Grandpa and me at the Balloon Fiesta

When I was a little girl I lived in Albuquerque. We watched the Balloon Fiesta every fall (a tradition I would love to share with my girls someday). We played in a dusting of snow every winter and hiked the Sandia mountains in the summer - or at least that's how I remember it. We were also 800 miles from "home" in Kansas City, and since Al Gore was still in the beta phase of his marvelous interweb invention, we could only hear from family with an occasional (and expensive) long distance call or letter. A Valentine's Day box of "Someone in Kansas City Loves Me" sweatshirts arrived in February, a box of Topsy's came every Christmas, a huge shipping box of wrapped birthday gifts arrived right on time for each of us kids' birthdays, and the twice-a-year visits to and from Kansas City were treasures on the calendar.

I don't know if it was the long time away from them, or my being the oldest grandchild, but I quickly grew to absolutely adore my Grandparents, and I still do. Maybe everyone does. They probably do.

This weekend we celebrated my Grandpa's birthday. I suppose he wouldn't mind me telling you he is turning 84. {My sister thought it was still 2011 so in her world he is only turning 82.} His official birthday is Wednesday. My Grandma's birthday is Tuesday, the day before his, she would have been 81. We used to always celebrate their birthdays together, always.

This weekend we took Grandpa to a barbecue dinner to celebrate his first 84 years. I bought him a chocolate butter cream iced cake that he was mightily impressed with, so much so that he thought I had made it, which made me laugh (a lot). The great grand kids (and a few spares) gathered around to sing him happy birthday and help blow out the candles. Then he told us stories about my Grandma, their secret to 57 happy years of marriage. He told us about Kansas City before the suburbs. He told us about his parents and how they met at a walk-a-thon. Then he told us what a walk-a-thon was.

It made me smile a lot, which is really all a girl needs or wants in life. I think it made him smile, too, I hope. Which is all I really hope to do on my 84th birthday, too.

Grandma and Grandpa ca. 1951

Maple Pecan Cinnamon Roll pin

Our bedtime routine looks a little something like this:

I tell the girls its time for bed about 100 times. I finally follow them closely up the stairs and monitor the proper placement of daytime clothes in the hamper and nighttime clothes over the sleepy heads. They {sometimes} brush teeth and climb into bed with several requests {always}. "I need some water", "Can you read THIS book!?!" "Where's TEDDY!?!" Then I read a chapter from the Little House on the Prairie series.

(we're on "On the Banks of Plum Creek" right now -

at the part where the grasshoppers destroy the crop, spoiler alert}

Brandon is then beckoned for the final good night kisses and granting of final wishes (water mostly). A prayer is said, tender hearts are reassured of anything last-minute before dreams sweep in ever so gingerly... but until then, I pin.

I lie in the dark with only my iLight to direct me to the land of a million projects and the perfect home. I plan for a chicken coop and garden, the perfect Valentines are found, then trumped by the next, I find just the thing to make Christmas 2013 epic I tell ya, and then the food - the glorious food. So yeah, I know that Pinterest can be a time-suck and overwhelming and "when will anyone do all those things anyway!?!" but seriously that's not actually the point. The fact is, for me, it is better than television, it feels productive and inspirational and communal all at once. So, I kind of love it and walk away each night with a few new ideas tucked into the cloud that I may or may not ever use but smiling, so that' good.

So, here's a few I've tried and REALLY liked. I save all the recipes I've actually made to THIS board because on a day like today when the photographer/husband/homeschooler/cook calls to ask "how we made that one thing, with the orzo, and the chicken and spinach!?" I don't want to dig back through my 5,000 pins (yes, 5,000... if I had a dollar for everything I'd pinned...)

1. Oreo Truffles - I found out why I'm not a chocolatier, so props to those guys.

2. Brown Sugar and Balsamic Glazed Pork Loin - we did this a lot in the suite life, and I also made if for my Grandpa whom I love, who consequently loved this pork

3. Lazy Saturday Breakfast - I said while preparing "I really hope this tastes good" to which Brandon reminded me "It's crescent rolls, sausage, eggs and cheese, how could it not?" Fact.

4. Cheesy pull-apart bread. The hardest part is cutting the bread, the rest is ah-mazing.

5. Crispy Edamame - healthy, easy, yummy snack we served on New Year's Eve (along with 1, 4 and 7 cause come on, it was New Year's)

6. Bacon - so pinterest did not introduce me to the wonders of bacon, but it sure taught me how to prepare it without stinking up my house for days.

7. Frozen Banana Bites finished with coconut sprinkles - um ya, YUM

8. Roasted Brussel Sprouts with Bacon and Apples - I brought this for Christmas dinner and it was was a hit, plus its pretty in a rustic, Little House, sort of way. Bonus.

