tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81508992024-03-07T20:23:22.744-07:00The Cross, The Mantle"After that, He saith to the disciple: Behold thy mother." ~Jn 19:27Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.comBlogger335125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-85825633191037878412011-07-13T11:52:00.002-06:002011-07-13T12:50:02.126-06:00Wonder. Ful.We're having guests come through Friday evening, and we're going hiking with friends tomorrow. So today is the last full day I have to get the house ready.<br /><br />I finished cleaning the bathroom while hearing shrieks of delight from the main part of the house.<br />"I'm so glad we have a dog he can play with, while the baby naps," I thought. Tigger's shrieks and laughs made me smile while I scrubbed.<br /><br />I emerged from the bathroom to find him throwing handfuls of rice (from our 40lb bag) straight up into the air, and shrieking with delight as it all landed with pitter-pattering sounds everywhere in the kitchen. This had been going on for a while. Aside from a layer on the floor, there was rice all over the counter tops, inside the dog's water bowl, under the chest freezer, embedded in the throw rugs, ...grrr.<br /><br />"Mama try?" he asked, wondering whether I was sad enough to "cry."<br /><br />"That would be a lot better than what I want to do right now," I responded.<br /><br />I gave him the dust pan and brush while I grabbed the broom, sternly enlisting his help to clean all the rice from the kitchen's various surfaces.<br />For a few minutes, he dutifully brushed my little piles of swept rice into the dust pan and deposited everything into the garbage can.<br />But then I watched him step into a pile and start swinging his feet backward, like a rabbit trying to run away from a tether. Essentially, he was using his heels to toss the rice in all directions again. <br /><br />"Teee hee-hee!" he squealed.<br /><br />A friend's recent Facebook status read something to this effect: "Whoever coined the phrase 'terrible two's' had no sense of wonder."<br /><br />I don't know if, at this point in the story, I lost all sense of wonder, or just lost all my patience.<br /><br />But I scooped Tigger into my arms, marched to his room, put him down there on the floor, and closed the door behind me as I walked out. I didn't care that his minor protests went silent 3 seconds after I left the room. There isn't <span style="font-weight:bold;">that<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span> much he can do in his room.<br /><br />After I cleaned the kitchen, I went and retrieved him from the bedroom. When he heard me coming, he quickly put away all the clothes he'd been removing from his dresser drawers.<br /><br />Then, when he was sure that I wasn't going to "try," he asked for a hug.<br /><br />And eventually, everything became wonderful again.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-40890635219235748502011-07-01T15:26:00.003-06:002011-07-01T15:33:11.313-06:00Mirror of my mind?What does it say about me as a mother that my son is always singing the alphabet ...but doesn't even try to join in when we pray the Our Father at Mass?<br /><br />If I begin to recite, "A...B...C..." he'll pick up where I left off. It's fun to listen to what letters he skips. Then as the weeks go by, I start to hear those letters, subtly added into the song. K, Q, and X were especially difficult. But he's begun to say "Tay" after "H,I,J." So it's coming.<br /><br />He also doesn't know the Hail Mary.<br /><br />I discussed this with Doo the other night, who assures me that he won't grow up to be heathen. He will learn.<br /><br />But I still have to reflect on my personal habits, and wonder why the alphabet is more familiar to Tigger than basic prayers.<br /><br />There's nothing like having a mirror of my shortcomings running around the house.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-46979521375578610492011-05-18T15:29:00.003-06:002011-05-18T16:05:51.731-06:00The Perfect Rainy DayIt's been raining rather steadily the past two days. I've quickly learned what makes a rainy day not only survivable, but truly enjoyable, inside our cozy bungalow.<br /><br />"Willie Nelson For Kids" drowsily playing on the CD player. Repeatedly.<br /><br />Reading "If You Give a Pig a Pancake" a ka-jillion times.<br /><br />In keeping with the theme of our reading material, making gingerbread pancakes for after-nap snack time.<br /><br />With real maple syrup.<br /><br />Speaking of naps, long naps--almost two hours--make a rainy day even better!!<br /><br />Catching up on laundry.<br /><br />And dusting.<br /><br />And cleaning the refrigerator.<br /><br />Replacing framed pictures with updated prints. So much fun to see new and current faces around the house!<br /><br />Trying new recipes for dinner.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Not</span> going out grocery shopping.<br /><br />Watching Tigger tip-toe around the backyard in his boots and fireman raincoat for fifteen minutes before knocking to come back inside.<br /><br />Drinking hot tea.<br /><br />Observing playful laughter between two young siblings.<br /><br />And having the presence of mind, as well as the camera on-hand, to record such encounters:<br /><br /><iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JYxC1TdJl9w?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""></iframe>Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-63249723259046602932011-05-16T16:11:00.000-06:002011-05-16T21:44:33.910-06:00Affirming HimTigger holds out a piece of food to show me, with an inquiring, "Huh?"<br /><br />"Mushroom," I tell him.<br /><br />"Eat?" he asks.<br /><br />"Yes, you can eat it," I assure him.<br /><br />He pops it into his mouth: "MmmMMmm!" <br /><br />A few seconds later, he holds out another morsel, "Huh?"<br /><br />"Carrot," I tell him. <br /><br />"Eat?" he asks.<br /><br />"Yes, you can eat it," I say.<br /><br />And again the consumption, followed by the verdict: "MmmMMmm!"<br /><br />I watch as he picks up a green bean.<br /><br />Here we go again.<br />Rinse, repeat.<br /><br />If both Doodle and I are present, he asks both of us. He asks each of us to name whatever he has, and will not eat it until it has been correctly identified and verified as edible, twice. I say "correctly" identified, because he <span style="font-weight:bold;">does</span> know what the object is, most of the time.<br /><br />It's some kind of a game.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Or isn't it?</span><br /><br />Is this scenario just a small tableau of his 2 year-old need for affirmation? <br /><br />My son hasn't lived in this world all that long. Many times, I forget that. When he belts out nonverbal yelps after I've told him that the baby is sleeping, I forget that he really isn't trying to be annoying. He's little; he's learning cause and effect. Yes, he's learning quickly how to "push my buttons," but he doesn't do things for the sole purpose of making me upset and frustrated; he does it because he likes to observe the cause-effect relationship. He likes to see my reaction. He has little idea that my reaction stems from my personal distress, anger, and frustration.<br /><br />But I forget.<br /><br />When I lose my patience and yell, or clench my teeth and pull him forcefully away from kicking the baby, I forget that my little son isn't really being defiant. Not in the rebellious teenager sort of way, anyway.<br /><br />He does not have the self-efficacy of an adult. His actions do not stem from a confidence in his own personhood. He is only 2 years old! He's still looking to me to affirm that personhood!<br /><br />I am his self-efficacy.