I wasn't her servant.

I just laughed and snorted and finally left the room and went and made some coffee.

Has anybody else's kids ever

eaten a half a lemon with a grapefruit spoon? No sugar?

All 3 of mine. Spoons in one hand. Lemons in the other.

Chowing down.

Saying "ooooooooh. mmmmmmmmm."

Must be the heat.

It's making them delirious.

Concert-goers

How to have fun alone with 3 kids at an orchestra concert:

1)Go to an outdoor concert where the kids can get up and dance if the spirit moves them to. And, have no fear. The spirit WILL move them.

2)Bring food. Lots-o-food.

3)Bring water, both for drinking and extra... well, for dumping. Of course.

4)Remember what color shirt your son is wearing. This will be helpful when your son wanders off into a sea of people while you're talking to Joel, and as you're frantically searching, Joel asks you "What color shirt is he wearing?" and your first thought is "green?". There are like 167 small children in the sea of people around you. Knowing what you put on him not 2 hours earlier would be helpful. Unfortunately, I know not of such things. He was wearing red.

We did find him. Chatting it up with some fellow concert-goers 5 rows back.

5)When you're desperate to take a picture of the hot air balloon that just happened to float by in the middle of a beautiful piece of music, and you need a fast distraction for your son, give him a jumbo marshmallow.

And then another one.

6)And then when he starts coughing and gagging, and people around you start to twitch and look at you funny, discreetly dig it out of his mouth and act incredulous, like you don't know how in the world it got in his mouth. Humph.

7)Pack a balanced meal to eat. If the only "healthy" food you pack is raw unpeeled carrots (We were in a hurry!), and the rest is junk-o-la, your firstborn, rule-following child is likely to tell you "All we ate tonight was junk food, Mom. Please, please, please when we get home, can we eat something HEALTHY?"

"Sure, honey. I think we can arrange that."

(Big Sigh) "Ahhhhhh! Thank you, Mom."

Just call me the best mom evah.

Preach it, Sistah!

My girls have been singing their Bible verses from church. We have 12 of the beginner foundation verses on a CD, set to music, and they're catchy. They get sung a LOT, at the top of their lungs, in our urban neighborhood where the houses stand 10 feet apart. The windows are open, and with the close proximity of the homes, I estimate that 5 houses in either direction plus a few across the alley/street can hear word for word the scripture my girls are singing.

There's "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth" Genesis 1:1

In the world, a controversial subject, but hey, preach the truth, girls!

Or "A friend loves at all times" Proverbs 17:17a

This one is perfectly harmless. In fact, many of our extremely liberal neighbors would smile, thinking about how we're teaching our children about world peace.

How about "Do all things without grumbling or questioning".

I like this one. I like this one a lot. Mamas, of the songs on this CD, this is my favorite verse. It gets quoted a latte in my house.

The one that gets sung the most, and the loudest, remarkably, is "For the Lord knows the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish" Psalm 1:6.

I giggle and get a wee bit shy when the girls are outside belting this one out. I'll admit it. It makes me uncomfortable. They're the fire and brimstone preschool preachers. No fear. No shame.

I believe it, and they love to sing it, so I don't stop them. And who knows what people are hearing that may open up a door, a conversation, who knows.

So as we walk through Target, Corene is singing (and Ava is preaching):
"Every good gift (Ava: Like that BARBIE!)
and every perfect gift (Ava: Like that princess dress!)
is from above" (Pointing up in the sky with great dramatics). (Ava: And that's GOD up there!)
James 1:17 (Ava: That's in the Bible!)

And I clench my teeth and smile. And I try to pray: Lord, use it. And make me fearless, too.

Foody Friday - Berries, berries, everywhere...

"Summer bounty, you are my joy" - Jenny's stomach

Exhibit A - Strawberries, Blueberries, Peaches, Plums purchased today

So, summer is in full swing here in Minnesota. Fi-nally. Hot sunny days, warm nights that require the use of a ceiling fan.

