My Résumé

Freer than Free

Over the past 5 years (coincidentally- the age of my daughter) I have learned a great deal about giving gifts to children. Or preschool children at the very least. 

People joke that the only thing 1 year old wants for his birthday is wrapping paper. Or  a box. Or the tape tidbits that wrapped the paper to the box. We joke because, of course, it's true. We also joke because we're so durn angry at ourselves for falling into the hands of America's toymakers and buying little Billy that $50 sit-and-spin-and-jump contraption that 9 out of 10 pediatricians agree will jump start their education. 

I have a general theory that the less money you spend on a gift for a child is inversely proportional to how they enjoy it. I'm generally right.

Case in point: On our recent trip to Maryland, Dan and I purchased a Lea.p Frog 2 game system for Morgan. We reasoned that the 12 hour trip (that's WITHOUT stops) would need this piece of equipment as an insurance policy. We also decked out the car with all manner of DVDs to play in our portable DVD player. 

Morgan will tell you that her favorite part of the trip was each stop to Mc.Donalds. The tantalizing Happ.y Meal toy with which we all grew up has now plunked its heavy tentacles on the desires--no, NEEDS-- of the next generation. She collected a family of Pet Shop creatures that, to our mind, cost us nothing. Nothing but a meal. It was free, but for the sake of my earlier argument, it's free-ish. 

I didn't think that anything could be more free that that toy. I was wrong.

Upon one of our stops at McDs, a dear older woman who had 6 children, 44 grandchildren, 133 great grandchildren and 3 great-great grandchildren became our pit stop friend. She oooed and aaawed appropriately at baby Eve who was much more interested in the happy meal I could offer than that of the golden arches. And she ooowed and aaawed at Morgan who was "quite tall" and "so pretty" and all sorts of other nice things. 

Then she left.

She came back a few moments later with 2 miniature Pou.nd Puppy stuffed animals for the girls. If you're at all familiar with this brand, then you know that their prime was, well, a decade ago. They age well, apparently. 

The stuffed animals were definitely, um, loved. But that's bound to happen when you have 6 children, 44 grandchildren, 133 great grandchildren and... you get the picture. 

I was torn when the dear older woman held out the gifts to us. The mommy in me wanted to shriek, "Don't touch them, Morgan! They're germ fests!" But the lover in me said, "Oh, c'mon... we're in a public restaurant... there are germs everywhere. Just take it. And smile." 

I let Morgan take both the animals. She was *delighted*. She set aside her Happ.y Meal toys to make room for the two newcomers. I hope our dear new friend couldn't see well because while I was talking to her, Morgan was taking Eve's wipes and cleaning the new toys. Even she could see that they needed a good cleaning.

My husband and I made sure that these new toys went directly in the wash when we arrived back home. This morning I found one of the Poun.d Puppies on our kitchen table with a little pillow and blanket. He's oh-so-loved. 

And I smile because while the Happ.y Meal seemed free, the stuffed animals were more so. My theory continues to stand strong, my wallet continue to balk at the situation and my daughter is the amount of "inversely proportional" delight that totally free elicits. 

Church Shoes

It's 4 weeks until Easter. For those of you with boys, I'm not sure if the concept of "church shoes" or, even more, "Easter shoes" translates. It may, but there's only estrogen in my house (with the exception of Dan) and so I plead ignorance.

Easter shoes.

Last year before Easter I went to Stri.de Rite Shoes to find some simple white dress shoes for Morgan. I went there out of desperation because every other shoe source was void of these; their cupboards were bare. 

Usually when I enter a store, a friendly representative asks if they can help. They did. But upon hearing the words "Easter shoes", they nearly laughed my derriere out the door. I was buying them too late, apparently. 

Noted.

So this year, a bit more wise, I decided to purchase shoes at Tar.get without my daughter in the hopes of 1) Buying them more inexpensively, and 2) Not having to convince my daughter that glitter Hann.ah Montana shoes would NOT do for dressy. 

