It seems like I just woke up on Monday morning, but all of a sudden it is Friday again. I am not quite sure how the week passes so quickly. Taking trips to the grocery store, sitting in traffic, running to preschool, doing the dishes, researching stories--it all takes up its fair share. Luckily, so does giving kisses, getting hugs and telling stories. When I think about how this week passed in the blink of an eye, it is no wonder that the past two years have gone by equally as fast.
This week I've started giving serious thought to Evan's second birthday party. I've been feeling a little melancholy that we don't have any grandparents or family close enough just to pop in for the party and celebrate with us. We're going to make up for it by having a little party with Evan's "local grandma" (our neighbor Miss Louise), Miss Louise's daughter and grandson (our extended "local family"), and our good friends from Illinois who live here now and have a daughter close to Evan's age. I think Evan is going to love playing with his two little friends, and I'm having fun thinking about the cake I'm going to make. I know there are only going to be ten people, but I don't get the chance to make fun cakes very often, so I think I'll go ahead and do it. Everyone can take home a doggy bag!
Thinking about how the routine, day-to-day tasks take up the bulk of our time makes it even more important for me to stop and celebrate life's little occasions. A birthday here, a Valentine's Day there--they are the little things that keep me going and give me something fun to look forward to while I'm stuck on the beltway in rush-hour traffic! Oh yeah--that and thinking about how on earth I could make gum paste figures to resemble Evan, Nate and Ava--the guests at the party. I'll keep you posted on that one.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
Creative Recycling
I am all for recycling. Not just cans and cardboard, but things in the house, too. Those pajamas I no longer wear--they are tucked away and I can't wait to use the fabric to make lingerie bags for when I travel. And the table that no longer worked in the office? Now it is a toy storage area in the family room.
You can still see it, can't you? I haven't ever been inside, but I would love to see what they've done to it. I still can't get over a c-store becoming a church. I marvel at it each time I am visiting my parents and finally had to snap a picture of it. It seems wrong to take a picture of a church just so I could show it to people and say, "Hey, look at this church, it used to be a 7-11." But I did it anyway. I'm not quite sure what that says about my personality.
So, with that in mind, let me bring you the most creative attempt at recycling I've ever seen.
Ladies and gentlemen: The Grace Baptist Church in Price, Utah, which once was none other than a 7-11.
You can still see it, can't you? I haven't ever been inside, but I would love to see what they've done to it. I still can't get over a c-store becoming a church. I marvel at it each time I am visiting my parents and finally had to snap a picture of it. It seems wrong to take a picture of a church just so I could show it to people and say, "Hey, look at this church, it used to be a 7-11." But I did it anyway. I'm not quite sure what that says about my personality.
And, to prove it really is a church, I took a picture of the sign:
Because really...who would believe a 7-11 could be transformed into a church?
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Spring Cleaning
Mother Nature gave me a little pat on the back today, giving us temperatures in the 60s. It was the perfect little shot in the arm to reassure me I can make it through five more weeks of winter, assuming Mr. Groundhog was on track with his predictions.
We took the opportunity to do some much needed yard work, which means Evan got to put on his work gloves his Mimi got him a year ago. We spent hours working and Evan's tool of choice was a stick he'd picked up.
We ended up with four garbage cans full of leaves, weeds and sticks that had fallen off our trees all winter. The amazing thing is that under all those weeds, there were tiny little spouts from my bulbs that are as eager for spring to get here as I am. I can't thank those little plants enough for their mercy--I kill most things in our yard, but I seem to do bulbs well. In a fit of pregnancy-induced craziness, I planted over 200 bulbs in the fall of 2006 so Evan would come home to a yard in full bloom. He didn't really seem to care all that much...I probably should have spent more time reading child rearing books than planting, but now it means spring is the yard's time to shine...the one season when it actually looks fairly nice. So, if you're planning to come and visit us, March through May are your best bet!
