So, having written posts to memorialize my children's birthdays, it just doesn't seem like I should leave out my husband. I mean, he did have a birthday too.
But, while I can write about seven ways Mia is maturing or the one central thing I know about Elsie Jane, coming up with over thirty items of any sort seems a bit tough. Not that there are not over thirty things I love about Jeffrey, it's just... well, it seems a bit contrived for him.
So, what do I do?
I could write a sappy post about how much I love him, how he is the love of my life. How after ten years of marriage I am would never want to be with anyone else. I could say how much I respect his example of devotion to me and to the Lord, how he always encourages me and listens to me.
I could talk about what a great father he is. The sacrifices he makes to provide for his family AND actually spend time with them too. I could talk about the way he plays ponies with the girls or dances with them, how no one's arrival at home ever compares to their dad's. But, maybe it is a little too much.
Maybe, I should write about how he is great with people, a natural born leader, and a fabulous speaker. Maybe I should list accomplishments like winning prestigious national and university-wide scholarships, graduating top in his law school class or landing coveted jobs? But, that just seems pretentious.
I could talk about his good heart. The free legal work and advice he gives, the way he cares about his community, or how he decides to cut back on gifts for himself every year so he can do something special for me or give anonymously to those who need it more.
Then, I could list virtues he possesses, like honesty, integrity, trustworthiness, punctuality. Talk about how he goes the extra mile and never does anything half way. But, that would just make him sound like a boy scout.
Perhaps I should just think about the things Jeffrey likes like coke, Longfellow, rocks, Monk, golf, politics, and bonsai trees. But, that is too impersonal.
I guess, in the end, I just don't know what to say. I have run out of ideas and steam. That is just how it goes when you have the third and last birthday in the family in a six day stretch; by the time I get to Jeffrey it is a little hard to think about being excited over another party with cake.
So, since I have run out of words too and don't have enough to hit that thirty-plus mark, I guess I will just say, "Happy Birthday, Jeffrey. I love you."
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Nothing but Joy
When I was pregnant with Elise Jane I felt strongly that her arrival and contribution to our family would be a metaphor, a means through which God would manifest his loving care for me and my family.
When all the complications of her birth worked into a perfectly timed, seamless delivery with the help I needed in town and no negative health effects for me or Elsie Jane, I thought I had gotten the message: Turn your life over to God, he will provide for you and care for you far better than all that you would have planned.
Then, during the summer, I found myself praying, pleading for reassurance that a situation would resolve itself in the best way for me and my family. While I was praying, Elsie Jane began to cry. As I held my sweet little baby, her head nuzzling softly into my neck, this thought came clearly to my mind: "Elsie Jane is the metaphor," followed by the question: "Emily, what has Elsie Jane brought into your life?"
The answer presented itself almost the instant the question was formed. It required no thought or contemplation: "Nothing but joy."
As a mother of two children I fully expected to be smitten with my third. I knew I would adore her and be grateful for her presence in our family.
But, I am a realist. I also expected that life would be harder for having her there. That three kids would, of course, be a greater challenge than two.
As time has passed and I have reflected on this simple statement, I am in awe of it's truthfulness. Elsie Jane has brought me nothing but joy.
I cannot say that my life is harder for having her in any way. She is the most pleasant, contented, happy child I have ever encountered. I did not know that such easy-going babies existed. She has not been a burden, but she has been a delight.
Her smiles melt my heart. And, those dimples. Oh my! I love her blue eyes and her beautiful lips.
She can entertain herself, loves anything her sisters do with her, and is patient with her parents. She naps and sleeps. She eats most anything.
In the last two weeks she has taken to almost exclusively walking to get places, and she is fast! She loves to climb and try to keep up with Mia and Maggie. If they go somewhere, she always follows.
She is friendly and adaptable. She is starting to make friends (at least one who joined us for her birthday party).
In everything that she is, Elsie Jane has enriched our family. I can't pick her up or hold her close or look at her from across the room without marveling at how her presence has created such happiness.
As she turns one year old, I am grateful for Elsie Jane, who has in all ways lived up to the meaning of her name, "God's gift of abundance."
With my three girls, I am learning everyday how much abundance must truly await me in life. If Elsie Jane is the metaphor than I can trust that all that God intends for me is an overflowing of love and joy.
Seven Ways You Know Mia is Seven
1- The teeth. I recently helped at field day at Mia's school. Working with the K-2 students I established the following rule: baby teeth = kindergarten, missing teeth = 1st grade, Too big of teeth = 2nd. See picture above. As Mia would say, "I rest my case."
2- The constant narration of every street sign, business sign and other legible surface as I drive in the car. This includes the helpful habit of advising me of the speed limit and then monitoring my speedometer at all times. She can read.
