MommyCoddle

am I a modern mom?

Does your library have these newfangled "playaway" devices? These digital audiobook recordings that you can check out? Well, our library has recently introduced them--a hand held ipod-looking device that has a book already loaded on to it. You just plug in your earbuds and listen.

My children have been hounding me about them since the posters started going up in the library and I've really been dragging my feet. I rarely allow the girls to listen to my iPod, though they beg all the time. They have to be really sick, or really pathetic-looking in order for me to give in. Just the sight of them walking around tuned out to the world, plugged in to something else kind of gets to me. It's similar to the whole zone-out in front of the TV thing.

But last night after a homeschooling meeting at the library, I was browsing for some things to bring home to the girls, and there in front of me was the "playaway" for A Cricket in Times Square, the book Emma and I just finished reading, and another easier-read that Mary would be able to enjoy.

And I folded. I stuck those little devices in my bag and checked out.

You can imagine the squealing and excitement that "mom brought iPods home from the library!" when I arrived home last night before bed. Batteries were checked and replaced, earbuds were untangled, buttons were explained, and "ipods" were set out carefully on bedside tables for morning.

This morning, two girls emerged at my bedside, talking extremely loud with wires trailing from their earlobes. Ugh! Am I a modern mom? I don't think I'm there yet.

I'm reminded of this fantastic post by Stefani. Now I just have to think of my "hook" to bring them back to my "little house on the prairie"-fantasy world that I want to live in.

On a more serious and important note, I hope you will take a moment to check out the important NieNie Auction going on at design mom. Amy asked me to share it with all of you. She thinks highly of you all, my dear readers, and hopes you can take a moment to help out. I was unfamiliar with Stephanie's story until this week. She tugs at my heart and demands my continual prayers. Please take a look.

Wishing you a wonderful, long weekend. xo.

focus on the positive

Tonight I was sitting at the kitchen table with the windows open and I overheard Dan outside talking to the girls. He was asking who had left certain things out from yesterday, why there was a set of my cups in the backyard, had someone watered the boxwoods, etc. etc. While he talked to the girls I winced, knowing that these were things I hadn't gotten to today. But I also thought, "Did you notice that I sorted through FOUR tubs of baby clothes in the guest room, got three loads of laundry done, and all the books returned to the library?"

I share this little snippet of our life not at all to imply that my husband is some grumpy, ungrateful man that comes home grumbling and complaining about all the things that didn't get accomplished that day. Because that is so far from reality. And even in this overheard moment he was more asking questions versus laying blame.

I share this story because I realized as I was overhearing Dan that he sounded a lot like me.

All too often, I walk into a situation, whether it be with Dan or with the girls, and completely miss the important stuff. I find all my focus and attention and words drawn to the negatives--the mess I'll be cleaning later, instead of the amazing creative play that is going on in their room, stripped of all bed sheets, pillows and blankets. The chaos of loud laughing and running through the house, instead of the joy of my children having fun together. The annoyance of my oldest daughter wanting to help with her baby sister's bath instead of seeing how much she loves taking care of Elizabeth.

I often do it when I return to the house after a solo outing and Dan stays with the girls. "Couldn't you have at least cleared the dishes from the kitchen table?!" Instead of noticing that he has all three girls sitting on his lap on the sofa reading picture books.

Really what is most important? A good reminder for me tonight.

The picture is a quick shot of our bedroom corner with the new headboard finally painted and in place. Can I tell you how much I love having a headboard? And how much I love seeing the handiwork of my husband all over the house? The bedside table, also his work--made for me as a birthday gift several years ago. The date and year are written on the inside of the drawer.

Rejoice Evermore

Last night, Dan and I finished watching the HBO Films series John Adams. I think this last episode was my favorite. It was the only where I cried, but it was also so much about Abigail and John Adams reflecting on their lives as they reached the end of them.

