Walking the Plank

What are you lookin' at?

Hang on to your hats, we now have bunk beds.

With baby #3 on the way, we knew we would need more sleeping space, so we used the Easter full house as an opportunity to set up bunk beds in the boys' room. By the time Baby Girl is old enough to need Louie's crib, Max will be more than ready for a top bunk, but the novelty of the new furniture addition has already caused me some major headaches!

Take last week, for instance. I was folding laundry in the guest room upstairs while the boys were playing loudly in their bedroom. In general, loud equals safe in our household; if I can hear them, I know they're not getting into trouble. Apparently, this is no longer the case when the top bunk is in play! I found out later that the bunk beds had been transformed into a pirate ship- the top bunk was the deck and the bottom bunk was the hold.

On a whim, I peeked into the room to see what they were doing and, to my horror, witnessed Max standing inches from the edge of the top bunk, Lucian directly behind him. Max yelled, "I'm walking the plank!" as Lucian gave him a nice piratey shove on the back. As I promptly died of a heart attack, Max managed to fall backward onto the safety of the mattress.

Several strong words and new rules later, both kids were safely on the floor. We've now gone about a week without incident (I think I may have put some healthy fear into their hearts) but I know it's only a matter of time until the first major injury. I would appreciate any advice from bunk-bed-owning families about how to keep your children alive once this treacherous item of furniture has entered the picture! Is there anything I can do, or am I staring at the inevitability of a broken arm?

I think I'm going to put the ER on speed dial...

**As my husband reminded me in the comments, I did unintentionally leave out the crowning jewel of this story. How could I have forgotten to mention Max's response to being taken down from his ship? Those words... I must have put them out of my head. I didn't think I'd hear them for at least another eight years! When he realized his cavorting on the deck was finished, at least for the day, he turned to me and whined (in his very best teenager voice) "Ahh! You ruined my pirate life!!" **

At Home

It's official. I have become a homebody. Within the last six months I have finally made the transition from needing desperately to leave the house at least once a day to being content to stick around the home front for several days in a row. Don't get me wrong, I love getting out! (Especially without my two adorable cling-ons.) I still really enjoy our trips to the library and play dates with friends, but I no longer feel like I need these outings in order to function properly. Our home life has fallen into such a rhythm that I actually look forward to days that we have nowhere to go.

I'll take you through a quick tour of my change of heart. When Max was born, I don't think I left the house without Paul for a full two weeks. I think I was afraid that if I took him anywhere, I would suddenly drive off a cliff or spontaneously combust or something. But I ached to get out and get around! As soon as I got over my initial fear, I took him everywhere. Then when Lucian came and I began to stay home full-time, I tried to find excuses to leave the house every day: grocery shopping, visits to the library, even just driving around the neighborhood... I had to get out or I would go crazy! It stayed like this for quite some time, and although I managed to suffer through the days that we were home-bound, I didn't enjoy them. I counted down the minutes until Paul came home, thinking that if I didn't talk to an adult soon, I might lose all cognitive function! Ok, so I still follow him around like a puppy when he gets home- things are just better when he's around- but I no longer mentally wait at the door for him.

If I had to put it into words, I think the change began with Max's increased interest in learning and doing organized activities. When he just wanted to play pirates or Duplos with me all day, I wanted to pull my hair out. I used to feel really guilty about this. I mean, am I not supposed to love playing with my children? In moderation, I don't mind building Duplo robots or sailing the seven seas looking for treasure, but it was wearing on me. Then I suddenly realized that Max was old enough to do crafts and activities, bake with me, learn some early literacy skills... and the days began to fly by!

Now we do a "project" of some sort almost every morning. We love baking cookies and muffins, Max is memorizing the names of all of the bones in his body, we do simple "science experiments" around the house, and we are taking time to enter into the liturgical seasons. Instead of waiting for the day to end, there are many days that I feel like we can't fit everything in! Yes, we still have those days that can't end fast enough, but I can honestly say that I love being at home with my boys.

Part of me worries that when our baby girl comes, everything will be turned on its head and I'll be clawing at the doors again. But I think that maybe... maybe it's not just Max that has changed. Maybe my heart is really, truly, finally in my home. And when our baby is born, maybe this time the transition will be easier because I've discovered that everything I need to be happy (and sane) is right here. At home.

