Anew

Lately, I have been in a holding pattern. I now weigh more than I did when I was nine months pregnant with my daughter. I have a house that is jumbled, messy, and stale. I have been struggling with an apathy that just isn't in my nature. I am a planner, a doer. Yet for months now, I have felt like I've been just going through the motions of my life. That bigger and better things would happen to me eventually, so why bother with my here and now.

Last week, I got a wake-up call.

I went to my yearly check-up with my OB/GYN. I was dreading it a little, knowing that she would be concerned with my weight, and also with the fact that we hadn't settled the baby decision. But the thing is, I love my doctor and I enjoy getting a chance to talk with her. Maybe because she is very caring, yet straight-forward. Maybe because she will tell you how things stand and not sugar coat things unnecessarily.

She didn't have wonderful news for me.

It seems that the results of some bloodwork that I had done show that I am not able to carry another baby full-term without medical intervention. I can physically conceive a child, but I lack the proper amounts of hormones to allow a child to develop normally. My Peanut was a one-in-a-million, God-given-miracle of a blessing. If I do become pregnant, there are medications and supplements that they can give me to try to keep me from mis-carrying, but that also carry the risk of side effects and birth defects. The long and the short of it is, we are not likely to have anymore children.

As my doctor sat there and relayed this information, I felt myself getting angry. Even though the fact of the matter is, for the last year, I have been seriously doubting whether I wanted to try for another baby. Now that the decision had been made for me I wanted to cry and rant and scream "It's not fair!". I actually sat weeping on the examination table, thinking about how I would tell my husband and what this might mean to my own identity as a woman. The mumbled refrain of "useless, useless, useless" kept running through my head.

Then I was still.

It occurred to me that even though I wanted a family and a home, I wasn't being a very good steward of the one that God had given me. I have been a lot less than I should have been, lately. While sitting there gnashing my teeth and crying "Why me?", I was forgetting the fact that God had already given me an amazing little girl and a good husband to love and nurture. And the truth is, I haven't been doing my job properly.

As I dressed, I began a catalog of the things that I have been letting slip in or sometimes slide completely from my grasp. I realized that I was crying about a reward I thought I deserved, when in fact, I deserved nothing. Any blessing I already had, was by God's bottomless grace and no other source. I felt ashamed at weeping.

So, as I pulled on my socks, I vowed that my ennui was ending there and then. No more half-done housework. No more resenting my husband's long hours away. No more seeing my mothering duties as dull drudgery and a drain on "my" time. I was going to quit my moping around and do my job correctly.

When I do my duties as wife and mother with purpose and joy, that is when I am truly happy. Feminists can say what they want about the self-deluded state of a housewife, but I can tell you that I never feel more content and fulfilled than when my home is running smoothly and my family is happy. I realize now that the thing causing me to feel depressed and zoned out was not that I didn't have what I wanted but that I had stopped doing the things that I should. My heart's dearest desires were sitting around me in a cluttered home eating dinner from a box.

Hopefully, my fire continues to burn.

I have started myself back on the track of wifely and motherly excellence. I have decided that there is no reason why I am not accomplishing the things that make me happy, other than my own laziness and lack of commitment. Keep me in your thoughts.

IZZE

I have a new addiction.

While browsing the isles of my favorite store of all things fun and enjoyable (Target), I came upon these beautiful, slender, little cans of carbonated juice from a company called IZZE. All I can say is yum. The drink is made of just juice and sparkling water and is delicious. (my favs are pomegranate and grapefruit) I've never been a soda drinker, but I can't get enough of IZZE.
IZZE also sponsors and funds a program called "Project Reach" which provides education for the workers who pick the fruit that they buy, which are usually itinerant workers or newly arrived immigrants. And while I am not naive enough to believe that they are not in the business to make a profit, it is nice to see a company who feels a little responsibilty for their surrounding community and world.

Do yourself a favor and find some IZZE!

A Fraud Confesses

As I was making lunch today, I realized that I was living a lie. It is time to come clean.

I love to cook. I love growing, and harvesting, and preserving my own food. I love to can my brains out. I love being a homey, lovely, soft kind of person. I have a large repertoire of soul and body nurturing recipes and practices that make me feel fulfilled and strong. But there is a glaring chink in my armor of love.

I cannot make biscuits from scratch.

Under my sweet FIL's tutelage, I produced rocky lumps of concrete. Under the proficient hands of my Grandma, I produced biscuits so light and flaky that they were nothing but flakes so loose that you could not take one from the platter without using a spoon. I have studied recipes from southern cooks who claim that theirs is the "fool-proof" way.(anyone know what the level below fool is called?)I have watched shows and read books, studying the method and technique of countless experts and ordinary people. All to no avail. Even my guru of cooking, Alton Brown and his Ma Mae's recipe were no match for my incompetence.

It's not that I don't understand the pastry processes behind biscuit making. I get the science. I just lack that special magic touch. It is one food that just doesn't click for me. Therefore, I am forced to fall back on supermarket alternatives to meet the biscuit needs of my country-cooking-raised husband.

