#jamesdteenager

Csehy causes James to act like a grown-up. We leave tomorrow and I'm quite curious to see how much of his newfound confidence and independence sticks around.

“Oh, George can stay in the apartment with Steven and the cars.”

“Mommy, I will take my plate up to the conveyor belt. Can I take yours up for you too?”

“Here Mommy, I’ll hold this door open for you.”

“Owen, here’s your sippy cup. I got it out of the backpack for you.”

“I put my scooter in the trunk all by myself.”

“This sign says ‘One Way.’”

“Mommy, I saw our football across the courtyard and we were going to leave it, so I ran and got it and put it in your purse.”

“I will go ask Zane’s mommy if he can ride scooters with me after supper. Wait right here.”

“No, George and Steven will sleep with the cars in the kitchen cabinet. I don’t need them tonight.”

“Owen, we say ‘left, right, left right, safe to cross.’”

When asked not to drag the toe of his shoe on the sidewalk to brake his scooter:

“But it looks better this way.”

Today's 1%:

Book 44/50: The Nurses: A Year of Secrets, Drama, and Miracles with the Heroes of the Hospital. Pretty self-explanatory title. 

Book 45/50: The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. I read this like a month ago but I don't think it ever ended up in my blog. Sweet, sad story about Auschwitz. One of those good introductory stories for middle schoolers in the vein of Anne Frank, only historical fiction.

Overheard at music camp...

Week 1:

Student, “I highly prefer playing in orchestra to band. If there’s any way I can possibly be in orchestra…”

Me, “How long have you been playing the flute?”

“One year, but I’m very advanced.”

Student, “I played the violin for nine years, but then I quit…I mean…transferred my knowledge to flute. I am prepared to audition for the orchestra, which I highly prefer, with orchestral excerpts.”

Student, “I can also play the piccolo if that makes me more valuable as an orchestral player.”

Me, “Oh? What kind of piccolo do you have?”

Student, “Well, I don’t actually own one.”

Me, “Hi there. How are you doing? I’m sorry you weren’t placed in orchestra this week. We have so many flutists here at camp this week and the auditions were very competitive. I hope you enjoyed band this morning.”

Student, “I…I am trying to make the most of a highly unfortunate circumstance.”

Student, “In spite of not being in orchestra, I am very glad to play piccolo in band this week. However, I’m only playing it in these four measures because I don’t want to damage my hearing.”

Student, “You are such a good flute teacher. I am absorbing SO MUCH. Oh, is your flute made of rose gold?”

Me, “Well, your lesson time is up, but before you leave I’d love to pray for you and this upcoming week! Is there anything specifically you’d like me to pray for?”

Student, “Could you please pray that I get into orchestra next week?”

Week 2:

Student, “I spoke with the handbell director and I am interested in playing handbells. But only if I am not selected for orchestra, which I highly prefer.”

Me, “Oh that’s a great idea! Handbells are a lot of fun.”

Student, “Yes, but I still want to be in orchestra.”

Head camp counselor, “I think you need to come to the music building. Said student has been crying for an hour after seeing seating results for ensembles.”

Me, sighing heavily, “On my way.”

…

Overheard in coat closet:

Student, “My heart is broken. I may never have the chance to play in an orchestra ever again. I just feel like I am so persecuted as a musician. Did you know I was forced to sing alto in choir for the past four years? I finally quit and played flute in band instead. But the tenor saxophone player verbally abused me and I am just so persecuted. My dreams have been dashed.”

To be continued…?

...

Contrary to absolutely everything you've just read, camp has actually been overwhelmingly sane. Time stands still here, and it’s easier to see how you’ve changed in a year when nothing else has changed around you. I have more energy and desire to chat with new people, adults and campers, this summer. I feel, oddly, grownup. I remember my dad telling me he didn’t really feel like an adult until he was in his 30s. I think I’m beginning to understand. I feel more confident in who I am, or perhaps I don’t fear as much what others may think I am. Or both. They go hand in hand. Anyway, I’m getting a pretty clear bead on how I’ve grown in the past 12 months. And how my family has grown.