3- Notes and cards. When Mia wants something at night she has taken to dropping missives down to the lower foyer. They say things like, "Mom I need hlp. Plese cum now!" She also leaves me little notes on my bed that say "I 'heart' you" and sends cards to her friends and grandmas.
4- Increased coordination. It is amazing how a few years lead to a general improvement in controlling one's limbs. Mia has taken off on her new bike, is totally steady on the roller blades she just got for her birthday, and began her soccer season by scoring three goals in the first game. Wow! She has also recently mastered whistling, snapping her fingers, and can almost do a pirouette. Cart- wheels are next on her list.
5- An unselfish perspective. In child psychology we talked about the age when empathy really begins to emerge; it is ten. But, for Mia, it seems to have always been quite innate. We visited Santa in the mall a week ago (I know it's not December, but there wasn't a line, and he was there.) Mia and Maggie informed him that they want a doll house for Christmas, but that they know they have to share it. Then, Santa asked, "Are you sure there isn't just one thing you want for yourselves?" (Thanks a lot Santa! I have been working on the shared doll house plan for a while now!) Maggie shook her head, then he turned to Mia who said, "You know Santa, there are a lot of poor children in the world and kids who don't have all the toys that I do. Why don't you take something extra to them instead?"
6- Boundless Creativity. To Mia's delight almost every gift for her birthday was a craft set. She is constantly creating something: a broom from a stick and paper, invitations to a birthday party for her stuffed animal, necklaces, a zoo on the floor of her bedroom, clothes for her horse. She has learned to do basic sewing stitches, weave on her new loom, use paints responsibly, bead, and the list just goes on. Boundless and inexhaustible creativity.
7- She can't wait to be baptized. We must talk every day about her upcoming baptism when she is eight. On Sunday, on the way to a fireside that she attentively listened to and then recounted perfectly to her dad when we got home (with observations about how she could work to make more good choices in her life), Mia reminded me that we had a goal to finish the Book of Mormon together before her baptism. Oh yeah, we need to get going on that! Mia loves the gospel. She shares it with her friends; she understands the principles; she recognizes the influence of the spirit. And, Mia wants to do the right things for the right reasons. As a mother I could not ask for anything more.
It is so fun to see all the growth and changes that seven brings! Happy Birthday, Mia Joy!
Let Them Eat Cake.. and More Cake... and More Cake... and More Cake
So, events at our house over the past few weeks have run something like this:
1- Survive the swine flu. Although Jeffrey and Maggie still have coughs, I think we have bested H1N1. And, only by the grace of God, I managed to avoid it all together so that someone in our home could function to take care of all the rest.
2- Clean house, wash laundry.
3- Have Grandma arrive.
4- Prepare games, stuff goodie bags, clean house, bake cake.
5- Have a party for Mia and friends.
6- Wrap gifts, clean house, buy cake.
7- Have another party for Mia.
8- Wrap gifts, clean house, bake a carrot cake.
9- Have a party for Elsie Jane.
10- Wrap gifts, clean house, bake a chocolate mousse cake.
11- Have a party for Jeffrey.
Here it is in another form:
1- Survive the swine flu. Although Jeffrey and Maggie still have coughs, I think we have bested H1N1. And, only by the grace of God, I managed to avoid it all together so that someone in our home could function to take care of all the rest.
2- Clean house, wash laundry.
3- Have Grandma arrive.
4- Prepare games, stuff goodie bags, clean house, bake cake.
5- Have a party for Mia and friends.
6- Wrap gifts, clean house, buy cake.
7- Have another party for Mia.
8- Wrap gifts, clean house, bake a carrot cake.
9- Have a party for Elsie Jane.
10- Wrap gifts, clean house, bake a chocolate mousse cake.
11- Have a party for Jeffrey.
Here it is in another form:
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Art of Cooking
I have a love hate relationship with cooking. In fact, I think that it is my love of it that causes me to so often hate it.
I love thinking through all the aspects of a meal in which each element balances the others. I love making and eating good food. But, most of all, I think the thing I love about cooking is the creative process.
I love combining flavors together into something perfectly complimentary. I love how raw ingredients turn into a dish, the sum of which is so much more than the individual parts.
For me, a recipe is a starting place. Where some see cooking from recipes as predictable and precise, laws that when followed will always deliver a certain result, I see recipes as suggestions. They are a place from which to begin, but rarely, if ever, do I fully follow them. I am always making substitutions, trying new variations, thinking of different combinations.
When I sew, I prefer to avoid patterns and set designs so that I can play around and imagine the creative possibilities. I feel the same with recipes. I like to explore them, be inspired by them, learn from them, but then do things on my own.
Perhaps it is just my independent streak, a deep-seated resistance to authority. Perhaps it is pride or arrogance, an inaccurate view of my own abilities. Perhaps in this area I am no more mature than my three year-old, psychologically stamping my foot and insisting on doing things "MY WAY!"
