Just A Little BS

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.

I was in my garden this morning.  (I wish I could begin every blog post this way!)  I was digging out a trench of sorts, in which to put a border around my huge flowerbed that I call “Kate’s Garden.”  As I was alternately digging, putting in edging bricks, and refilling around them with dirt, I was noticing how nice the soil is in my garden.

40 Years of Dirt

40 Years of Dirt

40 Years of Dirt

40 Years of Dirt

40 Years of Dirt

40 Years of Dirt

We have been talking a lot about Kate these days.  It’s not her birthday yet or any “special” day, but my 3 year old Ian just learned about his third sister.  I don’t know exactly what he understands about her, but he calls her his “sister Kate” and refers to her quite a bit right now.

“Mom, my sister Kate is on the phone…want to talk to her?”

“Mom, my sister Kate loves these animals.”

“Mom, where is my sister Kate?”

“Mom, what is dead?”

“Mom, I miss my sister Kate.”

Me too, buddy …me too.

But the thought occurred to me several weeks ago, that while these conversations I have with my kids regarding their sister Kate can be painful, uncomfortable, awkward, and sometimes humorous, they are absolutely necessary.  In fact, they are probably some of the most important conversations I will ever have with my children.  I am preparing them for my death.

Death is not an easy topic, is it?   I even hesitated writing this blog and sharing it because it seems depressing, dark, even taboo.  And yet it is part of the human experience that we ALL share.  We ALL lose people we love and we ALL will die.  So why can’t we discuss it?

In my life, death has become as common a topic as why wearing shorts in 20 degree weather might be a bad idea.  We discuss death at the dinner table, walking to the bus stop, lounging on the couch, folding laundry.  It is common; it is often casual; it is our normal.  This doesn’t make it easy, exactly, but it does remove some of the fear ~if not fear of death itself, then fear of the idea of death.

As the children learn about Kate’s life and death and mature into new levels of understanding, it is inevitable that deeper and more complex conversations about death occur.  A lot of the time I find myself saying, “I don’t know.”  Sometimes the children have answers for questions I didn’t even realize I was asking.  And always, always, always  I feel more connected to them as a result of our conversation.

And I think that is the way we were meant to think about death.  It really is the common denominator for us humans, isn’t it?  No matter what our beliefs might be about what happens after death,  death itself should be enough to help us feel connected to one another.

Please don’t misunderstand me.  I do not walk carefree through this life, completely fearless of death.  I pray often that my life is a long one that sees the rest of my children grow, marry, and have children of their own.  I pray often – and sometimes gripped with fear – that I don’t have to bury another child.  I cannot imagine walking through this life without my husband.

But every time I have one of these moments, it is accompanied by some relief, some hope, even some joy.  One of my earliest comforting thoughts after losing Kate, was that her loss would ease the loss of every family member after hers.  Specifically at that moment, I thought of my mom.  I cannot imagine my mom not being here.  I pray stubbornly and selfishly that she lives to see great-great-great grandchildren.  But in that comforting moment, I realized that my mom would be going to be with Kate.

Relief.  Hope.  Joy.

I am preparing my children for my death.  Every conversation we have, every tear we shed, every loss we endure, every joy we experience…I am preparing my children for my death.  I want them to be assured that “Mom is going to be with Kate.”  I want them to know how joyful that day will be ~  only second to the joy I will feel when we are ALL reunited together with Kate.

Henri Nouwen, in his book Turn My Mourning Into Dancing, writes of a story about a soldier:

“A soldier was captured as a prisoner of war.  His captors transported him by train far from his homeland.  He felt isolated from country, bereft of family, estranged from anything familiar.  His loneliness grew as he continued not to hear anything from home.  He could not know that his family was even alive, how his country was faring.  He had lost a sense of anything to live for.

But suddenly, unexpectedly, he got a letter.  It was smudged, torn at the edges from months of travel.  But it said, ‘We are  waiting for you to come home.  All is fine here.  Don’t worry.’  Everything instantly seemed different.  His circumstances had not changed.  He did the same difficult labor on the same meager rations, but now he knew someone waited for his release and homecoming.  Hope changed his life.”

I am preparing my children for my death.  I am teaching them what it means to hope.