Friday, February 6, 2009
Candy Coal: In Case You Need a Jumpstart on Christmas 2009
It seems like there were so many Christmas projects I never got a chance to blog about what with all the Christmas projects and all. So, in case anyone wants to plan ahead, here are some little bags of candy coal I made for our family's Christmas Eve dinner this year. My friend Sandy, a master of all things stamped, made the tags and I made the bags out of muslin. My mom and I made the candy coal.We made two batches, one cinnamon and one licorice. Here are the two pans--as you can tell one is already broken up into the chunks of coal.
We put the candy inside of cellophane bags so it didn't get the muslin bags dirty.
Here is the recipe if anyone wants to try it! Candy Coal
2 cups sugar
2/3 cup white corn syrup
1 cup water
1 tsp. flavoring
Black food coloring (we used the Wilton food coloring for icing)
Combine sugar, water and corn syrup in small saucepan. Cook on medium high to 300 degrees F. This is called the hard crack stage. It will seem like it takes forever! Try to stir as little as possible or it will crystallize (believe me--I ruined one batch doing this).
Remove from heat and let cool to 280 degrees F. Add the flavoring and food coloring. Stir until blended. Pour into greased pan and let sit for several hours. Drop the pan on the ground to break it into chunks.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Life’s Simple Joys
Every day Evan reminds me that the simplest part of our day can be an adventure. One morning while we were in Nashville, Evan went crazy for the pillows on the bed. We had a king-size bed and the hotel had tons of pillows piled on it. Evan thought the pillows were the most wonderful thing ever. He rolled around in them, hid under them and just enjoyed every square inch of that bed and the pillows that covered it. He especially liked the fact that I was letting him be naked (don’t worry, he did have a diaper on) and that his Mimi (my mom) was there watching him. And to think I hadn’t given that bed a second thought.
Last night as Evan was taking his bath, I looked up at the clock and thought, “Whew--only one more hour until bedtime.” Evan was having so much fun in the bathtub. Watching him just pouring water from one container to another melted my heart. I started thinking that there will probably come a time when I would give anything to go back and have an hour with him at this age. Instead of rushing through the bath, I decided I should enjoy it, too. We sang silly songs, made plenty of animal noises and splashed until I had to get an extra towel out of the closet to wipe up the floor. I think I loved it as much as Evan did.
Last year I was talking with another mom about kids--her kids are much older than Evan is. She told me, “The minutes and the hours can drag on, but the years will fly by.” I’m trying to do a better job of remembering that when I find myself wishing away a certain part of the day. I need to take a lesson from Evan and find the newness and wonder in each situation.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The Safety Deposit Box from He_ _
Bryan and I decided that since we are now officially grown ups, we should get a safety deposit box. We packed up Evan on Saturday and headed over to the bank. I wasn’t necessarily dreading it, but the bank we go to (and I think almost any bank around here) always has a long wait and it seems like things just take longer than they should.
We walked into the bank, took our number and sat down on some couches. They finally called our number—whoo hoo! I almost feel like I’ve won the lottery when that happens. We filled out quite a bit of paperwork, handed over our IDs, signed our life away and about 20 minutes later we had a safety deposit box. The woman who had been helping us offered to show us our new box.
We walked into the vault for the big unveiling. She handed us our keys and informed us we were the new proud owners of safety deposit box #666. Yes, 666. I don’t know exactly what 666 means, but I do know it is something to do with the devil. My ALWAYS rational husband stopped in his tracks right there in the vault.
Bryan: “Are you serious? The box is 666?”
Bank Lady: “Yes, sir. Right here, 666.” She points to our new box, which does have the numbers 666 right across the front of it.
Bryan: “I don’t think I like that.”
Me: “Are you serious? Are you uncomfortable with it?”
Bryan: “Yeah—I don’t think I like it.”
Bank Lady: “Why?” [Editor’s note: Bank Lady isn’t originally from the United States and in her country 666 doesn’t mean anything.]
Bryan: “That is the devil number.”
Bank Lady: “What is that?”
Of course neither Bryan nor I could give a detailed explanation of the devil number, so round and round we go. We finally make our way back to her desk to close our account for box number 666 and open a new account for a box somewhere in the 700s. This of course requires the involvement of another man at the bank, also not from the U.S., who tries to convince us that 666 means good luck. Bryan convinces Bank Lady she should Google 666 later. (This prompts Evan to say Google for the first time and makes me wonder what kind of government list this poor lady might end up on).
