Oliver's First Haircut!

Oliver celebrated his first birthday on June 14, with just a little help from cousins and cupcakes. This marked not only my realization that my littlest guy is growing up before my very eyes, but also that his beach curls have gotten way out of control. Joel and I decided to go ahead and give him a trim, which commenced with scissors, but quickly escalated to buzzing with the clippers (which I swore I would NOT do!) after I stabbed myself in the finger due to the wiggly nature of a one-year-old. We used the longest attachment, but there are probably still grandparents, family, and friends out there who would have my head for getting rid of his CURLS.

Don't worry, when it's humid and/or he eats peanut butter or cantaloupe, the curls (albeit smaller) pop right back out.

Pictures, you ask? I have been rocking the Before photos lately, behold:

 

  

And after we finagled his ultra-fine hair through the big bad clippers:

Does anyone else think he looks EXACTLY like his Papa (my dad) now? Pardon the unflattering overhead lighting in this last one:

He's still my cutie pie, but he looks like he's five years old now with his grown-up haircut. Sigh. How the time flies!

My Floor's Dirty Secrets

Some people applaud the use of flooring materials that "hide dirt". I used to pretend I was one of them. But, friends? You've officially lost me. Why in the world would I want a floor that might be dirty, but doesn't actually look dirty so that I know that I should clean it?

And also, as a mom of people who have recently learned to use the potty and still sometimes, you know, forget or don't quite make it in time - the experience of locating puddles with my feet is not a welcome one. Was that warm or cold? Like, body temperature warm? Judging from the quantity, was it a splash from an exuberant hand-washing or the contents of a preschool-sized bladder? Or perhaps an apple juice spill that nobody bothered to tell mom about? Did the tall, handsome gentleman who sometimes helps with the baby leave the diaper sprayer on by accident?

So a floor that is mottled and textured and hides all that great information from my eyes so that my feet may stumble upon it unannounced...not my cup of tea. Which might also be spilled and stepped in on any given morning.

I'm not saying I want a white ceramic tile running through the house. Lord have mercy, no. But my kitchen floor, beige with shades of off-white and...other beige...that is a death trap or at least a gross trap for my bare feet. Show me your dirt and I will mop you. Stick to my feet and I will curse you under my breath and get cranky with my kids. Dirt camouflage is dumb.

Sorry, I just had to get that off my chest. And for the record, I've steam mopped twice in the past four days because that kind of clean is addictive. I've been walking around with confident steps, allowing the full flat of my foot to make contact with the floor instead of doing the toe-heel foot-arching thing when the floor gets gross. Too bad I have to return the Shark to my sister-in-law. Although she just had a baby. I wonder how long it would take her to realize it's still at my place?

Cast Iron Clean-Up

You might recall that I posted awhile back about steps I used for seasoning my cast iron pan. Food-grade flaxseed oil, oven at 500 degrees, six times over and boom, a gorgeous finish. Since then I've been, you know, using the pan, and it so happens that I sometimes burn food onto it. It's not like I have time to stand there and watch my food closely. Whatever, man.

The result was some ugly marks on the bottom of my pan, and I honestly wasn't sure whether it was food burned on, or my seasoning flaking off. I hoped it wasn't the latter, obvs, but it wasn't getting much better when I scrubbed. Scouring with coarse Kosher salt was a help, and yes I even used water to rinse before and after the scouring, and then warmed it in the oven to make sure it dried thoroughly. I would also put another thin layer of the flaxseed oil on from time to time, since it's a relatively new seasoning. When I cooked with oil or grease, I tried to just wipe it out if I could rather than scouring, to add to the cure.

Last night, though, I cooked Italian sausage in there to go with mac 'n cheese because Thursday is kids' menu night, a.k.a. the one night of the week that my priority is not fighting with the kids about eating their dinner. And it may have gotten a little bit burned onto the bottom. I don't know how that happened, it's not like I had an eleven-month-old trying to escape down the basement stairs, or squawking like a velociraptor about wanting his dinner. And the big kids were totally chill and waiting patiently while I cooked.

Bahahaha.

And also, after dinner I had to run to ShopRite (read: got out of the house for an hour to preserve my sanity) while Joel got the kiddos ready for bed soooooo my poor cast iron pan sat and cooled, and the cooked-on gunk became cold, crustified, cooked-on brown gunk. It was so awesome, I did a little dance when I arrived back in the kitchen to finally clean it.

Kosher salt scrub - fail. Pan on a low burner followed by Kosher salt scrub - more fail.

A quick Google search, which I've found is always the best way to expand my repertoire of domesticity, suggested that I boil a small amount of water for a few minutes to loosen the gunk, and then drain, salt scrub as usual, and heat in the oven to dry thoroughly. I also added a little flaxseed oil and heated further, just to be safe. At 500 degrees. At noon on an 80 degree day. I always think through my plans very thoroughly and never have any regrets.

Guys, my pan looks flawless again! I would show you the difference, but I SERIOUSLY have a problem remembering "before" pictures.