To my great joy, Morgan loved the new shoes. 

Clip, clop. Clip, clop. She wears them around the house.

Clippety, clippety, clippety clop. "Watch me tap dance, Mom!"

I wish the story could end there, but the pendulum swung far to the other side. 

My daughter so loved her shoes, in fact, that she wants to wear them everywhere.

I dare to explain the concept of dress shoes to my preschooler:

Me: "They're church shoes, Morgan."

Morgan: "I already have church shoes. These are my new dress up shoes."

Me: "They're for dressing up on Sunday. But you can wear them inside the house."

Morgan: "I want to wear them outside, too. I want to show my friends."

Me: "Nope. We have to keep them clean. I'm glad you like them, though."

Morgan: "Alright, then you can buy me another pair that I can wear however I want."

(I'm leaving out the next line of communication as my daughter received some education in economics and respect of elders.)

An hour later, Morgan had taped stars to them. 

Lands, child, you are going to drive me crazy.

Expecting to have to pin Morgan down to even wear these shoes to church, I had not anticipated that I may have to use a shoehorn to pry them off her happy feet. 

I smile at the curve ball thrown me. And tonight I'll smile again. When Dan comes home and relieves me from her one man show.

I love this kid. She drives me crazy at times, but I love her.

Check, please!

Over the past few days, I've found it humorous how currency is exchanged. I've taken notes and come to realize that there is a reason I become forgetful. See for yourself:

Preschool takes cash or checks and only on a daily basis. 

Gotcha. 

Went to the bank to get cash. Checks are gone.

My checks have miraculously disappeared since Morgan decided to "be like Mommy" and write her own checks. I put them somewhere safe. 

So safe, in fact, that I cannot find them. 

Cash it is.

Went to the doc. They take cash or checks. And credit cards if  the amount is over $20. (It's not.) Checks are gone. Hubs took my cash (with permission, I'm sure). 

Bill me.

Cleaners prefer cash.

Babysitter prefers cash. 

Tar.get will ask if "you want to put this on your Tar.get Rewards card?" Pass.

Got my own card with rewards.

Charge it.

The community center does not take cash for the recital tickets. 

Only checks (d'oh!) or credit cards. 

And since I'm late in purchasing said tickets,  must fill out eggplant colored form instead of grape colored form with my credit card info on it. (Seriously.)

Fine. Charge it. 

Kitchen Gadgets

Here are some of my favorite kitchen items that are simple, inexpensive and fun:

1. Condiment cups

For tartar sauce, for ketchup, for anything. We use these almost every day for Morgan's afternoon snack: baby carrots and "dippin' sauce". Love 'em. Plus, it has an old fashioned "diner" feel which makes dinner feel a tad more special. 

2. Pastry Scraper

I use this puppy almost every time I bake, especially if it's something with a lot of crumbs. This gadget easily scrapes crumbs off of the countertop and into the trash. Try picking up beaucoup crumbs with your washrag and you've essentially got a rag which redistributes le crumbs all over your counter. 

3. Chinese Strainy Thinger

Okay, so I don't know the official name. Close enough.

Anyhoo... I bought this at Mei.jer for less than $5 and I LOVE it. Perfect for scooping out broccoli out of hot water or getting a tato out of the pot to see if it's done enough. This is the perfect blend of "slotted spoon + strainer". Love it.

Girls, Girls

Delayed Gratification

Lately when we go grocery shopping, Morgan notes that "we don't get anything for her". I try to explain that "it's groceries, dear... it's for EVERYONE." When I'm more frustrated I ask her, "You like to eat, doncha?" and encourage her to hush. 

I began to dread the grocery shopping experience because no matter HOW much we had THE TALK before going into the grocery store, I began to feel like the "no-no momma". 

Before I continue, allow me to give the definition of "The No-No Momma": 

n. a maternal figurehead who has become so accustomed to her offspring's ludicrous requests and pleadings that she has turned off any critical thinking in favor of saying "no" at virtually all requests. 

