Whoa, Baby!

Whoa Baby!

A 17 pound baby was born to Russian parents this week.

Wow. Cabbage Patch Kids do exist.

Those friends of mine who have no idea how much a baby should weigh, just look at the photo. Newborns should NOT have creases in their arms like that; compare the size of the other baby. The average birth weight is around 7 lbs. Seventeen pounds is nearly 2.5 times that.

Every woman now: grooooaaaan.

Artist

Is there a Picasso in the house? Because I have a budding artist. Just two weeks ago, Morgan was limited in her drawing abilities to circles and squares. And now...animals! Say hello to Mr. Giraffe and Mr. Elephant.

Am I proud, you ask? Just a bit.

Will of God

Good news. I have broken through some pretty negative lies that I've been believing about myself.

For a really, really long time, every morning I wake up with this thought: "Something is not right."

It's a subtle thought. I don't start the day weeping or in anger. It's more of an aching belief that I hold in the recesses of my mind: "Something is not right."

The "thing" that is not right is, of course, our losses. My pitbullesque instinct to hold onto something until it gives me the result I want is, well, wanting. Each time I ask, "Why?" I get an answer which registers to me as "Does not compute. Does not compute." Something is not right.

Today, I finally had the courage to ask myself why I felt a pit in my stomach every single day. The answer that came back was startling to me: I believed myself to be outside the will of God.

When I really searched my thought life, I realized that I have been obeying God in a robotic fashion. It's somewhat necessary when the emotions go through such turmoil. But I never turned them back "on" again. I chalked up my silent situation to God putting me on the back burner. After all, there are worse things than having miscarriages. A lot of people suffer. God sees my situation but he hasn't determined a verdict yet. Back burner for now.

So today, it hit me: I AM in the will of God. God knows. God hears. And for now, this waiting period, this silence, is His answer. I am in the will of God.

This was hard for me to swallow at first. I don't want THIS to be the will of God. I don't want to be here. I want to push the pause button on life until the suffering is over. This isn't REALLY life. When all this terrible mess blows over, then life will REALLY begin. I swept it under the rug.

This was the answer given me: "No, Emily. Life is now. You are God's child now. And this is His will."

I have friends who have lost their spouses, jobs, pregnancies, hope and possessions. But this message is for everyone in whatever aching sadness pervades their daily life: Suffering does not mean that one is outside of God's will. Often suffering is his will.

Ah, the mysterious, loving, care-filled, vigilant and frustrating will of God. So glad I am in it.

Oh Where, Oh Where Did My Little Girl Go?

Calling Dr Jekyl. Dr Jekyl? Morgan to see you, sir. Something about turning 4.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Where did my funny, somewhat amicable 3 year old daughter go? We are having power trips left and right. And they're always over something ridiculous. And they're mostly done in public. To the outsider, they probably sound silly. But my Morgan knows how to trip my trigger.

Before I go on, I want to disclaim that this is NOT intended to be a slam fest on my daughter. No sirree. Just 4 year olds in general.

Example 1:
Morgan wants something to drink.
Morgan's Plan of Attack: She comes up to me and says, "Water."
I reply, "I'm sorry. Did you want something, Morgan? How do you ask for it?
Morgan: "Water. Please."
Mommy Responds: "Use your whole sentence, sweety."
Morgan: *sigh* "Can-I-please-have-some-water-thanks."

We do this runaround about 20 times a day. Twenty. Roughly the age I expect she'll be when we can stop this fancy pants dance.

Example 2:
Morgan disagrees with me.
Morgan's Plan of Attack: She first alerts me to this fact by zerberting into the air. "THBBBBB", her tongue informs me.
I give her that classic disappointed Mom smile. And then I proceed to ask her to do the aforementioned deed.
With a completely straight face she turns to me and belts "NO" and continues to stand expressionless.
Mommy Responds: Time out. Talking.

We do this runaround about 5-10 times a day. They're particularly fun in public shopping areas.

