Turkey-schmirky. Let's talk grilled cheese.

Yes, tomorrow's Thanksgiving. I'm excited, I really am! Honestly, it's the only time of year I eat turkey and cranberry sauce... Mmmmm... cranberry sauce. The real kind, not the kind shaped like the can after it's been put on a plate. "Sauce" should not have ridge marks, if you ask me.

TOTALLY SIDETRACKED!! You came here to read about grilled cheese. The contradictory sensations of crisp and ooey-gooey. The tangy taste of pickles (yes, I know. Keep reading...) and cheese. Are you hungry yet?

So. According to my adoring public (the hubs and the kids) I'm pretty much the best grilled cheese sandwich maker around. I don't want to brag or anything, but... yeah. They calls it like they sees it.

Yes, there's only one half. I ate the other.
Can you blame me?! Look at that crispy cheese
on the end!

There are three key steps and more importantly, one last "very-important-you're-missing-out-if-you-don't-do-this-step" step.

1. The bread: Something with nubby stuff is best. Honey wheat berry is my preferred bread of choice. Just do it.
2. The cheese: Tillamook medium cheddar and a little mozzarella. Trust me.  
3. The pickles: True hamburger dill chips - NOT kosher or sweet or bread & butter. Why do they even make those kinds anyway?! Don't argue - just do it.

Important: Just because there's a picture of a grilled cheese sandwich on the wrapper DOES NOT mean you should ever make a grilled cheese sandwich with that weird, semi-bitter, strange tasting pseudo-cheese. Don't do it. Ever!

So. I'm treating you to the perfect grilled cheese recipe. Happy Thanksgiving.

1. Butter your bread. 
2. Lay down thin slices of Tillamook cheddar cheese on your base slice. 
3. Put this in your pan. It's easier to make the layers if you do it in the pan.
4. Make three rows of three pickle chips across the whole bread face. That's nine pickle chips. One for every little bite. I guess if you're a wimp you can just do two rows of three. But, really. I have to draw the line somewhere. Just do it. 
5. Sprinkle some mozzarella on top of the pickles. This step is key, as it acts as a glue for the pickles and the bread. Plus, hello! Mozzarella?! Yum. Don't forget to "accidentally" sprinkle some mozzarella cheese onto your skillet for a little crispy/melty cheese snack as you wait.
6. Put your top bread on.
7. Put a lid over your sandwich so everything gets melty at the same time.
8. Check and flip (Carefully... Carefully...! You don't want to lose any pickles!)
9. This time do NOT put a lid over your sandwich or the top will get soggy.

AND...

Here is your "very-important-you're-missing-out-if-you-don't-do-this-step" step:

 10. You HAVE to let your fresh-out-of-the-pan GCS rest on a baking rack for a minute or so. You have to. If you put it on a plate, I guarantee you the bread will turn soggy with condensation. Try to flip it if you want, that side will be soggy, too. It's just one of the rules of the universe, friend. Sorry. And, who wants to eat a soggy grilled cheese sandwich? Not me. Not you. Not anyone.

You're welcome.

Mmm.. So ooey-gooey, yet crisp and crunchy!

I Have A Cat. (This is NOT a false alarm...)

You guys. There's a cat in my house! I keep freaking out when I see her out of the corner of my eye. Apparently, she's our pet now... A CAT. If you know me at all, you KNOW how much I hate  can't stand  have issues with felines. I have to be upfront with you: I'm not an animal lover. Shocking, but true. I don't wish them harm, I'm not going to kick them as I walk by, but I can barely contain a grimace if they touch me. I don't know, I just don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sure the hate mail will be pouring in now, but whatever. You have flaws, too. You know you do.

Here's the deal with me and cats:

1. ..... (I'm trying to come up with something nice...)

2. I'd only get a cat because my family loves animals and I'm not THAT selfish.

3. They're not monkeys, which is a plus because I'm terrified of monkeys.

4. If I had to get a cat, I'd only want a light gray colored one. Don't ask me why.

5. I'm allergic to cats.

6. They're not monkeys, so it really could be worse.

7. Cats DO like me and always rub against my legs, even though I know they can feel my disdain. I'm pretty sure I've see them smile as they do so...

8. I do not understand people who love cats and dogs. I just don't get it, and I'm ok with that - I'm sure you feel exactly the same about us non-animal lovers. I know I'm not the only one out there!

Back to the creature in my home. My good friend (the term "best" is now in question after her trickery) had another friend with some tiny little kittens. I mean, come on - who doesn't "Aw!" at a little kitten! She got one of them and convinced me that her kitten needed his sister nearby and that it was gray. I wanted to be the good parent for once (since the hubs always gets to be the good, fun one and I have to tell the girls a million times to clean up their room and eat their peas) so I said we could go see her. She wasn't gray. Not even close. I was lied to. And, my girls were in love so I would be the big meany parent who held a cute kitten up in front of them, then said, "Just kidding!! Hahahah!" Sigh. We took a black kitten home. See, I'm not all bad!

Picking up our kitten - spray bottle included!
One of many... My smile may be a little fake.