In a final scene, John Adams is walking along a cornfield at dusk with his son, Thomas. His wife has died, all of his peers but Thomas Jefferson have passed away and this is what he has to stay:

"Still, still I am not weary of life. Strangely. I have hope. You take away hope and what remains? What pleasures? I have seen a queen of France with eighteen million levers of diamonds on her persons, but I declare that all the charms of her face and figure, added to all the glitter of her jewels, did not impress me as much as that little shrub. (pointing with his walking stick to a small white flower in the field.)
Now my mother always said that I never delighted enough in the mundane, but now I find that if I look at even the smallest thing...my imagination begins to roam the Milky Way. Rejoice evermore. Rejoice Evermore! ...REJOICE! EVERMORE! I wish that had always been in my heart and on my tongue. I am filled with an irresistible impulse to fall on my knees right here in admiration....If only my knees would bend like they used to. "

Must we reach the end of our days for us to find delight in the mundane? For our hearts to rejoice at all times? For the smallest flower to stir our imagination? I surely hope not.

Tonight, I noticed the cool breeze on my bare skin, a group of dark cattle grazing on the hill below the old stone church, my children running and falling and laughing in the grass with their father, a moment of quiet, just for me.

Those words of John Adams stirred something inside me. They once again reminded me to fill my heart and my days with thankfulness, hope, joy, curiosity. To take pleasure in the smallest flower, the most mundane tasks oftentimes repeated day after day after day. To notice. To not grow weary.

Life is full of so many pleasures.

Rejoice Evermore.

a few of my favorite things

On Sunday morning I woke up at 6:30 in a panic. Dan was still beside me in bed, I thought it was Monday, his alarm didn't go off, he was late for work. Then I realized it was Sunday. Isn't that one of the best feelings in the world? My body just gets all warm and limp when I realize I can sink back into my pillows and fall asleep.

Except that all this week I've thought it was Friday. Just now, I was shocked when I looked up into the little corner of my computer to realize it was flashing "TUE". Who knew? I think I'd better break out a calendar or something.

Anyway, my favorite things...I went to the hardware store this afternoon to pick out a paint color for the headboard that Dan built for me last weekend. In my mind I knew I wanted a dark-grayish-brownish-goose down kind of color.

I don't waste my time with all the other color providers. I marched straight over to the Valspar Martha Stewart color line and there was the exact color I was envisioning. That Martha, she knows what I like. I had my color and my paint within five minutes.

Four of those five minutes were spent gathering up other color cards that I liked. I love these things. If I could get away with it, I'd stand in front of the display and take one of everything. I.love. color. And the names of colors--book cloth brown, araucana green, evening moth, sycamore bark....

And for the record, the one on the far left--tintype--will be the headboard--though it's looking very black in this light.

The other favorite thing right now? Cucumber yogurt dip.

Our family had dinner with another couple from our church several weeks ago and she made this with her meal. I couldn't stop eating it.  I think that it may well be possible that Dan and I were the sole reason the bowl was empty at the end of the evening. Of course I got the recipe and I've been making it in constant rotation, like a chain-smoker lights cigarettes.

Last summer was the summer of tomatoes, basil, mozzarella and balsamic.

This is the summer of Cucumber Yogurt Dip.

Here's my (her) loosey-goosey recipe:

Peel, seed and thinly slice several cucumbers. Salt them and place in a colander to drain off the water. I leave mine for several hours in the refrigerator. To the drained cucumbers, add plain yogurt, a dollop of sour cream, a tablespoon or two of olive oil, a teaspoon or two (to taste) of red wine vinegar. Mix together and add salt, pepper and dill to taste.

I'm putting it on everything--steak, chicken, potatoes, zucchini, bagel crisps. I even eat it straight up. I can't stop. It's so cool and refreshing and summery. Try it, you'll see.

Happy Friday! Tuesday!

Save Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood

My children don't watch much television. In fact, since we've moved to Thomas Run we haven't set up the tv or even hooked up cable service. But we do go through spurts where the television comes out again--a round of sickness, the coldest days of the winter months...

When the television is on in our home and the children are watching, there is only one channel that they watch--PBS. When we lived in Wisconsin, that meant that the girls were able to watch thirty minutes of Mr Rogers each morning. Back then, Mr. Rogers was preceded by an episode of Sesame Street which included a short episode of Elmo's World sandwiched in the middle of the program.

