Veggie Soup Debacle

I've been married 7 years. It was a shock to me when, last night, my husband could not tell me that he did not like the soup I made.

We were chowing down on dinner when I noticed that he was only slurping the broth. I asked if it was okay and he said sure, digging his spoon in deeper only to pick up... more broth.

"You don't like it." I said.

"Hmmm?" He pretended he didn't hear me.

"As soon as I walk out that door tonight to see my friends, you're going to heat up some hotdogs, aren't you?" I asked.

"We have hotdogs?" he teased.

I explained that it was okay if he didn't like it. I had to convince him to tell me. Finally he buckled: "Okay, I don't like it."

"Great," I said, "warm up that chili from last night."

And then with pleading in his gentle eyes, he asked me to not make it again.

My gentle giant. Love you, Dan.

*And for my foodie friends, this was a minestrone-based soup with a lovely rosemary flavor. Yummers. Put some shredded fresh parmesan on top for flavor and *voila*... dinner is served.

Weekend Photos

Look at the shy widdle tiger. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Smooch.
Alex Miller, nearly 1 year new!


Nice pumpkins, Dan.

Overheard

Emily: "You're my favorite Morgan."

Morgan: "And you're my favorite disappointed Mommy."

Guilt.

________________________

Morgan: "How old are you, Mommy?"

Emily: "I'm 33." (I write "33" on a piece of paper.)

Morgan: "You're two 3's? I was one 3 but now I'm one 4."

I like that math. Two 3's is 6 years old. :)

________________________

Morgan was drawing a picture of a person. Lately she likes to draw a circle in the middle of the body for the heart.

As she was drawing today, she said to herself, "Oh no! I forgot the heartbeep!"

2006 Spookiness

Thanks to Kris for this photo last year at her Halloween party.
Dan was ice man.
I was a Chiquita Banana.
Together we were the unstoppable banana smoothie couple.

Okay, Kris- Strut your stuff. Show us your costumes from last year! They were awesome!

Halloween quiz

Can anyone guess what Miss Morgan is going to be for Halloween?

Daddy Void

What does a 4-year old girl do when she misses her Daddy (who has been gone two nights last week and two nights this week?)

She claimed she wouldn't eat dinner until he came home. But her hunger got the best of her.

She tried her best to insult her mother by saying, "You are expensive to someone!"

And then she poured syrup all over the kitchen table.

And somewhere in there she told her mother that she didn't like her.

All because no matter what the mother does, it doesn't take the place of a doting Daddy.

My hat is off to the single parents out there.

And what does the mother do? She blogs, of course, to know that she is not alone.

Overheard

"Mom, did you know that jellyfish make jelly?"

Thanks, Spongebob.

____________________________

Emily: "Morgan, you need to drink your medicine this morning before you have anything else to eat."

Morgan: (Begins to do a fake adult laugh...) "You're killing me, Mom. You're killing me."

Thanks again, Spongebob.
(Enter short lecture on why the word "killing" is not a good one to use cavalierly.)

____________________________

Morgan's head to my chest: "Mom! I can hear your heart bumping!"

____________________________

I asked Morgan where one of her friends were: "I think they went on bacation."

I love how she struggles to say "v's".

Preoccupied: Me

A Poem on the Autumn of Life


When the days strung together
in blurry-eyed blunders
and the rain came again and again

When I questioned my place
and my face and my gender
and wondered if strength would regain

Then I settled quite nicely
in the cave of the lonely
and took claim of "Preoccupied: Me"

Then a sharp stream of light
in a form oh most friendly
materialized there in my midst

And the misty-eyed days
were just remnants of haze
on the cusp of the joy that would come

In her deep and strong eyes
Lay a message most strong:
That my gaze was "Preoccupied: Me"

So I took up the notion
That life was worth living
And living with vigorous might

I picked up my dreams
in the midst of that drought
And proceeded to live life again

For the days that proceed
A request still remains:
Farewell, then, "Preoccupied: Me"

Morgan the Mail Carrier

Morgan loves to write letters. She scribbles important looking messages on pieces of paper, cuts them out and shoves them into little envelopes. Then she seals the envelopes with her fat little tongue and puts a "Dan, Emily and Morgan Dykstra" address label on it. I hid the real stamps in the event that she thought they were stickers. This morning she stuffed about 10-20 of these messages in her purse and wanted to pass them out to her friends at church. She looked like a fashionable mail carrier.

