I'm in a food snob mood.

Not familiar with this mood? Well, let me explain.

This mood involves, but is not limited to:

Getting annoyed with cooking on a budget. Thinking it obnoxious that I can't just buy every fresh herb that would make the dish a million times tastier. Annoyed with not following a recipe exactly as it's written. Wanting to try new things and wanting it be able to take all day, if need be. Not wanting to search for recipes based on the two most familiar criteria: low-cost and quick.

To combat my mood, I'm tallying up why I might as well stick with what I do and get over this "mood."

1. If I cook it, I'll eat it. And I'll "blow up like my Aunt Roberta," to quote a funny movie. (For the record, I don't have an Aunt Roberta.)
2. If I continue making black beans and chicken rice soup rather than the delicious looking recipes in this cookbook that sits on my shelf, I'll continue having money to spend on other much more worthwhile things.
3. I would quickly get tired of the new recipes, just as I get tired of anything I've done for a while.
4. My kids probably like the simple, familiar foods much better than they would the fancier, gourmet dishes.
5. There are more important things in life than what I get to eat.
6. I get to eat things that are a lot tastier and much more expensive than the majority of my counterparts around the world.

So, now that I've got that out of my system, here's a home video, rather hot off the press. This is an original composition, which is why Bronwyn's having a hard time following along. (Please excuse Bronwyn's hair not yet being done and Gabriel's hair so desperately in need of a haircut that he's beginning to sport a mullet.)

To Everything There is a Season

I wonder how this can both relieve and frighten me at the same time.

These last few days, as I have cleaned up vomit, changed awful diapers, coaxed little ones back to sleep, nursed the baby through excruciating pain, and washed bedding again and again and again, I have looked beyond today's present exhaustion and found consolation in the knowledge that this will not last forever...

...All the while, heart-broken because I know that I will not always be the one to lay a cool hand on the fevered brows, to hold her close when she cries in misery, to help distract from discomfort with books and songs and conversation. I am equally undone by the reality that this will not last forever.

These little bodies who get into mischief, cause me endless work, rarely give a moment's peace, and ask for my undivided attention are daily growing. And before I know it, they won't be coloring on the walls, dirtying countless diapers, singing and talking at the top of their lungs every waking moment, or begging me to play with them "just a few more minutes."

I try not to borrow sorrow; today has enough. Yet in my mind's eye I see down the road 10... then 20 years, and the tears that inevitably well in my eyes are good for me to feel running hot down my cheeks. They tell me that I ought not take this moment for granted. They tell me to love the season I'm in. They tell me that this day I'm living is worth living with every ounce of my being.

To everything there is a season.

I've no doubt the next season will be wonderful. I know God and I know that His promise is that the path of the just onlys grow brighter and brighter. But I've also no doubt that I only get this season I'm living once.

I don't want to just love it when I'm looking back on it, you know?

I want to love it today--runny noses, crying, cleaning, and all.

I've decided to enable Xanga Lock.

So if you want to read, I guess you'll have to be a "Friend."

I sent invitations to many of you. If you are subscribed to me, you should still get the e-mail digest; if you want commenting privileges, just ask to be my friend.

Today's Household News Update:

:: Gabriel spent the latter half of the night throwing up. This is the first time he's had the stomach bug and been old enough/in control of his reflexes enough to be able to restrain from vomiting, which I must tell you did not help any of us get any sleep since it just meant that every 15 minutes or so he was gagging and choking down vomit while Daniel and/or I tried to convince him to just let it up.

Fortunately, it has been almost 3 hours since he last vomited and so far none of the rest of us have followed suit. My close calls during the night were simply a result of my low tolerance of the smells associated with cleaning up.

:: Jackson ate his first Cheerios with milk today. I like to wait until around the 1st birthday to introduce much dairy to my children (other than what might be baked into a cake, bread, etc.), since there is evidence that waiting can, in most cases, reduce the likelihood of allergies related to a particular food.

[The earlier and more often
a food is ingested, the greater likelihood it has of becoming an allergen.
Babies tend to be most allergic to the foods they have been offered first.
While a baby is exclusively breastfed, he is only exposed to the foods
his mother eats and secretes in her milk, so his exposure to potential
allergens is minimized.]

He loved it.

:: The initial kitchenette install at 57 Market St is taking place this morning. I am so excited that things continue to progress forward there! Daniel is also hoping to get a look at a couch and loveseat that have been potentially donated to us to ascertain their condition. If they seem as though they have some years of wear left to them, and we'll order slipcovers for them ASAP and move them into the building.

:: While helping me fold laundry, Bronwyn asked me if I was going to fold Daddy's "box-its."

:: It is snowing the perfect snow right now. Light, fluffy flakes whirling in the air before landing on the already-snow-covered ground. I love it. And, yes, this is probably in large part because I don't have to go out in it.

But I don't. So I love it.

:: Jackson figured out some time ago where I store the cereal and crackers. Recently, he's figured out how to pull out the box of whatever looks good to him at the moment and help himself to the contents. My solution to this ever-messy and poor-diet problem? Purchasing cupboard latches.

The only problem with my brilliant plan is that Daniel's drill broke a couple months ago.

:: The thrush problems continue, though my Gentian Violet usage had to end. A friend has kindly mailed me some coconut oil, as well as some accompanying recipes, and I am very hopeful that boosting my overall health will aid in conquering my perpetual thrush battles.

Thrush has been, for me, the only downside to breastfeeding.

The past three days I have looked awful.

Really.

No make-up. Jeans that I don't care about getting stained. A men's size medium sweatshirt bought for camping at Cook Forest when 7 months pregnant with Bronwyn. And did I mention that I've worn the same clothes three days in a row now? (I think this might be a first in my life.)