<br /><br />What must he feel, then, when affirmation is denied? Does it crush his little spirit every time I forget to treat him with gentleness?<br />I can hope that the angels still kiss his little cheeks when I'm not looking, but by-and-large, he looks to me for approval. For unconditional love. <br /><br />And I keep forgetting.<br /><br />Affirmation is not single compliment about a job he did well this afternoon. It is a continuous loving attitude, expressed by patient guidance and acknowledgment throughout the day. He is constantly learning, and so he requires consistent encouragement, in order to integrate all of his experiences of the world and allow those experiences to build him up in the right way.<br /><br />A friend of mine likes to say, "Parenting is difficult, if you're doing it well."<br /><br />It seems, however, that some are naturally better at it than others.<br /><br />After about seven pieces of food, I tend to lose interest in vegetable identification. <br />"Tigger," I say, "I assure you that everything on your plate is edible. Okay? Eat up."<br />Doodle, on the other hand, has no end of patience, calmly naming each item presented. I sometimes wonder whether he should be the one to stay home and raise our children; perhaps they would be better nurtured by him.<br /><br />But this is my purification. I am being pruned, humbled by my own failings. And learning so much. Most importantly these days, I am learning to take a step back from myself. Trying to remember that these behaviors are not personal attacks. I'm the parent; he's the innocent child. I am learning to decrease my personhood in order to allow his personhood to develop.<br /><br />I am learning to affirm him.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-45938128596240081002011-05-11T18:08:00.000-06:002011-05-13T14:49:59.814-06:00Spring PlantingYesterday in the mail, all the fliers came. Grocery ads, coupons, and other random sales events. My habit is to pull out the three fliers that we actually care about, cut whatever coupons I deem valuable to our diet and lifestyle, and toss everything else (pronto) into the kindling bag. Otherwise, we end up having piles of papers collecting dust on random household surfaces for weeks to come.<br /><br />When Doodle comes home, he likes to peruse the fliers with me. We joke that while other families look longingly at travel magazines and real estate pamphlets, we drool over the grocery store ads as we prioritize what we *really* need to buy!<br /><br />"Oh, look," Doodle commented last night. "Lowe's is having a sale on lilacs."<br /><br />He must have known his observation wouldn't be ignored.<br /><br />Guess where I brought the little ones today? :D<br /><br />We also needed bird seed, some more planting pots, potting soil, and a gas can for our lawn mower. But my scheming side-mission was to check out the lilac bushes. And we ended up buying one.<br /><br />The woman in the garden center assured me it would produce a few blooms this season. I don't believe her. I also don't care. I'm just excited that I have a lilac bush planted in my backyard.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIzT9OnrXVjuuqo4hup7xyqOxKkp16M1TLSEq7IEU5vGyOurL9VKbFMSTHpla-aOuVTnR8xpPpick-gTbwz4TG_PrDTJMdA8ncXJXqkQ-r6BoxeSKvjgNEWq-BtxGZTVyAFajdw/s1600/DSC_0354.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIzT9OnrXVjuuqo4hup7xyqOxKkp16M1TLSEq7IEU5vGyOurL9VKbFMSTHpla-aOuVTnR8xpPpick-gTbwz4TG_PrDTJMdA8ncXJXqkQ-r6BoxeSKvjgNEWq-BtxGZTVyAFajdw/s320/DSC_0354.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605679452608087362" /></a>Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-82802072771827974202011-05-10T14:01:00.006-06:002011-05-10T14:53:48.932-06:00Fluid SchedulesMy Darling Doodle is not a morning person. Never has been. I doubt he ever will be. Many have told me "that will change once he has children." But his parents still stay up on weekend nights well past midnight, and sleep in when they can. They wake up early when it is necessary. But they are not "morning people."<br /><br />These thoughts cross my mind as I am lying in bed, wide awake, at 7:15am. His half of the bed is cool to the touch.<br /><br />I listen to the soft clinking of silverware hitting bowls as he prepares breakfast for our energetic Tigger. I hear his soft muted whisper, "Would you like cream cheese?" and Tigger's eager (and louder!) response, "Ehs!" I watch with my mind's eye as I hear Doodle lift our 2 year-old into the high-chair, help him find the buckles to click together, say grace, then push the breakfast plate toward his chest.<br /><br />Looking down, I see that Ninna is still attached to me, sucking deliberately. I force myself to breathe deeply, softly, slowly. Resisting the urge to break away, I will myself to remain calm so that she'll drift back to sleep. <br /><br />Finally, at 7:45am, I enter the kitchen. Tigger is dressed for the day, already playing with his toy firetruck in the living room. Doodle is searching the bottom drawer of the fridge for fruit to add to his lunch. I rub his back as I walk by on my way to turn on the coffee machine.<br /><br />"I've been awake for a while," I say apologetically, "but Ninna wouldn't let me get out of bed." <br /><br />"That's okay," he replies, always understanding. "I have to be up anyway."<br /><br />A few months ago, I awoke with him early in the morning. I made Tigger's breakfast, prepared and packed Doodle's breakfast and lunch, emptied the dishwasher, and started prepping the kitchen for whatever projects were planned that day. Meanwhile, he was able to ease into his day: sip his tea, listen to the radio, look through his favorite news blogs, make last-minute edits to his meeting notes, ...<br /><br />But we've moved into a different phase. Now there's this beautiful baby girl who doesn't like me to leave her alone in bed. I, the morning person, now stare bright-eyed at the ceiling while my dear husband wearily autopilots bread in and out of the toaster for our son.<br />This man who used to never fall asleep during the day has figured out how to synchronize the two little ones' naps so that he, too, can nap for an hour on weekend afternoons.<br />My daily run with the dog has shifted from early mornings to late nights--because it's easier for the baby to handle my absence when she is tending toward more sleepy, rather than more awake.<br /><br />We follow the waves of need and our household routine looks different from one season to the next. But I believe that some things will never change. I imagine that someday, when our children are older, I will wake up early and go to bed before my Doodle. Once again, he will slowly sip his tea in the morning and be able to ease into the day.<br /><br />Until then, I'm getting used to running down the street at 10pm.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-41502558732040154412011-05-09T22:56:00.001-06:002011-05-09T22:59:06.332-06:00Weekend EntertainmentWe don't have a television, but on the weekends, Doodle brings his work computer home and we spend the evenings gathered around it at the kitchen table, catching up on shows like American Idol and Britain's Got Talent. <br /><a href="http://youtu.be/z62zrqaqVbY">This</a> is a fantastic performance; all of us love this guy. <br />We watched this clip a few times, and Tigger couldn't take his eyes away from the screen, laughing loudly with a big open mouth at the moves Razy accomplishes. Check it out.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-58958662712926452572011-05-09T14:00:00.005-06:002011-05-09T15:49:17.066-06:00This corruptible bodyFor my weekend job, I work with the aging population. When I see that one of my patients has not yet reached 80, I automatically think, "young." It is enjoyable for me to chat with these people who have experienced so much. I often ask for their wisdom, and try to listen carefully to what they say.