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My ultimate dream...

 

Another one of my essays was featured on our writing group's website recently. This is neither surprising nor special, since our group has taken a summer hiatus and I am running the website on my own. Just out of sheer boredom, I have been trying to add some interesting things to the site, trying to keep all 24 of our readers interested.

 

I also redesigned the website.

 

And added a twitter account.

 

If you haven't visited it lately, you should really check it out.

 

Who knows, maybe next I will record our stories onto audio tape and have a running story-time every time you visit the site. You better check it out just to see if I really go there....

 



Cluttered Mind

I posted this picture on my writing group's Facebook page a while back. I love it. Makes me feel better about my non-empty desk (and house, for that matter).

Yes, my house is cluttered and is a mess, but according to Albert Einstein it means that my mind is so full of ideas it can hardly contain them.

I'm not sure if Einstein's "clutter" consisted of the same type of clutter that resides in my mind, though. Somehow I don't think that he spent an exorbidant amount of time going over grocery lists, doctor's appointments, the daily schedule of six separate people in the same household, or seventh grade math assignments.

Then again, I could be wrong....

Peace and Renewal

Tonight Eric and I enjoyed a romantic date at Arnie's restaurant, with its magnificent views of the water. While we sat eating our delicious grilled salmon and garlic mashed potatoes we were able to enjoy the beauty of the setting sun as it sparkled across the blue waters of the Puget Sound.

After dinner we walked along one of our favorite beaches, Mukilteo Beach, enjoying the sounds and smells of the beach at sunset. People were out enjoying the night, sitting on washed up tree trunks or roasting marshmallows over fire pits in the sand. There were a couple of kids playing on their guitars, comparing songs they were working on composing. Kids were throwing rocks into the water, which was up for high tide. I scoured the beach for unusual shapes of broken shells.

I marvel at the scenery which is right in front of me, and only about a twenty minute drive from my front door. When I go to the beach, no matter what season or time of day, it always fills me with a sense of peace and renewal. Tonight as I watched and felt the majesty of the sun setting on a perfect golden day, it made me feel both infinitely small and eternally significant. Our Father in Heaven must love each of us so tremendously to create such a beautiful and majestic place to live. I am in constant awe at His wonderful creations, and that I get to be a small part of it.

When I witness such beauty, it fills my soul with peace. I feel content because I am in a holy place, a world which was created in all its glory to bring God's children joy. I receive a sense of renewal because I am closer to Him when I am enjoying His marvelous creations. And although I feel as tiny as a grain of sand, I feel as loved as any creature could possibly be. 

I am loved beyond comprehension, and that brings me joy.

What Stories it Told

A woman who lives in our neighborhood and in our Ward at church is having to sell most of her belongings to move into a retirement home. She is a dear friend and I have had some wonderful evenings chatting with her. She has some amazing stories to tell, of hardship and pain, but also overcoming her trials with love and humor. I will be sad to see her leave our area.

 

Last weekend she had a garage sale, trying to clear out her house and earn some money. My friend Audrey was helping her run the garage sale and she told me about a typewriter that Bette was wanting to sell. As soon as Audrey saw it, she knew that I would have to have it. She called me to come check it out.

 

They hadn't even put the typewriter out in the general sale, hoping that I would be interested. Boy were they right! Eric was with me, and we were both stunned when we pulled it out of the cardboard box it had been stored in. It is a Smith Premier Typewriter No. 2, built back in 1904. I had never seen one like it in person before, only in pictures. The pictures cannot do it justice! This is a neat machine!

 

Bette wouldn't even let us make an offer on the typewriter. She said to go ahead and take it with us, and we could talk money later. She just wanted it to go to someone who would love it, and not try to turn around and sell it. The typewriter had belonged to her father, and he had loved it. I think about all the words that have gone through that machine over the years, the stories it could tell. I am inspired to write a story based on that, hopefully I can do it justice!

 

Bette told us a funny story about how she acquired the typewriter from her father. She and her older sister were always in serious competition with each other. As soon as Bette said she wanted something, it was an automatic response that her sister would want the same. As her father was in his old age dividing up his possessions between his children, Bette asked if she could take the old typewriter. She had always loved it. She loved to write, and it was something special to her that reminded her of her father. Her sister immediately said that she wanted it as well, even though she hadn't paid any attention to it before.