I am teaching them hope.

My kids LOVE St. Patrick’s Day.  And by LOVE, I mean they create these intricate little traps for leprechauns consisting of  old paper towel and toilet paper rolls, markers, shoe boxes, spaghetti sauce jars, and other small nuisances crafting goodies.

I cannot stand this.  It drives me crazy.  The “leprechaun” is expected to stomp through these traps (gently so as not to create tears the next morning) ALMOST getting caught by the brilliant contraptions.  Then because he is so impressed by their craftsmanship and cleverness, he leaves gold coins and chocolate for the children.

Are you kidding me?

Do I not have enough pressure in my life?  I mean…I have to remember every child I bring every place I go.  I have to remember that the laundry in the chute will not clean itself.  I have to remember that everyone will be hungry around 6:00 pm and go-gurts and/or half-rotten apples will not suffice.  My brain is FULL.

AND I have a child with a birthday on St. Patrick’s Day.  I thought that this might ease the pressure ordained by those darn leprechaun traps, but that just isn’t the case.  My children can’t remember their multiplication tables or that they should never wear orange shirts with red pants, but they ALWAYS remember to build their leprechaun traps.

*sigh*

Enough complaining.

I found this great idea on Twitter and I am going to make these for my little leprechaun-fans.  I might even add a bit of green food coloring…

…if I remember.

I found the recipe here:  http://www.ezrapoundcake.com/archives/19887

I’m off to investigate the stench coming from the laundry chute and see what I can create for tonight’s dinner.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Ok, so these are not the healthiest or the granola-iest…but they are moderately healthy and extremely yummy!!  I adapted a recipe I found on www.themarathonmom.com .

** Here are the alterations I made:

The original recipe called for 2 Tablespoons of wheat germ instead of the ground flax seed.  I didn’t have any wheat germ or I might have done a tablespoon of each.

The original recipe also called for 1/2 cup of coconut which I would have LOVED, but I wanted my kids to actually eat these and they won’t touch it with coconut in it!

I plan to try these with almond butter so my peanut-allergic son can enjoy these next time.

I cut mine into bars, wrapped them in foil, and put them in the snack drawer in the refrigerator.  They were gone in two days.

Enjoy!

So I am about to share the secret to the softest, most delectable chocolate chip cookies I have ever made:

Cornstarch.

Seriously.  Such a cheap, forgotten ingredient that creates such chewy delectable joy and delight.

When my daughter’s teacher reminded me that I had signed up to make cookies for her fourth grade class Valentine’s Day party, I asked my daughter which cookie she wanted me to bake.  She said,  ”Duh, Mom…your soft chocolate chip cookies.”  (And then she rolled her eyes, spun around with her soccer ball at her feet, and dribbled off…she really loves me, that one.)

But although these chocolate chip cookies are a little ball of heaven on their own, I wanted to dress them up purty for the special day.  So with my daughter’s permission (given as she was practicing juggling her soccer ball off her head, her feet, the living room ceiling fan) I decided to give the cookies a little white chocolate bath and prettify them with Valentine sprinkles.

This is the result:

Fancy Schmancy Chocolate Chip Cookies

I will include my recipe for the chocolate chip cookies below, but to add the white chocolate beauty is very simple.  I just  put 2 cups white chocolate chips in a microwave safe bowl, added 2 Tb. vegetable oil, and set the microwave for 1 minute at 70% power.  After that, just stir until completely melted and mixed.  Then I just dipped the cooled cookie in halfway, set it on parchment paper and immediately sprinkled on the all-important Valentine pinks and reds.

Just imagine what white chocolate creations you could make!  You could dip fruit, rice krispie treats, potato chips…

My kids LOVED these and as impressive as they may look, are really super easy.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I blame my good friend Trish.

It all started at Friday morning’s bible study with the seemingly innocent question, “Who wants Chipotle?”  When I hesitated for frugal and caloric reasons, my friend Trish insisted that I wanted it and proceeded to place my order.  (Arm twisted.)  In a very disciplined manner, I cut my fat juicy barbacoa burrito in half, placed the other half in the refrigerator for Saturday’s lunch, and began to knosh on the goodness and joy that is a Chipotle burrito.  All seemed well.