<br /><br />All of the responses from people on the upper end of this age spectrum are strikingly similar when I ask for their secrets on making it to that age: "You don't want to get this old." <br />Man or woman, chronically ill or healthy as a horse, the answer tends to be the same after the age of 90. And what do I say? I don't tell them there's plenty for them to live for, even if I think there must be--because I am not in their position.<br /><br />Plenty of these people are suffering. But their comments are not necessarily drawn from their ailments. Younger patients with far worse ailments are not ready to leave this world.<br />One elderly woman in her late nineties--whose only current "medication" is a daily multivitamin--said to me, "I wake up, and I wonder if today I'm going to move. And then I do move. And I make it through another day. But I'm ready to go."<br />She is not depressed. Unlike many of her peers, she is not visibly ill. She is active and, by all outward appearances, still enjoying life. Yet she is honest when I ask her about her secret.<br /><br />These are not suicidal tendencies. They are sincere expressions of fatigue, coming from corruptible bodies. I believe it is evidence of the natural human lifespan. No matter what advances medical science achieves, humans will be ready to leave this world within a century of birth.<br /><br />Because really, we're made for something beyond this.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-23037434553305523222011-05-06T12:53:00.005-06:002011-05-06T14:48:59.873-06:00Happy Friday!Every Friday feels a little bit like the day before a trip out of town. Since I work outside the home on weekends, I try to make sure that the house is clean and meals are prepped before Saturday comes. It's a comfort to know that the house is ready for recreation and that dinner is at least planned as I leave my little family for the better part of these days. After all, this is Doodle's time off, and he works so hard during the weekdays. He should be able to spend time playing with his children, not cleaning floors or dreaming up likely possibilities for dinner. My goal, then, is to have everything done and ready to enjoy, every weekend.<br /><br />I've been working the weekends for over a year now. I should have this routine down to a science. There are five days for me to space out the tasks of weekend preparation. And some weeks, I do just that. I cook and clean in small amounts everyday, and by Friday evening, I can sit back and relax with Doodle, who is also more than ready to sit back and relax.<br /><br />But more often than not, Friday afternoon finds me on the edge of a multitasking cliff:<br />--3 loads of laundry in various stages of completion throughout the house<br />--2 sticks of butter softening in the large mixing bowl (in anticipation of restocking the cookie supply)<br />--vacuum plugged into the wall with only half the house traversed<br />--various refrigerator items sitting out on the counter waiting for dinner prep<br />--multiple tabs/windows open on my computer, one of which is a recipe for pizza dough, because I just remembered that one of my goals for the week was to learn how to make pizza dough from scratch<br />--dishes from lunch in the sink (okay, maybe there are a few there from breakfast, as well)<br />--a growing grocery list on the counter that I swear I will take care of this evening when Doodle comes home from work (after all, the store doesn't close until midnight)<br />--the breast pump set up on the couch, because we need more milk in the freezer for the baby<br />--did I mention that there is butter still softening in the mixing bowl?<br /><br />And things become more complicated when the children decide to stagger their afternoon naps.<br /><br />I've slowly made the discovery that being a stay-at-home-mom requires initiative, self-direction, and self-discipline. It's just like owning your own business. The profits aren't immediate, the hours are long and irregular, and a lot of leg work needs to be done during the start-up period before the organization will begin to run like a well-oiled machine. Like most vocations, you take out of it what you put into it.<br /><br />Some Fridays, I end up going to bed late, just to tie up all the lose ends I've ambitiously started. Some weekends turn out to be freezer dinners or last-minute stops at the store on the way home from work. Some Saturdays I return home to find that my husband has done one of "my" jobs--one of those housekeeping duties that I missed or didn't finish during the week. He's a great man, and he knows that an unorganized home drives me crazy--even if it's my own fault.<br /><br />Every Monday brings new resolve to stay on top of it, to arrive at the next Friday with some semblance of routine and order, and with a house set up for enjoyment of the weekend.<br /><br />Week by week, more lessons are learned, whether by success or failure.<br /><br />And now I must go address those sticks of butter in the mixing bowl.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-50015879074930262742011-05-05T16:20:00.003-06:002011-05-05T16:32:00.658-06:00InspirationThere are about 7 blog posts half-written in my head.<br />Instead of writing them out, I'm revamping the "look" of my page.<br />Which will motivate me to come back and write out my posts... right?Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-6359936590782121432011-02-28T11:07:00.005-07:002011-02-28T15:05:12.764-07:00A few deaf menThey don't care that the baby is crying.<br /><br />"Who?" you ask. <br /><br />My boys--namely, my husband and my son.<br /><br />Ninna is screaming and crying, ...crying and screaming.<br /><br />They don't cringe, their heart rates don't sky rocket, they don't breathe faster, they don't shift in their seats, NOR do they press on the invisible gas pedal on the passenger side of the car so we can get-there-get-there-get-there and pick up the baby so she STOPS CRYING.<br /><br />They don't seem to hear it.<br /><br />I look over at my Doodle, who seems to be driving *just* under the speed limit; seems to be slowing down at green lights in anticipation of those lights turning yellow; seems to be totally engrossed in the conversation we're trying to have over the screaming child. He seems not to hear. the. screaming.<br /><br />I glance back at my son in his car seat, legs dangling just shy of Doodle's seat. He's barely three feet away from the crying baby girl, flailing in her own car seat. But he is placidly looking out the window, holding his stuffed lamb. When he feels my gaze, his eyes shift to meet mine. Now that he has my brief attention, he points to the ribbon on his stuffed friend.<br /><br />"Bwoo!" he states, showing me he knows the color of the ribbon.<br /><br />"Great job!" my husband responds, as I shake my head in wonderment. "And tell Mama what color your hat is," my husband continues to encourage him.<br /><br />"Bwoo!" Tigger shouts now, proud of his word.<br /><br />"That's right!" my husband crows. <br /><br />"Very good!" I say enthusiastically, hoping my smile masks the wince on my face. Because I <span style="font-weight:bold;">can</span> hear the crying. Screaming. Hunger? Gas? Pain? She needs me. How can they be completely unfazed by the noise coming from that little being?<br /><br />It must be a mothering phenomenon. I cannot sit at peace when I hear that particular noise. I shift, fidget, wince, and press my foot on the invisible gas pedal.<br /><br />Get home. Get home. Let's go.<br /><br />Good thing we only live 1.7 miles from church.