You know I'm going to be an alpaca farmer, right?

Well, that's the plan, so now you're all caught up.

It's a someday plan. Like a Pinterest home, I simply dream (for now).

So in order to get smart about these things, the obvious next step after dreaming, we visited a local alpaca farmer who confirmed what I had thought - they are adorable, easy to care for, and even city folk can succeed at this business - sweet.

Alpacas are cousins to llamas (think smaller, cuter, friendlier, better teeth).

They are just the right height for an eight year old girl, and so they followed Carolyn around the entire time, she was an alpaca whisperer. Julia was timid but interested, and thus the alpaca farm holds great promise for distracting two pre-teen and then teenage daughters from spending their waking hours obsessed with boys (fingers crossed anyway)

I find resolutions to be daunting.

I prefer to select a word around which I can orient my year.

Last year was "INTENTIONAL", consequently this was also my mantra in 2010.

This year the word that I feel I need is authentic. It just keeps bouncing around in my head like an unanswered question - but an uncomfortable one from which I would like to run.

To me authenticity is vulnerable and honest and completely terrifying.

It also sounds like a lot of work.

 

To me this is the hard work of unearthing truth of who I am,

as opposed to creating who I think I should be.

 

Ouch.

 

And here's the authentic truth: that hard work makes me want to dive into a huge bag of Oreos. I will dunk them one by one in a deep glass of milk, and then what was it I was so upset about...

 

Or maybe I'll stick to it,

ask honest questions of those I trust,

discover who God made me to be,

live into a fuller life each and every day

because that's so much better than an Oreo dunked in milk.

Julia continues the quest for a sport that suits her best. Ice skating was not it, too wobbly and uncertain for my risk adverse girly. She has decided that perhaps tennis will fit the bill, and has been practicing with Brandon. She seemed committed enough to enroll in some lessons, so we'll see how that all works out. I'll tell you one thing, she's become one heck of a hoola-hooper so if they have a club for that, she's joining!

I had never experienced nerves for my kids like this, but never the reward either. To watch her work so hard at skating for the past two years, and then see her bravely perform in front of the arena of spectators - so freaking cool. I have only watched the video about one hundred times since Saturday... that's normal I hope?

In a tradition that has only been broken due to a brief visit to Baltimore - we have once again had a hauntingly good time at the annual Enchanted Forest Halloween Party (remember years past HERE). This year's addition of spooky games including the relay eyeball-on-spoon races, mummy wraps, witch's brew making, pumpkin painting, cookie eating contests, and feeling icky body parts. Of course the food brought its own spooky themes, and everyone had their bellies warmed with chili and hot dogs before heading to the Enchanted Forest to be... you guessed it, enchanted.

{Check out all the photos from the party and the parade HERE.}

 



The girls got to participate in the local Halloween parade.

They kind of felt like celebrities, it was legit.

... Laura Ingalls Wilder is a genious

... a storm 1,000 miles away should not invoke this much anxiety

... what's for dinner tomorrow?

... I love my mom

... I should exercise, or shave my legs, but for sure not both in one evening

... Christmas is only 56 days away

... library. Anapra. soon.

... love wins

... my cup runneth over, for serious

...eek!

Alpaca and Carolyn making friends - photo by Jennifer Khoury Photography

Every. Single. Day. I crane my head when I pass a pasture. I slow way down when the sun is just setting over an open field of grass, just shy of perfection for lack of a few alpacas. I check my bank account, I do the math, how much is enough to make the big purchase? Like farm big, and barn big, and a house if it needs one, and at least two alpaces (cause they are herd animals and can not live alone), and a few Great Pyranese to protect the herd, and some new boot like these. Maybe another day, I conclude, after we've saved some more and possibly won the lottery. This is my simple dream, and I dream it daily.

Life Lately...

Get up early, like really early.

Get presentable, not like really presentable, psh.

Wake children, have breakfast, give kisses in that order.

Drive through Starbucks, MUST.

Work, also must but not in the same kind of gusto-filled MUST.

Pause and swivel chair toward 12-inch window for sunlight.

Work some more. And more. And a little more.

Leave promptly, like really promptly.

Pull in drive way, make funny face at waiting children, or blow a kiss, or both.

Dine on dinner photographer has prepared, sigh of gratitude.

Do dishes. {Little known fact about me - I love doing dishes. Weird.}

At this point we have options:

a) attend pre-scheduled function, class, or sporting practice

b) do a puzzle, play a game or generally lounge

c) clean the house

d) go to Starbucks

e) none of the above, well except d of course

Bathe self or children or both, not simultaneously.

Consider getting a pedicure, or shaving legs, doing neither.