At each grocery store visit, I also became accustomed to saying, "No, Morgan, we need to use our money wisely."

One evening this week, my 5 year old hefted her very pregnant piggy bank all the way downstairs and donned a smile that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. "I'm ready to spend my money wisely," she announced. 

Touché.

So hubs and I met in the planning room. (Read: The bedroom. Before we fall asleep.) We agreed that the requests were becoming too much. We agreed that Morgan needed to learn (drumroll, please) delayed gratification. Now I know that that is a word that generation x ain't too groovy with, but it's a fairly easy concept we learned as children: "You don't always get what you want." 

Mission Delayed Gratification commenced. I took Morgan to Toy*s R Us today. I let her know that we were NOT buying anything but we would find a toy that she liked, find out the cost and have her save for it. Before we went into the store I asked her again, "Why are we going in the store?" She answered, "To not buy anything." Close enough. 

We found a toy for about $6.00. Do we need the toy? Nope. But it's a great way to teach our smart daughter that if she wants something, she has the ability to work for it. We'll re-institute the allowance system and within the month, she'll be able to go to the store and purchase this toy with her own dollars. 

I hope it works.

In any case, whenever we're in the grocery store and "want that, want that", I'll be sure to jog her memory that we're saving up for something worth waiting for. 

And yes, you can pray for me. *wink*

Resolution Update

Update on my Resolutions:

1. Learn some new hairstyles.

Pulled some photos from magazines but haven't experimented yet.

2. Learn to preserve jam.

Not yet. Want fruit in season.

3. Grow an honest-to-goodness producing garden.

Need spring. But have several books on gardening and am "collecting data".

4. Memorize the Ten Commandments. In order. Verbatim.

Focusing on the first four. The second one is kinda wordy. :) 

5. Give knitting a whirl.

Meant to do that in Maryland with mother. Still have 9 months to try. 

6. Make family first:
1. My household family.
2. My siblings/parents.
3. My "family-ish" friends.

Ongoing.

7. Make Dan more of a priority.

Ongoing. But a joy. He makes me laugh like no one can. Gotta keep this guy. :)

8. Show hospitality in simple ways. (Dan wants to showcase his beer... Beer and Chili dinners?)

Okay, I'll be honest. I'm still getting on my feet from giving birth. I'm a slow "getter-upper". But we're all about keeping it low and slow this summer with grilling and having friends over.

9. Use my decorating abilities to make the house feel more like "us" and less like the last owners.

This one is a little tough lately too, what with the birth of Eve and all... but I have several ideas in the pipeline. Also, Dan and I are hoping to build a more friendly deck this year-- by "friendly" I mean a little larger and less splintery. :)

10. Show my gratefulness for health this year by doing physically fun activities. Canoeing? Biking with the fam?

Well, warmer weather does help. We took advantage of the warmer weather yesterday and took a walk. Beautiful.

Food

I just returned from a week at my parent's house. A week is a longish time. But my heart tells me it just wasn't enough. I've come to terms with that. I don't think any amount of time would be enough. I miss them already.

When I began to unpack I found some goodies that my mother had stashed away in our snack bag. Among other things, she packed some homemade chocolates. Let me say it another way: Homemade. (*pause*) Any food. (*swoon*)

I gobbled several in quick succession as my eyes filled with tears. I'm aware that I was "emotionally" eating but I didn't care. I needed to connect with my family and somehow eating the food from the hands of my mother filled me with the same warmth that I imagine my infant daughter receives while nursing. Comfort food may get a bad rap, but my, how it soothed. 

Lately I've been reflecting on how food connects people. There's a certain intimacy to food. So much so, in fact, that the minister who married me to Dan told us that a married person should not eat alone with a person of the opposite gender-- too intimate, too tempting.