She was nameless for at least a week, since the only name the girls could agree on was Meatball Starlight Starbright. All one name. It was just too much, and she was the little runt, at just one pound, so we put our foot down and brainwashed the girls into thinking Molly was the best name. We're awesome parents like that.

Here's what I've found out since having a cat:
1. She was a really cute kitten.
2. WAS
3. She's a really good jumper/climber. Sigh.
4. I have a lot of things to jump/climb on.
5. Cats are very low maintenance. Which is awesome. For real awesome, not sarcastic awesome.
6. She does not obey commands like a dog would. She just stares at me and rolls her eyes.
7. I'm super glad she's not a monkey. Again, lots of things to climb on.
8. I need to hide my makeup bag because Monster Me (refer to earlier posts for an explanation of this) has taken my eyelash/brow brush and played beauty salon with Molly without telling me. I discovered this after I used it and my eyes puffed up. Did I mention I'm allergic? Awesome. (Totally sarcastic awesome this time.)

We were handed a spray bottle with our kitten as a training tool. I had no idea what for at the time. I've bought at least 4 more since that fateful day. I keep one hooked onto my pocket. The spray bottle doesn't work very well. Now that she can jump, she does. When she sees the spray bottle she runs for her life and as soon as I turn my back, she's up again. She jumped up on our computer desk at about 2am and walked on the printer on the top shelf, which turned it on and started the copying feature. Which is very loud. Which scared the heck out of me. Which made me think we were being robbed. Which made me grab the first weapon I could find. Which happened to be the spray bottle. Luckily, Molly saw the bottle and zoomed away (trailing computer cords behind her) and I didn't have to squirt a bad guy in the face. Especially since it takes a couple of pumps to get a good, strong jet of water.

I now live in a sticky world...

She also keeps walking on my alarm clock and turning various alarms and "nap" buttons on. I've shot out of bed several times to a blaring alarm at midnight. And 2am. Thanks, Molls. Thanks.

My other friend suggested putting sticky tape along the counters, to prevent jumping, since cats don't like sticky stuff on their paws. This method is still up in the air, but I know it's worked on me. I'm always getting stuck on the counter and I definitely avoid it.

Note the flower pot knocked from the
top cupboard onto the shelf; the dirt
and broken leaves all over my floor.

Hmm.. I wonder where
Molly could be.

Definitely NOT gray!

She does take after me
with her love of coffee.

So, yeah. She's grown. Animals, as well as humans, aren't as cute when they're big. It's just a fact of life. Yes, I'm dealing with it. No, I won't "accidentally" leave the door open for her to have the adventure of her life - we have a lot of raccoons around so it really would be an adventure - I'm not that cruel!

We got a new little house for her to play in, so maybe she'll entertain herself there for a while, instead of trying to scale my bamboo window blinds. Maybe... But never fear, my animal-loving friends! My hubby and girls LOVE this little cutie-girl (as Monster Me calls her) and give her much love and attention. We're developing a mutual respect for each other and learning to co-exist in the same house. But, if I hear that printer going off one more time... :)

1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = Crazy

You want to hear a joke?! I used to want eight kids! Ha!! I don't know if it was for the love of kids, or just so I could use up some of the awesome names I used to write on my Awesome Names List. I mean, Venus? Lavinia? Cordelia?! Come on, those aren't really fish names. You have to have some personality for those babies.

(I should preface all of this with the fact that I LOVE my nieces and love watching them, so don't stop asking, Pam!!)

Back to the Crazy. I have not two, not three, but FOUR little girls in my house for three days. Two age seven (J & E), one age four (E#2) and one almost two (K). All of that equals a house of crazy. I also just realized that those initials spell EEK!! Well, JEEK, but that doesn't really make sense, so we'll pretend that the J is silent...

I don't know how ya'll (yeah, you read that right - ya'll) with more than, say, two kiddos do it! I know it's different when they're your own, but still! How do you even have time to make more babies?! I took a shower this morning at the speed of light, I may even still be a little soapy, and still it seemed all h.e.-double hockey sticks had broken loose in the 2.5 seconds that took me.

Deep breath, June Cleaver time. I was gonna make homemade pancakes. Wait, did you catch that?! Homemade!! For reals! Like, I didn't microwave a thing!
Dream World: I pictured us all sitting around the breakfast table (well... the only table, just designated breakfast for now...) eating stacks of homemade pancakes, drizzled with syrup, chatting and laughing about silly dreams we'd had last night. I'd be wearing a cute apron, hair done and not still be a tiny bit slippery with soap.
Reality: Frantic. Grease splattered. Slippery. And, as each silver dollar-sized melt-in-your-mouth cake came out of that pan, it went straight into a hungry child's mouth. Every.Last.One. They were like ravenous wolves. They were lined up at the oven, mouths snapping at each morsel. I ate coffee for breakfast.

Hello, my name is Amy and I'm an introvert.