She's not much of a Mastercard ad, I'm afraid. The envelopes were about a buck and the paper, pen and stickers were minimal.

The adult-like fervor on my preschooler's face? Priceless.

Weekend Waffle Makers

This is how Dan and Morgan start the weekend: morning waffles. Delish!

Serenity Now!

Okay. We've all been there.

Started the morning wrong.
Got up late.
The dog ran away.
The kiddo got up too early.
Came home from a rainy day of work, errand running, etc. to a messy house.
You know the drill. Chaos.

So here's my question: What's your secret for serenity?
It could be spiritual or materialistic. It could be downright goofy. Here's my top 5:

1. A nibble of Chocolate.

2. A morning run with a Starbucks stop.

3. 4pm Oprah on Tivo.

4. Lighting scented candles and putting on music that fits my mood.

5. Talking to any of my sisters on the phone.

Gots to be Thankful

It has been hard to blog lately, friends. In east coast language it has been "wicked hard".
Laughing... there's nothing glamorous about the "waiting" period of life. I prefer "waiting" to, say "grieving", but still...

I know exactly what God wants from me right now: Stillness. He wants me to enjoy His current provisions and be thankful.

I don't wanna be still. I want action.

I've tried doing massive house projects. Not a lot of satisfaction there.

I've tried keeping the house uber clean and organized. *yawn*

I've even tried working myself into a silly stupor of freelancing followed by maniac attention-giving momma loving and a chaser of Martha Stewart white-gloving my already-clean house. *Cuckoo*

But then I had a great heart-to-heart with my husband a week ago. He forbade us (and by "us" he meant "me") from taking on any more house projects for now. No painting. No buying of art or textiles. We're focusing on our family and putting the fun back into our home.

At first I didn't know what to do with myself. I am not a fun person. For the love of Pete, my very name means "diligent".

Plus, I'm a hound for the domestic. Telling me to only maintain my home and not improve it is almost like cutting me off at the knees. But I know why he did it. He's right: We need the joy back in our family. We need to rest. And above all, we need dance parties.

That's right. Dance parties. God wants me to be still and I'm getting jiggy.

If you were to peek in our house any given night, you'd hear Morgan yelling at us to keep moving. We're blaring music from the credits of movies. We're testing the limits of the SoundDock (impressive). We're shaking booty.

Are we good dancers? Probably not.

Having fun? Yep.

So what's the big deal? Well, we're smiling. All of us. We're grooving and wagging our carcasses to Morgan's Nazi-esque demands for more, More, MORE. And in the midst of the fancy foot work, all of us are grinning.

Somehow the flailing limbs and dexterous derrieres are emitting thankfulness. We're grateful for health and joy and family and home. We're thankful for love and faith. We're thankful for voices and hands. We're thankful for friends and laughter.

You're welcome to stop by. We probably won't let you in on our dance parties. But you can share in the joy.

Sippyless

Morgan has adjusted to sippy-less life pretty well. She misses them at nap times, but she's been a trooper. The only tricky part is getting her to drink her medicine-laced morning beverage out of a cup.

This morning I tried to give it to her in strawberry milk. She claimed that today she wants water.

So I gave her water with her medicine. I found her blowing bubbles in it.

I tried telling her that she couldn't get up from the table until she finished it. While I left the room, the speakers for my ipod "magically" began to start playing a-ha's "Take Me On". Morgan was jiving in the kitchen.

I sat wiggle buns down on her chair and held the cup up to her lips. She drank what she wanted and let the rest dribble down her chin as she smiled mischieviously.

I told her to open her mouth again.She opened it as wide as a lion, making it rather difficult to get the beverage down her guzzler. I was temped to pour it down her throat.

Finally, with one tiny resistant sip after another, she finished it. Nevermind that I had to gently push the back of her head up to the cup.

Aren't they supposed to be more independent by this age?