Whatever the explanation, the truth is that when I feel stifled, when the creative process is lost and cooking is just a rote task, I hate it. I really, really hate it.
And hating it is where I have been spending a lot of time lately.
The problem is that cooking cannot be a creative process, a soulful exploration of flavor and texture for three meals a day seven days a week. I just don't have the time or energy for that. All I would do is grocery shop and cook. Which sometimes it feels like is all I do, even when I am producing mediocre and uninspiring food.
In addition to the time constraints, there are other practical considerations. Such as the fact that every time I prepare a meal, at least one member of my family sits down at the table, looks at her plate, and commences dinner conversation with, "Ewwww! This is gross." Since this little person is on the "Eat what I fix and the rest of the family is having or else eat PB&J" meal plan, I then usually stand up, leave my food, and fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
There is also the matter of losing the joy of cooking under extreme pressure. Like trying to make the bus on time, or get myself or Jeffrey out the door for a meeting, or just survive the unavoidable chaos of the 4:30-5:30 hour.
Preparing a beautiful meal while you call out spelling words over one shoulder, try to avoid stepping on goldfish crackers, toys, and all the towels and pot holders that have just been thrown on the floor, listen to and watch the troll dance happening in the family room, discourage over-snacking right before the meal, answer the incessant phone calls of the evening, and try to lovingly respond to constant whining just is not all that creatively stimulating.
And then, when the meal has been eaten, the dishes strewn throughout the kitchen, the mess on the floor abandoned, the children bathed, read to, and in bed, and all alone at 8:30 pm I face the mess that deciding to cook a nice meal created, I wonder, "What am I doing to myself?"
It is in this state, when my depressed and discouraged artist within feels like abandoning all efforts and letting my family survive on Chick-fil-A, that I try to remind myself of all the other reasons I cook. I try to frame cooking in the same light as I frame housework: it is about nurturing. It is about health and frugality, about time together and a well-run household. It is a way I care for and show love to my little family. It is not really any different than laundry or mopping the floors.
As I embrace this perspective I remind myself it is okay to eat tuna sandwiches or just spaghetti for dinner. I reduce my expectations for personal fulfillment in preparing food and allow my kids to eat macaroni and cheese out of a box sometimes. I plug away with diligence in the virtue of just putting food on the table, another task in the long list of tasks that comprise each of my days. I try to simplify the process.
It is a practical, but unenriching approach.
I was overcome by such resignation two weeks ago when I decide to turn a butternut squash into soup. I have played around with squash soup before, but never been fully, completely satisfied with the results. But, this night it happened.
I produced a pot of soup that managed to taste of all the splendor of fall. It was smoky orange and savory, yet sweet at the same time. It was a glorious crisp day when the sun shone through orange and yellow leaves warming my head and yet a cool breeze tickled my nose, pureed in a bowl. It tasted like fall smells and smelled like fall looks.
And, once again, I fell in love with cooking. As I ate, I thought of other dishes I could create, a salad to compliment this soup, a perfect wassail to simmer in a pot, the wild rice and mushroom soup I have been longing to attempt. The soup entered my mouth and nourished my soul.
Want the "recipe" click on the link to Emily's Kitchen. I also have a couple of other recipes that I have discovered, or rediscovered, this fall. Just, bear in mind, nothing is too exact with me. These recipes are just estimations of what I did. Just let go and experiment yourself.
I love thinking through all the aspects of a meal in which each element balances the others. I love making and eating good food. But, most of all, I think the thing I love about cooking is the creative process.
I love combining flavors together into something perfectly complimentary. I love how raw ingredients turn into a dish, the sum of which is so much more than the individual parts.
For me, a recipe is a starting place. Where some see cooking from recipes as predictable and precise, laws that when followed will always deliver a certain result, I see recipes as suggestions. They are a place from which to begin, but rarely, if ever, do I fully follow them. I am always making substitutions, trying new variations, thinking of different combinations.
When I sew, I prefer to avoid patterns and set designs so that I can play around and imagine the creative possibilities. I feel the same with recipes. I like to explore them, be inspired by them, learn from them, but then do things on my own.
Perhaps it is just my independent streak, a deep-seated resistance to authority. Perhaps it is pride or arrogance, an inaccurate view of my own abilities. Perhaps in this area I am no more mature than my three year-old, psychologically stamping my foot and insisting on doing things "MY WAY!"
Whatever the explanation, the truth is that when I feel stifled, when the creative process is lost and cooking is just a rote task, I hate it. I really, really hate it.
And hating it is where I have been spending a lot of time lately.