I wonder if introverts are less likely to have big families than extroverts. If you don't know the difference between the two, in a nutshell, introverts refuel with alone time, quiet time; extroverts refuel by being around others. Which makes absolutely NO sense to me. At all. By 8pm last night I had the kiddos in front of the tv (an educational show, don't judge!) with popsicles in hand (non-homemade and full of food coloring, I'm sure. Judge away...) while I was doing deep breathing, with my eyes closed by myself on the porch swing. As I was in my happy place, I started thinking about people who thrive in big families. Are they introverts? Doubt it. I can picture extroverts who love, or at least refuel with noise, chaos, and people everywhere wanting big families. If they're not extroverts, they MUST have some serious alone time on a porch swing, in the dark, every night. So... FYI. If you're someone who wants/loves/has a big family and you happened to marry an introvert, allow for sacred, refueling alone time so they don't spontaneously combust. True story.

And, now don't get all huffy here, this is just a thought. I wonder if one of the reasons (maybe secretly, subconsciously) that moms with big families homeschool is that it takes a FREAKIN' LONG TIME to get ready to go anywhere or do anything!! I can't imagine the systems that have to be in place to orchestrate five or more lives in order to get out the door for school by 8am. I'm weary just thinking about it. Love you homeschooling moms!! YOU are rockstars!

So. To recap. Kids: good! Lots of kids: good! Lots of kids for me: bad. God has blessed us with two great little girls and, while I'm very happy to occasionally add to our brood for small periods of time, I completely recognize that there aren't enough porch swings in the world to help me cope with more than that. And I'm ok with that.

P.S. No children were hurt before, during or after the writing of this post.

My Nemesis: Rice

Long Live The Noodle!!

This is my battle cry when my nemesis, rice, and I clash. My dinner plans start with such optimism and hope! We'll have RICE for dinner! I've tried everything and still I am beaten. Stovetop, rice cooker, white rice, brown rice - even (I'm embarrassed to admit) instant. I mean, seriously. Who messes up instant rice?! Me. That's who.

Inevitably, I am shamed in my attempts to welcome rice into my home. This foe of mine is stronger, trickier, and smarter than I am. I admit it. Every time I say the word rice, it comes out in a sneer. My eyes squint, my jaw clenches and my heart beats a little faster.

I've tried rice many times (and failed) but last night my friend brought over the makings for delicious chicken curry. What is chicken curry's sidekick? The "R" word. You know. Don't make me say it. I started out with white rice on the stovetop. I followed directions (almost). I had less rice in the bag than the instructions called for. I guessed on the water and used just a little bit less than it said, since I was using less rice. Makes sense to me. I timed it perfectly and just before the timer went off, I smelled it. What?! No!! RICE!!!!!! (If you can, picture me shaking my fist at the rice gods who are snickering at my pathetic attempts to feed my family.) Totally burned. What the what?!

White rice: gone. Burned. Stinking up my kitchen. Making my curry question my culinary abilities. It gets worse.


Brown rice: yum. I start getting excited because I've heard that you can't mess rice up in a rice cooker. Well, I just happen to have one. A fancy one. I spent money on this baby because I had faith that it would help me make peace with my nemesis. I filled up the cooker with rice, added the water (After examining the rice measuring cup very carefully, for a long period of time, since it's a little confusing... don't judge.) and closed the lid, breathing a little prayer. We waited in anticipation for the buzzer and... and... sigh.

My first clue that my nemesis had won again was that there was gunky, starchy rice water bubbling up from the steam vent and covering the top of the cooker. Hmm... Next, the fool-proof rice was still crunchy. Seriously?!!

Sigh. A little more water and back in it goes. Ok, ok, this time I KNOW it was operator error since technically I forgot to turn it on. Whatever. Moving on. Back on it goes and finally, FINALLY, hours and hours later we have semi-hard rice.

My curry eyed me balefully.

I'm woman enough to admit when I've been beaten. I may fight again. I may not. Life's too short. Besides, I need to gear up for the upcoming battle with my arch-enemy: rice crispy treats.

Long Live The Noodle!!

My Time Capsule (For Real)

Oh, friends! Are you ready to jump into your DeLorean and travel back in time with me to... wait for it....

1986?!?!?!?

Oh yeah! Turn off the A-Team, put on your stirrup pants and Hypercolor shirt, grab your Esprit bag, and Walk Like an Egyptian with me. You know what I'm talkin' about! And if you have no frame of reference for those things, then I weep for you.

Ever since I was little I've wanted to be an archaeologist. Specifically an Egyptologist, but I'm into anything ancient. The mystery, the untold stories, the danger and distant lands, combined with the mapped out, organized excavation sites speaks to my soul. I remember burying boxes of treasures (with notes to my future self, cool stones I found, jewelry, some pocket money, etc.) in my front yard. I swear I know the general location (right in front of the flowering cherry tree with the tire swing) and I promise you I've dug and dug and searched and searched, but I can't find it. Maybe archaeology isn't my calling after all if I can't find something I buried in my front yard one year later. I still suspect my brother of digging it up, but I can't prove anything... Tim!! I know you have it!!

The front of my can. Not sure why
there's a horrifying face made of
black paper on it... Note the comet
streaking across.