On the days when my children would catch the last bits of Elmo's World before watching Mr. Rogers, the contrast between the two programs was stark. The busyness of Elmo's World, the chaotic music, the jumping from one snippet to the next, the throwing out of lots of information, delivered quickly and with a snappy, fast-paced approach. Some days I could barely stand to be in the same room while the show was on. It was too much to process. Sensory overload.

The show stood in strong contrast to Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. From the beginning, the show was like watching a work of art slowly unfolding. There was routine, a slower pace, peaceful music, a kind voice, a gentle curiosity and encouragement. I felt my mood soften and relax.

Recently, I became aware that Public Television is making plans (already implemented in some states) to remove Mr. Rogers Neighborhood from its weekly lineup for children. In some places, it will get shoved to a weekend time slot, for other stations it will be gone all together.

Mr. Rogers is timeless. It's not only about nostalgia-- watching a show with my children that I watched as a child. Fred Roger's carefully crafted program has a message that is just as important to today's children, if not more, as it was to children of my generation.

In an era where more and more children are parented by their televisions, the need for a program like Mr. Rogers to be on the air holds even more weight and importance. In my opinion, PBS is doing a disservice to children today by removing this show from their schedule.

For me, saving Mr. Roger's Neighborhood really isn't about keeping a show on the air that I want my children to watch. Because chances are, my children won't be watching television very often. My strong feelings about this are stirred up by a concern and care for children today--for the children I don't know and will probably never meet--but children who need the reassuring, encouraging presence of Fred Rogers in their life.

If this means something to you as well, I hope you'll take a moment to check out the site that started this all for me. Brian Linder, a concerned parent from South Carolina, has started a grassroots campaign to save Mr. Roger's Neighborhood.

Has two quotes on his site that really captured some of what I believe about this program.

The first quote is by Fred Rogers himself in an interview with the Archive of American Television. His is talking about the feelings of nostalgia that his show evokes for the parents that watch along with their children:

If the Neighborhood re-evokes their own childhood, when they were watching, that could be one of the greatest gifts we’re giving the next generation because if they’re in touch with who they were as children, they’ll be able to be far more empathic with their own children. That’s something really important.”

The other quote is by Chicago artist and father Chris Ware in a letter he wrote to his station, WTTW:

My three and a half year old daughter is in the early throes of infatuation with the extraordinary person who was Mister Rogers, a man who left a legacy of one of the most carefully collected, collated and constructed works of art created specifically to cradle a child’s fragile, budding sensitivity and ethical consciousness.

Mister Rogers is not flashy, frisky, funky or fantastic. Mister Rogers is slow moving, awkward, simple, low-rent, and even a little bit peculiar and disquieting at times. So is life. In fact, it’s about the last place on television where real life may actually still be found.

I hope you'll take a few moments to explore his site and find out exactly what you can do to make your voice heard on this important issue.

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I received an email last week from Brian about creating a blog button for his campaign. Understandably, he has a full-plate right now, not to mention twin toddlers. I've taken the liberty of creating a blog button by resizing one of the downloadable desktop images on his site. Once I receive the okay from him, I'll be happy to email the code to anyone who is interested in placing a button on their blog as well. Just let me know.

**Brian got back to me last night: Code for a button like the one in my sidebar is below:**

<a href="http://savemisterrogers.com/"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2137/2776973960_349ac965df_m.jpg" /></a>

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the care and feeding of guinea keets

That's what all my google searches have been about this weekend. You see, three weeks ago, my oldest daughter and her great-grandmother started to conspire together about getting some baby chicks for our new place. The feed mill had a few orphans, sitting in a plastic tub behind the counter waiting for a home. Each week, their price would go down--$3.00, $2.75, $2.25.....

So three weeks ago, my grandmother drove to the feed store to rescue those little chicks and bring them home to my hardly-able-to-contain-themselves-with-excitement little girls. She arrived home empty-handed. The chicks had been bought by some other well-meaning person that very morning.

So instead, she ordered us five Rhode Island Red ladies to arrive the following week.

