Tidying up

I have found some treasures in the process of tidying up my house. The author Marie Kondo suggests that the "life-changing magic of tidying up" can help you find your true self and set you on the path of doing what you are really meant to do. 

I have two short pieces that I found. I do love words, and they say the internet keeps things forever.

7 July 98 (I just realized that is today! Shivers.)

Metamorphosis

They come and go

come like fireflies

light blinking in their eyes and in their smiles,

bouncing off their hair and hands

and shining through their silk cocoons.

They stay awhile, sharing light, growing and changing

struggling with who they are

and who they want to be.

They come and go

go, carrying away a piece of me with them,

and as I watch them fly away, leaving a

trail of light and heavenly dust,

I feel my own flame burn a little brighter,

my own silk shell one layer thinner.

On my way to the Emerald City

"I'm melting!" cries the wicked witch inside of me,

doused not by water, but baptized by fire.

I also found this little gem I had been saving, not sure what for, but it was a timely reminder.

Sometimes I look back and I feel like I have made no progress whatsoever! I am laughing as I type this because I also feel like I have come so far. It's a paradox.

I'm thankful for all the pieces of me that I am finding while I tidy up!

Testing, testing...

I still have a few more back posts to do to get all caught up. This blog is not my journal, but it has become something of a family scrap book. The longer I keep it up, the more valuable the stories and pictures become for our family, and especially our kids. I started it as a way to share pictures of the kids with our parents and grandparents, but I am also realizing that Ellen, Jack, Rose, and Elijah already love looking back at pictures and reading what they were like when they were "little." I believe they will treasure the stories and memories from their childhood even more as they grow.

To that end, I have also been more mindful of recording my own memories and stories, not just of my life as a mom of four children and a wife, but also of my parents, grandparents, and grandparents, and another people I love who have helped me become the person I am. I want my children and their children to know who they are and where they come from. I have volumes and volumes of personals journals that may never see the light of day. That's okay.

I'm a paper and pencil kind of gal, and the rapid changes in this digital age feel a little disorienting sometimes. For example, I have no idea what I touched on this touch-screen iPad to make this picture show up just now, but that is my mom and dad on their wedding day. Just looking at that picture makes me want to be better, do better, live better, and love better. Our family has a couple of huge events coming soon, both joyful and scary. I look forward to recording and sharing some of my thoughts and feelings then.

I like these books.

Ahhh, book group. How I love reading and discussing books. We most recently read Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson. I liked it a lot, and I liked it again the second time I read it. Since it's written from a man's point of view, I'm interested in knowing what a man thinks about it. I'm just curious, so if I have any men readers out there who'd like to read and discuss, bring it on.

I like anything written by Mo Willems. Most of his books feature pigeons, elephants and piggies, knuffle bunnies, and the odd mole rat. I recently read Goldilocks and the Three Dinosaurs, which my kids also loved and wanted to read multiple times daily until we had to turn it back in to the library. It was random and funny. I'm a fan of illustrations that give you "extras," like cameos from characters in other books, added dimension to the story, puzzles and games. Best of all, I found the moral surprisingly transcendent for a children's dinosaur/fairy tail parody: "If you find yourself in the wrong story, leave." This was motivating to me and gave me lots to think about, including what stories I have been telling myself lately. Does this make sense to anyone but me?

A million years ago, I worked summer programs for Waco Parks and Recreation. I used to have a cassette tape with various kids' songs in English and Spanish that I used for years in my Spanish classes. I picked up a little picture book called Tingalayo at the library, and since it was just an illustrated version of the song I knew from way back when (complete with sheet music at the back), I sang it to the kids instead of reading it. It was an instant favorite.

Also a million years ago, I was interviewing a Chilean author for my master's thesis (Ethical Discourse in Contemporary Chilean Adolescent Narrative). When I asked who his favorite authors had been when he was a youth, he mentioned Sabatini, who wrote a book called Scaramouche, among others. Fast forward to a couple of months ago, when I was looking for some books to recommend for book group, or maybe to my brother who was compiling a "best reads" list. I googled "best books" and came up with several lists, one of which started out with an introduction on how the books were selected, and how some random books were submitted as worthy of the best list, and I quote, "Scara-what? Saba-who?" I was shocked to realize that, while the author of the article may have been a little ignorant, I had actually heard of the book and author before. Long story short, I found it at the local public library, and, dear reader, I read it. And. I. loved. it. 