 

Bette's father leaned in conspiratorially with her sister saying, "It's broken anyway, and Bette just likes to play with it. Just let her have it."

 

At first Bette was offended, thinking that her father didn't take her seriously, saying how she just likes to play with it, but soon she realized that he just wanted her to have it. Her sister, thinking that she and her father were in on a little joke, agreed to let Bette have it. Bette won.

 

She said that she had never loved her father more.

 

Now I get to make some memories with this old machine. Bette had told us that her uncle sautered some of the pieces together because it was falling apart, and so it no longer worked. Eric took it home, pulled out a flashlight, and together with Ethan marveled over the delicate mechanisms inside the machine. He tweaked a few things and got the keys to work properly. Now it just needs a new tape with ink to completely work.

 

Eric teases me, saying that it was an expensive paper weight, but he was just as excited about the old typewriter as I was. It may not even ever write anything again. It may just collect more dust. But now it sits in a place of honor in my pretty glass curio cabinet. It is valuable, not just for its monetary worth, but for what it meant to Bette and her father, for what people touched its black and white keys, for what stories it told and what letters it wrote.

 

Oh, if only it could speak for itself.

Happy Dance

 

Check out my early birthday present!! Got it early so that I could document Heidi's prom tomorrow. Totally doing my own happy dance!!

I especially love the cheesy subtitle to the advertisement:
"Renew your creative soul."

Loads of Fun

When you are blessed to live in a household of six active, very dirty people as I am, at some point you find yourself to inevitably be surrounded by laundry.  I can't seem to escape it.  I am drowning in dirty towels, jeans, scrubs, sheets, blankets, socks, and panties.  And even when I finally manage to get caught up with the dirty stuff, I end up with a very large pile of clean stuff.  My family room couch is continually bearing the burden of loads of clean laundry, anxiously waiting to be folded and nestled away somewhere in a drawer.

 Yet it never seems to happen.  There they stay on the couch until they are plucked up and used again, ever subject to the dirty/clean cycle.

 

Don't even get me started on the socks.  They are the bane to my existence.

 

 

 I love how laundry detergent commercials depict doing laundry like it is a happy family event.  Oh how sweet, the little girl is happily helping her mother out in their pristinely white laundry room.

 

 

This is a little more accurate depiction.

 

 

And of course I never have a smile on my face after smelling my laundry, as it is generally done in order to determine if something has been cleaned or not.  It is never clean.  It always stinks.  Bad.

 



I must say that I am grateful that my laundry day does not look like this.  I am ever so grateful for modern appliances.

 



I cannot promise that my face doesn't ever look like this, however, especially after trying to unroll Ethan's crusted stinky socks.  Seriously?  You want me to touch that?!

Nothing to Writing

I am supposed to be writing right now.  But not on this....

I am stuck on a story that I am trying to continue for my writing group.  I have been thinking about it for days.  Where is this supposed to go?  How do I get there?  What do I see happening?  What is the bridge that I need to build to lead up to the grand finale?

Ugh!

This quote from Ernest Hemingway totally sums it up.

"There's nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter--and bleed."

Only a writer would know EXACTLY what he is talking about!

When you write, you are not just sitting down, with the words pouring out of you like an overflowing pitcher.  You fight for every word.  Every sentence.  Every thought.  How do they blend together?  Does that sound right?  This sentence needs to have a choppier rhythm, while this one needs a languid fluidity.  Not enough description.  Too much description.  Too obvious.  Not obvious enough.

Sometimes I sit for an hour, staring at the computer monitor, rolling words around in my head.  Sometimes nothing comes out.

But sometimes, every once in a while, magic happens, and the words roll out so fast I can't even keep up with them.

Those are the days I live for.

I need me some magic about now.

Books

I have a curious dilemma, one which I haven't encountered for a number of years.

I don't have time to read anymore.