Lent for Little Ones

The season of Lent has officially begun, and we are all in! We began our Lenten journey with Ash Wednesday Mass and some tuna noodle casserole. (of course.) Lent has brought with it an interesting new challenge this year- I have a four year old son who asks questions about everything. I find myself fielding a continuous stream of "Why?" questions from the time he wakes up to the time he closes his eyes. Lots of his questions are easy, many of them are great, some are so silly I just fire them right back at him. Often he comes up with some pretty creative answers to his own questions.

But when it comes to questions of the faith, I try my very best to give straightforward answers that he can digest. NOT an easy task! And in a season that focuses on the suffering and death of our Savior, simple answers are even harder to come by. When he asks me, "Why did the soldiers put a crown of thorns on Jesus' head?" where do I even start? How do I explain sin and evil to a boy who still doesn't think anyone would ever purposely harm anyone?

So I'm putting it in God's hands, and I'm tossing up lots of quick prayers to the Holy Spirit for wisdom in those moments. And instead of focusing only on the pain and suffering that Jesus endured for us, we are focusing on the little things we can do to relieve His pain.

That's where this craft comes in. Together we made a Crown of Thorns, an idea that I first heard from some Catholic friends a few years ago and was reintroduced to just a few days ago. The baking directions I used are found here, and it was a simple project that both boys could be totally involved in. The idea is this: we made a braided crown out of salt dough, covered it in "thorns" (toothpicks), and baked it. Surprisingly (or maybe not...) I was the only one who managed to stab myself with a toothpick!

Throughout Lent, whenever the boys do something kind for someone or make a small sacrifice, they can remove a thorn from the crown. By Easter, we hope the thorns will all be removed, and we plan to paint the crown gold and decorate it with jewels to represent Jesus' triumph! Max is, of course, already stoked about this crown becoming a real King's crown, and every time he sees the crown he asks me for ideas of how to remove another thorn.

It's looking to be a very fruitful Lent!

Buddies

I've been waiting for this since Lucian was born- they boys are becoming real, true friends. I know Louie's only two and he can't do half of the things Max wants to do, but he imitates him and follows him around like he is the coolest thing ever to live on the face of the earth. If Max starts singing a song, Lucian is there dancing along and throwing out a word here or there. If Max is sitting at the table coloring, Lucian needs a crayon in hand and a piece of paper. Just a few days ago, I was upstairs getting the boys their clothes for the day. When I turned around the corner to walk down the stairs, my heart melted! There they were, flipping through books together at the foot of the steps. 

Yes, they still have their fair share of spats, and I know they always will. Lucian will knock down Max's towers, Max will take toys from his little brother, and as they grow older the arguments will probably get more intense. But I am starting to get glimpses of the lasting friendship that is forming before my eyes! There really is no other relationship like that of a sibling, and I am so glad that they have each other!

I'm Dreaming...

Looks like we might have gotten our Christmas dusting of snow just a little too early! According to the forecasts, it looks like we may be in for a brown Christmas this year in Minnesota. Bummer! Max has been asking me when the snow will come back, because he is bound and determined to build a pirate fort with Grandpa. Sad to say, they won't be playing in that fort on Christmas Eve this year.

In all honesty, I'm in no hurry to have four feet of snow on the ground. Here in the midwest, we'll have snow until March regardless of when it first falls. So if it waits a few more weeks, that's only three months of battling icy roads. I can deal with that! I'm still holding out hope that we'll see some flakes falling on Christmas Eve, but I'm ok if the heavens don't open until we're safely home from our trip to Rapid City in mid-January. 

We have had two good snow days so far, and the anticipation will make the next snowfall that much more exciting! The first day it snowed, Max came running down the steps yelling, "It's a snow day! It's a snow day!" That evening he played outside for an hour, making tracks on every inch of our yard, leaving not a speck of untouched snow.

We got outside once more before everything melted, and while Max could have stayed out all day, Louie was a bit more cautious. He preferred to stand on the sidewalk and point at the white stuff. When he accidentally got some snow on his mittens, he held his hands out to me and whined until I brushed it off. Not so much a snow bunny, that one. 