Let me tell you two things: First of all, my girls were disappointed that they had to wait. But I was kind of glad to see them wait and prepare for the chicks arrival. A little anticipation and patience builds character, right?

But second of all, if you tell them next week, please let it be next week!! For the past two weeks they've been devising plans to get me to the feed mill to check whether the chicks have arrived. We're running out of kitten feed at an unholy rate. We "desperately" need a rain gauge so Daddy knows how much rain we're getting while he's at work. And apparently I need a new pair of gardening gloves because this pair is so (heaven forbid) dirty!

So we've been checking in many times each week. But the little old lady behind the counter has no specifics, no answers. "We don't know when they'll arrive. We don't get any notice, they just show up."

It's little consolation to my now impatient girls. A week is one thing, but dragging this on for three is too much.

Growing up, I remember having guineas on our farm. The round grey birds were always around, making a lot of noise when a car arrived, roosting in the pine trees at night and probably more often than my young self realized, getting carried off by the local fox.

So when I was perusing the "Farm and Garden" section of CraigsList, my new online obsession, and I happened upon "Gary in PA" who was selling guinea chicks, I quickly made a call.

Dan and I had been talking about getting guineas--good for your garden, good for keeping down your tick population, and just plain neat to have wandering around the place. But when most hatcheries require you to order a minimum of 30(!), I knew we wouldn't be getting any.

But good old Gary made it all come together. On Saturday, we drove out to his little place in Pennsylvania, home to a menagerie of chickens, guineas, ducks and rabbits. And drove home with six sweet little guinea keets to call our own.

I've fretted over temperatures, who's drinking, who's eating, who's making so much noise, for the first few nights, but now things seem to be settling down.

To hold them, is to hold a ball of fluff that is all neck. I imagine them to be like a baby brontosaurus. And they use those necks to squeeze and scramble out of your hold. However, if you'll give them a place to nuzzle down, tuck their head, a nice dark spot, they'll quiet down and most likely fall asleep.

So, we've adopted six guineas. And now that they're here I bet you the feed mill will be calling with our Rhode Island Reds tomorrow. Doesn't it always work that way?

And if you come over, and use our downstairs bathroom, be sure to duck your head under the two by four, that's holding the heat lamp over the large tub, that's holding six noisy keets. Try not to get too sweaty in the 90 degree room, or slip on a pile of woodshavings, or knock over the custom-designed tub of chick feed....

You won't mind, will you?

good things to come home to...

I think I might have to go away more often. Although maybe it's a bit like childbirth--you quickly forget about the contractions and the pushing and the pain...or in this case the laundry and the packing and the whining and fighting in the back seat of the car.

But in reality, it was good for me to get away for a few days. I came home itching to get back to our routine, to laundry (yes, to laundry), to cooking in my kitchen, to picking tomatoes and watering flowers, to good naps and normal wake-up times for my children.

I also think I need to start leaving my husband home alone more often. I returned to find many projects that he completed while we were away. I knew he was up to something because when we would talk on the phone and I'd ask him what things he was working on, he'd always answer: "Oh, just a bunch of different stuff..."

So I came home to a simple, tall, painted headboard that he built for our bed. Very nice. I love it. A new mantle for our dining room fire place the design of which he copied directly from the mantle in the back living room at my grandmother's house, a desk/sewing/work space set up for me in the guest room, hooks finally hung in our bathroom for towels, and a great new laundry system for dirty clothes--much better than a big pile on the floor in the corner.

He's a good man. When all the projects have their final coats of paint and I clean the twelve inch pile of stuff off my desk, I'll take a few pictures...

I also came home to exciting mail--some I'll share in the next few days, but the other is something I've been dying to share with all of you.

I am in the September issue of Wondertime magazine!!

Thanks to the help of a dear friend, I've been able to submit a few things that will be showing up here and there in the magazine. Though there's no byline to circle and show to all my friends :) the recipe for "Power Balls" is one from our Balint family kitchen that I wrote up for this issue. It was fun to go through the process, hear about the recipe being tried out in the Wondertime test kitchen and passed around to staff for a taste test. Everyone I've worked with at Wondertime has been easy-going, encouraging and sometimes downright funny.