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-87040501436985588272011-02-22T15:27:00.000-07:002011-02-22T15:27:24.206-07:00Exclusive Footage<iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_sTFXn4PoQA?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""></iframe><br /><br />In our family, my dear husband is the one in charge of most visual media. When he recently organized and uploaded all the videos he's taken over the past few months, this one was tucked, like a secret treasure, in amongst the scenes of park swings, snow sledding, and family Christmas highlights.<br />This is the morning of little Ninna's birth, shortly after Tigger awoke to meet her for the first time.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-55620514462544268032011-02-16T10:54:00.005-07:002011-02-16T19:46:51.899-07:00The Thursday ChallengeThursday is "floor day."<br /><br />At least, I like to pretend that it happens every week. I make sure to vacuum the entire house, at minimum. But on the ideal Thursday, the mop bucket comes out as well; the kitchen floors are left without scuffs and stains, and the wood floors shine by the time Doodle comes home from work.<br /><br />The biggest challenge lies within this Challenge: timing the two tasks of vacuuming and mopping close enough together so that the dog and cat don't shed in the meantime. Otherwise, there is infiltration of black hair into the mop threads, and unnecessary clouding up of mop water.<br /><br />Unfortunately, vacuuming is easiest early in the morning, before too many of Tigger's toys have found their way to the floor. And the mopping is best saved for the afternoon, when little ones are (ideally) nappng at the same time, and the dog also senses that it's time to mellow out on his cushy bed.<br /><br />Alas, the stars did not align today; but tomorrow is Thursday, so that's when the official attempt will commence!Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-90133806805174219372011-02-14T15:12:00.003-07:002011-02-14T15:34:53.649-07:00Happy St. Valentine's Day!Myself and the two children celebrated today by going grocery shopping for the first time without my mother's help, to TWO different stores!!<br /><br />We survived (wa-hoo!). Of course, what's the worst that could happen?<br /><br />Oh, yes.<br /><br />That. <br /><br />And it did.<br /><br />It happened.<br /><br />Somewhere between the two stores (that happen to rhyme with Bosco and Star-jet, respectively), Little Miss decided to make up for her recent lack of bowel activity. As in, lack of activity, I mean that we've been starting to worry after about 5 days of only wet diapers.<br />So she finally let it all come out. She was a mess. I mean, all over. I'll have to remember to put her car seat cushion in the laundry, actually. Blech. And since the weather is so lovely today, I didn't bring a blanket to wrap her in, so I had nothing civilized within which to transport her from the car to the Star-jet restroom. Guess what else? Yesterday, while gallivanting around the city as a family, we realized there were no baby wipes in the diaper bag. Well, we actually fixed that problem yesterday by stopping to buy a new box. However, we brought that new box of baby wipes inside the house upon our return home yesterday afternoon. So they weren't in the diaper bag! All I can say is that it's a good thing I was at Star-jet...<br /><br />I somehow led Tigger by the hand (no easy feat these days) into the store and up into a cart. Meanwhile, I had Ninna-in-arms, with a jungle-animal-print changing pad wrapped around her. We went "shopping" for wipes and a new outfit for Ninna (I was doing this all one-handed, since I wasn't about to put her into the Sleepy Wrap!). As we went, I heard and felt further emissions into her diaper region. I say "region," because there definitely wasn't any more holding room in her diaper! I discreetly checked my shirt a few times, to make sure the output hadn't seeped through the changing pad onto me. I finally managed to shove our shopping cart into the narrow ladies' restroom, completely ignoring the sign that restricts bringing in "unpaid merchandise."<br /><br />And that was half the battle. Tigger was so patient; it probably took me a good 10 minutes to get Ninna changed--there was nothing solid in that diaper, and I had to be extra careful not to let it all pour onto the changing pad as I removed the diaper, then her clothes. Tigger sat in the front of the cart the whole time, watching people come in and out, checking himself out in the mirror, and wincing every time the hand dryer starting roaring.<br /><br />Yes, Ninna will be getting a bath tonight!!<br /><br />In unrelated news, I also bought another box of diapers for her, and a training potty for Tigger. No, I'm not preoccupied with toilet issues, I swear. :PSephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-91842476364061691152011-02-14T14:07:00.004-07:002011-02-14T15:09:33.142-07:00Time Warp! 2 kids now...I haven't written out Tigger's entire birth story yet. It's in the making, but not complete. And here, already, is the birth story of our second child. But it took a lot longer for Tigger to be born. So I'm justified. (Right?) <br /><br />Baby Colette Moninne (Mo-NEEN) was born at home in the water early on Wednesday morning, January 19th at 12:49am after about 5 hours of labor, start-to-finish. 8lb 9oz, 19-1/2 inches.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6PdNfWd5T3STSYjPZvgo5EuFiPOBuNRROJMQ8h0_ri0ecJOJq1P2gNBttBUOORrbS6Jh2xL3a1gAafWf_-zXeImWAhSBrBjcVUfBZKGNWPyaNhf8Do0j_MJIjviMqq-3Pi_t4w/s1600/Tiernan+kisses+Colette.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6PdNfWd5T3STSYjPZvgo5EuFiPOBuNRROJMQ8h0_ri0ecJOJq1P2gNBttBUOORrbS6Jh2xL3a1gAafWf_-zXeImWAhSBrBjcVUfBZKGNWPyaNhf8Do0j_MJIjviMqq-3Pi_t4w/s320/Tiernan+kisses+Colette.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573670498422772178" /></a><br /><br />Tigger slept through the whole thing, and awoke the next morning to a new baby sister!<br /><br />Yes, this was a planned home birth. I love my midwife, Rebecca--she was awesome throughout all the prenatal care, the labor and delivery, and then the postnatal care, which was more adventurous than any of us would have liked.<br />I'd been having strong BH contractions for about 2 weeks, so from about 7:45pm when they felt a little stronger than usual, I didn't think too much about it--maybe I'm a little dehydrated, I did quite a bit today so maybe I'm more tired, etc--but Rebecca counts this time as "early labor."<br />I suspected that subsequent contractions were "the real thing" around 9:45pm, but since my experience with Tigger was long, slow, back labor, I was still waiting for the really difficult and painful contractions to start when Rebecca and my doula arrived around 11:45pm! I didn't believe I was in full-blown labor, even when she told me I could get into the birthing pool, and that I was "about to have a baby." Besides, my water never broke. Colette might have been born in her amniotic sac, if Rebecca hadn't needed to break through it to help her shoulders jiggle through.<br />I think I went through transition in the birthing pool (even with Tigger, it was the one contraction I couldn't bring myself to greet with a welcoming breath). Then I told Rebecca I was going to poop in her tub.<br />"That's okay," she replied. "But I think that's just the baby coming."