Bryan is always so rational that the whole thing surprised me a bit. Whenever I fly and I am in row 13, I always figure if the plane goes down, rows 12 and 14 aren’t going to do much better. I think it is probably the same with box number 666. I do have to admit that though that I don’t like to walk under a ladder, open an umbrella inside or cross a black cat’s path. So, I too feel a little more comfortable with a different box. I just never thought Bryan would be the one to request it.
I’m sure our passports will rest much easier.
We walked into the bank, took our number and sat down on some couches. They finally called our number—whoo hoo! I almost feel like I’ve won the lottery when that happens. We filled out quite a bit of paperwork, handed over our IDs, signed our life away and about 20 minutes later we had a safety deposit box. The woman who had been helping us offered to show us our new box.
We walked into the vault for the big unveiling. She handed us our keys and informed us we were the new proud owners of safety deposit box #666. Yes, 666. I don’t know exactly what 666 means, but I do know it is something to do with the devil. My ALWAYS rational husband stopped in his tracks right there in the vault.
Bryan: “Are you serious? The box is 666?”
Bank Lady: “Yes, sir. Right here, 666.” She points to our new box, which does have the numbers 666 right across the front of it.
Bryan: “I don’t think I like that.”
Me: “Are you serious? Are you uncomfortable with it?”
Bryan: “Yeah—I don’t think I like it.”
Bank Lady: “Why?” [Editor’s note: Bank Lady isn’t originally from the United States and in her country 666 doesn’t mean anything.]
Bryan: “That is the devil number.”
Bank Lady: “What is that?”
Of course neither Bryan nor I could give a detailed explanation of the devil number, so round and round we go. We finally make our way back to her desk to close our account for box number 666 and open a new account for a box somewhere in the 700s. This of course requires the involvement of another man at the bank, also not from the U.S., who tries to convince us that 666 means good luck. Bryan convinces Bank Lady she should Google 666 later. (This prompts Evan to say Google for the first time and makes me wonder what kind of government list this poor lady might end up on).
Bryan is always so rational that the whole thing surprised me a bit. Whenever I fly and I am in row 13, I always figure if the plane goes down, rows 12 and 14 aren’t going to do much better. I think it is probably the same with box number 666. I do have to admit that though that I don’t like to walk under a ladder, open an umbrella inside or cross a black cat’s path. So, I too feel a little more comfortable with a different box. I just never thought Bryan would be the one to request it.
I’m sure our passports will rest much easier.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Choices
I've been thinking a lot about choices lately. It all started last week in the Washington Reagan airport as we were making our way to Nashville. Evan decided he wanted to sit down on the floor in the middle of the airport. This wasn't a good choice for several reasons. First, there were crazy travelers with big pieces of luggage rushing around. Second, we hadn't even made our way to security and we were getting a little close on time. And third, well, who knows what kind of germs were lurking on that floor.
I gave Evan two choices--he could walk next to the stroller or he could sit in the stroller and have a snack and play with his cars (Come on--is this really a choice? I would have given my left arm at that point for someone to push me around the airport while allowing me to eat Goldfish Crackers and play with Lightening McQueen). Soon I had to introduce the third choice to Evan--should he not choose the previous two options he would get to be strapped into the stroller. He hates those stupid straps. I'm not sure why the choice was so difficult, but after some casual sitting on the floor, I had to scoop Evan up, arms flailing and strap him in the stroller. The tears started flowing (his, not mine) and tried to retain my calm demeanor the best I could. Evan can put up quite a struggle when he wants to.
After he was strapped in, we hurried to security. He was crying pretty hard and I talked with him about the choices he had made and how he had made a bad choice that led to him being strapped in the stroller. It broke my heart, but it was a necessary evil. I promised him that once we got through security I would give him a chance to make a better choice. He told me he would like that and about 15 minutes later we both lived up to our ends of the bargain. (And, let me tell you, for the rest of the trip when he had an option of walking next to the stroller or riding of his own free will, he was pretty quick to take advantage of one of those choices. At one point he was walking so close to the stroller I was running over his little feet!)