It was published in 1921. This book is nothing like The Princess Bride, but if you liked The Princess Bride, you might love Scaramouche. This book is nothing like Tarzan, but if you liked Tarzan, you might love Scaramouche. This book is nothing like Les Miserables. But if you liked Les Miserables, you might love Scaramouche. This book is nothing like The Three Musketeers. But if you liked The Three Musketeers, you might love Scaramouche. This book is nothing like Pride and Prejudice, but if you liked Pride and Prejudice, you might LOVE Scaramouche. If you haven't read any of those books, you should. You might make some lifelong friends.

Planted

Before Mom came home from the hospital after her last surgery, the Relief Society sisters came over and planted flowers everywhere. They brought pots and lined the driveway and the back patio with an explosion of color. When Mom and Dad drove in, Mom sat in the car and just cried because it looked so beautiful. On days that she felt strong enough, she would walk out or have someone help her out to the side of the house where we put some patio chairs in the shade so she could sit and look at the flowers.

Jack asked me if I wanted to visit the cemetery on my Mom's birthday, and I actually hadn't even thought about it. We grew up far from extended family, and all of my grandparents and even some of my grandparents were living when I was in high school. I went once to see my grandfather's grave in Idaho while we were there on vacation, but that was about it. My grandmother talked about going every Memorial Day to "decorate graves." She took flowers to her parents' graves, cleared away weeds, and remembered.

Jack and I took the kids, found a lovely little sage that will have brilliant pink flowers, and planted it to remember my Mom on her birthday. The cemetery is filled with huge trees and is well-kept and watered, and they provide water hoses and encourage family to plant things that will last longer and stay more beautiful than plastic bouquets. It felt good to remember that it's just Mom's body resting there. There are green, growing, living things all around it. Jesus lives. She will live again, too.

Happy Birthday

Today my mom would have been 59 years old. Last month I was asked to present something about my mom for a Relief Society dinner, preferably something she had written. I chose an email I found in my collection of recipes that she had written while I was in college, and then I took a look at some of her journals. I found this:

              "1 January 1979 [I was two years old.] Larry spoke in church this past Sunday and gave a list – priority list that will truly be beneficial to me this coming year. Number one was a closer relationship to the Savior – personal – and way basic. I need just that.
              "I feel I’ve not progressed slowly for my 25+ years but time is not going to wait. I’ve known the deep abiding comfort of the Holy Ghost and the whispering in times of need. I’ve had help in raising my children, in my church callings and coping with a busy husband’s schedule. But I’m having problems with consistency. Prayer and scripture reading every morning and planning my weeks to use time wisely. I’ve had some good practice here and I’ve got a good system when I use it. It keeps my mind free of details so I can think of other things. Time marches on and my life gets more complicated with each day it seems.
                "I hope I can remember where real joy is – in giving of myself. I need to do more of that, but I’m finding myself very selfish of my time.
                "I hope to do better in the coming year.”

At 26 my mom could say that she knew, that she needed to do more, and that she wanted to be better. For the next 33 years she worked on knowing more deeply, doing more, and being better. I feel blessed to have been a witness of the multitude of lives she touched with her knowing and doing and being. Especially mine.

When you know it was all worth it.

While serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in northern Spain, a little family was baptized in the branch I was serving in. Their son was 9 at the time and baptized shortly after his parents. About a year ago I got a Facebook message from his mom telling me that little Imanol had just gotten his mission call to Ogden, Utah.

I was checking in on some friends' blogs and found this sweet story about Imanol and an elder I served with in Spain. His wife tells "the rest of the story." [Coming soon pending permission. :)] If you're like me, cry a little and feel humbled and amazed to have one of those moments my mom called "the real paydays", when you know all the hard work and days in the trenches were worth it. She was talking about being a mom. I can understand a little of what she was talking about now.

You know how things look different than you remembered?

Earlier this year one of my brothers called my mom while I was there to ask what our street address was when we lived in Oklahoma. I started Kindergarten there and was in the 5th grade when we moved to the foreign land of Texas.

Mom remembered the name of the street, and I remembered the house number (thank you, Safety Kids), and then Mom asked what he wanted to know for, and he said he was in OKC for work and had some time and wanted to check out the house.