According to Max, it's not actually winter until there is snow on the ground. Actually, "It was winter, but it's not anymore... but it will be soon. At Christmas." I hope he's not too sorely disappointed if "winter" doesn't come this week! I have a feeling the sugar and the presents might distract him. Then after the celebrations settle down, we can move on to sledding and skating and snowmen. At least it's already cold enough for hot chocolate!

The Case of the Missing Pineapple Pork

I am a huge fan of Rachael Ray's recipes. When we lived at my parents' house and I was pregnant with Lucian, I watched her show almost every day. The interviews I could take or leave... but the meals she made! Oh yum... and she made them look so easy! So for Christmas a couple of years ago, my mom gave me a Rachael Ray cookbook- which I love! It is not my cookbook for last-minute "What in the world can I throw together for dinner??" meals, but if I plan ahead and pick up the ingredients I don't usually keep stocked, her recipes are generally straightforward and always tasty!

The other day I was making a grocery list to go shopping (Yes! I went grocery shopping!) and I took out my handy-dandy "Rachael Ray's Book of Ten" for some inspiration. I flipped through for new recipes I wanted to try, but I also thought I'd glance at an old standby I've made a few times: Sweet and Spicy Pineapple Pork. The book usually falls open to that page or a few others, so I was slightly surprised that it didn't show up this time. I didn't think much of it, deciding on some other recipes instead (Both major successes! Spicy Shrimp Bok Choy Noodle Bowl and BLT Soup).

Mmmm... Shrimp Bok Choy Noodle Bowl

That night, Paul and I got into a discussion about meals and cooking. I remarked to him that he generally doesn't have strong opinions about my food, and I'd love to know what he really likes and dislikes. I've picked up on a few things over the years, but unless I ask him point-blank, he generally eats what's in front of him without comment.

His response threw me off a little. In a joking tone he said, "Yeah, I figure if I really don't like something you make, I'll just rip the recipe out of your cook book."

Wait a minute.

"Did you....? No..."

Yes, he did. Paul actually ripped out the recipe for Sweet and Spicy Pineapple Pork!! I went back to the book, looked up the recipe in the index. Page 60. I flipped to where Page 60 should have been... there was 59, there was 62, but no page 60!

It turns out he did it mostly to see how long it would take me to figure it out (One day! Take that!), and to have the pleasure of seeing my reaction. I guess it's not as much fun to just say "I don't really like this recipe". Needless to say, I will not be making Pineapple Pork EVER again.

You think you're sooooo clever...

Keeping House

My book club just finished reading "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett. I highly recommend the book for many reasons- it's one of those books that made me fall in love with the characters, and it opened my eyes to a period in time that I knew nothing about. It was sweet without being sappy, and realistic without making me too depressed.

It did, however, make me feel like a lazy bum.

In "The Help", you will read very descriptive accounts of the household chores that southern black maids in the fifties completed each week. These included polishing the silver, waxing the floors, washing, mending, sewing, and making elaborate meals from scratch each day. I aim to cook most of my dinners in under thirty minutes; these maids started making the evening meal first thing in the morning.

So one day after reading a few chapters, I felt inspired to go a little wild. I made egg salad sandwiches for lunch! I boiled, peeled and chopped the eggs, mixed in the mayo and mustard, toasted the bread, washed some lettuce and sliced up fruit to complete the meal. I felt accomplished. This wasn't just peanut butter and jelly or reheated leftovers, it was a labor of love. (Grandma Moorse, feel free to laugh at me as you whip up your five course lunches from scratch.)

And all the while, the kids were playing nicely in the living room. (this is called foreshadowing)

I assembled the sandwiches, carried them to the table, and my jaw dropped to the floor. What had my children been doing while I slaved away in the kitchen? Systematically deconstructing the living room. All of the books within reach were strewn on the floor and piled on the newly-cushionless couch. I nearly slipped on a pile of Kix by the dining room table (What is it with my kids and Kix?), toys were everywhere. This room had been in some semblance of order before I started cooking... and now look.


My pride balloon quickly deflated as I picked my way through the minefield and ushered my children to the table. All I could think was, "How did Aibileen do it?" She did the cleaning and the cooking and the caring for children, and everything was always in order. I attempt to tackle one area and another one pops up to taunt me. It's like playing Domestic Whack-a-Mole.