When my 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Johnson, told our class we were going to be making time capsules that we wouldn't open for 25 years you can imagine how excited I was! 1986 was the year Halley's Comet appeared. Which I saw! (Astronomy is also a love of mine and I wrote a very interesting (to me) paper in my college astronomy class about ancient astronomy!) Halley's Comet comes 'round every 75 years or so, but the reality of each 10/11 year old in the class holding on to a mod podged coffee can until 2061 was slim to nil. (As I've done a little facebook research with my old schoolmates, the reality of 10/11 year olds holding on to it for 25 years was also slim to nil.) The 25th anniversary (of the '86 appearance) would have to do! If you remember, there was another very memorable event that happened just a few months before we saw the comet in March. The Space Shuttle Challenger tragedy. Sad day. I remember watching it in class and the silence afterward.

Back to my can. The metal one, that is... The assignment was to write an essay and draw a picture of your family. We could put a few trinkets in but of course, I went a bit further, as I'm apt to do, and added several treasures and a mixed tape (yay!) We closed it all up and brought them home. Some kids buried theirs, and I'm not quite sure why I didn't, what with my penchant for buried things, and all. I've kept it all this time, and I'll be honest, I've peeked now and then. And added a few things. Some items say 1987. If you know me, then that doesn't surprise you. I could always make it better! Besides, 25 years is a loooong time to wait! What would I be like as a 36 year old? I could only imagine. Flying around in my car, giving my robot-maid (Rosie, of course!) jobs to do, then off to the dig site to uncover mass rad stuff like mummies. It was gonna be boss. Fer sure!

I was cleaning out a shelf in the closet a few days ago and saw it up there. Then I realized I'D MISSED THE 25th ANNIVERSARY GRAND CAN OPENING CEREMONY (hosted by yours truly). Come on, Amy! All these years I've held on and waited and two years ago I forgot to open it. Seriously. Sigh. Luckily, it's never too late to open historical treasure (just ask any REAL archaeologist!)

Here's some insight into my life as a 5th grader. Have a laugh at my 10 year old self!

My artistic interpretation of
Halley's Comet

A glimpse inside

The rest of my streaking
comet...

Oh friends! These are authentic paint-splattered
sunglasses from the '80s. I'm tempted to wear
them, but I think even my 4-year old would be
embarrassed by me.

Ok, now I know this is from '87, but I put it in
there because this was such a momentous
occasion for me! I actually still remember this
night - every detail!

A bookmark because I loved to read!

Um. Yeah. Cathy.
And why, as an 11 year old, did I feel this was the best poster to put in? The one where Cathy is swamped by housework and real work?
(The caption reads: I have it all... the worst of both worlds...)
Why not a cat hanging by a paw reminding me to "hang in there"?
I have no idea. No idea.

So, this was the assignment from Mrs. Johnson. Write about yourself and this year. Here is my paper. I'll print it out word for 5th-grade word and add some insight in the bold highlights:




I like this year a lot. I had a nice teacher (brownie points!) and we had fun. Althow I didn't do good in spelling (obviously) I did good in some subjects like reading and math. This year was exciting, the Challenger (spaceshuttle) with astronouts (8 of them) blew up as taking of. (I can only assume I meant off - really, Amy? Trouble spelling off?!) None lived. (Just call me Miss. Sensitivity.) Another instring thing is that Halleys Comet reapeared and I saw it! It looked like a big snow flury. We saw it through our telescope. (It was awesome!) All this year I made new friends and had fun. Alltogether this year I think I had about 22 hours of homework (Uh, must not have used much of that on spelling work) but that's ok because some of it is fun. (Like making a time capsule!!) I hope 6th grade will be as nice. (It wasn't too bad.) Amy Stevens


Here are pictures (not accurate, thank the Lord!) and descriptions (pretty accurate!) of my family.

Amy: is my name. I have short blond hair and blue eyes. I also have glasses. The thing I like that I do in band when I play the flute. I think I am very kind.

Katie: is my sister. She has brown hair and blue eyes. She is about 16 months old. She is very loveing and gives us big hugs. She is very smart she copies us and makes it look funny. My favorit thing about her is her little hands and feet. When she laughs it is so funny. (Still is!) 

Lynne: is my mom. She has brown-yellow hair, blue eyes and has contacts. She is very loveing and careing. She is 33 years old. (Crazy that when I wrote this my mom was 5 years younger than I am now!) What I like best about her is that she takes care of us.


Ron: is my dad. He has brown hair and blue eyes. He takes care of us and is very nice. He is 33 years old. What I like best about him is he gives us a lot of things and loves us like anything.

Timothy: is my brother. He has blond hair and blue eyes. He is kind sometimes. He is 7 years old. What I like best about him is when you are sad he tryes to make you happy. (This is very true!)

Here are some fun facts about me. Updated/corrected by me in pink pen a few months later... Notice I went back and fixed my favorite subject. What was I thinking originally?! I was not taking this a seriously as I should. (Says my several months older self.)

Favorite color: pastel aqua. Because regular aqua won't do... And I just realized I spelled favorite completely wrong on EACH of the lines! Favroite? Really, Amy?! I think I was too caught up in trying to make a cool looking letter A. I'll let you browse through instead of writing it all out.

Now, these were my favorite songs, and most of them (plus a lot more!) are on my mixed tape. But I guess I had to throw Greensleeves in there because... well... I do like it. By the way all of those "best friends" I STILL keep in touch with!! How awesome is that?!