Example 3:
Morgan doesn't want to hold my hand anymore.
Morgan's plan of attack: Hold Mommy's hand reluctantly and drag feet as much as possible. Try to make Mommy look like she's pulling arm out of socket and periodically complain about the pulling. Act like hostage.
Mommy Responds: This one is tricky. I tried slowing down my walking speed, but the only way I don't pull her along is when she and I are both standing still. Which defeats the point of destination walking, no? At this point, I try to tell her why we're walking and why it is important that we keep doing so. This may involve bribes.

We do this gig at every errand run.

My challenge for you, gentle readers, is to help me cope/enjoy this age. Please note that I may ask you to come over to my abode and SHOW me how your idea works. This may involve several days worth of observation, so pack a suitcase.

*sigh* Tired momma, signing out.

Swing baby!

Disclaimer: I've been slightly hesitant to write this blog for fear that OUR pleasure has resulted in our friend Marc's annoyance. Dear Marc gave us the better part of his Saturday to disassemble a playset we bought on craigslist and delivered it to our house. What a friend. That being said, here's my real post:

WHOOO HOOOO!! We are fitting in quite well with super suburban living. We are the proud new owners of (drumroll, please) a playset.

If you have visions in your head of rusty, creaky tin-ish structures that break easily and jostle every time someone swings, then you're not far off. The only difference is that this unit is a bit heavier so we don't expect toppling. We are anticipating some pretty spectacular splinters, however. Ah, childhood.

Dan and Marc were disassembly fiends on Saturday. Within 4 hours they had broken down the mammoth into bite sized pieces. I attribute this success to the coffee and donuts they had enjoyed earlier. They claim that they're smart and strong. Whatever.

After Dan and Marc dumped the puzzle-ish wood pieces of the playset on our backyard, they hauled back towards Marc's neck of the woods to return said friend. Morgan and I rested a little, but not for long. Neighbors started coming out of the woodwork to see what landed on our lawn. They offered their help for the resassembly in the form of hoots and hollers, libations and general manual assistance. The latter was offered under the breath in hopes that we wouldn't hear.

We plan to restain Morgan's new playset. That's for OUR benefit, of course. Morgan wouldn't care.

In the end, our math was right: Child + Playset= Happiness.

Morganisms

This week I was at some venue speaking to an older woman with short hair.

Morgan beckoned,"Mom! Mom!"

"Yes, Morgan?" I replied.

Her urgent question could have waited: "Is that a MAN or a WOMAN?"

Good Word, Bad Word

Word I Like: Hork
Why I Like It: Fun to say
Meaning: To chow down quickly
Used in Sentence: "It took me all day to make that soup! Don't hork it down so fast."

Word I Don't Like: Value
Why I Don't Like: Grandpa word. Can't think of any situation in which I would need to say it.
Substitute for word: "Bang for your buck"
Used in Sentence: "Let's buy those bananas. Ten cents a pound is a good value."
Try this instead: "Oooo... cheap bananas! I got a lot of bang for my buck."

Elm-ily

Today I took Morgan to the Morton Arboretum. If you haven't been before, you're missing out. It's a slice of paradise in the Chicago 'burbs.

To mix things up a bit, I told Morgan that we'd be taking the tram today at the Arboretum. I had to explain the concept of tram: neither car nor train, but a combination of both.

Once we boarded the tram, the friendly tour guide/driver welcomed us to this "50 minute tour of the Arboretum". Yikes. I hadn't known that it was nearly an hour. Crikey. We were already moving. How in the name of photosynthesis was I going to keep Morgan interested in this? "Look, Morgan! There's a tree! And another tree! By jove... there's a whole GROVE of trees!"

To her credit, she kept herself preoccupied with her lunch for the first 20 minutes. About the halfway mark, however, she paced back and forth in our row like a caged lion. She wanted out. She started hanging off the side in a gesture of defiance.

Meanwhile, the tour was excellent. The tour guide was a retired teacher who made a bunch of trees *yawn* seem very interesting. His enthusiasm was genuine and contagious. I desperately wanted to hear every word he said which was difficult because 1) Morgan would have none of that and 2) I realized that I was becoming older. Memories of past vacations with parents taking boring tours suddenly came to mind. I'm embracing my aging better than I thought I would.