Morgan Stories

"Mom, if you suck on a lollypop, it'll shrunks and shrunks until it gets really small. Then you ask your Mommy and Daddy if you can bite it and they say 'yes' and then its done."

_______________________________________________


"Mom, did you know that God is Jesus' Daddy?"

_______________________________________________

After Dan asked Morgan if she had any friends at school:

"There's a girl named Bridget. Mrs. Donna (teacher) talks to her a lot. She tells Bridget to not sit so close to me."

"I wanted to know what a moustache felt like."

Tape + Straw = Facial Hair Simulation

Friday Morning Musings

It’s trash day. This involves a few extra minutes of morning scrambling. Actually, it took a bit more time than usual. I asked Dan earlier in the week to bleach out our trash can (the large city-issued kind- it’s mammoth!) so I could put the trash back in. Something wrong grew inside our bin and it needed the clear message of Clorox to convince it to not come back.

Dan had a big week. He was busy. And I didn’t want to nag him about it.

The trash can was drying out in our back yard all week. Which meant that the trash (10 bags?) was piling up on his side of the garage. He actually didn’t mind parking on top of it. I’m trying to not be so controlling. He works really hard during the week. I need to learn to let some things go. Besides, car transmissions need the fumes of overly ripe produce. Can’t hurt, right?

I looked outside to a beautiful, quiet fall morning. The sun was resistant to rise. Aren’t we all? But by 7:00, the sky was a masterpiece. I soaked it in, despite the feeling that I’m forgetting something. Enjoy the sunrise, Emily. Just one minute.

The nagging thought in the back of my mind was remembered: Morgan needs pants desperately. It’s cold outside. Remember to return her birthday clothes (a bit too big) for smaller ones. And remember to get her more socks and jammies. The kiddo is growing.

“Mom! I can’t drink my milk!” My thoughts are interrupted. She used to take a daily sippy cup of milk which I mixed with her constipation medicine. She’s one corked missy. But since we confiscated her sippys on her 4th birthday (under the guise of “graduation”) she is reluctant to drink her milk + medicine. It took 15 minutes. At least.

I bribe her with new, unopened packages of Playdoh. With each gulp of milk she negotiates with me: “Now, Mom? Can I play now?” Not until the milk is done. What to do tomorrow when the Playdoh bribe won’t work.

I negotiate with the 4 year old in me. I have easily three days worth of errands and tasks that I need (okay, want) to get done today. As usual, logic prevails and I engage in triage: women and children first. Er, that would be clients and Morgan first. Then Dan and Emily tasks.

The phone is ringing. It’s probably a family member wanting to greet us for the weekend. But this morning begs me to be quiet. I comply.

Hello, Friday. I’ll be your Emily.

Birthday Card

Yesterday Morgan got a card in the mail from my parents.

It has 3 Disney princesses on it.

And it was covered in glitter.

"Look, Mom! Glitter princesses!"

She rubbed her fat fingers all over the front of the card. And then she applied her twinkling hands all over her face and hair.

Dan came home to one shiny kid.

Balloons

Morgan turned 4 on Sunday. I don't like to overwhelm the kiddo with tons of people over for celebrations, so this year I just invited her two next door neighbor friends over for pink cupcakes. Keep it simple, I thought.

The party is this afternoon, so Morgan and I went out for pink helium balloons this morning. What a trip. I selected 3 pink and 3 purple balloons for the associate at Factory Card Outlet to blow up. I left them on the counter for one minute while I looked inside my purse. That was one minute too many.

Morgan promptly applied her fat wet lips all over two of the balloons in an effort to blow them up herself.

I tried reasoning with her, "Morgan, now that lady won't want to touch them because you put your slobber all over them. Stay here while I get two more new balloons."

You think I would have learned.

I brought back the two new balloons only to find Morgan mixing ALL of the balloons together so that we could not locate the original ones she baptized. The associate made it clear that she did not want to touch them.

While I was talking with the store employee, Morgan headed back to the balloon bins and, in a trance like fashion, began to baptize some more balloons with her saliva.

I had had it.