I don't have a moral to this story, but please do read the book. Just beware: it may inspire you to become Superwoman Housewife and then quietly mock you when you are reminded that you are human.

I'm human. But I may try to be Superwoman again someday. Off I fly to tackle the dirty dishes!

Open House

I don't much like making beds.

But this?



I love this. Clean, white sheets on the guest room bed can mean only one thing: Visitors.

Around 3:00 on Wednesday, I got a call from Paul. "Guess what? Father Tyler and Michael are staying with us tonight!" On their way home from a fishing trip in the BWCA, they decided to shave off part of the drive and stop over in the Twin Cities before leaving for Rapid this morning. Good choice, I say.

They got in late and the men immediately commenced poring over maps and comparing routes, discussing fishing techniques and gear selection. It got me wishing I was in on Paul's big upcoming trip! We stayed up late, finally turning in after midnight. But like I've said before, why waste precious time sleeping when we have visitors??

In the morning before they departed, Father Tyler celebrated Mass for us at our dining room table, and oh, it was so beautiful! There is no more precious gift that a visiting priest could have given us than to bring such a glorious Guest into our humble space. I can't say it strongly enough; our home has been forever changed.

I have often told my mother-in-law that I hope to have the gift of hospitality like she does. Their home is always open, her own convenience is a non-issue. They joyfully accept visitors in the spirit of St. Benedict, and I know for a fact that no one has ever gone away hungry or wanting for company.

I am starting to believe that part of our family's vocation may be to keep open a space for visitors (especially of the Rapid City variety) who need a place to rest mid-journey. Part of it is a selfish hope on my part; I love the last-minute flurry of preparations before guests arrive, I love the late-night conversations, I love the chance to get to know people better than I would in other situations. But I really do feel that we can be of service, and there's no harm in enjoying the work that God has given us.

So if you are ever traveling through the Twin Cities, I hope you won't hesitate to call us. Our door is always open to you.

Best Laid Plans

Well, bummer.

We had an exciting weekend in Wisconsin planned with my brother and his girlfriend, touring some great microbreweries. This trip has been in the works for over a year! We were waiting until Louie was old enough to stay overnight at the Grandparents house, and this was finally the big moment. But alas, parenting is full of surprises. Instead of enjoying a beer at Sand Creek Brewery right now, I am sitting at the computer and listening to a poor, sick Lucian sing himself to sleep.

Around 4:30 in the morning, I went in to check on a crying baby and found a mess. I will spare you the details, but it sure wasn't fun from then til about 11:00. Thankfully, he seems to be on the mend now; it was just a quick bug, and I think all that's left is lots of rest and rehydration.

I'll be honest, I cried a little when I had to make the decision to cancel the trip. Just the four of us, an open road, no concrete plans (yikes that sounded a little like a country song) ... I have been looking forward to this for a LONG time. But there is no predicting when illness will strike, and my baby needed me this weekend. Our plan is to reschedule for some time in June, and who knows? Maybe it will be 70 and sunny instead of crummy and stormy.

I knew when I signed up for this whole parenting gig that the needs of my children would always come before my own wants. It is still a disappointment when things don't go according to plan, but I am glad to be able to care for my little boy, and I'm savoring the snuggle time this sickness affords us. The cleanup? Yeah... no redeeming factor there. But this is motherhood at its finest. Love is mopping up puke and doing laundry at 5am.

And I sure love this little boy.

Spring Cleaning

Lent: a time to clean up my interior mess...

Holy Week is here, and I look back and wonder... where has Lent gone? Usually I feel as though the season of Lent drags on and on, and I spend my time waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel. Don't get me wrong, I really do love Lent- it's a time to reflect on God's work in my life, and how well (or poorly) I've been responding to Him. It's a time to join our tiny little sacrifices to Christ's Sacrifice on the Cross in hopes that we can understand even in the smallest way what a great Gift our Savior is.

But to be honest, I generally spend less time meditating on the Cross and more time meditating on how many days are left until I can eat my chocolate again. I think that's what was different about this year. In addition to the usual "giving something up", I decided to make it a point to take some serious steps to kick my prayer life into gear. And through these whirlwind forty days, I've been getting hit over the head with three different themes again and again and again and again.

