I always test any diy products I blog about on here.  This one received the longest test yet – almost 2 years.  I love this deodorant.  It’s super easy to make and so freakin’ cheap!  It smells good and is not going to give me cancer.  (*bonus*)  I decided to try this almost 2 years ago because I was so tired of buying expensive deodorant!

Like anything, there are pros and cons to this deodorant.

Pros:

• inexpensive
• easy
• smells good
• healthy

Possible Cons (depending on your preferences):

• NOT an antiperspirant (so you will still sweat)
• application is with fingers not a deodorant stick
• gets a little “melty” in high heat
• there are concerns about the cornstarch causing yeast infections – I have never had a problem.

Here is the original link where I found the ingredients:

http://howaboutorange.blogspot.com/2010/04/how-to-make-your-own-deodorant.html

After reading the ingredients and being unsuccessful in my attempts to find Arrowroot powder in a “normal” grocery store, I decided to take the original poster’s advice and use cornstarch.

Here is my recipe:

Now because this is not an antiperspirant and you will still sweat, you will have some discoloration in your clothing (armpit areas).  This will not be the yellow discoloration caused by many antiperspirants!  This is from sweat, not the deodorant itself!  If you need a way to get rid of those stains, check out my favorite stain pre-treater!  I use this and it works awesomely!

http://justalittlebs.com/2011/12/01/homemade-stain-treater/

I truly love this deodorant!  It lasts for roughly 5 months so it is an awesome money-saver and totally healthy!  Plus I don’t have to remember to buy it every two weeks at the grocery store which is such a plus for me since I can’t even remember what day of the week it is.

Here’s to smelling yummy for only pennies!

I have been thinking of my friend Linda quite a bit recently.  To say only that I taught at the same high school with Linda would do a disservice to our relationship.  I did teach with her, but I also prayed with her, cried with her, laughed with her, traveled with her, admired her, and grieved her…I grieve her still.

Linda died in November, 2008.  She had the same kidney cancer my husband had been diagnosed with, but they found hers after it had spread into her body and beyond remedy.

I don’t claim that Linda and I were the best of friends.  She was closer to my mother’s age than mine, but it never really mattered.  She was such a young spirit, full of spunk and sass.  She and I had the honor and blessing to attend our school’s Kairos retreat with many different groups of seniors over several years.  In sharing Kairos ~ or “God’s time” ~ with each other, we had time to share beyond our Math or Religion curriculum, beyond our school assemblies or student dramas; we shared matters of substance.

We shared about our hopes for the future, our relationships with our husbands, our questions regarding spirituality, and of course, the minutia of life:  board games, beer, poker, jokes, and lots and lots of good laughs.  I loved her.  I loved the way she talked about her husband Jim and her kids.  I loved her honesty and frankness.  I loved her determination to live life in that moment and not to wait until it was more convenient.

For some reason tonight, I was looking up some old Catholic cd’s one of my other friends introduced me to a long time ago.  As I found “Simple Gifts” and  ”Instruments of Peace” on Spotify, I was immediately transported in my mind back to a road trip I took with three lovely ladies to visit another one of our good friends.  What a fun trip!  Linda was there, Sue (owner of these cd’s), and my good friend Gina.  We were traveling to visit our friend Ellen, another teacher with whom we had bonded over Kairos who was now teaching in New Jersey.

There are several moments on that journey that stand out to me as I reflect upon it tonight.  I remember talking about not expecting our husbands to fulfill us, but looking to God for that instead.  What did I know?!  I had been married for such a short time and I was spouting off about something I knew very little about, really.  But these women gave me such grace.  I didn’t know at that moment how important that lesson would one day be for me as well.  I also remember talking about being a vessel for God.  This phrase has resurfaced many times in sharing my experience of losing Kate.  The excursion was also a major crossroads as I would come home from that trip, take a pregnancy test, and turn a very important corner in my life’s journey.