The tail end of our trip took us straight through Oklahoma. When Jack mapped the address of my childhood house and saw that it was literally two minutes from the interstate, he asked me if I wanted to go by. I was curious, and the kids couldn't fathom a time when I was as young as Ellen, so we decided to go for it.

I have to be honest, I did not even recognize the house. Then I realized that the garage had been enclosed, and it seemed a little more familiar. Interestingly enough, I vividly remember the next door neighbor's house and several other houses and yards along the street. I guess you never just sit in your front yard and memorize the front of your own house.

I had Jack drive down the street to the stop where the bus picked us up and dropped us off everyday, around the corner where the street dead ends into the middle school parking lot that none of us attended but we all played at when it snowed. And the beginning of this trail and bridge look exactly like I remember since I spent most of my after school hours riding my bike in the school parking lot and down into the woods. At the other end of the bridge is a park with old-school metal play structures that terrify my parent self.

When we got back on the interstate, we actually drove by the park, which has the same metal play structures and skinny slide that's like two stories tall, and it still looks that tall. But I remember it being all painted silver. Now it's bright rainbow colors.

I remember going to visit family in Utah and Idaho and thinking it took forever to drive through Oklahoma, Kansas, and Nebraska, and that the landscape didn't get interesting until Wyoming. That's still pretty much true. Sorry, friends from OK, KS, and NE. Lots of fields.

My favorite poem

A couple of months before I left for my mission, I read a poem in the Ensign that spoke to me. I copied it out into my journal and read and reread it often in the MTC and on my mission. Whenever things seemed to get hard, I'd read it again.

I loved the images and ideas then, and now, over an actual decade later, the words and concept mean so much more to me. It's a lot more personal. I bet you can figure out why.

Physician

Mary Margaret Hawkins, Ensign, Apr. 1999, 5

Soul sick, I sought His promised balm
And soothing healer’s art.
He quick dismissed my shallow wounds
But studied on my heart.

A gentle salve was not prescribed
For the wholeness I desired.
A surgeon’s cutting to replace
My heart would be required.

In trust, consenting, then I begged
The method used on Saul:
One painful lance and three days dumb
Then sweet rebirth as Paul.

But by more common miracle
The healer works in me,
As day by decade soft He builds
New heart where none can see.

A tedious, mighty change is wrought
Till no cell is the same.
As in the fleshy tables there
He writes His word, His name.

Going through hard times myself is one thing. I know the Lord's working on me will take a lifetime. Going through this process of rebuilding Elijah's heart is another dimension completely. I had never thought to take all those scriptures about hearts literally, but now I won't ever be able to read them the same way again.

This one is for my dad.

Happy Birthday, Dad!!

This post is also for my brothers. You know who you are.

While I was home visiting my parents and youngest brother, we got some family together to go with us caroling at a nursing home like we did last year. Ellen remembered going, and wanted to go again. So did I. I learned all the words to "Frosty the Snowman" from singing it so many times by request after my kids heard it on that caroling trip.

This year there were 15 of us, and my brother took his guitar. We added "Feliz Navidad" to our repertoire, which my kids already knew. Ellen loves singing along, even if she doesn't know all the words.

While perusing the book of Christmas/holiday songs we were working from, I happened upon a hilarious little gem that I laughed about all weekend long. I also enlisted Matthew in learning it so we could sing it for everyone who came to visit. Over and over and over.

Are you ready? It's called R2D2, We Wish You a Merry Christmas. Oh, yes. I come from a family of big Star Wars fans, but this really gave me something to laugh about. I'm sitting in the hospital writing this and still laughing about it. I suspect if a certain college roommate had known this song, we would have sung it for our college ward Christmas party, in addition to that Beatles Christmas song.

(Chorus)
R2D2, we wish you a merry Christmas.
R2D2, we love you, it's true.
R2D2, we wish you a merry Christmas,
we hope our little message gets to you.

(Verse 1)
We look up at the winter star,
we know that's where you are.
Our chiminey's big and round,
so you can come right down.
And if our wish comes true,
we'll spend Christmas Eve with you;
our hearts will sing with glee
as we decorate the Christmas tree.