My life has suddenly been encumbered by so many other activities that I have lost those precious moments, curled up on the couch in the front room, a blanket tucked snuggly around me, a glass of Diet Dr, Pepper sitting on the end table next to me, delighting in and devouring the written word in front of me.

It is a strange situation to find myself in, as I have always (at least over the last twelve years) found the time to read nearly every day.  Now I spend my free time sitting bundled up in my bed with the laptop balanced on my knees, reading blogs, writing blogs, working on web pages and websites, or working on stories which are in various stages of development.

I am even behind in my book club books.  I ALWAYS read the books for book club!!  It's my club!!

So today, in celebration of New Years, I curled up in a fuzzy blanket on the couch in my front room, with my Kindle fired up, a bowl of fresh popcorn and a glass of Diet Dr. Pepper fizzing on the end table next to me, and I READ!

I finished a book that I have wanted to finish for a while, and it felt great! Then I opened up the next one on my list and started on that one.

It felt like a vacation.

I should do it more often...

Happy New Years, and Happy Reading!!!

Violins and Washing Machines

What do violins and washing machines have in common....?

 

This isn't a trick question.  They actually don't have anything in common, other than both having malfunctioning issues in the White house at the same time.

 

Tomorrow night is our ward's annual Christmas Musical Fireside, in which I have been performing with my singing group for the last five-plus years.  This year I am also playing in a violin trio.

 

On Thursday night I was at our violin practice, getting ready for tomorrow's event.  When I opened my violin case I was shocked to discover that my A string was completely broken.  It had snapped at the base.  I had just seen Ethan messing with my violin prior to leaving for the practice, so I suspected that he unwittingly broke the string while loading the violin back in its case.

 

I took my violin in to the music store the next morning, only to discover that all the strings were about ready to snap and the bridge was out of alignment.  It would need to be restrung, and the bridge properly placed.  The only problem was that they send that kind of work out, and it would not be back in time for our fireside.

 

Rather than risk a catastrophic mishap during my Sunday performance (I could just imagine strings snapping all over the place, heading right for my eyeball), I opted to rent a violin instead.

 

Eric would say that was a huge mistake.

 

I took the new violin home, pulled it from it's fancy new case, admired the beautiful sheen on the instrument, coated the pristine horse-hair bow with rosin, and proceeded to play.  I couldn't believe the sound that came from that instrument!  The sound waves just seemed to resonate from the box, creating a tone that I had never been able to accomplish before in my life.  I actually sounded half-way decent playing the thing, rather than squeaking along like I usually do!

 

Now I want this violin.

 

Eric isn't too happy about this new musical enlightenment.



I love this photo I found online, picturing the first washing machine in Eatonville, WA. Maren Christensen's new Thor machine makes laundry so effortless, she can even read while she works, ha ha!

As for our other malfunctioning dilemma, our washing machine has been emitting warning signs of an upcoming breakdown for a while now.  Finally this week, we noticed that while the machine still ran, it wasn't agitating anymore.  Our clothes, towels, and more particularly, the dirty diapers, were no longer coming out clean.

 

We needed a new machine pronto.

 

Eric first investigated what it would take to repair it, but quickly discovered that the machine wasn't worth the money it would take to fix it.  A new machine then, right before Christmas, when savings accounts are at their lowest.  Ugh!

 

The good part of utility breakdown at this time of year is the fabulous sales.  We got a great deal on a brand new set of front loading Samsung machines, complete with steam cycle and sterilization options, perfect for those stinky diapers!

 

While we were purchasing the new washer and dryer, Eric saw me eyeing the stainless steel refrigerators and ranges and shook his head.

 

Maybe next year....

 

In the meantime, I will be playing sweet music from a sweet violin, hoping to win him over for at least one more purchase....

On the Edge

This past week has given new meaning to the expression hanging by your fingernails.

Just before the Thanksgiving break, my boss informed us that he and his family would be relocating to Virginia, that the practice was already in the works of being sold, and that our new boss would be starting after the break.

Say....WHAT?!

It was a major bombshell.  None of us saw it coming, so we were all in shock over the Thanksgiving break.  I was very nervous about the entire situation.  Change can always be scary, especially an unexpected one.  Plus, I really liked working with my boss.  I considered him to be a friend, as well as an employer.