After the tour I very much wanted to ask Mr. Tour Guide some tree questions, but I had already "released the hounds"... Morgan was running hysterically around the premises like a jackrabbit.

She unofficially forgave me when I took her to the Children's Garden which is full of edutaining fun.

It was a full morning, friends. In summary:
I do recommend the tram ride.
I don't recommend bringing small children.
And I do recommend getting a good sleep the night before.

Signing off!

Bull + China Shop

A confession, friends. I am very moody lately. I haven't wanted to blog because I'm afraid I'll come across as a bull in a china shop, which is exactly how I feel inside.

It's hormones, I know it is. It's the sad reality of being a woman. Earlier this week I wanted a baby so badly that I nearly flew myself to another country to adopt one. And then today... a quiet storm inside. No urges. Just a gentle pang.

The absolute irony is that I'm NOT a baby person. Repeat: NOT a baby person. I like other people's babies, but in truth I am a better parent to slightly older children. Morgan would deny this claim, but its true. So how on God's green earth I came to be blogging about having another baby is a mystery to me.

My friends who are going through fertility issues will be able to relate to this: The absolutely worst part about fertiliy issues is the constant ramping up of courage and good attitude. We're encouraged to picture the end result and employ positive thinking. The medical community, in a gesture of charity, bestows every known method of baby making knowledge to us. The information is so thick and laden with choices that the receiver must chug it down until time allows for the information to actually set in and make sense. No bones about it... it's work.

Just this week a well meaning person told me that in her experience with IVF, one must "try not to think about it" when they throw the extra fertilized eggs away. My insides grimaced. The ethical dilemmas of infertility solutions are so deep that galoshes are required.

But then this good news: I spoke to a very wise woman today. My sister Noel said something so simple and profound that I could have hit myself for not thinking of it earlier. She said, "No matter what mood you're in... if you've been pleasing God or not, if you've been a controlling maniac or a calm, patient person... in the end the only way to have a baby is by God's grace. It's no work of your own."

The peace set in once again. The bull was ousted from the china shop.

Milk

How We Get Milk
A Story by Morgan

Morgan: "Hey Mom and Dad... you know how we get milk? When a cow sneezes, it comes out of them."

The question I have is... does it come out their nose?

More Overheard

Me: "Morgan, you surprised me!"

Morgan, with smile: "I'm full of surprises."

Too much TV?

Overheard

Me: "Morgan, there is no need to cry for Daddy. He's in the shower and will be out soon. Crying is not necessary."

Pause.

Morgan: "It IS necessary."

"Necessary": The word that should only be found in people above the age of 15.

Knock knock

Today I'm taking a page out of my husband's take on blogs: rant sessions.

I'm going to select the topic of solicitation because 1) We've had beaucoup solicitors lately and 2) Dan said he was going to write about it today and he bailed. Bad, Dan, bad.



Since moving to our new abode, we've enjoyed all the delights of the 2.5 childrened, minivan-plagued suburbs. We enjoy the local parks, the homeowner's association and the occasional ice cream truck. We have NOT enjoyed the rise in door-to-door solicitors.

I'm sure we've all enjoyed our fair share of Girl Scout cookies, purchased from doe-eyed youth looking pleadingly into our eyes and then at our purses. Eyes, then purse. Eyes, then purse. We're bound to buy them. Somehow their gaze magically transports our funds into their dough. (Sorry, the pun just came; couldn't stop it.) Every autumn there is a nationwide Pavlovian response to salivate when we hear the words "Thin Mints". We can't help ourselves; we're conditioned. And these youngins are doing pretty well, folks. They even have a website devotedly entirely to their COOKIES.

So am I an old fogey or does $20 for a coupon book from a local school sound rather high? Sorry, but buying 5 pizzas to get your 6th one half off is NOT a deal. That is not a coupon book. That is an uncoupon book.

On Sunday a charming young man from Boy Scouts asked us if we wanted to buy tickets to a pancake breakfast. That idea was just mediocre. Sorry, you can't sell me on pancakes. I like pancakes as much as the next guy, but I like to eat them quietly on Saturday mornings with my family. No need to invite others to this gooey carb fest.