For those of you who don't know what this is (like my 6-year old who thought it was a camera and tried to look through the two holes to take a picture. Sad, sad day.) THIS is a mixed tape. You would sit by your awesome boom box with your cassette in it and have it paused on record. When your favorite (or in my case, favroite) song came on, you'd take the pause off and it would record. Download, schmownload. I still hear songs today where I can hear the DJ's voice over the end of the song in my head. Good times. I remember every New Year's Eve sitting with my friend, Sarah, in her room, with our boom box poised and ready to record any of the top 100 songs of the year in Casey Kasem's countdown.

Some random erasers (I DID make a lot of mistakes) and a barrette? Ok...

The last item in here is a scrap of my comfort blankie. Notice the giant heart written on it. I had this blankie since I was an infant and it kept getting cut smaller and smaller because I would rub it between my fingers and it would shred. Wrapping it up and putting it in the time capsule was the best thing I could have done to preserve it! Yes, I know I was 10 years old. Whatever. I was excited to pull this out of the can! Both of my girls have comfort blankie issues, like me. Deal with it.

This is my ticket to Disneyland the one and only time I've ever been! It was awesome, except for the part where the Haunted House broke down in the middle of our ride and we were stuck inside for at least 15 minutes. Maybe that's why I can't handle any scary movies. Traumatized in the happiest place on earth.


So, there you have it. A trip back in time, with me baring my soul in all it's misspelled, blankie lovin', Greensleeves singin', glasses wearin' glory.

Almost A Dream Squasher

Hey. Remember me? Apparently my blogging brilliance (HA!) fizzled out quickly, like a lot of things I commit to in life. Oh, whatever! Don't pretend you don't do the same thing now and then! I guess when things really hit me, I'll share about them. There aren't enough hours in the day to write all the time, what with kids, husband, cooking, cleaning (again, ha!), and Bejeweled Blitz to contend with my time. You get it, right?

Anyway, on to this post. This is an important one for me because it taught me a lot about myself - most of it not good, about my daughter (Adventure Girl) - all of it wonderful, and about humanity in general, but specifically on my cul de sac - again, all of it wonderful. We live on the best street ever.

Adventure Girl (if you have no idea whom I'm referring to, read back a few blog posts - you won't regret it! I hope...) has been telling me for several months that she wants to help "poor people." Now, I'm gonna be brutally honest here. You ready? You sure? Deep breath. Read this fast because it's painful: I wanted to brush her off and I hoped she'd forget about it. There. I said it. I'm a bad person. At this point in life I don't have a burning heart for social justice. I don't really want to work in the homeless community and move beyond my selfish, comfortable existence. It scares me. I'm a little socially awkward and, honestly, I can't think of things to say to my friends sometimes, let alone people that I can't relate to. I pray this changes for me. I want to reach out and love and share and give. I really do.

So, when AG told me she wanted to help poor people my first thought was, "Where do I even park to go under the bridge downtown?!" My second was, "Quick, distract her with cartoons! Ice cream! Park outing!" I'm honestly ashamed to admit that I didn't say, "Awesome! Let's do it!" I'm honestly ashamed to admit that I hoped she'd forget about it. She didn't. I'm glad.

She kept telling people that she was going to make necklaces to help poor people! She kept asking me if we could go buy beads! Now, she loves crafts but, like me, doesn't stick with things for too long. She did this time. She spent a whole afternoon stringing beads on this plastic "string" that never seems to make a tight knot no matter how much I pulled on it. She "accidentally" broke several other fancy bracelets so she could add cool beads to those she was making. She had three items and asked me to walk with her around the neighborhood to see if people would buy them. Wait, what?! This was getting serious. Seeing those poor Girl Scouts begging people to buy their cookies makes me anxious. I didn't want to be one of those pleading parents hoping others would have mercy on their kid. At least they were selling cookies! My kid had plastic beaded necklaces that kept coming apart and were too small to fit over a grownup's head! Sheesh.

She was so excited that I said, "Ok, let's go." We went to the first house and I stood back and let her do her thing. "I'm selling necklaces and bracelets to help poor people. Would you like to buy one?" (I was giving my best "Sorry! Just humor her, ok?" look from a few steps down. How lame am I?!) Our first "customer" bought everything she had and gave her $9 for it. Seriously?! I was expecting 50 cents. Tops. Her (my) confidence was growing, but she needed to make more jewelry. Back home we went and she started beading again. Then Monster Me (again, look back if you haven't yet!) dumped ALL 400 beads on the bedroom floor and refused to help clean up. In fact, the madder she got about cleaning the more scattered the beads got. I'm not kidding, some of them are a 1/4" across and clear. Who makes these things?! Obviously people who don't have a four-year old whose nickname includes the word Monster. Took almost two hours and most of my patience to get it cleaned up. Don't worry, MM helped but it's wasn't pretty. It wasn't pretty.

Next day we hit the pavement again and she sold out again. What generous, kind neighbors we have! Trish, Renee', Chris, Linda, Ruth: you guys are awesome! Adventure Girl raised $50 (including some of her own hard-earned money she put in) to donate to "poor people"!