I met the new doctor when I went back to work on Tuesday.  She is wonderful, personable, and a fantastic dentist.  I am excited to get to work with her.

I am still recovering from the shock of the change, however.  The days have been longer and more stressful, because everyone is still trying to figure out what is expected, how to do things, and what needs to be changed.  There is an adjustment period, for sure.

So I was a little stressed from work this week.  I was also stressed from home.  I've gotten behind on taking care of the house, the kids are grouchy and temperamental, I have two performances coming up next weekend with my singing group, The Serenades, I have some writing deadlines to meet, and I was just asked to speak in church next week.

On our way home from church today, Erica was screaming at the top of her lungs about being hungry.  Of course, there was nothing to offer her and she went ballistic.  It was all I could do to safely make it home without throttling my beloved five-year-old.  It went downhill from there.  Making the lunch, cleaning up, getting everyone ready to head back to the church again for a meeting with the Bishop, and changing multiple stinky pants, all put me over the edge.

I came back home in a daze, with my head fuzzy and spinning.  All I could think of was "Where is the chocolate?!"  Nothing.  We have no chocolate!  How could I be so ill-prepared for a melt-down?!  I found the leftover remains of some ancient jelly beans.  I am hoping they are not clear from Easter, but chances are pretty good that they are.

I just finished off the bag of jelly beans.

In case you were wondering if they helped: No, jelly beans are not a chocolate substitute.

I think that I better file down my nails to prepare for another week of dangling on the edge.

Chicken Soup for the Soul

I haven't been feeling well for the last several days now.  I don't know if the change of weather is affecting me, or if I am just getting run-down, but I have been fighting a not-so-nice bug.

I went to work this morning, feeling optimistic about being able to make it work.  I was promptly sent back home.  I guess that I looked too bad to pass as a healthcare provider, rather than someone seeking treatment.

To ease the ache in my throat I made a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup.  I was feeling ambitious, so I also made a batch of brown sugar muffins, my family's favorite recipe.

The scent of the chicken broth was oozing from my pressure cooker, the warm smell of baking in the oven, it was all making me feel a little better.  The smells drew the kids in like flies, swarming around something irresistible.

When Ethan saw me pull the muffins out of the oven, he exclaimed, "Wow Mom, you're getting fancy tonight!"  I had to laugh at his enthusiasm, but then immediately think back on when I made something as "fancy" as soup and muffins.

I've been so busy lately, most of our meals have consisted of something prepackaged and quick, or something greasy pulled from a drive-up window.  I felt pretty bad that I have been feeding my family so poorly.

The soup was great, and it was therapeutic to gather round the table for a nice home-cooked family meal.  We laughed at how many muffins Elise was able to stuff in her mouth.  She kept swiping them from Ethan's and Eric's plates.  And Heidi said, "Thanks for making such a nice meal, Mom."

It both warmed my heart and broke it a little too.

The effort to put this lovely warm meal on the table sapped the remainder of my energy for the night, however.  I immediately went up to relax in bed, and play on the laptop a little.  I'm pretty sure that all the dishes are still down in the sink.

But that can wait until tomorrow.

Until then, I will just enjoy the little bit of heaven created from a simple bowl of soup.

Nightly Ritual

Erica on abcmouse.com. She's better with the computer mouse than I am. Is this a good thing??

A few days ago, Eric pulled me into the living room in stealth mode, to take a look at Erica. She was sitting in the dark front room, her face glued to the computer monitor, her free hand at her face. I thought she looked cute.

I said, "What?" wondering why he thought that I had to see her like that.

He laughed.  "That is what I see every night...YOU! You look exactly the same! Even down to the hand at your face!"

It was pretty funny.  And he is right.  While Eric chooses to veg out every night in front of the TV, my mindless entertainment of choice is spent in front of the computer.  Sitting in the dark with the screen blinding my eyes, freezing cold because we still haven't fixed the heaters in our living room yet.

While I admit that a fair amount of time is spent WASTING time, cruising through Facebook, reading people's blogs, and window shopping at amazon.com, I hope that I am devoting more of this time to actual writing.

