Ever since the fall weather came I have had a perpetual craving for pumpkin items- bread, cake, bars, pie. It just seems that fall food should include pumpkin. Last week (was it just last week?) we made pumpkin bars while my mom was here for a church get-together. We only took half the pan (it was a big recipe) and you can imagine the rest of the pan did not last long in our house.
But it also fed a bit of my craving, making it ever so slightly stronger. When we were invited over to a friend’s house last night, I was excited to have the chance to once again indulge my craving and make a big pan of pumpkin bars with yummy cream cheese frosting.
Come to find out a few hours (and two bars) later that P had to work late and we would have to postpone dinner. Since the only recipe I have makes this enormous pan of bars, (I know how halve recipes, I just didn’t feel that the situation warranted it, okay?) here I was, stuck with a cookie-sheet full of nice, fluffy, creamy pumpkin bars.
Do you know how painfully easy it is to eat one of those things? They are squishy, and can be eaten comfortably in two or three bites. They don’t taste too rich or filling, and one could even rationalize that the pumpkin is somewhat healthy.
So I eyed this pan of bars, fully aware that if I were to indulge and eat half of the pan (as I figured I was capable of) I would be victim to a lot of teasing from the late-night worker upon his return home. Then, I told myself, all I would have to do is to simply put the bars in another container. Arrange them artfully in a smaller pan in preparation for tomorrow’s get-together. I could snitch to my heart’s content and no one would be the wiser.
But I held myself back from this tactic- it would be too easy to eat way more than would be medically advisable. So, there they sat, taunting me, in the original pan. I stayed clear of the kitchen intentionally, knowing that a mere glance at the treat would draw me near.
When P finally arrived at 11, he was delighted to find desert waiting. Being a good husband he didn’t even mention the 6 empty spots. But then, group mentality set in and there was free-for-all. Who would know how much either one ate? Needless to say there are few bars left this morning, and I am quite fearful of the coming winter. Lots of time to be inside and bake and lots of events demanding baked goods. If I come out on the other side 30 pounds heavier I don’t even have a baby to blame it on. This could get ugly.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Boy Scout
Now that the weather has cooled down considerably we have started to have constant fires in our fireplace. Last year we perfected the fire-building-and-keeping skills (well, I perfected mine, as P was already quite adept in this area). For example, we can now keep a fire going all night long, and have a fair amount of coals in the morning to work with. You can imagine that a day when we "let the fire go out" to clean out the ashes is both nerve-racking and relieving. Relieving in that we rely on our propane to heat the house for a few hours, and nerve racking because I doubt whether I will be able to effectively start another one, my main role being "fire keeper" and not "fire starter". (However, the task this year has been considerably easier because of the many little scraps of wood produced by P's wood shop.)
I also have a helper this year. We have spent much parental energy sternly teaching him to stay away from the fireplace. (Quite a feat, might I add, because it is not really "hot" in the summer, and it is difficult to explain the dangers within an empty fireplace to an 18 month old.) Regardless of our attemps, the warm glow of the coals draws him each time we open the doors of the fireplace to add more wood. P is more excited to have him involved than I am- he will let the small boy lift the big pieces of wood and hand them over to be placed carefully in the fire. I, on the other hand, prefer to keep Ryan in a fireproof bubble at the neighbors house two miles away when I go near the baby-killing inferno.
This confuses Ryan, and each time I head to the front door with the intention of bringing in new fuel, my helper is fast on my heels, ready to be of assistance. Yesterday, for example, I brought in three pieces. He tried to lift them, and my protective mamma-arm kept him clear away. "Too hot!" I tried to explain.
He understood this term and took a step closer, blowing with all of his might like one would on a spoonful of warm soup. "Just gonna cool it down some, then, mom!" When I still would not let him close, he watched from a distance, and then noticed something else. He reached over to pick up a glove, and put it on his hand to mimic my own preparations. At this point the protective bear in me also noticed that he really just wantd to be of help, like dad lets him. So I closed the fireplace up, let him come close enough to lift the log up to me. I exclaimed a big "Thank you!" for his help and off he went, satisfied with his contribution.
Next I think I will begin teaching him how to filet fish using his very own pocket knife. Or perhaps how to hunt and trap small game animals., since we are in Iowa after all, and fishing for food isn't really "advisable".