Last summer Owen was just starting to drag himself around our little apartment here on the third floor, James was darting shy eyes at an 8 year old named Lizzie, and Roy was in and out constantly with concerts and gigs. Now Owen is climbing the interminable staircases himself and can mount the breakfast bar stools without help. James has taken ownership of himself at camp, choosing vegetables at each meal, deciding that it’s probably OK to just sleep during nap time when he’s tired, and even leaving George and Steven behind the entire time we’ve been here. Where did my baby go?! And Roy is finally, finally, finally on faculty, which doesn’t really change our schedule a lot, but definitely adds a level of mental stability to the entire visit. He has a role and he belongs. (Which I’ve said all along, but now also feel. Also, the paycheck…)

So we start week 2 and look forward to the pool, the Frisbee, the music, our friends, and our precious family time. May our ankles stay strong, our eyes stay open, the coffee stay near, and the AC-less apartment not rise above 86F.

Happy birthday Melissa. J

Book 43/50: A Lucky Life Interrupted by Tom Brokaw. A memoir about his relatively recent diagnosis of cancer. After reading this book I am convinced Mr. Brokaw is a highly intelligent man with a thorough grasp of what it is to be an American. I wish he loved Jesus and had some eternal hope, especially as he continues his fight against an incurable (but treatable) cancer, but his writing is rich and smart and historical.

P.S. Everybody should go to Starbucks and buy an iced coconut milk mocha macchiato today. It’s hot out and you’re tired and grumpy and this will HEAL YOUR WOES. You’re welcome.

Motherly Musings

·         If I have a weakness as a mother it’s bath time. I realized as I was bathing the boys tonight single-handedly (well, double-handedly if you want to get technical about it, but without Roy) that I hadn’t done it in a long while. And I was reminded how sorely my patience is tried when they are in the tub. They must make it a point to plug their ears with water immediately on impact because their listening skills disappear entirely. All of the sudden it’s super cool to chug disgusting bath water and splash each other on purpose and wail incessantly about the injustice of water in the eyes (which only ever got there because somebody didn’t lay still when he was being rinsed off). And I, who usually get quieter when stressed, too often let my frustration get the better of me and speak sharply, which doesn’t work at all. It doesn’t make me feel better and it doesn’t especially grab their attention either. We’re all just ready for bed.

I guess all of that to say--thanks Honey for being awesome at bathing the kiddos so often.

·         One probably shouldn’t volunteer to plan, organize, rehearse, and execute a massive Sunday morning service the same weekend one is packing for the entire family to live somewhere else for two weeks. Seriously…somehow I got suckered into prelude, singing, playing, underscoring, offertory, postlude, the whole shebang. Plus having music picked, copied, distributed, hiring extra brass players, and preparing to welcome a bishop of the Free Methodist Church for crying out loud.

And this isn’t packing to stay in a hotel. Zero sheets, blankets, towels, kitchen supplies included.

·         I’m steeling myself against the Csehy Gastro Blues. Two years ago I was pregnant with Owen and was urged to gain a little weight after a nauseous first trimester. I wasn’t doing great until after two weeks at Csehy. I gained 9 lbs in a month, which positively mortified me but, thankfully, appeased my OBGYN. Last year I was nursing a voracious Owen and so I managed to keep things in the clear. This year…I have no excuses. It all starts off so innocently—the food is gross so you eat the relatively safe, but bland, salad. For six meals consecutively. Then your body starts shutting down and you stuff your face with fries because you’re so darn hungry. Toss in all-you-can-eat Perry’s ice cream and it’s alllllllll downhill baby. Sigh. Roy and I have probably had the healthiest year of our lives and we’re optimistic we can survive the camp food of 2016. Here are a few of our objectives and, yes, I’m totally publishing these for some sort of weird Internet accountability…

o   Ice cream after supper, and only if we’ve behaved ourselves during the day. (OK, so that’s really for the littles, but we’ll have to model it for them and that keeps us from eating ice cream twice in a day.)

o   Gluten-free choices. For me this means I won’t get any French toast sticks, an annual treat. For Roy this means no English muffins…also an annual treat (I am a terrible wife I know). But we agree it steers us away from pizza and hot dogs and towards slightly healthier, if still largely inedible options.

o   Eat breakfast on our own. Whole-grain cereals, oatmeal, stuff for smoothies.

o   Run individually or play Ultimate in the afternoons for exercise to keep the blood flowing.