I am trying to write at least a little something every day, not counting emails or Facebook status updates.  It is turning out to be more difficult than I thought it would be.  Who knew that something you loved to do would end up being so difficult to follow through on?  Sometimes at the end of the day, I have nothing left in my creative reserve.  I am on empty.

I think that I am counting this as my writing for today....

Writers

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to be a writer.

It wasn't enough to just write.  I wanted to earn the title of WRITER.

In the sixth grade, my English teacher must have seen a hidden yearning within me, because she gave me an individual assignment, separate from the rest of the class.  I was to write a "book," and at the end of the assignment period I would read it to my class.

I was both exhilarated and terrified.

At that time, I was a very shy girl.  It was difficult for me to raise my hand to answer any questions in class, let alone read an entire piece aloud.  I was proud to be so singled out.  While I was given permission to sit quietly in a separate room to work on my creation every day, the rest of the class worked on English assignments.  However, it was a lot of pressure to be so singled out.  I felt that everyone would be looking to me, thinking that I was showing off, and torment me even more than they already did.

I wrote a story about a girl who travels through time, having adventures with a new friend named Zack.  I was terribly embarrassed to read the passages out loud which showed the awakening within a girl when she discovers boys for the first time, and I know that I blushed profusely when the two held hands.  But I also remember how it felt to share something that came from within me, something that didn't exist before I put pen to paper, something that was a part of me.

It was wonderful.

I went through countless spiral notebooks throughout the next several years, filling them with stories, poems, and even songs.  My sophomore year of high school, I attempted to write another "book."  This one was about a girl who is mistaken for another girl, living in a mysterious castle.  She must choose between two different men, the stalwart and brave one, or the mysterious and dark one.  Which one is deceiving her, and which is the true hero?  I would tease my friends with the story, a chapter at a time.  They would beg me to finish the next installment.

I was in heaven!  They all told me that I was going to be a writer someday.  I believed them.

Then, I embarked on the new and exciting adventure of college, and the practical need to provide for a family became a top priority,  My beloved literature classes were replaced with science and biology, anatomy and physiology.  Instead of reading for pleasure, my time was consumed with studying from ten pound text books.  Instead of experimenting with alliteration and prose, I was engrossed in research papers and statistical charts.

It took two years after I graduated from college before I actually picked up a novel to read for pleasure.  As I began to pour over the crinkly yellow pages, it was like something awakened within me again.  I began to devour books, trying to catch up on the years that I had devoted to studying for my degree.

I tried to form a book club.  I was living in Boise, Idaho at the time, and craved the social interaction associated with a club, and also the intellectual stimulation which comes from literary dissection.  A few people came a few times.  It was a disappointing venture.

We moved to Meridian, Idaho.  I tried to form another book club.  No one was interested.  When asked, everyone would respond, "I don't have time to read."  I would think to myself, "Neither do I, but now I have learned to MAKE time."

Finally, after moving to Everett, Washington, I made my most recent attempt at forming a book club.  I felt all alone in the area.  We had no family close by and I needed to feel connected to where we lived.

Once again, I was the shy new girl, but I asked everyone that I met if they would like to be in a book club, started by me.  Everyone wanted to join!

That was seven years ago.  Our book club has been going strong ever since.  It has been one of the most fulfilling things that I have ever been a part of.  And even though people come in and out, moving across the country or even just in the city ten minutes away,I have formed a connection with them that I never dreamed was possible.  Sometimes our discussions are deep, sometimes they are just frivolous fun, but they give me the fuel that I need to continue to motivate myself to accomplish all those things that I want to achieve.

It was this amazing success with a book club, and the subsequent pouring over hundreds of books, good and bad, which reminded me of my original dream, that of being a writer.

As a test, I started a blog.  It was scary at first.  I was completely out of practice.  My writing was halting and laborious.  I struggled over every sentence, every phrase, every idea.  But gradually the words began to flow again.  I began to discover my voice.

This voice is different.  This voice is no longer eleven years old, pining to experience life and everything it has to offer.  This voice has already experienced heartbreak, extreme joy, and everything in between.  This voice can share the richness of dreams already attained, and hopes of new experiences yet to come.  This voice has the understanding of ultimate sorrow mixed with the solace of gratitude and humor.

