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My Pinterest Test Kitchen. Cook This: Granola Bars.
And so after the rousing success of the cinnamon roll I told you I would share some of the recipes I’ve been whipping up lately. I have been racing through my Pinterest Cook This board. Maybe you’re like me and you pin a bunch of delicious looking food and sometimes you make it and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes I wonder if what my ring-laden hands create could ever possibly match the perfectly-lit photographic images on the computer screen. Could anything that divine be produced in my full sun yellow, usually somewhat disheveled, kitchen? Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Anyway. Here’s my plan. I pin it. I cook it. I tell you…
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me vs. expectations. a daily battle.
I struggle with expectations. I could start with that single sentence and go off in thirty different directions. (Maybe I’ll revisit expectations again later. It’s a beast of a problem, you know.) Today I’ll reign it all in around this: I struggle with this particular expectation – I should accomplish certain tasks every day. They could (and they do) vary with the rising of each sun. But I always go to bed with the next day’s to-do list on repeat in my brain. And I generally feel like a failure before my warm feet hit our freezing floor. I ignore the alarm too many times. There won’t be time to…
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Book Club: Island of the Blue Dolphins
Book Club. I’ve been loving it since it began. February brought us Island of the Blue Dolphins. I think Scott O’Dell should have put the author’s notes in the front of the novel this time instead of the back. It wasn’t until after I read the entire book that I realized that the fascinating story was based on true events. This was the first novel that London, Mosely and I each read separately. London first. Mosely second. Me third. Surprisingly, London was a big fan. She actually discussed this book on her own, pre-book club. (She reads books and usually responds with – “it wasn’t my favorite”.)…
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the road to adventure.
“I hope adventure finds you today.” That’s the text my friend sent out last Tuesday morning. Several of us were scheduled to attend a class about wolves about Pisgah National Park. The weather had other plans and snow on the mountain caused our class to be cancelled. We all joked about our day’s schedule being altered and she sent that text. “I hope adventure finds you today.” I had already planned the day as a field trip day. Lunch was already packed. Water bottles were filled. Shoot, I’d even baked homemade pita the night before. I looked at my kids – dressed in field trippin’ attire – and I said,…
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it’s dangerous to think after midnight
Some days I’m convinced that I’m crazy. It’s my own particular brand. I’m hoping we’ve all got our own signature varieties of crazy. At least that’s what I tell myself. To make me feel less crazy. Last night after bedtime I heard Otto calling my name. “Momma!” He was standing by our bedroom door. “I just want to sleep in anyone else’s bed,” he whispered in his raspy nighttime voice, his fingers clutching his dirty blanket. “How about Momma and Daddy’s bed?” I asked. He grinned, surprised at the unusual ease of that exchange, and scooted right up into the center of our giant sagging bed, closed his eyes and…
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not responsible.
This week a friend of mine said she was going to stop reading my blog posts. Because they’ve been making her cry recently. I can’t say it’s been my goal to make any reader cry. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t somehow a tiny bit pleased that my words could strike a chord that would potentially make someone cry. I think I consider it a compliment. Not because I love tears. (Although you know I joined the ranks of The Criers not that long ago.) But because I love the power of words. The power of story. And it’s infinitely flattering to even hope my words occasionally…
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knowing my ones.
I’ve been watching them it seems all of their lives. Which, of course, is true. I have. I’ve been watching and memorizing and forgetting. And watching. And re-learning. Still, at the end of each day, as my eyes wearily close and my world grows dark, I know I will still forget. I know it’s not enough. I will never be full enough. There is no satisfying my insatiability to know know know these small humans whose care and training I have been given. May it always be a beautiful challenge, a marvelous mystery.
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ripple. we’ll be expecting you.
Many months in the planning, the women in our homeschool gathering had a bit of a grown up slumber party/retreat/call it what you want this weekend. And, frankly, I’m at a loss for words to describe the simple beauty of the few days spent in comfortable camaraderie with like-minded moms. (All you mothers out there – schedule one for yourself as soon as possible. It’s the anecdote to loads of concerns and troubles.) We started tossing the idea around probably five months ago and picked the weekend at least four months prior. That’s how you have to roll when five mothers represent eighteen children. (Thank you husbands for staying home…
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To Young Mothers. To All Mothers. To Me.
I remember being pregnant with Bergen. Early on. Sick sick sick. Sending a ten-year old to school and staring at two toddlers strapped into their booster seats in the kitchen. Spoon feeding them yogurt while I was sprawled across the tile on the dirty kitchen floor. Crying to myself and wondering how I would ever survive until lunch. Exhausting days. Surprisingly bittersweet recollections. I’ve stood in the bathroom at a Quizno’s throwing away poop-stained underwear. Realizing I had no back up spares packed for our day out. Trying to wrangle toddler hands from caressing the toilet seat. Tossing the equally poop-stained skirt in the trash too. Crammed in the tiny…
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flower love.
The kids pulled Kevin and I outside the other day, insisting that we close our eyes along the way. Which led to bumped shins and tripping through holes in our lawn. But when we opened our eyes – we saw this …… Happy Day of Hearts and Chocolate and Candy and All Things Pink.
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the surprise package
A package addressed to Otto and Piper arrived in the mail yesterday. That might have been thrill enough for them. Piper opened it right there in the car. It was something wrapped in thick padding. She carefully pulled off the extra paper. Every other kid is anxiously watching. Enjoying Piper and Otto’s obvious excitement. Inside the package is ……… a glass bottle! A glass bottle filled with sand and shells. Sand and shells and two letters. Otto wanted to hold the bottle while London read the words out loud to him. London read a darling invitation to Otto and Kevin read the adorable invitation to Piper that asked them both…
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whatcha’ got cookin’?
Sometimes I just get in a mood. A mood to use goofy grammar in a blog title. A mood to cook up a variety of new recipes. A mood to not make the same meal twice all month. Just a mood. You know? Last week Bergen was in a mood to make our own frozen yogurt. So we did. I should have read the recipe through more closely. I tend to have this habit of checking the ingredient list but not reading the instructions prior to committing to that particular recipe. Which is what happened with the yogurt. You had to first cook the blueberries on the stove top. And…
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texas wins.
Last weekend the kids and I spent two days in Charlotte. In December we drove there for a birthday party. I can’t even begin to recount the number of Charlotte-bound drives our Suburban has made over the past five years of living in South Carolina. The spotting of the giant peach water tower is always our half way mark. But after this week, I won’t be heading that way so much. I’m not going to say I’ll miss the drive on highway 85. But, if you could hear the depths of my sighs right now, you’d know how much I’m going to miss my destination. Emma and her family are…