The first day, I dressed and left my bedroom. I didn't see a reflection of myself until some hours later. Boy, I thought, I look baaaadd. But I quickly forgot.

By today, I can't forget. The image of dark circles under my eyes, unmasked as they usually are by concealer, won't leave even once I've walked away from the mirror. I am very aware of the absolute huge-ness of my sweatshirt. I wonder if I've ever seen a pair of jeans that need to be washed so that they fit again more than these that I'm wearing need washing. A couple glances at my reflection over the course of a couple days are enough to leave a lasting impression.

Now that I'm so aware, I find it strange that at first I could forget.

But, then again, I forget all the time.

James 1:23-25  For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks at his natural face in a mirror; for once he has looked at himself and gone away, he has immediately forgotten what kind of person he was. But one who looks intently at the perfect law, the law of liberty, and abides by it, not having become a forgetful hearer but an effectual doer, this man shall be blessed in what he does.

(Oh, and in case you were wondering, the Gentian Violet doesn't seem to be helping. Three days like this and it's still.not.working...

...Coconut Oil, here we come!)

Gabriel has recently turned a corner in his ability to play. Now, this might sound a little ridiculous since we all assume children play, but the assumption simply isn't true, I think particularly for the oldest child in any home. (They don't have the benefit of older siblings teaching them how to play and rely solely on Mom for such inspiration--which they can become sadly dependent upon, I have found.)

The unfortunate aspect of Gabriel's newly found imagination is the absolute mess he makes while playing. There is no longer a nicely set-up (thanks to Mom) Little People town; rather, every toy and book and throw pillow is used as part of the re-enactment of the story of Jericho. While trying to calmly eat my breakfast, I choke because there is suddenly an entire little kitchen set being hurled off the futon in the family room as the "walls" fall down.

Still, I'll take the mess and the chaos if it means my son is finally able to entertain himself (at something other than playing drums, that is) and is teaching his little sister how to play along with him.

* * * * *

I don't like being dirty. I never have.

Gentian Violet makes me feel that the whole house is a disaster waiting to erupt. I jump a mile when Jackson looks as though he is going to drool on the couch. My heart stops beating just before Jackson is done nursing. I sleep restlessly due to fear that I will wake to purple stains on my bedding. (Sorry, when you've only been married 5 years, you still don't have sheets you don't care about getting stained.)

This would be one of those situations when the cure almost seems worse than the disease.

Almost.

* * * * *

Ask her: I've never been the spontaneous sort. And this is why I am convinced my missing the ability to be spontaneous due to motherhood is simply selfishness at its highest. I mean, I never wanted to go out at midnight just to walk down Market Street before having children, so why do I suddenly crave such an outing? I feel like the little kid who only wants the toy because he can't have it.

You know the kind of kid I mean.

(If you're a mom, chances are your own children have had moments of being "that kind of kid.")

* * * * *

Last night Daniel was setting up his computer in bed to finish watching a DVD. I was planning on going to sleep and got to bed first.

According to Daniel, about 2 minutes into the DVD he turned to ask me if the noise and light was going to bother me. I was already asleep.

This confirms two things I've known about myself: 1. I can sleep anytime anywhere through anything, and 2. I really don't like watching movies that much.

The battle with thrush is not a new one around here.

The battle with thrush with this insurance is new, however. And finding out that I need a pre-authorized number from the insurance company before I can get a prescription for this is just plain old annoying. I mean, when you're cracking and bleeding and have frustrated your entire family's schedule with an unplanned trip to the doctor and a 30-minute wait at the drugstore, you don't want to find out that it could be another week before getting the medicine needed to end the agony.

Ugh.

* * * * *

Yesterday as I munched on some banana bread thoughtfully given to us by her, today as I toasted bagels leftover from our monthly Bagel Sunday at church, and later when the kids were playing with some activity toys passed along by her, I thought about how wonderful it is to be in the family of God. If you're blessed like me, your local place of worship is the kind of place full of the kind of people that never let you feel isolated and alone for too long--and that's a really, really good thing.

* * * * *

Thoughts about kitchen renovations are whirling in my mind. I have no idea what the price tags associated with such thoughts actually are, but I'm happier not knowing: this way I can dream to my heart's content without yet being disappointed.

And if you're like me, you agree that the dreaming is half the fun, anyway.

* * * * *

Sometimes I really do wish that chocolate and ice cream were two of the main food groups.

(You think I'm joking...)

* * * * *

I have a long list of things still to do today. The things I'm choosing to focus on are what I've done--phone calls/e-mails made/sent, laundry caught up, the kitchen thoroughly cleaned after a busy weekend, and the house generally tidied--and the fact that Mondays are the day Daniel is gone until long after the kids (and sometimes I) go to bed, so I don't have to set aside time for lengthy meal prep (my kids actually prefer PB&J, which is fine with me as long as I don't consider the implications on my cooking), freeing up the evening for completing yet undone chores.

What is my motivation in plowing through the unfun necessaries, like cleaning bathrooms and bathing children, you ask? Two new photo albums ready to receive the backlogged photos of our growing and ever-changing family. There are at least 10 developed rolls on a shelf upstairs (the last pictures that made it into an album are from shortly after Bronwyn's birth) and I am eagerly anticipating getting them cataloged for frequent viewing!

* * * * *

On Saturday, Gabriel asked Daniel why we didn't wait to have our wedding when he could attend.

Made me think of one of my all-time favorite quotes: "Mom, you've been married longer than I've been alive!?!"