(Chorus)

(Verse 2)
And if the snow becomes too deep,
just give a little beep.
We'll go in by the fire
and warm your little wires.
Spreading Christmas cheer
will be easy with you here.
We'll dance and sing and play
from Christmas Eve 'till Christmas Day.

(Chorus)

That's no typo in verse one. It really does say "chiminey". And it gets better. In doing a little research, I found this song is one of a whole Star Wars Christmas album, "Christmas in the Stars". Oh yes. This song is Jon Bon Jovi's first professional recording. Enjoy.

Was it worth it?

This is what Jack always asks me after I've insisted on doing something that was logistically complicated, inconvenient, required help from other people, and had few obvious rewards.

This was also the question in my mind as I sat in the aisle of an auditorium filled to capacity with a squirming one year old child on my lap who didn't understand "It's not our turn to sing" when she wanted to sing along (loudly) to the choir on stage's rendition of "Deck the Halls."

I sang in choir in school starting in the fifth grade. Junior high, high school, undergraduate, and graduate school all hold memories of choir practices and performances for me. In high school the annual Christmas choir concert always ended with an invitation to alumni to join the choirs on stage in singing "Let There Be Peace on Earth." After I graduated from high school, whenever my visits home coincided with the Christmas concert, I attended not just to sing with the alumni, but also because I always had a sibling in the choirs to sing with.

My mom mentioned my youngest brother would be singing in his last Christmas concert, and as soon as she told me the date, my mind went to work figuring out how I could go. After concluding it would be a logistical nightmare and an imposition on too many people, I reluctantly decided several times to skip it. But in making plans for the Christmas season, deciding when to spend time with my family, and considering Jack's work schedule, several stars were forced into alignment and I managed to be in Waco on the day of the concert.

I got a babysitter for Elijah. A wonderful friend and neighbor agreed to let me drop him off at her house before the concert. Jack had already left because he had to work. I took Ellen, Jack Jack, and Rose with me to the concert because I was sure I could handle it, and because I envisioned what a lovely experience it would be based on several assumptions:

1) that I knew my children well enough to be able to predict pretty much how things would go.

2) that the novelty of a high school Christmas choir concert in a big auditorium at night would be entertaining enough to discourage bad behavior.

3) that sitting with Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Luke would be fun and discourage bad behavior.

4) that the music would be entertaining enough to discourage bad behavior.

5) that the concert would be long enough for at least one of them to fall asleep, thus preventing bad behavior.

I was almost right on in my assumptions, but what I didn't expect was for Rose to be so into the music that she would want to sing along. I had to take her out, and then stand in the back, and then sit on the floor in the aisle just in case. But as I was sitting there listening to my brother's men's choir sing "Of Music," a song commissioned for them to sing at the 2011 Texas Music Educators Association convention in a couple of months, I was completely enveloped in beautiful music and fitting words, and all I could think was "yes, this was worth it." The music actually moved me to tears. Moments later, Rose dropped off to sleep.

Jack Jack and Ellen also fell asleep before the end of the concert, and although they saw Matthew sing, they missed Grandpa singing in the "combined mens choirs and dads" Christmas numbers, and me singing with Rebecca, Mary, Matthew, and all the combined choirs. We had to carry them out to the car and carry them into the house. We were already home when I realized that I had another child, and that I needed to go pick him up, too. I don't know how my wonderfully helpful family members felt, but that concert was all the Christmas gift I needed, and it was worth it.

It was worth it for my children to hear beautiful, beautiful choral music performed well. It was worth it for my children to hear their Uncle Matthew sing "Feliz Navidad" for his "Senior Spotlight" solo. It was worth it for Ellen to learn what a spotlight was. It was worth it to sit in that auditorium again with my parents and sisters and brothers-in-law and brother. It was worth it to sing "Let There Be Peace on Earth" with two of my sisters and my youngest brother. It was complicated, and it was inconvenient, but it was all worth it.

A word about names

We spent a long time deliberating about what to name our new baby. We had mostly decided well in advance, though. Jack got to pick the first name, and Elijah is one of his favorite prophets from the scriptures. I really liked the name when we made our original list of favorite names about six years ago with our first pregnancy, but then I met lots of kids named Elijah and thought it was getting to be too trendy. But Jack wouldn't be swayed, and the more I read about the prophet Elijah, the more and more I liked the idea of naming our baby after that amazingly faithful man.