Read a story, say a prayer, give a kiss, wait for sleeping sounds.

Leave sleeping children in their own beds where they will hopefully stay.

Set alarm. Sleep. Glorious, glorious sleep!

 

There are ten minutes a day, right before they fall asleep, when we read. There are ten minutes a day, just after a reasonable dinner has been prepared, when we dine. There are ten minutes a day, after they have awoke from their slumber but before the sun has awoke from his, that we come to the table for breakfast. And then there are ten minutes when I am not home, and a few more groups of ten after that. Ten minutes when they learn, and a little more. Ten minutes in the Starbucks drive-thru, then off to tens of minutes of work. There used to be ten minutes a night when I could find time to sit at the keyboard and pound out a memory, a funny story, or a lesson learned.

Tonight a kind friend asked for a bit of advice. I went searching on here, my posts of yore, for a particular book I knew I had mentioned in the past. I scrolled through pages of ten minute windows, and wondered where my ten minutes was spent tonight. And how I'll remember these ten minutes some day. The ten minutes I spent searching for Snow White's last corner of hair on that elusive puzzle piece, the ten minutes that it took for the doctor to remove two more moles, the ten minutes when Julia told me the whole story of how a boy in her class hurt her feelings when she lost the race, the ten minutes watching Carolyn warm up on the ice with such grace it took my breath away. I would like to put a few of those in my memory box, a digital memory box for the 21st century. I need to remember the someday me who will have a few minutes to spare some evening to remember what it was like when they were 5 and 7, and I was 31, and life was life in ten minute increments.

Some nights she gets weepy. Like really, really weepy. Her heart aches under the thoughts that plague her active mind. Last night was one of those.

"I am just so sad" the tears began to fall.

I scoop her up in my lap, she's almost outgrown my arms but she never really will.

"Oh Julia, what's wrong?" I begin.

Sniffs and sobs. Long pauses and tight squeezes.

At long last she lets loose, "I just want you to eat vegetables and fish the rest of your life!"

"What?" I am confused.

"I just want you to be healthy so you never have to get sick and die, I want you to be with me forever!" And the flood lets loose, her hair is getting soaked in tears.

I rock her and hold her tight and reassure her that "I am right here, you are safe."

After a few minutes I try, "Julia, you know God tells us we don't need to worry about tomorrow, today is all we need."

"Oh Mom!" she throws herself into my shoulder with more sobs, "I'm NOT worried about tomorrow, I'm worried about THE REST OF MY LIFE!"

.

It is just a molded piece of plastic with a motor and four wheels, and yet this pink Power Wheel with Barbie stickers emblazoned on its bumper has me in its grips.

After living in a hotel for an entire year I came home to a house full of stuff. Stuff we clearly didn’t need, after all we’d gone 12 months without it. The purging has been marvelous, for the most part, until you get to something like the damn Power Wheel.

My coworker’s son is a Boy Scout. The troop is having a garage sale to raise money for the wonderful cause that is scouting, and thus some of my stuff made its way to her trunk today.

But, as I handed over the Power Wheel, all pink and dusty, I felt a lump jump to my throat that gave me sympathy for the hoarders. For a moment, ever so brief (or perhaps lingering now if truth be told), I felt as though I was handing over more than a piece of plastic with motorized wheels.

It was the last birthday - the last birthday party for my girlies that my Grandma ever attended. She knew Carolyn would love a pink Power Wheel and she was right. Carolyn was turning three. As soon as she saw it she hopped on the Power Wheel and maneuvered all around the crowded room at the pizza parlor. Everyone laughed and life was good.

Life is still good, I remind myself. But Grandma is not here. And neither is three-year-old Carolyn. And when I handed over the Power Wheel I felt like I had to say goodbye to that moment. To Grandma. To little Care Bear. And to a thousand days since then when I’ve seen the pink plastic gathering dust yet reminding me that there was a time when it powered a memory around a pizza parlor one November day.

I love and crave simplicity. The life of 450 square feet in far away Baltimore is my siren call. Maybe there are all sorts of reasons for this craving, good reasons and wonky ones. Maybe it’s a way of grieving time’s passage, or respecting it. Today a lump in my throat makes me want to ask if I can have it back. Have the pink plastic and with it a piece of Grandma and a three-year-old girl who has grown to seven. But that’s not where they are, and I’ll be sure to tell the lump in my throat that.

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In keeping with the Olympic spirit, the children were welcomed back to KC with race after race against their worthy-opponent-cousins. We also celebrated being home with cookie cake and apple pie. And lots of hugs.

So here we are, back from a great adventure - still splashing around in this thing called life having fun mostly and sometimes going to work. I am not quite sure what to think of it all just yet, but I'll keep you posted...