Several weeks ago, my family had the immense pleasure of spending the weekend with our friends Jason and Sarah. I'd like to say that I'm not using their friendship because of their foodie tendencies, but I can't be sure. This couple appears to effortlessly create memorable dishes. I was particularly touched when Sarah confessed that she loves to cook for her husband because it means a lot to him. Her three young sons would agree that momma can make a mean dish, I'm sure. Sarah admitted that she hopes to lure her children back to the nest for Sunday dinners when they become adults and live elsewhere. It wouldn't take much luring, that's for sure. 

In Maryland this week, I was especially impressed how my mother had prepared for our arrival. The fridge was stocked with premade tuna salads, egg salad, rice salad and marinated meat. She labeled them so each person could help themselves when they felt the need. She was probably anticipating needing her arms free for four of her grandchildren who were coming to visit. I stood in awe of how she kept her hospitality to loving people, but didn't abandon home cooking altogether. You're amazing, Mom.

I've got the "I-don't-wanna-be-back-from-vacation" blues, but with the help of Dan, this afternoon I made a grocery list. (We gotta eat.) I opened a favorite Ina Garten cookbook and chose a few recipes for this week. Dan did the grocery shopping for me (swell guy, ain't he?). And while my heart still wishes it could be with every family member, I'll start Monday's dinner with turkey meatloaf that may not wow the crowds but will certainly bring my family to the table. I may have an extra lump in my throat as I remember good home cooking, but hopefully the meal will strengthen the sinews of my own family. One bite at at time.

Weekend Musings

Well, I'm back.

About this time last week I was meeting two very special people for the very first time: my niece and nephew. In a word: adorable. My sister and brother surprised me with a visit to Maryland at the same time as us. Just as I was settling into the house, my sister appeared from around the corner with two adorable babies.

I wept. From shock. From joy. Mostly joy. I thought I wouldn't meet these little buggers until their first birthday.

Here's a few pics:

The Last Straw

For the past week, our kitchen drain has been getting slower and slower. 

Finally, last night Dan and I had HAD it with the plug, so we took a moment out of the mayhem of evening routine and opened the drain. 

Here's what we found:

In case you're unfamiliar with the exciting world of colorful straws, this is what happens when a "helpful" 5-year old throws her daily straw away.  

And yes, we got a good laugh.

Proposal

Good thing it's nearly time for dinner 'cause you could fry an egg on my head. 

I just watched the video summary of The Bachelor. Because all my friends keep talking about it. And for some reason, my blood pressure went from "tra la la la la" to livid faster than you can say "Will you, er, marry me"? 

So, in order to find my inner peace, and to give Mr. Bachelor an idea of what an APPROPRIATE proposal should look like, I decided to write about my own proposal. 

*ahem*

I'll keep it short and simple:

First, after a year of dating and getting to know each other, Dan planned a wonderful evening for the proposal. It was December 18, 1999. 

He took me first to dinner at the Baltimore Harbor (*swoon*).

Then he took me to see Handel's Messiah. (*more swoon*)

Then he asked me to marry him at the Baltimore Harbor at the site of our first swoon. (Translation: Our first flirtatious date.)

Now here's the kicker, Mr. Bachelor– he didn't UNASK me. Nope. He asked me with the nervous joy a marriage proposal should have... and I answered amidst crying guffaws of joy. So muddled were my words, in fact, that Dan had to essentially ask me again because he didn't understand "asdlkjhgoeihag". But most women answer the marriage proposal with "asdlkjhgoeihag". Because they're crying. Understandably. 

And ever since then, we haven't looked back because– in my mind– love should be completely honored to be married to the person one calls "husband" or "wife". 

I'm still honored. There isn't a day that goes by that Dan looks ordinary to me. And there's rarely a day where I don't think, "Dang. I got married. To Dan Dykstra. The guy I had a crush on in college. I still can't believe it. And lookie here... we made us some babies." 

*sigh*

Well, television will be what it will, but I intend to spend this lifetime in amazement at Dan's coming into my life.

*Love you, Babe.*