"MORGAN! I grabbed her and told her to sit in the middle of the floor where she could not reach any more." Grrr. Doesn't she realize its her birthday party and I WANT HER TO BE IMMENSELY HAPPY WITH PINK HELIUM BALLOONS? (Side note: Why does my psycho side manifest itself more when I'm trying to do something to make others happy?)

Then I heard my name. "Hello, Emily!"

My new neighbor Erica was behind me. She has twin girls in kindergarten, so I'm sure she knows what its like. I switched from frustrated momma to a gentile "how-nice-to-see-you" neighbor in nanoseconds. Moms have the ability to do that. But only with non-family members.

In the end, Morgan got her balloons, I convinced myself that I would laugh about this later (See, self? What did I tell you?) and brought the bundles of fun home for 2 other squirts to enjoy as well.

In the end, I hope Morgan will remember the fun day instead of the berating session she had with balloons. She's a trip, that Morgan. Man I love her.

She's Back

Boy I missed Morgan last week. The house was a little too neat and quiet. The living room pillows, placed aesthetically on the couches, remained obediently in their positions with no one to toss them off. *sigh* Could it be that I like Morgan's messes?

It was difficult to blog last week because every post would sound like this:
Day one: Painted the house
Day two: Painted the house
Day three: Cleaned office and painted the house

You get my drift.

But now, with baby girl back in town, I have more fodder. Here's her latest Morganisms:

In the checkout lane of the grocery store today:
"Hey Mom! Grandpa can take out his teeth!"

______________________________

Checking out a kid sized reclining chair:
"Mom, I want a (La-Z-Boy) chair like Grandma and Grandpa."

______________________________

At lunch today:
"I wish Daddy were here so we could be a family again."

State T-Shirts

Happy Birthday Video-ish

Well, it's not the best video, but I'm learning:

Happy 4th Birthday, Baby Girl!

Errands

Today I spent 5 hours running errands. Sans Morgan.

Did I get a lot done? Loads. I shopped as long as I wanted without anyone pulling me around. I spent an hour and a half alone in Kinkos getting colored copies exactly how I wanted them.

Throughout the morning I saw mothers struggling to get their shopping done as little ones feigned death for the boredom of it all.

But then it hit me: I miss that bugger.
I miss her constant rambling.
I miss her shopping suggestions (gum? candy?).
Heck, I even miss her negotiating with me whether or not she's a big girl.
Big girls do NOT ride in carts apparently.

She's coming home tomorrow and I have a great big bear hug for her.
And maybe a few wet kisses.

Smartie Pants

Yeah me! I am soooo smart!

I fixed a plumbing problem yesterday! We had water leaking from the back of our downstairs toilet. Summoning the plumbing skills which my father taught me (how to turn off the toilet valve), I tightened a few bolts and voila! Water be gone!

I feel amazing. I must use my newfound powers wisely.

Family?

Today I found myself taking sides with someone I normally would not: Britney Spears.

If I may, let me set the stage. Today I watched a TIVOed show of Oprah. Halle Berry was the guest star and, as many of you know, she is expecting her first child. She's gorgoues, talented and has a beautiful spirit. I think she's wonderful. But as she was talking to Oprah about her pregnancy, she mentioned that she has no intent of marrying again.

Halle Berry has been married twice before. She's not too keen on jumping the broom because she rather likes her relationship with her new beau and she's probably afraid of the results of marriage. Understandable.

As I was watching the crowd clap and support Halle's decision, I was thinking that I would probably be the pooper at that show. I can't support her decision. I couldn't possibly think of starting a family with a person who may/ may not be committed to the future of the family.

Another popular family-ish structure is Brangelina. They're also gorgeous, talented and highly sensitive to world issues. I commend their adopting of children, but I really don't see how rescuing a child from an orphanage in a poor country would be any more secure than the jello-like commitment they'll receive from their, er, parents? How do you call someone "father" one day and then "buddy" the next? I'm just wondering.

Here's my question for Hollywood: Why is raising a child considered less of a commitment than marriage? Because that's the message I'm getting.

Call me old fashioned, but the family structure is losing the strength of its name. I found myself thinking that of recent celebrities, Britney Spears waited until marriage to have her children. I've got to applaud her. She's not popular right now for her maternal skills, but way to go, Britney. Some things are worth doing right.