Linda’s husband gifted me a pair of her earrings.  They are beautiful gold butterflies.  My first instinct was to tuck them in a special box only to be pulled out for sacred, special occasions.  But then I had to check myself.  If I learned one thing from Linda, it was that every moment of our lives is sacred.  Chatting with neighbors, playing games, dancing at weddings, changing diapers ~ there is something sacred about every moment we experience as long as we acknowledge it as such.  Life is not something to tuck away in a box, even a beautiful one, hoping for the perfect moment to enjoy it.

Life is about grabbing on with both hands, and taking it for the wild ride it is.  It’s about finding the sacred in washing the dishes, kissing a boo-boo, reprimanding (while trying not to laugh at) the 7 yr. old for the wedgie he just gave his 5 yr. old brother.  It’s about a purple iris broken in the rainstorm now adorning the kitchen counter in a Mason jar.  It’s about weeding those damn dandelions and thistles even though you just weeded them yesterday, or maybe just ignoring them after all.  It’s about wearing gold butterfly earrings to watch a soccer game or for a day at the park.

Even life’s ordinary moments are sacred; perhaps, especially those.

And so I offer my starfish, Linda.  I hope this humble blog serves as a vessel for God’s love.  I hope in some small way to honor your life by sharing a bit of mine.  If it helps even one, it will be worth it.  In the midst of writing this and remembering you, I shared a beer with my neighbor, admired the beautiful lush overgrown lawn after an afternoon rain, baked brownies and ate them with my children, cleaned up after my family, refereed several arguments, scratched my son’s back, carried my baby to his bed, laughed with a friend about a fake mustache… familiar, humdrum  yet hallowed moments.

I miss you, friend.

Click here to view the embedded video.

I do my best baking when the girls have sleepovers.  Any other Saturday morning, you can usually find me snuggled under a blanket with a child or two with a warm cup ‘o joe.  (Unless I’m already out at the soccer field or at the volleyball courts which has also been known to happen ~also, with a warm cup ‘o joe.)

This morning my daughter and her friend Maddie requested cinnamon rolls.  I went to my trusted source, The Pioneer Woman, but she makes the real deal which requires lots of time spent waiting for the dough to rise.  So I googled “EASY cinnamon rolls” which took me to this website:

http://centercutcook.com/fast-and-easy-cinnamon-rolls/

Within 2 hours, I had baked yummy gooey cinnamon rolls, eaten one of the delectable delights, and cleaned up all the dishes.  Oh I lie; I lie, lie, lie.  The dishes are still sitting in the sink!  But seriously, from start to licking-my-fingers-finish, this just took a little over an hour.

I know this recipe may seem a bit daunting, but really it’s not.  The directions are more of a guideline.  Your cinnamon roll will probably not be rolled up super tight and you will have a mess of cinnamon, sugar, flour, dough, etc. all over the counter (and possibly your floor, ahem) but they will still taste delicious!  I don’t even have a rolling pin; I used a wine bottle (somehow I have a few of those).  And even with all these distractions (aka kids) around, I had these rolls in the oven within 30 minutes.

TOTALLY worth the mess.  I WILL be making these again! Quite possibly, at the next sleepover.

My mom is blue:

wallpaper

dishes

sandals

peaceful skies.

My mom is brown:

  teddy bears

  wood table

  ground beef

  solid firm earth.

My mom is red:

 bright gifted shirts

 impatiens

nightshift-rimmed eyes

lifeblood, essence, core.

My mom is green:

 green beans

 breadwinner

 honeysuckle along the fence

 abundant consistant spring.

My mom is black:

college graduate

jelly beans

“chocolate” yeast rolls

smooth black obsidian; my rock.

My mom is sacrifice and song.

My mom is strength and service.

My mom is celebration and soul.

My mom is.

Hope

Today is Kate’s birthday.  She would have turned nine.  It’s my absolute favorite time of year with everything in bloom or ready to burst forth in great color and abundance.  But alongside that fullness exists such emptiness for the one I no longer hold in my arms.