And then 4:00 hit.  That 4:00 monster that gnaws at my innards and demands irrational things like Lucky Charms, leftover half-eaten doughnuts, and yesterday – the remainder of my Chipotle burrito.  My husband was going to be home late from work and wanted to have pizza as a family when he was home, and so the rationalization began.

“I’ll just eat what’s left of my burrito now, and won’t eat pizza later with the family.”

“It’s healthier than pizza anyway; just look at all this corn and these tomatoes (wrapped up in all that sour cream).”

“Num-num-num-gnosh…”

I finished the other half even though I wasn’t THAT hungry.  (I just couldn’t rationalize putting 1/4 of the burrito back in the refrigerator.)   And then I felt extremely full-to-the-point-of-almost-bursting for the next several hours as I transported 5 children to an indoor soccer game, entertained them and mopped up their spilled water, and transported them home.

The good news is I didn’t eat any pizza.  I drank one glass of wine and called it a night.

The bad news is I was starving by 7 a.m.

Starving + Pinterest = this:

Baking bread

Amish Cinnamon Bread and Super Moist Banana Bread.

Prepared, mixed, and baked by 10:30 a.m.

Thankfully, I have 5 kids around to help with the bread “disposal.”  (You can see from the picture that they’ve already started.)  But even with their help, I have a feeling it’s going to be a long, delicious day.

And it’s ALL Trish’s fault.  ;)

(Recipes follow.)

When we lost Kate, I was 5 months pregnant with our first boy.  When Ty Jeffrey blessed us with his presence later that April, it taught me that I could once again feel joy, and began to teach me how my life would be an ongoing journey of intermingled bitter and sweet.  I made certain choices and promises to myself those last several months that I carried him:  I continued to eat when I wasn’t hungry; I made sure to sleep although my heart fought it; and I kept up with all the doctor appointments even though each one meant facing sympathetic and sad, caring eyes which cut me to the quick.

But while these choices and promises were important and meaningful, and the choices we made with ALL of our children valuable… perhaps the most significant and hopeful promise I made was with my husband, just minutes after learning Kate was lost to us in this life forever.

We promised each other we would have another child.

In those moments of shock and grief and despair, we said to one another that we would have another little girl together.  But that was not to be.  Instead we had 2 more boys after Ty was born.  Although this is another topic to chew on, I do think there was a gift in not having another girl.  I still cannot face the bin of clothing Kate was wearing when we lost her ~ not to give it away, lend it to friends, or make something memorable.  7 years later and it’s not something I can yet face.  So I cannot imagine re-living Kate’s short life with another little Long baby girl.

In that moment of promise, we were (without realizing it) taking a stand for hope.  We were making a commitment to our family and to God that we were going to go on living and not give in to desperation or fear.  And it has not been an easy path.  Seeing our 3 boys through the nights, through ordinary illnesses, through everything that reminded me of losing Kate meant many battles faced and fought.  It meant forcing myself to stay in bed instead of checking on my 1 yr. old one more time that night.  It meant facing the very virus that took our sweet girl when it reared up once again in Colt’s little body.  It meant fighting fear when they slept instead of finding rest.  And in some ways, those battles continue.  But I am willing to fight them…

for hope’s sake.

The power of a promise

That promise we made gave us Colt Joseph.  Today this fierce, intense firecracker of a boy turns 5.  I simply cannot believe it.  He is literally our thickest, sturdiest little one ~ an irony that does not go unnoticed by me, the one who has had to lean on his presence to be reminded of hope and joy more than once already in his lifetime.  And oh, how intense this boy!  Everything about him screams, “I AM LIVING THIS LIFE!!”

The power of a promise

When he eats chocolate, he wants the whole bag.  When he plays Mario on the Wii, he enacts each scenario with his whole body.  When he is happy, he wants to tell the whole neighborhood (by yelling it from our house).  When he is angry, he wants to tell the whole neighborhood (again, by yelling it from our house).  When he is sad, my heart breaks at the crushed look on his face.

The power of a promise

He is hope.  He is Kate’s light, carried on in ways he will never understand.  He is my stand against fear and darkness.  And, oh my…

The power of a promise

He is joy.