And, yes. Veggies, fruits, berries, and the like are callllling my name when I enter the grocery store. And, apparently, they call my children's names too, because today at Rainbow, this scene unfolded:

Corene: Ohhhh! MOMMY! Mmmmm.... Asparagus! Oh, can we get some? (jumping up and down) Asparagus, Asparagus!!!!

Me: Sure.

Ava: Oh, no. Mommy. Mmmmm... Squash. Let's get some squash. Please??

Me: No, let's get asparagus this time, next time we'll get some zucchini.

Ava: O. K. (pouting)

Where did my children come from?

So.

I went a little overboard on produce at the grocery store. I decided I'd make this fabulous amazing recipe, so Exhibit B is all of these ingredients.

Exhibit B

Exhibit C - finished product. This could have fed my neighborhood. It was so delicious.

Now, don't laugh. My fridge is full of fresh produce. FULL. I don't think I've ever put so many fruits and veggies in my cart at the grocery store before.

Please don't laugh. I kinda forgot that today was my first pickup of my CSA share.

Exhibit D. Ahem.

Exhibit D

Anybody know, is this Bok Choy (Exhibit E)? By process of elimination I think it is but I'm not 100%.

Exhibit E

I love summer.

I just got the "real food" magazine from Lunds, and found a recipe for Strawberry-Apple Soup with Mint. I'm sorry that I haven't tried it yet, I have the ingredients (and the mint is growing in my yard), but haven't had a chance to make it. So I make no guarantees. But it sure sounds good.

It's a chilled soup. Sounds delectable!

Strawberry Apple Soup with Mint

1 lb strawberries, hulled

2 granny smith or other tart apples, quartered, peeled and cored

2 cups pure unsweetened apple juice

1/2 cup orange juice

2 green onions, trimmed, cut into 1/2 inch pieces (white and green parts)

2 Tbsp. packed torn mint leaves, plus more leaves for garnish

1/2 tsp. course salt

1 tsp. grated orange zest

Cut enough strawberries and apples into 1/4-inch dice to make 1 cup of each; set aside. Cut remaining stawberries and apples into 1/2-inch chunks and place in blender. Add apple juice, orange juice, green onions, mint, and salt to blender and blend until mixture is smooth. Pour into a large bowl and stir in reserved diced strawberries and apples, and the orange zest. Season to taste with additional salt and pepper. Cover bowl and refrigerate until well chilled, 2 to 3 hours.

To serve, ladel soup into shallow bowls. Stack about 6 large mint leaves and roll tightly into a tube. Slice crosswise into thin slivers and sprinkle mint over soup.

Enjoy!

Say What?

On a walk today:

Ava: (looking at fresh grass on the sidewalk) Oh look, those people blowed.

Me: You mean, mowed?

Ava: What?

Me: You mean that the people mowed their lawn.

Ava: Yeah. They blowed their lawn off, just like daddy does with our lawn blower.

"Swimming is FUN!"

Tonight concluded a 7-session swimming class at the UofM. Corene did GREAT, and has oficially (and might I add, FINALLY) decided that, yes, swimming is FUN.

This is a huge answer to prayer, she has historically been fearful of floating/being unsteady, and the last class we had her in was, um, difficult. But you never would have known it, thanks to her excellent, very patient teacher (and lots of time in a swing at OT, I think). She even got the thumbs up to go on to the next class. Yippee.

And fun was had by all...

Scenes from her final lesson:

Hangin' out

Goin' under

Jumping off the side.

Just for kicks - this was the other little boy in her class. 4 year old stunt man. He was

HI-larious.

Surgery update

Isaac had his surgery last week. He I survived! Actually, it was really not that bad. The going to sleep part, anyway. He just got heavy and cute. No twitching or eyes rolling back in the head or anything creepy like that. The bad part was the waking up, which the nurses said generally takes at the very least 15-20 minutes from when they turn the medicine off (it was inhaled only, no IV). Well, Taz, who does everything faster than he's supposed to, took 4 minutes to wake up. And since he still had all kinds of nasty medicine running through his veins, he went on to scream for 25 minutes. Scream and heave. Scream and heave. Poor sweetie. Once he settled down, the nurse said, "And now is when he should have woken up."