Now, lest I sound completely heartless, let me explain the core of my complaint: Give us something we can use for a fair price. It's really that simple.

Here, I have an example. If Boy scouts want to raise funds, sell bulk Halloween candy to neighbors. Go to Mars corporate office, strike up a bulk discount for yourselves and resell it. Do this for a few years and once the community saves their Halloween shekels for Boy Scouts, you've got a monopoly on the market. What's more: neighbors will be GLAD that you're knocking on their door. Glad, not sad. Glad.

Okay, enough ranting. Remember, little solicitors, I'm on your side. I want you to raise funds. I do. But have your coaches, leaders and parents give us something that will cause our door to open wide.

Boy oh Boy.

Tonight I saw a spectacular act of defiance that had me laughing heartily.

My 4 year old neighbor took to squirting his tired father in their back yard with a squirt gun. His father was trying to read. Finally the father blurted out, "WILL YOU STOP GETTING ME WET?" (I don't judge, dear friends; I've been in a similar situation.) Then the father went inside, leaving the 4 year old boy with his 2 year old sister outside.

This is where it gets good.

Seeing his father gone, the little boy plunged both his long-sleeved arms into a bucket of water. When he brought them out, the weight of the water caused the sleeves to droop heavily.

The boy saw how his arms transformed into wet weapons of destruction.

He also saw his unsuspecting sister.

He twirled the sleeves in the air, hitting her with big wet droplets again and again. Sometimes he hit her directly with the sleeves but she was too young to cry much. She was mostly irritated.

Again and again he plunged his arms in the water like an attention crazed maniac, flinging water as strongly as he could. I know what an attention-crazed maniac looks like from experience, believe me.

I didn't see the inevitable altercation with his father, but I'm sure it was good.

My thoughts are with all of my friends with boys. Whew!

Overheard

I was trying to get Morgan ready to go grocery shopping. She was playing legos and a bit reluctant.

Me: "Morgan, it's time to get ready to go to the grocery store."

pause

Morgan: "Moommmmmmm... don't you need to click online or somethin'?"

Kiss Me

Today Morgan and I made Kiss Cookies. I'm sure you grew up with them: peanut butter dough is baked and while it is cooling a Hershey's Kiss is perched atop.

I asked Morgan to unwrap the Kisses while I started the dough. She did a GREAT job. And then, while I was on the phone, she took the opportunity to ask me multiple times if she could have a chocolate Kiss. She had already had 3, so I had to decline her pleas. Again and again.

When I got off the phone, I discovered that the remaining unwrapped Kisses had all received lobotomies. I wanted to laugh, but the mother in me prevailed.

Two minute time out, baby.

Movie Review

Movie Review: A Good Year

Plot: Watery-ish, but cute

Scenery: Breathtaking. Set in Provence. Makes you want to drink wine and eat cheese all your life.

Good time to watch movie: When husband is out of town or muzzled (if he likes to poke at romantic movies, that is) or on a rainy day all by yourself. (Children must be napping.)

Romance: Yep.

Sex scenes: Of course.

This movie stirs up everything deep deep inside every women that she won't find in, say, her suburban homed, minivan hauling life. The story is cute and fluffy and won't keep you awake at night wondering about ethics.

Overheard

Morgan: "Mom, I want to smell good. Can I wear some pepper-fume?"

Sorry, we're all out.

Re: D'oh

Okay. The people have spoken.

I rescind my earlier statement. I won't communicate with him beforehand. Thanks everyone for your input.

D'oh

In two weeks Dan and I are planning on attending his 10 year class reunion from Calvin College. It's something that he's been looking forward to and since most of his friends are mine (friends by marriage, you know how that goes) it should be a groovy time. Besides, the only guy I didn't end on good terms with at Calvin graduated in 1996, so he won't be there.

Or so I thought. My dear, dear husband informed me this morning that Mr. X actually graduated in 1997 and so he will be there.

I'm ashamed to say that my first thoughts were all looks related: lose weight, get a tan, look like his breaking up with you made your life BETTER. Grrrr. I hate when I become shallow.

Deep breath.

Alright, alright. I'll give him a call and make sure everything's okey-dokey before we see each other at the reunion.