On that day, nine years ago, God gave me yet another gift.  As I stared at that bundle of baby lying in front of me and stared into those beautiful calm blue eyes, I felt a joy invade every pore of my being.  That I was touched by the Spirit on that day, I have no doubt.  This was a deeper experience than the joy I had felt with my other girls.  This was an onslaught of love that was bigger than childbirth, bigger than motherhood, bigger than human love.  I have often wondered if that moment of rapture was not merely a gift for that moment, but a gift meant to provide the sustenance I would need to live a life without Kate, but with hope.

HOPE.

It’s such a little word for the incredible power it holds.  And our overuse threatens its value.  I do it all the time:

“I hope I get some sleep tonight.”

“I hope it doesn’t rain on our picnic.”

“I hope no one notices that I’m wearing two different shoes.”

The definition of hope is “longing; a dream.”  In the dictionary, hope is associated with words like expectation and await.  I cling tightly to the hope and expectation that I will see my girl again.  I pray fearfully that I will recognize her.  I pray fervently that my entire family will be reunited with her.  I pray daily to have the patience it takes to live a fruitful life until that day arrives.

But what happens in the meantime??  How can this mother walk through this world without her child?  I see different responses in others who have lost someone they love.  Many create rituals around the day their loved one passed away.  A dear friend of mine celebrates a “Heaven Day” with her family in honor of her daughter.  There are many 5K walks/runs set up to remember a loved one and provide funds for something related to that person’s life or death.  Others continue to celebrate the day their loved one was born with a cake or treat provided in remembrance.

Hope

None of these feels quite right in my world.  In the past, I have met friends and family at Kate’s grave and sent up balloons or even shared popsicles.  For two years, I held a “Kate’s Day” at my house where I celebrated the mothers in my life.  I wanted to share with them a fraction of the love I felt on the day Kate was born.  One year I mailed flower seeds to a handful of deserving moms.  All of these were worthwhile offerings, yet none truly fulfilled that empty space I longed for them to satisfy.  But I think the lesson I have learned is that nothing will suffice; it is a void that demands to be filled with hope.

This does not mean the waiting is all despair.  Hope might fill a space that feels like the deepest ocean depths, but the surface of those depths reflects the most beautiful skies, the most radiant sunsets.  It reminds me of a lilac bush I planted outside my garage when we moved into this house six years ago.  It is a beautiful, tall bush with gorgeous green foliage that provides beauty and structure every year.  But it has never bloomed.  I have researched how to prune it, fertilize it, and nurture it in order to help it produce those fragrant purple blooms permeating the air right now in my neighborhood.  But with all those efforts, still no flowers.  By last year, I had accepted that it would just exist as a stately green bush and I would just hope that someday it would surprise me with some blooms.

This year:

Hope

Sometimes our hopes are fulfilled.  Sometimes our longings or expectations change and evolve into new hopes and dreams.  And sometimes we must make the difficult choice to find beauty and peace as we anticipate the hope that one day will be realized.

I still pray that I can honor Kate’s memory in a way that provides light and love to others.  I know that some have been affected by our story and Kate’s life, and I am profoundly thankful for that.  Selfishly, I want more.  I want the immediacy of knowing HOW Kate’s death is being redeemed.  My human impatience makes unfair demands on hope.  It calls for a feel-good “fix,” a grandiose garden luncheon for two hundred, a 5K for hope.  But hope refuses to be forced.  It craves room in which to abide ~ sometimes in silence like the lilac without a bloom.

Today I honor Kate’s birthday with a blooming lilac.  The void feels a tad lighter with this physical reminder of hope.  I also honor her birthday with the remembrance of that Spirit-blessing, that abundant joy which has provided a foundation of survival without my girl.

Hope

I bought a TUB of vanilla protein powder.  A TUB.

So…I’ve been perusing Pinterest’s plethora of smoothie recipes that use vanilla protein powder, and found this one.  Here’s the original source:  http://social.popsugar.com/Orange-Creamsicle-Smoothie-23713597

YUMMY.

Enjoy!

Random Thoughts on a Friday

1.  People post recipes on Pinterest that say things like, “my husband raved about this for days.”  Based upon some of those recipes, they must have previously served that husband poop.