The big bummer is that his eye is still teary. I think his plumbing is still slow. We'll see. He'll have a check-up with the opthamologist in a few weeks.

"Yes, hi, I'd like to return this surgery please? It was defective. Please credit the money back to my insurance company."

I guess it doesn't work that way. How about this:

"Hi, I bought one of these surgeries last week and it doesn't work at all. It's completely broken. Yes, I'd like to buy another one exactly like it."

Tryin' on some chapstick glue stick

This is that chapstick stuff that my Sissys are so in to. I'm gonna put some on my lips juuuuuust like I see them do.

Only, this is making my lips really ... umm... sticky?

Let's try eating it.

Uh Oh. Busted.

It doesn't get any better than this

Seriously.

Of Dogs and Kids

We've got messes:

Popcorn.

Who needs a dog?

Don't judge me.

Yes, he ate all of it.

I didn't clean a bit of it.

Thank you.

Reflections on Mother's Day Part 1

So, I'm not a day late. Not even two. I'm a stinkin' THREE days late!

We've been busy with family in town, had a great weekend in the fun and family department, but not so good for my blogging bone. I fell into bed exhausted each night, with no brain cell left to type.

So... now that your Mother's day sentiments are packed away, I'm going to ask that you pull them back out again. Humor me?

There is a thought whirring about in my head, and I must attempt to unpack it somehow. It all began with one very small exchange between my hubby and my visiting family member (VFM), whom I love dearly. Thoughts tend to take a snowball effect in my little head. So, strap in, and hang on. It went something like this:

(CHAOS)

(Excited kids running around being sweet, albeit somewhat LOUD)

(Mommy and Daddy smiling, enjoying our children)
(VFM looking a wee bit pained)

Daddy: (In all sincerity) What would we do without kids?

(Mommy loving Daddy sooo much right then)

VFM: Umm... (snickers)... well... (snickers...)

(pause)

So the whirring began.

Are children a means to an end? Do we not appreciate them in their childish state simply because they are exhausting? Simply because they are sometimes foolish and in need of correction?

Do we appreciate our self-centered lives so much that we see young children as a burden?

Does this attitude so permeate our society that we are not exempt from it?

If I'm honest with myself, I'm there some of the time. My selfish spirit looks at my kids as a burden a lot of the time.

Psalm 127:3-5
Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them!

In an article I read on this topic, the author re-words this verse into a (tongue-in-cheek) modern day version:

Lo, children are a burden from the Lord; and the fruit of the womb must be his way of testing us. As the source of endless work and continual aggravation, so are the children of one’s youth. Unhappy is the man who hears his neighbor ask, “Do all those kids belong to you?”

Isn't that just a riot? It hit my funny bone. And my sad bone. Cause, it... umm... hits a little too close to home.

So, here's the thought to make you go hmmm...

I could not be a mother without my children. They are the very beings that make me a mother. So, is Mother's day about ME? (If you look at my house on a typical Mother's Day, you will say, yes! It's about ME. Because I don't lift a finger all day. I don't cook. I don't clean. I take a nap if I want... and the list goes on. ) All good things... but, what am I escaping from? Am I getting a "break" from my "burden"? Or a "hooray" for my sacrifice? (Please note: I am NOT suggesting we change our Mother's Day tradition. Please don't. I love it.) I'm just pondering what my heart's attitude is behind it.

I am a firm believer that the "Martyr Mom Syndrome" is a dangerous disease indeed, one I suffer from on occasion. It's possible to take this all too far - "Since children are a blessing, and they aren't a burden, Moms shouldn't need breaks, I can do it all and should do it all with no help, and if I ask for help then I'm not enjoying my kids and I'm being selfish and I'm not a good mother". This is not what I'm going after, ok? Sorry for the disclaimer. Just gotta cover my bases. :)

I want to enjoy my children.
I want to enjoy being their mother.
I want my kids to feel enjoyed.
Yes disciplined, yes trained, yes loved, but... enjoyed.