Every time I pick up "Pillsbury's Lard Chunks" my hillbilly foremothers spin in their graves. Whenever I tear open that packet of "Biscrete Baking Mix" I blush and quickly toss the incriminating evidence in the wastepaper bin. The only mix that makes me feel slightly better is Jiffy's "Buttermilk Biscuit Mix" and even then I have to roll them out in wheat flour just to be able to sleep at night. The shame knows no end.

Maybe someday I'll be able to manage what most girls around here can do in their sleep by the age of thirteen, but until then, can we keep this our little secret?

And as the lovely, Aussie, Fe just reminded me, most of the world outside my secluded behemoth of a country would call what I am trying to make, scones. Biscuits/cookies are a whole different story! :)

Easter 2006

  

Eureka!

If you were all sitting at your keyboards and biting your nails, worried about my sanity in the quest for the mystery smell, I can now put your fears to rest. The smell has been discovered!

It was a dishtowel. The odd thing is, it was a clean, dry dishtowel. Stacked in the drawer with all of it's brothers and sisters, it was quietly stinking up the place. Apparently, some nasty bacteria or other decided that my favorite green towel was the ideal place to settle down and raise a family. And now, after multiple washings and a boiling the smell is still in residence. So, I must bid a tearful adieu to my cherished, dries-glasses-just-right, always-fluffs-up-perfectly, green dishtowel.

You will be missed.



Okay, now you can all go back to worrying about my sanity for the everyday reasons.

Peanut-isms

From the lips of my hilarious two-year old:

"No-see" = snow

"baby-cute sauce" = barbeque sauce

"rainbrella" = duh :)

"whey-ner" = livingroom (I have no idea, lol!)

"crunch toast" = french toast

"green juice" and "pink juice" = apple juice and grape juice respectively(refers to the color of the packages instead of the actual content)

"Lalapillar" = "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" by Eric Carle

Smelly

Did you ever have one of those mystery smells in your house?

One of those empty-and-scrub-every-garbage-can, look-under-the-beds-for-a-crusty-old-sandwich, pry-up-the-floorboards-in-search-of-a-dead-rodent kind of things?

There is this smell in my house that I have been picking up on for the last two days. My husband swears that he doesn't detect a thing. No one else seems to smell it. I keep getting these little whiffs that are driving me on a mad search-and-clean mission throughout the house, for the offending item.

But it's not here.

Maybe it's just my home-selling paranoia. Hopefully, it's not some neighbor's missing pet, lol!

Squee!

I hit a big milestone as a Mommy today. Peanut presented me with her first "I made this just for you, Mama" drawing. I couldn't be any prouder! Silly little everyday things like this are some of my favorite parts of being a parent.

  

In Which I Am Convinced That My life Is Part of Some Wacky TV Sitcom

I got my head stuck in the dryer today.

That is not a misprint.

While reaching way in the back for that last wayward sock, my hair, which has gotten very long, became caught on some part of the door mechanism. When I backed out to stand up, it got even more firmly tangled. I could go neither forward nor back and so much hair was caught that I couldn't even tear myself loose. It was either laugh or cry.

So I laughed.

Luckily, my husband was at home this morning, and was able to come to my rescue. Even though he gave me a look that said he seriously doubted my ability to function without assistance. I just reminded him of the time that he super-glued both of his hands to his tongue, and that was the end of the looking.

Shouldn't I be getting paid for producing all of this wonderful entertainment for the world?

As If I Needed Any More Confirmation That I Have Lost My Mind

Yesterday was a beautiful day here. The sky was blue, the sun was out and the birds were chirping. We had a birthday party to attend for the lovely little daughter of our good friends. The gift was bought and wrapped. Our clothes were clean and pressed. We all made it out the door on time and without major incident. We even made the twenty minute drive to our friends' parents' home without getting lost.

I failed to notice that the date of the party was the 19th, not the 18th.


Not looking forward to today, as I know the laws of my universe are not going to allow me to prepare so smoothly for the same outing twice, lol!

Marriage

Tonight we celebrate our eighth wedding anniversary. I find it a little unbelievable that it has been eight years already. Most of the time, it feels as if we are still stumbling through those early newlywed days!

As I was purchasing my husband's anniversary card this week, the cashier (who I will tell you, didn't look a day over 18) noticed it and asked how long we had been married. When I told her eight years, she looked surprised and offered her congratulations on staying together so long. When I responded with a thank you and told her that eight years wasn't really very long at all, she told me that aside from her grandparents, she didn't know of anyone else in her family that had been married so long. That definitely gave me a reason to pause and think.

I myself came from a divorced home, but as it wasn't very common in our area, most of my friends had married parents. As I grew older, it seemed as if an epidemic had hit society, and people's parents were splitting all over the place, but by no means had it become so common that it drew no comment. Now, it seems that things have swung around completely.

The fact that marriage, and not divorce, is now the novelty makes me very sad, but it also makes me realize just how lucky I am to have a husband that is worth being married to. We do not have a rosy, make-believe kind of love. Our marriage, like all marriages, is hard work, and work that must be attended to every day. But the fact of the matter is, it is worth the effort.

The fulfillment and happiness that my marriage brings me is worth all of the little petty annoyances that pop up when you live with a person 24/7. The stability and support that I receive from my husband is something that was sorely lacking in my own childhood. I only wish that more people would take their marriages seriously and put the effort required into them. Marriage can be such a good thing!