9pm Addendum: I'd like to clarify that I know several single women who have adopted or used modern technology to have children on their own because they were not able to marry or their husband died. One woman I know in particular is a fantastic parent. Her children will know security in her loving maternal care.

I shudder for children for whom the terms "Mommy" and "Daddy" fluctuate so much that they don't know the eternalness of the word.

*sigh* My own daughter will come home in two days and I miss her very much. Can't wait to see you, honey!

Painting

My daughter Morgan is gone for the week. I kind of miss that squirt. I really do. But I'm trying to stay focused and busy on my housework so that I don't dwell on it.

Today, for example, I painted the downstairs bath and prepped the painting of the office. I forgot how very much work painting is. I want to hire someone out, but I'm supposed to be saving my shekels for a minivan, so I'm contracting myself to do the brunt of the work.

I also began (in futility) to stain Morgan's playset. It was pointless because apparently one is supposed to wash the OLD stain off before applying NEW stain. Who knew? For some reason I thought wood was thirsty and would easily soak up the hearty redwood hue I bought. No such luck.
Note to self: Wood stain is harder to accomplish than Morgan's shirt stains.

It is very strange being home alone during the day. I left my ipod on to play (in order) all of the 400+ songs I loaded onto it to keep me company. I abandoned the playlist option and let it play whatever it wanted. It was kind of trippy- first it would play a little Vivaldi, then Sixpence, Sting and some Third Day.

I began to get tired towards the end of the day which was evident by my fuzzy vision, distracted rolling of paint and eventual immersion of my left foot into a gallon of Yarmouth Blue JC Licht paint. I groaned, wrapped my dripping foot in a plastic bag and hobbled upstairs for a midday foot bath. I wanted to take a photo, but visions of baptizing my digital camera in the same paint prevented me from doing so. You'll just have to believe me.

Well, that's all for now. I wanted to get more done, but given that I don't want to have another happy paint accident, I'm going to call it a day. Tomorrow promises more painting fun.

Best Things About This Weekend

1. Seeing Jason and Sarah with their two little buddys: Jack and Max.
+Sarah is an amazing cook and made us a savory egg dish for breakfast.
+Jason gave us the lowdown on the latest worthwhile Zondervan books.
+Jack showed us the ropes of Thomas the Tank Engine while baby brother Max copied older bro.
+Super cute kids. Super wonderful friends. Baby number 3 will have a real treat.

2. Going to Dan's 10 year Calvin College Reunion.
+Watching my husband walk literally down memory lane.
+Learning that my husband beat on the door of his old dorm room to ask the current occupant if he could visit.
+Meeting new friends.

3. Learning that God can event make reacquaintance of old boyfriend go over smoothly.
+Took one look at him and thought, "By jove! You weren't meant for me. I'm so glad."
(Writers note: I knew this before I went to the reunion, but it was nice to confirm.)


4. Making strangers into new friends.
+Talked with one lady who had series of infertility trouble, but is now the mother of a 3 year old, an adopted infant and is expecting a third. All because she had hope and faith. I especially appreciated how she said she stopped doing IVF treatments and such because she wanted to stop being poked and probed. I can relate.
+Talked with another woman who just lost a 4 month pregnancy a scant 2 weeks before. I appreciated her faith and honesty about her loss.

5. Remembering that I love to road trip with Dan.
+Talking, laughing, remembering. It's all good.

Antarctica

I had a fantabulous weekend in Grand Rapids. So much wonderful news to share. Very good time with old friends and hubby. But for now, this:

In honor of my friend, Andrea, who is on her way to the other Windy City, Antarctica.

10 Ridiculous Things to say in Antarctica:


1. "Where the sun don't shine..."

2. "Do you have any iceberg lettuce?"

3. Cold shoulder

4. "So where are the ANTS?"

5. "I'm gonna follow you to the ends of the earth."

6. "The sun rises and sets with him."

7. "You want that drink on the rocks?"

8. "Hey look! I can see my breath."

9. "Winter, winter, winter, winter: the four sneezings."

10. "Do you have a pen, Gwen?"