I feel privileged to have a tiny spot in this wonderful magazine.

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Thank you to everyone for your well wishes, shared experiences, and good advice for our dog. He still doesn't seem quite himself the past two days. But your encouraging, understanding words have really meant a lot to me.
xo.
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unsuccessful

This morning, my sister and I took Tripper in to have his surgery. After he was prepped, they took several x-rays of his knees and decided that the damage was too bad to operate. The veterinarian called it one of the worst cases he has ever seen.

So he's back with us tonight, with a giant bag full of pills and meds disguised as beefy-flavored dog treats. We'll attempt to help him manage pain and try to repair as much of his damaged cartilage as we can with these medications.

We're unsure what the future holds. In my heart, I think I knew that this was going to happen, even before we got here. I had a feeling it was worse than everyone expected, but I was still holding on to the hope that this would be the miracle fix that would reverse his lameness.

I feel sad for his unknown future.

They say it takes four years for a Labrador Retriever to settle down and really become the dog that was the reason you bought a Lab in the first place--the dog that lets your kids climb all over him, tug on his ears and lift his sloppy lips to look at his teeth. The dog that lazily follows you into the kitchen and sits in your working path, or trails you out to the garden and finds a cool spot in the soil, or rests his chin on the tray of the highchair waiting for a juicy morsel to be passed to his drooling lips. Tripper is five, but I'm thankful that we enjoyed many of these "good years" already.

We're not giving up. But we're not in as good a place as we'd hoped.

I was going to share a recipe today, but it seems kind of silly to tack that on to this post.

Moving on tomorrow......

xo.
m.

taking this show on the road

I'm writing from the road today. Late last week, my sister called to tell me that the surgery we've been hoping for, for our yellow Lab has finally come together. He's been living with two torn knees for too long and a veterinarian in the practice where she works has agreed to do the surgery for a price that we can actually afford.

We'll be dropping him off in the morning and spending a few days here at my mom's house until he has recovered enough to go home. Though traveling is never easy, especially sans husband, I'm anxious to see him (my dog, not my husband..thanks for pointing that one out, dad! :) have a little relief. He's got many good years ahead of him. Good boy.

I'm guest blogging today over at Grace's blog as part of her "Summer Is..." series. Be sure to check it out.(*as soon as I get my kids down for naps, I'll put my post up!*) I'll be in some good company over the next month or so, as some other bloggers step in to help Grace out while she takes a little break.

Meanwhile, this little one has become a full-time job. As I knew she would, she hit the ground running, now that she finds getting around on two feet much easier than knees and hands. And climbing? Don't get me started on the climbing. I'm considering outfitting her in a helmet at all times. You have no idea how many little prayers are uttered under my breath, for the child's safety.

I took this first picture of her the other morning. And as I snapped the picture, in my mind I was thinking, "Look at Miss Independence." And I kid you not, the girl walked over to the overgrown hostas, reached inside and pulled out this tattered American flag. A leftover from the girls' fourth of July decorations. Hello twilight zone!

Happy Monday everyone. More soon.

Latest Bushel and A Peck can be found here....

deceptive little berries

I pulled over to a little farmhouse yesterday to buy some blackberries that were being sold at the end of the lane. Two dollars a box--such a deal. As I walked up to the table to drop my money in the honor system plastic container, a little old man came up to set more berries on the table.

Covered with a faded green beach umbrella, we both huddled over the table while I gave him my money and he emptied my berries into a bag. We stood almost uncomfortably close as we both bent over to carry on our business  under the umbrella. He talked a lot, mostly mumbling and called me "hon". He told me how a car had just pulled up before me. The people had gotten out, taken his "BLACKBERRIES" sign and pulled away. "You never know with people these days, hon".

I told him how sorry I was that someone took his sign and how silly I thought it was and then I got in the car, grinning at the prospect of these plump little black berries coming home with me. I couldn't wait to taste the sweetness, to feel the little bulbs of juice squirt into my mouth. I had big plans for them. Simple plans. It involved vanilla ice cream.

I was already figuring out how to coordinate another stop there again the next day.