We decided the best way to do this was to go shopping and fill up the food closet at our church, Bethany Baptist, which is open to the community and those in our church family who need some help. This was a local place she could give to and see her heart at work. I found out what they were short on and gave AG the list, which she carefully copied onto her own pink paper. For two days she kept saying how excited she was to go shopping, as she squealed and jumped up and down. The day arrived and we went to Winco and filled our cart with peanut butter, rice, noodles, and tuna fish. She was so excited to count out her dollars and hand them to the checker. I was so excited to see her like that. She's not a proud kid, she wasn't proclaiming how awesome she is or anything like that. It wasn't to bring attention to herself.

I learned a valuable lesson. I can't believe that I started to discourage her from doing such a bold, loving thing. I guess I'm jaded by the world, living in my own fear, insecurity and inexperience. I want to change. I want to teach my girls the joy of helping others, of sharing their lives - it's not a one way street. The more they give, the more they get. She's a little disappointed that SHE isn't the one handing out her items to those in need. I think maybe some hands-on experience is in our future. Maybe we'll see you under the bridge. Whoa, whoa, whoa... let's not get ahead of ourselves! Maybe we'll see you at the Mission on Thanksgiving. She'll be the one making friends, making a difference and pushing me out of my comfort zone.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with 

actions and in truth." 

1 John 3:18

B**ch On Board

So, you remember those little triangles from the 80s that you could dangle from a tiny suction cup on your car window to warn everyone about to rear end you that there's a Baby On Board? I've never been sure if those actually had any effect, except to totally increase someone's guilt as they slammed into your car. Apparently, like other things from the 80s (except the awesome music) that is ever-so popular these days (I swear I saw a mesh shirt in the store) these triangles are back, but it's the babies they once protected who are sporting them now.

I was driving this morning and saw a pink triangle boasting that there was a b**ch on board that particular car. Not beach or birch in case that's what you were thinking. At first I kind of scoffed at this young woman - like WHO wants to advertise that? Is that something to wear proudly on your sleeve? Total self-protection mechanism, if you ask me. But no one did. Although you're still reading, so you're getting my two cents anyway. :)

But it gets worse. As I pulled up next to her, she actually looked like a b**ch. Which makes me feel horrible saying that. But, she looked hard and mean and I would DEFINITELY not invite her over for dinner if she rolled down the window. Call me judgmental, but she must not be a nice person if she's advertising it. I mean we all have our moments, but I wouldn't proudly wear that title.

But it gets even worse. There was also a little girl, about five years old, in the backseat in a pretty pink car seat. My heart sighed. I know it may be cute and trendy to proclaim yourself to be tough and mean and someone no one will mess with, but seriously? What an example to teach your little girl. There is such a difference between teaching your daughter to be strong, independent and to value her self worth and teaching them that being a b**ch is what gets things done. It actually makes me sad. Not just because of what the girl's perception of womanhood may turn out to be, but also because of what her perception of her mom may turn out to be.

I'm the first to admit that mothering is freakin' hard. My daughters both had screaming, meltdown tantrums in a parking lot yesterday. They cried, I cried, I'm sure the people who's eardrums they burst wept bitterly, too. I'm SO not near close to being close to perfect - who the heck is? I'm sure my kids will need counseling. They make ME need counseling! But... in the end I want my girls to respect me as a mom, a woman and at my grave to not proclaim that I lived up to my b**ch triangle, but that I made a difference in their lives and in the lives of others around me FOR THE BETTER.

Not being a b**ch doesn't mean laying down and getting walked on by others. That doesn't mean not standing up for what is right, or for your beliefs out of fear of what others think. You don't have to live on the offense to earn respect.

I want to be the kind of person who would incite dinner invitations just from how fun and kind we look in our car (But not yesterday - yesterday was bad. I would have cried in my spaghetti.) and teach my girls to be the same. To be strong AND kind. To not take pride in being a mean bully or joy in creating fear in others. Let's brush those chips off of our shoulders and use them to build a bridge of love. HAHAHAHA! Ok, I totally almost deleted that, but it was way too awesome and cheesy.

World's Okayest Mom

So, I was on fb last night (shocker) and someone had this mug as their profile picture:

I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen! Okay, I may have had a glass of wine while I was looking at it, but it's seriously funny! I thought it offered such grace in motherhood, because Lord knows I need a lot of it! Such freedom!

Bad morning? It's OKAY! Yelling at my child to stop her yelling? It's OKAY! Don't feel like getting the glitter out for crafting? It's OKAY! Would rather spend time playing Bejeweled Blitz to beat my high score (Like that's gonna happen. This week was awesome!) than have a dance party in the living room with Monster Me? It's OKAY! Put her in front of Yo Gabba Gabba so I can write a blog post? It's OKAY!! I can TOTALLY be a slacker now, because I'm just an okay mom. I went to bed so excited!! Squeal!

Then I woke up and started doing all of those things. Seriously. Except beat my high score - not for lack of trying. And at first I was like, "Yesssss!" Then I was like, "Hmm." I started getting grumpier and grumpier, and more unhappy with myself.