<br />I gave a push and when I reached down, I could feel the amniotic sac coming forth like a bubble. Which freaked me out, actually. With the next contraction, I could feel her head. It was happening so fast. Rebecca, my doula, and Doodle all assured me that I could slow it down by blowing through a few contractions. That was the scariest part--I just wanted her out, Rebecca reminded me I didn't want her out too fast so that I wouldn't tear, and of course, I didn't want her to retreat backwards (is that even possible?). I also didn't want her where she was, because that, too, was highly uncomfortable!! I panicked and screeched that I was going to die. I didn't, though :). Her head came out, then the contractions stopped. Rebecca saw that the cord was around her neck, so she told me to stand (I had been half-kneeling up to this point). Rebecca went around the tub behind me and that's when she broke the sac and pulled Colette down a little bit to elicit another contraction, then helped her shoulders get through. The cord started pulsing again soon after she was released, but she was a little blue right at the beginning. Being born in the water, though, she was much cleaner than Tigger was when I first held him.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgf2hNhSEshHMpHwe_8fiGI2Ui5jVNrhVHekDEG2PhnY1eiw7fnE1u6SZEG4_QAabJQEhrJq8n8EL7PThkYHjIvikTxprSqgOMoDquFD1Jc8lkMvnhBHqPK6wx7XJaNb9-GTwBjA/s1600/Birth+of+Colette.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgf2hNhSEshHMpHwe_8fiGI2Ui5jVNrhVHekDEG2PhnY1eiw7fnE1u6SZEG4_QAabJQEhrJq8n8EL7PThkYHjIvikTxprSqgOMoDquFD1Jc8lkMvnhBHqPK6wx7XJaNb9-GTwBjA/s320/Birth+of+Colette.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573670294135747330" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkt9jm0nOpAYUEVvEyBWOG4AaU-Wn4mJEMzL57k4cmStR0riOcTFWIkzT7oK2P2hZVfInoMjiJsFNQl3YISrwsmNxYH08z0Ge8YuqzJF6sAWkPab8NuGANXedA8LIzCu7w-AxLQ/s1600/Colette+Moninne+and+Dadoo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkt9jm0nOpAYUEVvEyBWOG4AaU-Wn4mJEMzL57k4cmStR0riOcTFWIkzT7oK2P2hZVfInoMjiJsFNQl3YISrwsmNxYH08z0Ge8YuqzJF6sAWkPab8NuGANXedA8LIzCu7w-AxLQ/s320/Colette+Moninne+and+Dadoo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573670705043778690" /></a><br /><br />I lost a lot of blood, but Rebecca gave me methergine orally, and later pitocin by injection, to help contract the uterus. I stabilized by around 5 in the morning on Wednesday. However, I started losing a lot more blood on Thursday, and she came over Thursday evening around 10pm in response to a call from us updating her on my heart rate of 138 at rest, and uncontrollable headache. After she checked my blood count, it was decided that I should go to the ER. Some huge clots were removed from my uterus by manual extraction (ouch!), and I was admitted with a diagnosis of acute endometritis. The only pain I had, though, was a severe headache (which they ultimately diagnosed as a migraine); this was kind of weird because an inflamed uterus is supposed to be extremely tender, even if just touched lightly. However, 48 hours of heavy antibiotics, plus a blood transfusion, put me on my feet again. So whatever it was, I'm alive and grateful for the important role that modern medicine can play. I discharged Sunday afternoon to home, and since then I've been feeling better and better.<br /><br />Colette is a very quiet, calm baby. We've been very blessed through this ordeal with that, as well as with wonderful neighbors and friends. They let me keep her with me when I was admitted to the hospital, but I needed to have another adult in the room with us at all times, in case something were to happen to me and I couldn't take care of her. So Doodle got neighbors to stay with Tigger overnight, and his boss spent some significant daytime hours with me while he went home to relieve the neighbors. My Mom changed her flight so that she arrived Saturday morning, and she stayed until February 7th.<br /><br />Colette is a 14th century French saint who reformed the Poor Clares; there is actually still a branch (?) of the Poor Clares known as the Colettines. She was known to love animals, and is sometimes pictured with a lamb or a bird. My husband especially loves that piece of trivia. :)<br />My husband's name is Colin, my middle name is Colleen, and her godparents are from Louisiana and have French heritage. So we thought the first name really fit well.<br />Moninne is the nickname of an Irish saint, St. Brinne (BRIN-yeh) who is said to have been baptized & confirmed by St. Patrick. Mo-ninna actually means "my daughter" or "my little girl" in Irish. Depending on which legend you read, she got the name "Moninne" when she cured a dumb man and the first word he uttered was "Ninna Ninna," or it came about because her first word as a baby was "Ninna." <br /><br />So from here on out, she will be referred to on this blog as Ninna (NEE-na).Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-19081599176926006182010-11-18T21:34:00.003-07:002010-11-18T22:10:47.200-07:00Counting DownAs the gestational weeks fly by, and we pass the 30-week mark, I have a sense of urgency with regard to spending quality time with my Tigger. I realize that he won't be ignored once his sister is born, but I also realize that the days of "him and me" will be gone forever.<br /><br />Add to this the fact that the cold weather is threatening to stick around pretty soon, so our days of easy outdoor access are limited.<br /><br />This feeling of urgency has also been encouraged by the daunting thought of taking more than one child out to do grocery shopping and other errands. Especially after speaking to friends with several young children, I find new resolve to appreciate my relative ease-of-mobility at this stage of life.<br /><br />And finally, the desire to make the best of this time has also been encouraged by Tigger himself, and his rapid development of playfulness and communication of late.<br /><br />He plays more interactively every week, and can tell me more certainly how he would like activities to be run. We've enjoyed many little outings in the past few weeks... a rainy trip to Costco where we found all the puddles in the parking lot between the car and the store,... multiple trips to the dog park where he's learning to jump off of some tree stumps, as well as play with other dogs... a trip to the zoo,... a trip to the aquarium,... not to mention all the fun we've been having on sunny days in our own backyard, kicking a soccer ball around, repeatedly setting up his football so he can perform "kick-off," and playing fetch with our own dog.<br /><br />Yesterday, my plan was to initiate him into the joys of jumping into autumn foliage. It was a worthwhile endeavor on the practical side of things, too, since the tree out front has ejected all of its lovely ornamentation onto our lawn. I had forgotten the wonderful smell that rises from the ground when one gathers the dry, papery, fallen leaves together, as well as the more pronounced whiffs of the season when bending down every so often to remove whole pieces pierced through by the rake's prongs. <br /><br />Tigger was only marginally interested in the raking task itself, but he thought the "one - two - three - JUMP!" was hilarious when I demonstrated it. So hilarious, in fact, that he was thrilled to watch ME do it over and over again. <br /><br />"You're turn! You do one-two-three-jump," I tried to prompt him.<br />Shaking his head, he repeatedly responded, "Ma-ma-ma-ma," while pointing to the huge pile of leaves.<br />"You want Mama to do it again?"<br />"Heh?!" he answered every time, which is his particular signification for "yes."<br />It must have been a funny sight, were any of the neighbors watching, to see a 7-month pregnant mother jumping repeatedly into a pile of leaves, while her toddler stood by and laughed with delight.<br /><br />That's one thing I won't be doing for too much longer!Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-25565286601323403682010-10-28T12:56:00.006-06:002010-10-28T15:01:31.101-06:00Voluntary DependenceWords are the actualization of thoughts.<br /><br />Which is one reason I haven't posted lately. The thoughts I've been having are, in some ways, too heavy for words.