Sugar Fast: Day One

Read this first if you didn't know that there's a sugar fast going on.

The first time I heard somebody say that she was addicted to sugar, I hmmed politely but inside I did the HUGEST eye roll. Please. Addicted to sugar? Even if that was a thing, what's the big deal? It's, like, below even caffeine on the "everyone's doing it" list. You can't even convince me that it's a gateway drug. "Oooh shoot, busted for meth. You know, it all started when she started sending her husband out for Dunkin' Donuts on weeknights."

Now, here I am. If sugar dependence exists, I am its poster child. Literally, like the posters on the wall when I was in sixth grade of all the farm animals smoking cigarettes, but me with a cupcake, with the same caption, "It looks just as stupid when you do it!"

You know what's a great way to start your sugar fast? Head to the grocery store on day one. Wander the aisles in search of a few things, and walk boldly past the sweet treats for some holiday that's coming up next weekend. Pick up some ricotta cheese after successfully avoiding the ice cream case. Honestly, it was no big deal, but I can only imagine in another week or two how it might feel - will it be easier or more difficult to avoid the sweets?

And then there's the well-meaning hubby who said to me this evening, "So how's the sugar fast going?" And I said, "Well, fine so far." And he replied, "Well, we have this banana cake in the fridge that needs to get eaten." Thanks, babe. Glad you were able to take care of that for me and remove a big temptation. Right in my face. Also there might have been a little sugar in my coffee this morning, but I am so not complaining about that because I have freshly roasted, freshly ground coffee made and waiting for me every morning when I stumble to the kitchen. #spoiled

So far, I haven't really thought of sweets other than when they were waved in my face. Had applesauce on my pancakes this morning instead of syrup, no biggie. Day One under my belt without breaking a sweat. Tonight and into the next few days, I'll be reflecting on what I want to direct myself toward when faced with a craving or temptation. It's intended to be a spiritual discipline, obviously, but I feel like it should be parenting-oriented somehow. Food for thought....haha...food. See what I did there? Because this is about fasting.

Any input for me on doing a sugar fast? When might I expect to get all cranky and cravy, as I've heard about?

Pitching the Sugar Fast

If you know me at all, you probably know that I am a sugar fiend. Well, a food fiend. I'm an eater. And when I cook, it's with butter and garlic and all the things that are delicious. And when I bake, it's three pies in one evening for my husband and brother-in-law's birthday party - blueberry, pecan, and apple crumb. I don't exactly shy away from the eat. Thank you, breastfeeding.

But sugar has a special place in my heart. Or in my extra dessert stomach, depending on who you ask. Give that up? Nay, gentle fool.

The Lord has been working on me, though, in that small nagging way that He sometimes does. I came across this sugar fast idea on this Moms of Boys Facebook page that I follow. Fast from sugar? How would that ever be possible for me? Dessert is a food group, a staple. I like my coffee blond and sweet, and I stress-eat like all mommas do at the end of the day. Or in the bathroom with the door locked while I eat a fun-size Snickers in two bites before the kids catch on. Some mommas do wine, I do cookies.

So, am I dependent on it? Gulp. That's a whole 'nother question, and one that I've ignored because sugar? So not a big deal. But again, that little nagging feeling that I am missing out on something that might happen if I give it up. Similar to the notion that giving up social media periodically is good for the soul. And hey, if I've done that and benefited...then perhaps the sugar fast might not be a bad idea?

What I'm saying is, I'm ready to find out. And I need accountability. If I put it on the internets, then I have to follow through, right? The sugar fast I linked to above has 16 days left. That seems doable. 16 days with no added sugar, no dessert, no candy. Which is awesome timing because I've got the remains of three pies and a banana cake in the fridge, and we just scored something like 20 pounds of M&M products this weekend at the Hackettstown Spring Festival (or Festi-bull, depending on who in my house you're talking to) and they are lazing around in baskets just taunting me with their siren song. The kids can hear the sound of a wrapper from across the house, through three closed doors, and they ask me what I'm eating despite my best not-chewing-anything poker face. Hmm, speaking of accountability, I think the way to nail this sugar fast is to tell my kids that momma's not going to eat any sweets for awhile. It won't even be worth cheating, knowing the inquisition that will follow.

I think I'm ready for the challenge. I'm ready to be free from sugar, if that's a thing, and feel my energy skyrocket (theoretically), and grow closer to the Lord as I use the fast to prompt prayer and Scripture reading (hopefully). I'm not sure that I'm ready for the effect on my moods, if sugar dependence is as real as I've read. Since I use blogging as a sort of journaling, perhaps I'll blog my way through it for your amusement/edification.

Does anybody else want to join me? Thinking about a different kind of fast? Or have you sugar fasted and succeeded? I'm curious to hear how this has gone for others. And I'm super curious to see how the Lord will use this to somehow prune my heart, as strange a thing as it is for me to try to give up!