What's that old saying about if you reach for the clouds you'll only reach the clouds - or something like that. Obviously, I'm more of a stars-type girl since that saying has never been spoken by me. There's this raging war in me to WANT to be the best. Okay is NOT okay. Do you know how mad I get when I don't have the highest score in Bejeweled? But... do you know how often I don't have the highest score? Ha! Like everyday! I live in a state of frustration. Because I'm not the best, and I never will be. I really don't like glitter. I'd really rather play on the computer. Maybe it's laziness, maybe it's weariness. I don't know, but I don't like not even trying. I don't want my kids to remember me always telling them to go away because I'm on the computer. I don't want my husband to come home to a nagging, crabby wife everyday. How horrible a life is that for all of us?!

On the other hand, it's okay to not be perfect! It's okay to lose the struggle sometimes! It's okay to cry yourself through until naps or change the time on the clocks so bedtime is earlier, because it's hard! (This was me yesterday! This is why I grasped with joy at the Okay Mom concept!) It's okay to have messy floors, a glitterless house and a child watching Yo Gabba Gabba. (At least she's learning a song about not biting her friends which, I guarantee you, will come in handy.) It's okay to sit in the clouds sometimes, but it's not okay to settle in there and never look up.

Can you relate? Are you the World's Okayest _______ (insert whatever you are in life right now: wife, mother, child, barista, teacher, lawyer, friend...)

So, how do we start reaching for the stars in a cloudy world? When no one notices, cares or pats you on the back for your obvious awesomeness? I have no idea. Sorry. Let's let each other know if we figure it out, okay? Part of it, for me, is to not compare myself to others I see who really seem to be the Best Moms. You know they're not perfect! Maybe more on that in the future... I need to see what makes MY house, family, and life happy and strive for that. 

A few minutes ago I did a one person poll (does that work?!) and asked Monster Me if she thought I was a good mom. She said no. Come on!! Seriously?! I asked what I could do to be better. She said give her cookies and play a game. Instead I shooed her away so I could finish writing. Probably didn't score any mom points. Maybe I'll live in the Okay Clouds until noon, then get the Princess Friends Forever game out. I just know there's glitter involved...

By the way, this absolutely isn't a pity call for people to respond and say what a good mom I am - in fact, I'm telling YOU: YOU are obviously awesome, YOU'RE doing a wonderful job, and I think YOU'RE a great ________! (fill in the blank)

Get ready for the cheesy saying... Are you ready? You sure???

Let's reach for the stars!

(Imagine me thrusting my fist into the air and holding that pose for 3 seconds.)

Edie Jane - The Story of a Very Tiny Baby

Monster Me (Ok, whatever. Her name is Edie Jane. If you're a bad guy, don't track us down. My husband will make you regret it.) is turning four years old today! This is special because she was such a miracle baby. I have to keep reminding myself of that (sometimes several times a day...) during the tough moments. Like ALL of Sunday...

This is Edie's story - it's kind of long, and not very funny and it's more for me to remember. There are cute pictures throughout, though...

A week old Edie Jane with my wedding ring.

The first picture of Edie. They gave this to me before I really saw her
myself and I had to do some serious deep breathing.
That C-Pap mask only stayed on for 24 hours!! Praise God!

Edie's Story

Edie was born 10 weeks early due to my having something called HELLP syndrome. At least, that's what I was told by one of the numerous doctors I saw. It's an extreme preeclampsia that shows up earlier and gets worse with each baby. My body thinks the baby is a foreign invader (kinda accurate...) and rejects it (Not ok!!) Julianne was born 4 weeks early and usually (with regular preeclampsia) future babies are fine, but with HELLP it gets worse each pregnancy. I didn't know I had it until the next pregnancy. So... long story short - we barely made it. My blood pressure was crazy high and I was so drugged up on magnesium to prevent seizures that I don't remember much except being in a terrified haze.

I was at Willamette Valley Vineyards' Wine, Cheese and Pear festival, (don't worry, I was only sampling the food that time!) with several girlfriends, and got a call that I needed to get up to the hospital in Portland that very day. Of course, I was like, "Are you freaking kidding me?! She's too little! I still have 2 1/2 more months! I haven't even had a baby shower yet!" My husband was at his Army drill weekend and I had my 2 year old at home with my mother-in-law. I called him in a panic and he was able to leave to drive me up to the hospital, where I spent the next six days trying to keep my blood pressure down and the baby in. The hubs was scheduled to leave for California and then Iraq for a 14 month deployment within a few weeks. Originally he would have missed Edie's birth. The Army was actually gracious (thank you, thank you, thank you!) and let him skip the California training so he was here for the birth, the five weeks she was in the NICU, and for one week after she came home. Then it was me and my two girlies for over a year.