It’ll be an adventure! I’m excited to be reunited with good friends and make music together. Prayers for the boys, whose lives and routines are about to be turned upside down for the foreseeable future!

Today’s 1%:

Book 41/50: The Testament. Another Grisham. I didn’t last very long with Tolkien, although it proved to be a highly effective sedative.

42/50: The Vogue Factor by Kirstie Clements. Former editor of Vogue Australia, Clements started as a receptionist and worked through the ranks to the very top of the fashion magazine’s Australian edition. Full of flare and drama and, largely, what you’d expect from a fashion editor. Clements seems a bit more down to earth than someone like Anna Wintour (or Miranda Priestley), perhaps stemming from her humble roots. Still, we had very little in common and I could only semi-scorn, semi-resent her life of clothing, models, and celebrity.

Kindness to the greatest and the least

Owen has been sick all week. It hasn’t been a nice sick either. You know nice sick right? The type where they’re ill enough to stay at home and sleep a lot and watch TV, but not sick enough to be throwing up or in real danger. Owen wasn’t in real danger, but he wasn’t docile either. He was CRANKY and HOT and WHINY and RESTLESS and CLINGY and SHRIEKY and did I mention CRANKY?

I haven’t had many moments to myself since Monday. He’s demanded “Mama!” a thousand times and seems the least CRANKY when he’s in my arms (although he’s certainly not content).

My mama’s heart hurt to see Owen upset and clearly not himself. But as the days wore on it began to ache more for James, who was repeatedly forced to entertain himself. Owen, in addition to demanding a grownup’s attention at all times, also found some kind of sick relief in smacking his big brother on the head, swiping his toys, and screaming “NO!” in his face repeatedly. It quickly became easier for James to shut himself in his room away from the insanity. Admittedly, this is something he does very well—to the extent that it would be tempting to think he was perfectly happy on his own. But I missed him and I missed our things together. And I suspected he felt similarly. 

Last night I put Owen down at 7:30 and offered to extend James’ bedtime if he could help me bake some cookies for our new neighbors. He eagerly agreed and pulled up his favorite green chair next to the counter. He weighed ingredients, opened butter, operated the mixer, and taste-tested the sugars and chocolate to make sure they were all safe. He chatted away as easily as I’ve ever seen while we worked together, wondering aloud about our new neighbors and if they would finally mow their yard and if he could have some “green milk” (1% comes in a green jug) and what our bedtime story would be and how much fun it was to splash around in the kiddie pool earlier and so on and so forth. I listened to the words tumble out of his mouth and delighted in connecting with my son.

And then he looked at me and said happily, “So. What’s going on in gy-nastics Mommy?”

When Roy and I go running we try to keep conversation going to help the miles tick off. I often ask him what’s new with the Bills to give him something fun to talk about and when he’s feeling particularly generous he asks me what’s new on the elite gymnastics scene. (Sometimes the run is hard and I just volunteer that information anyway. He’s always a good sport about it.)

So for my little four year old, who cares diddly squat about gymnastics, asked me what was new, my heart cracked and exploded and melted all at once. So desperate to connect with a parent, so sweet to think of something I would be excited about, so dear to cheerfully offer to watch it with me the next time it’s on.

The week has been very much about just holding on. I’ve sensed the four of us individually working very hard to maintain control and sanity in our unique ways. James showed me, in that little moment, that we’re better and happier when we are together.

We finished the cookie dough and read outside on the front stoop for another half hour before bedtime. When I opened the door Owen was crying for “Mama” again. James scooped up some stuffed animals to take to him, I scooped up the babe, and the three of us ended up on my bed. James stroked Owen’s hair and said in the softest sweetest voice, “Hey there little Owen. Why are you so sad? Do you just want to snuggle in bed?”

There are days--as I clean up the twentieth mess, when there have been more scrapes and bumps than smiles, when the word 'share' is a swear word--when I wonder if my children will ever be civilized human beings. And then there are days when I wonder where MY civility is when I see it modeled so perfectly by a child.