So here's my survey: If you were in my shoes, would you:
1. Get a face life, tummy tuck and nose job.
2. Start noshing on Oreos since it's no use.
3. Wear a costume.
4. Call Mr. X before the reunion to smooth things over beforehand. ("Remember how I said you were a self-obsessed jerk? Well, you aren't THAT bad.")
5. Just go to the reunion and hope that no awkwardness occurs, knowing full well that I'll think of it the whole time and resist being myself.

Oh, and just so you know, I'm doing #4 even if your survey says otherwise. But humor me.

Game

Okay, Sarah, I'm game. Here's my answers:

ACCENT - Maryland: the great debate. Northern state or southern state? I say SOUTHERN words with a NORTHERN accent. (i.e.- y'all is not said "yawwwwllll")

I DON'T DRINK - Beer. I drink it socially only if it's really artsy fartsy imported limited edition and my husband is egging me to try it. I never ask for it otherwise.

CHORE I HATE - Laundry. Clothes are fun to wear. Why can't they be fun to wash?

PETS - I have a three year old. She's my pet.

ESSENTIAL ELECTRONICS - Love you, TIVO. And right now I'm listening to my ipod as it is mounted in my Bose Sound Dock. And my Macintosh... I use daily. Almost hourly.

PERFUME - I used to wear Happy by Clinique but then we moved and I forgot to pick up more. Thanks for reminding me about this great scent, Sarah.

GOLD or SILVER - Platinum

INSOMNIA - I hardly ever have trouble falling to sleep. A day chocked full of work and busyness guarantees a heavy head hitting the pillow. Also, I dream heavily and remember my dreams in the morning.

JOB TITLE - Laughing... sometimes when I call Dan at work I don a professional sounding voice and say, "Dan? Hi, Emily Dykstra. Wife. Mother of your child..."

MOST ADMIRED TRAIT - I love a sincere friend.

KIDS - Morgan (almost 4)

RELIGION - Christian. The good old-fashioned Bible reading kind.

SIBLINGS - 4 siblings: Noel, Bret, Becky and Andrew. We're all 3 years apart and I'm the oldest. I'm 33 so you do the math.

TIME I WAKE UP - I wake with Dan at about 5:30 or 6am.

VEGETABLE I HATE - Can't say that I've met one yet.

WORST HABIT - I think I make people uncomfortable when I dig too deep. I'm not a "cocktail party" converser. I like to see the real person, so I ask real questions. Sometimes I get the feeling that people avoid me b/c I don't keep it light and airy. Sometimes this is a strength, but it is just as often a weakness.

MY FAVORITE MEAL - Oh man. Anything my momma makes. Seriously. She could make cold cereal and it would taste BETTER at her house than at mine.

Thankful

I'm taking a page out of my friend Sheryl's blog for today's entry. She wrote about her experience with September 11th. It's a beautifully written post and I encourage you to read it.

My experience with September 11th was very personal. You'll recall that all the planes overtaken that dreadful morning were from the DC and Maryland airports.

Dan was on American Airlines flight 539 at 6:30am flying from Baltimore to Chicago. He was in the midst of accepting his new position/interviewing at BP.

I was working as a designer in Hunt Valley, Maryland that morning. I remember everyone turning on as many TVs, radios and webcasts to see what was going on. It was dreadful. We thought maybe the first plane had erred in its course; then the second one hit.

I couldn't get in touch with Dan. I called my father, crying, and we prayed.

I was finally able to reach Dan and he sounded confused at my crying; he hadn't heard.

Dan was scheduled to come home a day or so later, but it took much longer, of course. All planes were grounded and rental cars were hard to come by. A coworker was able to snag a rental and they drove back to Baltimore.

Wisely, Dan kept his ticket stub from that day. In fact, this year for our anniversary I gave him a shadow box with a brass engraved plate. It reads:
To Dan
on our 7th Anniversary
Our days are ordained by God.
Love, Emily

'Bucks

It's Monday, but its not.

It started in typical Monday style: Everyone was a little groggy. Dan had to go to work. The week's worth of work promised to be more than enough for 3 weeks, let alone the scant 7 days allocated to it. Monday.