I got to pick the second name. David is my mom's father's name. He also was an amazingly faithful man, and I loved spending time with him as a child and teenager. He passed away in an accident when I was in high school, the first person close to me to die. While my parents were gone to attend the funeral, my sister and I were performing in a major musical production at school, and I realized that my grandfather could finally hear me sing. We had always lived too far from grandparents for them to be able to attend events like that.

When we found out about our baby's heart defect and prepared to leave Lubbock, a dear friend told me that one thing she had learned from her own child's serious illness was that there is help on both sides of the veil. I hadn't thought of that before, but from that moment on, I was comforted to think that many loved family members, both of my grandfathers included, were helping our little boy prepare for his great adventure on earth. I hope he will grow into the name we have given him: Elijah David Starks.

Seventeen hours and a few minutes post surgery, Elijah is still in critical condition and will be for some time. He is stable, but is being cared for and monitored 24/7 in the Congenital Heart Surgery Unit, a specialized ICU. Almost every part of his body is attached to a monitor, tube, or line of some kind. Some are IVs to administer fluids and medicines. Some are tubes for drainage, and some keep tabs on his vital signs.

His chest is still open, but covered by a protective "skin" to allow for swelling and recovery. As time goes by, tubes will be removed, and his chest will be sewn up by the surgeon in an in-room procedure. For now, we allow time to take its course and Elijah's body to heal at its own pace. Elijah started to move his limbs and wake a little, but in his condition him moving can cause serious complications, so the doctor ordered more sedatives for the time being.

For the brave of heart here are a few pictures. They aren't that bad, but if you want to see a video of the type of surgery Elijah had, as always, check out youtube. The first video listed is the most legitimate.

There is a non-graphic video featuring Elijah's heart surgeon on the right side of this page.

Can life get better than this?

I started this blog very, very reluctantly and skeptically just over two years ago. It's not my journal. I'm not keeping a record of my kids' growing up for my kids. I keep track of roughly how many people stop here, but those numbers don't matter to me.

One day my grandmother emailed me to find out how things were going and asked me if I had a blog, because she loved seeing pictures of my cousins' kids on their blogs. Very shortly after that, I started uploading pictures and writing little synopses for my grandmother.

Recently, three of my children's great-grandmothers have told me that they stop here frequently and enjoy seeing how our family looks, what we are doing, and how the children are growing.

When I first logged on to start blogging, I got to one of the first steps: name your blog. I sat at the computer for a few minutes and then gave up. A few days later I decided on a name, not because it reflects what my life is like every moment of every day, but because when I really think about what I'm doing during this season of my life, and what I may wish I were doing at this moment, and I am very honest with myself, there really is nothing of substantive importance that I would rather be doing.

In the past few days especially, turning my thoughts to complaining seems to come a little quicker than thinking of all I have to be grateful for. But every time I look at my own blog, I am faced with the question, "Can life get better than this?" And every time, I already have the answer, "I submit that it cannot."

Weighty responsibilities outside of my family are temporary, opportunities to grow and learn more about myself and who I would like to be, and ways for my children to learn about serving others and sacrifice.


Prolonged periods of working towards and waiting for more stability in temporal matters are also temporary, opportunities to develop and demonstrate faith, self-reliance, and skills that are necessary for any season of life. And I have to laugh at my past self.

Before I was married, I figured I had probably missed my opportunity to be a poor, starving, young married couple, whose lean days early on helped them grow closer together and develop a strong foundation for the rest of their marriage. I was disappointed that I would probably marry someone my own age, also finished with school, working, or that I would never marry, and that I wouldn't get to experience those character- and marriage-forging moments.


Then I met Jack. We are not starving, but we are definitely poor. And we have definitely had some trials by fire, with more to come, I expect. Be careful what you wish for.


All I really need to be happy is to remember, as a friend so beautifully puts it, that I am my children's (and my husband's) home. I have come to appreciate and love the idea of making a home.


I worked several summers during college and after my mission as a counselor for the BYU Continuing Education Department's Especially For Youth program. I heard a counselor say "I wish I could be an EFY counselor for the rest of my life." The session coordinator's response was something to the effect of, no you don't. You want to go on with your life, have your own family, and make every day like EFY for your own children.