The first is humility. Book club women, you can probably guess where this one came from! There is not a page in St. Teresa's Interior Castle that doesn't deal with the virtue of humility. Literally everything hinges on the understanding that without God, we can do nothing. Really, nothing. St. Teresa doesn't mince words when it comes to this one, and as hard as it is to hear, it's true that nothing good I've ever done has come from my own power.

The second is penance. I have been reminded that even though everything is in God's hands, He still welcomes my small gifts, my small sacrifices, whatever I am able to offer Him. Every time I take a hard situation and offer the hardship as a gift to Him, He takes it and multiplies it a trillion-fold and pours it right back out onto us. I should be welcoming every little injustice, every sideways glance, every papercut as an opportunity to suffer with Christ Crucified for the sake of the world.

The third, and my favorite to think about, is mercy. I said before that I am learning that without God I can do nothing. But the important counterpoint is that with God I can do EVERYTHING! Not just some things or most things, but EVERYTHING. Because of His great mercy, we have become His daughters and sons- all we have to do is say "yes" every day to the gift He offers us.

So this week is Holy Week already, but instead of thinking about Lent coming to an end- back to the daily grind- I have decided to take my Lenten resolutions into the Easter season and beyond. I don't know if the clarity I have right now will last, but I'm planning to keep the windows of my soul squeaky-clean as long as I can!

Explanation

I have sat down at the computer to attempt to blog several times in the last week, but for the most part I've had a major mental block going on. I have tried to write about Max and Lucian, about Lent, but over and over I am only able to think about one thing. A new camera that I ordered for Paul's birthday was stolen upon delivery, and because of a simple typographical error, we have no recourse to the company that sent it or to UPS. We have filed a police report, and even though we believe we know exactly where the package went, there is little that they can do without a confession from the thief. I believe the package is gone.

I have been losing sleep over this. I have been getting tension headaches. I have not been able to think about anything else. We have never had any problems with other items being delivered... why this time? Why this gift, that I had so carefully planned? Paul's family and my family all pitched in together for this camera, and I have been holding this secret in since December. Instead of as a great surprise on his birthday, Paul found out about the camera when I had to explain to him that an important package I was expecting had never arrived.

I have always known that it is wrong to steal; this simple fact is ingrained in us all our lives. But until now I have only known in theory: never take something that belongs to someone else. It's that simple. But when we suddenly became the victims of theft, the intensity of the emotions I felt surprised me; someone out there has taken something that doesn't belong to them, something that was important to us, a gift from Paul's entire family... I feel hurt, angry, frustrated and helpless. I have been on the phone with everyone who I think might be able to help, but everyone we talk to points us back to someone else. I'm dizzy from the circles.

So today I have resolved to let it go. It is Lent, a time to practice detachment from material goods. In prayer today, I was reminded of the need to be thankful always, and to trust in God. His love for me doesn't change, even in the midst of trial. The money that we have lost is not important; Paul knows that we love him, even without this gift.

I am trusting in God's greater plan. I trust that He will continue to care for us as He always does. With His help, I will let go of my anger, I will forgive the thief.

I trust you, Lord.

I let go.

Be Still and Know

Our beautiful St. Paul Cathedral

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. I feel unprepared; I have not even stopped for a breath to think about what God wants from me this Lent. The farther I have gotten from pregnancy (now over a year!), the more energy I have and the more focus I am able to put on running a household. I am slowly creating organizational systems that make doing chores easier and more consistent, and while it's still an uphill battle, most mornings I can come downstairs and look around without cringing.

But I don't sit down as often anymore. I don't take those breaks during the day that used to be physically required ("I literally cannot stand up another minute!"), and I choose to do dishes instead of resting. Don't get me wrong, it is good to have energy. I love feeling great, and I love that I am able to care for my kids and keep house without feeling overwhelmed (usually). But I've realized that it was those times of rest that I usually used to reflect, pray, check up with God on my progress for the day... and those moments have become few and far between.