But the weather was a pleasant 66 degrees. We had to go outside. Us Dykstras are big supporters of destination walking. Or destination running. We choose a destination and use our two big feet to get us there. Usually Morgan is stroller bound, but we sometimes let her take a jaunt here or there along the way.

Today I chose Starbucks for our halfway point. It was a no-brainer. I was dog tired but I needed to move; plus it would be sacrilege to do my exercise indoors today- too pretty outside. I figured that I could woo Morgan with a bran muffin and be on my merry way.

We arrived at Starbucks and Morgan caught on quickly that this was the treat. They had no bran muffins, so I compromised and got a fully loaded cream cheese pumpkin muffin. I figure that if you're going to be evil, do it right.

Not three bites into the muffin, the sugar set in beautifully. Morgan began dancing to Starbucks perfectly-marketed-for-their-target-audience music. It began with a little two step foot work. Then she did a combination of jogging in place, twirling like a ballerina, hopping and downright spinning. It was sheer uninhibited dancing. I couldn't be prouder.

Then she stopped and looked at me: "Mom, come dance with me."

Gulp.

Stalling.

Negotiating.

Finally, after realizing that I didn't care WHO was there or WHO looked at me, I mimicked her moves: first the modified ballerina twirl and then some basic jiving. Dang we had fun.

I fell in love with my daughter again and again and again.

Things got a little out of hand after that. Morgan decided to start dancing with cream cheese frosting on her fingers and then some innocent muffin chunks became somewhat embedded in the grout of the floor. I gave her a stern "okay-this-is-where-the-hippie-momma-stops" look.

We informed the staff of our redecoration of the storefront and were on our way. It's not even 10am and it promises to be an okay day.

Real Life Questions

Anyone subscribe to Real Simple Magazine? Here's a page I took from their interview section just for fun. Have to hone my interview skills just in case they call me. :)

Name: Emily
Occupation: Full time mother and wife, occasional graphics freelancer
Relations: Married, one daughter
Hometown: Chicagoland

What's your favorite feature about yourself? Hmmmm, I like my cheeks/cheekbones. They help define my face. Plus, I have dimples when I smile.

What scares you? Frost-bitten food.

Someone should invent: A trash incinerator for the car.

What amount of money would make you feel as if you were set for life? Crikey. I'm a natural worrier, so I'd have to say that no amount would do. It's a daily exercise for me to be content with what I gots.

How many books have you read in the past year? Never enough. Besides God's Word, I like to read a few books on motherhood, a sampling of novels and cookbooks.

My life would be simpler if... Okay, I'll cut to the chase: if sin didn't exist. You know- sickness, botched projects, insurance companies, grumpy attitudes... sin.

The big decision I'm currently wrestling with is... (Pregnancy issues aside)... Should I stay in computer graphics or should I listen to the little ideas in my head about other ways to design in the world? There's a blank canvas upstairs and a painting sitting in my head waiting for life.

If I suddenly came into $1,000 in spare cash, I would... If it was truly SPARE, then I would blow it on clothes for my family. I'd buy Dan a trendy jacket I saw and I'd find myself some Mommy-safe fashions. Plus, I'd buy Morgan some cute boutiquey things. *sigh* I love nice clothes but I'm pretty cheap, too.

Worst "crawl under a rock" moment: When I was talking to a coworker years ago, I was flipping a Sharpie marker in the air. I flipped it too high once and it went down my v-neck shirt, landing in my cleavage. I was pregnant at the time, so the "girls" did a nice job of holding the pen completely upright. The guy I was talking to was too embarrassed to talk to me anymore and walked away.

Abortion

In my heart of hearts I am a peacemaker. I do everything in my power to help people get along (for the most part) and struggle immensely with being a Pollyanna. It's an annoying habit I have.

In light of this, it has been difficult to remain neutral lately about the opening of a Planned Parenthood clinic down the street from my house. For one thing, I find that people have very definite opinions about its appearance.

So as to not fall within the right-wing-religious-no-critical-thinking camp, I visited the Planned Parenthood website. I wanted to hear their side of the story. I agree with their desire to help those less able to access affordable health care and to help young women. In fact, the overall health of women is extremely important to me.