I wish I could say that I have gotten to that point, and every day at my house is as fun, exciting, uplifting, motivating, and filled with learning and spiritual growth as a day at EFY. But let's face it. I'm not just the counselor. I'm also the cafeteria, laundry, first aid station, and security. I teach classes, give devotionals and firesides, and organize transportation. We do have our EFY moments, though.

I know could be a better mom. I could be a better wife. I could be a better housekeeper and homemaker. I could be a better lot of things.

But all things considered, with what I've been given to work with (my own self included), and the help I am offered constantly through the Savior's perfect grace, can life get better than this?

I submit that it cannot.

My mom

For a girl who has been half way across the country to college, half way across the world on a mission, and now married for over five years with a husband and three children of my own, you'd think I'd be done being homesick. Thank goodness for email, blogs, and cell phones. I have visited with my parents regularly, especially my mom, on the phone and in person since I "left home" more years ago than I can believe.

Since my mom was diagnosed with cancer last summer, I've talked to her several times a week. I can and do talk to my mom about everything. I especially love how mom always shares her testimony with me through her experiences with prayer, scripture study, being a mom, working, serving in her ward, and helping others.

This Christmas we went to my parent's house. Some of my siblings were there also. We visited, played games, quilted, watched movies, baked, ate, shopped, wrapped gifts, talked, took care of children, and did all the things I remember doing and loving as we were growing up. As I have thought about Christmas and what it means to me, I have also wanted to help my children learn about loving and serving others during the Christmas season. I'd like that to be part of our gift-giving to each other and to the Savior.

My sister-in-law suggested visiting a retirement home and playing games or visiting with the residents after having a very positive experience with her family last year. When I talked to my mom about going Christmas morning before opening any presents to sing at a local facility (i.e. doing something completely different than we have ever done before) she immediately said, "Oh, that's a wonderful idea. Dad and I and the boys will come with you."

I made arrangements to carol in the halls of a place just down the street from my parents' house. My newly married sister and her husband decided to join us. Christmas morning the twelve of us walked up and down the halls singing everything from Frosty and Rudolph to Silent Night. We spent less than an hour doing something that I will remember forever and plan to continue doing every year as long as I can.

That activity alone made this the best Christmas I have ever had. I had forgotten how much I love singing with my family and serving with my family, and being able to do both of those things at the same time was the best Christmas gift I have ever received. Thank you for singing with me, and thank you, Mom, for the gift of immediate support. That is what I love best about my mom.

Pirate Tuesday

Today I commandeered a piece of my idyllic adolescence with the help of YouTube. Sorry I don't know how to embed the video here. Aaarrrrgh!

What's for breakfast?

My least favorite breakfast growing up was oatmeal. Something about the texture and taste of cooked oatmeal made me rather have a piece of toast before heading out the door for school.

In a fit of preparedness anxiety last year, I bought several canisters of oatmeal (quick and rolled) to add to my food storage, along with 40 pounds of pinto beans, powdered milk, and a year's supply of salt. One morning last month I woke up thinking oatmeal sounded really, really good. Trust me; these things happen when you're pregnant.

So I got out a canister of quick oats and, since I had no idea how to actually make oatmeal, I followed the directions on the container exactly, with a timer and everything. Then at the end I stirred in some raisins. I was still thinking of childhood oatmeal, and that raisins can make lots of things better. What happened next was a revelation. I like oatmeal. My kids like oatmeal. My kids ask for oatmeal for breakfast. Well, Ellen does. Jack doesn't know that many words all together yet, but if I'm eating it and don't offer him some, he has a fit. If I do offer him oatmeal, he wants his own bowl and spoon.

The next day I thought oatmeal with blueberries sounded good. I had frozen blueberries, so while the oatmeal was cooking (for one minute) I mixed a cup of blueberries with a couple of spoonfuls of sugar and microwaved them for about a minute. Oatmeal with blueberries is even better than oatmeal with raisins, (probably because of all that sugar I added) and my kids loved it, too.

The next day I made two servings because I was tired of having to give away half of my oatmeal to my kids. I went through an entire canister of quick oats in a couple of weeks. Then I tried the canister of rolled oats. They take slightly longer to cook (3-5 minutes), but turned out to be just as tasty, and Ellen and Jack don't know the difference.