I have also started to multitask all the times that would naturally lend themselves to quiet reflection. I listen to the radio while I clean the kitchen, I read while I eat breakfast... I plan blog posts in the shower. In short, my prayer life has taken a major back seat to just about everything as my physical health and mental focus have returned.

For Lent, I need to remember to step back from the noise and the action and remember to spend time being still and quiet. I've learned that it's pretty hard to hear God if I'm not listening.

Our book club will be reading The Interior Castle by St. Teresa of Avila, which will be a major kick in the pants. Plus I am following an Ignatian Spirituality blog recommended to me by a friend that leads its readers through the Spiritual Exercises throughout Lent. But most of all, for the next forty days, I need to make a concerted effort to reduce the noise that is coming into my life. Then I believe God will really be able to speak to me through St. Teresa and St. Ignatius.

Here's praying for a fruitful Lenten season!

Sock It To Me

I have an ongoing battle with myself between doing things for Max and letting him do them on his own. It usually sounds something like this: It's taking him forever to get that jacket on! We need to go... but it's a great learning experience, trying to put it on by himself... but we need to be there in fifteen minutes! It will take him at least that long... but I need to work on my patience, his little mind is growing... but if I just did it for him we'd be out the door already... but look at him struggling to overcome an obstacle- this is so good for him... etc, etc, etc.

If it's not a matter of being late for an event of some sort, I generally try to let him struggle his way through things. Well, at least I try to try. It's just so hard sometimes! I can do something in .5 seconds that will take him minute after minute of trial and error. "Here, let me get that for you" is such an easy solution!

Last night, Paul and I decided to let Max get undressed before bed all by himself. Head to toe. We gave verbal instructions ("Pull your arm into your sleeve... now the other one... now pull your shirt over your head...") and it went pretty smoothly.

Until we got to the left sock.

Oh. My. Goodness. I was about to pull my hair out! He pulled, and he tugged, and he rolled around on the ground. That sock was stuck. It took some major restraint on my part to stop myself from going into "Here, let me get that for you" mode. We watched and gave instructions... which he generally ignored in his attempts to remove that stubborn sock. I wasn't timing the event closely, but it must have been about fifteen minutes that we let him struggle, until finally he got the right grip on it and yanked it off. Fifteen minutes of "Oh, you almost- oh- not like that- try to- well- what about- do it like this-" and I think Paul removed and put on his sock at least five different times as an example. When that darn sock came off, it was such a relief! I felt like this was so much more than just a sock.

What in the world will I do when he gets older and the stakes get higher? When he's in little league sports and I can't run onto the field to help him catch the ball? When he's writing a paper in high school and I know I could write it better? When he's preparing for his first job interview?

Does it ever get easier to let them struggle? Or does it just keep getting harder? I'm afraid the answer is probably the latter. Now I know why my mom tells me she would get nervous before my performances in high school. I always thought, "Hey, I'm the one up there sticking my neck out, you just have to watch!" But watching might be the hardest job of all. What if he fails? What if people laugh? What if he gives up?

I know that independence is a great gift that I can give my children- teach them to work out problems, work through frustrations and make good decisions on their own when the consequences are minor, and they'll be more prepared later in life.

So I'll keep working on patience and restraint... for my sake as well as his. Hopefully by the time he's in Little League, I'll be able to calmly stay in the bleachers as he misses that fly ball. I'll sit back and allow him to get a B+ instead of an A if he worked hard on that paper. I'll send him off in suit and tie to that interview without calling ahead to gush about my amazing son that they have to hire.

I'll let him take his own socks off.

Daydreaming

Sunset in Assisi

"It was now the sweetest hour of the twenty-four: 'Day its fervid fires had wasted,' and dew fell cool on panting plain and scorched summit. Where the sun had gone down in simple state- pure of the pomp of clouds- spread a solemn purple, burning with the light of red jewel and furnace flame at one point, on one hill peak, and extending high and wide, soft and still softer, over half heaven. The east had its own charm of fine, deep blue, and its own modest gem, a rising and solitary star: soon it would boast the moon; but she was yet beneath the horizon."

This is officially my favorite quote from Jane Eyre, our current Book Club read. Isn't that the most amazing description of a sunset you've ever read? It's making me totally impatient for summer, when we can run outside barefoot and watch the sunset without the risk of frostbite. Today has been such a tease; I heard birds singing this morning, I looked outside and saw beautiful blue cloudless skies, and then I looked at the temperature: one degree. ONE degree fahrenheit! My hopes were dashed.