I also have a helper this year. We have spent much parental energy sternly teaching him to stay away from the fireplace. (Quite a feat, might I add, because it is not really "hot" in the summer, and it is difficult to explain the dangers within an empty fireplace to an 18 month old.) Regardless of our attemps, the warm glow of the coals draws him each time we open the doors of the fireplace to add more wood. P is more excited to have him involved than I am- he will let the small boy lift the big pieces of wood and hand them over to be placed carefully in the fire. I, on the other hand, prefer to keep Ryan in a fireproof bubble at the neighbors house two miles away when I go near the baby-killing inferno.
This confuses Ryan, and each time I head to the front door with the intention of bringing in new fuel, my helper is fast on my heels, ready to be of assistance. Yesterday, for example, I brought in three pieces. He tried to lift them, and my protective mamma-arm kept him clear away. "Too hot!" I tried to explain.
He understood this term and took a step closer, blowing with all of his might like one would on a spoonful of warm soup. "Just gonna cool it down some, then, mom!" When I still would not let him close, he watched from a distance, and then noticed something else. He reached over to pick up a glove, and put it on his hand to mimic my own preparations. At this point the protective bear in me also noticed that he really just wantd to be of help, like dad lets him. So I closed the fireplace up, let him come close enough to lift the log up to me. I exclaimed a big "Thank you!" for his help and off he went, satisfied with his contribution.
Next I think I will begin teaching him how to filet fish using his very own pocket knife. Or perhaps how to hunt and trap small game animals., since we are in Iowa after all, and fishing for food isn't really "advisable".
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Scary?
Our friends Chuck and Amanda have two boys- a three and a half year old named Parker and three month old Benjamin. They are a wonderful family and just happen to be our Pastor and wife.
Ryan enjoys playing with Parker so much that as we are pulling up to his house, Ryan starts to squeal and bounce his legs up and down as if that will make the car go faster (a la Flinstone). Upon arrival and being freed from his restrictive carseat, he doesn't so much as give me a backward glance as he runs up the hill toward his chum.
Amanda told me a story about Parker the other day that I just had to share. She went in to wake him up one morning, and he gave her an excited smile.
"I had a GREAT dream last night, Mom!"
"Really? What was it about?"
"I was in my bed, and there was a MONSTER right outside my window!"
"Oh my..."
(Using his hands for emphasis)"And then I got up opened the window and I could see its EYES!"
"And this was a good dream?"
"Yes!"
"You should tell Dad that dream..."
"No, it would probably just scare him."
So later Amanda walked downstairs and asked her husband if he had heard Parker's dream. "No, he said I would be too scared and wouldn't tell me."
Ryan enjoys playing with Parker so much that as we are pulling up to his house, Ryan starts to squeal and bounce his legs up and down as if that will make the car go faster (a la Flinstone). Upon arrival and being freed from his restrictive carseat, he doesn't so much as give me a backward glance as he runs up the hill toward his chum.
Amanda told me a story about Parker the other day that I just had to share. She went in to wake him up one morning, and he gave her an excited smile.
"I had a GREAT dream last night, Mom!"
"Really? What was it about?"
"I was in my bed, and there was a MONSTER right outside my window!"
"Oh my..."
(Using his hands for emphasis)"And then I got up opened the window and I could see its EYES!"
"And this was a good dream?"
"Yes!"
"You should tell Dad that dream..."
"No, it would probably just scare him."
So later Amanda walked downstairs and asked her husband if he had heard Parker's dream. "No, he said I would be too scared and wouldn't tell me."
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
On why I love being a mom
So, our guests went home. And the house is quiet.
The clouds came the same day everyone went home, and they have stayed.
Rain, of course, has also made inconsistent appearances.
And, it's cold.
The sun is hidden and the drearyness of the past few days begins to echo in me.
To combat the quiet, I numbly turn on the radio, the music doing little to lift my spirits. I return to my office, read email, and then decide there is little else to keep me from attacking my housework. I close down the computer and amble on out to the living room.
Ryan, unaffected by the drearyness outside, is standing in the middle of the room, bending his knees and stomping is feet rythmically to the music - all alone. He does a spin and laughs at himself. Then he spots me and gives a little squeal, and stomps his feet faster. I can't help but feel lifted up, and I start to dance with him, both of us off- beat, both of us enjoying the hilarity of watching eachother dance. He squats and wiggles and spins, laughing. The music seems louder and more upbeat. They day seems brighter already, and can't help but be thankful that I am a mom.
The clouds came the same day everyone went home, and they have stayed.
Rain, of course, has also made inconsistent appearances.
And, it's cold.
The sun is hidden and the drearyness of the past few days begins to echo in me.