By the way, Owen is doing a lot better today, and both boys have been playing together for the first time all week. The house is slowly getting cleaned again and I found time to bake bread this morning. Normalcy is on the horizon and the hope of it is comforting. But my first real ray of sunshine all week came in the evening, and it came from James.

July Date Night In: "It Gets Him"

Menu:

·         Pineapple Rosarita

·         Avocado Salad with Fresh Herbs and Pepitas

·         Braised Pork Chilaquiles with Roasted Tomatillo Salsa and Pickled Red Onions

·         Mexican Chocolate Sorbet with Red Wine-Poached Cherries

First off, whenever you see the word “with” in a listed menu item, that means at least two recipes. In the case of the chilaquiles, it means four. So this DNI took a considerable amount of advanced preparation. Owen has been running a high fever all week, so we crossed our fingers that he would stay asleep and allow us to enjoy a grown-up meal. (He did.)

While Roy spent some much needed one-on-one time with James, I assembled the avocado salad. We’ve grown accustomed to Ashley’s palate by now, so I wasn’t as surprised by the combination of herbs and toasted seeds. It was a good salad, and it was a pretty salad, but it didn’t steal any thunder from the main course.

 

Nice presentation, eh? ;)

Roy smashed together a couple of pineapple rosaritas after James finally went to bed. He muddled the pineapple with a muddler. I encouraged him to muddle a lot, largely because I just like the word muddle. “Muddle harder Roy! I want mine super-muddled! Is your muddler muddling well enough?” He must find me obnoxious. So much for a grown-up evening.

We were both surprised that this cocktail wasn’t sweeter. (He muddled half a pineapple between our two drinks, after all!) It was good, but it didn’t blow me away like some of the other drinks in this book. I wouldn’t have to have it again. The fresh rosemary was a smart addition, adding a nice complexity to an otherwise straightforward drink.

 

What a muddledly muddled delight.

I added up all the ingredients for the entrée. Among the pork marinade, roasting, salsa, pickled onions, and condiments, it totaled close to 40 ingredients! And MAN was it good. We ate a couple of bites and immediately exclaimed, “Oliver and Kylie would be FREAKING OUT right now.” The pork was out of this world and combined with melted cheese and smashed tortilla chips with fresh green salsa and caramelized onions…all in a hot skillet. Dang. The recipe says it serves four…we kind of didn’t believe you could eat an entire quarter-skillet in one sitting. I wouldn’t recommend it if you plan on sleeping that night. But it was entirely addicting and our solemn vows to not eat the leftovers the next day…well…

 

This would have been good enough just like this...

...but look at all the condiment fun! Cilantro, sour cream, pickled jalapenos, pickled red onions, cojita cheese, and lime wedges. 

Dessert was chocolate sorbet, which was made Mexican with the addition of spices. My opinion was -that it tasted like my pumpkin chocolate chip muffins in sorbet form, minus the pumpkin (which you really can’t taste in the muffin anyway). The cherries added a nice sweet fruity punch to accompany the bittersweet chocolate. It was yum. Ashley claimed it was just as good as ice cream, but…I’ll still take ice cream over sorbet. J

 

Tasted pretty refreshing on a 90 degree day.

I think this was probably one of our favorite date night in menus. We have enough of a handle on some of the new flavors and ingredients in this cookbook that we are getting better at anticipating the flavor of the final product. We were excited about this menu before we started and it still blew us away. Thailand last month, Mexico this. What a thrilling world tour!

Marriage isn’t about working to change the other person; it’s about knowing them fully and loving them because of and in spite of your differences. Through that we are changed. –Ashley Rodriguez, DNI, p. 119.

To the newly married couples in my world, she’s spot on.

Today’s 1%: I reclaimed my beloved tongs after a 6 week separation after being left behind at a Memorial Day picnic. The temporary owner sheepishly returned them, admitting s/he only used them “a couple of times, because they are so much nicer than the three pairs they already own.” I get it. I missed the tongs too. They are awesome tongs.

ALSO. Olympic trials this weekend. Predicted team: Biles, Douglas, Raisman, Hernandez, Kocian (I would take Locklear over Kocian, but that’s just me). 