<br /><br />With both abundant gratitude and great trepidation, I have been contemplating this temporal life, marriage, family, and the tender thread of Faith that keeps me connected to my Creator, the Father of all. We are all human, none of us exempt from temptation or immune from the snares of the Devil.<br /><br />During our marriage preparation class, one guest presenter made a statement I will never forget. "Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce," she stated. "Let's split the room down the middle. Those on this side, look at the other side.... Whose marriages will last?"<br />I was bothered by her matter-of-fact, "it's inevitable" attitude; it still makes me cringe. After all, weren't we there to gather tools from these presenters to increase our likelihood of success? Didn't they offer the best recommendations to be had?<br />There is a grain of truth to her point. No bride walks down the aisle anticipating a future separation. No young man buys an engagement ring while planning a future affair. We have no way to predict the hardships that await, the temptations in our path. So much depends on our voluntary dependence on grace. And, for that matter, our realization of that true dependence we have on God. There is no formula to follow except that of "trust always," and "pray unceasingly." Even then, one spouse may fall away. And the other is left to "trust" and "pray."<br /><br />Unfair?<br />Yes.<br />Unbelievable?<br />Almost always.<br /><br />But it has happened, over and over, these past several years. I have watched as long-time married couples have gone from union to individuals. It is painful to witness, like a body being dismembered. <br />"When you're with them, it's like you're with one person," I said to my husband of a strong marriage. <br />Yet I could have said this about a few marriages that have since seen storms too difficult to weather. Marriages that have given life to beautiful children, who are heartbroken and deeply troubled by these unhappy events.<br /><br />It gives me pause. I am only two years into my marriage. Why should I think I'm exempt? I'm just another young bride, confident that her knight will never leave her. <br /><br />"We must remember to always pray for our husbands," my older sister, <a href="http://lastthingonmymind.blogspot.com">Meg</a>, reminds me. It is so true.<br /><br />And so I clutch that thread of Faith, take nothing for granted, and voluntarily depend on my Father to lead me through the temptations of this world.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-33210134350357359982010-09-27T14:20:00.003-06:002010-09-27T14:45:47.166-06:00A Hurdle JumpedLast week, Doodle and I attended a formal dinner, leaving Tigger with an unrelated babysitter for the first time. The anxiety I experienced during the day before the event was little less than consuming.<br /><br />I wondered how to leave the house without scarring my little boy for life.<br /><br />I worried that he would refuse to go to bed, not having had anyone aside from his parents ever put him to bed for the night. <br /><br />I fretted that the dog's puppy-like behavior would demand more of the sitter's attention than my son's easy-going playfulness. <br /><br />In fact, I half-hoped my husband would call from work and say he was super busy, and that we'd have to cancel.<br /><br />In the end, of course, the evening went very smoothly. We said goodbye to Tigger, who shook his head "no" when asked if he'd like some goodbye kisses. After all, he was busy playing with a plasitc container he had pulled out of our recycling bin!<br /><br />I texted our babysitter twice in the three hours we were gone, asking if everything was okay.<br />"Ya, everything's great," was the first response.<br />"Ya," came the second.<br /><br />When we arrived home, Tigger was in bed, and the babysitter was sitting on the living room couch with the cat curled up next to her and the dog lying at her feet.<br /><br />It was a hurdle for me. Not for my son. <br />Not even for my husband. Except that now he's excited that I'll agree to more frequent date nights in the near future--before the next little one is born!Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-24004489266018202502010-09-17T13:34:00.003-06:002010-09-17T13:38:56.397-06:00My Little GirlI actually wrote this back in May, right after we found out we were expecting #2.<br />Now we know she's a girl. :)<br />I'm so excited to meet her.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">A Mother’s Day Reflection</span><br /><br />“Children are a gift from God,”<br />The old man quoted Psalms.<br />I’d heard it growing up, of course,<br />Now hear it as a Mom.<br /><br />My day is short—so much to do!<br />I wonder at his tone.<br />He speaks like one who’s been there, and,<br />He’s sad those days are gone.<br /><br />I look upon my little son<br />Who stares at the old man.<br />This little one, his perfect form,<br />A gift from heaven’s Hand.<br /><br />A strong compulsion beckons me<br />To squeeze him. So I do,<br />Then look at the old man and nod,<br />“Sir, I believe so, too.”<br /><br />Suddenly all my concerns<br />Of dirty floors and dust<br />Disappear, as in their place<br />I feel my Lord’s sweet trust.<br /><br />He’s given me a precious gift<br />To cherish, love and lead<br />He’s deigned that I—this broken soul—<br />Provide his every need.<br /><br />Humbled by this noble task<br />I turn to go inside.<br />My fingers stroke my middle where<br />Another gift now hides.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-34226180187803807552010-09-13T21:19:00.002-06:002010-09-13T21:36:37.615-06:00Furry FriendsTigger is becoming attached to stuffed animals.<br /><br />Two stuffed animals in particular.<br /><br />One is a teddy bear from...are you ready to follow this one?... <br />the girlfriend of a former member of Doodle's old grad school lab in North Carolina, whom we met when we were in Houston for Doodle's dissertation defense.<br />Her name is Sue, and she's a pediatric nurse. <br />Tigger was only two and a half months old at the time. But the teddy bear is a classic looking teddy, with a bib that proudly proclaims, "My First Green Teddy." <br />So we're all hip about the environment, too, I suppose. (How is a teddy bear "green," I wonder?)<br /><br />His other favorite is a small creature that looks sort of like a baby lion with a cloth diaper on, except he has spotting like a giraffe. We named him Girrion (jer-I'-yen) from the very beginning. This was also an early gift, from my best friend's mother-in-law; she sent it along with an outfit when Tigger was first born.<br /><br />For about the last two weeks, it's the same every morning. We hear him wake up and start calling out. One of us enters the room. Tigger is in his crib, either sitting or standing, but always with Teddy in one arm and Girrion in the other. And we have to lift all three of them out of the crib, or else he becomes very upset.<br /><br />He allows us to seat them, side by side, next to the toaster in the kitchen while he sits in his highchair to eat breakfast. After that, he forgets about them for most of the day. But come nap-time, and then later at bedtime, it is much easier to set him in his crib if you've tucked Girrion under his arm and set Teddy close by.<br /><br />I mused to Doodle the other night, "I wonder what he thinks about them. I wonder if he just likes how soft they are, or if he thinks they have personhood."<br /><br />Either way, it's really precious to see him clutching them first thing in the morning.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-37010861550604059502010-09-10T14:50:00.004-06:002010-09-10T15:09:23.979-06:00Random DeclarationsFor <a href="http://teabluehouse.