I told my kids no tasting them in the car. I could just picture it--blackberries being passed from front seat to middle seat to back seat. "I dropped my black berry! It rolled onto the floor!" ... "Elizabeth just grabbed the black berry out of my hands and she's squishing it up in her fist!" ... "Emma threw a black berry at me!!!!"

When I got home, I gave them a light washing in a colander and then decided that maybe I should sneak in just one or two before I put them in the fridge for later. I popped the plump little fruit into my mouth and was immediately overcome with a face-distorting sourness. I figured I must have grabbed a bad one. I tried another and another each just as sour, or more so, than the first. I kept eating them until my fingers were purple, figuring it must be some fluke. I must have just grabbed the worst twenty in the box. The ones underneath must be better.

But no. Sour blackberries. All of them. All three boxes.

So instead, these got sugared. Very sugared. And left to get juicy and soft. I packed them into a bag and tucked them away into the freezer until some brisk cold day in January when I needed a little taste of (sour) summer.

I did manage to save a few of the mascerated berries for myself. I snuck away after the kids went to bed and tried them over some ice cream. Still sour, but definitely good. Maybe even just the perfect amount of sour for that mouthfull of sweet....

the fair report and other new business

The 4-H meetings that I remember from my younger days don't look any different from the ones that I've been attending with Emma the past few months. Now, officially a "clover" (a young 4-Her) I'm getting to relive my 4-H days with her. And who knows, maybe she'll follow in her mother (and aunt's) royal footsteps and some day wear the county fair queen's crown. ha.

Every meeting begins with the 4-H pledge, which I still remember thank you very much, and then we move on to the old and new business. So in the spirit of a good 4-H meeting, shall we begin?

I pledge my head to clearer thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands to larger service and my health to better living. For my club, my community, my country and my world.

Is there any old business?
Why, yes. Yes there is. Last Thursday sweet Emma rode in her first horse show. It was hot, there was lots of waiting and entertaining of an antsy toddler, but it was worth every drip of sweat trickling down my cleavage to see my little girl decked out in her fanciest of riding apparel, parading a Paint pony around the ring. There's nothing like watching your little girl in her first horse show to make you feel like she's growing up too fast. My goodness.

Aside from coming home with three shiny green rosettes, a bucket full of treats, brushes and teeshirts from our local feed store, one of the best parts of the day(for me) was watching Emma push herself and experience success.

She was nervous about the first showmanship class and kept coming to me with her pleading, "Mommy, I don't want to do this. I'm trying to be brave and not cry in front of all these people, but I really don't want to do this" eyes. But I knew, we all knew, that she could do it. It wouldn't be anything more than she could handle and the whole thing would be a good experience. If she'd just get in there and try.

Sensing her hesitation, the lady who trailered the horses to the show swooped Emma up, gave her a pep talk and sent her into the ring--with a tactic that would have been much different from my own. She did it all with kindness and Emma's best interests in mind--but her approach was different.

As I walked behind her and Emma and listened to them talk, my nurturing side wanted to rescue her from the situation. I didn't want her to have to do something she didn't feel comfortable with or that she thought would be too hard. But I kept it to myself.

Dan was walking beside me and must have been sensing my unspoken desire to come in and rescue her: "This is good for her." he said.� "It's good for her to learn from another person besides you" And then he said something else profound about the key to confidence is to conquer something you're afraid of, or nervous about. That man. I need to get a moleskine for his back pocket, too.

But everything he said was true. I didn't come to the rescue. I didn't jump in and save her from a slightly uncomfortable situation. I stood back and watched--for I had more confidence in her, than she had in herself, at the moment.

And did she fail? Absolutely not. The girl set her jaw, marched into the ring and showed her heart out. She emerged from it all, beaming, proud, ready for more and of course, sporting a large green rosette.

And I think the first words out of her mouth: "When do I go in again?"

Success.

.....I"ll save the new business for tomorrow.

New Bushel and a Peck posts here and here, if you please.

A ridiculous amount of pictures in the whole Farm Fair set, here. As well as some amazing diving dogs, the chicken lady, my favorite cow, and Emma's ethusiastic head cheerleader.