The problem is that cooking cannot be a creative process, a soulful exploration of flavor and texture for three meals a day seven days a week. I just don't have the time or energy for that. All I would do is grocery shop and cook. Which sometimes it feels like is all I do, even when I am producing mediocre and uninspiring food.
In addition to the time constraints, there are other practical considerations. Such as the fact that every time I prepare a meal, at least one member of my family sits down at the table, looks at her plate, and commences dinner conversation with, "Ewwww! This is gross." Since this little person is on the "Eat what I fix and the rest of the family is having or else eat PB&J" meal plan, I then usually stand up, leave my food, and fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
There is also the matter of losing the joy of cooking under extreme pressure. Like trying to make the bus on time, or get myself or Jeffrey out the door for a meeting, or just survive the unavoidable chaos of the 4:30-5:30 hour.
Preparing a beautiful meal while you call out spelling words over one shoulder, try to avoid stepping on goldfish crackers, toys, and all the towels and pot holders that have just been thrown on the floor, listen to and watch the troll dance happening in the family room, discourage over-snacking right before the meal, answer the incessant phone calls of the evening, and try to lovingly respond to constant whining just is not all that creatively stimulating.
And then, when the meal has been eaten, the dishes strewn throughout the kitchen, the mess on the floor abandoned, the children bathed, read to, and in bed, and all alone at 8:30 pm I face the mess that deciding to cook a nice meal created, I wonder, "What am I doing to myself?"
It is in this state, when my depressed and discouraged artist within feels like abandoning all efforts and letting my family survive on Chick-fil-A, that I try to remind myself of all the other reasons I cook. I try to frame cooking in the same light as I frame housework: it is about nurturing. It is about health and frugality, about time together and a well-run household. It is a way I care for and show love to my little family. It is not really any different than laundry or mopping the floors.
As I embrace this perspective I remind myself it is okay to eat tuna sandwiches or just spaghetti for dinner. I reduce my expectations for personal fulfillment in preparing food and allow my kids to eat macaroni and cheese out of a box sometimes. I plug away with diligence in the virtue of just putting food on the table, another task in the long list of tasks that comprise each of my days. I try to simplify the process.
It is a practical, but unenriching approach.
I was overcome by such resignation two weeks ago when I decide to turn a butternut squash into soup. I have played around with squash soup before, but never been fully, completely satisfied with the results. But, this night it happened.
I produced a pot of soup that managed to taste of all the splendor of fall. It was smoky orange and savory, yet sweet at the same time. It was a glorious crisp day when the sun shone through orange and yellow leaves warming my head and yet a cool breeze tickled my nose, pureed in a bowl. It tasted like fall smells and smelled like fall looks.
And, once again, I fell in love with cooking. As I ate, I thought of other dishes I could create, a salad to compliment this soup, a perfect wassail to simmer in a pot, the wild rice and mushroom soup I have been longing to attempt. The soup entered my mouth and nourished my soul.
Want the "recipe" click on the link to Emily's Kitchen. I also have a couple of other recipes that I have discovered, or rediscovered, this fall. Just, bear in mind, nothing is too exact with me. These recipes are just estimations of what I did. Just let go and experiment yourself.
Halloween Costumes
So, with Mia sick and her party canceled I did not do a quality photo shoot as I had intended for Halloween. Instead, we snapped a few pictures on the front porch before doing our four house trick or treating route. The lighting isn't the best, but it is enough to document the day and share the final costumes.
Mia had rested all day and had enough Tylenol in her to reduce her fever and begged to be allowed to trick-or-treat. I just did not have the heart to say, "no." She went to the four houses, hung back away from people, and then came home and collapsed on the couch. Unfortunately, she is worse today. But, for a few minutes she was happy on Halloween, and so I tried to find those pictures rather than the ones where she just looks sick and miserable.
I have entitled this year's Halloween Theme: Happily Ever After, Ten Year's Later.
I am still sad we were not in Utah for my family's annual Halloween Party. This year, instead of just eternal glory and bragging rights, I hear that pumpkin carving and costume awards given by my dad included cash. I am trying to make the case for an online entry. Our submission is below. Enjoy!
Mia had rested all day and had enough Tylenol in her to reduce her fever and begged to be allowed to trick-or-treat. I just did not have the heart to say, "no." She went to the four houses, hung back away from people, and then came home and collapsed on the couch. Unfortunately, she is worse today. But, for a few minutes she was happy on Halloween, and so I tried to find those pictures rather than the ones where she just looks sick and miserable.
I have entitled this year's Halloween Theme: Happily Ever After, Ten Year's Later.
I am still sad we were not in Utah for my family's annual Halloween Party. This year, instead of just eternal glory and bragging rights, I hear that pumpkin carving and costume awards given by my dad included cash. I am trying to make the case for an online entry. Our submission is below. Enjoy!
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