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-do-declare.html">Mrs. Bear</a>.<br /><br />And because I also think these are fun to do!<br /><br /><br />5 RANDOM THINGS ABOUT SEPHORA:<br /><br /><br />1. I chose my blogger name because I love the name of Moses' wife (of the Old Testament) the way it's spelled and pronounced on the movie "The Ten Commandments" (as opposed to the spelling and pronunciation on the movie "The Prince of Egypt"). My blogger name has nothing to do with a certain line of cosmetics.<br /><br /><br />2. My tendency to multi-task can sometimes get carried away. Yesterday, my dear Doodle came home earlier than I expected, and caught me halfway finished mowing the front lawn. I suppose I count on knowing he'll come home at a certain (later) time, so that I can "wrap things up." Because inside our home, there were a number of tell-tale signs of multi-tasking:<br /><br />~a basket of clean but unfolded laundry sitting next to our bed.<br /><br />~an unmade bed, because the cat decided early in the day to make it his napping spot, and I didn't have the heart to move him. Yet.<br /><br />~little piles of dirt and pet hair in the living and dining room, not yet collected by the dustpan.<br /><br />~dishes soaking in the sink.<br /><br />~all the shower contents (shampoo, razors, etc) sitting atop the closed toilet lid, not yet returned to their places in the newly-scrubbed shower.<br /><br />~a can of cat food sitting on the kitchen counter.<br /><br /><br />3. My favorite color is still purple, and my favorite flower (and scent) is still lilacs. These have been such for a long time.<br /><br /><br />4. I dislike slowing the car down on a main thoroughfare while trying to locate the exact building that I'm looking for. Usually, I end up driving past my destination a few times until I'm sure I know where to turn in. If I don't see it the first or second time, it is likely that I will give up or find an alternative destination. This happens often when I'm looking for a post office.<br /><br /><br />5. Autumn is my favorite season.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-89762372019965729552010-09-09T14:59:00.002-06:002010-09-09T15:04:23.107-06:00Time for a RecipeThis is not my own.<br /><br />Oh, no.<br /><br />I am nowhere NEAR that level of domestic woman.<br /><br />But it is a favorite in our house, so I thought I'd share. We usually have it with scrambled eggs mixed with some kind of meat, smoothies, and coffee (or tea, if you're my husband). Basically, it's our special-occasion substitute for toast!<br /><br />And the season is upon us!<br /><br /><br />Apple Oven Pancake <br />From Williams-Sonoma “Essentials of Breakfast & Brunch”<br /><br />My own 2 cents added in italics, from many early-morning learning experiences!!<br /><br />Ingredients:<br />4 T unsalted butter, <span style="font-style:italic;">separated into 2 T and 2 T</span><br />4 c diced peeled tart apples such as Granny Smith <span style="font-style:italic;">(about 3 large apples)</span><br />2 T firmly packed light brown sugar<br />juice of 1/2 lemon<br />1/2 t ground cinnamon <span style="font-style:italic;">(I just sprinkle til it looks like a nice color!)</span><br />4 large eggs, lightly beaten<br />1 c whole milk <span style="font-style:italic;">(I only ever have 2% on hand; it works fine)</span><br />1 c all-purpose flour<br />1 t vanilla extract<br />1/8 t salt <span style="font-style:italic;">(I think you can officially call this a “pinch,” which is how I add it—who wants to measure out 1/8 teaspoon of salt in the morning??)</span><br />Confectioner’s sugar for dusting<br /><br />Directions:<br />Position a rack in the lower third of the oven, and preheat to 425∞F.<br /><br />In a large frying pan over med-high heat, melt 2 T of the butter. Add the apples and cook, turning as needed, just until tender, 5-7 minutes. Sprinkle evenly with the brown sugar, lemon juice, and cinnamon and stir to combine. Remove from heat.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(While the apples are cooking)</span> Place a large baking dish (9x13 or 12inch diameter) in the oven to heat for 5 minutes <span style="font-style:italic;">(and set a timer!!)</span>. Remove the dish from the oven, add the remaining 2 T of butter, and <span style="font-style:italic;">(keeping in mind that it’s hot and you STILL need a pot holder)</span> tilt the dish to coat the bottom and sides with the butter.<br /><br />Spoon the apples over the bottom of the dish in an even layer.<br /><br />In a bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, flour, vanilla, and salt until blended. <span style="font-style:italic;">(Usually I do this first, after I dice but before I cook the apples.)</span> Carefully pour the batter over the hot fruit.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(Keep in mind that the baking dish is STILL hot, and you STILL need a pot holder to put it into the oven!)</span><br />Bake until puffed and golden brown, 20-25 minutes. Remove from the oven. Using a fine-mesh sieve, dust the top with confectioner’s sugar. Serve at once <span style="font-style:italic;">(with real maple syrup!)</span>.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-75522943760296067392010-09-05T11:07:00.000-06:002010-09-05T11:11:45.762-06:00"And I thought I loved you then..."If you've never heard Brad Paisley's song, "Then," please open it up and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-AtaZ_NU_tU">listen</a>.<br /><br />It's one of my current favorites.<br /><br />He acknowledges the excitement and the intensity of love felt at the start of a couple's relationship, but then also describes how it deepens and grows. The song tells of how a married man becomes more in love with his wife over time. <br /><br />It's a favorite of mine because it echoes how I feel about my husband.<br />(You're about to learn a little more about my Doodle.)<br /><br /><br /><br />When I first met him, I couldn't believe that anyone could be so "right" for me. Not only did he have all the attributes I was looking for in a man, he also seemed to have a sense of the person I was striving to be. Nothing I said surprised him; none of my imperfections upset him. He took me at face value, but also gave me the benefit of the doubt where my foibles were concerned.<br /><br />Little did I know then that this is how he meets everyone--he accepts them where they are, recognizes the best in them immediately, and chooses to relate to that "best" person. My husband can meet and talk to almost anybody. His sincerity is completely disarming, and it puts others at ease. Children and animals are drawn to him like a magnet; his intuitive way of meeting others wherever they are extends even to the little ones.<br /><br />At the same time, he's not naive. He recognizes when people aren't living up to their potential, and he's an excellent judge of character. <br /><br />This sincerity of heart allows my Doodle to really enjoy life, and to have a childlike Faith. There is no guile in him; no energy is wasted on pretending to be more or less than he is. He is always ready to have fun, and he takes delight in the beauty of natural occurrences. <br /><br />As a scientist, his humility and sense of wonder recognizes God, our Creator, in the workings of microscopic proteins in cells. As a father, he truly enjoys making up games that our Tigger will laugh at, and loves teaching him little bits and pieces about the world around us.<br /><br />In the evenings when our son is asleep, Doodle asks me about what Tigger did that day. We marvel together at his newest little accomplishments, and share amazement at the way God created His little beings to grow.<br /><br />There is no way I could have seen the extent of Doodle's love of life, and awe of creation, from the beginning of our relationship.