This voice is mine.

Relaxing at our Writer's Retreat in September 2013.

A year ago I was invited by a friend to join a writing group.  Six ladies with the giant dream of honing our skills as writers and creating something special.  I jumped on the chance!  Each one of us have completely different voices, yet all have the same dream.  We meet once a month, sharing things which we are working on and giving general encouragement and advice.  It is a safe place to share and learn.  I look forward to our meetings every month.

We recently started a blog, which includes serial stories, written by us in sequence.  We start with a prompt, and each of us begins a story.  We pass that beginning on to the next person, who adds a section to the story, then passes it on to the next.  It has been a fun project, and a wonderful exercise in brainstorming new and interesting ideas, matching voices, and creating memorable characters.

I invite each of you to check out our new blog.  Please follow us daily, as a new section of the week-long story is added every morning.  We are so excited to share our stories and hopefully instill in you a new desire to create something of value.

I find that my journey as a writer is still evolving.  As I continue to develop my voice, I am also discovering what is inside of me. I may have substituted a laptop for my spiral bound notebook, but the end result is the same.

What leaves my fingertips is my heart.

Soccer Mom

We can now call it Fall because the craziness of soccer season has begun!

 

This year, Ethan moved up a division, to the U16 boys team. There are only two teams in his division in the league which we play in (Northwest Christian Sports League), so they will play each other every week.  I volunteered to be the Team Mom again this year, crazy me.  I love it, though.  I love getting to watch these boys grow and develop over the season, getting more confident in their skills and stronger in their stamina.  I also love taking pictures of all the players.  Every year for the last three seasons I have put together a slide show with kickin' music, showcasing the boys and making them all look like rock stars.  The boys eat it up, and I love watching their reactions as they see themselves blown up larger than life on the screen.

 

New for this year, Erica has started her first season of soccer!  She has loved kicking the ball around and running around the field with all her new friends.  I couldn't believe that she let me put all the gear on her: the shin guards, long socks, shorts, and cleats.  My little princess, who refuses to wear anything other than a dress and pretty shoes, was so excited to play, that she let the no-skirt policy slide.  I think the sweetest part has been watching Ethan teach her a few moves.  Even before practices began, he had set up his goal and was running drills, showing her how to kick the ball into the net.  I love that boy!  I think that all the attention he gave her was the main driving force behind how excited Erica was to play!

 

On Wednesday night, Ethan's team played a special Parent vs. Boys scrimmage.  Since Eric was out of town, I got roped into playing.  I have never played a game of soccer in my life.  Sure, I've kicked a ball around a little, but never an actual game, with thirteen-year-old boys pounding down the field at you, their dangerous cleat-covered feet slipping around your unprotected shins, a look of maniacal determination in their eyes.

 

Yes, I screamed...a few times.

 

The line from "A League of Their Own," where Tom Hanks bellows to the all-girls team: "There's no crying in baseball!!!" kept ringing in my ears.

 

Despite the fact that I completely embarrassed myself with my inability to play any sort of sport whatsoever, I had a really great time.  The boys clobbered us 5-3, and Ethan scored three of their goals!  That's my boy!  He must get it from his dad....My score was: 0.

 

The highlight of the evening was rushing to my meeting scheduled at the church right after the game.  I went running into the church, sweat drenching the back of my hair enough that I could wring it out.  I wrapped myself up in a jacket to hide the stink, and pretended that I was a super cool mom, because I was playing so hard with our soccer boys.

 

Of course, super cool soccer moms probably wouldn't even break a sweat.

 

After all, there's no crying in soccer!



The Start of School and a KFC Meltdown

The kids head back to school tomorrow.

This should be the only preface I need for any mother of children ages five years and up, to understand.

I have been just a little bit stressed over the start of this new school year. Not only will my baby be starting up in Kindergarten, but my oldest child will be wrapping up her final year of high school as a Senior. There is a huge range of emotions on both ends of the spectrum.

Four different kids in four different schools, with four different buses and four different schedules. Sounds like the beginning of a Dr. Seuss book, or maybe I should say a nightmare written by Stephen King.