2.  Slushies should never be served in styrofoam cups with straws.

3.  One 3 year old boy I know refuses to wear undies because they interfere with his ability to, um… explore.

4.  One 40-something year old boy I know has the same issue.

5.  Even if you have a trampoline in the backyard and an inflatable bounce house in the basement, children will still prefer to jump on the couch.

6.  My 5 year old son has a better understanding of the DVR than I do.

7.  Sometimes the thing that should be the easiest (like revealing oneself to friends) feels like the hardest thing to do but results in the lightest of moods.

8.  Some days the hardest thing about marriage is getting the flat tire changed.

9.  ”Message me” and “Massage me” are two very similar but VERY different phrases.

10.  In joining an online book club reading a book about parenting boys, moms will introduce themselves by saying things like, “I just want to understand and enjoy this adventure of life with my boys!”  For the true translation, please refer back to #3 and 4.

I have had a taste of freedom.  It’s not Braveheart’s ride in on a stallion, face painted in warring blue, ready to fight for my country “FREEDOM!”  It’s more like little ol’ me, weaving in and out of parking spaces in my mom-mobile, remnants of doughnut on the corner of my mouth, ready to politely request my grande non-fat vanilla latte to go.

This taste of freedom comes from our evening sports schedule.  It’s only happened a handful of times, but my husband will opt (He actually chooses this!) to stay home with all three boys and I get to take the girls to their volleyball and soccer practices.

…and just sit.

…maybe watch.

…possibly read.

…drink some coffee.

…have adult conversation.  (Meaning conversation with grown-ups, not an inappropriate exchange…ahem.)

It’s really lovely.  But freedom comes with a price, doesn’t it, Braveheart?

As I walked in the door to my abode last night following one of these serene evenings of freedom, I was bombarded by three boys with chocolate on their faces (one without pants), clothing strewn all over the floor, the husband sitting in his chair with laptop and the television volume set to “stun,” abandoned television on upstairs announcing Spongebob’s Best Day Ever, and nearby a newly purchased box of fruit roll-ups completely emptied with foil and wax wrappers scattered haphazardly all over my bedroom floor.

Re-entry is brutal.

My limited knowledge of space travel comes mostly from the adult discourse I overheard  and glimpses of nightly news I was forced to sit through while awaiting The Cosby Show as I was growing up in the 80′s.  One thing I have gleaned from this less-than-extensive education is that re-entry is one of the most dangerous and difficult parts of space flight.  I can relate.

According to the article on this site, http://h2g2.com/approved_entry/A6381038, the fundamental problem in re-entry is that the spacecraft has to be going at a precise amount of speed ~ fast enough to enter the upper atmosphere and brace for atmospheric resistance, yet quickly drop enough speed to be able to encounter gravity and make a safe landing.  There are four different methods of doing this.

The first is “powered deceleration.”  While my re-entry is a little different from the space shuttle (just a bit) in that I am going from a slower rate of speed to a much faster one, it still needs to be planned and precise.  The shuttle will fire a rocket backwards to send energy in the opposite direction and slow itself down.  I have found that a perfectly timed Starbucks can have the same effect for me.  I need that caffeine to hit the bloodstream at the categorical moment of re-entry to provide energy for the blast about to transpire, yet dissipate from my system so as to allow sleep to occur before midnight.  It’s very delicate.

The second is an “energy exchange.”  For the space shuttle, this means converting kinetic energy into potential energy and storing it in some device.  For me, I need to somehow gather the potential energy gained from my peaceful evening and channel it into the kinetic energy necessary to enter a house in which 4 boys have been busily demolishing, destroying, thrashing, walloping, whooping, hollering, and so on and so forth.  I find that listening to my tween daughters discuss boy/girl drama in addition to hearing Bruno Mars’ songs played incessantly on the radio prepares me in such a way that I’m ready to leap from the car and tackle whatever damage the boys may have inflicted.