<br /><br /><br /><br />Anyone who has met my husband knows that he loves animals, and that he especially loves birds. He knows more about birds than anyone I've ever met. He is the only person I know who recognizes--and can name--a bird he's never seen before. We have several bird feeders in our backyard, and a few on our front porch. It takes several hours every week to keep them fresh and full, but he doesn't mind. His quiet time in the morning is spent with a mug of hot tea and his binoculars, watching the birds at the feeders. If I come stand by him, he'll make a few quiet remarks about what he's observed so far that day. Knowing that he can find such peace from this favorite activity gives me so much joy.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Did I mention that he is artistic? <br />There is almost nothing I feel confident arranging in--or on the walls of--our home, without his input. Not that he would ever criticize my choices, but I just respect his detail-oriented opinion much more than my random tendencies. He has a perceptive eye for everything from decor and landscape to fashion and photography. <br /><br /><br /><br />Speaking of detail-oriented, Doodle is the best gift-giver I've ever met. He picked out my engagement ring; it was perfect. I didn't see my wedding band until he put it on my finger during our exchange of rings; again, beautiful. Everything he's ever given me has been perfectly suited to my style, my personality, and my taste.<br />But this talent of his extends beyond gifts to me; I now consult him when I'm giving gifts to my friends--these are people I've known for years! Maybe it ties into his knack for really connecting with people that he meets. Whatever it is, it is another area where he amazes me.<br /><br /><br />Sincere, humble, joyful, peaceful, artistic, thoughtful,... and loving. Man, can my Doodle <span style="font-weight:bold;">love</span>! He knows how to make me feel special, how to make me smile, how to tease me just enough to be playful but not too much to be hurtful. He somehow knows just how to make me happy.<br /><br />The other day, before I left for work, I told him that I'd like one of our crosses hung centrally above the kitchen windows.<br />When I came home from work that day, I found:<br />~the living room walls tastefully decorated by our framed pictures<br />~the stereo system set up, music pouring from the speakers<br />~the fireplace mantle clear of excess items<br />~the fish tank set up in the dining room<br />~the dining room furniture re-arranged<br />~another picture frame hung on Tigger's bedroom wall<br /><br />...and the specified cross was hung centrally above our kitchen windows!!<br /><br /><br />Finally, he is a man of principle. He is not outspoken, nor does he engage in debate unless absolutely necessary. However, he lives by the principles he knows to be true--without wavering. <br /><br />As each year passes, I realize more and more that my Doodle is the stronghold God has given me to cling to while I struggle with my imperfections on this journey of life.<br /><br /><br /><br />"What I don't see is how I'm ever gonna love you more; ...but I've said that before."Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-28574928071770085392010-09-02T00:15:00.000-06:002010-09-02T12:25:13.108-06:00RisibilityI didn't learn until I was in college that the reason humans laugh is because we're rational.<br /><br />Apparently, it takes some logical brains to decipher whether something is humorous.<br /><br />I remember reading one author in particular (don't ask me to remember which one) who explained that humor is recognition of the absurd. This makes sense to me; people with a highly developed sense of humor generally have the knack for quick analysis of a situation in all its complicated, potential absurdities.<br /><br />My little Tigger laughs everyday. I'd like to say I do, as well, but he <span style="font-weight:bold;">definitely</span> does; and if I definitely do, it's because his is contagious. He expresses his rational soul on a regular basis. It's like his little innocent being understands what it means to be human in the fullest sense. <br /><br />St. Iranaeus said, "Man fully alive is the glory of God." In other words, the more we actualize or participate in the life God created us to live, the more He is glorified. God created us after His image, higher than the animals, with a rational soul. So the more we are true to ourselves (aka: act like the rational beings we are), the more we are glorifying God.<br />This leads me to conclude that joyful laughter glorifies God.<br /><br />A corollary to this conclusion might be that children glorify God, but that's more of a first principle, don't you think?<br /><br />I think it's marvelous that my Tigger laughs everyday. Perhaps his sense of humor is not the most sophisticated, but the more he learns, the more he develops into the man God created him to be. For now, his laughter has enough meaning to convince me of the active presence of his rational soul. <br /><br />And it reminds me to actualize mine, to the glory of God.Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8150899.post-82102707895647474432010-09-01T14:33:00.004-06:002010-09-01T14:49:18.553-06:00Fall SheddingDoodle assures me that I'm not crazy.<br /><br />That yes, it is possible to have thoroughly swept the floor three times today, yet still acquire a huge pile of hair the fourth time.<br /><br />We have a dog and a cat.<br />Both black. <br /><br />So actually, I shouldn't say I know <span style="font-style:italic;">for sure</span> who to blame more. But the hairs that I gather up into the dustpan are long, and a bit bristly. And whenever the dog shakes, I see little tufts of these long hairs on the wood floor, in a circle around him. And whenever the dog lies down, I can tell where he's been by the scattered black hairs left behind.<br />In all fairness, the cat is also black. And he goes everywhere in the house. And I find black hair everywhere--even where the dog hasn't been.<br /><br />However, I told Doodle this evening, "The next dog we get should be a Labradoodle, or even just a Poodle."<br /><br />His suggestion: "Those <a href="http://static.gotpetsonline.com/pictures-gallery/dog-pictures-breeders-puppies-rescue/mexican-hairless-dog-pictures-breeders-puppies-rescue/pictures/mexican-hairless-dog-0001.jpg">Mexican hairless dogs</a> are becoming wildly popular."<br /><br />"Um, no, thank you," I replied. "I don't want an ugly dog; just one that doesn't shed." (Apologies to anyone who owns a Mexican hairless dog or thinks they are good-looking animals. Personally, I think they look naked.)<br /><br />Then I turned to the dog. "I love you, Caomhan, but you just shed too much. Do you want to learn a new trick? Maybe how to collect all your fur-droppings into a neat pile for me to sweep up?"<br /><br />Doodle laughed. Then he taught <span style="font-style:italic;">me</span> something I didn't know before. Dogs shed extra in the spring and the fall. Isn't that amazing? Even domesticated dogs. It's a seasonal change of coats. So maybe this craziness is only temporary.<br /><br />Like the loving husband he is, Doodle proceeded to take the dog out back tonight and brush him with the <a href="http://www.google.com/products/catalog?q=furminator&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&cid=13667925188513371690&ei=eLt-TPmMC4uisAOXl5z1Cg&sa=X&oi=product_catalog_result&ct=result&resnum=4&ved=0CFAQ8wIwAw#">Furminator</a>.<br /><br />I stayed inside, excited about another revelation: Fall is here!!Sephorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11880957006244649923noreply@blogger.com0