Then I saw a food blog post on making instant oatmeal packets from scratch using oats, dried fruits, and powdered milk. Thinking it would be a good experiment for using a prime food storage item, as well as adding calcium to my diet, and also thinking that the only thing worse than eating oatmeal as a child was eating oatmeal with milk poured on top, I added powdered milk to the boiling water at the same time as the oats, fully expecting to reach my grossness limit and end up feeding the entire batch to the kids. The result? Creamy, yummy oatmeal.

We don't eat oatmeal every day, but we did for about two weeks. Now I make some variety of oatmeal on a regular basis. And as it gets colder here, I will probably be making it even more often to counterbalance the effects of drinking smoothies for breakfast.

Yummy Oatmeal:
Cook plain quick oats or rolled oats on the stove according to package instructions. For 2 servings, add 1/4 cup powdered milk when you add oats to boiling water.

After cooking, add any of the following:
Fresh berries, peaches, pears, mangoes, or bananas
Frozen berries or fruit with sugar to taste
Applesauce or apple butter
Maple syrup
Brown sugar and a sprinkle of cinnamon
Butter and honey

And for an added, super-nerdy bonus: as you eat, think about how the oats are sucking all the bad cholesterol out of your body and making you feel so much better about the piles of dirty dishes, dirty laundry, and disorganized toys that await.

Vamos a la feria . . .

The fair came to town!

My recollections of going to the fair as a child are almost non-existent. I certainly don't remember ever going for the carnival rides or getting to eat anything there. I do remember visiting my grandma and either going to or hearing her talk about the Mud Lake Fair and entering pickles, jams, and breads in the fair. Those memories are mixed up with rodeos that my aunt participated in and Pioneer Day parades that I participated in, all dressed up with a bonnet and apron. I actually have photographic evidence of that last one.

When I graduated from high school, my great-grandmother sent me matching pillowcases that she had embroidered and entered in the fair. They won, because she sent me the ribbon along with the pillowcases so I would appreciate what I was getting. I kept those pillowcases protected and folded up in a cedar chest and never used them until I got married.

Last year Jack suggested taking the kids to the fair so that they could see all the animals. I thought it was a great idea . . . but it turned out to be a little expensive. This year I read all the fine print and realized that you can show up any day before 1:00 pm and get in free. Free parking, free admission, free food. Well, no, not free food, but my kids were more interested in all the animals, up close and personal, that are there for the different contests. Who knew there were so many different varieties of poultry, cows, and goats? And we didn't even see the rabbits and pigs because it was early in the week. Every Muppet and Star Trek character I ever thought was the weirdest looking thing ever has a relative in an animal at the fair.

Polish rooster:



Boer goat:



The pony at the petting zoo:


Ellen watching the riveting milking demonstration by Candy the Jersey cow:

The best part of the whole demonstration was when the presenter, who had just explained that Jersey cows are some of the smallest cows, brought his Jersey cow out, and a kid behind us exclaimed, "That's the biggest cow I have ever seen!!!" And he meant it. Imagine his shock when his class walked through the cattle buildings and saw the other cows on display.

The worst part of the demonstration was being reminded that the whole milking process, while fascinating and instructive, hits just a little too close to home.

After the petting zoo and the milking demonstration, we saw roosters, hens, pigeons, cows, goats, quilts, antiques, flowers, vegetables, and lots of friends. Then we sat right down, and Ellen had a "hot dog on a stick" (a corn dog) and Jack Jack and I shared an enormous baked potato. We saved the candied apples, caramel apples, cotton candy, and funnel cakes for later when Daddy comes back to the fair with us.

Paperbag Caramel Corn

When I was little, my mom and dad had a popcorn popper that we used just about every Sunday night to make popcorn. We wore that machine out, and then my mom taught us the fine art of pan popping. It is definitely an art, and a skill that I am proud to have, but sometimes I just want plain, naked, air-popped popcorn. No oil, no salt, no hot stove, no mess.

Jack and I didn't get a popcorn popper when we got married, so I started looking around. Then I decided that I was too cheap to spend $30 plus on a popcorn popper, especially when my brother and sister-in-law complained about their rocket-propulsion popping experiences with theirs. We've been microwave popcorn eaters, especially since Ellen and Jack have shown an extreme interest in this mostly healthy snack. (I know, I know. It's a choking hazard. But they both have all their teeth, and I watch and remind them to chew. They're really good at it.)