July Date Night In: Preparations

We are forced to have this DNI early in the month since we’ll be out of town the latter half of July. Oh darn. Roy has been home this week so we’ve already collaborated on a number of preparatory steps. Here’s what’s been completed thus far:

·         Marinated pork shoulder (Pork is pretty cheap! I’m not usually a huge fan, but I have a feeling this long, slow braise is going to retain all of the juice and tenderness and convert me.)

·         Braised pork shoulder (in process even as I type)

·         Pickled red onions (Roy did this. The man is getting obsessed with pickling.)

·         Made tomatillo salsa (Have you ever used tomatillos? I hadn’t until the other day. You get to peel the husk off and rinse the slightly sticky residue off. They smelled good and the sample of salsa tasted mild, yet flavorful.)

·         Made chocolate sorbet base (I’m not even going to miss the cream with all that chocolate. And glad we purchased the ice cream attachment last month! Getting another DNI use out of it.)

·         Made red wine-poached cherries (My first adventure with lemon peel. To use the entire peel or not? To just use the yellow part seems zesty to me, but lots of contradictory opinions on whether to throw the white part in as well.)

Owen has been sick-ish/teething this week and it’s been a challenge to find time to get things accomplished without holding him or hearing him scream. So far he seems to be doing a little better this morning, although it came at the expense of little sleep for Mom last night. Time for a cup of coffee. 4 hours until nap time…for all of us. We'll eat tonight with a full review soon! :)

Celebrations!

I had the best birthday week of my life a couple of weeks ago. Here are a few reasons why it was so special…

• New kitchen things (Spatulas! Baking pan! Mixer attachment!)
• Special little boy-to-mama gifts (Nail polish and sandalwood soap)
• Homemade cookies and cream ice cream
• Two new dresses
• Two best friends visiting from oh so far away
• Pampering at a salon
• Week of vacation from work
• Clothes shopping with best friend
• Shipped boys off for weekend
• Ergo, ate 7 consecutive meals at a normal, healthy grown-up pace
• Dinner and dancing with my husband
• Glorious weather for running
• Professional photo shoot
• New diamondey earrings
• Birthday mail
• A new pillow which is incredible and I can’t believe how much a nice pillow improves my quality of life
• Baileys
• Ergo, Irish coffee

OK, so…the vast majority of those things had nothing to do with my birthday. My bestest friend decided to get married the day after my birthday and almost all of those things were actually tied to being in the bridal party. But, comon’ now, mothers of young children: can you think of a better list? Even if it’s for the betterment of somebody else? For me that makes it even better because it justifies the time and expense. “Yes, I’ll get my hair done at a salon. Anything for Jessica.”

Bliss.

Her wedding was perfection. Every detail was thought through and executed so smoothly. And there was such JOY and excitement from everyone who attended. What an honor to stand up front with her and celebrate her union with Kevin. Truly wonderful. I kept it together emotionally through the whole weekend until their first dance. Then the walls came a tumblin’ down. Wow. So much happiness with a teensy twinge of “I don’t like change” mixed in.

And then we got to do another wedding just a week later! Lucas married Melissa in a lovely ceremony in which James made it safely down the aisle, Roy and I played the right music at the right times, and Owen didn’t melt down during the ceremony. All of the high fives. While Jess’ wedding was about reconnecting with lots of college and church friends, the Smiths’ provided a perfect reason to gather our sweet family together and celebrate. They had awesome dancing music at their reception and, Melissa, if you read this: best wedding cake I’ve EVER had. I sampled three kinds. (Thanks Roy and Owen for having different flavors and being so willing to share.)

Book 38/50: The Broker. Summer’s all about light reading, right? I’m on a Grisham kick.

39/50: The Brethren. More of the same.

40/50: Vanishing Acts. A Jodi Picoult. I remember why I stopped reading her a couple of years ago. So much cliché and unnecessary heartstring pulling and predictable plots. Done now. Allllll done.

I’m now reading through the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I read the Fellowship in high school but stalled out during The Two Towers. This is a big project. Roy reread them last week. I expect this will take me at least a month. I loved the movies, but this type of writing and genre tends to put me to sleep.