To combat the quiet, I numbly turn on the radio, the music doing little to lift my spirits. I return to my office, read email, and then decide there is little else to keep me from attacking my housework. I close down the computer and amble on out to the living room.
Ryan, unaffected by the drearyness outside, is standing in the middle of the room, bending his knees and stomping is feet rythmically to the music - all alone. He does a spin and laughs at himself. Then he spots me and gives a little squeal, and stomps his feet faster. I can't help but feel lifted up, and I start to dance with him, both of us off- beat, both of us enjoying the hilarity of watching eachother dance. He squats and wiggles and spins, laughing. The music seems louder and more upbeat. They day seems brighter already, and can't help but be thankful that I am a mom.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Visits
Note to reader: We have just completed a month's worth of visits- both sets of parents and my sister spent time with us this past month. It was wonderful to have them and hard to see them go.
“We’re coming”
Anticipation and anxiety all at once well up inside me as I grasp what it means to have visitors on the way. Thoughts flash through my mind- I want to share with them all that I have experienced since we have been together, share my world and my home and my life. And once the realization sinks in, the motivation that was asleep inside of me stirs and takes on new life – there is so much to do!
In what seems like endless frenzy, we prepare for the upcoming visitors. I make list upon list, readjusting and rethinking. What would be perfect? What would be possible? What can I live with? We start with big, impactful, messy projects…where we can barely walk through the house and we eat nothing but leftovers because we don’t have time to cook. And then reality sets in that we cannot always eat leftovers or sometime soon we will have no food left- over. So we jump in on smaller projects- cleaning up the mess from before and prioritizing what’s left to do (a never-ending list of possibilities).
We spend sleepless nights finishing before they come. The anticipation of their arrival is overtaken by a momentary anxiety. What have I forgotten? What if a million bugs come or we have no water? What if we can’t get along in one house for a week without a television? Maybe we should buy a television…
And thankfully, they call, just to say “Hi” and I remember how very much I miss them and can imagine that they miss us too. I am once again assured things will go just fine.
In the evenings, we start to plan meals and fun things to do for our guests. We dream together of long talks and card games. Of bonfires and good dinners. We talk about how much has changed and how big Ryan is getting. I can’t wait for them to just BE here.
They arrive – through hugs and hello’s we are reminded of just how much we have missed them. I am thankful they are here and yet another part of me aches, makes me homesick for them all over again, even as our visit is just beginning. Days of jockeying and settling go on as we each figure out our new roles. How to survive in one house (without a TV) together. And finally we set a silent, understood routine- and I begin to wonder how I will survive without them here to play with Ryan and help with dinner. How we will find things to talk about without four days to rehash.
We laugh together and work. They work too hard and I wish they would stop and enjoy- they wish I would let them work a bit harder (I am blessed with helpful family and friends).We catch up. I am reminded of how life continues even when I am not there. People grow and change. We talk about each other- the lives we are leading. I learn new things about them and am intrigued by the changes in their lives. We talk like no time has passed at all, really. They spend time playing with Ryan and he delights in having new playmates. He gets to be carried and held and is pampered with more treats than usual. We don’t fit in as much activity as we had wanted, but we enjoy the things we can get to.
And before they leave, I start to feel lonely for them all over again. Homesickness sets in and I am melancholy- I chide myself-they aren’t even gone! I begin to think of others at home I miss, too, and I dream of curling up very small and stowing away in their luggage. Hurriedly I bring to mind people here, friends and family that I do have close by. It quells some of the pain but also makes me feel torn. Home in both places. Homesick for both places. But the sadness that comes from such confusion is strangely comforting. I have come to love the feeling of deep longing- it makes me feel loved and blessed- I have people to miss and long for! It makes me feel alive in a way I can’t really explain, even though it hurts.
And then they leave. We lament about how we worked too hard; we should have spent more time talking and enjoying. And then we turn back to the house, thankful for the accomplishments we’ve made. Inside, the house echo’s with intense quiet. It’s so loud I can barely stand it. And I miss them all over again – how did we manage before we had everyone here? How did I ever get anything done? Suddenly it seems like the miles stretched between us have somehow gotten longer. I call them on their cell phone, just to remind myself that they aren’t really that far away.