I think that is the only sentiment I share with Planned Parenthood, however. From there our paths diverged mostly on their approach to helping. Much of the site is dedicated to family "unplanning" (a coin termed by my husband). I have to agree with his choice of words. The cavalier way they treat pregnancies is very upsetting to me.

In the past, I could hide a little more in the shadows on this issue of abortion. I thought it was sad and unfortunate and a little overwhelming of a subject to tackle. I kept quiet.

But for obvious reasons, I've changed. Forgive my bluntness, but why on God's green earth are there people who are terminating their pregnancies for convenience sake when others so deeply desire to nurture a little one?

For the sake of my unborn babies, I must take this stand: abortion is wrong. And those who solicit abortion to others are also in the wrong.

Don't Say I Never Gave You Anything.

Okay, I'm a newbie at posting recipes, but my friends Kris and Sarah have inspired me. Oh, and my rock awesome recipe which I got from my Momma inspired me too. :)

This recipe is not for the diet crazed lot of you out there. It is chocked full of God-given calories and it sends the consumer into a momentary state of bliss.

This recipe is also not from the weak of stomach, as in the acid-reflux plagued. But I didn't care. I ate it carefully and made vast amounts of bribes with my stomach. It was worth it.

Finally, if you omit the rice, this can be a dip.

Mexican Vegetarian Casserole

15 oz whole kernel corn, drained
15 oz. black beans, rinsed and drained
10 oz. diced tomatoes with chiles
8 oz. sour cream
8 oz. picante
2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese
2 cups cooked rice
1 bunch green onions, chopped (optional)
2.25 oz sliced ripe olives (optional)
8 oz. shredded Montery Jack cheese

Combine first 7 ingredients (through rice).
Spoon into 13x9" baking dish, lightly greased.
Sprinkle with remaining ingredients.

Bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes. Yield: 6 servings

Cry for your momma. It's that good.

And then, and then...

Holey motor-mouth, Batman.

Let me give you a run down of what Morgan said tonight. She spoke for 15 minutes straight. Try to read it in one breath:

"Hey, Dad, I hit Mommy's door with a stick and she put me in time out, but then I didn't have to be in time out and I said sorry. Hey Dad, I don't want to drink my prune juice and milk* because it makes my tummy ouchy. Hey Dad, did you know that apple juice makes you go pee pee and prune juice and milk makes you go poopie? I don't want to go poopie in the night, so I'm just going to drink apple juice. Did you know that poopies are brown? Do you know what brown is, Dad? Brown is brown...yadda yadda yadda"

Serenity now! I don't know if my eyes are more tired than my ears.

*Prune juice and milk is a little cocktail we've given Morgan since she was 8 weeks old to correct her constipation problem. I think her body has adjusted, though, and now she just likes the taste of it. Hey, don't slam it until you try it. :)

Scripture

Considering how Morgan can recite entire sketches of Spongebob verbatim, I figured it is high time that she memorized something more enduring. Scripture, of course.

I started out teaching her Genesis 1:1. We made up little hand motions and she is a pro at reciting the first verse in the Bible: "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth." She has inquired who Genesis is and it is a little tricky describing a book of the Bible, but she is doing great.

This week I taught her Phillippians 4:13 ("I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.") She's learning that one pretty well, but let me share a few outtakes with you.

In practicing this verse, she mixed up the lines and came up with the following renditions:

"I can do whatever I do and I give Him strength."

"I can do whatever I can do and I can do whatever I want and He can give me presents."

In telling her who "Him" is in the verse (God) she inquired, "Mom, what does God do?" In retrospect, I should have told her to ask her father, but I cobbled together some answer about creation and sustenance. I tried to give her a summarized creation/fall/redemption story, but her ferritt-like attention span didn't last long enough. And so: "God made us" was the sum of her lesson.

On a lighter note, Morgan is very much into "girl power". I taught her to flex her biceps and kiss her muscles (yes, like the muscle monkeys). She is very proud of her twiggy guns. Naturally, she loved the part in the verse where we say "strength" because she can flex her muscles and pretend to grit her teeth.