Back to the hospital... Apparently, I have a "hostile uterus", so she wasn't growing well. But, there was something amazing - I had the steroid shots to help her lungs because they knew they we weren't going to sustain the pregnancy much longer. The doctor did an ultrasound to check for practice breaths (I had no idea that babies practice breathing inside!) So, the doctor was watching and watching the screen and I was getting nervous. Then he said that usually babies do a few little flutter "breaths" with their lungs to practice, but my little fighter was doing continuous "breaths" for a very long time. He said he'd never seen it sustained so long before and he was a specialist! The hubby was with our then-2-year old each day while I was up in Portland. I remember being so scared and stressed, which really did nothing to help the blood pressure. He would bring Julianne up to visit me and she couldn't even sit on my bed because it would move the stomach monitors and alarms would go off. I hated that stupid monitor. I just wanted to hold Julianne, I was so lonely. And, when it was time for them to leave he would have to carry her out crying and I could hear her screaming/crying all the way down that hall that she wanted her mommy. It broke my heart. That was the longest I'd been apart from her. I have a strong faith, but I think, looking back, it'd never really been tested until then. What was God trying to do?! I was going to have a very premature baby and be alone for most of it without my husband around to help. I read a verse in the Bible that I'd never noticed before - that's how God works, isn't it? He gives what we need at exactly the time we need it, if we're listening. We're never alone. The verse is Isaiah 26:3 "You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you." Four years later and that verse still brings back the emotions of that time, and God's faithfulness. My heart was scared and wavering, but I kept repeating under my breath, "My mind is faithful, I trust you, give me your peace. You promise your peace. I trust you."

So... they kept telling me that we were trying to keep her in until 30 weeks - as soon as you hit 30, the chances of developmental problems go way down. She was born the morning of the first day of 30 weeks, by C-Section. They had to knock me completely out, because the anesthesia wasn't working and I could lift my legs and felt all the test-pricks. Yikes!

Yes, there's a baby in there!

We called her Saggy Baggy for awhile...

Edie Jane was born on March 12, 2009 was just 2.5 pounds, 15 1/4" long. I vaguely remember them wheeling me on the bed, into the NICU, past an incubator with a little bird-like creature with a mask over it's face in it, but I was so drugged that's about all I remember. I didn't see her for at least a day. I ended up having to stay in the hospital for my own needs, because they couldn't get my blood pressure stabilized, for a week longer. Which really sucked. I hated it. My baby was in the NICU, and I was laying in a bed, pumping milk every 4 hours for a baby I didn't get to feed. They wrote her name with a heart around it on the white board that I stared at all day, as all the emotions of my baby, my husband leaving, being away from him and my other daughter, and all the post-pregnancy hormones coursed through me. I'm an emotional person anyway, so I was teary quite often. The nurses kept asking me if I was ok or if I wanted the chaplain to talk to and I kept telling them I just needed to cry it all out and go home! I think I was the crazy lady on the floor.

Finally I was able to start walking down to the NICU to visit her. I was so excited to go for one of her feedings and so disappointed when it took 5 seconds for the less-than-one ounce of milk/formula to go down a tube in her mouth. She was still too little to touch & hold, her nerves were too sensitive. Eventually I was able to Kangaroo Hold and have her up against my chest. I'm not kidding, her head was the size of a tennis ball. I was so scared to touch her. She looked like a naked bird - all bones with saggy flesh around them.

She had an attitude even then - flippin' off 
the world. 

Her little feeding tube.

But... and here's where the miracle part continues: she was perfectly healthy. She wore the c-pap mask for only 24 hours, then she was breathing on her own! That was crazy. The nurses nicknamed her Polly Pocket and said she was SO feisty. Apparently, she almost rolled herself over at negative 2 months old. They were all very impressed with her and told me she was a fighter and I should be thankful for her feistiness now, but better start praying for her teenage years. So true!! I just said to the hubs last night, after she had a major attitude issue, "What are we going to do when she's a teenager?!" Start praying for us now. Please. Pretty please.

Finally they told me my blood pressure was stable and I could leave the hospital. The problem was, I had to leave without my baby. It was the worst feeling, I felt like the worst mother, driving away. Of course, the awesome nurses at St. Vincent's shooed me out and said there was nothing for me to do except stare at her (which I didn't mind doing), and my family needed me at home. We live an hour from the hospital, so every day we'd drive up and I'd spend time with her, hold her, try to nurse, stare at her and wonder what our future held, then I'd leave again. I was never able to fully nurse her (Don't judge me, I tried everyday.) but I kept pumping (Every three hours for five months, I deserve an award for that!) so I was able to feed her my milk mixed with formula with the extra nutrients she needed. I still have NICU flashbacks when I smell hand sanitizer.

Me and Edie-Bitty.

We celebrated with each gram, ounce and pound she gained. We celebrated when she finally got butt cheeks. We celebrated when she hit 3 pounds and before she was 4 pounds they told me she was sustaining her own body temperature and would be ready to go home soon. As excited as I was, I was glad we waited till she hit 4 pounds so I didn't break her!

One week after we got home from the hospital with Edie Jane, my hubby left for Iraq. It was a tough time. I HAD to rely on God for the strength, patience, peace and joy I needed each day to take care of those two little girls (Edie was very needy and colicky, and Julianne was very angry and emotional that Josh was gone) while worrying about him overseas. I have a great family, church family and MOPS group who helped me so much!

She loves big sister!

So... long story short (HA!!) Edie is four!!! She challenges us, makes us laugh, is so silly, feisty, and smart. She's still pretty small, well, petite but tall. She hasn't had any developmental problems from an early birth and we're thankful everyday for her. Here are some cutie-pie pictures of her in the last four years:

At the Children's Museum - she's
always been a character!

Enjoying the beach.

Unicorn Horn Hair phenomenon - she STILL gets this.
I love it!!

Easter. Obviously...

Her 3rd birthday party.

Edie Jane!