The Busyness of Life

It has been a real whirlwind of all the things over here lately. Two weeks ago (that long already??) my dear sister in law welcomed her fourth child via VBAC, and our little village has been pretty busy rallying with food, child care of her older three, and whatever other sundries she needs while recovering. I had the great honor of serving as my SIL's doula at her delivery, which is a whole other post about how that was the highlight of my entire life, but what you need to know is it happened overnight. Dear Lydia made her entrance at 3:44 a.m. I learned two things that night: 1) Childbirth is every bit a miracle when witnessed rather than experienced/survived. Oh my heart. and 2) I am no spring chicken anymore. It took me a solid week to recover from missing that night of sleep and now I have a cough and cold. I am officially an old lady because I had thoughts like, "What fool person would stay up all night on purpose?" My inner adolescent might have shed a tear.

Then, my hubby suggested that we move our guest room downstairs and shift the library/office up to the baby's room. What you need to know is that my love language is rearranging furniture. Of course, this project stretched over the course of a week as we trucked books upstairs and bedroom furniture back down. But it's finished, so hey, come and stay with us sometime!

Also, this Saturday we plan to paint our main downstairs living area. We are hurrying to get the furniture switch squared away as much as necessary to be able to prep the space for this big job. Phase 2 will be painting the trim, with replacing doors and maybe door frames as Phase 3. It seemed like a simple enough idea at the outset, and one that will update our home by a couple of decades without breaking the bank, but...with three young kids, every sprint becomes a marathon, yes? That weekend project takes over your home for a month because you didn't get to finish painting, so you left the painter's tape up and the switch plates off, so you left the furniture pushed around a bit so you wouldn't have to move it again, etc. etc. And all because the baby didn't take his nap that he always takes like clockwork, chopping a solid hour off of your painting day. Not that I expect this to happen on Saturday because that is the one project that is sure to go without a hitch. Hahahaha.

And then there's the whole "hi, it's spring, and obviously 81 degrees all week!" thing that has twisted my arm into the whole rotating bins of clothing thing for the kids. I only just located some shorts for my poor daughter, who has been referring to her one pair of capris as shorts because, well, they were her only not-pants. And then the shoes. The shoes! My kids outgrew their boots, then their sneakers, which I just replaced only to find that hey, sandals would be good now. If anyone has found the answer to keeping their kids in adequately-fitting footwear for longer than a month at a time, please subscribe me to your newsletter.

Then of course the typical cooking, cleaning, yard work, keep the kids alive and generally out of danger, blah blah blah which only takes thirteen of my sixteen waking hours. I'm working on planning (just) ahead on preschool lessons, which has paid dividends in getting my kids some structure and passing these spring hours a bit more productively. We started piano lessons which is not at all like nailing jello to a wall. The important thing is the love of music, not the technical perfection, I keep telling myself between deep breaths and shots of coffee.

What have you been up to? Has the long-awaited arrival of spring turned you into a hypomanic overachiever, too? Are you doing all of the things, or have you managed to slow down and smell a few freshly-blooming lilacs? To all things a season. This might be one of my favorites!

Welcome to Narnia

This evening, I had the great pleasure of introducing our children to some of my most cherished literary characters. We met the Pevensies, and traveled with them for the very first time to a magical country called Narnia.

Oh, my heart. They sat and listened. Isaac's attention wandered, but then he's only three. Mikayla, on the other hand, has never been so transfixed as she was by this story! I wasn't sure how we would all fare in the great big world of chapter books, but as each chapter ended, she begged for the next. She didn't want to stop for dinner, didn't want to stop for bed. As we closed the book at bedtime, I promised that we will read a few more chapters tomorrow - especially since it's supposed to rain. "The perfect kind of day for sitting together and reading!" I said. She tried to sound nonchalant as she responded, "Or, we could just read all the rest of it." That's my girl.

Have you ever mourned, in a bittersweet sort of way, that you can't go back to your childhood and re-experience certain things for the first time? I sometimes have that feeling at the end of a great book even now, or after finishing a movie with a mind-boggling plot twist. Reading a favorite book to a child - particularly my own child, my first-born who is more like me than I ever dreamed possible - is so much like reliving my own first reading of the Narniad.

The awe of finding snow and trees inside a big cupboard. The oddity of meeting a little Faun - and what is a Faun, anyway? Part man and part goat, so funny! The ferocity of the White Witch - the Queen of Narnia? - and Edmund's eating too much Turkish Delight. The mom in me secretly applauded Lewis for mentioning Edmund's tummy ache from over-indulging on sweets. See, Mikayla? I didn't make that up! But the child in me, that true kernel of self that never ages, only is - that part of me blossomed in the sheer pleasure of seeing in my daughter a near-perfect reflection of my own delight. I have never felt so deeply happy with her, nor so closely identified with her. As we turned old, familiar pages, the magic and the bliss of the experience was palpable to me.

One of these nights, I'll find her curled under the covers with a book and a flashlight. And I'm sure I'll scold her and tell her to go to sleep. But I'll be hiding a smile, and deep down, I'll understand that you can take the book out of the child's hands for a time, but you can't take the child out of the book. Sweet dreams, my daughter, sweet dreams. And welcome to Narnia!