Yes, I am feeling a little on edge tonight. No matter how hard I try to be organized and stay on top of things, I can't seem to keep it together.

Last week Ethan was supposed to go to his Sale & Info Days at the middle school, where they pay all their fees and get their schedules and lockers. I marked my calendar, made special arrangements to leave work early in order to get him to it on time, only to discover that it had been the day before! Sorry, Ethan, that you have a lame mother.

I don't even have all their school supplies yet. What more could they need than pencils and paper? Turns out, it's a lot more! And every year I am scrambling to find the college ruled composition books and extra large glue sticks.

Tonight, after a busy day of work, running to Erica's kindergarten orientation during my lunch hour, then picking her up from soccer practice after work, I decided that I was not going to cook dinner. Instead I went to KFC and, after stopping at the music store to pick up Ethan's trumpet book for Band, brought home a big bucket of chicken strips. My kids love them. I could care either way, I just love the biscuits. Something about biscuits always reminds me of growing up and good, home-cooked comfort.

The kids were excited, pulling out all the food, while I was pouring over a text which I had received from Eric. Did I mention that he is missing out on sharing the entire nightmare experience with me this week by working in Las Vegas?! But that's another post...

I looked up at the food splayed on the table, but could not see the box of biscuits.

"Where are the biscuits?" I asked, with a surge of raw emotion threatening to erupt from me. "DID THEY FORGET THE BISCUITS?!" (Insert very scary face here.)

As a side note, you must understand that it seems like whenever I go through the drive-thru of any restaurant, they ALWAYS forget something, and I almost NEVER check the bag until I get home and it is too late.

The kids got very VERY quiet as they saw the look on my face.

Ethan opened up the bucket of chicken and there they were, four glorious blobs of fluffy dough sitting on top of the chicken. Who knows why they weren't in their normal box, but the crisis was averted.

We had a good laugh over my over-the-top reaction. I told the kids that I was just a teensy little bit stressed out. Heidi informed me that when she saw my face, she thought, "Oh no, this is going to go real bad, real fast!"

She will understand one day, when she is sending her own precious offspring into the big and scary world, and feeling like time is slipping away so much faster than it should.

I hope she has some biscuits on those days.

Ode to a Pressure Cooker

"Mamma, when's it going to be time to eat?"

Cries a precious little angel sweet.

"No worries, my darling dear,

In the blink of an eye, supper will appear!

Neither by magic or even take-out,

Give me 15 minutes and watch that top-valve spout!"

Whoever said I have to cook all day?

With my pressure cooker bubbling, move over Rachael Ray!

I have a new cooking obsession.....

When Eric's mom was here for Spring Break, she told me about all the wonderful meals she makes in her pressure cooker.  I could hardly believe her.  I was always under the impression that pressure cookers were for grandmas who love to can difficult items, like vegetables and meat.  They always sort of intimidated me, like it was some sort of ticking time bomb, that if not properly handled would explode or leave you with permanent debilitating scars on your face from the steam.

To prove her point, she bought me a pressure cooker and demonstrated it's amazing capabilities on four frozen chicken breasts.....frozen to done in 20 minutes!  Not just done, but juicy and falling apart goodness, the perfect kind for shredding!

I was sold.

It seems like a mini-miracle to me.  Frozen chunks of meat are put into a time-warp in which they are transformed into moist, fall-off-the-bone, melt-in-your-mouth meals!

Since then I have experimented with cooking all sorts of meats, either fresh or frozen.  Sometimes the results were not fantastic.  The Easter ham was cooked way too long....45 minutes (it was FROZEN, by the way!)  I neglected to take into consideration that we live at sea level, and therefore things cook much faster than at Eric's mom's house.  Next time do it in 30.  However, we have had some pretty amazing barbeque pulled pork sandwiches (2.5 pound frozen pork roast, cooked for 50 minutes), and delicious chicken teriyaki and rice (3 frozen chicken breasts, 15 minutes, with Costco's Mr. Yoshida's sauce).  The pork chops I found in the back of the freezer, which were probably a good three years old, cooked for 15 minutes and were....edible.