Doc Visit

Today I went to my obgyn for a consultation. (Don't worry- I won't get THAT personal.)

I love my obgyn. He's very fatherly most times. But when I was delivering Morgan, he was a sarge. I like that he knows when to be strong and when to be gentle. Come to think of it, that's what I like about Dan as well.

In any case, among the many things we discussed, the doc said that the test results from our January loss indicate that we were most likely pregnant with a girl; the cells they tested were female.

It's funny to me how that info doesn't mean a whole lot to me. It's like I was collecting information about somebody else; I felt very detached. I find it humorous, mostly. I don't feel much pain about it, but... wait, I lied. Now I'm tearing up.

*sigh*

Anyway, I like our doc.

Preschool, Part II

6:30 pm, after first day of preschool

I'm pleased to announce that Morgan has finally eaten her lunch.

Thirty minutes before dinner.

She found her abandoned lunch and started noshing before I could realize that she'd ruin her dinner.

But this is motherhood. :)

___________________________

Addendum:

Morgan excitedly showed Dan her drawings of the day when he got home. Among them were a seed growing into a plant and a rainbow.

She also described one scribble as this: "This is a picture of my Mommy hitting my head with the trunk."

Again: This is motherhood.

Run, Forest, Run!

I have had a sometimes frustrating, sometimes humorous year as far as health concerns.

The frustrating parts are well known by my friends, so I'll focus on the rather humorous bouts of health issues.

In the past month, approximately every two weeks I have had some sort of bodily misfunction which prevents me from doing my morning run.

The first week of August had just past when I sprained my toe.

Just as I was walking better, I threw my back out. I remember standing on my tippy toes to kiss my tall husband goodbye and *eeeek* something went in my back. That recovery also took me a couple weeks.

My back is now feeling great and the toe is almost better. This Sunday Dan and I took our morning Sunday walk. When I returned home, I noticed that my face felt funny. Holey allergies, Batman. All that prairie grass gazing was beautiful, but I swelled up immediately. This is a pretty normal seasonal occurance for me. I'll be better in about a week or so. The best thing to kick it is unfortunately to rest a lot and drink a lot.

But you know what? I don't care. When I get back on my feet in a week or so, I'm getting my butt up again and running, walking, skipping. I'm not accepting sickness for a lifestyle.

Sayonara, sickness. This chica is on the verge of health.

Preschool

Well, it's official. Morgan is in preschool.

The decision was mostly selfish. I needed time to do some freelance work (Marc, the logos are coming out wonderfully!) and Morgan doesn't like me to work on the computer with her around. My friend Beth recommended this awesome preschool that takes children from 9-12:30. Morgan attends two times a week at a little Presbyterian church.

Turns out that they actually TEACH something there. :) Morgan has a Bible lesson, play time, snack time and all sorts of school-ish themed activities. I know, I know. Most women think of what their children will learn FIRST and then think "Bonus! Some time to myself!" But at least education was my SECOND consideration, right?

So today was her first day. In the customary "first day of school" photo, I also included her book bag. The pencil-shaped accessory was used by MOI when I was her age. That definitely makes me feel old. The bag is in great shape. And *ahem* hopefully will stay that way.

When Morgan returned home, I peppered her with the normal "how did you like school" questions. Then I asked her how she liked her lunch. I opened her lunch box to find that ALL her lunch was still there. All of it, that is, except for her apple juice box. The new juice box was too much of a novelty to pass up. Grrrr.

So now she is sitting at the kitchen table periodically negotiating with me about how much sandwich and apple she has to eat before she can have a cookie.

Ten Things I Learned This Summer

Fortune Cookie Style:

1. Dub a month "health month", but that will mean nothing unless you do something.

2. Blog. Because the weather is hotter than Mars.

3. Just because "fertility" sounds like "futility" doesn't mean that it is.

4. Beet juice is quite good.

5. Protect the grill and it will give for many years to come.

6. Mosquitoes. They bite.

7. Sippy cups are for suckers.

8. The littler people are, the bigger the responsibility they are.

9. Pray for rain. Then pray for a drain.

10. Don't sprain the toe that walks for you.