Its a few days before I’m able to return to my previous routine. Before I can stand the quiet I had come to appreciate. I work hard to keep the motivation alive, but it waxes and wanes without a goal. So, I talk myself into dreaming up new goals. At dinner, the conversation still holds and we slowly settle back in to our own rhythm. During our talks, we discuss the next visit – what we would do and how fun it would be, and our loneliness is salved with such anticipation. We laugh, remembering the funny things that happened and the cute things Ryan did. We tear up as we look at pictures we took and read the entries written in our “guestbook”. We think of ways to span the miles- phones and letters, small gifts and pictures, visits! I am reminded that even though we are miles apart we don’t have to be distant, and I am inspired once again to forge on, to build our lives – here and there.
When are you coming again?
“We’re coming”
Anticipation and anxiety all at once well up inside me as I grasp what it means to have visitors on the way. Thoughts flash through my mind- I want to share with them all that I have experienced since we have been together, share my world and my home and my life. And once the realization sinks in, the motivation that was asleep inside of me stirs and takes on new life – there is so much to do!
In what seems like endless frenzy, we prepare for the upcoming visitors. I make list upon list, readjusting and rethinking. What would be perfect? What would be possible? What can I live with? We start with big, impactful, messy projects…where we can barely walk through the house and we eat nothing but leftovers because we don’t have time to cook. And then reality sets in that we cannot always eat leftovers or sometime soon we will have no food left- over. So we jump in on smaller projects- cleaning up the mess from before and prioritizing what’s left to do (a never-ending list of possibilities).
We spend sleepless nights finishing before they come. The anticipation of their arrival is overtaken by a momentary anxiety. What have I forgotten? What if a million bugs come or we have no water? What if we can’t get along in one house for a week without a television? Maybe we should buy a television…
And thankfully, they call, just to say “Hi” and I remember how very much I miss them and can imagine that they miss us too. I am once again assured things will go just fine.
In the evenings, we start to plan meals and fun things to do for our guests. We dream together of long talks and card games. Of bonfires and good dinners. We talk about how much has changed and how big Ryan is getting. I can’t wait for them to just BE here.
They arrive – through hugs and hello’s we are reminded of just how much we have missed them. I am thankful they are here and yet another part of me aches, makes me homesick for them all over again, even as our visit is just beginning. Days of jockeying and settling go on as we each figure out our new roles. How to survive in one house (without a TV) together. And finally we set a silent, understood routine- and I begin to wonder how I will survive without them here to play with Ryan and help with dinner. How we will find things to talk about without four days to rehash.
We laugh together and work. They work too hard and I wish they would stop and enjoy- they wish I would let them work a bit harder (I am blessed with helpful family and friends).We catch up. I am reminded of how life continues even when I am not there. People grow and change. We talk about each other- the lives we are leading. I learn new things about them and am intrigued by the changes in their lives. We talk like no time has passed at all, really. They spend time playing with Ryan and he delights in having new playmates. He gets to be carried and held and is pampered with more treats than usual. We don’t fit in as much activity as we had wanted, but we enjoy the things we can get to.
And before they leave, I start to feel lonely for them all over again. Homesickness sets in and I am melancholy- I chide myself-they aren’t even gone! I begin to think of others at home I miss, too, and I dream of curling up very small and stowing away in their luggage. Hurriedly I bring to mind people here, friends and family that I do have close by. It quells some of the pain but also makes me feel torn. Home in both places. Homesick for both places. But the sadness that comes from such confusion is strangely comforting. I have come to love the feeling of deep longing- it makes me feel loved and blessed- I have people to miss and long for! It makes me feel alive in a way I can’t really explain, even though it hurts.
And then they leave. We lament about how we worked too hard; we should have spent more time talking and enjoying. And then we turn back to the house, thankful for the accomplishments we’ve made. Inside, the house echo’s with intense quiet. It’s so loud I can barely stand it. And I miss them all over again – how did we manage before we had everyone here? How did I ever get anything done? Suddenly it seems like the miles stretched between us have somehow gotten longer. I call them on their cell phone, just to remind myself that they aren’t really that far away.
Its a few days before I’m able to return to my previous routine. Before I can stand the quiet I had come to appreciate. I work hard to keep the motivation alive, but it waxes and wanes without a goal. So, I talk myself into dreaming up new goals. At dinner, the conversation still holds and we slowly settle back in to our own rhythm. During our talks, we discuss the next visit – what we would do and how fun it would be, and our loneliness is salved with such anticipation. We laugh, remembering the funny things that happened and the cute things Ryan did. We tear up as we look at pictures we took and read the entries written in our “guestbook”. We think of ways to span the miles- phones and letters, small gifts and pictures, visits! I am reminded that even though we are miles apart we don’t have to be distant, and I am inspired once again to forge on, to build our lives – here and there.
When are you coming again?
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