Instead of stocking up on frozen prepared and processed foods, I now have a freezer full of pork and beef roasts, chicken breasts, and bone-in chicken thighs.  I no longer have to save those frozen packages of meaty goodness for Sundays, when I have time to thaw them out and cook them for hours.  We have shredded chicken on green salad on Monday, shredded chicken enchiladas on Tuesday, beef pot roast and potatoes on Wednesday, chicken salad sandwiches on Thursday......the list goes on!

It is a busy mother's dream!

Today I.....

*resisted the urge to be mad at Erica while trying to get her ready and out the door on time
*resisted the urge to be annoyed with annoying patients who were being annoying
*resisted the urge to pull all my hair out when, after a full eight-hour work-day, while I was changing the fourth poopy diaper of the day, I discovered a trail of poop all over the carpet
*resisted the urge to complain when I was putting dinner on the table, doing the dishes after dinner, sweeping the floor, and throwing in a load of laundry
*resisted the urge to fall asleep during the song practice of our quartet The Serenades


I'm going to bed now.....

PS....Thanks for the help today, Eric! I couldn't have made it through without you!!!

This about sums up the last few weeks....

Need I say more?

:)

Seattle Snow

This week brought a pretty massive snow storm to the Seattle area.  I know those of you who are typically surrounded by more snow than this like to scoff at Seattle's reaction to a few inches of snow, but this was a big one!  We have gotten over a foot of very wet, heavy snow in the last few days, with very cold temperatures.  Today came the addition of freezing rain, along with wide-spread power outages.

Eric barely escaped the storm, flying into Louisville, Kentucky earlier this week to continue training for his new job.  So it has just been me and the kids holed-up at home.  The kids are enjoying having time off from school, playing in the snow, and watching way too much television.

I have been enjoying taking pictures of the Winter Wonderland outside.  Please excuse me while I indulge in displaying more of my favorites.....

This is what a foot of snow looks like in our backyard!

Walking outside is like walking under a white canopy!  The trees are so heavy with their snowy burden, the branches are sometimes even touching the ground!  I worry that something may break again....I hope not, because I don't want to lose another beautiful tree!

I love the sound of snow....everything is muted and muffled, disrupted only by the crunch crunch from your boots breaking through the surface.  Walking in it feels like you are the only one in the world, sneaking into a secret place where everything is quiet and peaceful.

They are saying the temperatures are supposed to rise tomorrow, then dump buckets of rain, in the typical Washington fashion.  So, we are destined for a big soupy mess over the next few days as Mother Nature clears out the pristine perfection she just labored over to produce.  I suppose that is why the snow is always so magical to me....such profound beauty, ever changing, transforming the world as I know it, then gone before I have the chance to get used to it.

Riding that Train

We are stuck very solidly in the sorry world of potty training....

Woe is me!!!

I hate potty training, can you tell?  Yesterday I posted on Facebook my frustrations with trying to potty train a very stubborn three-year-old.  I have tried coaxing, bribing, making potty fun with books, massaging (a tip from my excellent friend Stephanie), cajolling ("Don't you want to be a big girl like Emma and Abby?"), pleading, begging, threatening ("No preschool unless you go potty!" or "Do you want time out?!"), and finally at my breaking point a few days ago -- paddling her bum after the fifth poopy pants in like two hours!  I reached out to the wisdom of all my Facebook pals.

Their response was pretty universal:  Put the kid back in diapers until she's ready to do it, and, this too shall pass and be to thy benefit.  (Okay, that last part was me, but you get the idea.)

I already knew the answer, of course.  I've always been a firm believer in "They will do it on their own when they're good and ready."  However, mine and little Miss Erica's timetables don't seem to mesh very well these days.

I know that she understands the concept quite clearly.  She is frequently telling me that we don't go poopy or peepie in your pants: at the store, in the kitchen, in the car, at church.  "We go in TOE-let!"

Erica even came up to me the other day and said the funniest thing out of the blue, with a most solemn expression on her face. "I don't want to go train!"

And if Erica doesn't want to go train, ain't nobody gonna make her!

I think that I'm down for the count on this one....