The third is “mass shedding.”  Not used since the Apollo program, mass shedding is in layman’s terms dumping what is not necessary in order to provide a lighter, safer landing.  My mass shedding means the laptop is sleeved, the bookmark has been placed, and the coffee cup is empty.  In other words, my electronic devices have been turned off, and my seat back and tray table have been placed in their upright and locked positions.  Upon entering the house, my arms are empty and available for leaping children, falling beverages, and whatever wiping, collecting, and/or scrubbing will be necessary.

The fourth and final method is “energy dissipation.”  This is very similar to the energy exchange except that kinetic energy is progressively converted to another form such as heat as the descent occurs.  For me this step is called “reaching the speed limit.”  I drive very slowly on the beginning of our way home.  You know that annoying person that waits until the road is absolutely empty to turn out of the sports center parking lot?  Me.  You know that creep going five miles below the speed limit at 8:30 pm?  Me.  Back off; I’m preparing for re-entry.  As I get closer to home, my speed picks up until by the time I’m on my street I am cruising at the posted speed limit.

I remember watching one of the space shuttle landings.  When the vehicle actually hit the ground, there was a flurry of activity.  Sirens flashing, people in uniform running about, ambulances and fire trucks and police vehicles…but no astronauts.  They are not usually seen until much, much later at a press conference ~ pretty anticlimactic for me as a spectator.  But upon my re-entry I become all those personnel.  Pj’s are thrown on, “wet” clothes from the bathroom floor tossed in the laundry, beloved lost toys found, blankies rescued from underneath the bed, toothbrushes loaded, homework signed, drinks poured, trash collected, televisions turned off or reset to a volume less than “my-ears-are-bleeding,” kisses given, books read, backs scratched, feet rubbed, babies carried up and tucked in…

And then I sit down to my press conference to discuss the evening with my husband.  And I wonder…is the moment of freedom worth it?  Though certainly a gift, freedom is not for the weak.  It is not something given easily or taken lightly.  But it does help to right my center a bit.  Despite the fact that re-entry is arduous and trying, the me that remains after the storm is a little more Becky and a little less stressed-out-mama ~ a little more woman and a little less housemaid.  So I practice Eucharisteo – giving thanks for all things – and say that I am thankful for the freedom and the re-entry.  I am thankful for the relaxation and the rumpus.

I am thankful for the peace…and the mess.

I had a 4lb. pork roast calling to me from the refrigerator.

“Get out the crock pot!

I’m easy to make!

Look up a new recipe before you drown me in that spaghetti sauce!”

And then a random sighting on Pinterest led to this pin entitled “Clean Eating” with a beautiful picture of a pulled pork sandwich.  Clean eating, you say?  I always practice this!  I make sure I my hands are clean before I eat.  The dishes upon which I heap my food are mostly clean.  And the table at which I sit…well, it’s occasionally clean.  I think that counts for something.

My point is this:  I am sure “clean eating” is some incredibly focused, healthy way to approach food in one’s life.  For me, it was a pretty picture and an easy recipe for which I had all the ingredients on hand!  And with a 4 lb. roast getting ready to turn on me (much like my used-to-be-sweet 12 year old daughter these days), I was ready to join the clean movement!  (the eating movement?)  Anyway…

Here is the original link and recipe from a lovely site called “The Gracious Pantry.”

http://www.thegraciouspantry.com/clean-eating-slow-cooker-pulled-pork-sandwiches/

I made two changes due to ingredients not in my pantry – the nerve!  AND I did not serve mine with a bun (because I’m clean eating, don’t you know?!).  Ok, I had no buns.

“Yes, we have no bananas…we have no bananas today…”

BUT I made mashed potatoes!  (I did scrub them thoroughly first…)

AND I cut up strawberries as a side.  (This isn’t really part of the recipe, but I just wanted my mom to know that I served a well-rounded meal.  Hi, Mom!)

The original recipe said this made 20 servings.  Mine made enough to feed my family of 7 (3 of whom eat like fairly normal adults) with 2 or 3 servings leftover.   So maybe this is part of the “clean eating” thing?  Perhaps I didn’t wash my hands well enough.

Super easy.

Super delicious.

I’m making this one again.

Maybe next time I’ll get some buns AND mop the floor first.  Maybe.