I guess we'll just stay in and pretend it's a nice day.

Secure Your Own Mask First

Back in the fall, I had the joy of spending some time with my good friends Bridget and Annie in South Dakota. We went out shopping completely childless for an entire evening (leaving behind a total of eight children) and it was HEAVEN.

While out and about, I got some of the best parenting advice I've ever heard. We were chatting about motherhood, the joys and the woes... but as is usually the case, the woes tended to win the battle for air time. We commiserated about all of those things common to every mother that can make parenting difficult and frustrating.

Then Annie said something profound, and I've thought about it almost every day since then. "You know how when you fly on an airplane, the flight attendant gives directions about using your oxygen mask? They always remind you to secure your own mask first before assisting others."

She went on, and here's the kicker: "I've learned, in my years as a mother, that I need to secure my own mask first in dealing with my children. If I'm not taking care of myself, my relationship with them suffers and I'm not able to be the mother that I want to be." Whoa. Yeah.

I realized that in my striving to be a "good mom" I was often forgetting that the word "mom" inherently infers a relationship between two people. BOTH of the people in that relationship are equally important. I need to take care of myself if I am going to be able to take care of my children.

I think that every mother can interpret this advice in a different way. Some moms neglect their physical needs (healthy eating, exercise), some their emotional needs (date night!), and some- like me- their psychological needs. Again, Annie described it best. She has made it a habit to spend an hour a day on something that SHE loves. It might be sewing, blogging, scrapping, but it must be something that makes her feel like Annie. I got to thinking about what it is that I love, and at first I came up blank! I love my kids, I love my husband... but what do I love to do? When do I feel the most like me?

Since then, I've spent some time discovering new hobbies and rediscovering old ones. I now try to spend time each day being just Taryn. Of course, there are times when this gets hard- when kids are sick, when husbands are gone, or any other of the countless number of wrenches that get thrown into our plans. But I think that if we make it a rule to remember ourselves, our children will benefit because we will be living fully and authentically.

I do have to make many sacrifices as a mother; often I get less sleep than I want, I can't sit and read a book all day like I might wish to, I more often spend my money on diapers and hot dogs than new clothes and restaurants. But these are sacrifices that I can make in an attitude of love instead of frustration if I realize that I am not called to sacrifice who I am. Maybe you all knew this already. Maybe I was just a little late to the game... but if it's new to your ears, it's advice well worth considering.

Check out Annie's beautiful family on her blog, The SD Daniels. She's kind of my idol, but I guess I can share her.

The Great Sock Conspiracy

Seriously?? Seriously.

This is my pile of mismatched kid socks. Yep, just the kids- you should see the pile for me and Paul! C'mon, I could clothe my children for a year with the fabric from the socks that have no mate. What's the deal? I have searched the laundry room, the boys' room, our room... under, on, and in everything. Where do they go??

Have you noticed an inordinate amount of italics so far in this post? That is my frustration expressing itself the best way it knows how. It's really frustrating! I just know the socks have all gathered in some dusty corner of the basement solely to spite me. They're laughing at me!

Well, ha ha, socks! Joke's on you. I'll just go to Target and buy more socks, then where will you be? Still in a dusty corner of the basement... forever. Take THAT. The biggest problem is that I have an aversion to throwing away mismatched socks. I'm just sure the match will show up one day in my clean laundry basket and the two shall be forever joined (until one gets lost again). So I keep them- in a bag in Max's drawer, on top of my dresser, or I continually throw them in the dirty laundry, hoping that "this one's the load that will solve my problems!"

Someone, please talk some sense into me. They're gone. They are not coming back. Get a grip and move on... and clean off your dresser! But the thrill of the occasional match keeps me from cleaning house. The thrill of the match, and the fear that as soon as I throw the socks away, the missing matches will come out of hiding all at once and declare victory! I will not have it. I will not yield! They may have won the battle, but they WILL NOT WIN THE WAR!