About a month ago, Jack and I were dropping off some things at Goodwill, so we went inside to browse. I found a popcorn popper for ten dollars. Normally I don't buy appliances at Goodwill, because you never know if they'll work, but this was worth it. We took it home, and I made popcorn that afternoon. The fire alarm went off, but nothing was smoking or burning, and we had plenty of yummy, naked, plain, air-popped popcorn. I have since learned that if I turn on the stove fan and pop corn facing away from the smoke alarm, nothing happens.

***
I like getting paper bags instead of plastic when I go to the grocery store because I feel like it's better for the environment, and I can never remember to take my reusable cloth bag when I go. Paper bags have handles. They're also very handy for reusing and carrying things in, for wrapping paper, and for making caramel corn. So I have probably close to 50 paper bags in my closet because I think more like my great-grandparents who lived through the Depression and never threw anything away than about how I probably can't possibly use them all at the rate I acquire them.

The thought in the back of my head about someday needing a paper bag for making caramel corn finally made it's way to the front of my head and collided with thoughts about the many uses of air-popped popcorn, among other things. It was a Monday night. We were watching the Olympics. The kids were begging for a snack. I wanted a snack, and not necessarily a healthy one. So 20 minutes later (really. that's it.) we were enjoying this:



Paperbag Caramel Corn

Put 8 quarts air-popped popcorn, unpopped kernels removed, in a brown grocery bag and set aside.

Mix well in a 1-quart glass dish:
1 stick (1/2 cup) melted butter
1 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup light corn syrup
1/2 teaspoon salt

Microwave on high for 3 minutes and 30 seconds. Remove dish from microwave and add:
1/2 teaspoon baking soda

Stir well. Mixture will foam.

Pour caramel on popcorn in bag and shake well. Close bag and microwave for 1 minute and 30 seconds on high.

Remove bag and shake well to coat popcorn thoroughly. Cook again for 1 minute.

Pour popcorn onto waxed paper to cool completely.

100% Whole Wheat Pancake Mix

My mom always made pancakes from scratch when I was growing up. My brothers and sisters and I would race to see who could eat the most pancakes. About the time mom started running out of batter, it was down to just two of us, and she was trying to figure out how we could possibly be hungry still. We weren't. We were stuffed. But if you eat really fast, you can stuff more in.

Now that I eat more slowly, and I have two kids who eat slowly, we don't race to eat these. But I love being able to make the mix myself, keep it in my freezer, and have enough for a few months. Breakfast preparation goes so much more quickly.

I also like being able to control what goes into my food and what I feed my kids. I could just buy a pancake mix at the store, but I never see any wheat ones, and suspect that all the mixes have extra "preservatives" for added shelf-life.

Here's the basic recipe, from my Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook.

Whole Wheat Pancakes
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 tablespoon brown sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 beaten egg
1 cup milk
2 tablespoons cooking oil

To make a mix, I get out my biggest Tupperware container that will fit in the freezer and start with the flour. If I put in 12 cups of flour, I multiply all of the other dry ingredients by 12. (3 teaspoons = 1 tablespoon and 4 tablespoons = 1/4 cup) The last time I made the mix, I even used powdered milk. Stir all the dry ingredients well, especially the brown sugar. Close the container and shake it until it's all mixed well and store it in the freezer.

To make pancakes, start with 1 cup of mix. Add 1 cup of milk (or water, if you added powdered milk to your mix), 1 egg, 2 tablespoons cooking oil and stir until moistened. If the batter is too thick, add more milk or water. If it's too runny, add more mix.

I also like using this mix to make waffles. They're not the best waffles I've ever tasted or made, but I can make a whole batch of waffles, let the extras cool, freeze them in a Ziploc bag, and then take them out and toast them in the toaster for an even faster breakfast or snack for the kids.



Whole wheat waffles, plus freshly picked peaches, plus cream = Yum! (Especially served on a heart-shaped princess plate)

Happy Birthday!

Today is my favorite sister Sarah's birthday!

27 years ago:


25 years ago today!

This is the U.S.A.

Jack mentioned maybe having to work Friday. Are you kidding? This is the United States of America. No one works on the 4th of July, unless you really like fires and explosions.

Happy fireworks, everyone!

That's me wearing a patriotic hat and playing a patriotic drum with a spoon, in case you couldn't tell.


Who's this? :)