But, all of those lectures on choices have made me re-evaluate some of the choices I make each day. It almost doesn't seem fair that I get to make the not-so-perfect choice and get away with it just because no one is watching. Like today, I had leftover buffalo chicken strips, potato chips and dip for lunch (thank you Superbowl). That was a pretty bad choice. Sometimes I choose to try to work while watching t.v. If only my mom were here to make me turn it off.
There are other choices I make that send the wrong message. Sometimes I go to bed without walking downstairs to say goodnight to Bryan when he is working late simply because those extra 20 steps just seem too tiring. A better choice would at least be yelling goodnight from the top of the stairs.
Every so often I do make some good choices. This weekend I had an e-mail from a mom who got my name off the parent resource list provided by the Vascular Birthmark Foundation. Her little girl has a hemangioma similar to Evan's. Talking with her reminded me of what a confusing and scary time that was in our lives and made me happy I had decided to list my name on the VBF's Web site. It also reminded me that having Evan's hemangioma removed was the absolute best choice for our family.
Choosing to go freelance was also one of the best choices I've ever made. I've been lucky enough to have steady work and spend more time with Evan. I'm also glad I chose to marry a CPA since it seems like I get a new 1099 each day. Oh--and speaking of choosing to marry a CPA, I do have to say that marrying Bryan was a very good choice!
I gave Evan two choices--he could walk next to the stroller or he could sit in the stroller and have a snack and play with his cars (Come on--is this really a choice? I would have given my left arm at that point for someone to push me around the airport while allowing me to eat Goldfish Crackers and play with Lightening McQueen). Soon I had to introduce the third choice to Evan--should he not choose the previous two options he would get to be strapped into the stroller. He hates those stupid straps. I'm not sure why the choice was so difficult, but after some casual sitting on the floor, I had to scoop Evan up, arms flailing and strap him in the stroller. The tears started flowing (his, not mine) and tried to retain my calm demeanor the best I could. Evan can put up quite a struggle when he wants to.
After he was strapped in, we hurried to security. He was crying pretty hard and I talked with him about the choices he had made and how he had made a bad choice that led to him being strapped in the stroller. It broke my heart, but it was a necessary evil. I promised him that once we got through security I would give him a chance to make a better choice. He told me he would like that and about 15 minutes later we both lived up to our ends of the bargain. (And, let me tell you, for the rest of the trip when he had an option of walking next to the stroller or riding of his own free will, he was pretty quick to take advantage of one of those choices. At one point he was walking so close to the stroller I was running over his little feet!)
But, all of those lectures on choices have made me re-evaluate some of the choices I make each day. It almost doesn't seem fair that I get to make the not-so-perfect choice and get away with it just because no one is watching. Like today, I had leftover buffalo chicken strips, potato chips and dip for lunch (thank you Superbowl). That was a pretty bad choice. Sometimes I choose to try to work while watching t.v. If only my mom were here to make me turn it off.
There are other choices I make that send the wrong message. Sometimes I go to bed without walking downstairs to say goodnight to Bryan when he is working late simply because those extra 20 steps just seem too tiring. A better choice would at least be yelling goodnight from the top of the stairs.
Every so often I do make some good choices. This weekend I had an e-mail from a mom who got my name off the parent resource list provided by the Vascular Birthmark Foundation. Her little girl has a hemangioma similar to Evan's. Talking with her reminded me of what a confusing and scary time that was in our lives and made me happy I had decided to list my name on the VBF's Web site. It also reminded me that having Evan's hemangioma removed was the absolute best choice for our family.
Choosing to go freelance was also one of the best choices I've ever made. I've been lucky enough to have steady work and spend more time with Evan. I'm also glad I chose to marry a CPA since it seems like I get a new 1099 each day. Oh--and speaking of choosing to marry a CPA, I do have to say that marrying Bryan was a very good choice!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)