It's the little things

Today, Lucian spit up massively just as I was leaning over to pick something up, thus splattering the wood floor with what would have otherwise gone straight onto my sweater and jeans. A load of laundry traded for a simple paper towel wipe-up: if that's not something to be thankful for, I don't know what is.

Some days, I find myself in awe of the Creator, pondering high and lofty thoughts about the meaning of life ... and some days a puddle of spit-up on the floor is what makes me think of God. He didn't cause the spit-up to fall, and He didn't directly intervene to change its trajectory, but he created my adorable, messy child... and today he used puke to remind me to be thankful.

Thrift Store Goodness

Anyone else love getting good deals? I mean, sure, it's super fun to stroll down the aisles at Gymboree and browse the pages of an Anthropologie catalog, but when it really comes down to it, most of us would have to forgo food if we wanted to do all of our shopping at places like that! For the most part, I am a Target one-stop-shopper, because I know they'll have what I need at a reasonable price, they bag groceries for me, and I've been there enough that I don't have to wander to know where things are-- three must-haves when shopping with two children under three.

But if I am feeling ambitious- and have the opportunity to go out without children- I really enjoy thrift store hunting! Especially when it comes to kids items that will only be used for a limited time, it just makes sense to finish the work that someone else began... i.e. buying those slightly used 12mo jeans for child #1, breaking them out again for child #2, and using them until they are patched and full of holes. Reduce, reuse, recycle, yo!

I wish I had more time to wander the aisles of the local second-hand shops, because I have found some gems in the past. Bar stools? From Unique in Burnsville. Entryway bench/shoe bin? Also from Unique. Computer desk? Salvation Army in Rapid City. I'm not saying that we'll never buy new furniture- there is definitely something to be said for good quality, and I'm looking forward to picking out couches that match someday!- but there is so much stuff out there, I like knowing that I can put to use something that someone else was finished with. It's easy on the pocket book, and it gives me a sense of accomplishment.

Contained here are a few of my latest thrift store finds. If this doesn't make you want to run to your nearest Goodwill, I don't know what will!

1. Complete set of plastic Nativity pieces in great condition, in a plastic Rubbermaid container: $2.99

2. Toddler fleece mittens, velcro around the wrists: $0.96

3. Formal shoes, size 7.5 and infant: $0.75 and $1.99, respectively (Imagine what we would have dropped on those new!)

4. Six by Seuss, by Dr. Seuss and Where the Sidewalk Ends, by Shel Silverstein (both in very good condition): $2.99 each

So next time you drop off a load of "junk" at Goodwill, think of me and know that it may very well find a wonderful new home!

Goose or Gray Duck?

I will be blogging soon about the many awesome holiday get-togethers we've been enjoying recently, but I've had something weighing heavy on my heart lately that I need to ask.

Max was born in South Dakota, where (like the rest of the country) the popular children's game is called "Duck Duck Goose". However, when we uprooted him to the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes, he entered "Duck Duck Gray Duck" territory. Now, I was raised a Minnesotan, but after three years of ridicule by my husband and the youth at my parish, I converted (at least publicly) to Goose-ism.

But what to do now?? We are back in Minnesota, and all the kids will be playing Duck Duck Gray Duck. Do we stick to our (ahem, Paul's) convictions or go with the locals?

I'd love some input. This is a big deal.

Even Max is taking this very seriously

Ode to Bisquick

When that 4 o'clock hour rolls 'round
And I stand at the fridge with blank stare,
All is truly not lost, I have found,
Even though all the cupboards seem bare.

Down below, behind sugar and flour
Near the pasta, potatoes and oil
Stands the box that makes dinnertime hour
One of joy, not of tears, sweat and toil.

Oh, dear Bisquick! How I do love thee.
You make quick, simple meals on demand.
Whether breakfast, lunch, dinner or tea,
Sweet Bisquick, my wish is thy command.

Spinach egg bake with cheese is a treat,
Simple pancakes so fluffy and light,
Breaded chicken makes dinner complete-
Even kids finish every last bite!

So when that dreaded hour draws near,
And it's time to make dinner tonight,
Do not fret, do not sigh, do not fear!
Grab your Bisquick and all will be right.

Yes, I actually just wrote a poem about Bisquick. Yes, I actually took a picture of my Bisquick box and posted it. Don't judge me.